Cherokee (19 page)

I shook my head. “Naw, I cheated. We trailed for the better part of three days, but then I said the hell with it and we took the train. I've got a fair-sized ranch to run and I just can't spend this kind of time, not even to please my own daddy. It was a damn fool idea anyway. And then he wouldn't let me bring the best gun hand on the place, my youngest brother, Ben. Wouldn't have it, wouldn't let me tell him.”

He looked at me. “I know who Ben is.”

Then it struck me. He'd said he'd been getting letters from Howard. That meant that Howard knew where the man was. Then why in hell didn't he just come out and tell me instead of suggesting I might have to look all over Oklahoma for him? By God, I decided Howard was going to have a few things to answer for when I got home. If I did.

I was still standing by Mister Stevens's chair. He handed me back the deposit slip. “I don't want this money.”

I just shrugged and went and sat back down. “I was just told to bring it to you. What you do with it after that is your business. On our way out of town I'll stop in at the bank and have it put in your account. I reckon you got an account there? If you don't I'll open you one.”

He frowned slightly. “Mister Williams, I don't think you understand it. This matter between me and Howard is not about money.”

“Mister Stevens, Howard is getting old. I guess if he's been writing you you know he took a bullet through the breast some years back. That and the death of our mother have taken their toll. Howard is in bad health and sometimes he don't think so straight. But he wants this matter off his conscience before his time comes. He said it in those exact words. So I'd like to be able to go back and tell him that you took the money, that the debt is square. He's got it in his head he stole the money.”

Mister Stevens was looking at me intently. He said, “I think I'm beginning to understand why Howard sent you. He wants me to tell you something that he's either afraid or too ashamed to tell you.”

I straightened a little in my chair. “Mister Stevens, with all respect, my daddy is the bravest man I've ever known. If something needs doing or telling he doesn't lay it off on someone else.”

Mister Stevens nodded. “Yes, Howard Williams is a brave man. But I could see how he could not face you on this. And I can understand why he wouldn't let you bring Ben or even tell him about it.”

“What the hell has this got to do with some money Howard has got in his head he got off you one way or the other?”

Charlie Stevens said, “Oh, Howard Williams stole from me, all right, but it wasn't money.”

“Then what was it?” I said. I was starting to get a little irritated. Seemed like we'd been talking in circles, beginning with Howard.

Mister Stevens was looking at me with that intent look on his face. “You really don't know, do you?”

“Hell, no!” I said, frowning. “What'd he steal.”

He said slowly, “My wife. And your mother. And Ben's mother.”

I sat back in the chair, staring at Charlie Stevens, trying to get a wrap on what he'd just said. Finally I said, “What the hell are you talking about? You talking about my mother, Alice?” For the life of me I couldn't, all of a sudden, remember her maiden name or I would have added that on.

But Charlie Stevens was shaking his head. “I'm not talking about the lady you always thought was your mother. You were better than a year old when Howard married her. No, I'm talking about my wife. Or the woman who was going to be my wife as soon as a preacher passed through. It was like that in those days. A man and woman would live together as man and wife until a preacher rode through and made it official. Lot of people had to do it that way. Of course we could have had an Indian ceremony but she was only half Cherokee.”

My head was whirling. I didn't know what to think, much less what to say. I finally said, “I don't believe it. Howard would have told me, he'd of told me a long time ago.”

Stevens said, “When? While the lady you thought was your mother was still alive? She took you to raise just like you was her own. And then Ben. You reckon Howard would have cut her up like that? Then after she'd passed on, you reckon he could have told you then? Reckon he could have said not to grieve for your mother because she really wasn't your mother at all? When you reckon he should have told you?”

I looked at him, not saying anything.

He said, “Ever wonder how come you and Ben was so different from Norris?”

I said, wondering, “You know about Norris?”

“Justa, I know about your whole family. I know when you took over the running of the ranch. I know how good Ben is with horses and guns. I know how hotheaded he is. I know how smart you are, how you can use your head when most men draw a gun. I told you Howard has been writing me over the years, telling me about you two boys, asking my forgiveness for both my wife and this ...” He touched the stump of his right arm. “I don't blame him for this. It wasn't his doing, and if it hadn't of been for him I'd of died. At that time I didn't much care. But now I'm glad I didn't. I guess the reason he sent you was so I could get a look at you. And also tell you about your mother.”

I said, looking at the floor, “I don't know what to think.”

He got up. “Well, while you take in what I've just told you, and I reckon it's a load, why don't I go out and bring your friend in. We had a good norther blow in and I don't reckon it's going to get any warmer.”

I looked up quickly. “I don't want him to hear any of this. Right now I want it to be private between you and me.”

“I'll take him through the other hall to the kitchen. I've got a cook back there can get him some coffee or a drink or whatever he wants.” He started out of the room and then stopped. He pointed with his left hand at the sideboard. “You might want to pour yourself a drink.”

After he was gone I got up, slowly, and went over to the sideboard and figured out which one of the decanters was whiskey, got a tumbler, and poured myself out a generous measure. I took it back to my chair, got out a cigarillo and lit it, and then sat there smoking and drinking. I couldn't believe what Stevens had told me except that it all made sense, even the silly way Howard had sent me to Oklahoma, even making me lug that gold to atone for his grave deed, even sending me to the only man who could and would tell me the truth. I finished my drink and got up and got another, my mind still whirling. When I went back to my chair Stevens had come quietly into the room and seated himself across from me. He watched me work on the second drink. Then he leaned forward and said gently, “Her name was Lucy. She was nineteen years old when your father took her from me after almost two months in my company. I knew the first time he laid eyes on her he wanted her, and your daddy was always a man who went after what he wanted either by fair means or foul. I can't blame him. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Her father was French, a gambler and sometimes trader in whiskey. He was a rounder and no mistake, but he was a handsome devil and had a great sense of humor. Her mother was full-blooded Cherokee and the Cherokee women have always been known for their beauty. Her mother was an exceptional beauty.”

I said, “Well, how . . . I mean . . .”

“You mean how did he take her?”

“Yeah.”

“She went with him. He didn't steal her against her will if that is what you're thinking. But you didn't know your father at that age. He was something, was Howard Williams. Tall, tall as you, built a lot like you, and had a way about him that was a natural with the ladies. See, I was just a man going to run a sawmill, but Howard talked to her about a vast ranch in Texas, thousands of cattle, a palatial mansion. Of course it was just talk. I knew it couldn't have changed that much since I'd given up on it and come back here. But Howard and I had been boyhood friends from Georgia. We shared everything, horses, food, guns, money. I guess he thought that extended to my wife. I tried to tell her what it was going to be like but she didn't want to hear. I tried to tell her the thousands of cattle were there, all right, but that they were as wild as so many black bears. I said the mansion was going to be a dugout in the middle of the prairie. She didn't listen. Howard had this big dream of supplying cattle to the South, getting rich. It happened, I know, but not like he told Lucy.” He got up and poured himself a drink one-handed.

He said, “When I knew she was going I loaned Howard five hundred dollars in hopes it would make life easier on Lucy.” He came back to his chair and sat down and sipped at his drink. It looked to be the color of brandy. “About a year later I went down to Texas to see if I could persuade her to come back.” He touched his stump again. “That's when I got this. It was an accident, a misunderstanding by one of Howard's men who thought I was threatening Howard.”

“Buttercup,” I said.

“What?”

“Tom Butterfield. He's still with Howard. Cooks for us, worst luck. We got to calling him Buttercup as kids. Least he cooks for us when he ain't drunk.”

“Yes,” Stevens said. “That was the name. He helped your daddy nurse me.”

“What about, uh, Lucy?”

“Your mother?” He took a drink of his brandy. “I didn't see her. Howard said she was pregnant. With you, I would reckon. It times out about right. In fact she may have had you when I was there. What year were you born?”

I said, “1864.”

He nodded. “That would have been just about right.”

I shook my head. “Mister Stevens, you'll have to forgive me if I just set here and think about all this. I reckon you can imagine I've got a hell of a lot of questions, but right now my head is just going right and left and up and down.”

“I would reckon. Why don't you go back in the kitchen and have a cup of coffee with your friend? I think the cook located him a piece of pie. I would imagine all this kind of come at you from your blind side and has got you off in a storm. Whyn't you go think about something else for a time.” He got up. “I reckon I ought to run down to the sawmill and make sure things are still operating. You gentlemen make yourself at home. Need anything, Margaret, that's the cook, will find it for you.” He started toward the hall that led to the front door, and then stopped and turned back to me. “Ain't only you been took kind of sudden.” His voice softened. “Seeing you has brought back a world of memories I thought I gotten swept under the carpet in my mind a long time ago. But now . . .” He shook his head. “I can just see Lucy in your face.”

“You ever answer any of Howard's letters?”

“Just once. No, make that twice. The first was many years ago when he wrote saying he wanted to send me some money to pay back what he'd borrowed. Some little time had passed and he wrote to ask after my health and my business matters and to ask what I figured he owned me on the five hundred, figuring interest. I wrote him back to say to forget the money, that was the least of it. Of course I kept hearing from him, always with news, writing just like we were still partners. Then, of course, he wrote about Lucy when she died.” He looked down at the floor. “Of course by then I'd already remarried, but it was still a very painful letter to get. I wrote him thanking him for letting me know. That was all my end of the correspondence. Of course he's sent money up here to this bank before and I've had it sent back. I don't know if you count that as correspondence.”

I said slowly, “So he sent me up here with money he knowed in advance you was going to turn down.”

“That wasn't the reason he sent you, Justa.”

“Then why encumber me with such a load of gold?”

“Maybe to make you think it was important. Besides, that's the most money he's ever sent. I think the last time he wired money up here, some ten, twelve years ago, it was ten thousand if I remember a-right. Maybe it was to impress me. Maybe he was saying, 'Look, here's Lucy's son, look how I'm taking a chance with him putting him on the road with this dangerous money. Now you've got to take it.' Who the hell knows what he thought. Let me tell you, Howard Williams's mind might be going, but you'll be hard-pressed to ever run up against another one could think like him. Your daddy was an original. I've never met his equal since. But that doesn't mean I'm ever going to forgive him.”

He went out, and I got up and went seeking the kitchen in the big house. After a few wrong turns I found it at the back and side of the house. It was a large cheerful room with plenty of sunlight. I found Hays established at the big round kitchen table with the remains of an apple pie still in the pan in front of him along with a plate and a fork and a cup of coffee. There was a Negro woman at the sink, pumping out a stream of water into a bucket. She looked around as I came in and said, “Yassuh, what kin I be a-gettin' you, suh?”

She was a comely older lady in a kind of a gray uniform-looking dress. I said I'd just have a cup of coffee if it wouldn't be too much trouble. I pulled up a chair and sat down and Hays said, “Boss, you better have a piece of this pie. I swear you never eat no better pie in all yore life.”

The maid, or cook, or whatever she was gave a soft laugh. “That gennelman shore likes his pie. Would you be a-lettin' me cut you just a bit?”

I nodded and said I wouldn't mind. She said, “You want that with a little wedge o' this yeah cheese we got?”

I was kind of doubtful. I'd never heard of putting cheese on pie, but Hays said, “Boss, you got to try it! I swear it's the best idee you ever heard of.”

I said, “Shut up, Hays. I wouldn't listen to you about food. I've seen you put gravy on cake, for God's sake.”

He said, “Yeah, an' it was good too.”

Margaret came over and cut me a piece of pie and put a wedge of cheese on top, and then stuck it in the oven for a few minutes. When she set it back in front of me, along with a cup of coffee, the pie was warm and the cheese was kind of soft and runny. She said, carrying her bucket in one hand, “I be gonna warsh them back stairs. You gennelmens wants anythin' else just sing out.”

I tried the pie and cheese. It was different, but it was pretty good. Hays was watching while I chewed. He said, “There! Now ain't that good? Ain't that the damnedest thing you ever tasted?”

“No. Damnedest thing I ever tasted was when you busted a jar of syrup in amongst the beef jerky the time we were moving some cattle out to the island. But that wasn't on purpose. At least I don't think it was.”

“How you and that Charlie Stevens feller gettin' along?”

I just nodded, still eating the pie and drinking coffee.

Hays said, “You get that gold handed over to him? I mean, it's off our hands, we're shut of it, right?”

“Hays, you are worse than having a pet raccoon around the house. You have got to have your nose in everything.”

“Say, did you notice that Mister Stevens is missing a arm?”

I gave him an amazed look. “Well, yes, after about half an hour of talking to him I kind of took note of that fact.”

He ignored what I'd said. “I don't reckon as how I'd ever shook hands with a man missing his right arm. I mean, I was out there, settin' my horse, an' he come out an'hailed me to come up on the porch. So I got off my old pony an' went up the steps and stuck out my right hand and then, right then an' there, I seen he didn't have one. A right hand. So it was kind of awkward, but I got out of it.”

“What fool thing did you do?”

He looked proud of himself. “Right quick, so quick I bet he never noticed it, I brung my right hand back and stuck out my left. An' we shook like that, like it was the most natcheral thang in the world.”

I just shook my head. “Hays, you beat all. I mean, you flat beat all.”

I finished my pie and got up. I said, “Let's go out front and loosen the girths on the horses. Give them a little blow.”

He said anxiously, “We ain't going to be here all that long, are we?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I still got some business with Mister Stevens to get handled.”

We went out and tended to the horses, and then went up on the big wide porch with the verandah roof and sat in the white-painted wicker furniture. The chairs and the little settee were almost a match to what we had on the front porch of the headquarters house back home. I sat down and lit a cigarillo, looked out over the bleak Oklahoma landscape, and did a good little bit of thinking. Ray Hays tried to interrupt at first, but then he saw I didn't want to talk and he fell silent himself. After a while he went out to his horse and came back with a half-full bottle of whiskey. He had a drink and then passed it to me. I took a pull and handed it back. After a while I looked at my watch. It was nearing four o'clock. I had some more questions for Mister Stevens, but they could wait until the next day. As soon as those were answered me and Hays could start back for Blessing. I had a whole bunch I wanted to talk over with Howard, and I didn't reckon he was going to find it all that pleasant. Now I could understand his need for secrecy about the matter, keeping it hidden from Ben and Norris. If I'd been him I'd of kept it hidden too. Except I'd of kept it hidden from me, especially me.