The Devil You Know Read online

  Mary Edith tipped her head sideways to indicate Jesse, who was still flailing about in his chair. “I sincerely doubt it will be mine.”

  Eli chuckled and shooed her away. She managed to grasp one of Jesse’s bony wrists and pull him out of his chair. Watching them go, Eli and Buster shared another laugh.

  “He had it coming,” said Buster. “Damn me if he didn’t.”

  “You talking about the beer or the whore?”

  “The beer. I don’t think he has Mary Edith coming unless she warms herself up first.”

  Eli saluted Buster with his glass. “How many years do you have on me, Buster?”

  “You’re what? Twenty-five, six?”

  “Six.”

  “Then I have exactly ten on you. Why?”

  “I was just thinking, is all. I suppose age is of no account when it comes to kinship. Not kinship in fact. Kinship in feeling.”

  Buster’s upper lip curled and he set Eli’s ears back with a steady, knowing look. “Seems to me that maybe you’re done, too. You’re comin’ around to maudlin.”

  “What if I am?” He took a gulp of beer and pressed a sleeve to his mouth to wipe it. “I’m not ashamed to admit that you’ve been more friend to me than hired hand.”

  “I reckon that’s because I’ve known you near on all your life, what with my mama cookin’ for your family and my daddy working alongside yours for as many years as he did.” His palms folded around his beer. “Seems to me you’ve got a question in your mind about Jesse. Am I right?”

  Eli set his drink on the table and sat forward in his chair. He nodded slowly, solemnly. “I don’t feel a kin to him same as you. And there’s but six months between us.”

  Buster shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Sometimes there’s no rhyme or reason for what draws folks together. I figure Jesse for all right.”

  “You think so?”

  “You have a different opinion?”

  Eli removed his hat and dropped it on the empty chair beside him. He pushed his fingers through his hair, flattening spikes and making furrows in the field of wheat. “I’m coming around to one,” he said. “I notice Jesse doesn’t say much when he’s sober or when he’s drunk, but when he’s drunk, he says things he shouldn’t. That concerns me some. Doesn’t make him good company.”

  Smiling narrowly, Buster nodded. “Maybe so.” The smile faded, and he asked, “Are you really thinking about proposing to Miss Pancake again?”

  “You can call her Willa. I won’t pour beer in your lap for that.”

  “Well? Are you?”

  “I’m thinking about it,” he said. The truth was, he had never stopped thinking about it. It was always there at the back of his mind. He remembered clearly the first time he had asked her to marry him. It was the only time she had said yes. He had been twelve. She had been ten. They had solemnly pledged their troth at the fence line that divided their families. It was Willa’s idea to do it there. She told him it was symbolic. He thought it was more than that. He thought it was heroic. They each carried knives back then, but when they decided to make a blood oath, they didn’t use them. Instead, Willa cut her wrist on a barb in the wire and Eli followed suit. They put their wrists together, held them fast for several minutes to be sure their blood mingled before they drew back. Willa tore her kerchief in two and gave him half to stem the bleeding. They had been perhaps more enthusiastic in making their cuts than was strictly necessary. Eli could still find the scar that was a consequence of that bloodletting. He wondered if Willa could do the same. He’d never asked.

  Their promise to each other lasted three years. Willa was thirteen when she left for the Saint Louis girls’ academy. There had been no word from her before she went, not even a hint that she was going. Sometimes it felt to him as if she had been whisked away, but when he asked, casually of course, if Willa had wanted to attend the academy, his mother assured him that Willa was looking forward to it, and she had that from Willa’s own mother.

  It was only a year after that he left for college in Virginia, and Willa had not yet returned. He did not stay in the East long, but it was already too late to repair what time and distance had put between them. He did not understand that immediately, but Willa made sure he figured it out.

  Her contempt for him was tangible, and while it twisted his heart in the beginning, he eventually came to despise her for it. It never changed the fact that he still wanted to marry her.

  Fuck her, and fuck her over. Poor Jesse Snow had only said what he had been thinking.

  “It sure would make your father happy if she finally accepted,” Buster said. “The combined property would be the biggest spread in Colorado.”

  Eli had nothing to say to that. He picked up his beer and drank.

  * * *

  Willa was quiet at supper. Only Happy and Annalea shared the meal with her. Zach was not back yet, and Cutter and Israel elected to eat in the bunkhouse.

  “I don’t know why they couldn’t eat with us,” said Annalea. She plunged her fork into a dumpling that she had already pointed out was the size of an eyeball and held it up for inspection. Once she had fully examined it, she plopped it into her mouth and then moved it from one side to the other so her cheeks alternately ballooned.

  Happy said, “Swallow the damn eyeball, Annalea.” He stabbed a small link of sausage and waggled it in front of her. “And then you can eat one of these fingers.”

  Willa wanted to stab something, but it would have been an actual body part. “Don’t encourage her, Pa.”

  Happy blinked and lowered his fork. “Pa? It must have been a helluva day if you’re calling me Pa.”

  “Yeah, Willa,” Annalea said, swallowing hard. “You’re looking a mite peaked. Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine. Tired, is all.” She eyed them both in turn. “And not in the mood for supper shenanigans.”

  “Shenanigans,” Annalea repeated. “I do like that word. Kind of comical, isn’t it? I think it sounds exactly like what it is.” She shoveled sauerkraut onto her fork and slowly raised it to her lips. She watched the fork approach until her eyes crossed, then she slanted a look at her father and mouthed the words “shredded brains.”

  Willa said tiredly, “Sauerkraut doesn’t look a thing like shredded brains. More like you flayed and boiled someone’s skin.”

  “Gross,” said Annalea. “Sure, you can play, Willa.”

  That eased a chuckle out of Happy. He tucked into his food again. “You haven’t said how it went with Israel.”

  “That’s probably a conversation for later,” she told him. She saw Annalea’s shoulders fall. “That’s right. I intend to exclude you.”

  “I am ten. You remember I had a birthday, don’t you?”

  Willa ignored that. “There was a moment on the ridge that he thought he recalled something, but there’s been so much talk among us about it, that he was not confident that it was a true memory.” When Annalea frowned, Willa explained, “You know, like how you insist you were there when Zach fell in the ravine over Blue Knob way.”

  “I have it clear in my mind.”

  “I know. But you weren’t but three years old when it happened and nowhere near Blue Knob. You’ve just heard the story so many times you have images of it and that’s what you’re calling a memory.”

  Happy told her, “But you’re just really looking through someone else’s album of photographs.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” Annalea said around another doughy eyeball. “Not for me. I mean for Israel. I think he was hopeful.”

  In spite of what he had told her, Willa was not so sure. She let it pass. “He handled his mount fair to middlin’. Then again, Felicity led Galahad about by the nose so there wasn’t much skill required on Mr. McKenna’s part.”

  “Israel,” Happy said. “He’s told you to call him Israel. I don’t know why you d
on’t.”

  “Because Annalea’s here, and I am trying to teach her—”

  “Stuff that.” Happy poked at another sausage. “You don’t call him Israel when she’s not around. You don’t call him anything.”

  She blew out an audible breath and spoke sharply. “Why are people questioning what I call other people? When did that become important?” When Happy and Annalea simply stared at her, she dropped her eyes to her plate and applied herself to her meal. “Never mind.”

  Silence fell over the table. Annalea and Happy exchanged glances, but it was Happy who finally ventured to speak. “So about Israel’s horse sense. What do you reckon?”

  Aware her heart was racing, Willa took a moment to ease it into normal rhythm before she answered. “Mr. McKenna—Israel, I mean—has a decent seat. He’s out of practice as a rider, but he wasn’t hesitant or timid. I probably should have had Zach work with him before now.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “What I had Israel doing freed Zach and Cutter to do other things, and they’re experienced trainers. Well, not Cutter, but he’s coming along.”

  Amused, Happy said, “Well, he’s got the part down pat where he’s tossed and tumbled, I’ll give you that. The boy’s got rags for bones.”

  “True, and that’s the other reason I didn’t put Israel on a horse earlier. I couldn’t see the sense of him risking another injury.”

  “Huh. Were you thinking that when you rode out of here hell bent for leather and dared to him to keep up?”

  Willa opened her mouth and closed it again.

  Happy was nodding his head. “That’s right, Wilhelmina. I was coming around the barn and caught the tail end of that exchange. Now don’t look at me like you wish I had been in the house drinkin’. I always took you for having a better heart than that.”

  Willa set her fork down. “I don’t wish you were drinking, and wherever you are is fine. I shouldn’t have challenged him. You’re right. He might have been hurt. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Happy whistled softly. “That’s enough, girl. No need to martyr yourself because you made a mistake. Good thing it doesn’t happen often. Gettin’ up and down off that cross will tucker you out.”

  Annalea stared at Happy. “Pa! You ought not to say things like that.”

  Willa had a significant look for Happy. “Listen to her. She’s right.”

  “It’s not supper table talk,” he said. “I’ll give you that, but it doesn’t change my opinion.”

  They finished their meal with no more talk about Israel McKenna. His name did not come up again until Annalea was clearing the table and Willa directed her to leave the dishes and take pie to the bunkhouse.

  “Don’t overstay your welcome,” she called out as the back door opened. “And don’t forget to bring back their plates.” This last was mostly lost as the door juddered closed.

  Happy chuckled. “You want to wager on whether you get them tonight?”

  “Oh, I’ll get them tonight because I will have to go out there and drag her back.” She fell silent, gathering her thoughts, and when she turned in her chair to face her father, she could not help being aware of his wary regard. He was anticipating a confrontation. She wondered if he was thinking about having a drink in his hand, and just as important, what she would do if he went looking for a bottle.

  “Out with it,” said Happy. “You look like your belly’s on fire with all words you’re not sayin’. Just say them.”

  “All right. When I was out with Israel, he asked me about the marriage proposals I’ve had. He said he learned about them from you. Is that true?”

  Happy leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I appreciate you giving me the benefit of the doubt, but I expect you already know the answer. Israel’s got no reason to lie about that.”

  “I see, but I don’t understand. Why would you tell him about any of it?” She watched the tips of Happy’s ears redden, but at least he wasn’t patting himself down to find his flask. “He told me when you had the conversation. Why then? You were coming off a five-day drunk and it was still unclear if Israel knew his own name. What were you thinking would come of it?”

  “When you put it that way . . .” He shrugged. “I worry about you.”

  “Since when?”

  “Jesus. Do I really have to explain that? Since forever.”

  Willa stared at him, incredulous.

  “It’s insulting that you don’t believe me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” Her voice trailed off. She sighed. “Maybe I did mean it. But that doesn’t mean I should have said it. You surprised me. The drinking . . . it’s been a long time since I thought you were paying attention.”

  “Well, I was.” His chin jutted forward. “I have it in my mind to see you settled. Your mother and I talked about that. Talked a lot about it, actually. It was something we both wanted for you, to see you with a good man or at least a decent one. You have a right to know what that’s like. When Evie died, I figured it was left to me to see it through.”

  Willa spoke softly. She had to because the urge she was fighting was to scream. “Are you telling me that Israel McKenna is not the first man you talked to about this?”

  “I wasn’t telling you that, but I suppose you could infer it.”

  “I am inferring it.”

  “Ah. Then you’re not wrong.”

  Willa slowly slumped forward until her head rested against her folded forearms on the table. She closed her eyes. “Who else?”

  “I might have said something to Dave Huggins.”

  “He left.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think the prospect of proposing to you had anything to with that. He had a lung ailment, remember?”

  She groaned. Loudly.

  “I’d have to go back a ways to think of someone before that. Might’ve been Jinx Shreve.”

  “His name is John.”

  “Jinx suits, though, doesn’t it? Yeah. He was the one. Knocked his drink right off the bar while I was talking to him. Almost got mine as well. He never proposed, did he?”

  She lifted her head a fraction. “No. Thank God.”

  “You’re upset.”

  Willa sat up and glared at him. “You are paying attention.”

  Happy wisely said nothing.

  “How could you?” She placed her fisted hands against her middle. “It’s humiliating enough that you invited men to propose to me, but to tell them about Eli, well, that is beyond humiliating.”

  Happy shook his head vehemently. “I never told anyone that Eli was one of your suitors.”

  That gave her pause. “Never? You didn’t tell Israel?”

  “No, and it will be a disappointment if you don’t believe me. Did he say I told him?”

  She reviewed her conversation with Israel in her head. “Yes, he did, but that was after I confirmed that Eli proposed.”

  “Then he took a stab in the dark and you walked into the point of his knife.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Wishing I was drinking yet?”

  She sighed. “No. I don’t wish that.”

  “I haven’t given it up, you know. A nip now and again keeps my hands steady. I’m telling you so you don’t set your expectations higher than I can climb.”

  “I understand.” She rubbed her temples. “I do believe you about Eli. I suppose that means that Israel lied to me.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.” She said nothing for a moment, thoughtful, then quietly, more to herself than to her father, she said, “Maybe I’ll tell him the truth.”

  * * *

  Zach cursed his bad luck when he walked into the Liberty Saloon and saw Eli Barber and Buster Rawlins drinking at one of the tables. If they had been sitting at the bar, he might have be
en able to back out without being seen, but it was Eli’s habit, learned from his father, to always sit facing the doors. The only bit of good fortune, as Zach saw it, was the absence of Malcolm Barber.

  Zach touched the brim of his hat, acknowledging Eli and Buster as he passed their table. He laid down his money on the bar and asked for a whiskey. He was on the point of picking up his glass when he heard Eli invite him to join their table. Judging Eli to be on the side of drunk that inevitably provoked a commotion, Zach swept up his drink and walked over. Buster kicked out a chair. Zach took it and sat.

  “You fellas come here for supplies?” he asked. “I noticed the stock at the feed store was low. That your doing?”

  “First come, first served,” said Eli. “That’s why you’re here? Supplies?”

  “Mm. Seems as if we’re between storms. Can’t be sure when I’ll get in again.”

  Buster nodded. “You here alone? Miss Wilhelmina wouldn’t happen to be with you, would she?”

  “Now what business would you have for asking after Willa?” He saw Buster jerk without visible cause, which he supposed meant that Eli had kicked him under the table. He knocked back his whiskey and held up the empty glass to indicate to the barkeep that he wanted another. “She’s back at the ranch,” he said. “Looking after things the way she does.”

  “Been some time since she’s left,” said Eli. “Did she mention that we met up a while back? Must be more than two months now.”

  It was almost exactly two months, Zach knew, but he did not correct Eli. “She mentioned that she ran you and Malcolm off.”

  The beer in Eli’s hand shook as he laughed. “I wouldn’t characterize it as running us off.” He set his glass down. “She was real polite about it, and we were obliged to be mannerly in return.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Buster paid for Zach’s drink when it was put in front of him. “You didn’t have to do that,” said Zach.

  “Sure. I know. You’ll get the next round.”

  Zach had hoped he could leave when he finished this one. He decided to nurse it. “Thanks.”