Lone Star 04 (6 page)

“Gustolf...” Jessie leaned toward the old man over the table. “We came out here because we heard you were having some problems. If there's anything we can do to help . . .”

“What?” Gustolf came suddenly alert. “What problems, lady? I do not understand this. What have you heard about my village that I have not?”

“I don't really know,” said Jessie. “I was hoping you could tell us that.” The look in Gustolf's eye told her this was definitely
not
the time to bring up Tom Bridger, and what had happened to him. Gustolf would have known Tom if he knew anybody in Roster, and if he hadn't yet heard about the murder, she figured it could wait. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Sonia had stopped work to listen over her father's shoulder.

“What we've heard,” Jessie went on, “is that you've got things going real well here and have a good crop coming in—but that you and your people were thinking about selling out now and moving on somewhere else. I don't understand that.”

Gustolf looked down at his stubby hands. “I . . . have shame, Miss Jessica. You think we are not grateful for what you have done, yes? I do not blame you for this.”

“Oh, please . . .” The old man looked so pained that Jessie reached out instinctively and took his hands. “Look, I don't set myself up to judge what you or anyone else wants to do with what they have. I don't figure that's any of my business. If something's
wrong
here, though, maybe it does concern me. I guess what I'm asking is why the sudden interest in selling something that looks like it's working out so well? I—”

“Ah, business!” Gustolf made a face, pulled himself up quickly, and held out his palms. “It is bad luck to talk business on an empty stomach.” He forced a broad grin and filled the glasses again. “You stay and have supper.
Then
we talk. All right?”

“Father . . .” Sonia turned on him, her dark eyes curiously strained. “Maybe . . . our guests would rather get back to town. It will be dark when we finish supper...”

“No, no, they will stay,” Gustolf said firmly. Jessie caught the silent message that passed between them. “It is all right, Sonia, eh? Go about your business, girl.”

Jessie started to speak, but decided against it. Instead, she sipped her wine and looked at the old man, trying to read whatever it was that lay just behind his eyes. Something was definitely there, but he'd hidden it too well for her to see.

Jessie wanted to get Ki aside to see if he could make any sense out of Gustolf's behavior and Sonia's obvious reluctance to have them around. Gustolf, though, gave them no chance to be alone, and stood firm in his resolve to avoid any talk more serious than the various merits of the wines of Central Euorpe. He seemed to have endless information on the subject, and told Jessie and Ki that in the old country he'd been a master winemaker.

“Why did you leave all that?” Ki asked politely. “A master winemaker is a most distinguished person.”

“Pah! Not anymore, he isn‘t!” Gustolf screwed up his face. “That is all gone now. Over. Behind me. And good riddance too!”

“Now, Father...” Sonia came up and rested a hand on his shoulder. Whatever had disturbed her before seemed to have vanished. “Please don't get him on politics,” she said, giving her father a scolding glance. “You will never hear the end of it, Miss Jessica.”

“Jessie's just fine, and I would like to hear more.”

“Hah, you see?” growled Gustolf. “And what would you know, daughter? You have no respect for an old man.”

“You are a fine man, and not old at all. And I have much respect for you.” She patted him on the cheek and turned away in a whirl of heavy skirts. “Except when you are being an old fool, of course!” Gustolf reached out to grab for her with a big bearlike paw, but Sonia leaped lightly out of his way. Jessie raised a brow at Ki. Apparently the mood in Gustolf's household had shifted as quickly in one direction as it had in the other.

 

 

Ki wasn't sure when either Sonia or her father had had time to invite guests to dinner, but they somehow arrived on schedule. There were two of them: a somber, heavyset man in his fifties named Zascha, and a man of Ki's own age called Feodor. It seemed as if Gustolf had deliberately asked one to offset the other. Zascha was a brooding, sour fellow with a permanent frown between his heavy brows, while Feodor was the other side of the coin. He was a darkly handsome man with a nose like a hawk and a full head of thick, curly hair. A lazy grin curled the corners of his lips, and his black eyes flashed with amusement. At first glance, he seemed a man who might drift through life enjoying its pleasures. Ki, however, saw deeper than that. Feodor's easy manner was deceptive. He knew exactly what was taking place around him. Ki recognized something of himself in the man, as well—he moved slowly, because there was nothing happening that required moving fast.

Ki saw something else too. A single glance at Sonia when Feodor entered the room told him the girl was his for the taking. Feodor answered her look—warmly, but without great interest. On the other hand, his dark eyes rested for a long moment on Jessie. Jessie accepted his glance and gave it back boldly, much to Ki's irritation.

Jessie couldn't remember when she'd had so much to eat. The rich, spicy dishes, aided by a continuous flow of the old man's wine, left her sleepy and a little lightheaded.

Gustolf caught her eye and gave her a wink. “Ah, you like our food and drink, lady? That's good. Very good! Here—you must try a sip of this.” He made a small circle with his thumb and forefinger and blew a kiss in the air. “It is exquisite, but a very light and airy wine—”

“No, please!” Jessie laughed and held up a protesting hand. “I'm about to pop right now, Gustolf. Don't know where I got it, but I must have some Hungarian in me somewhere.”

Gustolf blinked in surprise. The gloomy Zascha scowled and shook his head.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Gustolf caught her bewildered expression and laughed. “Is nothing, lady. You could not know, yes?”

“What he's trying to say politely,” grinned Feodor, “is that you have insulted him greatly, but he forgives you.”

“No, no,” Gustolf protested.

“Listen, I'm sorry,” Jessie began.

“We're Hungarians,” Feodor explained, “as far as the rest of the world sees, but we, ah . . . don't acknowledge the Hungarian government. We're Transylvanians. And before that, Rumanians.”

“Oh,” Jessie said contritely.

“It goes back a long way, and gets a little confused,” said Feodor. “To make a long story short, we came here because there's no longer any place for our people in the old country.”

“Well, I think you came to the right place,” said Jessie. “Most everyone here had some good reason for leaving Europe.”

“It's a good place to be,” Feodor agreed fiercely. “A man has a chance, by God, and there's no one to stop him but himself!”

“Hah!” Zascha gave him a scornful laugh and downed his wine. Jessie noticed that most of it dribbled down his chin. “You are a young fool, Feodor.” He leaned forward and focused awkwardly on Jessie. “It is no different here, boy. There are nobles like her, and peasants like us. Who do you think gets the land in the end?”

“Zascha!”
Gustolf jolted the table with his fist and went livid. He jerked out of his seat and faced the man in a rage. “This
noble,
as you call her, is a Starbuck. And who do you think pays your way from New York and helps you buy the land you sit on, eh? By God, you insult the guest who fills that fat belly of yours!”

“For her own profit, you can be sure!” roared Zascha. “There is always a reason someone gives you something, Gustolf. So they can someday steal it back, yes?”

Feodor came out of his chair, but Gustolf's big hand held him back. “No. It is my house, and I take care of it. Leave, Zascha. Now. You shame me at my table. You shame us all.”

Zascha muttered to himself, but the look in Gustolf's eye brought him quickly to his feet. He lurched away from the table and slammed the heavy door behind him.

“I offer my apology,” Gustolf told Jessie. “He . . . has no understanding. I am afraid many of my people do not.”

“Is that why some of them are determined to sell their land?”

For a moment, Gustolf was taken back. “So. We are back to this again, are we not?”

“Yes, Gustolf,” Jessica said evenly. “We are. As I said before, it's none of my business what you do, but I'd like to know
why.
The loans you have from the Green River Land Company are low-interest, with a long payoff. And you've got our ironclad promise to buy your wheat at a very good price.”

“Yes,” Gustolf said wearily, “this is all true.”

“And yet some of your people are willing to give that up and sell out? At ridiculously low prices?”

“More than some of them, I'm afraid.”

Jessie looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I think you'd better go ahead and tell her,” Feodor said softly.

Gustolf tried to face Jessie, but couldn't. “It is nearly all of us, Miss Jessica. The whole village wants to get out of Kansas and move west.”

Jessie came suddenly alert. “You too?” She spread her hands in frustration. “But why? What is it, Gustolf? At least tell me that. Who's making these offers, and what are they telling you? They can't
make
you sell, you know!”

“No one is making us do anything,” Gustolf said sharply. “We do what we—” He stopped suddenly. His blue-gray eyes went wide, and the blood drained from his face. “Hear it? Do you hear it?”

“Hear what?” asked Jessie.

Gustolf held up a trembling hand. Suddenly the sound came through the high window on the early night air—the far distant howl of a wolf.

“Oh, no!” Sonia gave a short little cry and brought her hand to her throat.

“It cannot be,” Gustolf said harshly. “There is no full moon. It is not the right night!”

Chapter 5

“Gustolf, what on earth are you talking about?” asked Jessie. The old man stared right past her, jerked out of his chair, and bolted across the room to a door behind the big stove. Jessie exchanged a quick glance with Ki.

“Please. Stay where you are.” Feodor leaned quickly across the table and gripped her arm. His dark eyes seemed to bore right through her. “Let him alone.”

“What? Will someone
please
tell me what's going on here?”

Before Feodor could answer, Gustolf came out the back room and stomped to the front door. An old felt hat obscured his features, and he clutched a long wooden walking stick in his fist.

“Father,
no!”
Sonia gave a sharp little cry and threw herself in his arms. Gustolf shook her off without turning around. His face was dark and terrible. “Who else is to do this thing, eh? Who else?” His eyes swept to the younger man. “Feodor, see to the others. Do not come outside, Miss Starbuck. Stay here. You understand?”

“I'm damned if I will,” said Jessie. “Look—”

“Wait, please!” Gustolf held up a hand and went rigid. Once more, the sonorous howl pierced the night. “Close,” Gustolf said tightly. “It is much closer this time!” He opened the heavy door cautiously, sniffed the air, and then hurried across the empty common. Feodor moved after him, then turned back to Jessie and Ki.

“He's right, you know. It's best to stay here.”

“Where is he going?” asked Ki. “It's the wolf, right?”

A shadow crossed Feodor's face. “Yes. It is the wolf.”

“Then he'll need some help,” said Jessie. “We'll be glad to do what we can.”

“No.” Feodor shook his head firmly. “Keep out of it. Please.” He turned away and sprinted into the dark. Jessie gave Ki a look and started off across the common toward where Gustolf had disappeared. Ki caught up with her fast. Sonia cried out behind him, but neither Ki nor Jessie looked back.

“I'm not sure what's happening here,” he told Jessie. “These people are acting most peculiar.”

“I'll say they are.” There was still a touch of purple in the sky, enough to make out the sod-roofed houses on either side and the open fields beyond. “That way, I think,” said Jessie. “Ki, I can't figure this at all. There's not a soul out there but us and the old man. They're all locked up in those houses.”

“Except Feodor. I think he's out here somewhere too.”

“Wonderful,” scoffed Jessie. “So where are the rest of the men? Looks to me like—”