Nevada Barr - Bittersweet

“You like Manny?”

She nodded. The dog pricked up an ear at the sound of his name.

“I named him Emmanuel after Pa. He’s a fighter, takes offense at everything and starts in snapping.”

“You miss Pa?”

“Nope.”

“Remember Sam Ebbitt’s old yellow-eyed dog?”

“That damn dog bit me once. I like to killed him, but he got under that woodshed.”

“I did kill him.”

“You’re joking me!”

“No, I’m not. I choked him in a door.” Sarah smiled a little in spite of herself. “And I’m not sorry, either.”

David laughed so loud it brought Mrs. Glass to the window.

When Imogene came home from school, Sarah, David, and Wolf were indoors preparing dinner. When it was ready, Sarah said a simple grace: “I thank You, Lord, for my brother.”

After supper she asked David to stay with them while he was in Reno, and Imogene added her welcome, but David declined, making his excuses. “It’s just nine-way before my bedtime,” he said. “I’ll likely still be visiting with some of the boys long after you’re asleep. I can sleep anywhere. Besides, I’ve got to be in Auburn-over the Sierras-tomorrow, but I’ll come by in the morning and say good-bye. I’m in these parts a lot,” he assured Sarah. “I’ll be on your doorstep so much you’ll wish I’d stayed lost.”

He wouldn’t change his mind and so Sarah hugged him, said good night, and went in the bedroom to tuck Wolf in. David and Imogene could hear her singing to the boy through the door. David paused on the porch steps. “Could you walk with me a bit, Miss Grelznik? There’s some subjects I’m not clear on.”

The night had turned cold. Even in summer a wind came down off the mountains and cooled the valley at night. In the clear, dry air, there seemed to be half again as many stars as shone in the Pennsylvania skies. They walked in silence for a while, following the footpath along the river, David’s silhouette only slightly taller than Imogene’s.

“How do you come to be out West?” he asked. And Imogene told him of Darrel’s accusations and Karen Cogswell’s hysterical outburst, of Sam whipping Sarah and breaking into Imogene’s house when Sarah had run there for protection.

“Was it true about you and Sare?”

Imogene answered with an icy stare.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “There was no call to ask that.”

“I’m sorry too.” They walked on, Manny padding softly at David’s heels.

“Do you need money?” he asked, ending a long silence.

“No. I have a good job. We can take care of ourselves.”

Before they parted, Imogene gave him the address they used to send letters to Mam, and he scribbled down the address of a bar in Virginia City where he received his mail.

SUMMER STAYED LONG INTO SEPTEMBER AND CAME AGAIN FOR A WEEK in late October. The bishop’s girls returned, a year older and anxious to lord it over the new students. Imogene immersed herself again in her beloved school, and Sarah tended to the household and to Wolf. Sarah spent her days with him, and the child brought her out of herself.

Nothing was seen of Nate Weldrick, but the money for Wolf’s upkeep came every few weeks by way of Mac.

David passed through Reno twice more and spent a day each time with Sarah. Wolf learned to ride Manny, much to the dog’s annoyance, and Sarah made David forbid it for fear that Manny would bite the boy.

With Indian summer, the last of the warm weather disappeared and geese honked overhead in black, southbound vees. At Thanksgiving, the bishop gave the school five fat Canada geese and Imogene persuaded Sarah to join the girls for Thanksgiving dinner. Shy and retiring, Sarah said little and ate sparingly. The girls were enchanted and made up romantic stories about her for half the night.

A fire burned in the potbellied stove, the flames devouring the wood with a shirring sound, making the room cozy. Outside, a thin, hard winter sun shone, its cold light glinting off bare branches and winter-brown grass. Only the white pine in the far corner of the yard retained its greenery, unperturbed by the passing of the seasons, grander even in winter.

Sarah sat near the stove, her head bent over a tiny red flannel shirt, her narrow hands plying the needle deftly. Wolf had left a pile of wooden blocks behind to climb up on a chair. Kneeling on the seat, he pressed his cheek against the pane, squeezing his eyes to the right. A little fir tree leaned against the porch, its boughs tied up with twine.

“I can see the tree,” he said solemnly.

“Mmm-mm.” Sarah didn’t need to ask which tree; the fir had been a favorite topic of conversation since Fred Bone had brought it by several days before.

“We’re going to put the tree in here with us.”

“That’s right,” Sarah assented. “It’s a Christmas tree.”

Wolf lost interest in it; Christmas Eve was almost a week away, and the little boy lived entirely in the present. He jumped off the chair and waddled over to a bookcase under the far window. Suddenly he chirped with excitement, “Somebody coming.”

Sarah set aside her sewing and joined him at the window. “It looks like your pa.”

Nate rode up the drive past Addie Glass’s house and tied his horse to one of the bushes. The horse was a sleek claybank stallion with a white diamond on his forehead. Horse, saddle, and bridle were new, the leather still bright and creaky. Nate wore stiff new dungarees-“reach-me-downs,” the creases sharp from where they’d been folded on the store shelf-and a new shirt. Grease flattened his unruly curls, and the corner of his mouth bled a little from a recent shave.

Sarah backed away from the window.

“He’s coming up the walk,” Wolf announced.

Sarah picked up her sewing, looked around the room, and put it down again.

“He’s at the door,” said the little sentinel. The knock came and Sarah jumped.

“He’s knocking on the door,” Wolf reported. Reluctantly, Sarah opened it. The overwhelming scent of pomade and new leather greeted her. Nate pulled his hat off; his shining cap of hair was dented where the band had been.

“Afternoon, ma’am. I’m Nate Weldrick, as you may recall.”

“I remember.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “Wolf’s pa.”

“That’s right.” He shifted his weight and looked past her into the house. “I’d have been by sooner, but I been over San Francisco way these last six, eight months.”

“Won’t you come in?” she said belatedly.

Nate sat in the lookout chair, turning his hat between his knees. The boy had disappeared. Sarah sat down on her sewing, bouncing oddly when she realized what she’d done. Too embarrassed to remove it, she spread her skirts to the sides so the red flannel wouldn’t peek out from underneath.

“You’ve come to see Wolf?” Her voice was high-pitched and airy. She cleared her throat.

“You could say that.”

Sarah’s eyes searched the small living room as if a three-year-old child could simply have been overlooked. “He was just here. Let me check the other room.” She escaped into her bedroom and closed the door. Wolf was sitting quietly on the box bed she and Imogene had bought for him, not doing anything, just sitting with the air of an adult resigned to waiting. Sarah knelt beside him. “Wolf, your pa’s here to see you.”

“I ain’t s’posed to stay in the room when he’s with ladies.”

“That’s silly. Don’t you want to see your pa? Come on.” Sarah held out her hand and he accompanied her unenthusiastically back into the front room.

Father and son stared at each other.

“Why don’t you say hello to your pa?” Sarah whispered.

“Pa.” Wolf tasted the word. An alien sound.