It was like a soft caw if anything, but it worked and I awakened. Seeing nothing but the blackness of the early morning, I let my eyes close, drifting along that fine line when a squawk and the bustle of feathers had me standing. I rubbed the sleep from my tired eyes before going about my new chore of tossing feed to the chickens. I didn’t mind. Since Ma been killed and the sheriff after Pa, I had nowhere else to go except Chester’s. Being as I had already twisted on the barb wire fencing surrounding the backyard of his pub and done hauled vegetable crates down to the dank cellar, Chester went ahead and brought me right in. Pointing to the lean-to butting against the long backside of the pub, Chester offered it up, “This will do ya fine.” I was barely seventeen and having no trade other than youth, Chester said he would show me a thing or two in his kitchen. So far, I have learned when to feed the chickens. It wasn’t much later when the backdoor of the pub swung wide as Chester appeared, shouting, “Jake! Snap two necks and bring em in for a soak. The water’s heating fer ya on the fire.” He stared at me for a moment, making sure I heard him. I thumbed one up as Chester tossed a hand before turning back into his pub. I looked about the stretch of land, eyeing the fattest hens. Long after I had scalded the carcasses, a lone customer dropped in for a stout beer and a couple of Chester’s pickled eggs. With coin scarce and the promises chugging on by to the next mile post, it wasn’t long before most of the townsfolk gathered what they could, hauling roots elsewhere. The town held its name only for a moment, crushed under the frightening steps of progress. Chester never cared, maintaining his scrub garden of potatoes and such, nursing what herbs he could, all the while seeing family after family leave. He figured himself growing into an oasis. To me, Chester was my oasis. I was idling away the time, holding down the furthest seat from the door when a stranger sauntered in, drawing up on a stool down from me. Chester held his usual towel in his hands, making his way over to the man. “What can I get ya?” “Let’s start with a bottle of your best,” he declared. Chester eyed the stranger, “Pay me first. It’s too damn hot for me to go through the trouble if ya aint got enough coin.” It appeared from nowhere, rolling in and out between his knuckles before he held the coin between his thumb and forefinger. Its dull yellow hue caught the sunlight as the man laid it flat on the bar. Chester picked it up, hefting the piece in his hand, “I have some home spun juice in the back.” The stranger tipped his hat, “That will do just fine.” I had a swallow of the warm beer sitting in front of me, letting the wetness slide down my throat while the stranger removed his black hat, swatting at a circling fly. The man gave in to the fly, asking, “You live in this town, boy?” His question, simple as it was, scared the daylights out of me. I had another swallow of the warm beer before I stammered, “Yes sir.” He tucked his hat, keeping the brim low as he faced me, “When I came through, I hardly saw a soul but sure did see plenty of deep ruts leading out. Is your town drying up?” I felt a trickle of sweat fall down my side as I squeezed out an answer. “Most folks be leaving these parts after the rail stole what it could.” The man looked away from me, seeing Chester reappear around a corner, “You got family here boy?” I let the words tumble out of my mouth, “Pa left town when the rail moved on and Ma, well, she be buried up on the hill yonder.” About the time I finished, Chester fronted us. He placed a pint jar and a single glass on the counter, slowly filling it with a clear liquid. Chester boasted, “Sip and enjoy.” The stranger kept his eyes locked on mine, ignoring the grinning man behind the bar. “What happened to your Ma?” “She caught the syphilis after the men came with the railroad. Pa swore vengeance and left after um. That is, after he made Ma eat his shotgun.” The man turned to Chester, “Set one up for the boy whose Mother is buried.” Chester nodded, shooting me a quick glance before he set another upon the bar, filling it as well. The stranger winked at me, “Best to never drink alone.” With that, he had a hearty sip and I followed suit. The fire water made me cough and I sputtered the remnants upon the bar. The man swatted my back, laughing at my demise. “Ya ever had a swallow of the good stuff ‘fore this?” Feeling the warm glow in my belly, I blinked away the tears, “No sir. This be my first time.” He twisted on his stool, looking about the place. “Follow me over to a table so we can stretch our legs.” The man grabbed ahold of the pint in one hand, his other grasping his glass, speaking to Chester as he stood, “Old man, we be venturing across the way and I be wanting vittles after a bit.” Chester answered flatly, “I can feed ya when you be ready.” I slid off my stool, grabbing my own glass, which was mostly full as I followed the man over to an empty corner table. We settled across from each other as he asked, “What’s your name, boy?” “Jake Wilson.” He nodded, saying as he raised Chester’s best, “I answer to Abraham and I swear Jake, today is your lucky day.” Abraham saluted me then sipped deeply as I timidly sucked on the glass edge. Setting his tumbler back on the table, Abraham reached inside his breast pocket, pulling out a tube of rolled paper. Setting it before me on the table, he motioned, “Go ahead and unroll it." My hands were clumsy, fumbling with the roll. Spreading the parchment out, a grizzled face with dark, menacing eyes met my own. A row of letters etched in broad stroke just below the face stated, “Wanted” Brett Wilson for the Murder of Shelly Wilson Abraham said, “As you know, that be your Daddy.” I tried to push the knot down my throat but it hung there and I started to sweat. He lifted one black lapel aside, coming out with an equality black cigar. Striking a wooden match to it, Abraham blew the blue tinged smoke across the table. “Does your daddy ever come by, maybe for a visit?” I shook my head as he lifted his glass to me again, I draining mine. After a minute or two, Abraham asked, “What about yer Ma? You ever find yourself up there, sitting next to that pile of dirt, wishing she be alive?” Abraham puffed out three perfect smoke rings, each colliding into another before he moved closer, scratching the wooden chair across the floor. “Maybe we should go on up there. Find some pretty weed along the way.” His eyes settled into mine before he drew his face away, calling out to Chester who had kept a watchful eye. “What do you think?” Chester spoke his piece, “Best leave old bones alone. There is no need to be stirring up grief.” Chester had moved his hands within inches of the hidden clutch, fingers ready to pop the sawed 12 gauge free, all to ready to send his customer elsewhere, never minding the gold piece. Abraham had seen this move before, countering, “How about them vittles.” Chester shrugged at the comment, asking, “Chicken and spuds is all I have but the chicken is fresh; a couple of hens were slaughtered just this morning.” “That will do,” Abraham said. Chester went about gathering what he needed, looking to Jake as he said, “Could use your help starting the fire in the stove, Jake.” Abraham intervened, “Mister Jake Wilson be staying where he is.” It was then that Abraham flashed the tin star, Chester and I seeing it and the colts hidden under his long black duster. I saw the iridescent shine of the pearl handles as Chester pulled up, their eyes meeting for a moment. Chester dropped what he was doing, going about the fire. It wasn’t long before Chester returned to hacking out portions of chicken. Abraham leaned back on the wooden chair, puffing on his black stub as I had Pa’s face staring at me. Abraham let out another string of smoke rings as time slowed. My fingers fumbled around the half full glass, bringing it to my lips as I dumped the remains into my mouth. For some reason or another, I thought back to when Ma first started having visitors. She would scoot me outside, stuffing a penny into my pocket, telling me to run off somewhere, always minding that I returned before the sun settled. It was just after harvest when Ma became sick and the doc said there was nothing for him to do. After the Doc’s visit, Pa wouldn’t let me near Ma, forbidding me from even coming close to her bedroom door. “Ma be contagious, Son.” That was all he told me. Time went and as winter settled its crisp beauty over the town, Pa brought me a pendent, “This is your Ma, not that in there. Go on now; it’s time to put it to rest. Go on now, leave me be.” I continued staring at Pa’s eyes as Abraham poured the last of the pint. “What you thinking, boy?” I blurted out with a thick tongue, “Ma had the syphilis. That’s why Pa killed her.” About that time, Chester appeared tableside with our food. Abraham and I feasted on a meal of roasted chicken and potatoes. The two of us slobbered on the hot food and after a bit, Abraham excused himself to the privy as I continued eating, finding myself sucking the last shred of chicken from a bone when he strolled back in, joining me at our table. Abraham leaned across the table to me, “Your words mean a great deal and if it was up to me, I just as soon forget the whole mess but your Pa needs to stand up for what he done.” With that, he rolled the parchment up, stuffing it back under his duster. I swiped away the grease from my lips, looking at the man across from me. I drawled, buzzed from both the food and the booze, “Alright, let’s go find Pa. He will tell ya why he done it.” Abraham found sincerity, answering me as he nodded, “We be after the fella for quite some time. Be about a year since, wouldn’t ya say?” I looked over my shoulder to Chester, “Ya, about that long.” Abraham lingered on me for a moment, “Best be saying your respects.” There wasn’t much left of grub or booze as we scraped our chairs out from underneath the table, Abraham calling out to Chester, “We’re leaving ya now, Old Timer!” Abraham kept walking as Chester glared at me, “Jake, you understand once you walk out that door, you be on your own. And when your belly shrivels to nothing and the want of thirst brings ya crawling back, what you will find is my boot on your backside.” I wavered a little, saying to Chester, “There be nothing here for me. Those I knew aside from you, is gone now.” Chester faltered as I said nothing else, heading to the silhouette pausing at the door. Abraham let the door close as I walked through. Once outside, Abraham steered us along the sunbaked walk. The ting of his spurs was rhythmic, echoing off the flat board structure of vacate shops. After a bit, the shops disappeared, “Since this is your town, where can a couple of fellas find a flower in this dead nothingness.” His question registered yesterday’s memories filed with fluttering butterflies and droning bees, “Up a ways, be the meadow and I’ll gather what she liked there.” Abraham pitched his black hat off his forehead, gazing past my face. “Let’s get this done.” She was fourth in a line of nine, eight up from the first column of headstones. Abraham watched Jake make his way over to where he needed to go, holding the gathered flowers in his hand. He was too far away to hear Jake’s words but Abraham saw that his lips were moving as he dropped each flower, one by one.
Posted on: Tue, 18 Jun 2013 05:15:00 +0000
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