Mother Lode (48 page)

“That’s just fine with me,” said Buck. “Cut,
Arthur. Let’s keep the game honest.”

Earl was dealt almost nothing of value — one
king and little else. Nevertheless when it was his turn, he matched
George’s bet of one.

Even before the draw, Buck bet two.

He’s trying to squeeze me out, Earl told
himself.

“How many cards?” Buck turned to Arthur.

“Two.”

“Same here,” said George.

Earl could feel the perspiration trickling
down his back. “Three.”

“Three it is.”

Buck took one. “Let the betting begin,” he
said.

Earl picked up his cards.
Another
king.
Well, at least he had a pair! He’d had better; he couldn’t
take the pot with what he held if Buck wasn’t bluffing. It didn’t
help, either, having to bet before Buck.

Arthur bet one. George matched him.

Earl could feel his sphincter muscles
tighten. “Two,” he said.

“Here’s your two and one to raise,” Buck
said.

Arthur and George both folded. That left
Earl head to head with Buck, and it was his turn.

Earl couldn’t forget how
high the stakes were:
Five times what they
usually were! H
e was doing some other
figuring. How much did he have in his bank account? Would he be
able to cover the losses and pay the rent? What would Cora say if
he landed on his ass?

“Quit stalling, Foster.”

Earl pushed a chip forward, looked at Buck,
and added a second.

“Whew!” called out George.

“I’ll see your bluff,” called Buck.

Earl raised one bushy eyebrow. “That’ll cost
you.”

Buck pushed his chip forward. Earl held his
breath as he turned up his kings.

A brief shake of Buck’s head told Earl his opponent
had nothing better. With a poker player’s discipline, he resisted
an urge to cry out in elation.

But it was only the
hand
. The pot would go
to who had the highest winnings for the night. He watched as Buck
finally stacked his chips in piles of ten. It was going to be
close. But even before the last of the prosecutor’s chips were
stacked, it was plain to see Earl had won.

“I couldn’t be happier,” the doctor
added.

“Well done, boy,” George beamed at him.

This time the ‘boy’ didn’t
bother him. He’d won! He’d won
Matilda
!

Buck rose. “Can’t help wondering what
nefarious plot you’ve cooked up — involving the Radcliff kid.”

Without further ado, Buck Boyce took his
leave.

“Poor loser,” Arthur said.

“He’ll get over it. He
can’t afford not to.” George laughed heartily. As he began to scoop
the cards in, the ash from his cigar dropped on them. Earl reached
for the ashtray, picked up the cards that held the ashes and dumped
them in the tray. As he did, he saw their faces—the ones George had
folded with. Two deuces and three eights.
A full house!

He looked at George, who only held his eye
briefly. George could have taken the hand, but not the night. He’d
tossed it in to throw the game to Earl. Without that last winning
hand, Earl would surely have lost to Buck.

He could say nothing, nor would George want
him to.

When he left the McKinney home that night,
the doctor helped him heave the heavy load into the buggy, and gave
him a handshake he wouldn’t soon forget. Earl climbed into the
buggy. Well worth hitching up that night. He wouldn’t have been
able to waltz Matilda all the way home in his arms.

The next morning Jorie
could hear Mr. Foster scurrying around. The sheriff seemed excited,
said he had some errands to run, and told Jorie to
be there
when he got
back. At noon, he’d returned, went out again, coming home about
two. By three o’clock, the sheriff was pacing the floor.

Finally Mr. Foster said, “I want to show you
something. Get your coat.”

They bundled in wool jackets and mufflers.
As they stepped outside Jorie took a deep breath. It was not yet
dark. If he did decide to live how in the world would he fit back
into the community? Gossip was rampant and everybody seemed to know
him now. The thought of being watched daily by judging eyes was
unbearable.

They walked several blocks through downtown
Hancock. It was about four o’clock, already darkening; lights from
the shops provided the only cheer in the quiet streets. Earl led
him through the back streets, then down toward the lake. Jorie
wondered again where they were going, but it didn’t matter.

Descending the steep grade of Tezcuco Street
was a challenge. During the last two days, the snow had started to
melt, and descending temperatures had caused it to freeze. Frozen
boot prints, like fossils, were imbedded in the solid surface,
making it difficult and dangerous to navigate.

Just then the sheriff lost his balance on
the ice and started to fall. Jorie caught him, righting him just in
time.

“Thanks, thanks. I would have gone down for
sure.” He laughed, embarrassed. “Mrs. Foster would not take kindly
to nursing me through broken bones.”

They reached the train station. The sheriff
opened the door and ushered Jorie in.

“What are we doing here?”

“Good a place as any to warm ourselves.
Let’s get some hot tea.”

They walked toward the empty end of the
station where refreshments were sold.

The tea came. Jorie sat with his hands in
his lap. Earl wiped his spoon carefully with his napkin and added
milk and sugar. He stirred the contents of his cup slowly.

Jorie picked up his cup and blew on the
tea.

Earl finally began. “Listen to me, son. I
know how guilty you feel. But you can’t afford to indulge in
penance. Not that kind. I know all about the sort of education you
got at your mother’s knee—large doses of suffering leading to
absolution. Well, this time, you’re just going to have to live with
what you did.” He took a gulp of his tea. “And find a way to
forgive yourself.” He looked down at his cup. “I think you’ll
discover more than enough suffering on that road to satisfy the
heartiest of appetites.”

Jorie recognized for the first time that Mr.
Foster must be suffering too. The sheriff knew everything, and had
kept it all out of the courts to protect him. This gentle man had
worked unstintingly in his behalf.

He wet his own lips. “I, I want to thank
you, and Mrs. Foster too, for everything — I don’t deserve it.”

“Let’s have none of that, boy.”

Jorie picked up his cup, drank the tea. He
wished the sheriff would change the subject. He couldn’t help
thinking there was something else up his sleeve.

He asked again, “What are we doing
here?”

“I was just getting to that.” Earl cleared
his throat. “Your friends have taken up a collection for you—”

Jorie started to object, and Earl put up a
hand to stop him.

“Rather, one we have accumulated over the
years — we didn’t actually know to what purpose.” Earl smiled. “Now
we know.”

He pulled a money bag from his coat and
placed it on the table. Jorie stared in amazement.

“This was not decided on a sudden impulse.
Careful thought went into it.”

“I can’t take it.”

“It’s a loan.”

The word
‘Who
?’
formed on
Jorie’s lips.

“You don’t need to know who the involved
parties are. Just that there are people in this town who want to
help you, Jorie. They ask only that you stay alive. If not for your
sake, then for your sister’s.”

A lump started to form in
Jorie’s throat.
Everyone didn’t despise
him.

“We have a ticket for you to go out west. To
grow up a little, and allow this thing die down. Let the land heal
you. Give your pain to the mountains and the rivers. Then, in time,
when you’re ready, you can come back, see your sister again.”

Jorie started to say again, “I can’t—”

The sheriff almost rose out of his seat.
“How long will you allow folly to hold you from your dreams?
Besides,” he added, calming himself, “this money is an investment
in you, Jorie, We know you’re clever, and you can make something of
yourself. So we expect you to come back here one day and pay off
your debt.” Mr. Foster folded his hands. “It’s a matter of
honor.”

Overcome with emotion, Jorie managed to say,
“What’s to become of Eliza—now?”

“Mrs. O’Laerty petitioned the court for
custody of the child. I see no reason why her request would be
denied. I trust this meets with your approval?”

Jorie could only nod. The
feelings that churned and tumbled inside him were too complex to
understand. They were rolling over him, intermingling in convergent
waves. At least he was
feeling
again.

“I collected your things this afternoon at
O’Laerty’s. Your suitcases are waiting in a locker. The train
leaves at four o’clock.”

“Train?
Today?”
It was all
coming too fast.

“Yes. I packed your clothing, a few books,
and your sketch pad. Here’s the sum we have for you.” Mr. Foster
pushed the bag across the table. “Perhaps not as sizeable as your
father meant you to have. We’ll get the ball rolling on that, too.
But for now, this will give you a start.”

Jorie could only swallow.

“There’s about a hundred fifty dollars
there.”

Mr. Foster placed the ticket in front of
him. “This will take you to Chicago, and there you’ll change trains
to Denver, then—”

The door opened, ushering in the elated
scream of a little girl.

“Jawie!” the child squealed.

Eliza came running up to him, with Helena on
her heels. He swooped her up in his arms, buried his head in her
chestnut curls. Tears filled, then overflowed their banks.

She gave him a quizzical look. “Why are you
crying?”

“Your brother’s about to leave on a long
journey, Eliza.”

She looked frightened and pulled back.

“Are you going away to die like Mummy
did?”

He pulled her to him. “No, Izzy, I’m not
going to die.”

“Promise?”

He looked at Earl. “Promise.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out west.”

“May I go with you? S’il vous plait?”

Jorie’s stomach turned. Maybe he’d saved her
just in time.

“Not this time, Izzy. I want you to stay
here and be very happy with Henna.”

“Will you come back?”

Jorie took her small face between his hands,
and pushed out the words, “I will, and I’ll write to you every
week.”

Jorie closed his eyes, and held Eliza
closer. For one sweet moment, all he knew was the sweet breath of
his little sister. Then he said, “I can’t thank you enough,
Helena.”

The Irish woman wiped her eyes. “Oh, be gone
with you, now.”

Earl stood up. “I’ll get your traveling
cases.”

The party rose and headed for the platform,
with Eliza in Jorie’s arms. When the train announced its arrival
with long, piercing whistles, he reluctantly handed her over to
Helena and picked up his bags. He gave Izzy one more kiss and
looked at Earl, unable to speak.

“Say hello to Mr. Muir for me, kid.”

Jorie returned the grin. For the first time
he felt a kind of peace. And maybe, even something close to
hope.