Zeke and Ned (57 page)

What I couldn't get out of my mind was an old neighbour woman of ours named Louisa Faulks. Her old man and her only son died within a year of one another. I liked Louisa, and after her men died, I offered to let her come live with us and help with the triplets. But she just wouldn't come. She lived alone with a milk cow and two cats. She dipped a little snuff, and ate mostly turnip greens, so far as I could tell. I called her Mother Faulks and went by to visit with her whenever I passed near her shack. Sully Eagle courted her a little, after her old man died, but Mother Faulks wouldn't have Sully.

One day, Mother Faulks's milk cow got the bloat and died. Mother Faulks took the cowbell off the old hussy, found a sturdy post oak limb, and hanged herself with the strap that had been on the cowbell. I noticed some buzzards circling over the poor old woman's shack, and was shocked to find her, black in the face, hanging from that post oak limb.

I guess coyotes or foxes got the cats. I intended to bring them home for the triplets, but couldn't locate either one of them.

It was old Mother Faulks I had on my mind, as I trotted up the Mountain. It would be a dreadful thing for the triplets if Becca took the hanging path. Of course, it would be a terrible thing for me, too. I hadn't wanted to associate with anyone but Becca since she came home with me from Ned's and Jewel's on that slow mule of his. I still liked to watch young horses run, but except for that, most of my pleasures were home pleasures. Becca and I could sit on the porch together for hours, rocking but not talking, and listening to the triplets chatter, if they were in earshot. Maybe I'd play my fiddle a bit. Even with the sadness on her, Bec was the only companion I sought. It was unusual—most of my life I had enjoyed the company of men—rowdy men, too, usually. But now, I preferred to stay home with my wife.

I wavered in my mind, but I kept going toward Ned's. Every traveler brought tales of the fort Ned had built, high on the Mountain. None of them said much about Ned himself, other than to say that his nose was a little twisted. No one so far had mentioned Jewel, and Becca wouldn't ask.

The fact was, I had expected to despise Judge Parker, but in fact, I had liked the look of the man. It might be that he would falter under his grief and give up the court, but I didn't really expect it. He wore that tie to chop wood; probably he would face up to his loss and go on with his duties. I thought the old Judge might give us a fair hearing, and was hopeful I might talk Ned into going with me to the court. It was a better gamble than gunfights.

The moment I came into the clearing where Ned's fort was, I knew the courthouse approach was not to be. The trees had been cleared for 150 yards all around the house. That was because Ned didn't mean for anyone to come sneaking up on him again. I had thought people were mainly exaggerating, when they said Ned was building a fort. People
do
exaggerate in the District—they've had me
slipping out with more women than I ever slipped out with—so I figured when they talked of Ned's fort, they meant he had built himself a well-fortified house.

But for once, the gossip was accurate: the structure I saw when I rode into the clearing was a fort—not a house. There were no windows on the second floor at all, just slits for firing rifles. There were no windows on the ground floor, either—just thick log walls.

Right away, it made me feel sorry for Jewel. The house that got burned up, the one Ned brought her to as a bride, was big and roomy, with glass windows that let in the light. There was usually a breeze through the windows or the door, if it was muggy and close. There was a fireplace big enough to cook a pig in, and a wide hearth for relaxing. When I was younger—of course, Ned was younger then, too—we used to sit by the hearth and try to whistle tunes. Ned's whistling made me jealous. He made whistling tunes seem as easy as breathing. I couldn't whistle half the tunes that he could, and my whistling was so thin he practically had to be sitting in my lap to hear it. The fireplace cast enough light that a woman could sit and sew by it, or even thread a needle if she needed to.

That house had been a place to encourage enjoyment, and that was far more than I could say for the building I was looking at in the clearing Ned had made to prevent sneaks from sneaking in close to him.

The new house was a fort, and forts weren't made for enjoyment, unless what you enjoy is killing and dying.

My Jewel stepped outside just then. I expect she saw me through one of the slits on the second floor. She didn't run to me, as Liza would have, but then Jewel had never been a child who would rush up and hug me. But she did remember my stiff knee, the one I injured years before in a fall from a ladder, and came out to hold my stirrup steady so I could easy my boot out.

“Hello, Pa,” she said.

“Jewel, is that your new house?” I asked. I was hoping, at least, to see the sparkle back in her eyes, but it wasn't there. She was pale as a salamander, too. I guess the color had bleached out of her from living in such a dark place.

“Yes, Ned built it himself,” she said, once I had dismounted.

I hugged her and hugged her. Jewel didn't cry, but I could feel the sadness in her, just from the hugging.

“Jewel, why would Ned want to put you in a place like this?” I said,
walking around and studying the walls. “How would the sunlight ever get in such a house?”

“We keep the lamps lit,” Jewel said. She didn't really look at me directly, when she said it; she looked away, as if she was afraid of what I'd see if she looked me in the eye.

When Jewel took me inside, I saw that the walls were two logs thick. Ned had poured sand between the logs. That was careful planning, but the house was dark as pitch. The night animals might have enjoyed being inside it, but I didn't. I like a little light when I'm inside. I get surly as a badger if I have to sit around in a pitch-dark place.

Becca didn't like to waste kerosene keeping the lamps lit, but I was always at her to change the wicks and keep things bright, especially if it was a cloudy day and I had to be inside. I hate a dark house, and Jewel was like me in that way. Now, her own husband had put her in a house that was nearly as dark as a cave.

While I was stumbling around trying not to fall over a bench or a churn, I heard a pig grunt. A shoat came walking over to me.

“What's this? Why would you keep a pig in the house?” I asked. Jewel had never been expected to live in any house that harbored swine before. Swine belonged in the pigpen, not in the house.

“Ned's got water stored,” Jewel said. “He brings the goats in at night, too. He says if we have animals inside, we could hold out a month if the white law comes again.”

I was getting bothered. I wanted to talk to Ned. My girl was accustomed to doing chores with the livestock, but not in the house. She looked pale and poorly; she had fallen off in her face, too. I know what was done to her by those white rascals was terrible—some women would have died from it. But I would rather Ned had taken her away to Texas or someplace farther west, than to stick her in a fort and have her smell pigs and goats at night. In the old times, after the Trail of Tears, some folks kept their livestock in with them to protect the critters from bears and wolves—but now, there were very few bears, and almost no wolves.

“Where is Ned, Jewel?” I asked. “I've come from Fort Smith. I've seen the Judge. Maybe there's a way to head off this war, so you can live in a regular house again.”

I saw that Jewel didn't believe me. She had accepted her husband's way. I don't expect Jewel believed that she would ever live in a regular house again, or be happy, either.

“Ned found a honey tree,” Jewel said. “He went off with the axe and the wheelbarrow and some buckets. I guess he'll be back when he's cleaned out the honey.”

Impatience is one of my failings. I'd rather be on the go than wait. But Jewel asked if I'd stay the night, and I said I would.

“Did he go east or west?” I asked. “I know he couldn't go up because we're on top of the Mountain. I want to talk to him as quick as I can, Jewel.”

“Why, he went west, Pa,” Jewel said, and I was soon out the door. The sound of an axe striking a tree carries a long way. I figured I could locate Ned and be of some help.

I located him, but not quick. I kept going west and kept going west, until I was less than a mile from Tuxie Miller's. I was wondering if the bees had stung Ned so bad he couldn't chop. I was a wily honey robber myself, having robbed many a bee and slipped off unstung, but Ned did not have my experience. I saw a swarm of honeybees overcome a boy, once. It was Charley Bobtail's youngest boy, and the bees worked him over so bad the boy was a whole week getting back on his feet. I thought maybe the same had happened to Ned, but just as I was about to ride on toward the Millers—they had rebuilt their house and were living there now—I heard the axe.

When I found Ned, he had roped himself to the trunk of an old, half-dead sycamore tree. He was twenty feet up, bees swarming all around him. He had made himself a kind of cigar out of leaf tobacco and was puffing smoke at the bees as best he could, while he worked with the axe. He already had a wheelbarrow full of honey, and a bucket of comb, but he was still chopping away.

“Ned, that's enough honey for three winters,” I told him. “Come on down.”

“I might not find another bee tree for three winters, either,” he said. “There's more honey in here—I mean to have it, before I quit.”

“You're only a half a mile from Tuxie's,” I reminded him. “Why didn't you get him to help you?”

“Let him find his own bee tree,” Ned said. “You can help, if you're anxious to be useful.”

We ended up with three buckets of comb and a wheelbarrow so full of honey buckets we could barely push it. It was dark honey, so strong it would make you cough. I couldn't resist licking a fingerful now and then, but Ned didn't touch it.

“You're welcome to a lick because you helped,” he said. “I'm putting the rest in a barrel.”

“Is that for the same reason you're keeping a pig in your house?” I inquired. “Are you
that
determined to fight?”

Ned had got grave, since his injury. He looked at me solemn.

“The white law's determined to kill me,” he replied. “I
have
to be determined to fight.”

“Now, maybe not, Ned,” I informed him. “I was in Arkansas yesterday.”

“Yes, I heard,” he said. “Taking another goddamn dead marshal home.”

“That's right,” I agreed. “I saw Judge Parker myself.”

Ned got a stony look on his face. We took turns wheeling the wheelbarrow, which was heavy. When it came my turn, I had to keep my mind on where I was going. If I hit a rock or a root and turned the wheelbarrow over, it would be a terrible waste of all that honey.

“Ned, you oughtn't to fight if you don't have to,” I told him, next time it was his turn to wheel. “If it'll die, let it die on its own, without no more bloodshed.”

“What makes you think it will die?” he asked. “The marshals that come after me were well trained enough not to kill one another. I had to do all the killing, and I killed four. Why in the world would it die after all that?”

“Because sometimes things just die,” I told him. “There's only so many marshals to be hired, and crimes are happening every day. The Starrs are robbing everything that moves over to the west. Maybe they'll send all their marshals after the Starrs and just forget us here in the Going Snake.”

“Maybe—but what if they don't?” Ned asked. “If they don't, I'll have to fight, and I want to be ready.”

“I saw Judge Parker. His wife died,” I told him. “And Tailcoat Jones drowned, along with his whore.”

Ned just kept wheeling the wheelbarrow. News didn't seem to affect him. He had chosen his path, and he meant to keep on it, whatever the news.

“Didn't you hear me?” I said. “Tailcoat Jones is dead, and he was the leader of that bunch what attacked you.”

“He let them ruffians take turns with my Jewel,” Ned replied. “I had expected to kill him myself, but if he's dead, I can't. So that
ain't
good news, to me. I didn't know the Judge or his wife, so I got nothing to say about that.”

His tone with me was so stiff, I felt myself getting riled. Ned and I had been friends for years, and I had just helped him fill several buckets with honey. I had lost my touch with the bees, too. I got stung four times while I was trying to be helpful. I didn't appreciate the man talking to me as if I was a stranger or a fool, but I thought it was important to try and argue Ned out of armed conflict with the authorities. So, I held in my temper.

“The point about this judge is that the loss of his wife has just about broke the man,” I said. “He's so grieved, he's closed his court for forty days.”

“She must have been a good wife,” Ned remarked.

“Well, the Judge thought so,” I said, “If we was to go there and talk to him on the day he opens his court back up, I believe he'd be fair. He might call this thing off, if you could talk to him face-to-face.”

“Does the Judge speak Cherokee?” Ned asked. We had just come into the clearing where his fort stood.

“I don't expect so, no,” I replied.

“Then we can't talk, and I see no point in the trip,” Ned said. “I'll be talking Cherokee and nothing else, till the day I die.”

“You're too goddamn stubborn to associate with, Ned,” I told him. “If talking a few words of English to a weary old judge would save your life and maybe Jewel's life, too, why wouldn't it be worth doing?”

Ned got that eagle look then.

“No,” was all he said.

Jewel came out, and began to take the buckets from the wheelbarrow.

I knew from the way Ned Christie looked that nothing now could turn him from the warrior path.