All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred ninety-four)

 

 

 

 

 

All Bedlam Courses Past

 

 

Chapter Eight

Things Relative

 

(part one hundred ninety-four)

 

 

 

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Saying so, the man took Dancer by the harness.

A stranger pitched in, shouting and yanking coattails to clear a path. Their helper muttered, “Get gone out my way, you aren’t doin nothin, maybe steal out pockets, don’t think I can’t see.”

The stranger burrowed a cheek in Dancer’s neck, cocking a dandified shabby hat, and to the horse said, “My old friend, tell your mistress what her late godfather used to preach in the church. A man who earns his dollar at an honest job won’t steal.”

He stepped back and lifted his head.

Richard still kept unshaved. (Lawrence had told her this was a sign of his badness, that he used theatrical props for swindles, might even show as a woman…) The traces of the dashing looks were sparse now. He had a burn along his jaw—Élucide felt this was a drunk-falling-asleep-near-the-fire story. But she owed him recognition.

“Let Richard handle Dancer. We came flush. We’ll see how we leave!”

Good laughs from the standees. Weem fished out his wallet. “Who you recommend in the three o’clock?”

“I don’t recommend, sir. I work here.”

Their helper touched his cap, Weem’s dollar between his fingers, and left them.

Richard said after, “Thank you, Miss,” though Weem had paid him too.

“We’ll have that wager, you and me. They got a horse running this one called Conniption. Goes sideways, maybe…”

“I’ll take you on, mister,” someone said. “Don’t ask your missus to part with her pin money.”

“Ha, ha!” from another. “I know which one’s in the driver’s seat!”

A five-dollar note flapped from the buggy opposite.

“Too rich,” Weem said.

“Give you bookie’s odds, cross the board.”

“Now, what eats you folks brought?”

Another someone called out this, while Weem’s betting partner disembarked, and rose on the running board at Élucide’s left, to say in a confiding way: “We’re all waitin on the beer wagon.”

“You’re pulling my leg. That’s against the law.”

The man withdrew a hip flask and drank deep, winking at her. “Temperance Fellows got their spies out.”

“Luce!” This shout came from family. A sister-in-law stood from a wagon, where Callum, not dead of what ailed him, but poorly, a husk of his old weight, smiled up…smiled more broadly when pointed to Élucide. Owen’s brother Finn waved. Élucide took folds of skirt, moving to be sociable, but Denna McClurkin was quicker.

“You go off, mister.” She tugged Weem’s coat sleeve. “I’ll sit right here.”

Weem hopped away, his arm hooked by his new friend, who walked him to the rail, talking about Conniption.

“You’ll come over and speak to Dad?”

Élucide said low, “I’m so sorry.” She was both sorry and guilty, having long heard of Callum’s trouble and done nothing.

“He thinks the world of you,” Denna said. “Here, they’re starting.”

“Who does Mr. McClurkin have his money on?”

Denna’s eyes misted. “Bilious Bride.”

“Gracious! I’ll take her over Conniption.”

“Nobody’s betting on Conniption.”

 

 

207

 

 

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Bedlam

All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred ninety-five)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(2025, Stephanie Foster)