CHAPTER 19
Over My Dead Body
To Build A Barn
Rough Ride On A Dark Mare
Cup Of Tea
SON?”
“Yes, sir?” said Aspen, stopping at his father’s office.
“I wonder if you might do something for me?”
Amos never had to ask. He knew this. Aspen knew he knew this. Therefore, the fact that he was asking did not, in the broader picture, bode well.
“Sir?”
“Our ward could do with a haircut,” said Amos.
“He has expressed views on this, Pa.”
“Yes. I know.”
“They were very clear views.”
“Indeed.”
“And you still want me to approach him with a sharp object in my hand?”
“If you would.”
“Have I upset you lately, Pa?”
This conversation led to another conversation, the upshot being, if the Rivers wanted to make Gideon into a gentleman, they would have to do it over his dead body.
They said this could be arranged.
He said some things no one would repeat.
There had been a brief scuffle around the kitchen table until, feeling a distinct need for open space, Gideon bolted for the yard. Lee tackled him and they both went down in a confusion of knees and elbows. The rest of the Rivers boys joined the dog pile, squashing Lee as much as Gideon.
“What say you, Governor? Do you yield or stand you guilty in defense?” said Aspen, from somewhere in the mix.
Gideon’s response revealed a remarkably broad palette in hues of blue that left the canvas of the ear feeling as if it had been washed over with turpentine and steel wool.
“Gentleman, the pond,” Aspen declared.
The press of bodies lifted and Gideon was seized wrist and foot. They manhandled him to the pond, a gabble of brotherly cheers and taunting overlaying his protests. The siblings gave a spirited count of three and tossed their catch into the chilly water. Gideon surfaced, but left his breath behind. They fished him out and landed him on the edge of the pier, where he quite emphatically smacked away their ‘helpful’ hands. Well contented with their work, the boys clattered noisily away, voices ringing.
Ages ago Gideon had sneaked under a bright yellow tent flap and seen an elephant shooting a stream of water at an oddly dressed man. Gideon scowled at the water now gushing in miniature rivulets from the holes in his footwear— he had that elephant beat flat out. He levered himself up, but a hand pushed him back down. Gideon came around swinging and Aspen tipped him over like an overbalanced egg.
“I done tooked your infernal consequences!” Gideon complained, righting himself.
“The pond wasn’t a consequence,” Aspen explained pleasantly. He knelt behind Gideon, working a comb through his tangled mass of auburn curls. “That was negotiation. We can go back to it, if you like.”
Aspen then took scissors from his back pocket. Gideon ducked, only to find himself strangled by his own collar.
“Lemme go or—”
“Or you’ll go back in the pond,” Aspen warned, tipping Gideon in that general direction.
“Wait!”
“Yes?”
“Fine,” Gideon relented. “I won’t clobber ya.”
“Glad to hear it. Now stay put.”
“Ya can’t keep a-ridin’ herd on me,” Gideon argued, dodging away again.
Aspen hunkered down on his heels. “I believe you will find I can. First by law, second because Pa says so, and third because I have a house full of helpful brothers.”
“That ain’t no kind-a right. That’s just strong armin’.”
“I do believe you’re acquiring a grasp of the concept,” Aspen grinned. “Now what’s it going to be?”
“You’re the amadan,” Gideon conceded, “but you trot out one-a them fancy suits an’, so help me, I will clobber ya. An’ all your dang brothers with ya. An’ no more neckties. An’ quit tryin’ to annex my boots.”
“We bought you a brand new pair,” Aspen pointed out reasonably. “They even fit, or I presume they do, but then anything would fit better than yours.”
“Leave be,” Gideon insisted, raising a fist to illustrate the point.
“Would you settle for a clean shirt and a haircut?”
“No,” Gideon grumbled. “Only seein’ as I ain’t nothin’ but a pris’ner, I ain’t got much choice, have I?”
Aspen could recognize agreement when he heard it, even if it was trying hard to sound like refusal. There was, however, a fundamental point Gideon was missing and, as an older brother, Aspen felt it his duty to elucidate matters.
“Gov? You might want to use a more civil tone, unless you favor swimming.”
“Whyn’t ya just cut me loose? It’d be safer all ‘round. I ain’t nothin’ to ya nohow.”
There was no answering that. Not because Aspen was disinclined, but because Gideon did not want to hear it. So, Aspen paid about as much heed as he would the croak of a bullfrog and set in with the scissors.
LUKE Gandy, the Rivers, cousin Fred, a dozen or so men from town, and a veritable parade of wagons and horses passed by Rosie Ward’s house.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Gandy gave a friendly wave as he rode by. “Don’t let us disturb you.”
“But what—” Rosie tried.
“Morning, Mrs. Ward,” Fort called out.
“Why are—” she tried again.
Several more greetings interrupted the bewildered woman’s attempts at inquiry. Rosie eventually found herself standing on the back porch, mutely watching two dozen men traipse across her property. Cricket brought his wagon up to the house, Emberlee riding on the back.
All three men jumped down and filled their arms with bowls, plates, boxes and who knew what else. They grinned hugely at Rosie, greeted her warmly and helped themselves to her house, filling the kitchen table with their burdens.
Rosie followed them inside, utterly flummoxed. “Cricket, what is this? What on earth is going on here?”
Her friend shrugged eloquently and answered in his thickest foreign tongue.
“Don’t you give me that,” she scolded. “Cricket? Cricket, you get back here!”
Ember followed Cricket’s lead, taking the steps in one long leap. Lee was not so quick. Rosie caught him in a surprisingly strong grip and made quick work of twisting his arm.
Out in the yard, horses were being put in the corral, wagons were pulled up and canvases drawn back to reveal lumber, saws, mallets, and sundry supplies. Tools were laid out, plans clarified. Rosie stepped right into the middle of the hubbub, Lee held prisoner in front of her. Feet braced and shoulders squared, she presented the boy to his father.
“Nichodemus Rivers, your son refuses to tell me what this is all about.”
Amos looked at the industrious men around him, at the chisel in his own hands, and back at Rosie.
“We’re building a barn,” he replied, as if this should be immensely obvious.
“A barn? You came all the way out here to build a barn?”
“No one in town needed one,” Amos said, his most cherubic expression plastered across his face.
Rosie stared. How could this be? How could so many people be doing this for her?
“How. . . I. . . Amos– the cost—” Rosie stammered, arms now draped over Lee’s shoulders, embracing him.
“You have already paid for this, in advance and in full,” Amos assured her with absolute sincerity.
“I haven’t—”
“You were there for my wife,” offered a man with a pile of lumber over one shoulder.
“You made that quilt for my Katy,” said another.
“You bring more than your share to the bazaar every year,” said someone else.
“You brought my baby into this world,” came another voice, followed by another and another.
Lee felt himself squeezed, then Rosie gave him a shove. She informed them briskly that, if they insisted on going to all this tr
ouble, they had best be sure they did it well because she would not have a rickety barn on her place and was that clear and yes ma’am.
The terms thus settled, the small army of volunteers lifted, hauled, sawed, and banged. In the midst of it all, Gideon felt alloverish. He would swear they kept watching him, eyeing him like a strange fish in the wrong pond. Truth be told, he really couldn’t blame them, it was exactly how he felt. He stationed himself to one side, saw in hand, ready as the demand required which, for the time being, was a non-stop occupation. He never let himself stand idle, which was noticed far more than he realized.
“Hey, Gov! Give me a hand.”
Obligingly, Gideon set aside his saw and went to hold the board Lee was setting into place.
“Beats cutting hay, doesn’t it?” Lee said, around a mouthful of square nails the town smith had donated.
They finished the board and moved on to the next, and the one after. Lee was an agreeable partner and his good humor was infectious. The boy kept up his end of things as if nothing else mattered in the least.
Mebbe it don’t.
Huh?
Work’s a-gettin’ done, so he ain’t got no complaint. Ain’t nobody a-tryin’ to hang ya nor shoot ya, well not at the moment, so you ain’t got no complaint neither.
You’re right funny, you are.
Lee finished securing another board and wiped his neck with his handkerchief. The temperature was pleasant, but warm for a laborer.
"I'll rush ya a growler," Gideon offered.
“Huh?” but Lee was talking to thin air. “Was that English?”
“Mostly,” Gandy chuckled, picking up the hammer Gideon had set down. “Rushing the growler, in this case, means fetching the water. Usually it means fetching beer from a saloon. Apprentices do it for tradesmen.”
Privately, Sheriff Gandy wondered which tradesman had taught Gideon the term: butcher, baker or candlestick maker?
Gideon scooped up a bucket, worked the water pump and wished he were far away— the farther the better. Up on a mountain top with the deer and the pygmied pine trees would be a good start.
“Thought you weren’t running?” Aspen said, stepping up to splash his face and cup his hands for a drink.
“You oughta know,” Gideon grumbled, because it was Aspen who had done the strong-arming; it was promise or be handcuffed to Amos Rivers for the whole live-long day.
Knows how to hit a fellah’s sore spot, don’t he?
“What makes ya think I were a-makin’ no plans nohow?” Gideon said aloud, giving the pump handle another go.
“I ought to recognize the signs by now,” Aspen replied lightly, “you’ve done it enough.”
“‘Parently not.”
“Yeah?”
“Still here, ain't I?”
“You sure are,” and somehow the words ‘and it’s going to stay that way’ silently tagged themselves onto the assertion. Aspen nodded towards the house, “Why don’t you see how Mrs. Ward’s getting on?”
Pure instinct made Gideon want to object, but his better judgment kept his mouth shut. A little breathing room would go a long way compared to being in that great mob swarming over and around the nascent barn.
Ya think mebbe he done knowed that?
Shutup.
“Take the bucket,” Gideon countered, as if somehow this were a deal breaker.
“Yes, sir,” Aspen agreed, latching onto the rope handle and setting off without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
It was annoying, that absent glance. It suggested Gideon would stay put and Aspen knew it. Moreover, it more than gently hinted there was nothing Gideon could do about it. Gideon figured he had a thing or two to say about that and stood there debating the highly attractive option of opening a line of discussion with Mr. Rivers Jr..
Ya reckon?
Yep.
Right now?
Why not?
For a start, you’d have to go back inta that mob.
Gideon found Rosie Ward addressing a length of milled board perched on sawhorses.
“Thought you were helping your brothers?” she greeted, setting the square and marking her next cut.
“They ain’t my brothers, ma’am.”
“A whole sentence— my, my— you are feeling garrulous.”
Gideon ducked his head at the tone, which walked the long way around towards praise, but hesitated at the actual words.
“No, ma’am,” he replied, bracing the board for her. “I ain’t froggy.”
Rosie ruffled Gideon’s hair and, holding those short locks in her hand, made him look up at her.
“Garrulous doesn’t mean to fight, it means to be talkative. And what makes you say those boys aren’t your brothers? You think I haven’t been watching?”
Something there was in Rosie’s features that belied her gruffness and told Gideon he was not only free to answer as he pleased, but had better.
“They’re Rivers, I’m Fletcher,” he answered plainly.
She eyed him closely, as if searching for the unvoiced half of his answer. For a moment it seemed she could actually see into his soul and knew he had seldom been a part of anything and never would again. In a blink, the moment passed.
They cut the board and set it along the bottom of the porch stairs, pried out the next rotted plank and measured a replacement.
“Something isn’t it?” Rosie said, following Gideon’s gaze towards the quickly rising skeleton of a barn. Behind her granite veneer, Rosie felt truly touched that so many people would do this for her.
“Yes’m,” Gideon agreed politely.
He was somewhat astonished himself, not only at the effort to which these people were going, but at how much they were enjoying themselves. Everyone was of one mind, one purpose. A rarity to be sure. In his experience, people more often stood around saying how a thing should be done and how ‘someone’ ought to do it whilst ‘someone’ never came around to meaning them.
“Ma’am?” said Gideon, suddenly realizing he was the recipient of Rosie's rather acute attention.
“One board, Gov. That’s how it starts,” she patted the one they had just set. “One board connected to another, connected to another and you have a barn, a shelter strong enough to withstand the wind or pounding rain.”
“Yes’m.”
“Let’s do that section of rail there,” she said, and went on smoothly as they pried out the rotten board. “A house is the same. It’s nothing but a bunch of wood until you shoulder one board up to another. It’s all about connections. You hear me?”
“Yes’m.”
Rosie peered at Gideon. “You hear, but you don’t have the least notion what I’m talking about, do you?”
Gideon shook his head. Rosie gazed beyond him to her neighbors laboring over a barn. Her barn.
“You will. . . someday. You’ll see.”
“Yes’m,” Gideon said, not seeing at all.