her mother and shouted, “My best pen! It’s gone!”
Her mother had already shriveled up in her rocking chair. “I didn’t take it, Clinton! I know better than to touch your things!”
“No, you didn’t take it! But you’re so lax with that damn maid of ours that she can lose things without any fear of recrimination!”
“But Clinton, I-”
“You keep a terrible house, Arlene! A terrible house!”
And with that, he stormed out again, leaving in his wake two broken women and a troubled air that would linger for the rest of the night now and cause twitching and shaking, fits and starts of tears and anger that were utterly, utterly useless.
Susan hurried through the French doors now, to sit at her mother’s knees, to comfort the woman she loved so much. The woman who had been living with this tyrant for four decades.
By the time she reached her mother, the gray-haired woman had lowered her head and was letting tears roll down her cheeks.
Even across the room she could hear her mother’s whispered prayer and it was always the same prayer-one that asked not for any retribution against her husband, only that she be able to abide his rages and beratings with patience and charity.
Susan knelt next to the woman and cradled her head against her shoulder.
***
Neely said, “You’ve got a nice town here, Les. I hear there’s an overall company that pays women twenty-five cents a day for ten hours’ work.”
T.Z. laughed. “I guess you probably remember that Neely here’s a socialist.”
“Was a socialist,” Neely said with an edge. “Now I see that both sides are worthless.”
The tavern was essentially a single long room with a long slab of pine for a bar and several kegs of beer hefted up into cradles behind the bar. There was sawdust on the floor. The only attempts at decoration were some faded posters depicting the “Wild, Wild West” as seen by everybody’s favorite liar, Buffalo Bill Cody. The clientele appeared to be more drifter than workingman-rail-riders mostly.
“There’s a table over there. Why don’t we take it?” Neely said. “Talk about old times.”
Les shook his head. “T.Z. told me why you’re here. We don’t have anything to talk about-old or new.”
Neely smiled his shark smile and gazed ironically at T.Z. “See, he starts going out with a banker’s daughter and right away he gets uppity.”
Les had forgotten how clever Neely was. “How did you know about Susan?”
“Tonight, when you were at the river, you turned around and wondered if you hadn’t heard somebody in the bushes.” Neely laughed. “You did. It was me.”
“You bastard.”
“Your little brother sure doesn’t seem glad to see us, T.Z.”
“He’ll calm down. Come on, Les. Let’s go over and sit down and have a beer.”
Les looked at his brother. As always he had the sense that the man was a complete stranger: his smooth, handsome face, his gambler’s getup, and a certain constant anger in his dark eyes. They had been through so many years together, their mother dying when they were barely ten, and then their father going soon after, and Les struggling to get through high school while T.Z. (Thomas Zecariah) had drifted into one form of trouble after another, always coming back and asking his little brother to hide him out… and his little brother always accommodating him out of guilt and pity and fear. The night the old man died, Les had fallen asleep… it had been T.Z. who sat up with him and then first held the old man when he lay dying (“Don’t dose your eyes!” Les could remember T.Z. screaming, waking Les up) and then later it had been Les whom T.Z. had held, trying to comfort the sobbing and terrified boy… If only T.Z. could always have been the person he’d been at that
Her mother had already shriveled up in her rocking chair. “I didn’t take it, Clinton! I know better than to touch your things!”
“No, you didn’t take it! But you’re so lax with that damn maid of ours that she can lose things without any fear of recrimination!”
“But Clinton, I-”
“You keep a terrible house, Arlene! A terrible house!”
And with that, he stormed out again, leaving in his wake two broken women and a troubled air that would linger for the rest of the night now and cause twitching and shaking, fits and starts of tears and anger that were utterly, utterly useless.
Susan hurried through the French doors now, to sit at her mother’s knees, to comfort the woman she loved so much. The woman who had been living with this tyrant for four decades.
By the time she reached her mother, the gray-haired woman had lowered her head and was letting tears roll down her cheeks.
Even across the room she could hear her mother’s whispered prayer and it was always the same prayer-one that asked not for any retribution against her husband, only that she be able to abide his rages and beratings with patience and charity.
Susan knelt next to the woman and cradled her head against her shoulder.
***
Neely said, “You’ve got a nice town here, Les. I hear there’s an overall company that pays women twenty-five cents a day for ten hours’ work.”
T.Z. laughed. “I guess you probably remember that Neely here’s a socialist.”
“Was a socialist,” Neely said with an edge. “Now I see that both sides are worthless.”
The tavern was essentially a single long room with a long slab of pine for a bar and several kegs of beer hefted up into cradles behind the bar. There was sawdust on the floor. The only attempts at decoration were some faded posters depicting the “Wild, Wild West” as seen by everybody’s favorite liar, Buffalo Bill Cody. The clientele appeared to be more drifter than workingman-rail-riders mostly.
“There’s a table over there. Why don’t we take it?” Neely said. “Talk about old times.”
Les shook his head. “T.Z. told me why you’re here. We don’t have anything to talk about-old or new.”
Neely smiled his shark smile and gazed ironically at T.Z. “See, he starts going out with a banker’s daughter and right away he gets uppity.”
Les had forgotten how clever Neely was. “How did you know about Susan?”
“Tonight, when you were at the river, you turned around and wondered if you hadn’t heard somebody in the bushes.” Neely laughed. “You did. It was me.”
“You bastard.”
“Your little brother sure doesn’t seem glad to see us, T.Z.”
“He’ll calm down. Come on, Les. Let’s go over and sit down and have a beer.”
Les looked at his brother. As always he had the sense that the man was a complete stranger: his smooth, handsome face, his gambler’s getup, and a certain constant anger in his dark eyes. They had been through so many years together, their mother dying when they were barely ten, and then their father going soon after, and Les struggling to get through high school while T.Z. (Thomas Zecariah) had drifted into one form of trouble after another, always coming back and asking his little brother to hide him out… and his little brother always accommodating him out of guilt and pity and fear. The night the old man died, Les had fallen asleep… it had been T.Z. who sat up with him and then first held the old man when he lay dying (“Don’t dose your eyes!” Les could remember T.Z. screaming, waking Les up) and then later it had been Les whom T.Z. had held, trying to comfort the sobbing and terrified boy… If only T.Z. could always have been the person he’d been at that
Similar Books
