The Devil You Know (32 page)

“I know.” She slipped her free arm through the elbow he offered and they walked out of the barn together. “I don't suppose it will ever be a straight line, but the meandering one sure is interesting.”

Happy was standing at the stove, his head bent over the stockpot, when Israel and Willa entered through the back door. He did not look up until he had breathed in deeply. The aroma of ham and beans and cornbread filled the kitchen, but he preferred sniffing straight from the pot.

“You're not going to drown yourself, are you, Happy?” asked Israel.

Grinning, Happy set the lid back on the pot loosely enough to allow the scented steam to escape. He cracked open the oven door to peek at the progress of the cornbread. Satisfied, he closed it again. “I might. I figure it's that good. Welcome home. Annalea informed me you were back. Hear that?” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the front room, where Annalea was practicing her scales with a fluid ease that was rather impressive. “She's been doing that all morning. Teach her more tunes, Israel. Some Stephen Foster would be real kind to my ears about now.”

“I can do that,” said Israel. “Annalea mentioned we missed some kind of excitement. Is that it?”

“Is what it?”

“Her mastery of the scales.” He pointed to Willa while he spoke to Happy. “Certain people think that might be considered excitement around here.”

“Hell, no,” said Happy. “Probably best that you both have a seat, and I'll tell you all about it.”

Willa set Annalea's gifts on the table so she could remove her coat. After she stuffed her gloves in her pockets, she gave her coat and hat to Israel to hang up with his own.

“We have some things to give Annalea first, and then we'll
be back. And, Pa?” When Happy regarded her suspiciously, expecting trouble, she was prepared. She raised her left hand and showed him the ring. His eyes watered, and she wasn't prepared for that or the fact that hers watered as well.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She wanted to say more, but tears clogged her throat and made that impossible. Her wobbly smile simply dissolved and then her arms were around him and his were around her and they just stood like that until the ham and bean soup bubbled up under the lid and splashed them.

Israel watched as they jumped apart and away from the stove and saw that neither one quite met the other's eye, but he judged that the shift in the air could only be the start of something good.

He picked up Annalea's gifts and invited Happy to join them in the front room. Happy declined, saying he needed to watch the pot, and Israel let the lie go unchallenged. He put a hand at the small of Willa's back and nudged her forward. She was as much in need of a moment to compose herself as her father. Israel gave it to her before they walked in on Annalea because there would be no composure in the face of her excitement.

After much oohing and ahhing over half a dozen ribbons in the colors of a rainbow, two handkerchiefs with lace borders, a pair of ivory combs for her hair that she hadn't asked for but swore were exactly what she always wanted, and three dime novels with lurid covers and sensational titles, Annalea danced happily between Willa and Israel, throwing her arms around each of them in turn.

Israel and Willa returned to the kitchen when Annalea decided she was going to tie one of her old hair ribbons around John Henry's neck. They couldn't bear to watch.

Happy had cups set out for them, and poured coffee into each. “Expected you last night,” he said. “Maybe that ring explains why you didn't come back, and maybe it don't. I guess I don't need to hear details as long as you're both satisfied with the bargain you struck.”

“You're right,” said Willa. “You don't need to hear details.”

Israel picked up his cup. “So what is it that you think we should probably be sitting down to hear?”

Happy checked the soup, gave it a stir with a long-handled wooden spoon, and then moved to the sink, where he leaned back against it and folded his arms across his chest. Once he had assumed his comfortable storytelling stance, he began, “We had a visitor last night. Young fool showed up here after dark, said his name was Samuel Easterbrook, and claimed he was tracking down some fellow on account of a friend asking him to do it.”

“You sure that was his name, Happy?” asked Israel.

Willa was alert to the narrow crease that had appeared between Israel's dark eyebrows. She watched him carefully over the rim of her coffee cup and waited for Happy's answer.

“Samuel Easterbrook,” Happy repeated. “Yep. I've got it right. Made sure I said it once or twice so it would keep. Are you familiar?”

“No. Go on.”

“Well, there was a couple or three things suspicious about him right from the beginning. Zach and Cutter and I talked about it after we showed him the door, so to speak, and they agreed with me.”

“What sort of things?” asked Willa.

“I'm gettin' to that, girl. Can't be rushed. I need to keep it ordered in my mind.” The wooden spoon in his hand distracted him for a moment as a heavy droplet of bean soup was set to fall. He quickly moved the spoon to the sink behind him and reassumed his position. “Sam—that's what he invited me to call him—said he was an Army scout a ways back. That didn't set right because he was so young. I made him to be a couple years older than Cutter, so if he was scouting for the Army, he must have been doing it when he was in short pants.”

Happy's mouth pulled to one side as he regarded Israel. “You all right there, son? I thought you might've twitched some when I mentioned this Easterbrook fellow said he was a scout. You know somebody like that?”

“I might,” Israel said evenly. He set his coffee cup down without twitching.

Happy grunted softly. “So Samuel Easterbrook not only says he used to scout for the Army, but he also admits that he got turned around on his way here from Big Bar, and
that's why he showed up at night. He made light of it, but I had a hard time believing that even a former scout would admit to it. Where's the pride, I asked myself.”

Willa unconsciously moved to the edge of her chair. She wanted to ask about Big Bar in the worst way, but she bit her tongue and hugged her coffee cup in her hands.

Happy's mouth worked back and forth as he considered what odd observation to reveal next. “Like I said, Sam visited Big Bar before he came here. Nothing particularly strange about that since he had already been to Jupiter to ask after his man and was visiting ranches in the area, but he stretched my imagination to unnatural lengths when he said Malcolm Barber had been downright hospitable. Welcomed him even, invited him to rest a spell since he'd been riding for days, coming from Stonechurch as he was.”

Happy's eyes narrowed a bit as he examined Israel for the second time. “Now, see? There it is again. You're twitchy, son. What was it this time? Stonechurch? You recalling something finally?”

Israel did not commit. “I might be.”

Willa stared at him, a frisson of fear tiptoeing up her spine. She was feeling twitchy herself now.

Happy said, “Sam told us that he was following a lead he came across in Stonechurch, something about a poker game. Apparently the fellow he's looking for is a card sharp. I can tell you, I was relieved to hear it. Seemed like it was a good piece of news, since up until then I had it in the back of my mind that he was looking for you, Israel, but since you're no kind of card player that I ever saw, I figured he was turning over the wrong rock.”

He sighed heavily, looking from Israel to Willa and back again. “Looking at the two of you right now, I'm beginning to think maybe I'm wrong about that rock. The pair of you know something I don't?”

It was Willa who answered. “We might.”

“Hmm. I'm noticing a certain sameness to the answers I'm getting.”

Israel said, “It's probably nothing, Happy. Easterbrook must have given you the name of the man he's tracking, and
you'd have told us already if it was my name, so who is he after? You committed that to memory, didn't you?”

“Sure did. Name's Buck McKay. Does that poke your memory some?”

Israel looked across the table at Willa and met her eyes before he nodded. “It does.”

“Well, now we're getting somewhere,” said Happy. “Though whether that somewhere is good or bad remains a question. Seems like you two might have the answer.”

Israel asked, “Did he say why he was looking for this Buck McKay?”

“Sam disabused us of the notion that he was a lawman or a bounty hunter. He said he was doing a favor for the friend. McKay disappeared, and this friend wanted to know what happened to him.”

“Huh. And the friend? Did you ask who that was?”

“Of course.” Happy scratched the back of his head, thinking. “Give me a moment. It'll come to me.”

The answer came from the hallway. Annalea said, “Thomas A. Wyler of the Saint Louis Wylers.”

Happy's head immediately swiveled in Annalea's direction. His deep frown should have had her taking a step back, but she stayed where she was, mostly because she was ignoring him and speaking directly to Israel. Happy made it a point to bring her attention to where he wanted it. Reaching behind him, he picked up the wooden spoon and waggled it at her. “How long have you been standing there? This is no conversation for you.”

“I only just got here.” She pointed behind her to where John Henry was bringing up the rear. “See? He's just now catching up. Pitiful dog. Anyway, I guess I'm some use since I was there last night when Mr. Easterbrook introduced himself, and I'm the one recollecting the name ‘Thomas A. Wyler.'”

Willa cast an eyeful of reproach at Annalea. “Mind the sass. It's dripping like syrup all over your words.” She looked at Happy and then Israel. “Does it matter if she hears?”

Israel said, “She hears everything sooner or later.”

Happy thought about it longer before he made a decision. “Take a seat, Annalea, and like Willa said, mind the sass.”

Annalea flopped into a chair at the foot of the table. Her dark braids bounced over her shoulders and gave everyone a glimpse of all six of the new ribbons in her hair. John Henry, sporting a faded blue ribbon around his neck, padded into the kitchen and flopped with equal dedication under Annalea's chair.

Happy addressed Israel. “Thomas A. Wyler, just like she said.”

Israel nodded once, grimly, and absently turned his coffee cup without making any move to drink from it. “Happy, I guess you have this pretty well worked out already. I thought at first that Samuel Easterbrook might be my brother, although I couldn't come up with a reason that he'd use an alias. Quill
was
in the Army. He mustered out years ago, and while he wasn't a scout then, he's done plenty of tracking since. If he ever got lost, I never heard of it.

“As for Buck McKay, that's one of the names I used from time to time, so it's evident to me at least, and probably to Willa since she knows just about everything now, that your visitor was looking to pay me a call. The problem is, I don't know why. I still don't have a memory that accounts for the time between walking along Wabash and arriving here.”

Willa felt Happy watching her, not Israel, gauging her reaction to this news, not taking measure of Israel's quietly composed demeanor as he revealed it.

Happy said, “You all right, Willa? I've seen you with more color in your face than you have right now.”

“It's not what Israel's saying that troubles me. It's thinking past that to what we are going to do about it.”

Annalea said, “It's all right, Israel. Remember all the things you said to me when I found you? Maybe it's true that you were a bad man, but that's no never mind now. You're family. Pancakes protect their own.”

Israel reached toward the end of the table and laid his hand over hers when she slid it in his direction. “I appreciate that, brat, but you're still going to have to go to school in Jupiter come spring.”

Annalea's mouth opened and closed. For once, she kept it that way.

Israel patted her hand sympathetically before he drew back. “No one here is going to do anything. It's my place to take care of it. I never wanted trouble visiting you. Seems like that's happened.”

Happy raised the spoon like a judge's gavel. “Just a minute. Let's not jump here. What's this about a card sharp? Is that you?”

“It is.”

“I'll be darned,” said Happy. “Don't that beat all.”

Israel started to explain, but Willa interrupted and finished telling it for him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Annalea leave her chair. A moment later, she was at her side, and when Willa made her lap available, Annalea sat in it. It warmed her just then to have her daughter in her arms, and it was all to the better knowing that Israel understood how deeply felt the emotion was. When she finished telling Happy about Israel's Mississippi days, she asked Annalea if she had any questions.

Annalea stopped sucking on the end of one braid and removed the damp, spiky tail from her mouth. Her dark eyes, so like Willa's, narrowed when they fastened on Israel's face. “Did I win fair and square? That's what I'm wondering. Or did you let me win because I'm a kid?”

“You're a kid?” When she pursed her lips at him, he said, “Annalea, I don't
let
anyone win. Ever.”

She continued to regard him suspiciously and then nodded. “Good thing. I have it in my mind that I am going to be a card sharp.”

“Then we will have to talk,” he said.

Over the top of Annalea's head, Willa gave him a quelling look.

Israel said to Happy, “There's couple of things about Mr. Samuel Easterbrook that don't settle with me as true. I can't say whether his name is Easterbrook or not. I never heard it before that I recall. I'm inclined to doubt the name because I am very familiar with his friend
Thomas A. Wyler
.”

“You are?” asked Willa.

“Hmm.
Thomas A. Wyler
is a showboat that paddles up and down the Mississippi from Saint Louis to New Orleans.
Twice a year it hosts a floating poker game. Most players are invited, but not all. Someone who knows someone can get you in, and you pay for the privilege of sitting at a table. That's separate from the opening ante. The pots are big, the reward for taking it all can be substantial, but men have been known to leave the boat in tears for having lost what they could not afford to.”