Omensetter’s Luck

8

Eight came by horseback with a wagon, hurrying against a late sun already weakened by its clouds. Chamlay came, and Olus Knox, Jethro Furber, Israbestis Tott, Hawkins with the Hatstats, George and Menger, then Stitt somehow — all ahead of Milo Bencher's wagon. It was a strong wagon, though small; one that could be jounced over meadows and got between trees. The men could see Omensetter peering through the window when they arrived, wiping back the glass with his hand. As they entered the yard Omensetter rushed from the house to shout — the boy is sick — turning from man to man as he did so, trotting anxiously along. His face was pale, bearded; there were bubbles on his lips which popped when he spoke.

Damn near dark, Chamlay said. We got to move. The boy is sick — the baby's sick.

Gray and frantic, Omensetter moved from man to man while the dog ran quickly around him.

Was what you said to Furber true?

The horses were nervous. The dog plunged through Omensetter's legs and the horses turned, their hoofs destroying patches of snow.

It's all true, yes. But I thought you'd be here this morning.

Disappointed, Omensetter turned to Furber.

Didn't you—

Hey's it true? what did he say?

Yes, Yes, Omensetter shouted, yes, it's true.

We've got no time then; it's no job for the dark.

Going to come hard, Knox said, peering at the sky.

Omensetter wound his fingers in the mane of Chamlay's horse.

Was what you said to Furber true?

Better of been, said Hawkins. I shut the store. It's going to hit thick. Let's move.

Where's Mat?

Who?

Mat? He didn't come.

Christ, Brackett, come on — you got something to ride? He's got that horse.

He's got a horse all right.

Will this cart-assed wagon make it, Menger asked.

Come on, can we ride these horses in, or will we have to walk?

Told Furber a lot of cock, I bet — a lot of shit.

Better not of.

Christ, come on — it's going to turn on cold.

The baby's sick.

Omensetter blotted his nose.

Well, you should find him easy if I tell you how, but you can't take your horses in, or any wagon either — not all the way.

The horses tightened about him until the dog barked from between Omensetter's feet. Then the horses shied but the men reined close again, leaning heavily from their saddles.

We've got no time, Chamlay said. We're getting old with this waiting.

It's going to snow — just look at that — we're due. We're going to get it good.

Well, you know that long white log there by the creek, Omensetter said. All right, go straight—

Chamlay interrupted with a meaningless shout of anger and instantly the others were shouting too, leaning close around him yelling until Lucy came running out of the house, the girls behind her weeping brokenly, so that the dog in a frenzy leaped at Hawkins and Hawkins sprawled him with a blow.

He's throwing up again, Brackett — awful — an awful something — he can't breathe.

Omensetter broke out of the circle and ran heavily into the house.

Quickly, in tight aimless patterns, the horses moved. The men rubbed their noses high on their sleeves and watched their streaming mouths. The dog crouched, ears flat, threats shaking in his throat. The horses backed and turned and reared and Stitt cursed when he scraped his leg on Milo Bencher's wagon.

Knox dismounted.

It's nothing to fret about I'm sure, he said. I've seen this often; the least little thing will put them off.

Lucy's way was blocked by the Hatstats' horses and she vainly tried to go around them.

We've other children too, she said, pushing against the horses. I've had kids sick before, but never — Please!

George winked at his brother.

l'll look if you don't mind, Knox said, passing the reins to Tott.

Tell him he's got five minutes, Olus, Luther Hawkins said. Just five.

Knox followed Lucy Omensetter running up the steps, Knox nodding nicely to the girls who seemed intent on the horsemen behind their tears.

Knox came out in a moment — the men were standing by their horses — to ask Chamlay where Orcutt was.

He was at the Amsterdams' this morning, Tott said. Em's bad.

Way over there?

God damn this god damn dog, Hawkins said. Is the kid real sick?

Stitt said it was just a stall, and Chamlay went in, Knox after him.

We'll never get old Henry down today, Stitt said sadly. I'll have to pull this wagon back to Bencher empty.

Where is Bencher anyway — in bed with his sheep?

Ain't the Reverend been quiet, though. You froze your teeth?

I don't care, by god, it was queer — what this fellow Omensetter told you, Furber, George said. I don't mind saying it gives me the trots.

Menger whistled his breath toward his brother, and everyone watched the stream move between them — boil out, widen, disappear.

Shit.

George rubbed his nose again upon his sleeve.

Hee-hawing bastard.

Henry's not in any tree, Menger said, any more than George is, hey George? any more than me.

Stitt said that they were fools for being there, and Furber sneezed, Tott saying after: bless.

You ever hear a tale like that, Stitt said.

I understand one time, Tott said, that Milo Bencher—

Got stuck in Granny Amsterdam.

Oh shut, will you.

I don't care, I never heard a tale like that.

Ever hear a turd talk?

Hawkins tied his horse.

I know what it'd say

It'd say plop.

I'd say, let's hang the mother-fucking bastard by the balls, said Hawkins.

Cut it out — the kids.

For now the girls were quiet, their hands tight to the porch rail, their eyes at the horses.

You kids got names, Menger asked — and they ran inside.

Agnes and Emerald.

No kidding?

Finally the men laughed a little and walked up and down in the yard crushing pieces of snow. A horse warmly relieved. Clouds of moisture swirled over its dung.

By the balls, Hawkins said. Forty feet in the air. With a length of barb from a rusted fence.

Then Omensetter and Chamlay appeared with Knox behind them and Omensetter was saying yes yes in a hoarse voice as they came down the steps — he needs a doctor — while the dog ran up to his boots. Curtis was stern and Olus angry.

Somebody ought to go for Orcutt, Chamlay said.

I said he was sick, said Omensetter dully.

Orcutt was over to the Amsterdams' this morning, Tott said. No telling where he's got to by now.

He was brought in smaller than his sisters… but a bawler. He's quiet now, though… so — clouded over.

You should have sent for Orcutt long ago, Knox said fiercely.

Maybe, Omensetter mumbled, holding the sides of his jaw.

I had to go see Furber first, you know.

Why?

Anyway you've had all day, god damn it.

If Henry's hanging where you say, Knox said, then what's the hurry? My god man, your son is sick — sick serious. What's a lifeless body by him? If he was mine—

Hell, if Henry's where you say—

Do they do a lot of good? doctors? I've always wondered if it wasn't better to let things run along their natural way.

God's will, Furber muttered.

That's been my feeling.

Omensetter smiled weakly and spread his arms.

What a lot of shit, George Hatstat said.

You've let things run too far already.

Knox gestured angrily with his glasses.

You should have gone for Orcutt right away, he said. You didn't — you couldn't — you and your damn fool ideas.

You'll have that child on your conscience, Omensetter, Chamlay said.

Conscience? conscience?

Knox carefully put his glasses on and peered at Omensetter closely.

What have we seen shows he has a conscience?

Hey, Stitt said, did you guys just come out here to drop your pants, or shall we get?

Omensetter went about the yard among the horses and post the men, looking at them dumbly as he passed them like a beast himself, and at the trampled ground between them with such sorrow that his whole face had to twitch when he ralsed it to their faces to form it for the animal passivity it wore. His eyes were rimmed and seemed so deeply sunken they must have seen continually through shadow, and his formerly full cheeks now had the look of crumpled paper. His breathing was audible and slow, his movements heavy, remote from any mind.

I can still remember coming, Curtis, Omensetter said quietly at last. Clouds — the river — Gilean by it — the air so clear… There was every house out honest and every barn banked proper to the weather.. The trees were bare, I remember, and as we came down the hill we could see the tracks of the wagons glistening. You could see what your life would be. You know — like the gypsy woman who can take your fortune from your hand. Well I took those tracks to be a promise to me… And on the way we'd all been singing. Rose Alymer. I heard it sung so strangely once I never forgot it. The words are high and fine beyond my understanding but I like their sound. And we counted kinds of birds… I guess you think — well, what does it matter? I don't know… I remember there were rings in the pools of water by the road, and I thought how exciting for the boy to live by the river, to catch fish and keep frogs, you know; grow up with good excitement. Now he's gone sick, Curtis, in this low place, and there's no honest snow to cover it or cold to hold it firmly even, and the hill we came by is still a slippery yellow. The boy is going to die, Curtis. I just feel — I'm scared he's going to die. He's dreadful sick, I know. You've seen him, you and Olus know he's going to die. Why — he's barely been alive… The boy — the boy, too — he was a promise to me. I hold he was a promise to me. If he dies — well you were all — too — promises. Curtis? Olus? George? Remember? Wasn't there a promise to me? He'll die soon, my son will — soon he'll be dead of this low ground and its dishonest weather. I'll cut that on his stone. If he ever has a stone. I don't think that I can bring myself to put him in this clay. I'll put him on a mountain maybe, where the birds can pick his body. Whoever lives so little and so low as he has should spend his death up high — like Henry's doing.

Chamlay rose on his horse.

In his life he only knew his mother.

Knox rose.

I hold there was a promise — Gilean was.

Menger rose. George rose.

All right — it doesn't matter.

Stitt rose. Tott rose. Hawkins rose.

I hope no one will send for Doctor Orcutt now. He'll not be needed. I've changed my mind.

He's worse, Brackett, Lucy shouted from the porch. Please won't one of you find Doctor Orcutt? Brackett? Please. His tongue — he doesn't breathe — someone — please — there's blood — I think there's blood.

No, Omensetter said, no, and his wife faintly echoed him, astonished, no? our child? Brackett? My son, said Omensetter wearily.

He drew himself together with an effort.

There was a promise to me and it was a lie.

His wife fell weakly against the railing.

What's this, she whispered.

I'll go, missus, Israbestis said; I've a notion where Doc is if he saw Emma Amsterdam this morning.

No, Omensetter cried, rushing at Tott and grasping his arm. Bessie, you know him, you know how his teeth slide in his beard, Omensetter said, leaning close; no, I don't want him.

Lucy groaned.

Mother, one of the daughters called, and the girls' cries drew her in.

Omensetter kept his grip on Israbestis.

Bessie, he said, don't go, don't go, I hate his eyes, they cross. You know his eyes. They're stitched to him.

Tott twisted away.

Have you looked, Omensetter roared, straightening, glaring angrily, waving his arms, his long hair tossing above his brow. Go off and find your friend where he has hung himself. Curtis knows the way now, and can lead. And take your wagon to the white log by the creek. Then you won't have so far to drag his bones.