CHAPTER

21

DAVID AND HOWARD halted their horses at the lip of a ravine north of Sixbury’s. The sun had fallen most of the way over the horizon, edged pink across the sky against and above the remaining snow. A thin stream of water split the ditch.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Howard. “You’re taking on an awful lot.”

“Sixbury’s taking on the responsibility.”

“That’s easy to say.”

The mare David was riding snorted and stepped back. “I never had it in my head to settle here.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You know, when Patrick was lost I felt like I ought to stick around.”

“Sixbury can make it easier without Patrick than with him,” said Howard.

“That’s what I told myself.” He pulled his horse in a tight circle. “Now, with the kid—” he yawned, shaking his head—“I really feel like I should stay.”

“I can understand that.”

They headed up toward the big branch of the river, the sun gone now. The horses stepped slowly up a hill on which stood a lone cottonwood. At the base of the tree were the scattered entrails of an animal.

“Hey, well, that’s something,” said Howard, climbing down from his horse and examining the parts more closely. “Looks like a sheep, but who can tell.”

“A sheep? What do you think? Coyote?”

Howard laughed out a breath. “I ain’t heard of a coyote yet that dresses out prey and carries the whole works away. I mean, there ain’t nothing but guts here.”

“Huh.” David looked all around. “You’re right about that. Such a thing as a sheep rustler?”

“I suppose anything is possible.”

The mare was out in the barn lot while David shoveled out her stall. Sixbury stood by. Butch played about the barn.

“You think I’m crazy,” said Sixbury.

“Yep.” David pushed the full wheelbarrow past her and out to the compost heap.

Sixbury watched him. When he was once again in the stall, she said, “I suppose I am crazy.”

“Yep.”

“You shouldn’t feel like you’re on the spot,” she said and looked across the corral at Butch climbing on the fence. “I don’t expect you to stay here.”

“Okay.”

David felt bad. He filled the barrow again and made the trip to the compost heap. He saw that Butch had pushed open the gelding’s stall door and was standing behind the horse. He put down the barrow and entered the stall, stepping between the child and the animal.

“Go on,” he said, “play somewhere else.”

Something spooked the horse as the child ran out and he kicked David in the small of the back, pushing him face-first into the wall. He felt a long sliver slide into his cheek.

He yelled as he picked himself up. “Butch! Get into the house!”

Butch froze, staring blankly at David’s sudden display of anger.

“Go!” He pointed at the house. “And stomp the shit off your shoes.”

Sixbury had stepped out into the corral and was now looking at David. David looked into her face for a second, feeling his cheek. He could feel the wood under his skin. He turned away from her and went into the house, into the bathroom to extract the splinter.

That afternoon David was in the house alone. Sixbury had driven Butch up to Gillette to buy her some clothes. He went upstairs and into the room that had been Patrick’s. Sixbury had thrown sheets over the furniture. He pulled the cover from the table by the window. On it were several roughly carved horses; there were no curves, but instead corners at the shoulders and haunches. He replaced the cover.

Sixbury had complained that the refrigerator was cooling poorly and that it sounded different, so David had pulled the appliance away from the wall and was sitting on the floor behind it. He had removed the lower access cover, had checked the condenser fan, and was about to examine the compressor. Butch was sitting on the counter beside the toolbox.

“Butch,” said David, “hand me a small wrench.”

The child just laughed.

David smiled at her. “Push the box over this way, so I can find it, then.”

Again, she only laughed.

And it dawned on David that she didn’t understand what he was saying. He had taken for granted that she understood just about everything said to her. “Where is Sixbury?” he asked.

“Upstairs.”

“Do you know what a tool is?”

No response.

“Hand me a wrench.” She giggled once more.

David reached up and grabbed the toolbox. He removed the motor relay cover and saw evidence of burning on the terminals of the relay. He would have to replace the part. He tried to get up, but found that somehow he had wedged himself in, one knee against the wall, the other pushed into the bottom of the refrigerator. He couldn’t move. He tried to push the refrigerator forward, but it met a rise in the floor and wouldn’t slide.

“Go get Sixbury,” he said to the child.

Butch climbed down from the counter and ran out of the kitchen. David listened to her little steps. He wondered just how often she had not understood him, bluffed her way through. The girl came back with Sixbury.

“What is it?” Sixbury asked, looking down behind the refrigerator.

“I’m stuck,” said David. “I’m wedged in here. See if you can help me push the refrigerator out some.”

Butch was on the counter again. She was pointing at David’s head, her hand right by Sixbury’s face.

“What is it?” Sixbury asked.

“What’s she pointing at?” asked David.

Butch said, “Spider.”

This set David to swatting around his face and head; then, in his state, he tried to stand. He pushed the refrigerator and it tilted forward. He yelled Sixbury and Butch away and tried to pull it back by grabbing the sides, but it fell. It landed with an awful crash and the sound of breaking jars and bottles. David stood up and put the toolbox on the counter, refusing to look at the fallen box and all the liquids seeping out onto the floor.

Sixbury bit her lip. “You find the problem?”

David said nothing. He lifted the refrigerator to its upright position and opened the door. Several jars rolled out onto the floor, already broken glass fell, juice ran down the walls, eggs were broken all about. Without a word, he cleaned the appliance out and wiped the floor. He went to the barn, got the hand truck, then loaded the refrigerator onto the bed of Sixbury’s pickup. He drove to the dump, backed up to the lip of the fill, and kicked the icebox into the garbage. He went from there to Gillette and bought a new refrigerator from J.C. Penney’s. He drove it home, put it in the kitchen, and said, “Load her up.” And that was all he said for another two hours, and by then everyone else had gone to bed.

His anger had passed into something else; he felt somehow empty and somehow full of energy. He started shouting for Sixbury and Butch. The old woman and the child came down in their nightclothes.

“Sit down,” David said calmly.

And they all sat silently around the fire, looking at one another. More than fifteen minutes passed.

“We’re going to Casper tomorrow,” David said finally. “We’re going to eat in a restaurant, see a movie, and sleep in a motel.” Then he got up and went to bed.

It was snowing again. He’d told Sixbury and Butch to pack and get in the car and that was it.

“You really shouldn’t be so upset, David,” said Sixbury.

David just looked straight ahead through the windshield. He knew that he was more than just angry about the refrigerator and the snow. He was reacting also to the situation in which he found himself. This trip was an escape, an attempt to abate the guilt he was experiencing because of his desire to abandon Butch and Sixbury, and it was also a family outing. He wondered if a man actively seeking to surrender could be captured.

By the time they pulled into Casper it was an all-out blizzard, the car’s windshield wipers brushing ineffectively at the snow. They parked and walked into a restaurant. Their table was near a window and David sat silently, looking at the weather.

“Pretty messy,” said Sixbury.

“Yep,” said David. He looked at Butch. “I bet you’ve never seen anything like this before.”

The child smiled and nodded.

David looked at Sixbury. “Sometimes she has no idea at all of what I’m saying.”

“I know,” said Sixbury. “I noticed it right off.”

“You did.”

“Yep. She’ll pick up.”

“I’m hungry,” said Butch.

“What do you want?” asked David.

“Hamburger.”

David was surprised, thrilled to find scallops on the menu. David told Sixbury that he planned to have scallops. “Scalops,” he repeated to himself as he looked out the window at the blizzard.

“May I help you?” asked the waitress.

David looked at Sixbury. “I’d like the Salisbury steak,” said Sixbury, “and a glass of milk.”

“What kind of dressing would you like on your salad?”

“None,” said Sixbury.

David ordered a hamburger and milk for Butch and scallops for himself.

“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have scallops.”

“You don’t have scallops.”

“No, sir.”

“They’re on the menu.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’ll have bourbon.”

The theater was just about empty; there was too much syrup in the Dr. Pepper, Butch got sick; the movie was boring.

The motel had only one room and there was only one bed. But they took it; snow was piling up outside. At least the room was warm. Then David went back to the lobby to buy a couple of candy bars from the vending machine. It took his money, but gave no candy.

David went to the desk and rang the bell. The clerk, a tall, slender man, came out of the office, half of a sandwich in his hand. “The machine took my money,” said David.

“Did you use the correct change?” The man was chewing.

David nodded. “Exactly.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say. I guess it took your money.”

“Yes. Now, will you help me get my money?”

“Can’t do it.” He pointed at the machine. “Sign says No Refunds.”

“Yeah, well, I see the sign. If you could just open the machine, I’ll get my candy.”

The man bit his sandwich and shook his head.

“You don’t have a key,” said David.

“Oh, I’ve got a key, but we don’t give refunds.”

David felt his fingers folding into a fist. He looked at the skinny man’s face. He knew just where he was going to hit him, left side of the head, just below the eye, just beside the nose. Oh, he was going to hit him. He knew he shouldn’t, but he was going to. This man was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, putting the last bail too many on the wagon. The punch landed solidly. The clerk went down, but not out. David turned and started away.

“I’m calling the cops!” the man yelled from the floor behind the desk. “You bastard, I’m calling the cops!”

David stopped at the vending machine, punched out the glass, and grabbed a couple of candy bars.

The clerk had pulled himself up. He said, “You’re a crazy son of a bitch. I knew you were weird when you checked in here with that old bag and that little gook.”

David started toward him. He was furious. Blood rushed to his face. He could feel his eye twitching. The clerk ran into the office, closed and locked the door. David leaped over the counter, met the closing office door. He grabbed the receiver from the phone on the front desk and knocked the glass out of the door. The frightened clerk was on his knees on the far side of a metal desk, another phone in his hand. David looked at him for a second, then ran back to the room.

Butch and Sixbury were sitting up in the bed, watching television. Sixbury had removed her leg and leaned it against the wall near the heater. David grabbed it and tossed it onto the bed.

“Get dressed,” he said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?” asked Sixbury.

“The police are coming,” said David. “I just punched out the clerk.” He pulled things together.

Sixbury began fastening on her leg. David tossed Butch her coat and told her to put it on. He looked out the window and then opened it. Sixbury had her leg on and was putting on her coat.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

David looked at her, then at the confused and frightened little girl. “I’m afraid they’ll take Butch. I mean, we can’t explain her.”

Sixbury didn’t have to hear any more. She buttoned Butch’s coat and started for the door.

“No, this way,” said David.

He put the two bags out first, then climbed out himself, helping Butch and then Sixbury through. The snow had stopped falling, but it was deep. He carried the child to the car. The old Dart didn’t want to kick over at first, but finally did, and they skidded out of the parking lot and down the street, passing an oncoming police car.

Once out of Casper, facing a snowy, dark road ahead, David relaxed. He looked over at Sixbury. She was staring straight ahead, her brow knitted, her eyes hard, her fingers interlaced in her lap.

David remembered the feel of the clerk’s face as his knuckles had landed, bone beneath a thin sheet of flesh. It had felt good, that punch.