Omensetter’s Luck

10

Here's Furber, finally. Out without a boot on. Fire up, Furber. Your ears look nipped like the end of your nose. Watch for your collar or you'll have water down your back.

Stitt's voice welled from the hall. Don't bring him in here,I've had enough, I don't want to see him any. And Chamlay said of course not, Boylee, we'll leave him outside, it can't hurt him any. Tott, you look old. Then Chamlay came to the front room unbuttoning his coat. George sat on a ladder chair holding a green polka-dot bandana over his eyes and his head in his hands while Luther and Menger warmed at the fire. They had fed it until it flamed and crackled furiously and now they held out their hands in fists, slowly unfolding their fingers and spreading them slowly into fans, solemnly and slowly revolving, keeping their hands in front of them and rubbing them together carefully when the blaze was at their backs, jigging their feet in a trot, wrinkling up their noses, wiggling their ears and making dreadful faces to loosen the skin. There was a pile of outer clothing in the corner by the woodbox and Curtis threw his fur coat down on top of his hat. Gobbets of snow were melting into slush. The slush fed pools which finally burst and ran in streaks toward the low side of the room, channeled unpredictably by the rough floor. Fixed in her rocker, upright, all her blood in her stomach, dark-eyed and staring, Lucy Omensetter watched. From time to time the baby moved and coughed in its corner and all the men looked toward it with plainly angry faces, George even raising his and withdrawing the bandana. They returned to themselves as soon as they could manage to. Chamlay smoothed his hair. His badge glittered brightly from his left suspender. It threw a brilliant dot above a picture on the wall, and as he brushed his hair with his fingers, the dot danced, and when his body twisted, it fled on the wall across Menger's chest to plunge unharmed into the fire. Menger began sucking noisily through his teeth and putting his hands over his mouth. Ache ache ache, he muttered. Luther pried his boots off on the woodbox. They fell with a heavy possessive thud and Lucy started up with a cry that she stifled with her fingers. What time is it? Two, said Chamlay. They all murmured. Furber walked unsteadily to the middle of the room. Where's the dog, he said. Luther swore in a whisper. I wish we had something to eat. He held a red-stockinged foot to the fire and wiggled its toes. Meng, see them red ones? First grade. Tott entered. Ought to get yourself some. Last like homemade. I wish we had something hot — some coffee maybe. He hopped. New thing, socks like this. Furber followed the boot tracks like a hunter, bobbing his head. George began to groan and sway. Flecks of ice still clung to his collar, flashing like brilliants. Someone come back here, Stitt was saying, I don't like to be alone. Tott sat slowly to the table and Luther spat in the fire. It had been a mistake, he said, because Stitt thought of himself as a hero now, and Stitt was simply a no account bastard. Curtis wondered whether Luther would rather have met all those limbs himself, both going and coming, and Curtis laughed at his joke without pleasure. He rubbed his eyes and felt tenderly of the lobes of his ears. Menger thought they should have taken Omensetter with them. That was the real mistake, he said. Brackett doesn't seem to be around, Tott said hoarsely, and then looked up in surprise. I'm hoarse, he said. No, George said, he ain't around, is he? No I don't believe he is. I just guess he isn't. No. He ain't. And Chamlay wondered whether he wasn't out tending his crops; it was the middle of the morning. Yeah, he's out, George said. He's fertilizing snow. He's sowing… Luther beat his belly, indicating hunger. He stared openly at Lucy. He balanced on one foot, arms outstretched. Lucy held herself on the edge of the rocker. She bowed like a doll from the waist, canting her chin and lifting her arms, about to speak, while her eyes, unblinking, leaped from man to man with hardly a turn of her head. Her voice wandered a moment and then sank out of hearing, her eyes teetered fearfully back and forth until, with a sigh, she slipped and her gaze fell between them to the floor where it washed from side to side, repeatedly, like water in the bottom of a boat. Chamlay brushed by Furber, who tottered queerly, and Menger lifted a stick of wood, measuring the fire.

Dear lady, Furber began, gesturing strangely.

Chamlay sat stiffly at the table, drawing bills from his pocket and laying them down with meticulous care: smoothing them out, pressing them flat.

Please us and join your daughters, madam, Furber went on, rolling his eyes and looking wildly around. They are caged like birds in the backyard room.

He clutched his chest dramatically.

We shall make your cares, our cares. What shape shall you have them in? Shall they be bats?

Oh stop it, Furber, will you, Menger said.

Shut my shit, is that it?

Jesus—

Any animal, Furber shouted, and all the men stared at him, astonished. We shall take it quickly to our bosoms though they're bitten eachly—

Okay, Chamlay said, and he continued laying down the bills.

Antelope, gazelle, giraffe—

Okay!

We shall form, Furber made a sweeping gesture, one brotherly and sexless chest, a plain of duty, madam. And we, from the towers, shall, and steeples of our eyes, inform you, madam, surely, on the instant that, should any incident,

untoward, or — ah, the money!

Furber rushed to Chamlay's side and peered across his shoulder.

How much, how much, he hissed.

Chamlay swept up the pile and held it out to Lucy. The rent money, missus, wouldn't you say?

Furber leaned weakly against the table, quiet except for his hands which passed frantically over his body — rubbing his face, picking lightly at his clothing, stretching his collar, plunging from there into pockets, pulling on buttons.

You comprehend the significance of this, I trust, Chamlay went on in his solemn interrogator's voice. It was found in Henry's pocket. All ones. In fact we had to pry his fingers loose. I take it, missus, that he died a short while after getting it. Would that be reasonable, you think?

Furber reached Chamlay with a trembling finger.

Easy, he whispered, but Chamlay shrugged.

Henry had his hand in quite a stubborn fist, he said. Like this money mattered to him.

Like it was a message to us, Luther said.

Furber was instantly white.

No, he said.

Well, what do you say?

Easy, Curtis, she's not herself. This is no time — she's sick with worry — wouldn't you be? — my god, be kind.

Furber spoke to Chamlay's ear, but Chamlay simply waggled his head.

It's important, missus, Chamlay said. The law has an interest, you know, he went on, a faint smile rising.

.. interest of the law… I'd forgot, Lucy murmured, quite to herself.

The law has an interest. We all have an interest …

… law.

Yes. And why would a person who was about to hang himself hang on so hard to a little money?

Oh yes… and this… you said something of this, Lucy said vaguely.

Well now we have more information. Now we have Henry, and Henry's money.

Henry…

She drew her arms in a tightly protective X across her chest.

George removed his bandana and examined it.

When did Omensetter pay the rent, he said.

In christ's name, gentlemen, another time.

You'll have to tell us, missus, you know, and while we're waiting here we've plenty of time.

Time… yeah. We've plenty of time.

Christ, yes, time, we've sure got that. We've got no damn horses but we've got time.

Menger finally threw the log.

Someone come on back here, Stitt yelled. The lamp is smoking.

What I want to know is why would Henry hang himself so high, Hawkins said. What would be the point of it?

Funny. I shouldn't be hoarse. It's maybe my tonsils, Tott said. Did Orcutt ever tell you about his cut-rate tonsillectomy?

Hawkins pulled tenderly at his nose.

Say, how's the quality of that poky-dot, George? That was a fine lot. There's no more green in the store. I think that's right. There's no more green.

It's just a spotty snot rag, like any other, George said sourly.

Now we have Henry and Henry's money…

Yes. . you have that.

Oh no it's not. The green? George — on my honor, those were first class.

What would he hang himself at all for, Menger said, blowing his nose in the fire with a crisp snap of his fingers. His life was all right. He had no complaints.

Ah there you are gravely mistaken, Menger, Furber said stepping toward him. The great theological question, gentlemen, he said, turning gently around, is not the existence of evil — no, gentlemen, heaven forbid — the great question concerns, rather, the real presence of good; and the great moral question, gentlemen, he said, still swinging slowly, is not the evidence of freedom, gentlemen — lord love us, we've a lot — but the very possibility of law itself.

What's he saying now?

Shut up, Jethro.

Shut. Shut. Shall I? Shall I shut?

Yes, godammit, shut.

I'm ill … ill… quite ill.

Jesus.

Why would he go that far in the woods, like he never wanted to be found?

George tenderly covered his eye. Out of the cold, it was swelling badly.

Someone come back here for god's sake.

A simple fracture, it looked like to me, Menger muttered.

Chamlay rose and flourished the bills.

Here is the money, missus, he said.

He ran a thumb under his left suspender. The dot flew.

It was in Henry's pocket — this money, here, was. He had his fist real heavy on it when he died. Like Luther says, there was a message in it, a message Henry wanted to send to his friends — at the moment of his death.

Chamlay paused.

Right in the very middle of his dying, you might say. Now Henry — you follow me, missus? you don't seem to be following — Henry was hanging in a tree when we found him, considerable high, far in the woods. He had your rent money in his pocket. You don't deny that's what it is — this money? And his fist was closed tight over it — a sign, I'd say, just like Luther says. Clenched… Tight… Quite a piece in the woods he was, and high, where no one would think to look, very high, in a tree hard to climb.

Curtis, for the love of god—

You comprehend the significance of this?

Where's Orcutt, Stitt shouted. Where is he? What's keeping him?

Orcutt, Lucy said, rising stiffly, releasing the rocker to spill its shadow up the wall.

She was still holding herself tightly by the shoulders and packing her breasts beneath her arms.

The gentle doctor, said Jethro Furber. He's coming?

He's been sent for, yes, but he had to be hunted up… it's cold and now it's snowing.

Brackett went?

I'm sure he had that thought, he—

Knox went. When Boylee fell. He took our horses too, I hope, what he could gather up, Chamlay said. That was hours ago now. Anyway Knox went and not your husband to my knowledge

You don't know, Curtis.

Furber spread his hands. They fluttered uncontrollably.

Curtis doesn't know. I talked to him and it was in his mind. I talked to him myself and I could tell. It was surely his intention—

That murdering bastard, Hawkins said.

You detestable jackal, filthy swine!

Furber wobbled across the room and fell on Hawkins who held him away in surprise and then with a laugh pushed him down into the pile of clothing which shifted and gave way under him, rolling him off.

By, you've changed the roll on your piano, he said.

Chamlay was angry. George took down his bandana and said: I can't open my eye — see? — it's swollen shut. Menger faced the fire, muttering rapidly. Finally Furber turned up and sat quietly, saliva running from his mouth.

You speak too previous, Luther, nothing's proved, Chamlay said. Like I said, missus, where we found him he was high. He had no reason to hang himself. And he had your rent.

Why don't you ask her where he is, Curt? What the hell, let's find out something.

Wait now, Menger, hold a moment. I'm doing this, and that was coming up.

Chamlay fluttered the money.

Ones, he said. Now what would your opinion — missus — be? I say, and Luther says, it was a sign. What do you think, missus? What would you think if you was us? What do you say?

She fell quietly, uncaught.

Stitt began to shout and George to rock in his chair, cradling his head.

I'm not used to this — it hurts.

I know, Georgie, just relax, Menger said.

I think I heard the back door, Luther said, I think those kids went out. You've boots on, Menger, go and see.

My brother's hurt, Menger said resentfully.

Chamlay put the folded money neatly on the table and placed his hands gingerly over his ears. Furber was carefully gathering her up.

She's too heavy for me, he said, but everyone kept their eyes averted and no one offered to help. Jews tear their clothes up, Furber murmured, struggling. Wise.

He wavered in front of Chamlay.

You know how long it's been since I've eaten?

Chamlay did not reply. He tenderly touched his eyes with the tips of his fingers.

We're well met, madame, Furber said, may I make a lewd suggestion?

Stop babbling, Furber, Hawkins said, you make me sick. A flag-switcher — you sonofabitch.

I am Philly Kinsman, the celebrated bandsman, Furber sang, you fellows may have heard of me.

Help Jethro with her, Luther, will you, Chamlay said, he's unable.

No help from swine, Furber cried, beginning to move. I didn't believe, he whispered to her, I only imagined; I never knew, how was I to know that what I said was true?

Chamlay jerked about and leaned over the table to peer through the front window, rubbing circles on the glass with his sleeve. Tott had hidden his head in his arms.

Singing, Furber lurched down the hall.

And I've a dick that's like the stick I use to beat the boom-a-lay.

Hawkins laughed.

Nuts just nuts.

Stitt began obscenities.

Olus Knox and Doctor Orcutt, red-faced and tightly wrapped, burst in, snow swirling around them, snow on their caps and collars, snow in the creases of their mittens, snow up their legs to the thigh.

Well Orcutt, Chamlay said, it's good you're here.

Good, is it, Orcutt said, stamping his feet and shaking himself. I've never been so cold. Everybody best be dead or in that neighborhood.

Knox put Orcutt's case on the table, sniffing and puffing and milling his arms. Snow fell in clouds from both of them.

Orcutt! I'm bled out and broke up and no one comes to sit by me, the bastards. Orcutt! They are no damn good, Orcutt, none of them.

Dear me, that's Boylee, Orcutt said, uncoiling his scarf.

My eye — it's my eye — I ran it on a branch — it's swollen — look.

Well George, morning. And Luther. Meng. Everybody here, hey, waiting. How about coffee?

I'll see if there is some. Menger, hunt them girls. You've boots.

Come on back here, Doc.

Well easy for a moment till I warm, Orcutt shouted. Is that dear Henry's carcass in the snow? Aaah. My noble beard is frozen, look at that. A bad sign. A poor beginning. It's really Henry, eh? Olus told me a liar's story. And so he departed, as our good friend Furber would say, much mourned, but not missed. Whew. And where is Furber? Didn't he come out here with you? Is that him lurking in the hallway? Olus said… um… and there's the child? Well. No noise from him.

How's old Emma, Doc? I heard that you was out along her some this morning.

Well she's sad, Luther. Not so sick as sad. She's took syphilis from the Sioux. Struck down in the prime of her age.

Luther roared and struck the wall with his fist.

I'd never have trusted that Indian on my place, he finally managed. You could tell he'd have a dirty-feathered shaft.

Well, like they say these days, Luther, the only good Indian's a lead one.

Hawkins roared again and rolled off down the hall. Furber stepped back to let him pass.

Hawkins, come in here, Stitt yelled.

I've lost my glasses.

They're in my case, I think, remember, Olus?

Orcutt stood in front of the fire for a moment, enduring a spasm of shivering.

How is Emma, really, Doc?

She's old, is all, Curt, merely old.

Orcutt kicked off his boots. Then he tugged at his beard, leaning into the fire, combing the beard with his fingers.

Let me toss on another.

The wood fell in the fire with a crash and a shower of sparks flew up the chimney.

Orcutt bent over the cradle, silent a good while. How long, he said quietly. No one answered. How long has this been going on? Dammit.

He knuckled his eyes.

Where are the parents?

He straightened quickly.

Bring me my case, please, Olus, thank you. Diphtheria all right. As early as I've seen it in an infant. And bad, Olus — you were right. Where are the parents?

She fainted and Furber put her somewhere. Omensetter's outside somewhere — gone.

Orcutt hesitated.

What are you saying, Curtis? Somewhere? put her somewhere?

Chamlay shrugged.

In the other bedroom, I suppose.

Orcutt blinked.

Furber's here then. Well.

He bent over the cradle again.

Damn these eyes. The wind like to blown them out. Gone, you say? out, hey? somewhere. So Furber's here though. He'll be needed, like as not. Where'd Omensetter get to?

I don't know. Furber thought he might have gone for you.

Orcutt paused a moment in his manipulations, then went on. The baby squeaked.

A simple infant, he said. Utterly neglected. It's criminal.

And all this thumping about in here… you lummoxes…

He shook his head and slumped with weariness.

Bad, Truxton?

Like I said, Olus.

Any chance at all?

Not really.

Diphtheria… it's a terrible thing. Orcutt sighed.

Men, in my experience, are the worst disease,

he said. Then he slowly bent again to his inspection.