Buell headed for school and his breath condensed into billows of white. Sunday had brought the colder air and when he squinted his eyes, he could feel his cold skin wrinkle. It felt kind of funny, so he did it again. And if he breathed sharply through his nose, the hairs inside his nose froze and that also felt kind of funny, so he did that again. Squint. Breathe. Thus, simply entertained, he trudged on to school.
Miss Everett announced they were going to devote the entire morning to Lewis and Clark’s Voyage of Discovery. Buell knew Simon had been looking forward to this for a week because he’d read someone else’s account of the adventure, a fellow named Gass, and had repeated most of it to Buell. He’d never admit it to anyone if asked, but he’d enjoyed the discussion between Simon and Miss Everett.
The rest of the class were also content to just listen, all except David, who, Buell noticed, didn’t like his cousin getting all the attention. Miss Everett saw it as well and asked David several good questions which he reliably got wrong and glared at everyone when the giggles erupted. The morning shot by, and they were out for noon recess before he knew it. Based on the morning’s events, he wasn’t surprised when David took a position outside the privy door when Simon had gone in. From the look on Simon’s face when he came out, he’d rather expected to see David too.
“You got one real sassy mouth, Simon.”
Resignation showed all over his friend’s face. “There’s nothing I can say that will make you feel any better, David,” Simon said.
“You’re right. And Pa says that talk is all you and your pa do.” David’s eyes took on a glassy gleam, and his breath quickened.
“I don’t want trouble with you. I’ve been told to mind my own business.”
Both Buell and Simon had received the lecture about avoiding David, but he’d thought at the time that David probably hadn’t gotten the same advice. Simon was expecting the worst because his right hand closed into a fist.
“My pa says your pa and that drunk your family sucks off was getting polluted in the saloon Saturday,” David said. “Pa says that if it weren’t for John the Drunk, your pa would be shoveling shit with Paisley Mace.”
A thrill shot up Buell’s spine, and he pushed away from his spot by the school to stride over to the privy. He pointed his finger at David’s face. “Watch whose name comes out of your mouth, asshole.”
David’s head jerked back. “This don’t concern you, Buell.”
“Does when I hear my name. You want me out of it, keep me out of it.”
David sniffed and faced Simon again. “Same as your pa. Always got to have somebody there to wipe your nose.”
Simon’s fist didn’t land perfectly, but it was good enough. David’s lip split, his eyes flooded full of tears, and he staggered back two steps. Then Simon lowered his head and charged full tilt into David’s belly. The gasping sound of David’s lungs forcibly deflating lasted until drowned out by the splintering crash of the boys slamming into the privy. They bounced backwards off the door, and crashed to the ground with David on top of the heap. Simon, gasping for air, struggled to push the heavier David off.
David pushed down on Simon’s shoulders and sat astride him. After wiping his eyes with the back of his left hand, he raised the right one, bunched in a fist, and slammed it down. At the last instant, Simon jerked his head to one side and a hollow pop sound made Buell wince. David screamed and held up his right hand, its little finger bent back at an impossible angle, and the knuckle swelling fast. His face twisted in a grimace as he lowered it and start slapping Simon’s face with his left hand, screaming all the while. Simon did his best to fend off the beating and managed to dodge some blows, but not many. Then he caught a flurry of long skirts out the corner of his eye.
It was Miss Everett. “Stop it, David! Stop it this instant!” She reached to grab his arm but he bunched his fist and punched her in the hip. With a gasp, she staggered and fell to her knees. “Run and tell someone,” she ordered to no one and everyone. “Now!” she shouted when no one moved. Two younger boys took off at a dead run across the schoolyard, toward the main street.
David half stood and roughly flipped Simon over to his belly. Then, he sat down, slipped his left arm under Simon’s chin, and reared back. Simon, gritted teeth bared and eyes squeezed shut, looked pretty much helpless. Just then his eyes opened and looked directly at Buell. Buell studied his friend’s face for some sign of fear or panic and when he didn’t see any decided to do nothing. It wasn’t his fight.
Then David leaned forward for an instant and adjusted his grip, further around Simon’s neck this time. Simon sucked in a deep breath and again his eyes found Buell’s. Only this time he saw panic and Simon’s eyes filled with tears. With his teeth jammed together, what Simon’s lips were trying to say proved hard to read. The grimace, pursed lips parting and closing, finally produced something Buell recognized, and he heard the silent sound of the letter P. Help! Buell took two steps forward, and kicked David in the ear as hard as he could.
“Buell!” Miss Everett hollered, her hands fluttering like two scrapping sparrows and she hurried first to touch Simon’s neck, and then to inspect the steady flow of blood coming from David’s head. Across the schoolyard a half dozen men hurried toward them, Sheriff Staker’s long stride keeping him in front of the group.
When the sheriff arrived, he knelt beside Simon. “What’s going on over here? These youngsters said someone was gettin’ killed.” He moved to David. “They’re both breathing. What happened?” He looked around at Miss Everett and the crowd of children.
“I’m afraid David was trying to really hurt Simon,” Miss Everett replied. “He had his head bent back and was sitting on him. I heard cracking. I hope he’s not broken his back.”
The sheriff glanced down at the boys. “And what happened to David here? Looks like someone chewed off half his ear. Simon bite him?”
One of the kids pointed at Buell. “He kicked ’im. Darn near took his head off.”
“Buell?” The question seemed apparent.
“Thought David was gonna break his back. Figgered a kick was the best way to stop him.”
Simon groaned and started to stir. David remained immobile.
“You hear me, boy?” Staker shook Simon’s shoulder. “Open your eyes.”
Simon made a choking sound as his hand went to his face, then he took a deep breath and started to pant. After a few seconds, he pushed his chest off the ground and turned to sit up. Miss Everett daubed at the side of David’s head and mouth with a kerchief. His head flopped away from her hand and back, and then he opened his eyes and lay still for a few seconds.
David let out a howl, “My hand. Oh, it hurts . . . bad.” He rolled onto his left side and got to his knees. Cradling his right arm, he stood and faced Miss Everett. The blood from his smashed ear ran down his cheek and neck, and blended with the blood and spit from his mashed lip. Mixed with the playground dirt, it made an ugly sight, and he had a crazy look in his eyes as he searched out Simon. “You’ll pay for this,” he said through clenched teeth. Shoulders hunched, he pulled his injured hand tight against his belly. Miss Everett reached for his arm, but he shook her off and headed across the schoolyard.
Simon got to his feet and stood unsteadily.
“You gonna be okay?” Buell asked.
Simon nodded. “I think so. I thought he was going to break my back.”
“I want you to tell your folks about this,” Sheriff Staker said. “Both of you. Hear me? Simon, Buell?” Both nodded. Then he turned to Miss Everett. “What kicked all this off, anyway?” She held her hand up and turned to the children. “Go in and gather your things. There will be no more school today. You can all go home.” The cheering children stampeded toward the school as she turned back to the sheriff. “I really don’t know. I heard the commotion and came out to see David on top of Simon.” Both shaking their heads, they headed toward the schoolhouse.
Simon put both hands beside his head and twisted his neck from side to side; it made crunching sounds. “What took you so long, Buell? I thought you were going to stand there and let him finish me.” He fingered a spot high up on his forehead, pushed on it and winced.
“Wasn’t my fight. Not until you asked for some help. Besides that, I’ve wondered how much a fella’s neck would take before it broke. Quite a bit, looks like.” Buell grinned at Simon’s slack jaw and stunned expression. Together, they walked back to the schoolhouse.
Simon watched in horror next morning as a stream of red arced through the air and into the toilet. His back had prevented sleep for most of the night, and his neck still hurt every time he moved it from side to side. He’d told his folks that he’d had a tussle with David and had seen no need to elaborate. No damage showed other than a bruise high above his right eye—but now this. It didn’t hurt to pee, but it was obviously bloody. He didn’t know quite what to do. He certainly couldn’t tell his mother. And his pa wasn’t a much better choice. Simon decided to go to school and tell no one for the time being. He worried as the last few red drops fell away.
David wasn’t at school, which pleased Simon. Jake met Simon in the coatroom, full of questions because he’d missed the whole thing, and now had to have all the details. Simon filled him in.
Jake seemed satisfied. “You don’t look too bad.” Then he grinned. “Way I hear it David has a plaster on his ear big as my fist.”
“Ever peed bloody?” Simon blurted out.
“What? Pee blood?” Jake looked perplexed, but not puzzled. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“Yeah, this morning.”
“Comes from getting whacked in the side. I’ve heard Pa talk about it after some of the scraps at the saloon. Said some of them fellers will do it for a week.” Jake sounded very matter-offact.
His directness eased some of Simon’s angst. “Can you die from it?”
“Don’t think so. Leastwise I ain’t never heard of it. Mostly it just goes away. I’ll ask Pa when I go home for noon. Why don’t you come along? He won’t tell anyone.”
Buell walked into the coatroom. “Along where?”
“David must of busted something in my guts. I had red in my pee when I went this morning. Jake says it comes from getting whacked in the side. We’re going to go ask his pa if I can die from it.” Simon felt like an expert. He wondered how come he could ask Jake’s pa when asking his own was out of the question. Somehow, it just seemed to be all right this way. He probed once more with his fingers, winced and then grinned at his friends.
“Have you gone again this morning?” Mr. Luger asked.
“Yeah, once.”
“Still as red?”
“Seems about the same.”
“Not any redder?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Is your side painful?”
“Only if I push on it and a little when I sit. Not bad . . . I can stand it okay.”
“I want you to tell your folks.”
Simon looked at Jake and scowled.
“Best let Doc take a look at you. Sometimes they want you to stay off your feet for a couple days. I really don’t know enough except to tell you to see the doc. I ain’t never heard of anyone dying from it, though. Jake’s right about that. Now the three of you go make a sandwich, unless ya brung something else.”
All three hurried for the lunch platter. Simon was especially eager to get out of sight in the back room.
Paul and Simon had gone to see Dr. Princher, and they now sat at the kitchen table where Paul explained the prognosis to Ana.
“Oh, Simon, you should have said something,” she said.
“Doc Princher says he’ll be fine in a few days,” Paul assured her. “Just bruised his kidneys.”
What Paul didn’t say was what Doc Princher had told him out of Simon’s earshot. He had told Paul it took tremendous pressure to bruise a kidney that way, the kind that breaks backs. Paul determined to go see Matt the next day.
Paul rode up in front of what he had always thought of as the home place. He sat in his saddle and looked around at the well-kept buildings. A swift wave of nostalgia washed over him. The ridge beam, sticking out the front of the barn’s high roof, the attached pulley and rope tied back, all reminded him of the day he had nearly fallen from there. His father had grabbed a handful of Paul’s shirt, and a fair amount of skin, and hauled him back to the safety of the loft. He relived the whack his father had dealt him on the back of his head for not being more careful. He now understood that the smack was not his father meting out punishment; it was his father expressing relief. He chuckled at the memory. His horse shifted balance, breaking into his brief daydream. He dismounted, looped the reins over the porch rail, and then walked up to the front door. He hesitated, and then knocked.
Ruth opened the door and her face radiated a welcome. “Paul, come in.”
He stepped into the parlor, and glanced around the room and then looked at the kitchen door. “Hello, Ruth. Is my brother here?” Paul mentally winced. Now why did I say brother, instead of Matt? Ruth hadn’t missed it either. “How’s David’s ear?” he added hastily.
Ruth folded her arms across her chest and looked at him, head half-cocked sideways. Ana could assume that same pose. “It looks a lot worse than it is. It’s not the cut that bothers him most, it’s the ringing. He says it won’t stop. Matt was supposed to be out in the barn. I’m surprised he didn’t hear you ride up.”
“It’s David and Simon I want to talk about. We have to stop whatever is brewing from taking hold. I’m at a loss to understand the conflict between them.”
“Matt and I talked last night and we agree.”
Her response surprised him. Matt, being reasonable? Her arms remained folded. “Well, good. I’ll go out and see if I can find him, then. Ana sends her love. Everything’s fine at home. Simon’s back is a little tender, but he’ll be okay.” Paul did not feel it necessary to tell her of the visit to the doctor. He wanted to get outside. The heat in the house and Ruth’s attitude, along with all the clothes he was wearing, had started to make him sweat. “I’ll stop and say good-bye before I leave,” he said as he opened the door.
She unfolded her arms and held the door for him, then she touched his shoulder as he walked out.
When Paul got to the barn, he stepped into the spacious interior. “Matt?” A saddle horse shifted in a stall and turned to look at him. Paul walked toward the back of the barn. “Matt, you in here?”
A door opened and Matt stepped out halfway. “I’m in here.” He paused and then stepped back into the room.
Paul crossed the stable to the tack room, walked in and shut the door. Matt sat at a bench, a bridle before him and an awl in his hand. Concentration plain on his face, he punched through the leather, eyed the next stitch hole and pierced the strap again. The spacing of the holes was perfect; Matt had always been an excellent leather worker. The room smelled like work, a delicious aroma of leather, treated deliberately with oil, and incidentally with horse sweat. The faint scent of liniment brought back memories of many exceptionally hard days. The last couple of days had been like those, only not in the physical sense. The mental strain of deciding to try one more time with Matt had kept Paul awake for two nights running, and he was feeling the effects.
Paul, as usual, lost the who-speaks-first contest. “I think we need to talk about our boys.”
Matt stopped working and raised his head, a faintly satisfied look blinked across his face. “I think so too.”
“First, you should know I took Simon to see Doc Princher. He said we almost had ourselves a broken back. Just that close.” Paul measured the expression with his thumb and index finger a sixteenth of an inch apart.
“Who punched who first?”
Paul saw his attempt to point out the seriousness of the fight ignored. Matt had never liked to take the blame for anything, and Paul saw he was setting the ground rules early. He sighed. “Simon did.”
“And who has a cut lip, a broken tooth, a smashed ear, and a finger that may never be any good?” Matt’s nostrils flared for an instant and the litany seemed to make him feel better. “So, yeah, let’s talk about how you can get Simon to control his temper.” He looked like a man who’d just turned up a third ace in a game of five-card stud and Paul knew he’d come unprepared. “Sit down,” Matt said. “You make me tired just looking at ya.”
Paul took off his hat and heavy coat and hung them on a nail. He dragged a heavy tall stool over to the bench and sat. “I’m glad we can at least talk about this, Matt. I really am. Maybe we can sort some other things out while we’re at it. Okay?” Matt’s expression didn’t change and Paul felt a tinge of hope. “I don’t remember when we first started to butt heads, but I know we can’t let it carry on through our boys.”
Matt nodded and still said nothing.
“I asked Simon what started this whole thing Monday, and he says there was nothing particular. That’s worrying, don’t ya think?”
“David says Simon made a snotty remark about Ruth.” Matt jutted his chin.
“Come on, Matt, my kids love Ruth like their own mother.” Matt’s eyes narrowed for an instant and ever so slightly. “I mean, Simon would not say anything bad about Ruth. Are you sure?”
“Why would David make it up? First he gets the snot knocked out of him, and now you accuse him of lying. Is this your idea of discussing the problem?”
“I’m not accusing him of anything. I’m just asking if you heard him right.”
“What’s to misunderstand? David says Simon was smarting off about Ruth. That’s good enough for me.”
“All right, if he needs to apologize to Ruth, he will. But even if he had something smart to say, I think David’s reaction was dangerous.” Matt sniffed, making Paul even more determined to make his point. “I’m serious. Doc Princher said he could have broken Simon’s back so easy it ain’t funny.” He slipped off his stool and stood.
A faint smile crossed Matt’s face. “I’ve thought about it and I think if David had wanted to, he could have really hurt Simon. The fact that he didn’t tells me he was in control, and just teaching your boy a little lesson. You going to shield him all his life, or let him grow up?”
“It’s our job to protect our kids from some things, and brutality is one of them. I’ve talked to Miss Everett and she thinks David lost control. She said if Buell Mace hadn’t taken David off Simon, it could have been bad. Do you know that David hit her also?”
“David has apologized to her already. He said she stepped in the way. Her getting hit was an accident. And I don’t take kindly to your describing David as brutal. We’re talking about boys here, and if anyone got beat up, it was David.” Matt stood and moved away from his stool to face Paul directly. “I didn’t want to bring it up, but David has never seen me hit a person or an animal in his life. Can Simon say the same thing about you?”
Paul realized everything Matt said was the truth and had Paul at a distinct disadvantage. So Paul was a bit surprised Matt wasn’t being nasty about it, rubbing his nose in it. “It looks like I’m the one who has to be making the amends. I hadn’t thought this out as well as I should have. I’m sorry for jumping on you.”
“We all make mistakes, Paul. Let’s let this one end right here.” Matt stuck his hand out.
Paul could hardly believe his eyes. He shook Matt’s hand, his heart thumping. “I’m glad we can talk, Matt. I’ve missed not having a brother.” He didn’t want to let go of his hand.
“Let’s go see if Ruth has a cup of coffee,” Matt said. He took his coat off a nail on the wall and headed for the door. Paul followed him.
Matt went to the door after they’d shared a piece of Ruth’s cake and shook his brother’s hand again. Matt felt quite pleased with himself. Avery Singer had told him that Paul and John were working on something that would probably make someone a lot of money. Avery had also told him John needed about five thousand dollars come spring, and that Paul was going to handle whatever it was the money bought.
Matt needed to know what that something was because he was overextended—and his lien holder was Avery Singer. If he could find out what Paul was up to in the next few months, he might just take the deal away. Having Paul relaxed and vulnerable was exactly what Matt needed, and his brother was that now.
His son bristled when Paul told him what he needed to do. “What do you mean apologize? That’s the same as admitting I said something bad about her, and I didn’t. How can that be fair?”
“And if you don’t and she believes what David is saying, what’s she going to think of you? This is what I meant when I told you to try to mind your own business. I’m sorry, but when you punched David you brought yourself down to his level. That’s just the way it works.”
“But, he was saying some really bad things about you. I couldn’t just stand there and let him do that. You didn’t let Uncle Matt. I saw you knock him on his butt.”
Paul sighed. I knew this day would come. As soon as I smacked Matt, satisfying as it was, I knew. He reached out and touched his son on the shoulder. “What I did to Matt was just as wrong as what you did to David. I apologized any number of times for it, and will try for all I’m worth not to let it happen again. You have to do the same, at least to David. I believe you didn’t say anything bad about Ruth.”
“He started it, and I have to say I’m sorry. I just don’t understand.” Simon, elbows propped on the table, held his head in his hands. “All right, I’ll apologize to David, but Ma, please explain to Aunt Ruth that I would never say anything bad about her, okay?”
“I’ll try, Simon, but you have to remember she has as much faith in David as I have in you. But I’ll try.”