“Oscar Yates, you are more of a man than those goddamn outlaws I ran with. You got balls the size of yams with the things you say and do, the way you make me feel. I never met anyone braver ’an you.”
He smiled and laughed, his eyes twinkling with his leftover tears. “Yeah, I s’pose that’s true. I got some guts on me a lot of the time. But why do I tend to cry so often? I ain’t never cried so much in my life before, and we ain’t even in danger or nothin’. Why are my moods so up and down?”
I’d noticed that, and t’was different than when we’d been on the road. But we’d been so busy surviving then, trying to get where we were going and there had been a lot of distractions.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. You lost your horse, though, and you found out your uncle, who we’d traveled that long journey to find, was long dead. That’s a lot to take in, Oscar. I reckon you’re still grievin’.”
He gazed at me out of puzzled eyes.
“And maybe you’re still dealin’ with what happened with Spook. You ain’t had much time to sort all that out ’till now.”
He frowned and looked angry all of a sudden. “Nothin’ even happened.”
I gave him a serious look, because that wasn’t true at all. Sure, he hadn’t been raped or maimed or killed, but it had been a close call. There hadn’t been any space for him to process it, and by the time we’d got to Telegraph Creek, we were both so relieved to be in a safe place that we’d put it behind us. But now that we were staying in one place for so long, those memories were bound to return. I knew Oscar’d been having his share of bad dreams. When two people shared a bed, t’was easy to know when the other person was unsettled.
He looked away, frowning at the floor. “Nothin’ happened.”
“You know that ain’t true. Spook threatened you. He was going to—”
Oscar’s gaze came up and blazed fierce into mine. “I know what he were gonna do. You don’t have to tell me. But he didn’t, because you shot his head off.”
I didn’t say anything.
He started blinking again and looked up to the roof, then back at me. “I don’t want to cry again. Can we talk about somethin’ else?”
“Sure,” I said.
Oscar looked around him, saw the sourdough wrapped in a towel on the wood slab that was our kitchen counter. “Should we bring some bread and cheese for our lunch?”
All of a sudden I wanted to treat this boy to a grand day out. He’d get a new horse, and we could enjoy the fine weather.
I smiled. “Nope. We’re gonna have lunch at Annie’s.”
Oscar parted his lips, and he looked as if he was going to float on up into the air. “Annie’s? You jokin’?”
“No, I ain’t jokin’. I wanna see your eyes go all glassy when you taste those flapjacks she makes.”
Annie’s was a little restaurant on Main Street run by a widow named Annie Price, who made the best flapjacks and sausage this side of the Yukon border. She had a devoted clientele who filled her place every weekend and most weekdays during the busy summer months and made it profitable enough for her to stay open during the off season.
Oscar couldn’t help but laugh. “My eyes go glassy?”
I nodded. “They do. I know how much you like ’em.”
“I do. I surely do,” he said, looking like he wanted to get going right away, now that he knew what awaited him.
“Well, let’s go and get Dixie fed so we can saddle her up. You wanna ride behind me or take Poke?”
Poke was our brave mule, who’d carried Oscar strapped to his back for a couple of miles after he’d got knocked out near Telegraph Creek. He was a solid and reliable animal but not much fun to ride.
“I’ll go behind you.”
I gave him a stern look. “You gotta make sure you’re not holding on to me too tight now, when we get into town. Remember? We’re only supposed to be buddies.”
“I’ll remember. I’ll sit up straight and act like I’m not too happy to be on the same horse as you, e’en though I love it.”
After Oscar’s horse, Sprite, had been killed and we’d rode into Port Essington doubled up on Dixie, he’d been torn up with grief and plumb exhausted, so he’d about draped himself onto me. I reckoned we’d looked enough like worn-out travelers for it to come across fairly normal. But now that we were living here and trying to keep our private lives private, it wouldn’t do.
T’was a shame we had to hide who we truly were in order to live together so near a town without any trouble. But t’was the price of what we had and what we wanted to keep, and we’d pay it so’s we could keep this thing that was so dear to us.
