“Oh, come now. That is hardly in the spirit of things.” The woman untied her bonnet and then tied it again. “I’m waiting. If you insist on this intrusion, you must at least be gallant.”
“I never could,” the man said. But his brow puckered a third time. “One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, knock at the door. Five, six…” The man stopped. “I can’t remember the rest.”
“You must. What do you want me to take you for? If that is your best, no wonder we are where we are.”
“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” The man paused. “Five, six, pick up sticks. Seven, eight, set them straight. Nine, ten, a big fat hen. Eleven, twelve, dig and delve.”
The woman squealed in delight. “You did it! You actually and truly did it! I am very proud of you.”
“Don’t expect more. They made me say it day after day so I would learn my numbers. Why it has stuck with me all these years is beyond me. Our minds are a strange place.”
“Birds of a feather flock together, and so do pigs and swine.” The woman moved to the counter. She picked up a pan, hefted it, and set it back down. “What help can I be? I can cook and bake, I can sweep and rake.”
“We must leave. Together. Now.”
The woman laughed. “You jest, sir. Leave my humble home? Leave my rocking chair and my knitting? What kind of woman do you take me for? What would my husband think?”
“Don’t remind me. The fog has cleared. I wish I couldn’t remember, but I do.”
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. If turnips were watches, I’d wear one at my side.”
“You can stop that now.”
“As I went to Bonner, I met a pig with a wig, upon my word and honor,” the woman recited.
“Please stop.”
“You started it,” she retorted. “Then to bring them into this. To think you thought you knew it all, only to find out you knew nothing.”
“Please.”
“I have my moments, too, you know. I will help if you will tell me what kind of help I can be.”
The man wearily stepped to the table and sat on a bench. “It’s been so long. I’m no longer sure of what is and what isn’t. I have to pinch myself sometimes.” So saying, he pinched his cheek as hard as he could. “I think I am real.”
Chuckling merrily, so that her whole body quivered like a great dish of pudding, the woman pointed a thick finger at him. “I bet I know what you would like more than anything. How empty is your belly?”
“So empty it is scraping my backbone.” The man folded his arms on the table and lowered his face onto them. His next words were muffled. “They were after me a while ago. Right before I saw the horse. They might be after the horse now.”
“The man in the wilderness asked me how many strawberries grew in the sea but I didn’t tell him.”
“God in heaven. Is this what we have come to? Is this to be our end?” The man slowly straightened. Tears were in his eyes. “Will you fill my belly or not?”
“Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man. Make me a cake as fast as you can. Prick it, and pat it, and mark it with a T. And put it in the oven for my Sully and me.”
“Is that yes or no?”
“Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, eating his Christmas pie.”
“I asked you not to do that.”
The woman opened a cupboard. “What would you like? Waffles and eggs? Elk meat? Corn dodgers? How about apple dumplings? I think of all the food in the world, apple dumplings are my favorite.”
The man stared at the empty shelves in the cupboard. His throat bobbed and he wiped an arm across his eyes. “How long have you been without?”
“My dears, my dears, calm your fears.”
“I never would have guessed. You don’t look as if you have lost weight.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. You haven’t lost any. How can that be? How have you lasted?”
The woman beamed jovially and twined her fingers together. “Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to get her poor doggie a bone. But when she got there the cupboard was bare, so the poor doggie got none.”
“One more and I will scream. I swear to God I will.”
“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children she didn’t know what to do.”
The man was off the bench and reached her in three bounds. Gripping her by the arms, he shook her as hard as he could.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
The woman went on beaming. “Calm yourself, Sully. Haven’t I always taken care of you?” She cupped his chin and gazed deep into his eyes. “My sweet, sour, splendid, awful, caring, cold codpiece.”
Sully staggered back, his cheeks damp. He groped behind him until his hand found the rough-hewn table. Sinking onto the bench, he trembled. “I can feel it clawing at me. It never stops. When it takes hold I am lost to everything. But then I come out of it for a while, like you.”
“Bat, bat, come under my hat, and I’ll give you a slice of bacon.” The woman chortled. “Is that what you would like to eat? A bat?”
“Philberta, please. I did all I could. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough. The thing now is to get away. We must leave while I am clear in the head. Try to shake it off so we—” Sully stopped at a sudden scratching at the door, as if a claw was scraping it from top to bottom. “No. Not now.”
“My darlings!” Philberta happily exclaimed. “They have come to pay me another visit. I wonder what sweetmeats they have brought me this time.” She started toward the door, but Sully got there ahead of her and thrust out his hand.
“No! Think! You know what is out there. You know what they will do to us.”
As if to prove him right, from the other side of the door came a low growl, followed by more, and harder, scratching.
“Let me past,” Philberta insisted, and shoved him out of her way. “Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub. And who do you think they be?” She placed her hand on the latch.
Sully shoved her and she stumbled back. “I will not warn you again! Heed me, woman!”
“Heed a fool? What would that make me? Twice the idiot?” Philberta shook her head. “You have come to the wrong place if it is heeding you are after.”
The scratching became a frenzy of clawing and growls and snarls. The door shook to fierce blows, the leather hinges creaking.
“Do you hear them?” Philberta asked. “Aren’t they grand?”
Sully faced the door and raised his knife. “I am ready for them! If they get in, there will be the devil to pay”
Philberta stepped to the counter and gripped a cast iron pan. “Dickery, dickery dare, the pig flew up in the air.” She walked up behind Sully and brought the pan crashing down on the top of his head. The crunch of his skull was loud and final. He slumped onto his side, briefly convulsed, and went limp.
“Serves him right,” Philberta said. Fluffing her hair, she called out, “Can you hear me, my sweets?”
Something outside the door howled.
“Birds of a feather flock together,” Philberta said, and opened it.
Godsend
Few natural wonders stirred Nate King like the Rocky Mountains. He still remembered the first time he set eyes on them: the emerald foothills, the green of the thick timber that covered the higher slopes, the brown of the rocky heights crowned by white caps of snow. Peaks that reared miles into the sky. Compared to the splendor of the Rockies, the mountains of his native New York were so many pitiful bumps.
On this particular morning Nate was many miles from the remote valley his family called home. He was astride his favorite bay, on his way to the village of his wife’s cousin, Touch The Clouds. The Shoshones were contemplating a raid on their enemies the Blackfeet, and Touch The Clouds wanted Nate to sit in on the council. It showed the high regard in which the Sho-shones held him. That, and Nate suspected the Shoshones hoped he would help them get their hands on a few more rifles.