A Northern Light(67)

Cook watched him as he worked, her eyes all squinty, her lips pursed up tighter than a cat's hind end. She couldn't stand to be wrong. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he glanced up at her from the sink.

"It doesn't change anything. You know that," she said.

"It changes everything," he replied. "That's three men who might think twice before they go around calling people names and beating them up."

"Three out of a million."

"Then I've only got 999,997 left to go, haven't I?"

That was Weaver. Determined to change the world. Three dirty, drunken, no-good trappers at a time. I smiled at him, my heart swelling up like bread dough, knowing full well that the remaining 999,997 didn't have a prayer.





aby


When Tommy Hubbard appeared at the Glenmore's kitchen door at seven o'clock in the morning, I felt in my bones that something was badly wrong. I was busy shaping butter pats for the breakfast tables when I heard him.

"Hello! Is Mattie here? Is she here?" he yelled.

"Who is that? Stop shouting!" Cook shouted.

"Its me, Tommy Hubbard. I need to see Mattie."

"Don't you set foot in my kitchen, Tom!"

"I'm not itching, I swear, I—"

"You stay out there! I'll find her for you."

"I'm right here," I said, opening the screen door. Tears had washed tracks through the dirt on Tom's face. He was panting like a horse played our.

"I ran fast as I could, Mattie ... fast as I could...," he sobbed.

"From where? From home?" It was a mile through the woods from Tommy's house to the Big Moose Road, and five more up to the Glenmore.

"You've got to come home," he said, tugging on my hand. "You've got to come now—"

"I'm working, Tommy, I can't! Calm down and tell me what's wrong."

"Its your pa and your sisters, Matt. They're powerful sick..."

I dropped the knife I was holding.

"I went over early to see if Lou wanted to go fishing, and I knocked and knocked but no one came. The cows were bellowing, so I went in the barn. Daisy's real bad. She ain't been milked. Ain't none of them have. I didn't know what to do, Matt. I went inside the house ... They're all real bad. I found Lou in the grass by the outhouse, I got her inside, but—"

I didn't hear anything else for I was already running. Down the back steps to the Glenmore's drive and out to the Big Moose Road. Tommy was right behind me. I didn't get more than a hundred yards down the road when I saw a buckboard coming toward me.

I ran to it, shouting and waving my arms. The driver stopped. It was John Denio coming to work from his home in Big Moose Station.

"Please, Mr. Denio, my pa's sick. My whole family ... I've got to get home—"

"Get in," he said, reaching down for my hand and lifting me clear across him. Tommy scrambled into the back. Mr. Denio turned his horses around in the road, then cracked the reins. "Woman at the Lakeview took sick the other day," he said. "Fever and chills. Your pa was delivering his milk there, and the manager asked him if he'd take her down to Dr. Wallace's. She said she'd give him two dollars for the ride. Looks like she give him more besides."

Mr. Denio drove fast, but a coach and four couldn't have gotten me home fast enough. I was more scared than I have ever been in my life. Tommy said the cows were bellowing, that no one had milked them. Pa would never let them go unmilked. Never. My mouth went dry. My blood, my bones, everything inside me turned to sand. Not my pa, I prayed. Please, please, not my pa.

As we turned into my drive, I heard the sound of a second buckboard turn in behind us. It was Royal. "I was delivering to the Waldheim," he shouted. "Saw Mrs. Hennessey on my way back. She told me what happened. Go on inside. I'll see to the cows."

I was out of Mr. Denio's buckboard before it stopped. I could hear Royal yelling at Tommy to tie the horses. I could hear the cows bellowing in pain and the calves answering in fear. They were in the barn, in their stalls, which meant Pa had done a milking ... but when? Yesterday? Two days ago? It only takes a day, sometimes less, before the milk collects and swells the udder and infection sets in.

Were going to lose them, I thought wildly. Every damn one.

"Pa!" I shouted, running into the shed. "Abby!" There was no answer. I burst through the kitchen door and ran straight into the thick, low stench of sickness. Barney lifted his head when he heard me and thumped his tail weakly. There were dirty pots in the sink, plates of half-eaten food on the table. Flies crawled over them, feasting on the crusted remains.

"Pa!" I yelled. I ran through the kitchen toward the stairs and found a figure crumpled at the bottom of them. "Lou! Oh, Jesus God ... Lou!" I screamed.

She picked her head up and blinked at me. Her eyes were glassy and her lips were cracked. Her coverall bib was crusted with vomit. "Mattie...," she rasped, "...thirsty, Mattie..."

"It's all right, Lou, I'm here; hold on." I lifted her up, draped her arm around my neck, and dragged her up the stairs to our bedroom, the air growing fouler with every step. I opened the door to our room and gagged on the stink. The room was dark, the shades were drawn.