Neal Barrett Jr. (13 page)

Jones raised a brow. “Now why would he want to do that?”

“How the hell do I know? He was a mean son of a bitch, I reckon. Maybe he was crazy. Ain’t you ever seen a crazy man before!”

“Cory, there is no need to shout,” Jones said. “I can hear you quite well.”

“I don’t see why you got to ask a bunch of questions. I can’t tell you what another man’s thinking.”

“So you got his gun away,” Jones persisted. “Then you shot him with your own weapon. Why did you have to kill him, Cory? I do not entirely understand that. The lawman I spoke to said his weapon was some twenty feet away.”

“Maybe ’cause I’m meaner’n he was,” Howie said between his teeth. “Hell, I don’t know. I wasn’t doing much thinking at the time.” He wanted Jones to believe him, wanted him to think it had happened that way. He didn’t want him sitting there thinking something else. “I was mad and I was scared. It’s like in the war. You don’t stop and think, you just do it.”

“All right,” Jones said. “I guess I can understand that.”

“Good. I’m sure glad to hear it.”

“And what did you do before that? Before you went to the tavern?”

The question took Howie unaware.
Careful
,
careful
… walked. Just walked around some.”

“Walked where?”

“I haven’t got any idea. I never been to Alabama Port before. What difference does it make?”

“None at all, Cory.”

“None at all, huh?” Howie sat up on the edge of his seat. He looked at Jones until the preacher was forced to meet his eyes. Jones was clearly tired and irritated, a man who hadn’t planned on getting up and out of bed before dawn.

“Listen, just say it,” Howie said. “You think I flat murdered that man, why’d you bother to get me out?”

“Because the Lord has a weakness for fools,” Jones said. “Don’t ask me why. There is a great deal about His ways I don’t pretend to understand.”

Howie laughed aloud. “I should’ve guessed it was something to do with God. Is that how you got ’em to let me out? You tell them how favored I am, that I’m shining real bright in God’s Light?”

Howie caught the sudden anger in Jones’s eyes; he thought for a moment the preacher might go right at him, right there in the carriage. Then, Jones abruptly turned away, lifted a curtain and peered out.

“What I did,” Jones said, still studying the streets, “was offer several very large bribes. Money for Captain Ricks, and four of his officers and men. More for the lawmen who brought you in, three jailers, and a judge and various court officials whom you were fortunate not to meet.” He looked right at Howie. “We did the devil’s work today, Cory. Not the Lord’s. I pray He’ll understand that I felt you were destined for better things. As I believe you put it, God has seen fit to favor you with His Light.”

Howie was startled for a moment, then wondered why he should even be surprised. Money was what Alabama Port was all about. Not the war or getting people fed. Getting plenty for yourself, and eating in a fine hotel. Still, he was embarrassed by what Jones had done, and didn’t know what to say.

“Listen, you got my thanks, you know that,” Howie said. “I’m sorry if you’re mad or anything, but I didn’t start nothing with that trooper. It was his doing, not mine. And I didn’t mean to cause you no trouble.”

Jones let out a breath. “No, I don’t believe you did, Cory. And I was not truly angry. Disappointed, perhaps.” He waved the words away. “Well, that is not entirely correct. I was somewhat irritated, I cannot deny that. But on the whole, my overall feeling was one of concern. All right?” He gave Howie a weary smile and placed a hand on his arm. “I suggest we forget this incident for the moment. There is other business at hand.” He leaned forward and raised the curtain again. “I believe we have arrived. There will be time for us to talk again later.”

Howie was intent on the preacher’s words, and hadn’t realized the carriage wasn’t moving anymore. Jones opened the door and stepped down, and Howie followed. The sight hit him like a physical blow. A
ship!
They were pulled right up to the dock and the ship was no more than a dozen steps away. Tall masts towered overhead; a maze of rigging was webbed against the sky.

Howie knew. He didn’t have to ask. They hadn’t come here just to
look
at a ship.

Ritcher Jones grinned. “We leave on the tide for California, Cory. ’Less of course you want to stay here.” He cleared his throat and studied the masts. “I think I’d choose to go, if I were you. Reason tells me if you are still in Alabama Port when we sail, the good folks of this town will hang you sometime this afternoon. Yes, I would give that some thought.

Howie laughed. “I don’t guess I’ll think too long. “Wise choice,” Jones said. “You might show some promise yet, boy.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

H
owie could hardly believe he was really aboard a ship. He had longed simply to look at one close—now he would actually ride in this magnificent vessel, all the way to California. He wanted to see everything. Talk to the sailors and ask them what every rope was for, how the big sheets of canvas caught and held the wind. Instead, Ritcher Jones hurried him belowdecks at once, and he scarcely saw anything at all.

Howie protested, but the preacher wouldn’t listen. “I want you out of sight till we get to sea. You’ve got a knack for attracting trouble, and I sure don’t need the aggravation.”

The cabin was no bigger than a closet, and stifling hot. The ceiling was so low Howie couldn’t stand up straight. A bed with a six-inch rim was bolted to the wall. Howie wondered what the rim was for. It made the bed look like a box. There was a lantern on the wall. Below that, a small shelf with another rim. A slop jar sat on the floor by the bed. Again, the jar was wedged tight in a wooden rim. Apparently, Howie thought, sailors like to wall things in. There was nothing in the cabin that moved.

A small glass porthole was set in the wall above his bunk. Howie looked out and saw the dock. He tried to pry the window open and let in sonic air, but the thing wouldn’t budge.

To hell with it then. Howie stretched out on his bunk. The mattress was nothing more than a pad filled with straw, but he didn’t mind that. He had slept on worse. His clothes were already drenched, and he pulled off his shirt and wiped his face. The rim around the bunk made him edgy. He felt as if he were lying in a coffin, waiting for someone to close the lid.

W
hen would they sail? Howie wondered. Jones hadn’t said, but Howie figured it couldn’t be long. He sure didn’t intend to stay down here and sweat all day. By God, a man couldn’t live without air. Jones ought to know that.

Besides, if Jones was going back to California, Lorene was aboard the ship too. He hadn’t forgotten that. Howie couldn’t wait to see her. Of course he’d have to be careful when he did, or Jones would know right off what had happened between them. It might be a good idea to start practicing a look of some kind. A look that he could get when Lorene was around that wouldn’t give them both away. He thought about that. It might be hard to do. Jones wasn’t any fool. He hoped Lorene had maybe thought of this too, and was working on a look of her own.

Howie wondered if they’d get to make love on the ship, and didn’t see how they could. And that would be bad, having her there close all the time and not being able to do it when they liked.

A spider was working on a fly overhead, and he watched it awhile until the sweat started stinging his eye. It was likely that spider had made a lot of trips to California and back, and didn’t even know it.

W
hen Howie woke, the cabin was even hotter than before. The room was in shadow, except for a band of orange light against the wall. The light was peculiar, as if something somewhere was on fire. He realized then, coming fully out of sleep, that the light was the afternoon sun. Which meant he’d slept the whole day. He shook his head and sat up. Hell, how could he have gone and done that? Then he remembered that he had sat up the whole night before in his cell.

Howie felt hungry and weak. His head hurt, and his skin was slick with sweat. The smell of his own body was overpowering in the confines of the small room. He pulled himself awkwardly over the rim of the bunk. The floor swayed beneath his feet; the sudden motion surprised him, and he grabbed at the bunk to hold on. Hot light burned through the porthole window. The floor dipped again, and for an instant the sun disappeared.

“God A’mighty, look at that!” Howie stared at the sight. There was nothing there but water. No land or anything else, just a flat expanse of blue. Somehow he hadn’t expected that. Jones had told him they’d be on the open sea, but he had expected something else. He didn’t know exactly what.

T
he air felt good on deck. Howie stood at the railing and breathed in the smell of the sea. It wasn’t like land air at all; it was a smell he couldn’t define, the salt and the water and maybe the ship itself. Everything was fresh and new, like nothing had touched it before. He watched the sailors as they swarmed through the rigging overhead. Now and then they called out to one another, or someone shouted from the deck. The words meant nothing at all to Howie, but he liked the way they sounded.

The ship was never even for a moment. It was hard to get used to that. The deck swayed from left to right, forward and aft, as the bow plunged down through the waves of foam and up again. The sailors didn’t seem to notice this at all, but Howie found he had to hold on.

The sun burned down behind clouds and turned the sea coppered. Almost at once, a cool breeze rose from the water. Howie’s stomach felt funny, like something was rolling around in there and didn’t want to sit still. He wondered where he could get something to eat. The sailors would know, but they never stopped long enough to ask.

He knew he was going to be sick. It happened so fast he hardly had time to stick his head over the railing. Bile spilled out of his mouth and caught the wind. In spite of the cooling breeze, his face was suddenly peppered with sweat. God, it was awful! There was nothing inside to come up, but his belly wouldn’t stop. Just looking at the ocean made him sick. He closed his good eye, but that was worse.

“Well, you got your wish, boy,” said Ritcher Jones. “You’re on a ship at sea.”

Howie groaned, and didn’t look up at the preacher. “Dammit, I think I’m dying. That all you got to say?”

“You’ve got the seasickness,” Jones said. “Dying doesn’t feel that bad.”

“I got what?” Howie gripped the rail and held on. “You mean it’s goin’ to be like this all the time?”

“Most likely not. Though some, I understand, never take to the sea. The Lord gives one man a burden and lightens another’s load. There’s a reason for this, but it’s not for us to know. For myself, I was struck by the sickness my first week at sea. Of course this was some years back, but the event’s still fresh in my mind. I prayed for release—begged the Lord to take me, same as you. Apparently, He felt my suffering was not too great to bear. He knew what He was doing, though I had strong doubts at the time.”

“I ain’t going to last no
week
,” Howie said. For the moment, his belly felt better, but the demon still lurked inside.

“What you need to do is eat,” Jones said. “Get something down.” Jones caught Howie’s expression of horror and raised a hand. “I know it doesn’t seem quite the thing, but take my word it’s true.” He sniffed the air and looked at Howie with some distaste. “Cory, you smell to high heaven. I brought your few belongings from your room at the hotel. I shall send a boy down with water and some soap. Clean yourself up. Change your clothes. I will have some soup and bread sent along. No matter how you feel, you eat. The sickness is taking all the room in your belly right now. Fill that cavity with food and it will drive the sickness out. Two things cannot occupy the same space. This is a simple physical fact. You’ll be a new man before you know it.”

Howie didn’t believe a word the preacher said. He watched Jones stalk happily along the swaying deck, watched the sea rise and swell in the growing night, felt the sickness overcome him again, and wondered if he might find the strength to toss Jones in the sea.

T
he soup and bread helped. Howie had to force it down, but it helped. He realized he felt better than before. After scouring himself with soap and cold water, he put on clean clothes from his pack. The young boy who had brought the food and the pail of water had showed him how to open the port and let in some fresh air. Howie felt like a fool when he saw how it worked. The round window was secured by a large metal wing nut, a device Howie hadn’t noticed at all. The boy warned him that the porthole must remain shut if the ship encountered heavy seas. Howie’s stomach turned at the thought.
Heavy seas
didn’t sound good at all. He couldn’t stand up now without holding to the walls.

“How’s the sea doing now?” he asked the boy. “Why, smooth as glass, sir.” the boy said. “It’s a right fine night.”

“And it might get heavier than this.

“Yes, sir. Quite a bit heavier than this.”

“What do we do then?”

“We ride it out, sir.”

“Oh.” Howie considered that. “I thought maybe what they’d do is take the ship in to land. I mean—if the seas were some heavier than this.”

The boy gave Howie a peculiar look, “If there’s anything you need, sir, just ask for Jimmy.”

The boy left. Howie wanted to sit, but the rim around the bed prevented that. He finally chose the floor, pressing his back against the wall and bracing his feet on the deck. He wondered how it was outside on the upper deck. A good breeze was going and the moon was half full. Of course the water was there, too. And things would be moving around, pitching back and forth. He had already learned that the higher you went on a ship, the sicker you got.

Howie cursed his own weakness. He listened to the sounds of the ship, heard the timbers creak and groan, felt the sea drum against the hull. A sudden picture appeared in his head. The trooper in the alley, the man he’d had to kill. If that hadn’t happened, what would he be doing right now? He’d be doing something else, but he couldn’t think what. Maybe running off with Lorene. Now that was worth dreaming about. He’d take her somewhere north. People said there weren’t any folks in the Dakotas, and there wasn’t any war up there because of that. And the Canadas were real close by, and there wasn’t much of anything there. He might’ve been doing that. You never could say where you’d be one day, or what might happen to you next.