Mary-Alice stayed on until closing time, sweeping out the back room that held the farm tools and the fertilizer and helping out with the restocking. She fed Tommy another ice cream and two potted meat sandwiches before time to go and in the end, took pay in the form of two loaves of bread and several bags of rice and beans. With that, she thought she could feed the boy indefinitely and just learn to tolerate the consequences.
Wild Bill stuck around through closing time himself, steadily sucking down coffee and burning tobacco while going on and on about this and that he intended to do for the county as supervisor. Mary-Alice wondered but the man must not be serious. Surely he could not genuinely think good people would elect a sword carrying wild-eyed hillbilly with such a colored history as his. But then, this was Culloden County and she knew a certain man in a red and yellow racecar who practically got a standing ovation half the places he went. People here seemed to enjoy their outlaws and badmen.
“Would you care for an escort home this fair evening, ma’am?” Bill asked offering his arm to her and twisting his mustache ends with the other before jerking up his sword. “I’m a fair guard against the dangers of the wild if I say so myself.”
When the man smiled, she thought, he actually looked a little charming. He was probably fine looking when a little younger. He was tall enough. Wouldn’t that just eat Hank’s dinner? If she took an evening walk with old Wild Bill?
“A fine idea, Mr. Scanlon.” She said hooking her arm in his. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Smith.”
“That goes for me, Willy,” Bill said as they started out the door.
“Watch out for Old Blue,” Willy said.
“I reckon he’ll watch out for me as he always has. But, I’ll get him,” Bill said tapping his weapon.
Mary-Alice called for Tommy who charged from the back straight at the door and sent it nearly crashing to the other side. He had just devised a plan for a perfect formation of blocks and could waste no time in getting home to test his theories.
All the way back to the driveway leading to the barn, Wild Bill was the perfect gentleman. He told Mary-Alice old stories of the whisky runners before the war and what it was like growing up eating cornbread and onions three meals a day. It seemed to her a reasonable enough cause for anyone to turn to criminal behaviors. Hank had long done so and with far less provocation than that. In fact, she’d never been quite sure what Hank’s reason was for turning so bad as he had. He still had a mean on about that business with the bomb up in Jasperville, but that was all over and done with. The government people had said it was completely safe.
As they got to the drive, Mary-Alice took her leave of Bill, assuring him that the boy would be escort enough from here on out. Surely the only peril she could face then would be nothing more than a stray cat or jackrabbit which would be sorry the day it met with little Thomas Waylon Grady.
“Well then I assure you it’s been my great pleasure to have made acquaintance with you miss Mary-Alice McMahon,” Bill said and leaned down to kiss her just barely on her right cheek, near enough to her neck she felt his breath.
And with that, Wild Bill took his leave and went on down his way, sword in hand and humming a Dixie tune.
Back home, Mary-Alice noticed the absence of the car and saw Hank had pinned a note to the door explaining he’d took an evening job and should be back later—with cash money. Or shot to death finally, she thought. She sent the boy off to his few toys—mostly homemade or hand-me-down—while she stood on the balcony with the last bit of sun sliding through the barn and pulling on one more cigarette before the hot bath she knew she needed.