Devils Unto Dust(89)



“Well,” Curtis says. “I gotta say, this was the worst job we’ve ever been on.”

That surprises a laugh out of me, and he grins.

“I ain’t sorry, though,” he says. “Doc, it’s been a real experience. I’m glad we had you along.”

Curtis holds out his hand, and Sam shakes it. “Anytime you need patching up, you let me know,” he says.

“Thanks for all your help,” Ben adds, taking Sam’s hand next.

“And Willie.” Curtis turns to me, his kind eyes crinkling at the edges. “I don’t know what to say.”

I’m about to hold out my hand when he envelops me in a tight embrace. “It’s been a real education, young’un,” he says in my ear. “I’ll miss you.”

When he lets me go, my cheeks are hot and I’m sure I’m blushing. “Me—me, too,” I say, stammering. “I can’t ever—” I stop and get myself under control. “Thank you,” I say firmly. “For everything you’ve done.”

“You’re welcome. Now, then,” and Curtis claps Sam on the back and steers him away in the worst attempt at subtlety I’ve ever seen. I meet Ben’s amber eyes and glance down, not ready to face what’s there quite yet.

“I guess this is good-bye,” he says.

I don’t know what I would do if Ben tried to hug me, but thankfully he just holds out his hand.

“I reckon so,” I say. His hand is warm and big, and I hold it just a moment too long before letting go.

“You know, we’ll be at the Homestead for a while, till we hire on a new job.” Ben looks at me, then ducks his head away. “Don’t be a stranger.”

I nod. I should say something else, but all the words I can think of sound so stupid in my head. I want to say something significant, something he’ll remember. I want to tell him that I feel something, that I don’t understand it but I think he feels it, too. And that I wish things were different, that I was a less complicated girl with a less complicated life. But I don’t say any of that.

“Good-bye, Ben.”

“Take care, Willie.” And he half turns away, but hesitates. Then, in a rush, he leans forward and kisses my cheek. It happens so quick, I almost miss it, the slightest pressure of lips skimming my skin and the scratch of an unshaved chin. It feels like a blink and it tastes like a promise and when I catch my breath he’s already walking away.

“Come on, Will,” Sam says, tapping my shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

“Yeah.” I bite my lip and take a chance. “Hey, Ben,” I yell at him, and wait for him to turn around.

“What?”

“You should grow the beard out again. I like it.”

And he’s too far away to see clearly, but I can picture his smile.





72.


Sam and I walk side by side along the path toward our houses. I’m anxious and full of my own thoughts; now that we’re home, facing the twins is a daunting task. We pass the storefronts in silence, then the hollow remains of the church. I’ve walked this road so many times I would know every step with my eyes closed. Here’s the ruined wall with the stain that looks like a sideways cat, there’s the pile of glass from busted windows. And here’s Sam’s house, the porch empty and the windows dark.

“You think your pa’s home?” I ask.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Sam says. He hops up the porch and opens the front door with a bang. “Pop, I’m home!” He waits a minute before turning back to me. “Didn’t think so. He’ll have to worry a little longer. Come in for a minute.”

“I better not,” I say, backing away. “The twins have waited long enough.”

“At least let me check your bandage.”

“It ain’t even itching anymore,” I say, but he’s already ushering me inside.

I’ve only been in the Kincaids’ house once or twice, and each time I leave confused. It’s like they don’t know what furniture is used for; there are piles of books on the table and stacks of dirty plates on the chairs. I’m in no position to judge, but at least I know better than to hang laundry inside. Sam clears a chair for me, then opens dusty curtains to let some light in.

“Sam, why does your pa live here?” I ask, pushing aside a stuffed crow.

“What do you mean?” Sam sits next to me and motions for my arm.

“In Glory, in this house. There are better places a doctor could go.”

Sam shrugs his shoulders and starts to unwrap my bandage. “We’ve always lived here. I don’t think Pop notices what’s around him most of the time. And Glory needs a doctor.” He pauses working on my arm to look at me. “I guess I never thought much about leaving. This is our home.”

I trace a line in the wood of the table. I’ve never felt much affection for Glory, not until I thought I wouldn’t make it back.

“Do you still want to leave?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know. I did. Now I can’t think farther ahead than supper, and how I’m going to get by without Micah.”

“Will, you’re practically family, you know Pop and I will help you.”

“Thanks, Sam,” I tell him. I don’t want help, though, not even from Sam. I don’t want to owe anybody, not the Judge and not a friend. I want to be able to take care of me and mine, and I’m starting to think there might be a way for me to do that. “It just ain’t the same.”

Emma Berquist's Books