Devils Unto Dust(59)

“I could that,” he says.

“Could you tell him—just tell him his family needs him to come home.”

Mr. Alameda nods solemnly at me. I give him a thin smile, the best I can offer under the circumstances, and leave the smell of dead animals behind.





47.


“There you are,” Micah calls as I step outside. He looks relieved; he and Ben hurry over from across the road.

“I thought I said not to wander off,” Ben says.

“I wasn’t wandering,” I tell him. “I had a very real purpose.”

Micah rolls his eyes at me.

“I did,” I insist. I point at the sign behind me. “Look, Alameda. That’s the man Pa sold to.”

“Well, I hope you found out more than we did,” Micah says.

“No luck,” I say. “He says Pa ain’t been there in months. I left a message, but . . .” I trail off, feeling hopeless.

Micah swears softly. “I swear a rat would leave a bigger trail.”

“Let’s take a break,” Ben says. “We need to get back for dinner anyway. We’ll try again later, folk might be more inclined to talk once the sun goes down.”

I doubt it, but I keep my grumbles to myself. There’s a meal in my immediate future, and that’s enough to look forward to.

We get back to the boardinghouse and Mrs. Keen makes a fuss over us, bringing out a tray of switchel to cool us off. We sip on the ginger-water in the parlor, waiting for Curtis and Sam to come back.

“I have your rooms ready if you’d like to clean up before dinner,” she says, looking pointedly at Ben.

“I ain’t shaving, Mrs. Keen,” he says, crossing his arms.

“Well, I’m sure I didn’t tell you to,” she says, nose in the air.

Micah snorts into his glass, and I shoot him a look before Mrs. Keen can take offense.

“I’d greatly love a wash,” I tell her. “And if there’s somewhere I can clean my shirt—”

“Sakes alive, did one of these boys do that? No regard, I tell you,” Mrs. Keen tsks. “You give that to me, dear, and I’ll have it scrubbed and wringed in no time.”

“Um.” I lower my voice. “It’s the only one I have.”

“I have shirts aplenty, dear, there’s no shame to be had. I’ll send a girl to your room with water and something clean. Now stand up, let’s see you.”

I stand up awkwardly, and Mrs. Keen plucks at my shoulders and narrows her eyes. “Well, you’re a skinny thing, and long, but I’m sure I can find something to fit. Won’t be but a moment,” she says, and bustles out of the room.

I sit back down and finish my drink, and now that it’s been offered I’m longing for a bath. I look at my fingernails and grimace; even the twins’ hands aren’t this bad.

“What’s taking Curtis and Sam so long?” Micah asks.

“They’ll be here,” Ben says. “I’ve never known Curtis to miss a meal.”

“You really think we’ll find out more tonight?”

“I reckon so. The harder drinkers and gamblers don’t come out till late. No offense, but your pa seems the sort who keeps that kind of company.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Micah says.

The front steps creak and I motion to the boys. “Here they are,” I say, as the front door bangs open and in come Sam and Curtis.

“You’re late,” Ben tells his brother.

“Hogwash,” Curtis says, collapsing into a chair.

“Any news?” I ask, not expecting much.

“Yao didn’t notice him at the gate. We got one ‘maybe I seen him’ and the rest don’t bear repeating,” Curtis answers.

“What about you?” Sam asks.

“Same,” Micah says.

“Not to worry,” Curtis says, grabbing some switchel and propping his feet on the table. “We’ll try again tonight, and if that don’t work, well, Ben and I can be very persuasive.” He gives me a wide grin that’s somehow both friendly and wicked.

“You need any help convincing, you let me know,” I tell him, picking at my fingernails. I don’t have the time for these folks to be dancing around our questions like this. I don’t know what I expected; it’s not like I thought we’d walk through the gates and Pa would be standing right there. I guess I didn’t think this far ahead, or maybe I never really thought we’d get this far. But I’m here now, and mine is not a patient nature.

Mrs. Keen swoops back into the room and clucks at Curtis to get his feet down.

“Here we are,” she says to me, holding out a soft creamy shirt. “It’ll be a bit big on you, it was my late husband’s, but it’ll suit your purpose.”

I hardly want to touch it with my dirty hands, but I take it from her. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“It’s nothing, dear,” she says, patting my arm. “Now up the stairs with you, second door on the right. There’s water waiting, just leave your dirty things outside the door.”

I try to thank her again, but she waves it away.

“Go on and get,” she says, shooing me until I start moving. The stairs are down a hall just off the parlor, and I scurry up with my clean shirt in tow.