Jonis Agee - The Bones of Paradise

“‘What can I do you for?’ he asked between ringing blows.

“‘I want my son.’

“Without pausing, he shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ He held up the shoe to check its shape, turned, raised the horse’s front hoof, and set the shoe against it, releasing acrid smoke.

“I repeated my request and he began to nail the shoe on. When he was done, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of grimy folded paper. ‘Read this. Tell me what it says.’

“I hesitated, and he waved it at me. I took it although I was filled with dread. I knew it was bad.

“The paper was a signed contract giving Cullen to be raised by his grandfather until he was eighteen in exchange for twenty thousand acres. At the bottom of the page, J.B.’s signature, the same he had signed his letters to me with, flowing and upright so there was no mistaking it. I crumpled the contract and threw it into the forge fire. Drum shook his head and uttered a small curse.

“‘He has a copy, too.’

“I was torn between betrayal and grief, unable to quite grasp how a man could do this. But Drum wasn’t finished with me. He patted the horse, took another shoe from the bin, and began heating it.

“‘Now you and me are going to come to an agreement, missy.’ He pounded the hot shoe into shape.

“‘These hills are a dangerous place, you know, all kinds of accidents happen to a person out here. Hunters shoot a man thinking he’s a deer. Boy gets bit by poisonous snake and nobody there to suck it out. Person falls off and gets dragged by a horse or lost in a blizzard. I tell you, there’s endless danger out here.’ He stopped and held up the shoe, squinting at its form.

“‘Here’s what I’m offering: You leave here and stay away, not a word to my son about it, and I’ll keep your menfolk safe. Boys can grow up and J.B. won’t have any accidents. Long as you skedaddle and keep your word.’

“He thrust the shoe back into the coals, heated it again, lifted it out, and put it on the horse’s back hoof. For the rest of my life I will remember this scene every time I smell that unholy acrid smoke like the depths of hell.

“I couldn’t find words to answer him. The proposal was so outrageous that I didn’t doubt him. As I stumbled across the barnyard and climbed into my runabout, he called after me: ‘Best be gone come May. Dangerous time, branding season.’”

She hunched her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her body as if she felt the cold March wind again. “So you understand, I can’t have that old man here. He was supposed to keep them safe.” Her head jerked up and she felt her eyes blaze with a kind of madness that both frightened and made her glad. “He killed J.B.! I know he did! He wants the ranch—you’ve heard him—”

Graver waited a moment, then settled his hat on the table and sighed. “That’s a hard tale, ma’am. It makes me sorry to hear it. You been through it all right. But—”

They heard Rose and Some Horses arguing as they stepped onto the porch and pulled open the door. Graver closed his mouth, stood, glanced at Dulcinea as if he wanted to say more, and then put on his hat, touched the brim, and slid out the door.

Jerome left almost immediately and Rose sat at the table with her head down like she’d lost the ability to speak. That happened to everyone around her now. Only Graver—Did the men have noon dinner? Dulcinea had lost track of time. Was it morning or afternoon? She looked anxiously to the sky as clouds slid across the sun. A cool wind gusted and gathered and gusted again, driving the squawking chickens into the henhouse and scattering the horses in the corral. The trotting horse weathervane on the barn spun wildly one direction and then another. Dust and sand rose and swirled around and burst against the house as if flung by a giant fist.

“My sister says we’re close to him now. He’s going to reveal himself soon.” Rose tapped her fingers on the table, pushed back the chair impatiently, and went to the parlor, where she picked up the hide scraper.

“Where did this come from?” she asked, turning.

Dulcinea shrugged. “Hayward collects Indian things.”

Rose set down the scraper and picked up the red stone pipe. “Same?”

Dulcinea stared at her. “What’re you saying?”

Rose put it down, made sure it was away from the shelf edge. “They belonged to our family.” She stood at the end of the table staring at Dulcinea.

“I’ll ask him, I will. But he didn’t have anything to do with it, I swear.”

Rose wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Find out tonight.”

Dulcinea shivered. This wasn’t her friend Rose—she sounded so cold. “You think Hayward killed your sister?” She was breathless even saying the words.

Rose stared at her. “Ask him where those things came from. Tonight.”

After supper, which the two women cooked in silence, Dulcinea asked Graver and Hayward to stay. The boy was restless and wouldn’t meet her eyes. Graver sat quietly meditating on his coffee while she went to the parlor and retrieved the items.

“Son, where did you get these?”

Hayward seemed rattled, folded his arms and stared at the table.

Graver cleared his throat. “Higgs brought them in.” He paused. “From the windmill where—you know. J.B. was holding the scraper and the pipe was with the girl.”

Hayward looked like he’d been slapped, his face red.

Dulcinea felt light-headed. Was he guilty?

Graver looked at the two of them and grimaced. “Boy, you need to tell your mother everything.” He laid his hands flat on the table and made to stand, thought better of it, and leaned back in the chair.

When the tale was done, Hayward was sobbing in his mother’s arms. Dulcinea thought it lucky he didn’t see the relief on her face at learning her sons weren’t murderers. She knew J.B. wasn’t either, and the two Indian boys weren’t even around these days. Had to be an outsider. She never seriously considered Drum, despite what she said. He wouldn’t kill his own son. Look how he was taking Cullen’s—She couldn’t think the word and willed herself back to the list of suspects. It had to be an outsider, then. Maybe someone who knew J.B. well enough to get close. That meant she and Hayward weren’t safe. Drum was an old bastard on his own far as she was concerned, but she’d be damned if anyone was going to hurt this family again. She had to look harder, think about who stood to gain the most from their deaths. She needed to talk to Rose tonight.

Since it was the middle of September and the men hadn’t been paid in two months, Dulcinea forced herself into town to meet Chance and the banker. If she sold the ranch, she’d have the money to protect her remaining son. In her mind, she pushed aside the disappointment she was sure would show on Graver’s face when he found out. Damn it, she did care what he thought of her and maybe he was right. To be honest, she couldn’t imagine Hayward leaving these hills. She couldn’t imagine herself leaving either.

Chance seated her at a scarred round oak table in the tiny office that used to hold his desk. The room was stripped bare as if he was moving, and when she raised her eyebrows he smiled and shrugged. He cleared his throat, but she ignored that, too, opened her purse and pulled out the papers he had sent.

The sweet scent of his Bay Rum cologne hung in the air, crowding the small space. Sooty lines framed the white spaces where his diplomas and pictures had hung. Was he leaving now, before the will was probated?

He sat across from her, elaborately crossing his legs to the side, his striped trousers pulled up to reveal the unpolished shaft of a black boot.