Brimstone

33

MARY BETH AND LAUREL SLEPT pressed together, with Laurel holding on to Virgil’s sleeve through the night as he slept next to them. Pony and I took turns staying awake. At sunup we had coffee and some cold biscuits, and started north. The women rode on two of the saddle horses whose owners we’d killed. We turned the rest of the horses loose.

“I want my horses,” Mary Beth said when we got her mounted.

“You’ll ride a lot more comfortable in a saddle.”

“Can’t we put the saddles on my horses?”

“Saddles ain’t big enough,” Virgil said. “Horses’ll trail along, just like the mule.”

And they did. Mary Beth kept looking back for them every few minutes. Laurel simply sat on her horse, with the reins wrapped around the saddle horn. She held on to the horn, and made no attempt to direct the horse. If he paused to graze, turned off the trail, Pony or I would ride up and nudge him back. She showed no sign that she was aware of us. She kept her eyes focused on Virgil, who was riding ahead of her with her mother.

At noon we stopped near a stream and let the horses graze on a long tether. There was some shade from a couple of cottonwoods.

“I want to wash myself,” Mary Beth said.

“Sure,” Virgil said.

“I want to wash myself all over,” she said. “Laurel, too.”

“We won’t look,” Virgil said.

“Will you come down and stand close while we go in the water?” Mary Beth said.

“Sure,” Virgil said.

He went with them, and when they got to the stream he turned his back. I made fire out of some dead cottonwood branches. Didn’t make a good fire. But it would be enough to cook. Pony was slicing salt pork into a fry pan. After I got the fire built I put some biscuits in a Dutch oven and put it next to the fire.

After a time, the women came up from the water, wearing a couple of blankets. Their clothes were draped in the warm wind over the lower branches of one of the cottonwoods. They sat close to Virgil while we ate lunch. By the time we were ready to move on, their clothes were dry enough to wear, and we looked away again while they dressed.

We rode northeast all the rest of the day. Laurel stayed close to her mother, and her mother stayed close to Virgil. As far as they were concerned, it was as if me and Pony were along to carry Virgil’s ammunition.

When it was dark, we made camp and sat around the fire with the whiskey jug.

“When we get to Brimstone,” Virgil said, “you gonna be able to handle the farm by yourselves?”

“Oh my God,” Mary Beth said. “My cow. She has to be milked. What happened to my cow?”

“She’s okay,” Virgil said. “Got somebody looking after her.”

Mary Beth nodded and looked at Laurel. Laurel looked blank. She had a little whiskey in a tin cup and sipped it now and then. Otherwise, she was still. Mary Beth drank some of her whiskey.

“You asked me something,” she said to Virgil.

“Can you work the farm by yourself?”

Mary Beth took another swallow of whiskey and let it rest in her mouth for a time before she swallowed.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I can cook and sew and milk the cow and grow vegetables. I don’t know about plowing and digging and hauling. My husband always did that.”

“Got any money to hire a hand?” I said.

She seemed startled that I was there. She looked at me long enough to say “No.” And then looked back at Virgil.

“Maybe Brother Percival would donate somebody,” I said to Virgil.

“But we can’t be alone,” Mary Beth said.

“Maybe we can arrange a hand,” I said.

“No,” Virgil said. “She means she can’t be alone.”

“Anywhere,” I said.

Mary Beth nodded. Laurel was still.

“Anywhere,” Virgil said.

“That makes it a little harder,” I said.

I handed the whiskey jug to Pony; he took a pull and passed it on to Mary Beth. She fastidiously wiped the mouth of the jug with the bottom of her skirt, and poured some whiskey into her cup.

“Can’t be alone,” she said.