Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Something about the men coming from the north struck a key in her memory, but struck it so weakly that she only paused for a moment to wonder who it could be. She finished her task and then washed her face, for the dust was blowing and she had gotten gritty coming back from the lots. It was the kind of dust that seemed to sift through your clothes. She contemplated changing blouses, but if she did that, the next thing she knew she would be taking baths in the morning and changing clothes three times a day like a fine lady, and she didn’t have that many clothes, or consider herself that fine. So she made do with a face wash and forgot about the riders. July and Cholo were both working the lots and would no doubt notice them too. Probably it was just a few Army men wanting to buy horses. Red Cloud was harrying them hard, and every week two or three Army men would show up wanting horses.

It was one of those who had brought July the news about his wife, although of course the soldier didn’t know it was July’s wife when he talked about finding the corpses of the woman and the buffalo hunter. Clara had been washing clothes and hadn’t heard the story, but when she went down to the lots a little later she knew something was wrong. July stood by the fence, white as a sheet.

“Are you sick?” she asked. Cholo had ridden off with the soldier to look at some stock.

“No, ma’am,” he said, in a voice she could barely hear. At times, to her intense irritation, he called her “ma’am,” usually when he was too upset to think.

“It’s Ellie,” he added. “That soldier said the Indians killed a woman and a buffalo hunter about sixty miles east of town. I have no doubt it was her. They were traveling that way.” “Come on up to the house,” she said. He was almost too weak to walk and was worthless for several days, faint with grief over a woman who had done nothing but run away from him or abuse him almost from the day they married.

The girls were devoted to July by this time, and they nursed him constantly, bringing him bowls of soup and arguing with one another over the privilege of serving him. Clara let them, though she herself felt more irritated than not by the man’s foolishness. The girls couldn’t understand her attitude and said so.

“His wife got butchered up, Ma!” Betsey protested.

“I know that,” Clara said.

“You look so stern,” Sally said. “Don’t you like July?” “I like July a lot,” Clara said.

“He thinks you’re mad at him,” Betsey said.

“Why would he care?” Clara said, with a little smile. “He’s got the two of you to pamper him. You’re both nicer than I’ve ever been.” “We want you to like him,” Betsey said. She was the more direct of the two.

“I told you I like him,” Clara said. “I know people ain’t smart and often love those who don’t care for them. Up to a point, I’m tolerant of that. Then past a point, I’m not tolerant of it. I think it’s a sickness to grieve too much for those who never cared a fig for you.” Both of the girls were silent for a time.

“You remember that,” Clara said. “Do your best, if you happen to love a fool. You’ll have my sympathy. Some folks will preach that it’s a woman’s duty never to quit, once you make a bond with a man. I say that’s folly. A bond has to work two ways. If a man don’t hold up his end, there comes a time to quit.” She sat down at the table and faced the girls. July was outside, well out of hearing. “July don’t want to face up to the fact that his wife never loved him,” she said.

“She ought to have loved him,” Sally said.“Ought don’t count for as much as a gnat, when you’re talking about love,” Clara said. “She didn’t. You seen her. She didn’t even care for Martin. We’ve already given July and Martin more love than that poor woman ever gave them. I don’t say that to condemn her. I know she had her troubles, and I doubt she was often in her right mind. I’m sorry she had no more control of herself to run off from her husband and child and get killed.” She stopped, to let the girls work on the various questions a little. It interested her which they would pick as the main point.

“We want July to stay,” Betsey said finally. “You’ll just make him run off, being so stern, and then he’ll get butchered up too.” “You think I’m that bad?” Clara asked, with a smile.

“You’re pretty bad,” Betsey said.

Clara laughed. “You’ll be just as bad, if you don’t reform,” she said. “I got a right to my feelings too, you know. We’re doing a nice job of taking care of July Johnson. It just gripes me that he let himself be tromped on and can’t even figure out that it wasn’t right, and that he didn’t like it.” “Can’t you just be patient?” Sally said. “You’re patient with Daddy.” “Daddy got his head kicked,” Clara said. “He can’t help how he is.” “Did he keep his bond?” Betsey asked.

“Yes, for sixteen years,” Clara said. “Although I never liked his drinking.” “I wish he’d get well,” Sally said. She had been her father’s favorite and grieved over him the most.

“Ain’t he going to die?” Betsey asked.

“I fear he will,” Clara said. She had been careful not to let that notion take hold of the girls, but she wondered if she was wrong. Bob wasn’t getting better, and wasn’t likely to.

Sally started to cry, and Clara put her arms around her.

“Anyway, we have July,” Betsey said.

“If I don’t run him off,” Clara said.

“You just better not!” Betsey said, eyes flashing.

“He might get bored and leave of his own accord,” Clara volunteered.