Devils Unto Dust(64)

Pa finally breaks the quiet by hacking; he coughs loudly and spits something on the floor, then wipes his mouth with his sleeve. I wrinkle my nose.

“Well, you found me,” he says, breathing heavily.

“You look awful,” I tell him.

“Yeah. You ain’t wrong about that.” He gives a hollow laugh that dies as Micah stares at him stone-faced. Pa rubs the back of his neck and the silence resumes, a heavy and suffocating noose around our throats.

“Here.” Ben returns and places a plate of stew and a cup on the ground in front of Pa.

“Who’s this?” Pa asks, tilting his head up to see Ben’s face.

“Benjamin Garrett. He’s a—he’s a friend.”

“Then hello, friend,” Pa says, putting out a hand.

“Sir.” Ben makes no move to shake it, crossing his arms over his chest and standing next to Micah. Pa lets his hand drop and picks up a spoon.

“Well, I thank you for the vittles.” Pa shovels the food into his mouth quickly, like he’s afraid someone will take it out from under him. He starts to sit up straighter as the food hits his stomach; I doubt he’s had anything but whiskey today. “I seen you before, ain’t I?” he says to Ben, mid-chew.

“I reckon you seen me at the Homestead,” Ben nods.

“You a hunter, ain’t you?” Pa frowns at me. “Since when you keep company with hunters?”

“Since I need to,” I answer. “You know why we’re here, Pa.”

He blinks at me, and it hits me how much he’s aged from my memories of him. The lines around his mouth are deep, pulling his face into a permanent frown, and his skin sags down from his cheeks to hang over his chin.

“I think I’m done,” Pa says, pushing the plate away. “Nice of y’all to stop by.”

“Pa, don’t,” I start, but he’s already taking a long swig of whiskey. I reach down and grab the bottle and turn it upside down, letting the alcohol splash into the dirt.

“Hey,” Pa yells at me, struggling to get up.

“Where’s the money?” I ask him, done with being polite.

He slumps back against the stall and avoids my eyes.

“They came into our house.” I struggle to keep my voice even. “McAllister and his man, they came in and they threatened us.”

“Give us the money and we’ll leave you be,” Micah says flatly.

Pa raises his head and blinks watery eyes. “It’s gone,” he says. He sniffs hard and clears his throat. He digs a hand into his pocket and pulls out a few rumpled bills. “Tha’s all I got left,” he whispers, holding it out to me.

I take the money, look at the bills, and close my eyes briefly. It’s less than twenty dollars. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“Washburne took it and ran. Didn’t even feel him lift it off me.”

Micah scoffs angrily. “That’s a surprise.”

“I’m still your pa,” he snaps at us. “And I woulda sent y’all some of that money. It were for all of us.”

“Do you know where he went?” I ask, ignoring the lie.

“No. Could be anywhere by now.”

“Then what good are you?” Micah says. “You couldn’t even hang on to money you stole.”

“Micah, enough,” I say. I breathe out slowly, telling myself I’m prepared for what happens next. I knew it would come down to this; I knew that money was as good as gone when Pa took it. “Pa, get up. We’re leaving.”

Pa shakes his head. “I ain’t going anywhere. I’m staying right here.”

“Like hell you are,” Micah says, erupting. “Those men were looking for you.”

“I never meant for that to happen,” Pa starts.

“What did you think was gonna happen?” Micah yells. “You thought they would just let it go? You knew damn well they’d come after you, and if they couldn’t find you they’d come after us.”

Pa looks down, and from the shame on his face I can tell Micah spoke right. I thought I was long past getting hurt by Pa, but here it is again, fresh pain on an old wound.

“I’m sorry,” Pa says, lamely, as if that makes a difference.

“It’s too late for that now,” I tell him. “If the money’s gone, then McAllister wants you. If you plead, maybe he’ll let you work off your debt. So get up and get sober, ’cause it’s a long walk back to Glory.”

“They’ll hang me.” Pa looks at me with red-streaked eyes. “They’ll hang me for sure.”

“They might.” My throat feels tight, and it’s hard to speak. But Pa made his bed, and now he has to lie in it. “They might not.”

“Willie, I’m your pa.”

“You don’t care what happens to us,” Micah says. “Why should we care what happens to you?”

Pa ignores Micah, struggling to his knees. He inches forward and puts his hands on my arms. “Willie, come on now. You’re my good girl.”

“Don’t you dare,” Micah says, pushing Pa away from me. “Don’t you dare try and act like you give a damn.”

“I ain’t going to McAllister,” Pa says, pointing his finger at Micah. “You can shoot me yourself, I ain’t gonna be hanged.”