Lost Nation (7 page)

“Summer,” said Club. “Now what’s that?”

“You recall,” said one of the others. “That’s when the sledding gets bad.”

Blood said to the miller, “You think I’d find him to home?” Asking far more than he appeared to.

The miller understood this. “He’s not taken to woods-running. Just setting with the mope, mostly. You want, I’d walk down there with you.”

Blood studied the lake a moment. Then looked at the miller. “It might be less harmful to his pride, I was alone.”

“That’s right.”

Blood said, “I’ve got powder and pigs of lead. Other goods as well.” He glanced toward the board house. “There’s some bolts of cloth might be welcome to your women.” Then he extended his hand for the miller and said, “Name’s Blood.”

The miller took up his hand, a short hard grip. “Mister Blood. I’m Emil Chase. Saw your logs or grind your meal. For cash or shares, either one.”

Blood looked at the other men but made no effort at introduction. He turned back to Chase and said, “I’ve got two hogsheads of good Barbados rum as well. I come to terms with young Potter, come down and have a dram.”

Chase nodded, promising nothing. Then he could not help himself. “Have you a Christian name?”

Blood stood stone-still, holding the other’s eyes. “Just Blood.”

Sam Potter was more boy than man and Blood would not allow himself to consider how it must’ve been only the year before when he brought his young already pregnant wife into this wild land with his head and eyes full of expectant vision, nor would he consider the events that ruined that twist of hope in the boy. He saw how Potter looked at Sally, his eyes raw with hunger and then self-disgust but Blood did not send her from the house; it was not in his interest to diminish Potter’s despair.

The pitch was poor enough with few improvements made—the log house was but a single large room with a loft although Potter had taken the time to build a center standing chimney of well-fitted stone and back-to-back fireplaces, the only true measure of the young man’s ambitions. The intervale meadow was greening nicely but the hillside pasture was barely halfway cleared, no more than five acres of stumps with slash piles still heaped, not burned over the winter as they should have been. There was a log barn smaller than the house but snug and well-built. Beside it was a small lot barricaded with a tight fence of upright poles. Inside that was a small log pigpen but there were no swine and Blood guessed this had been built for a future that would never be. With the stream yards away there was no spring dug. All in all it was a gloomy place and even cleared of mourning detritus it was not the spot Blood would have hoped for, if he’d hoped for anything specific which he had not: other than by the road which it was and close enough to the mill to be easily incorporated into the rounds and needs of the people. Potter was willing to lose money and most of that he took in a note and Blood was willing to let him, thinking that however the man looked back on this place it would only be grievous anyway and it was not Blood’s job to alleviate that even if he was inclined. Which he was not.

But at the last minute, seated at the year-old table hand-worked to love’s smoothness, writing out the note for the balance agreed upon, Blood did pause and offer ten more dollars in coin for direct and immediate occupancy, furnishings intact. And so midafternoon Potter hiked south along the road with a rucksack of clothes and what other few items he held dear. Blood had not remained in the house to watch Potter pack but under pretense inspected the barn.

“It idn’t much of a house.” She stood barefoot on the rough plank floor, sunlight coming skewed through the open door.

Blood said, “It’ll do fine. It’s got the center chimney, that’s the main thing. I can partition off this downstairs and build a counter in one half to set up a store. The rest of it, we make do for living quarters. For now, we just see how it goes.”

“That upstairs’s nothing but a loft. I work up there, anybody down below will hear every little thing.”

Blood went to the door and stood looking out. Then said, “We’ll go slow. Get everything set up right.”

“I’m awful hungry.”

He turned to her. Then drew out the leather pouch he wore around his neck under his blouse and dug and handed her a silver piece from it. “What you do, is walk back up to the mill. Tell Mister Chase I came to terms with young Potter. Ask if we could buy some meal and meat to get us started. Then, whatever he says, make sure you tell him I’d be happy if he was to come for a dram at his convenience. Be polite. If he’s got no provender I can likely walk out and find us something, fish or game. All right?”

She nodded. Stood a moment and then went around him and out the door. He called from the doorway before she was out of the mud yard.

“Sally.”

She turned.

“Be modest. Don’t be bold with him or no other man might be hanging around the mill. Keep your eyes down. To yourself. And if you should meet his woman don’t let her pry. You’re an orphan girl here to help Mister Blood with his store. My ward. That’s all. Do you understand?”

“I ain’t in no hurry to whore.”

Blood said, “I need to take measure of this country. Cipher the people here. Learn who’s who. That’s how it works, a new place.”

“I’m ignorant,” she said. “But I ain’t stupid Mister Blood. Long as you keep telling me what you want of me, best as I can, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Sally,” he said.

The entire journey lay heavy on him as he stood looking down at her. Not just the cart trek. But along with everything else were the two hogs-heads of rum that word was already spreading of and that he needed to get inside before night came down. It was late afternoon and they would come off the cart hard and harder up into the house. If the goddamn door was wide enough for them. Which, one way or another, it would be.

“What is it,” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. Then added, “Take the dog with you. I believe he’ll serve to discourage anybody gets rude with you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No,” he said. “Take the dog. And wear your shawl.”

“It ain’t cold out.”

Blood sighed. “It could be, the time you head back.”

She went to the cart setting askew in the yard and dug out her shawl and notwithstanding the afternoon warmth spread it over her shoulders and closed the ends over her breasts. She looked back at Blood. “Is that better?”

Tired, he spoke without thinking. “You’re too goddamn pretty for this place.”

She tilted her head and looked at him. “I thought that was the idea.”

He scowled and shook his head. “Go on. Get us some food if you can.”

She walked out to the road, Luther beside her as if he’d heard and understood everything said. At the road edge where it was driest she turned and tramped up toward the mill. For a long moment, Blood stood and watched her go.

He had to knock both door jambs out to get the hogsheads through and then he got the rest of his stores off the cart and piled everything in one far corner and holding an axehead in his hand he used it to hammer the jambs back into place. It was a rough job but would hold the door. There was a twig broom and he used it to sweep the ceilings and walls and then the floor. What he really wanted was to heat water and scrub everything with lye soap and he would’ve done it if he’d had a brush or lye soap either one. He wanted to rid the house of its mourning, to wash out the young wife and dead infant, the months of the young man’s grief, the long winter nights of whiskey-tears and the short days of interminable hours. All the remorse and what-ifs that clung to the place like shipwrecks at the bottom of a harbor, unseen but there certain as the tidewater washed over them. And it would happen, Blood knew. Not this afternoon or evening but over the days, with building the place into a store and letting it fill with new humanity, all the complexions and tonalities of the living. For a house was nothing but the structure its inhabitants erected within the walls. Everything came before passed away. Except in the minds of the living. Those certain rooms remained forever.

The man Blood sat waiting the girl Sally and what she might bring for food as dusk came on that first evening, landed where he hoped to
remain as long as fortune turned whatever snarled look she had his way, landed in the far deep reaches of the great northern woods, a place he’d not been driven to by any but himself, as the years passing had drawn him in ever-greater outer rings from where he started.

Blood and Sally supped together on a wheaten loaf that he knew was dear and a piece of brined beef that had already been soaked and slow roasted—the miller’s own supper he guessed. And was not happy for it implied debt of some sort. But did not complain to the girl, could not lessen her delight in having been so sharp in her trading. He had fires going in both fireplaces and had dropped the bar on the inside of the door and they ate by the firelight that filled the house with blistering orange tongues of light. Running along and over her face as she tore the soft stewed meat apart with her hands and fed herself, chunks of the bread also. The dog Luther lay silent, unmoving, his head on her near foot. One of his eyes tracking every motion of her hand to her mouth.

“I like that Mister Chase,” she said. “The miller. He was kind to me. I didn’t care for his wife though. That’s a hard worn-down woman, she is. Looked right through me. Like I was taking their last bit of loaf. But he says to me, ‘Don’t worry about it, dearie.’ Said, ‘You and that man look like you’ve a rough bit of trek behind you.’ Wasn’t after anything but a niceness. I know the difference.”

“You leave that miller be.”

She looked at him, frustration on her face. “Like I told you, I’m leaving everybody be, less you tell me otherwise. It was you sent me up there. I behaved myself.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“It ain’t going to work good between us, you double-guess everything I already been told once about. I never had no father and ain’t looking for one. We’re in business together is how I see it—even if there was somewhere to go I wouldn’t run off on you, you’re the sort would hunt me down and cut me up. Or worse I guess. Although this is one piss-ugly place to choose to set up business. I guess that’s the idea. You and me, we’re going to be the big show here, idn’t that right?”

Blood looked at her. Long enough so she looked away from him. The small tilt of her nose in profile. Her chin just raised, not defiant but
making clear she was not scared of him. Which of course she was. Then, Blood still studying her, she raised her hand to her mouth and sucked the meat-grease from her fingers. Afraid and hungry. He wondered what caused him to come to such a land at the spring of the year and not think to find room for more than the single sack of wormy meal, most depleted. Even if the land was full of meat it would be winter-lean. So he paused, his eyes still upon her, pondering if that was the only mistake he’d made. This matter of food was such a simple oversight it worried him. As if some warning of what else he might have missed.

He was tired. He said, “You flap your tongue at me all you want and I’ll do my best to bear up under it. But otherwise, the rest of these people here, you keep buttoned up for now. We come up from Portland Maine and anything else, you tell whoever’s doing the asking to talk to me. I’m serious as can be. I catch you blabbing on I’ll work you over so bad you’ll wished I killed you. We can make something out of this place, we watch ourselves sharp to start. You hear me?”

She turned and faced him. Her lips in the firelight grease-stained, fresh as new-cut fruit. She said, “It irks me some to hear you. Ain’t you listening to me?”

“You’re young. Young forget themselves.”

“I ain’t that young.”

“No. I guess not. But not one of us is ever as smart as we think we are.”

She said, “You just speak up, you see me going wrong.”

“Don’t you back-talk me.”

“Idn’t there no pleasing you?”

He was quiet then. Sat a time. Considered the gallons of rum just feet away and dismissed the notion. Not now. Not for some time. He wanted to be vigilant as he could be. After a bit he turned to face the girl again. Seated across from him over the lovestruck table, her hands cupping her chin, her face waiting for him, her hair spilling down meager with grease and dirt but pretty around her bright face. She was looking at him with something that might have been affection. Or amusement of some kind. Most likely, he thought, just her paying-attention, ready-to-run face. Practiced and for good reason. He sighed.

He said, “You please me as much as I want pleasing. It’s just that what’s ahead of us is two three weeks of hard work and tight lips. And
after that we’ll have this place stitched tight as a mean woman’s purse. And those that don’t like it can frig themselves in the woods for all I care. That’s how it’ll be, as long as we step careful at first. It’s a lesson in life, one you likely know but maybe never put so many words to it: You let the other feller talk enough and you’ll know everything you ever want to know about him. Idn’t that right, now?”

“I seen that work.”

“I imagine you have. It’s like that here, except it’s more than one feller. It’s the whole place. It’s got its own ways and they’re going to be somewhat different from what either one of us seen before. So we go easy at first. That’s all.”

“Let me ask you something.”

He wanted to rise. Go outside, walk around studying the sky and the clearing of land. See how things felt. Try and divine if there was any danger working immediate or close. He said, “What is it?”

“Are we partners here? Or do you figure you own me? How’s that going to work?”

He studied her. So goddamn young. Still thinking she could inform her life. He said, “I guess that part’s up to you.”

“What’s that mean?”

He stood and stretched. The hound rose with him, also stretching, a shudder running along the ridge of his spine. Blood looked up at the rough rafters of the loft and back to Sally. He said, “That’s enough. It was a hard trek here and I’m worn to a nubbin. And we’re not even started yet. What I’m going to do is go out and scout around, make sure I feel comfortable to get some sleep. I’ll take the dog with me. What you do is bar the door after me and then stand by it, ready to let me in when I holler. It’s another thing for you to recall: However good things are you can always depend on them to turn against you. You follow me?”