William Gass - Omensetter’s Luck

Do you know very well the words of Jeremiah?

Furber rose as he spoke.

Omensetter shook his head.

I used a text of his for the first sermon I preached in this church.

Omensetter smiled politely. It was hot then.

—

Furber pulled his nightgown about him.

And very dry. We had a terrible fire. Burning trees fell in the river.

—

Furber sighed.

A catastrophe.

What was Henry's reason; do you have any idea?

Omensetter shrugged.

He was happy when I saw him last, Omensetter said. We'd been to the hill and he was resting on a log. I don't know. It was a good day.

Furber smiled.

A good day. Well then no reason.

You'll tell Chamlay?

“Take ye heed every one of his neighbor, and trust ye not in any brother." That's Jeremiah.

Gee.

You'll be cold with just a jacket.

You can convince him? You'll have no trouble?

Shapes were crowding toward Furber's eyes. "For death is come up into our windows…"

Oh, he said, Chamlay? and he waved his hand airily. That will be easy, never fear; it will be easy for me.

Eight came by horseback with a wagon, hurrying against a late sun already weakened by its clouds. Chamlay came, and Olus Knox, Jethro Furber, Israbestis Tott, Hawkins with the Hatstats, George and Menger, then Stitt somehow — all ahead of Milo Bencher's wagon. It was a strong wagon, though small; one that could be jounced over meadows and got between trees. The men could see Omensetter peering through the window when they arrived, wiping back the glass with his hand. As they entered the yard Omensetter rushed from the house to shout — the boy is sick — turning from man to man as he did so, trotting anxiously along. His face was pale, bearded; there were bubbles on his lips which popped when he spoke.

Damn near dark, Chamlay said. We got to move. The boy is sick — the baby's sick.

Gray and frantic, Omensetter moved from man to man while the dog ran quickly around him.

Was what you said to Furber true?

The horses were nervous. The dog plunged through Omensetter's legs and the horses turned, their hoofs destroying patches of snow.

It's all true, yes. But I thought you'd be here this morning.

Disappointed, Omensetter turned to Furber.

Didn't you—

Hey's it true? what did he say?

Yes, Yes, Omensetter shouted, yes, it's true.

We've got no time then; it's no job for the dark.

Going to come hard, Knox said, peering at the sky.

Omensetter wound his fingers in the mane of Chamlay's horse.

Was what you said to Furber true?

Better of been, said Hawkins. I shut the store. It's going to hit thick. Let's move.

Where's Mat?

Who?

Mat? He didn't come.

Christ, Brackett, come on — you got something to ride? He's got that horse.

He's got a horse all right.

Will this cart-assed wagon make it, Menger asked.

Come on, can we ride these horses in, or will we have to walk?

Told Furber a lot of cock, I bet — a lot of shit.

Better not of.

Christ, come on — it's going to turn on cold.

The baby's sick.

Omensetter blotted his nose.

Well, you should find him easy if I tell you how, but you can't take your horses in, or any wagon either — not all the way.

The horses tightened about him until the dog barked from between Omensetter's feet. Then the horses shied but the men reined close again, leaning heavily from their saddles.

We've got no time, Chamlay said. We're getting old with this waiting.

It's going to snow — just look at that — we're due. We're going to get it good.

Well, you know that long white log there by the creek, Omensetter said. All right, go straight—

Chamlay interrupted with a meaningless shout of anger and instantly the others were shouting too, leaning close around him yelling until Lucy came running out of the house, the girls behind her weeping brokenly, so that the dog in a frenzy leaped at Hawkins and Hawkins sprawled him with a blow.

He's throwing up again, Brackett — awful — an awful something — he can't breathe.

Omensetter broke out of the circle and ran heavily into the house.

Quickly, in tight aimless patterns, the horses moved. The men rubbed their noses high on their sleeves and watched their streaming mouths. The dog crouched, ears flat, threats shaking in his throat. The horses backed and turned and reared and Stitt cursed when he scraped his leg on Milo Bencher's wagon.

Knox dismounted.

It's nothing to fret about I'm sure, he said. I've seen this often; the least little thing will put them off.

Lucy's way was blocked by the Hatstats' horses and she vainly tried to go around them.

We've other children too, she said, pushing against the horses. I've had kids sick before, but never — Please!

George winked at his brother.

l'll look if you don't mind, Knox said, passing the reins to Tott.

Tell him he's got five minutes, Olus, Luther Hawkins said. Just five.

Knox followed Lucy Omensetter running up the steps, Knox nodding nicely to the girls who seemed intent on the horsemen behind their tears.

Knox came out in a moment — the men were standing by their horses — to ask Chamlay where Orcutt was.

He was at the Amsterdams' this morning, Tott said. Em's bad.

Way over there?

God damn this god damn dog, Hawkins said. Is the kid real sick?

Stitt said it was just a stall, and Chamlay went in, Knox after him.

We'll never get old Henry down today, Stitt said sadly. I'll have to pull this wagon back to Bencher empty.

Where is Bencher anyway — in bed with his sheep?

Ain't the Reverend been quiet, though. You froze your teeth?

I don't care, by god, it was queer — what this fellow Omensetter told you, Furber, George said. I don't mind saying it gives me the trots.

Menger whistled his breath toward his brother, and everyone watched the stream move between them — boil out, widen, disappear.

Shit.

George rubbed his nose again upon his sleeve.

Hee-hawing bastard.

Henry's not in any tree, Menger said, any more than George is, hey George? any more than me.

Stitt said that they were fools for being there, and Furber sneezed, Tott saying after: bless.

You ever hear a tale like that, Stitt said.

I understand one time, Tott said, that Milo Bencher—

Got stuck in Granny Amsterdam.

Oh shut, will you.

I don't care, I never heard a tale like that.

Ever hear a turd talk?

Hawkins tied his horse.

I know what it'd say

It'd say plop.

I'd say, let's hang the mother-fucking bastard by the balls, said Hawkins.

Cut it out — the kids.

For now the girls were quiet, their hands tight to the porch rail, their eyes at the horses.

You kids got names, Menger asked — and they ran inside.

Agnes and Emerald.

No kidding?

Finally the men laughed a little and walked up and down in the yard crushing pieces of snow. A horse warmly relieved. Clouds of moisture swirled over its dung.

By the balls, Hawkins said. Forty feet in the air. With a length of barb from a rusted fence.

Then Omensetter and Chamlay appeared with Knox behind them and Omensetter was saying yes yes in a hoarse voice as they came down the steps — he needs a doctor — while the dog ran up to his boots. Curtis was stern and Olus angry.

Somebody ought to go for Orcutt, Chamlay said.

I said he was sick, said Omensetter dully.

Orcutt was over to the Amsterdams' this morning, Tott said. No telling where he's got to by now.

He was brought in smaller than his sisters… but a bawler. He's quiet now, though… so — clouded over.

You should have sent for Orcutt long ago, Knox said fiercely.