how you didnât think you were ever going to leave here again?â
âLike it here more than anyplace else Iâve ever been.â
âThen why go?â
âNo choice.â
She looked beyond me as if someone was standing behind me.
âWe can choose to stay or we can choose to go,â she said. âIf youâre going, itâs because you choose to go, because you want to go, not because you have no choice.â
I came up close to her. She was wearing a long-sleeved blouse and I could see the heaviness of her breasts loose inside, and I wanted to take them in my hands through the cloth and hold them and feel their firm softness once more. Something dark and troubling had been working at me ever since I first saw the Capânâs buggy black against the snow.
âItâs because of that man that came to your house, isnât it?â she said.
âYes.â
She crossed herself as if sheâd just stepped into the little church at the other end of the streetâthe one by the plaza where bailes were held every Saturday night if the weather was decentâand had a bell in the tower that would ring in the believers. An old padre with one good eye preached there, and some claimed he could perform miracles.
âI knew it,â she whispered.
âHe needs my help,â I said. âI owe him from the past.â
âWhat do you owe him?â
âMy life.â
âAnd now he wants it back.â
âNo. Not if I can help it.â
She shrugged in resignation, shook loose a wet skirt sheâd been holding, and hung it on the line.
âItâs none of my business what you do,â she said. âWhen and where you go and come. Iâm just the woman who cleans your house.â
âAnd sleeps in my bed,â I said.
âYes, and sleeps in your bed.â
âI just wanted you to know,â I said. âI figured I owed it to you to tell you.â
âAnd now you have told me.â
âYes.â
I turned to leave. She called my name.
âJim.â
I turned back, and she came close to me and pressed the palms of her hands against my chest.
âIâm afraid for you,â she said. âIâm afraid you will go away and I will never see you again.â
âYou donât have to worry; thereâs nothing to this. Iâm just going to ride along with the Capân while he does some business. You were right about him looking sick. He is. Heâs dying and is worried he wonât get his business done before hepasses on.â
âWhat sort of business needs you wearing this?â she said, patting the bulge under my left armpit.
âYou know how it is out here in this country,â I said.
âYes, I know how it is.â
âI best get on,â I said.
âIâll wait for you until the spring,â she said. âAfter that Iâll stop waiting for you.â I wanted to laugh at her foolishness.
âI shouldnât be more than a couple of weeks at the outside.â
âDo you want me to go and feed and water your horses?â
âNo, Iâve asked Gin to do it.â
âWhat about the chickens, should I go collect the eggs?â
âTheyâre scattered all over hell,â I said. âI broke the stud earlier and he kicked down the coop and fence and everything. I reckon those chickens could be in Colorado by now.â
She smiled. I kissed her, then walked back up the street to the station.
Capân looked up when I approached like he knew something.
âYou let her know youâre going off?â
âYes.â
âYou think you might end up marrying her?â
âItâs possible.â
âShe strikes me as a good woman besides being real easy on a manâs eyes. Women like that are hard to come by way out here in this frontier. Even no-account ugly women are hard to come by, but especially the real good-looking
David Stuckler Sanjay Basu
Aiden James, Patrick Burdine