shakin.
What did I tell you? says Slim.
Look who Saba found. It’s Mercy, Emmi says.
What? Then Lugh’s shakin Mercy’s hand, sayin, I sure wanna know how this came about. It’s bin a long time, ma’am.
You must be starvin, son, says Slim. Everybody come an eat.
That’s it fer Em goin back on watch. I’d hafta drag her there by her pigtail. An, after all, it’s daylight. We crowd around Slim’s cookpot an he loads our tins. Tracker an Nero make fast work of a stringy squirrel that he tosses their way. They keep a wary eye on him, anxious not to splat him with guts. Last time they did, he banished ’em from the fire fer two chilly nights. We’re jest gittin stuck into our meal an all wantin to ask Mercy this or tell her that, when Tommo pitches up at last. He tells the same tale as Lugh. He had to go off his set course to lose his pursuers. He falls on the food like a jackal.
Then a short while later, Creed arrives. He’s bare chested. His precious frock coat’s folded, tucked unner one arm. The other arm’s streaked with dried blood. There’s a arrow stuck in his shoulder.
Creed lounges aginst a boulder while Molly stitches his wound with a fine bone needle an gut thread. He looks like some spirit of nature. Wild curly hair, silver rings in his ears, tattooed waist to neck with twined vines an serpents.
Molly bends her head to her work. As always, there’s a scarf tied over her long blonde curls. Pulled low on her forehead to hide her brand. That loathsome letter. The lie that the Tonton seared in her skin. W. W fer whore. But it don’t mar her beauty. Nuthin could. A face to make angels weep fer joy. That’s what Ike used to say of Molly. An lips that detoured many a man to her Storm Belt junkshack tavern. In the hope that she’d serve them a smile with their drink.
She ain’t smilin now. She’s got her Creed look on. It says, if he does it agin, if he declares his love fer me in front of everybody I’ll slap his head from his neck. But Creed’s so punch drunk in love with her, he cain’t seem to stop hisself. He’s only got the one tactic. Open desperation. He must think she’ll be flattered or take pity on him an eventually give in. As if a delicious woman like her would ever go fer a hobbledy boy like him. Molly’s used to swattin off lust-lorn loobies from her tavern days, but Creed’s a whole new world of aggravation.
I go over to crouch beside them. Give her some relief. I says, With all them tattoos, I’m surprised you can see whatyer doin. How deep did the arrow go?
Not very, she says. Surprise surprise, he’s makin out it’s worse than it is.
Creed says, Anythin to keep you close to me, darlin.
I ain’t yer darlin, she says.
Cut it out, Creed, I says.
He leans his head in close to hers. I’m crazy fer you, Molly. Marry me, he says.
She slaps him hard. Almost slaps his head off. Everybody turns at the sound. The angry crack of skin on skin. Her brown eyes spit. In a voice of low fury she says, I’ve told you an I’ve told you but you don’t pay no heed. I’m sick to death of this buck-at-the-rut pursuit. If you was a man, I’d of shot you by now. Fer once an fer all, Creed, leave me the hell alone!
She ends on a shout of frustration. There’s a fat silence as she goes to the fire an sits. Nobody dares move fer a long moment. Then they start eatin agin, with nervous caution. Not so much as a tink of a spoon. In case the sound sets her off agin.
I should never of let it come to this. Me an Slim had a talk some days ago. We agreed I oughta call Creed to order, but I bin puttin it off as ticklish work.
He looks at me with a plea in his eyes. The mark of her hand blooms ugly on his face. She’s left him half-stitched. The needle’s stuck in the wound, the thread danglin. I’m a nervous doctor but I sit down. I pull out the needle an, with clammyhands, I start to sew. I start in on him too, my voice hushed.
You gotta stop this right now, I says. It don’t jest
What did I tell you? says Slim.
Look who Saba found. It’s Mercy, Emmi says.
What? Then Lugh’s shakin Mercy’s hand, sayin, I sure wanna know how this came about. It’s bin a long time, ma’am.
You must be starvin, son, says Slim. Everybody come an eat.
That’s it fer Em goin back on watch. I’d hafta drag her there by her pigtail. An, after all, it’s daylight. We crowd around Slim’s cookpot an he loads our tins. Tracker an Nero make fast work of a stringy squirrel that he tosses their way. They keep a wary eye on him, anxious not to splat him with guts. Last time they did, he banished ’em from the fire fer two chilly nights. We’re jest gittin stuck into our meal an all wantin to ask Mercy this or tell her that, when Tommo pitches up at last. He tells the same tale as Lugh. He had to go off his set course to lose his pursuers. He falls on the food like a jackal.
Then a short while later, Creed arrives. He’s bare chested. His precious frock coat’s folded, tucked unner one arm. The other arm’s streaked with dried blood. There’s a arrow stuck in his shoulder.
Creed lounges aginst a boulder while Molly stitches his wound with a fine bone needle an gut thread. He looks like some spirit of nature. Wild curly hair, silver rings in his ears, tattooed waist to neck with twined vines an serpents.
Molly bends her head to her work. As always, there’s a scarf tied over her long blonde curls. Pulled low on her forehead to hide her brand. That loathsome letter. The lie that the Tonton seared in her skin. W. W fer whore. But it don’t mar her beauty. Nuthin could. A face to make angels weep fer joy. That’s what Ike used to say of Molly. An lips that detoured many a man to her Storm Belt junkshack tavern. In the hope that she’d serve them a smile with their drink.
She ain’t smilin now. She’s got her Creed look on. It says, if he does it agin, if he declares his love fer me in front of everybody I’ll slap his head from his neck. But Creed’s so punch drunk in love with her, he cain’t seem to stop hisself. He’s only got the one tactic. Open desperation. He must think she’ll be flattered or take pity on him an eventually give in. As if a delicious woman like her would ever go fer a hobbledy boy like him. Molly’s used to swattin off lust-lorn loobies from her tavern days, but Creed’s a whole new world of aggravation.
I go over to crouch beside them. Give her some relief. I says, With all them tattoos, I’m surprised you can see whatyer doin. How deep did the arrow go?
Not very, she says. Surprise surprise, he’s makin out it’s worse than it is.
Creed says, Anythin to keep you close to me, darlin.
I ain’t yer darlin, she says.
Cut it out, Creed, I says.
He leans his head in close to hers. I’m crazy fer you, Molly. Marry me, he says.
She slaps him hard. Almost slaps his head off. Everybody turns at the sound. The angry crack of skin on skin. Her brown eyes spit. In a voice of low fury she says, I’ve told you an I’ve told you but you don’t pay no heed. I’m sick to death of this buck-at-the-rut pursuit. If you was a man, I’d of shot you by now. Fer once an fer all, Creed, leave me the hell alone!
She ends on a shout of frustration. There’s a fat silence as she goes to the fire an sits. Nobody dares move fer a long moment. Then they start eatin agin, with nervous caution. Not so much as a tink of a spoon. In case the sound sets her off agin.
I should never of let it come to this. Me an Slim had a talk some days ago. We agreed I oughta call Creed to order, but I bin puttin it off as ticklish work.
He looks at me with a plea in his eyes. The mark of her hand blooms ugly on his face. She’s left him half-stitched. The needle’s stuck in the wound, the thread danglin. I’m a nervous doctor but I sit down. I pull out the needle an, with clammyhands, I start to sew. I start in on him too, my voice hushed.
You gotta stop this right now, I says. It don’t jest
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