Paul stepped back to make way. “Come in, John. What a nice surprise.”
“Evening, Paul,” the man said, a big smile spread across his narrow face. He stepped into the room and removed his hat, setting the children twittering like sparrows in a lilac bush. John Lindstrom’s visits compared well with Father Christmas coming; he always had goodies of some sort in his overcoat’s big pockets. The children’s eyes searched their visitor up and down. The right-hand pocket of his coat bulged suspiciously.
“Let me have your coat, John,” Paul said.
John turned and started to take off his coat. With John’s back to her, Paul read Ana’s silent, but urgent, signal. “Do not encourage him to stay,” her eyes said emphatically, “Do not!” Ana insisted there was more to this man than might meet the eye.
Paul read her message and understood completely. John had earned the reputation of town drunk, and more than once he and John had shared a bottle of whiskey, in amounts that Ana thought unhealthy. In fact, she considered John a bad influence, and more or less worthless. Based on several long talks with John, Paul had a different opinion. John was obviously an extremely well-read and traveled man, and Paul neither wondered nor cared where he came from, or what caused his social decline. Paul liked John, and vice versa.
He took John’s coat. “Would you join us for supper?”
If cold looks were stone, the message Ana’s eyes conveyed could have stunned an ox.
“Are you sure you have enough for the children?” John held up his hand. “I didn’t intend to intrude on your evening meal.”
“We had just finished thanking God for our blessings,” Paul said, looking at John, but speaking to Ana. “We have plenty.”
John slightly bowed to Ana. “I appreciate your hospitality, Ana, I truly do.”
Paul pointed to a space on the bench by Abbey. “Please, sit down.”
Ana poured gravy over everything except the chicken; the spuds, biscuits and parsnips all slathered. As was customary, no one at the table spoke much during the meal, but the frequent soft moans told Paul everyone was enjoying the results of Ana’s hard work. Ana apparently noticed John’s pleasure in particular, and most of the objection had disappeared from her face. When Ana got up to clear the dishes, Paul’s mouth watered; the pie came next. Eager hands accepted the small plates as Ana divvied up the single dish. John and Paul got lion’s shares, and the thick cream she spooned on top soon streamed off the warm pie and onto the plate. The sweet and tangy treat, though savored, didn’t last long.
“If you big boys help with the dishes, you can visit with Uncle John that much sooner,” Ana said.
The visit part wasn’t lost on the boys, and Simon and Axel grabbed the dessert dishes and tableware and put them in the wash pan on top of the supper plates. Ana helped with the pots and skillet, and in fifteen minutes they were all done, the dishes stacked back on the shelf.
John stood and went to the door to get his long coat. He fumbled around in the breast pocket for a bit, and then, as mock concern grew on his face, the left pocket. “Humph, I thought I had my pipe with me. Guess I’m getting forgetful.” He dug his hand into his right pocket, and a wide smile spread over his face. The children stood up straight—miniature soldiers—as they watched his every move, eyes riveted on his right hand. Slowly, he pulled out one long red-and-white-striped stick of candy.
Simon breathed almost silently to Axel, “Peppermint.”
Abel could not contain himself. He squatted halfway to the floor, then straightened his legs, and jumped, frog-like, half a hop forward. “I’m so happy,” he squealed, then stood, heels together, both hands in front of his belly, one hand trying to tie the other in a knot.
“So, I guess you’re first, huh?” John grinned and handed Abel the peppermint stick.
Abel and Abbey scampered across the room like two young chicks after the same grasshopper to stand in front of John, hands held tightly by their sides. Out of his pocket came stick after stick of candy. Two each! After Simon had gotten his second one, John hung his coat back up and turned around, palms out. “You’ve cleaned me out. Can’t understand how that candy got there instead of my pipe.”
He was greeted with a loud chorus of “Thank you, Uncle John,” somewhat orchestrated by Ana.
Paul, Ana and John sat at the table, the children asleep, and the small house quiet. John cleared his throat. “I really appreciate you having me in your home. I don’t get to see much of normal people.” His eyes misted slightly. John didn’t have a permanent home, instead staying in homes that invited boarders, but usually not for very long. A month or two would pass, and it would be made known by the householder that John would probably be more comfortable somewhere else. There was never an argument. He’d simply put what he owned in a duffel bag, and go ask Paisley Mace for a bunk in the stable until another room could be located.
“I saw you coming through town the other day,” John said. “You looked some upset.” He paused. “I heard later you’d had a run-in with Matt.” He held his hand up as Paul started to say something. “I’ll admit right now that this is probably not any of my business, and I wouldn’t mention it unless I thought I could help. You folks are the only ones, other than Paisley Mace, who will even acknowledge my presence. In a situation like mine that does not go unnoticed.”
John’s eyes were now more than misty, and then John blinked. Tears coursed down the sides of his nose to disappear into his mustache. He paused again for several seconds. “I want to do something for you folks.” A raised hand stopped Paul from speaking, and John reached into his vest pocket to take out a small roll of soft leather. He unwrapped it, and spilled twelve coins onto the table. Ana gasped. John stacked the money in two piles and pushed them across the table toward Paul. “I want you to use this. Please, for me.”
Simon almost fell out of his bed when the coins spilled into the light. Even in the glow of the single oil lamp, the glitter of gold was unmistakable. He’d listened and watched, and the sight of Uncle John wiping tears from his cheeks had disturbed him. How did Mr. Lindstrom know that Pa had punched Uncle Matt? He was having a hard time with that experience himself, and had decided to keep it private if he could. Now it seems others knew. No sooner did he have one problem figured out than another popped up.
“I can’t take that,” Paul said emphatically. “I know you mean well, but I can’t take money I haven’t yet earned.” He felt shaken.
“Is earning it the important aspect, or is the chronology more so?”
“Aspect? Chronology? I’m not getting what you mean.” Paul wasn’t sure he hadn’t been insulted.
“I mean, would you take payment for something in advance, like an order for a cord or two of wood?”
“Well sure, I’ve done that. But this is different.”
“How so? I expect you’ll repay me.”
“I can see what you’re doin’, and I don’t think I can agree. You giving and not really expecting me to repay it, is the same as just giving it.”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t repay a loan made fair and right? You’d intentionally default?”
“I’ll always pull my own weight.” Paul felt his face heat up. “You can bet your bottom dollar on it.” He leaned across the table, and nearly spilled his coffee, now gone cold. “Bet your very last dollar!” Paul glanced at Ana and she was smiling.
What’s that all about? Damn it!
“That’s exactly what I’d expect from you,” John continued, “and not a sliver less. It’s my intention to make you this loan so you can undertake something I’d like to do, but don’t have resources to support.”
“You’ve lost me again,” Paul said quietly, feeling confused and frustrated. Ana continued to smile.
“We’ll soon be coming into the wagon-train season, and I want to set up a small operation to sell something these people miss, but can’t transport in the wagons.”
“And what might that be?” Paul said.
“Chickens and eggs,” Ana said. “And feathers, or ticks, or pillows.” Her eyes started to sparkle. “We have just experienced not having fresh meat to eat, Paul. These people do the same, just for a different reason. Most of those women will be overcome with joy to see a fresh chicken.”
Paul looked at John. “You could have said that in the first place.” The frustration of a moment before dissipated.
“No, I don’t think I could have. Somehow you had to say it yourself to make it right.” John rose from his chair and faced Ana. “I appreciate you more every time we meet.” Then he turned to Paul. “You have a prize there, a real prize.”
“Pshaw,” Ana said, and busied her hands in her apron, blushing furiously.
John walked to the door, got his long coat and shrugged into it. “Now that is a loan,” he said and emphasized the is. “We’ll get together in a week or so to talk about increasing your flock and adding to the coop.” He opened the door. “Good night, good folks. You too, Simon.” John stepped through the door and disappeared into the night.
“Simon?” Paul said, looking first at Ana, and then at the sleeping boy in the top bunk. Puzzled, Paul went back to the table and sat down. Gleaming despite the weak light of the lamp, the twin stacks of their salvation winked back at him: twelve five-dollar gold pieces. Paul had just started to absorb what had transpired and smiled at his wife. Patient, faithful Ana. “Can you believe this, Ma? Can you really believe this?”
“And I thought angels were supposed to wear white,” she stammered, relief plain on her face. “I’m tired, Paul. Let’s just go to bed now and enjoy this in the morning.” She stood to carry the coffee cups to the wash table. Paul, walking softly, followed her, and when she turned back, he caught her in a bear hug. They stood and embraced each other and all the good things they felt at the moment. With Ana’s face pressed to his chest and his cheek touching the top of head, they swayed slightly as though to some melody only they could hear, gently moving—slow and waltz-like.