They walked back to the house, which seemed already to have taken on a cheerier, happier air. As they did so, Malone glanced toward the corral. Worthless and the mare had returned. It was difficult to tell which was worse winded, but it was plain to see that the stallion had been attending to business. No doubt he’d sprayed most of young Hotchkiss’s property in addition to his mare.
How could Malone tell his host that a little unicorn seed invigorated everything it touched?
Emma Hotchkiss could certainly cook, he had to admit. She had changed and wore a smile and a dress that revealed at least two rings of that three-ring circus whose presence he’d remarked on earlier. Several of the acts repeatedly bumped up against Malone as she leaned over the table to serve the men. As always, her husband did not notice. He was too delighted, too thrilled by the knowledge that his farm had been saved, to note that his field was in danger.
After she slipped off to bed, leaving in her wake a trail of perfume and promise, the two men shared conversation and tobacco in front of the crackling fire.
“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Malone. My neighbors won’t believe it.”
“They will when your crops come up, son. I promise you that.”
Hotchkiss regarded him curiously. “For a man who’s fulfilled every promise he made and vanquished the opposition to boot, you don’t sound very content.”
“I’m troubled, my young friend. Course, I’m always troubled, but I reckon that’s my destiny. I’m not talkin’ about those kinds of troubles, though. Jest the local ones.
“Fer example, if’n I were you, I wouldn’t be entirely convinced that this was such a fine place to put down roots.”
“But I thought you set the earth here to rights.”
“Oh, she’s unsoured, that’s certain, but whatever cursed this ground in the first place I ain’t sure is entirely cured. It might cause problems somewhere down the line. I’m not sayin’ it will fer you, understand, but it might fer your children and your children’s children. When you’ve put a few good years in, you might consider sellin’ this property at a good profit and movin’ farther down into the valley, mebbe somewheres along the San Joaquin. Better water there, anyways.”
Hotchkiss was silent. “Well, sir, I cannot but take your advice, having seen what you’ve done here this night. I will certainly keep your words in mind.”
“Thet’s not the only thing. There’s more cursed hereabouts than jest your land.”
“More than the land? I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr. Malone.”
The mountain man nodded in the direction of the bedroom, the firelight deepening the shadows that were his face. “It’s your Emma.”
Hotchkiss gaped at him, then jerked around to follow his gaze. “Emma, cursed? Good God, Mr. Malone. By what? She seems well and healthy.”
“She is that. But she’s also tormented by the worst curse than can afflict any woman, Will. That of boredom.”
Hotchkiss frowned. “Boredom? But how could she be bored, Mr. Malone? There’s so much to keep a woman busy on a farm: caring for the garden, washing, feeding the chickens and hogs, cooking, mending….”
Malone coughed delicately into a closed fist the size and consistency of a small anvil. “I don’t think you quite follow my reasoning, son. There’s activity, and then there’s boredom, and the two ain’t necessarily mutually exclusive.” He leaned forward, his eyes intent on those of the younger man, as if he were trying to communicate much more than mere words.
“She needs a change, Will. She ain’t the stay-on-the-farm-all-year type. You’re a hardworkin’ young feller, and I kin see that you’re gonna do yourself proud with your farmin’, make yourself some good money. Spend some of it on her. Don’t just tell her you love her. Show her. Take her up to Frisco for a while. Tell her how beautiful she is. Give her little gifts and presents, and not jest for her birthday and holidays. The best time to give a woman something is when she ain’t expectin’ anything.” He rose from the chair.
“Where are you going?” Hotchkiss asked numbly.
“Out to the stable. You’ll be wantin’ the house to yourself.”
“But I promised you…”
“Never you mind what you promised me, son. Most beds are too soft for me, anyhow. I’ll sleep fine in the stable.” He glanced toward the front door. “Need to keep an eye on Worthless anyways. Come springtime he don’t always know how to slow himself down.” He grinned. “Thinks he’s still a colt.”
“Wait!” Hotchkiss said suddenly. “What kind of presents should I give Emma? What kinds of gifts?”
“Don’t need to be big things. Lots of times little’uns mean more to a woman.” He donned his wolf’s head, and Hotchkiss thought he saw tiny lights flare briefly in the headgear’s eyesockets again, though more likely it was the glow from the fire. “You might start with this.”
He reached into a pocket and extracted an object that he handed to the young farmer. It was a small wooden sculpture, exquisitely detailed, of a man and a woman holding each other close, staring into each other’s eyes. Some of the detail looked too fine to have been fashioned by human hands.
With a start, Hotchkiss recognized the piece of whittling Malone had been working on outside the hotel in San Jose when he and his fellow farmers had confronted him.
“I can’t take this, sir.”
Malone stood in the doorway, bending low to clear the jamb. “Sure you can, son. I jest gave it to you. Go on. She’ll like it.” Before Hotchkiss could protest further, Malone closed the door behind him.
The young farmer stood there, unnerved by the gift. Then he shrugged and carefully put out the fire, retiring to the bedroom. In the dim light he failed to notice that the man and woman depicted in the sculpture were in the exact likeness of himself and his precious Emma.
The following morning Emma Hotchkiss made Malone the best breakfast he’d enjoyed in some months: grits, toast, biscuits and gravy, bacon and eggs, and homemade jam and sausage. She hovered close to her husband, the two of them exchanging little kisses and touches, and both wore expressions of great contentment and affection. The circus, Malone noted with satisfaction, had folded its tents, pulled up stakes, and left town.
Hotchkiss escorted him back into the settlement, the two men chatting like old friends in the morning sunlight. Worthless all but trotted the entire distance. Malone gave him a couple of knowing kicks, which with great dignity he studiously ignored.
They walked into the general store, to find a meeting already in progress. Faces turned in their direction as they entered, only to look quickly away.
Seated in the center of the group was the blond stranger. He was smiling. Evidently the good Dr. Heinmann’s ministrations had mollified his internal confusions.
“What is this?” Will no longer sounded young and insecure. “What’s going on here?”
“Well, Will,” George Franklin said as he slowly turned in his chair, “we were just finalizing our agreement with Sam here.”
“But you can’t do that.” Hotchkiss started forward, only to be restrained by his much larger companion. “I mean,” he said more quietly, “Mr. Malone here fixed my problems by himself last night. Now he’s ready to do the same for the rest of you.”
“We’re sorry, Will.” Kinkaid was apologetic. “But we did have a prior agreement with Sam here. Whatever your Mr. Malone did last night was between you and him. The rest of us have made another arrangement.”
The blond stranger held up a paper. “This here is a signed contract, all legal and irrevocable. Fifty dollars for fixing these fine folks’ land. Which I will do.”
“Pretty underhanded, running back here to have that drawn up when you knew Mr. Malone was tied up with his work out at my place,” the young farmer exclaimed heatedly.