want to. Anyway, what could she do?
Lena went back into the room, gathered up her baby, and walked down the hall, passing the closed door of Oscar and Nyla’s room as quickly as possible. When she got to the landing above the stairs, she stood for a moment, looking down into the living room. There it struck her. Nyla’s face, her accusation― did she turn you down again?― the hard look of ungratified lust in Oscar’s eyes. Now she remembered what she had seen. Another similar look. Oscar had been sitting by himself in the corner of the living room where he had an open sight line into the dining room. His eyes were hard, with a glittery cast, like the eyes perhaps of a snake eyeing a mouse. But worse. Snakes just got hungry like everybody else. This was more than simple hunger. Troubled by his expression, Lena followed his gaze into the dining room. The only person there at the time was Mary gathering empty plates and used silverware and keeping the table fresh and tidy. She was wearing a white blouse with three-quarter sleeves of netting. Tiers of silky fabric trimmed the bodice and stirred fluidly in the gentle breeze flowing through the open dining room window. Her blue skirt, though not tight, fit her well. Lena always noticed Mary’s beautiful clothing, but today she noticed Mary. A few strands of her curly black hair had escaped the loose bun at the nape of her neck and softly framed her face, which was flawless and with high color. Lena looked back at Oscar whose attention was now on a farmer next to him. They were talking about the well business. She thought she might have imagined what she had seen and then forgot it altogether except for the nasty feeling it had left behind. Until now. Lena saw now why Oscar was keeping himself and Nyla in Ma’s house, instead of going back to their own house a few miles out of town, not because of his devotionto his mother, but because Mary visited Ma every day. And every day, Oscar was there.
Chapter 5: August 1900
G leevie Pruitt downed his third whiskey at Leroy’s Tavern and complained about that good looking squaw living outside of town there and how she was too goddam uppity for a woman, never mind a goddam squaw.
Leroy tendered him some advice. “Leave that alone, Gleeve.”
Gleevie was a drifter. He’d only been in Charity a month or so, and Leroy, while not much interested in managing other people’s affairs beyond sending a man home while he could still walk or before he started breaking the furniture if that was the direction he was inclined to when he got a snoot-full, was alarmed by what he heard in Gleevie’s voice—a rawness, and a recklessness born of ignorance. Leroy at least could try to relieve him of a little ignorance.
“Leave that alone,” Leroy said again, his voice laden with meaning. He who has ears, let him hear. Leroy was a church-going man.
Gleevie needed a shave and wasn’t in any case careful about personal hygiene, even when he was sober. This was his second afternoon running spent in the tavern. Something was wearing on him and it wasn’t soap and water. “She ain’t livin’ out there just foolin’ with them horses and makin’ a livin’ without gettin’ somethin’ on the side.”
“Now where’d you get a notion like that?” Leroy polished the top of his bar in rhythmic circles.
“No wheres. I just figured it out,” Gleevie boasted, full of his own brilliance. “I don’t want nuthin for nuthin. I’m willin’ to pay, but I’m goin’ to get me a little, that’s all.”
“Don’t look for trouble. Go on now. Sober up and forget about it.” Leroy refused to sell him another drink, so Gleevie left the tavern, swaying as he went.
Leroy motioned Hank Ackerman over. “I think you should go tell Dennis that thresher that’s been hanging around here is looking for trouble.”
“You worried about the squaw?” Hank asked.
“Nope.” Leroy made more circles with his bar rag. The surface of his bar
Lena went back into the room, gathered up her baby, and walked down the hall, passing the closed door of Oscar and Nyla’s room as quickly as possible. When she got to the landing above the stairs, she stood for a moment, looking down into the living room. There it struck her. Nyla’s face, her accusation― did she turn you down again?― the hard look of ungratified lust in Oscar’s eyes. Now she remembered what she had seen. Another similar look. Oscar had been sitting by himself in the corner of the living room where he had an open sight line into the dining room. His eyes were hard, with a glittery cast, like the eyes perhaps of a snake eyeing a mouse. But worse. Snakes just got hungry like everybody else. This was more than simple hunger. Troubled by his expression, Lena followed his gaze into the dining room. The only person there at the time was Mary gathering empty plates and used silverware and keeping the table fresh and tidy. She was wearing a white blouse with three-quarter sleeves of netting. Tiers of silky fabric trimmed the bodice and stirred fluidly in the gentle breeze flowing through the open dining room window. Her blue skirt, though not tight, fit her well. Lena always noticed Mary’s beautiful clothing, but today she noticed Mary. A few strands of her curly black hair had escaped the loose bun at the nape of her neck and softly framed her face, which was flawless and with high color. Lena looked back at Oscar whose attention was now on a farmer next to him. They were talking about the well business. She thought she might have imagined what she had seen and then forgot it altogether except for the nasty feeling it had left behind. Until now. Lena saw now why Oscar was keeping himself and Nyla in Ma’s house, instead of going back to their own house a few miles out of town, not because of his devotionto his mother, but because Mary visited Ma every day. And every day, Oscar was there.
Chapter 5: August 1900
G leevie Pruitt downed his third whiskey at Leroy’s Tavern and complained about that good looking squaw living outside of town there and how she was too goddam uppity for a woman, never mind a goddam squaw.
Leroy tendered him some advice. “Leave that alone, Gleeve.”
Gleevie was a drifter. He’d only been in Charity a month or so, and Leroy, while not much interested in managing other people’s affairs beyond sending a man home while he could still walk or before he started breaking the furniture if that was the direction he was inclined to when he got a snoot-full, was alarmed by what he heard in Gleevie’s voice—a rawness, and a recklessness born of ignorance. Leroy at least could try to relieve him of a little ignorance.
“Leave that alone,” Leroy said again, his voice laden with meaning. He who has ears, let him hear. Leroy was a church-going man.
Gleevie needed a shave and wasn’t in any case careful about personal hygiene, even when he was sober. This was his second afternoon running spent in the tavern. Something was wearing on him and it wasn’t soap and water. “She ain’t livin’ out there just foolin’ with them horses and makin’ a livin’ without gettin’ somethin’ on the side.”
“Now where’d you get a notion like that?” Leroy polished the top of his bar in rhythmic circles.
“No wheres. I just figured it out,” Gleevie boasted, full of his own brilliance. “I don’t want nuthin for nuthin. I’m willin’ to pay, but I’m goin’ to get me a little, that’s all.”
“Don’t look for trouble. Go on now. Sober up and forget about it.” Leroy refused to sell him another drink, so Gleevie left the tavern, swaying as he went.
Leroy motioned Hank Ackerman over. “I think you should go tell Dennis that thresher that’s been hanging around here is looking for trouble.”
“You worried about the squaw?” Hank asked.
“Nope.” Leroy made more circles with his bar rag. The surface of his bar
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