Outcast (20 page)

“Arch! Be civil to our guest.”

“Well, I told him to be here when dinner was ready.”

“Dinner is ready, and he is here. Take your seat, Mr. Standish, if you would please sit here.”

“Miles, Ma'am.”

“Iona.”

“Starving,” Arch said.

“Please take your seat, Mr.… Miles.”

“I'd like to wait until you take yours.”

A smile tickled the edges of Iona's mouth. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a platter of potatoes. They were just as Arch had said they would be, cut in squares and finished to a golden brown. Arch was staring at the platter, running his upper teeth against his lower lip. Iona disappeared into the kitchen again and came out with a platter of beef. Arch and Standish swallowed the moment they saw it. It was the roast of all roasts and done to perfection.

Iona placed the roast on the table and stood beside her chair. Standish pulled it out, and she sat down, shifting forward as he slid the chair under her. He took his seat, and Iona whispered. “Mr.… Miles would you please say grace?”

Miles reached toward Iona and Arch. Arch sat on his hands. Iona hesitated and then took one of Standish's hands. Standish noticed that Iona's hands were more suited for drawing room than a homestead.

“Arch.”

Arch glared at his mother. She returned the glare. He took Standish's proffered hand and his mother's.

Standish offered his first real prayer in years. He had prayed sometimes in the past, but those were prayers of supplication: “Please God don't let Sally nicker until they've passed.” “Lord, make them blind to the tracks where I left the trail.” He sat at the table, now, his mind running through the rituals of his youth, and then he spoke: “Lord, thank you for these great blessings. Please bless Iona and Archibald for sharing the bounty of their table. Please, dear Lord, show us the way that we might serve you. Please forgive us our trespasses and forgive those who trespass against us.”

“Please let us eat,” Arch whispered.

Iona glared at Arch as she echoed Standish's amen. Arch was glowering at Standish.

“What's wrong, Arch?” Standish asked.

“Well, I share the bounty of this table, too, but you didn't give me any credit.”

“Yes I did.”

“No,” Arch said, shaking his head violently. “You said Archibald. God doesn't know me by that name—nobody does. So God blesses Ma, and He says, ‘Who's this Archibald fella? Well, won't anybody know so I'll go without. I need blessings just as much as Ma does.”

“Arch, God knows who you are. God knows everything.”

“Can't be. If he knew everything that was going on, he'd put a stop to it.”

Arch's face cracked a little, and Standish thought the boy might cry.

Standish stepped in. “Arch, let's partake of this feast.”

Arch bristled. “Partake nothing! You ain't taking this nowhere.”

Iona whispered. “Partake means to share. He suggested we share this feast.”

“He ain't sharing. We're the ones sharing.”

“We invited him to dinner.”

Arch glared at his plate.

“Didn't we invite him to partake of this feast?”

Arch sighed and nodded.

“Then, let's eat.”

Arch reached for the potatoes.

“Mr. Standish…Miles…would you please carve the roast.”

“With great pleasure.” Standish said, swallowing. Arch stabbed the first slice with his knife, setting it amidst his potatoes. Arch stabbed the second slice, too, dragging it to his plate.

“Arch!”

Arch glared at his mother. She glared back. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Keeping him from partaking all my roast.”

“All
your
roast?”

Arch's eyes dropped to his plate.

The edge dropped from Iona's voice. “Do you suppose you could share some of that roast with us?”

Arch nodded, not looking up from his plate.

The next slice went to Iona, and then Miles put one on his plate. Each took a serving of potatoes and tasted the salad.

“What kind of salad is this?” Standish asked.

“My salad,” Arch said. “That's the kind of salad it is.”

“Arch!”

Arch went back to cutting his meat.

“Arch, tell Mr. Standish what you put in your salad.”

Arch glared.

“Arch,” the word was lower, more menacing.

“Dandelions, mint, watercress.”

“It's really good, Arch.”

Arch looked at Standish. “Why would you figure any different?”

“Arch, don't speak to Mr. Standish like that.”

“Why not, his folks was so dumb they had to be led around, and his Ma got into a bunch of locoweed.”

Iona's eyes went to Standish.

“Want some willow bark?” Standish asked.

“Willow bark?”

“For your headache.”

Iona stared at Standish for a moment and then grinned. “I suspect this headache will last another decade or so. I don't know if there's enough willow bark around to handle that.”

Standish grinned, too, but Arch frowned. “What you two grinning about?”

“The salad, Arch.” Standish said. “It's so good we have to grin.”

Arch nodded. Finally they were making some sense.

The roast was wonderful, tender and perfectly seasoned. Standish was three bites into it before he turned to Iona. “This is the best beef roast I've ever had.”

“Best anywhere,” Arch added.

Iona smiled.

“And these potatoes.…”

“Best ever,” Arch said. His eyes narrowed. “She fried 'em in butter.” He gave Standish a three count to dispute the claim, and then went back to eating.

Iona fixed her eyes on her plate. “So how was it, Mr. Standish, that your mother took to eating locoweed?”

Standish stared at his plate. “Miles,” he said. “Children of locoed mothers prefer to be called by their first names.”

Iona leaned farther over her plate. “I certainly wouldn't care to affront the child of a locoed mother.”

“No ma'am. We go plumb loco.”

Iona burst into laughter, and Standish did, too. Arch glared at both of them. “Can't see why you're getting so giggly when there's food to be ate.”

“Eaten,” Iona said.

Arch glanced up. “That's what I said.”

Standish looked across the table at Iona. “Maine?”

Iona cocked her head. “Massachusetts. I didn't know it was noticeable after all these years.”

Standish nodded. “It is to those of us from Maine.”

“What part?”

“Bangor.”

“Beautiful country. We spent our summers up there some years.”

“Oh, you're from that part of Massachusetts.”

Iona smiled. “The key word
is from
. What brought you to Montana?”

“I came to make my fortune in gold.”

“So when does construction begin on the castle?”

“Arch and I built the castle this afternoon.”

Iona smiled. “I understand it is the best root cellar ever.”

“Without question.”

“Ain't much of a castle, though,” Arch said.

Standish nodded. “We've yet to add the turrets.”

Arch's face wrinkled. “Hard to talk to him, Ma. He just don't make no sense.”

The dinner lapsed into silence, each enjoying the excellent fare. Standish laid his fork and knife across his plate and leaned back in his chair. “That was the best dinner I've ever had.”

“Better than a Maine lobster?”

“Like I said, that was the best beef roast I've ever had.”

Iona smiled. “I miss the bounty of the sea, too.”

“Tomorrow we will have fresh fish.”

“Yes, if Arch does his duty.”

“I can attest to his superlative skills as a nimrod.”

Arch's eyes squinted shut. “You got no reason to talk about me like that.”

Standish bowed his head. “My apologies.”

Arch looked at his mother. “We gonna sit here all night?”

Standish cocked his head. “You've had all the food you want?”

Arch's face twisted into disdain. “I figure his Ma must have been a drinker, too. Don't think locoweed could do that all by itself.” He stared at Standish, willing him to understand. “I ain't never got tired of eatin'.”

“How about you, Mr. Standish, Miles. Have you had adequate beef, potatoes and salad?”

Standish shook his head. “No, I have had exquisite beef, potatoes and salad.”

Arch jumped to his feet. “You gonna let him talk to you like that, Ma?”

“'Tis music to my ears.”

Arch looked puzzled. “Figure I should go eat some locoweed so I fit in here.”

“While you're eating locoweed, Mr. Standish and I.…”

Conjecture spread across Arch's face and then rapture. “The surprise.”

Iona smiled. “The surprise.”

“Seems,” Standish said. “That I'm the only one to be surprised.”

Arch shook his head. “I s'pect it surprises you when you find your way to the outhouse.”

“Arch!”

“Nothing bothers him, Ma. His Ma was locoed.”

“You got any spare willow bark?” Standish asked.

“We've got something better than that,” Iona said. “Something much better than that.” She and Arch carried the dishes into the kitchen, and Standish was left alone at the table. He didn't know which he wanted more, a cigarette or a toothpick. He decided a toothpick would be best. He would carve one from a splinter on his way home. Maybe he would lie in bed with his toothpick. Nothing like a good dinner to make a person sleepy.

Arch stepped out of the kitchen, followed by Iona. Ice-cream maker. Arch was carrying an ice-cream maker, his fingers carving paths through the frost on the canister. Behind him stepped Iona with a freshly baked huckleberry pie.

Iona set the pie on the table, and Standish savored the aroma rising from the pie. Arch struggled with the top of the ice cream canister. It popped open, and a cool spring breeze wafted into the room, merging with the scent of hot huckleberry pie.

Standish raised his arms and face to the ceiling and said, “Lord, I have died and gone to heaven, and it fulfills all promises.”

Iona laughed, and Arch grouched, “Can't pay too much attention to him, Ma, what with him being locoed and all.”

Standish paused on the porch, hesitant to leave. After dinner, the three had played cards, all conniving to have Arch win. Standish turned to Iona. “Ma'am, Iona, this is the best night I ever had.”

“Perhaps we can do this again.”

Standish shook his head. “Don't see how. Perfection is rarely experienced. Maybe we should just be content that we have once seen it.”

Iona smiled.

Standish cocked his head. “Are you coming fishing?”

“No, but I will partake of the picnic.”

Standish frowned. “Partake? Maybe you can share a little of it with the rest of us.”

Iona laughed. “I'll bring the chicken.”

“My turn. I'll make ham sandwiches.”

“You don't like my chicken?”

“Iona only a man with a locoed mother would not like your chicken.”

“We'll be over early, bearing fried chicken.”

“Can't see any other way.”

CHAPTER 11

Miles Standish was sitting at the Belshaw table. Iona had just placed a slab of huckleberry pie before him. He was smiling in anticipation, but Iona was not smiling. She had a look of utter horror on her face. Arch appeared, carrying the canister of ice cream from the kitchen. No, it wasn't Arch. It was.… No, it couldn't be. Not him! But it was. Bodmer opened the canister and poured the contents on the huckleberry pie. It wasn't ice cream. It was.… blood. It was Standish's own blood. He tried to scream, but a man without blood cannot scream.

Standish woke in a sweat, sheets drenched. He stared at a ceiling defined in dark and darker still. What the hell was he thinking? Standish nodded, understanding spreading across his face grim as a funeral dirge. He should run. That's what he should do, but.…

Standish ran his fingers through his hair. No sense trying to sleep. He climbed out of bed, the cold embracing his wet skin. He shivered as he stepped to the stove, opening the lid as much by feel as sight. Coals glowed red inside. Wouldn't be much trouble starting a fire. He arranged kindling over the coals and blew gently. Smoke curled up from the kindling and then flames.

Lantern. He might as well light the lantern and get dressed. Wouldn't be long before Arch appeared. Standish shook his head. Sleep was a stranger to that boy. Standish stepped toward the nightstand. He found one of the bedposts with his toe and danced to a chorus of ‘damns.'

Standish's hands were trembling with cold as he tried to strike a match and hold it to the lantern's wick. He had to get dressed, but he didn't want to go into the day with the sweat of that dream staining his body. He gasped as icy water from the basin plowed furrows of goose bumps down his back. He toweled himself dry and high-stepped to the dresser where he kept his clothes. They were cold, too, but not as cold as the water. His body and the stove were pumping heat, warming the cabin. Wouldn't be long before he would want to go back to bed. Standish glanced at his watch—3:30. No more sleep this morning. Might as well slice some bacon and let the horses out.

Standish pulled the cooler from the floor and sliced a generous portion of bacon from a slab there. He still had a few eggs left, so he put those on the table, too, along with a loaf of bread that Iona had given him. Standish corrected himself. Arch had traded him for the loaf of bread. Nothing came free from the Belshaw camp. But this.…

Standish was on his hands and knees. The hopper was a yellow belly, the best kind for trout. It perched on a blade of grass, and Standish reached toward the insect, his hand moving imperceptibly.