We Begin at the End(58)

There was a gradualism to Montana days, fall sweeping them along with leaves a thousand kinds of brown.

One Saturday Hal drove them to Glacier. They hiked to Running Eagle Falls, the aspens catching the light and stopping her breath. They walked on a carpet of leaves, some so big they came to Robin’s shoulder when he drew them up. He tried to collect them, got so many he could barely see over. Hal brought them to a clearing and they watched the stark yellow cottonwoods wave like fool’s gold.

“Beautiful,” Hal said.

“Beautiful,” Robin echoed.

Duchess just stared. Some days, mean and tough was hard to locate.

They stopped at rocks, water cascading loud. They stood beside a family of four, so symmetrical Duchess looked away from the mother and father like they’d committed a modern-day sin. She reasoned they’d divorce soon enough, harden their little angels till all that was left was slammed doors and angry tears. She did smile at that.

Duchess still wore her dress each Sunday to Canyon View Baptist. Each time Hal still frowned and the other kids still stared, but the old people, the couples that stopped and bowed, widowed ladies that carried themselves with earned decency, they all took to her. None more so than Dolly, who sought her out most weekends and sat beside her.

Fall shadows, the candles and lanterns needed. Robin sat across with three other kids, brothers all older but they let him trail them. Their mother hushed them now and then. Robin watched them in quiet awe, bigger boys, there was nothing that compared.

“He will come.”

“Who?” Hal said.

“Darke. You should know that he will come.”

“He won’t.”

“I’m Josey Wales and he’s a Union soldier. The bounty is my blood. He will come.”

“You still haven’t told me why you think he’s coming.”

“He thinks I wronged him.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

The old priest called communion and she watched the line form, so hungry for purgation they’d share cheap wine and spit.

“You want to go up?” Hal said, same every week.

“Do I want to contract herpes, Hal?”

He looked away and Duchess took that as a small victory. Robin lined up with the bigger boys. He wore an old Mississippi necktie they found in the attic and a panama hat at least seven sizes too big.

As they passed Robin turned to them. “John, Ralph and Danny are going up to take communion. I want to stay with them but I don’t want to contract herpes.”

Hal frowned at Duchess.

They stayed for cake. Duchess ate a slice of chocolate and a slice of lemon, made eyes at a slice of pear and date but an old lady took it before she committed. She had gained a little weight, enough to edge off the severity.

When they arrived back at the farmhouse Duchess saw the bicycle, old and shitty, laying in the dirt by the porch.

“It’s Thomas Noble,” Robin said, his face at the glass.

Thomas Noble stood at the bottom step, bad hand tucked into the pocket of green corduroys. He wore a smart green shirt and green jacket.

“Jesus. He looks like a fucking booger.”

They climbed from the car.

Duchess stood, hand on hip and scowling. “What are you doing here, Thomas Noble?”

He swallowed, looked at her dress then swallowed again.

“I hope you’re not checking me out. Hal will shoot you. Right, Hal?”

“Yes,” Hal said. Then he ushered Robin into the house, made a promise to let him drive the riding mower after he changed out of his church clothes.

“I … the math paper. I needed someone to—”

“Don’t even try that bullshit.”

“I just thought maybe we could hang out. Being as I live just over there.” He pointed with his good hand.

“I know Radley land, there’s no neighbor close. How long did you ride?”

Thomas Noble scratched his head. “Four miles. Maybe. Mom said I could do with the exercise.”

“You’re skinny to the point of malnourishment. She’d do better advising a change of diet.”

He smiled a simple smile.

“I’m not fixing you any lunch or even a drink. This isn’t the 1950s.”

“I know.”

“Well, I’m going to pull the weeds by the water. Work doesn’t stop just because you don’t have the good sense to call ahead.”

She went into the house, changed into her old jeans and shirt then found him still there, standing dumb and looking down at his sneakers.

“I suppose you can make yourself useful and help me.”

“Yes,” he said quick.

He trailed her down to the lake edge, knelt beside and pulled weeds she pointed at. She took a cigar from her pocket, stolen from Hal’s dresser.

“You can’t smoke that. You’ll catch the cancer.”

She flipped him off, then bit the top off the cigar and spit it into the dirt. “Jesse John Raymond held a smoke in his mouth when he slaughtered the coward Pat Buchanan.” She gripped the cigar in her teeth. “You got a light?”

“Do I look like the kind of boy that has a light?”

“Fair point. I could just chew it, like Billy Ross Clanton.”

“I think that’s a different type of tobacco.”