All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred fifty-nine)

All Bedlam Courses Past

Chapter Six

Short Days

(part one hundred fifty-nine)

Lawrence conjured flapjacks, a camp meal he knew the means of.

Richard stepped close on stiff-jointed feet, his morning flesh drained of color. Face stubbled, not bearded. He dropped the coat he’d slept in and unfastened a wallet clipped to a brace.

“Have some of my money.”

As to say I didn’t hear you, Lawrence handed up the tin plate and syrup jug. “You’re a horse trader anymore?”

“I follow opportunity.”

“Whatever city has a ferry crossing first’ll take you along, then. Louisville’s a big place.”

“Been there. I want a small place. I took a look through your packing. Strikes me odd my brother would take up the peddler’s life. How’s the farm?”

“Good. Not making me rich. Didn’t Samuel tell you I’m looking for his granny? Onella Paton, Portsmouth Ohio. Now I think of it, you were in Cincinnati one time.”

“But far from expert. I arrived by the circuitous route.”

Richard could do that. Lawrence, unable to picture or repeat to himself this word, put his head down and ate a few bites. “She don’t know Mary’s gone. Kinder said in person.”

His brother smiled like a joker.

“Granny Verbena said Uncle Richard gone out playacting. When that time Mama got the letter,” Samuel confided to his uncle, “and Daddy wouldn’t carry it up to the cabin. And Mama said is that my mother lives in that shanty?”

Mama (Lawrence’s own) had turned up in her Sunday shawl, able for the friendship of Carolina Melvin to get places when the spell took her. She had got wind of Richard’s letter from a loose-lipped youngster. They sat to eat, Mary near beside herself, blood between Mary and Carolina bitter. Lawrence fetched the letter from the chimneypiece, evaded reading aloud…

It was evening, and it took bright sun to make out the first word of Richard’s hand.

“Why, lookee that!” Carolina had said. “That ain’t no postage stamp. Drawed.”

Samuel recalled the ending to Gippy, who was paying attention where Samuel’s uncle was not. “Drawed on and got delivered!”

Midday, Lawrence earned a little peace, Richard napping in the wagon bed, inert as a corpse. Not breathing bad. He had expected it, seeing his brother look so starved.

The horse might have a private mark inside the lip…

Some owners did that. Animal named and itemized on the reward poster. Eddie answered to a cluck, a slap on the thigh, sight of a hand with something in it…

Richard knew best what horses came trotting after. Lawrence tried to guess at consequences. Harboring a thief, carrying him out of state. But for a widower, Lord provide, might be none.

I’m not in my right head, Judge. Let me just pay the worth to Mr. Orson.

170

Bedlam

All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred sixty)

(2024, Stephanie Foster)