Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

The woman, who was watching him intently, seemed to read his mind.

“We get a lot of travelers,” she said, as though he hadn’t spoken. “Situating this place right here was one of the smartest things my husband ever did. Anyone coming along the Platte who might need a horse isn’t going to miss us. We’re on the only road. If we hadn’t located on this road, we’d have been starved out long ago.” “It seems...” July said, and he couldn’t finish. It was all he had hoped for, to be able to find her someday. He had risked and lost three lives to do it, and though Ellie wasn’t right there, surely she was in town. He began to tremble and then to cry—he couldn’t help it. His hopes were to be answered after all.

Silently Clara handed him a rough dish towel. She scowled fiercely at the girls until they backed off. She followed them out the back door to give the man a moment to collect himself.

“Why’s he crying?” Betsey asked.

“He’s just unnerved—he’s come along a long way and I imagine he had stopped expecting to make it,” Clara said.

“But he’s a man,” Sally said. Their father had never cried, as far as she knew.

“Men have tears in them too, same as you,” Clara said. “Go draw some water. I think we might offer him a bath.” She went back in. July had not quite gained control of himself. He was too shaken with relief. The baby, now in a good mood, was mouthing its own fingers and rolling its eyes up to her. Might as well tell the man, she thought. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“Mr. Johnson, I guess I’ve got another piece of news for you,” Clara said. She looked from the baby’s face to his, seeking resemblances. It seemed to her the foreheads were the same, and though the child had little hair, the little was the same color as July’s. He was not a bad-looking man, just gaunt from his travels, and dirty. She had a notion to make him shave, when he had rested, so she could compare his face with the baby’s. He could use Bob’s razor. One week ago she had stropped it and shaved Bob.

July looked at her as she fiddled with the baby. The tears had left him feeling empty, but his gratitude to the woman just for being there and treating him kindly was so great that he felt he might cry again if he tried to speak. The woman seemed too beautiful and too kind to be true. It was clear she was older—she had fine wrinkles around her mouth—but her skin was still soft and her face, as she wiggled the baby’s little hand with one finger, was very beautiful. The thought of more news troubled him a little, though—probably one of Elmira’s companions had stolen something or made some mischief.

“If that woman was your wife, I guess this child is yours,” Clara said. “She had it the night she was here. Then she left. She was very anxious to get to town. I don’t believe she realized what a fine boy she had. We all took to him right away around this place.” July had not really looked at the baby. He had supposed it belonged to Clara—she had said her name was Clara. She was watching him closely with her kind gray eyes. But what she said seemed so unlikely that he couldn’t really credit it. Elmira had said nothing to him about wanting a baby, or planning to have one, or anything. To him, so tired he could hardly sit straight, it just meant another mystery. Maybe it explained why Elmira ran away—though it didn’t to him. As for the little boy, wiggling in Clara’s lap, he didn’t know what to think. The notion that he had a son was too big a notion. His mind wouldn’t really approach it. The thought made him feel lost again, as he had felt out on the plains.

Clara saw that he was past dealing with it for the moment.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson,” she said, immediately getting up. “I should be cooking instead of worrying you with things you’re too tired to deal with. You eat and go rest. This boy will still be here—we can discuss it tomorrow.” July didn’t answer, but he felt he was remiss. Not only was Clara going to a lot of trouble to feed him, she was taking care of a baby that might be his. He tried to think of things he might do or say, but nothing came to mind. Clara went cheerfully about the cooking, holding the baby in her arms most of the time but occasionally plunking him on the table for a minute if she needed both hands for the work.

“Just catch him if he starts to roll,” she said. “That’s all I ask.”She fed July beefsteak and potatoes and peas. July felt he would be too tired to eat, and yet at the smell of the food his appetite returned and he ate every bite.

“I made Bob build me a windbreak,” she said. “I watched my gardens blow away for ten or twelve years and I finally got tired of it.” July looked at her questioningly.

“Bob’s my husband,” she said. “He’s injured. We don’t hold out too much hope for him.” She had strained and heated a little milk, and while July ate she fed the baby, using a big nipple she had fixed over a fruit jar.

“We use this nipple for the colts,” she said. “Sometimes the mares don’t have their milk at first. It’s a good thing this boy’s got a big mouth.” The child was sucking greedily on the nipple, which was quite large, it seemed to July.

“I’ve been calling him Martin,” Clara said. “Since he’s yours, you may want to change it. I think Martin is a nice name for a man. A man named Martin could be a judge, or maybe go into politics. My girls fancy the name too.” “I don’t guess he’s mine,” July said. “Ellie never mentioned anything about it.” Clara laughed. It surprised him. “Had you been married long?” she asked.

“About six months,” July said. “When she left.” “Oh, well, you were newlyweds then,” Clara said. “She might have been put out with you and decided not to tell you.” “She had another boy, Joe,” July said. “He went with me when I went after Jake Spoon. Only Joe got killed on the plains.

Ellie don’t know it yet.” “Did you say Jake Spoon?” Clara said. “I know Jake. We courted once. I saw him in Ogallala about a year ago but the woman he was with didn’t like my looks so we didn’t talk much. Why were you after Jake?” July could barely remember it all, it seemed to have happened so long ago.

“Jake was gambling and a fight got started,” he said. “Jake shot off a buffalo gun and the bullet went through the wall and killed my brother. I was out of town at the time. Peach, my sister-in-law, wanted me to go after Jake. I wish now I hadn’t.” “It sounds accidental to me,” Clara said. “Though I know that’s no consolation to your family. Jake was no killer.” “Well, I didn’t catch him anyway,” July said. “Elmira ran off and Roscoe come and told me. Now Roscoe’s dead too. I don’t guess it could be my baby.” Clara was still studying the two faces, the little one and the gaunt, tired one. It interested her, what came across from parent to child.

“When did your wife run off?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s been over four months,” July said. “A long time.” Clara chuckled. “Mr. Johnson, I don’t think arithmetic’s your strong suit,” she said. “I think this is young Mr. Johnson you’re looking at. I had that figured out, even without the dates, but the dates jibe pretty well.” July didn’t know what to say. Clara seemed delighted with her conclusion, but he didn’t feel anything at all. It was just a puzzle.

“I guess I’m awful,” Clara said. “Any kind of company affects me this way. I shouldn’t be bothering you when you’re so tired. The girls are drawing water. You have a bath. You can sleep in their room—it’s a good bed.” Later, when he had bathed and fallen into a sleep so deep that he didn’t even turn over for several hours, Clara brought the baby in and peeked at July. He hadn’t shaved, but at least he had washed. Cleaned of dirt he looked very young, only a few years older than her oldest boy would have been had he lived.

Then she went to look at Bob for a moment—an ugly ooze had been seeping onto his pillow. The stitches in his head had been removed but underneath the wound seemed hot. It might be a new infection. Clara cleaned it as best she could, and took the baby out on her little porch.

“Well, Martin, your pa showed up,” she said, grinning at the baby. “It’s a good thing we got a house right on the road. I wonder what your pa will think of us When he gets his wits together.” The baby waved a hand in the warm air. Down at the lots, the girls were watching Cholo work with a two-year-old filly.