Devils Unto Dust(67)

I start the day off in a bad state, exhausted and shivering. I’m anxious to leave; I’m restless, my skin hot and jittery and my eyes like burning coals in my head. I want to get home, and I rush through our breakfast of hotcakes with fried potatoes and eggs. I take a few bites because I have to eat something, and then I sip on my coffee and watch the others eat, silently urging them to hurry.

Micah sits next to me, shoveling eggs into his mouth at a rapid speed. We don’t speak, both of us awkward and stilted. His eyes are red rimmed and his face looks puffy, which should teach him not to drink so much. Maybe I should’ve come down to make up with him last night, but I don’t know what to say to make it better.

“You missed cards last night,” Micah says quietly. “Levi won three hands out of four.” He takes a bite of potato and chews with his mouth open wide.

“Then I hope you weren’t playing for money,” I say, swatting him to close his mouth. He doesn’t apologize, and neither do I, but we don’t need to. I drain the last of my coffee, blanching a little at the sweetness. I have to ration our sugar at home, and I’ve grown used to the taste of bitter coffee.

“Still not hungry?” Micah asks, watching me closely.

“Anxious, I reckon,” I say, and force myself to take a bite of eggs. “Pa’s not gonna make this easy.”

“No, he’s not, but when has he ever,” Micah agrees. “You think McAllister will really kill him?”

I look down at my full plate. “I don’t know. I reckon he’ll try. But Pa’s always been good at getting out of tight spaces.”

“A family trait, I think.” He smiles, just a little, and my shoulders ease.

“Do you think the twins are all right?” I ask him quietly.

“The twins? Sure, they’re fine. Even McAllister wouldn’t go so low as to hurt them. Why?”

“I don’t know. I just have a feeling, like we need to get home. Like something bad is gonna happen.”

I expect him to laugh at me, but he doesn’t. “It’ll be all right, Will,” he says, meeting my eyes. I think the line between his brows is permanently etched in now. “We’ll do whatever it takes, like we always have.”

Breakfast ends, and I try not to push everyone out the door. Curtis loads up his new rucksack with canteens of water, rope, crackers, everything he managed to replace. Mrs. Keen is beside herself that we’re leaving; I get the feeling that she likes a full house. I hope the woman has children who will give her grandchildren soon, she has so much love that it’s spilling out her ears. She gives us each a small bundle of food for the road, and only Ben manages to escape without a hug, and only because he runs outside when he sees her coming.

“Thank you for loaning me the shirt, Mrs. Keen,” I tell her, holding it out, but she presses it back to me.

“Keep it, dear,” she says. “I’ve no use for it any longer, and lord knows Mr. Keen don’t need it.”

I won’t turn down a free shirt, and it obviously makes her happy to give it to me. “Thank you,” I say, and I allow her to hug me again.

“Come back and see me, Daisy. A soul gets lonely, on her own.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say, gritting my teeth at my embarrassment of a name. I whip my head around to glower at my brother, but he holds his hands up in surrender. A snicker from Ben tells me who the real culprit is, and I do my best to ignore him as Mrs. Keen waves us off.

Curtis leads the way to the stable, and my cheeks grow warmer the closer we get. It’s bad enough Ben had to see Pa like this, now Curtis and Sam get to see what kind of useless father I have. We push open the door where we left him, and it’s as bad as I think it’s going to be. Pa has vomit on his chin and shirt and he looks even worse in harsh light. I swallow hard, and almost take a step back.

“Come on, Will,” Micah says, coming to stand next to me. “We gotta do this.”

I take a deep breath, then open a canteen and douse water over Pa’s head. Sputtering, he opens his eyes wide. He sees the ropes around his wrists and tugs, confused.

“What the—”

“Morning,” I say loudly, and Pa glances around wildly, noticing the group of people staring at him.

“Willie? What’s going on? Get these off of me.”

“No,” I say, hoping I sound steadier than I feel. “Here’s the deal, Pa: you’re going back to Glory.”

“The hell I am—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Don’t talk. Just listen. Really listen, because I’m only gonna say this once, and it needs to get through that whiskey-addled brain of yours: you’re coming.”

“We’re done asking, Pa,” Micah tells him. “See, there’s five of us, and one of you. You can walk with us, or you can be dragged by us. Up to you.”

Pa looks at me, searching my face for sympathy that he won’t find. He looks behind me, to where Ben and Curtis stand shoulder to shoulder and Sam has his arms crossed over his chest in an unsuccessful attempt at intimidation. He’s lost, and he knows it.

“You’re right,” Pa says, his voice raspy. “You’re right, this is all my fault. I’m sorry. I’ll come with you, I’ll turn myself in.”

I don’t believe that for a minute; Micah and I exchange a cynical look. We both know Pa’s routine by heart, he’ll act contrite and wait for us to let our guard down. Fine, I’ll play along if it gets us moving.