When Henry Came Home (27 page)

             
He laughed, softly.

             
"Ah," she said. "Why are you laughing now?"

             
"Your wild notions always tickle me."

             
"Wild? There's nothing wild about it. It's raining out so we'll have a picnic inside. When Sarah and Donovan come by in the afternoon we'll congratulate them and invite them to sit down with us to a summer day."

             
"A wedding present?"

             
"Yes!" She pulled aside the low coffee table. "Let me get a blanket." She came back a moment later and spread out the checkered sheet. "Come on, now, set down here." She held his arm as he got up and as he sat down to the ground. He winced a little and gave a short gasp. "You all right?" He nodded and she tossed him a pillow, then, on second thought, pushed the couch forward a little so he could lean against it. "I'll get the things to make sandwiches."

             
Sarah and Donovan arrived late that afternoon, spotted with rain. "At least it's warmer than that cold spell we were having," remarked Donovan.

             
"Smells nice, too," added Sarah.

             
Mary took her shawl and Donovan shucked his coat, hanging it on the clotheshorse along with the other garments. "Come on in," said Mary. "We've got our present all ready."

             
Sarah peeked through into the parlor. "Present? Oh, Mary," she giggled, walking in. "What is this?"

             
"A lovely summer day." Mary spread her arms, ushering them in.

             
"Sit down and have a sandwich," offered Henry.

             
"Oh," cried Sarah, grinning. She pulled Donovan to the checkered blanket. "How perfect!" She took a piece of bread and cheese. "Thank you, Henry."

             
"Mary thought of it."

             
"She must have. No one else comes up with such imaginations."

             
Mary sat down and leaned against Henry. "Oh, you're wrong," she said. "Everyone has ideas. Henry thinks of things all the time."

             
"Not such pretty things," he objected.

             
"Well, you're a man. Remember those plans you made, for the palace?"

             
"Your palace."

             
"Oh, it was beautiful. I've got it all in my mind, and that's better than if it were built right here on the prairie because of course it never comes out as good as you imagine it."

             
Thinking of the warm afternoon they had spent dreaming up gold-tinted paradises in front of guests made Henry's face go white. He coughed dryly. Mary was about to run and get the plans, but, seeing Henry swallow nervously, held off.

             
"Anyway," she said, "how was the wedding?" She rubbed Henry's back until he quieted, and urged him to take a sip of water.

             
"Just perfect, Mary, except you weren't there."

             
Donovan looked wry. "I think every woman in the building suddenly sprouted her own well."

             
"Oh, Donny," chastised Sarah, smiling. "Everyone cries at weddings." She put a hand to her mouth. "We got more news than that, too."

             
"Not a baby," giggled Mary.

             
Sarah laughed, though Donovan looked a little offended. "Not yet, anyway," he said.

             
"No. Donny's going to take me out east. Next week, maybe. He's got school off for a while, but we're going to travel—see everything! Then maybe look for a home by the university."

             
Mary's smile cut itself short. "So soon? Of course I'm happy for you..."

             
"We're going to explore the world,” Donovan elaborated, jumping in. “Or at least whatever's to see on this continent. Go to all the places a girl should see while she's young, and on her honeymoon besides. No offense intended."

             
Henry cleared his throat softly. "None taken," he half-whispered as Donovan continued on without pause.

             
"New York," he said. "Boston. Maybe down to Virginia or the Carolinas."

             
"I'm so excited," said Sarah. "I'll send you all letters."

             
There was a flash of lighting outside, and then rolling thunder. "We'd better get going," Donovan said. "Before the storm hits." He stood and pulled Sarah up. Mary got up to help Henry.

             
"My cane," he said briefly, gesturing.

             
Mary took his arm. "Get it, will you Sarah? Thank you."

             
The foursome went to the door and the newlyweds donned their rain apparel. Kisses and handshakes went around, and they were gone. Mary closed the door and went to the front window to peep out of the curtains. "I hope she'll be happy," said Mary, a kind of slight worry entering her voice. "I don't think I could ever be very happy so far from home. Look—just from her leaving, there's a little piece gone out of all our lives. If everyone left, all the pieces would be gone and no one would be anyone, just strangers. What's out there more important than life?"

             
Henry came up beside her. "Nothing much," he said, and coughed. "Not as much as you'd think."

             
Joey came late in the afternoon on Paley, who was becoming slow and grey, though still dignified as he ever was. "You tell Pa to put that old gentleman out to pasture," said Mary, coming out into the yard.

             
Joey hopped down from the barebacked horse, carrying a bedroll strapped with two belts over his shoulder. "Pa'd just say he ain't got the money to git us a new horse. Ever since Brian got his gun, Pa thinks he can say no to anything we want."

             
Mary tapped him on the nose. "His right, too, I suppose." She shook her head. "Ten years old and already with a gun. I guess he'll have his own little revolution before the month is up."

             
Joey looked up at his sister as they stomped up the stairs. "Shoot, a month? It's been a week or eight days and all of Mr. Pe—Henry's kid brothers are stomping around in a line."

             
Mary looked surprised. "Pa lets him take it around to other folks' houses?"

             
"Nah, he just uses a broom or something. I bet he's only shot that rifle maybe five times, with Pa over his shoulder, and he can't even shoot. Just like I said."

             
"I'm glad his Pa is keeping a firm hand." This word was from Henry, inside.

             
"Hola," said Joey, grinning.

             
"Hola," he returned. "Como estas?"

             
Joey gawked. "You know Spanish?" He hurried to sit down next to his brother-in-law.

             
"Some."

             
"I just learnt 'hola' and 'adios.' That old Mexican that always sits outside the saloon taught me, but don't tell Ma I talked to him."

             
"I'll get you something to eat," said Mary. "Boys are always hungry. Henry, you want something?"

             
He shook his head.

             
"Well," called Joey after his sister, "Hurry up, cause I got news."

             
Mary turned around and came back. "If you're hungry you shouldn't've said that. Go on and tell me."

             
"Ma got a letter from Sarah--"

             
"Sarah! What'd she say? Where is she?"

             
"Hold your horses. It was a short letter, and I guess you can ask her yourself all those things because she's coming next week on the train."

             
Mary gave a squeal of delight. "Oh, Joey!" she kissed her brother affectionately on the head. "I don't think I can wait that long."

             
"Five days isn't much next to two years," said Joey. "Anyway Ma says can you please pick her up at the station because Pa and her have their hands full with all the new cattle that's come in, and birthing them besides."

             
"Oh, of course I will!"

             
Joey got up. "I better go get Paley before he runs clear home."

             
"Go on then. I'll just start dinner—I guess it's close enough to time." Henry brushed her skirt as she went by, and she stopped to help him up. "I just can't believe my ears," she said as they went into the kitchen. "I was just about reconciled that Sarah'd gone off and left us completely, for all her adventures." She bent over and dug around for a pot in the cupboard. "Fetch me a spoon, will you? One of the big wooden ones."

             
"You ought not to expect much from Sarah," Henry said quietly.

She took the spoon from his hand. "What do you mean?"

              "Only that maybe it's not wise to assume she's had such a fine time of it."

             
"Do you think she was lying about all the places she'd been, in those letters?" Mary looked troubled as she filled the pot with water.

             
"No—but she hasn't written near seven months now. A good deal can change in that time."

             
The pot went on the stove, and Mary's hands dug themselves into a bowl of dough she had set earlier to rise. The warm, yeasty aroma filled the air. "I guess," she said, doubtfully. A small jar of cinnamon came out, and Mary smiled as she felt Henry come up behind her, brushing her skirt again. He looked over her shoulder.

             
"How do you know?" he asked.

             
She turned her face to his and kissed him quickly. "Know what?"

             
"You know—the right amounts."

             
She looked at the pinch of red powder in the center of her palm. She shrugged and held it up to his face. "Here, sniff." He obeyed. "Cinnamon's kind of dusty, so you need lots in the summer, cause there's so much dust already you can't hardly taste it. Winter's cool and crisp, so all you need is a pinch. Right now, in between, fall blows all the smells around, so you use some—not a whole lot, and not a little."

             
"How much is a little?"

             
She giggled. "Oh, you just stop it."

             
"Stop what?" asked Joey, coming in the door. "Oh," he said, seeing them together. "Are you two gonna get all romantic?"

             
"Joey, you're terrible. It's what married folks do."

             
He made a face. "I know. I ain't never gettin' hitched."

             
"We'll see." Mary kissed her husband again. "Now go on before I'm distracted into letting this stew boil over."

             
Henry followed Joey back into the parlor. He stood by the window, looking out. Red from the sun reflected in the faint drizzle so that the air looked like it was glowing.

             
"Teach me some more Spanish," said Joey.

             
"Como se llama," said Henry. "That's 'What is your name.'"

             
"How do I say, 'Brian's gun is stupid?'"

             
Henry smiled faintly. "I don't know that much."

             
"I guess I can ask that old Mexican his name."

             
"Say, 'buenos dias.'" He pulled the shade half shut and went over to the fire, his breath wheezing slightly in his chest. It was something that had stayed, on and off, after the pneumonia. He cleared his throat and picked up a poker, stirring the embers a little. "Come over and put a log on," he told Joey.

             
"Sure, Mr. Peterson." Joey jumped to the task.

             
Henry sat down on the sofa. "You know anything more about this letter from Sarah?"

             
"Nope. Like I said, it was real short. Just said she'd be on the west-bound train Thursday morning."

             
"Your Ma ever get anything from her, after she stopped writing Mary?"

             
"I think she stopped writing Ma before that. Last we heard of was her havin' little John, and that was a while ago." Joey sat on the floor, his legs tucked under, and leaned back on his hands. "Gosh, that smell's making me hungry."