“No, I know you boys do the right things by it,” Charlie said. “I guess it would just make me uncomfortable.” Then he looked up at Reed. “I’d watch myself up around there, Reed. I’ve seen that bear up around your dad’s old place and he’s mean, I swear. That bear’s a crazy one.”
“You be staying at our place, won’t you, Reed?” Ben looked up anxiously.
“I wasn’t sure where I’d be staying. I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome after all this time.”
Ben looked embarrassed. “Oh now, Reed…”
“I know, Ben. I should never have doubted your hospitality. And I plan to take you up on that. But I would like to spend the first couple of nights at Inez Pierce’s, that is, if she’s still got her boardinghouse.”
“She does… wouldn’t be surprised if she lasted longer than the town.” Charlie chuckled.
“Good… I’d like to stay there just the first two nights. I need time to myself for just a bit… to get used to being back.”
“Well… I can understand that,” Ben said, “but do let me take your bags down, get the arrangements made with Inez. At least that much.”
“Sure.” Reed grinned. “I’d appreciate that.”
Ben stood and eased past Charlie’s chair. “I’ll pick you up in ‘bout a half hour, son.” He squeezed Reed’s shoulder with a chop-sized hand. He held it a little too long and Reed looked up. “You’re lookin’ a little poorly, nephew,” Ben said softly. “Get yourself some rest. Martha’d kill me if anything happened to you now.” Reed nodded and Ben walked away.
“That man loves you, Reed,” Charlie said after Ben Taylor had left. “He never has stopped talking about you. Like you were his son and not his brother’s. Not many men in these parts can love as well. That Ben Taylor is a fine man.”
“He is.” Reed stared after his uncle, feeling a bit guilty. He’d never even written the man in all these years. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed, or had forgotten, how much his uncle cared. “I’m pretty lucky, I guess.”
“I’d say.” Charlie finished his beer. “You know, it feels kind of odd seeing you back here like this. Not many of the young ones come back anymore.”
“I don’t suppose they do, Mr. Simpson.”
Reed thought back to the day he left, his father screaming and cursing him, looking swollen like a great beast in his rage, throwing rocks, bottles, anything he could get his hands on, even Indian relics from his collection—his most prized possession, maybe the only thing he prized in his entire life.
Reed remembered thinking his father had finally snapped, finally gone over, and that any second he’d be going into the house and getting his gun and killing his own son then and there.
Reed had never come back that night; he was on the train to Four Corners within hours.
Two months later the coal waste dam up above the valley had given way, sending tons of the gunk down the Simpson Creeks, and wiping out half his neighbors and all traces of his family.
The Pierce place was pretty much as he’d remembered it, although a bit worse for wear. Ben explained in the truck on the way over that hard times had finally come to the Pierce children. The insurance hadn’t covered Hector’s hospital bills, and as the fortunes of the Nole mine went down, so did Inez’s boarding house. Now there were only a handful of miners staying at her place, and she just didn’t have the money to do her annual spring repairs. The old house badly needed new paint, and work on the plumbing, the gutters, the roof, the electrical system, the foundation stones, most everything. Both Ben and Charlie had offered their free labor and some materials, but Inez had been too proud, assuring them that everything was “just fine at the Pierces’.”
It was the only house with gables and a full wraparound porch in the town, and Reed still loved the looks of it. Daddy Pierce had built it after the Civil War, putting in twelve bedrooms since all the Pierce relations were living together at the time. Reed had seen pictures of old man Pierce—a tall, ugly gentleman with the largest wart he had ever seen planted on one side of the distinguished, hawk-bill nose. At one time every room but one was occupied by a miner or someone who worked for the Nole Company, with one bedroom kept pretty much free for salesmen and other transients. Inez had had to live in a converted pantry at times, the place was so full. She would serve three meals a day for everyone, doing everything by herself, included in the price of the room. It had been said that she was the finest cook for counties around and that some local men used to rent the transient room for a night or two just to escape their wives and get a taste of Inez’s home cooking. This actually clouded her reputation for a time—some of these wives started talking about how “improper” such arrangements were. Until Inez visited each woman individually and put them straight.
Now there was just old lady Inez, a few coal miners—including Joe Manors—who were more or less permanent residents, and the old transient’s room still available for the occasional stranger. Strangers like myself, Reed thought.
One other person lived in the house, on the top floor, Reed discovered. Inez Pierce’s brother—Hector. Inez had been overly solicitous when Ben brought Reed in, wanting to make sure everything was just right with his room, wanting to know his favorite foods so that she might work them into the menu. She showed him the transient room with great pride, and brought up clean linen and towels right away. Like he was an important guest. A stranger.
That night, on the way back from his bath, Reed passed a half-open door, and smelled lilac scent over something stale. Peering around the door frame, he could see the old man tossing in bed, his splotched arm out of the covers, pulling on the sheet, then stroking the smooth walnut headboard, pulling the sheet, then making a wrinkled fist over one eye.
A hoarse voice out of the sheets, “The cab here yet? You take that box of cookies… I’ll take the others. You’re that Mullins boy, aren’t you? The one rode away in the Packard. My credit’s good… my son will pay you soon’s you get me to his place in that yellow cab. You got any cookies?”
“No, I…”
“You got any cookies for the little crippled kids? They sure do like ‘em! I got some for them. I know. I can tell by your voice you’re that Mullins boy. The one with the Packard. I don’t see the cookie box. Mommy downstairs? Ya… ya. Daddy in the mine this mornin’… Lord, he a good man. You… like ta sell that Packard maybe?”
The old man turned over to face the door, and the sheets and quilt cascaded off the side of his bed. He wore bright pink pajamas with white socks like bags over his feet, rolled around the ankles. Reed realized with a shock that both ankles were tied to the bed frame with heavy rope.
Hector Pierce stretched one arm toward Reed, stiff, bent fingers wavering, forearm shaking his sleeve like a banner. Reed walked over and lifted the covers back onto the bed. He looked into the old man’s eyes; he appeared blind, maybe half-conscious as well. His head was thrown back against the pillow, three ridges of skin stretched tightly from chin to collarbone. With his slash mouth, uncontrolled tongue leaving spittle at the corners, dry, flaked skin, he looked like a lizard suddenly discovered under a sun-warmed rock.
Although slightly squeamish about it, Reed found himself tucking the old man into bed, straightening the covers. “Bear! Terrible eyes!” the old man suddenly cried out, then “Her hair’s on fire!” He clutched the sleeve of Reed’s shirt tightly, twisting it with the arthritic fingers until Reed thought it was going to tear, and this filled Reed with a strange panic. “You…” the old man whispered hoarsely, the fear drawing dark lines down his face. “Part of you stayed behind… with teeth!”