When Henry Came Home (43 page)

             
Lacing his fingers behind his head, Pa leaned back again, kicking his feet up on the desk. "Just don't want you goin' to sleep on me, Harp. Tell me about 'er."

             
He took a gulp, and sat down on the edge of a small cot in the corner, against one wall. Setting the bottle aside, he put a foot up on the opposite knee and began to work at getting his boot off. "Well—" he grunted, "if it's silence you're lookin' for, this girl fits the bill. She's a whore, though, an' even if you said it I ain't sure that's what you want, Ben."

             
"We'll see."

             
"She ain't friends with any a' the other girls, I gather, and while they don't specially like her they ain't had a reason to th'ow 'er out, though in my mind the word there is 'yet.' I ast her, and she says, "There ain't no way outa whorin', but if you got a genie or somethin' who'll grant my wish, sure I'll take it." A genie, she says. Pretty much that was all I could get outta her. Wouldn't say nothin' 'bout whur she come from, nor if she's usin' her given name."

             
Pa grunted thoughtfully and hoisted himself to his feet. He crossed the room and laid a hand on the wrought iron handle of the door. "I'll be back come mornin'," he said. "You'n take me over then."

             
The sheriff lifted his bottle in farewell.

              "Up there. Uhh..." Harper squinted his eyes, remembering. "Third door to the left. Damn you, Ben, it'll take a week at least to catch up on my sleep, you wakin' me so danged early." He turned and began to shuffle off.

             
"That ain't me, it's your hangover," Pa shot back, dryly.

             
"Anyhow—good luck."

             
"Sure." He started up the set of back stairs, nailed insecurely to the outside of the back wall of the old building, apparently for more discreet entrances. They groaned considerably beneath his weight, and Pa frowned. He wasn't looking to wake every girl in the place. Finally, though, he got to the top without mishap and ducked through a door so small he had to turn his broad shoulders sideways to fit. The hall was just about as small, and dim, but he found the door and knocked softly.

             
There were footsteps and then it opened. "Come in." A figure retreated swiftly. "I've got some coffee if you like."

             
Pa stepped in, ducking through the doorway and glancing around, calmly observant. The room was neatly kept, but mostly because it was bare. He suspected that the drapes in the window had been there when she had moved in. "No—thank you," he rumbled, finally.

             
She came back, a cup between her hands. "My name is Catharine Beaumont."

             
"French?" He studied her face; it would have been passably beautiful, but her expression was empty, dead.

             
"My parents. Or my father."

             
"Ben Jacobs."

             
"The sheriff said." She shifted and sat down because she knew that she wouldn't be able to stand still while this man was in the room. The men who usually came to her were easy to deal with—they had come before, and needed something from her. You could tell, even on the street, a man who had been to a whore, even if it was an old man and he had only been once, as a boy. They cringed, passing a house or a girl, hating their weakness. Jacobs was not a man who had been to a whore, ever. He only stood there, calm and confident.

             
"He also said you wouldn't tell him anything."

             
She looked up at him, then away. "He didn't need to know. You might be my way out—I'm willing to risk that."

             
"Are you in trouble with the law?"

             
"No. But I've learned it doesn't pay when others know too much about you." She licked her lips and took a sip of the coffee.

             
"Did the sheriff tell you—"

             
"A baby and a cripple. I'll live with them."

             
"Do you know how to care for a baby?"

             
"Raised my sister since she was born."

             
"Where is she now?"

             
She paused. "I don't know. Dead, maybe."

             
Pa paced to the window, then back. "You understand—if you come, there will be no mistakes." He looked back at her, up and down. "You will wear proper clothing—plain, black and white." His arm opened to encompass the room. "This will be gone—all of it. Even on your own time, you will not associate with these girls. There will be no men. It will be lonely—your employer, Mr. Peterson, will not wish to talk with you. Nor will you be a mother to his child. You will do only what he asks you to, no more and no less."

             
She stood, and when she spoke her voice shook a little, losing the strict control she had brought forth until then. "Mr. Jacobs—you don't understand. That—anything—would be better than this."

             
He eyed her, straight on, for a tense moment. "All right," he said. "Do you have a horse?"

             
"No."

             
"You'll need one. Do you know how to ride?" She nodded. "Harness a saddle and hitch up a buckboard?"

             
"Yes."

             
"All right. You pack your things and I'll get you a horse. It will belong to Mr. Peterson, not you." He turned to go, but stopped, looking over his shoulder. "Leave your fancy dresses."

             
"Yes, sir."

              Pa came back to the whorehouse just after noon, mounted on his horse and trailing another behind, a small, lean young mare—just right for a woman. His own horse had hooves so large he had scars on his feet from getting stepped on so much. But it was a good horse. He waited down below and after a moment the woman came out, dressed plainly as she had been instructed, with her hair pulled back and tied up. She came down, carrying only one small bag.

             
"Is this all?" asked Pa. He dismounted and went to lash it to the saddle of the new horse. He had gotten the ladies' saddle used, but in good condition.

             
"It's all I need."

             
"Good." Pa didn't especially like the woman, which was not something he had wanted anyway, but he approved of her. When he stepped back, she came forward and mounted herself. Pa went back to his own horse, looking back to see that she had control of her animal; she rode well. He nodded and started off.

             
Since there was no heavy buckboard to slow them down, they made quick time back and arrived at Henry's place before sundown. It was dim and empty inside, and when they went in Pa had to run his hand through his hair several times to get his nerves. He'd never come without having Mary run onto the porch to greet him, smiling brightly with all her white teeth. He couldn't help but half expect it even now, but she didn't come. He took a deep breath and led the woman around the house. "Here's the kitchen," he said, "and washroom here. You'll cook the meals." He went on back and peered into the bedroom. The bloodstained sheets still remained, and he closed his eyes and backed out. "I want those gone before he comes," he said. "Throw them away, burn them, anything. But don't touch her clothes, or anything else."

             
"Yes, sir."

             
The next door was the nursery, already gathering a little dust. There was a crib, and some of the family baby things, handed down. "This'll be your room, once you get these things moved into his room. The baby'll sleep with him, and I imagine you'll have to get up a few times, nights, for a while anyhow." He turned and came back out to the front room, she following behind. He stopped at the door and surveyed the room. "All right," he said. "Anything else?"

             
"No sir, I don't think so."

             
"Hm. Barn's out back, I s'pose you can find it. Boy comes over two, three times a week to care for the animals. You need anything, you come to me. Once you get set up here, maybe a week or so, I'll come by and ride with you out to our place so you know where it is. Mr. Peterson'll be coming tomorrow; if not, then the next day. You'll arrange your pay with him, for whatever he thinks is fair." He nodded. "Afternoon, Ms. Beaumont."

             
"Afternoon, Mr…" she let her voice trail off as he closed the door behind him and turned to begin her work.

              Before mounting again in the falling dusk, Pa examined his horse carefully and found it in good condition. He had let it wander free around the house and assumed that it had probably gotten the water it needed. He tightened the straps beneath its belly and mounted with a slight groan; three days out in the open was not the same at fifty-eight as twenty had been. Still, he bent low and spurred the animal until it lay out in a flat run across the first shallow dip in the land; it felt good and free.

             
He arrived home just as the moon showed itself large on the horizon and didn't bother to stable the horse; the nights were not so cold yet that he had to, but, removing the saddle and setting it on the porch steps, he let the blanket remain. Inside his house, it was dark, but little noises reached his ears and he knew that everyone was not yet asleep. Now that he was inside, though, in Ma's territory, he was aware that his odor was not entirely pleasing, though certainly quite strong. Noticing a shirt hanging on a hook just inside the door, he exchanged it for his own and took a moment to remove his chaps before continuing down the hall.

             
He went to the door of Henry's room and ran into Joey coming from the other direction, who grinned to see his father back. They made a few brief and silent hand motions, and Pa understood that Joey had just been coming to help him and Joey understood that Pa wanted to talk to him first, so he ought to come back later. The boy nodded and hurried off, padding quietly in bare feet.

             
Pa knocked softly and went in. Henry looked up at him, a little surprised that it was not Joey. He sat as near the head of the bed as he could, leaning the right side of his body against the wall. As Pa came in, he straightened a little, but the other man motioned him back. "Jus' got back," he said, his voice a quiet rumble in his chest. "Wanted to talk to you, if you ain't too tired."

             
"—No."

             
Pa sat down on the bed next to him, in the middle. It sagged a little under his weight. "It's about what I ast you before, if you'd wanna live back home—" He waited a moment, and Henry looked at him. He wanted to put it right, so he understood. "I got a girl," he said. "Well—a woman. For a maid. She'll help out with the baby—whatever's needed, on your word."

             
Henry continued to stare at him a moment longer, not fully comprehending. "But..." he said at last. He pushed himself up, to sit.

             
Pa put it plainly. "She's a whore. But I made it clear, if anything—anything—that's it, nothing else." He paused, chewing on his lip. "I know it'll be hard, another woman in the house, and not even family. Real hard, son. But I hope you'll try, for your little girl's sake. If it don't turn out—well, we'll see, but..."

             
Henry understood. "I'll try."

             
Pa smiled a little and reached out to pat Henry's good knee before standing. He crossed the room, pausing as his hand enveloped the knob. He took a step back into the room. "You—know you're like a son to me," he said. "And I know in bad times sometimes a man's gotta be a man, but there's times—when all he can think to be is a boy-- 'nd if--" Pa stopped, with no real need to finish the feeling he did not know quite how to put into words because Henry collapsed, almost from the inside out, and Pa stepped forward to catch him, wrapping his tree-trunk arms around the slight form and gathering it to his chest. He sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the boy's head against his body as he sobbed, a small and anguished sound that shook him fearfully. "All right, son, all right," Pa rumbled, rocking slowly back and forth. "All right."

             
Pa held him, rocking, a long while, until his sobs quieted and finally he fell asleep, exhausted. Pa stood carefully and laid the boy out on the bed. Tenderly, as he had so many times with his own young children, he removed shoes and pants and shirt, wondering then, with the story those scars told, how the boy had ever survived. He found an old blanket in the corner and pulled it up over him. Henry moaned softly in his sleep, letting out a small, forceless sob. Pa bent and put a hand on top of his head, then left the room, turning as he went out to make certain that the doorknob did not snap and wake him.

             
He went to the stairs, where he met Joey coming down. He gave the boy a true smile, one that could come only out of a father's pride, and put an arm around his shoulders as he steered him back up. At the top, Joey tilted his head upward, grinning, and disappeared silently into his room.