Song of Oestend (31 page)

Marie Sexton

205

said it, but there was a tightness in his voice, a feeling of heartache about him so strong, Aren knew instinctively the smiles were going to end. He slid his hand over and put it on Deacon’s arm, and Deacon closed his eyes against what came next.

“I still didn’t think of myself as the boss, even though I was. I didn’t realise how other men would see it.” He stopped, as if going on was more than he could bear. It made Aren ache for him.

“Go on,” he said.

“I sent them out one day. We’d just cleared the north pasture and needed to fence it in. I sent them to dig the post holes. Cody and four other men.” His voice was getting shakier.

“Just past midday, one of them came running back. He was scared, I could tell, and he’d run the whole way so he could barely breathe to talk. But he grabbed me, and he pointed, and he said, ‘Cody’ and ‘help’.”

He stopped short, shaking his head. “I think that’s what he said. Don’t know that I

remember for sure. I think I was already running.”

He had to cover his face again before he went on. “They beat him so bad. Not just with their fists, either. One of them used a shovel. There was so much blood, I couldn’t even see his face, and I remember thinking, ‘this can’t be him.’ He was conscious, but he didn’t know much anymore. I held him, and I know I was crying like a babe. He kept calling me Janson— and I don’t know who Janson was—but he kept saying, ‘do you forgive me?’ and so I told him, ‘I do. It’s fine. You don’t have to be sorry anymore.’ And it was like that was all he needed to hear, and he kind of smiled. Then he just went away. I could feel the way his life drained right out of him.”

He fell silent, lost in his memories, and Aren thought about how devastating it must

have been for Deacon to feel as if he’d caused Cody’s death. “Did they do it because you were both men?”

“No!” Deacon said, and his voice broke on the word. “You don’t listen!” And even

though Deacon was lashing out him, Aren couldn’t find it in himself to mind. “It was

because I was the boss! Whether I sent him herding or digging holes or mucking out stalls didn’t matter. Those men thought I was treating him different.”

“I’m sorry,” Aren said. “I didn’t mean to make you go through it again.”

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

206

Deacon shook his head, wiping his eyes. “I don’t really know what happened next.

Jeremiah showed up. He sent the hands away and he sent me home. Olsa gave me some kind of tea that knocked me out cold, and when I woke up he was already in the ground. I walked back into the barracks the next day, and those men, those
boys
, were just sitting there, playing poker.”

“What did you do?”

“I killed them.”

It was such a frank, unapologetic statement. It took Aren a moment to process it. “You what?”

“I pulled my knife out of my boot, and I cut their throats,” he said. “Got the first two quick. Third one had time to get up and run, but he didn’t get out the door.”

“Then what?”

Deacon shrugged, and Aren didn’t know if he found it comforting or disturbing that

Deacon could talk about killing the men who’d killed Cody with such calm detachment. He might only have been talking about herding cows.

“I moved back to the barn. And I never flirted with another hand again.”

Aren lay there in stunned silence. He had only wanted to know more about Deacon’s

past. He’d never dreamt it would lead to something so horrific.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

Deacon suddenly reached over, taking Aren’s hand. “I’m glad you asked. I was mad for

a long time, but I think now that I let them win. ‘Cause I let myself forget all the good parts.

And he deserves that spot in my head more than they do.”

“I’m sure he does.”

They lay there in silence. Aren knew Deacon was remembering Cody—remembering

the wonder and the heart-pounding excitement of first falling in love. He thought about them both, and about the happiness they should have had, for a little longer, at least. He pulled on Deacon’s hand, and Deacon took his hint. He moved closer, rolling on top of Aren and looking down into his eyes.

Aren pulled him down and kissed him, soft and gentle. “I can be Cody if you want,” he whispered against Deacon’s lips. “I don’t mind. Just for one night.”

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

207

Deacon’s arms tightened around him. “Maybe a little piece of you,” he said. “But

mostly I just want you.”

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

208

The next morning, Deacon languished in bed with him, something he rarely did. He let

Aren push him down onto his back, and they made love as if they’d never have another chance. When Aren was spent, he fell into Deacon’s arms knowing it was the only place in the world he ever wanted to be. It was a feeling of delicious satisfaction that left him grinning and at ease.

He should have known it was too good to last.

Eventually, they dressed and wandered across the grass. The sun was out, the cool

breeze from the north was lively, and Aren thought it might be the most beautiful morning he’d ever seen. They walked in comfortable silence to the kitchen. And that was where Jeremiah found them.

“You ready to go?” he asked Deacon.

Aren had no idea what he was talking about, but Deacon apparently did, because he

said, “Yup.” Deacon was leaving? Was he headed back to the Austin farm so soon?

“Who’s going with you?”

“Just Red. He’s practically worthless as a ranch hand if I’m not here to ride his ass.

Figured I may as well take him along.”

“You going to hire new men to replace to Garrett and Sawyer?”

“Yup.”

“Good,” Jeremiah said. “Travel safe.”

He left only a minute later, and Aren turned to Deacon. “Where are you going?” he

asked.

“To town. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No!”

“Oh,” Deacon said, frowning. Then his face broke into a wicked grin. “You must have

been distracting me.”

But Aren didn’t feel like laughing about it. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

209

So soon? “Why now?” Aren asked, feeling inexplicably betrayed. “Why you? Why can’t

somebody else go recruit new men?”

“They could, if that was the only reason I was going, but it ain’t.”

“Then why?”

“You know I have to go back to the Austin ranch and get that generator running?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So,” Deacon said, with slow deliberate patience, “I have to go to town to get the parts.”

“Why can’t you just have Red do it?”

The slight annoyance in Deacon’s eyes was quickly turning to confusion. “Why you so

mad?” he asked.

Aren turned to stare down into his bowl. His stomach was tied in knots. He couldn’t

possibly eat now. He pushed it away. “It’s nothing,” he said, but he knew he was lying.

The McAllen Ranch. That’s why he was mad. It wasn’t that Deacon was going into

town. It wasn’t even that he’d forgotten to mention it. It was that he’d be stopping at the McAllen Ranch, once on the way there and again on the way home, and there was no doubt in Aren’s mind what Deacon would be doing while he was there.

“I’m the one who saw the generator,” Deacon said. “Gears come in all sizes. Different teeth. Different size holes. I try to tell somebody else what to get, there’s a one-in-a-hundred chance they get it right.” He pushed his own bowl away, and Aren kept his head down, his gaze on the table in front of him, unable to meet Deacon’s eyes. “Why the hell would I send somebody else when I’m the one who knows what I’ll need?”

It was a valid point, Aren knew, but he hated it nonetheless.

“You done eating?” Deacon asked.

“Yes.” What he’d managed to swallow felt like lead in his gut.

“You coming?” Deacon asked.

“No,” Aren said, shaking his head. “You go ahead.”

Deacon didn’t move. Not at first. Aren could feel his eyes on him. He could feel his

utter confusion, but he couldn’t face him. After what felt like ages but could only have been seconds, Deacon got up and left the room.

Aren sat there, staring at the table, hating himself for caring so much.

“He can’t fix it if you don’t tell him what’s wrong,” Olsa said.

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

210

Aren didn’t answer. He wasn’t in the mood for her eccentric, questionable wisdom. He

left the table and he walked away.

He went slowly back to his house. What had started out as a bright morning suddenly

felt like a frigid day. He wrapped his jacket tightly about him against the wind and told himself over and over he was a fool. It was only sex. It had nothing to do with him.

Expecting Deacon to give up women wasn’t only unreasonable, it was downright childish.

No amount of self-reproach made the heart-wrenching feeling of betrayal go away.

He hung his coat on the hook inside the door and walked into the living room to find

the floor covered with broken glass. The glasses he kept stacked on the bar had all been swept to the floor and shattered.

“Perfect,” he muttered. “Thanks a lot, ghost.” At least she’d left his whisky.

Back across the grass he went to borrow a broom and to beg extra glasses from Olsa.

Once the mess was cleaned up, he stacked the ones she’d given him on the bar. He stoked his fire. He threw himself into his chair and tried not to feel sorry for himself.

He failed.

After a couple of hours, he admitted self-pity wasn’t going to change anything. He

made himself get up. He climbed the stairs to his studio and stood staring at the painting on his easel. It was the one of Deacon, inside the brand. Aren still didn’t feel it was finished. He examined it for a while, trying to determine what it needed. Eventually, he picked up his brush and he started to paint.

He added a windmill to the background, and the shadow of a bull. He examined the

barbed wire, where it dug into Deacon’s dark flesh. He used the tip of his penknife to add a finer point to each and every barb. He added a drop of blood.

He wondered if he was part of the wire. Was he one of the barbs, making Deacon bleed, leaving yet another scar on his dark skin?

He intentionally went to dinner late—so late that it was closer to supper. He went

ahead of the hands and sat alone at Olsa’s counter. She ignored him once she’d served him, humming quietly to herself, coughing from time to time.

He forced himself to chew and swallow, even though it tasted like dirt and left his

stomach feeling worse than before. He knew he had to eat or he’d be starving by bedtime. He went back home rather than eating supper with Deacon.

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

211

He knew he couldn’t avoid him. Having stood him up at supper would only make

Deacon more determined to find out what was wrong. As the seconds ticked by, his

depression deepened. His dread grew more oppressive. He was afraid to face Deacon, yet he had no choice. Unless he was going to hide in his room, he could not avoid him any longer.

He drank a glass of whisky and waited, but when the inevitable knock came at his door, he knew he wasn’t ready.

“You didn’t come to supper,” Deacon said as soon as Aren opened the door. It wasn’t a question. It was more like an accusation.

“I don’t feel well,” Aren said, which was true in a way, he reasoned. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Will you quit being ornery and tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aren said. He went to the bar and picked up a glass. He didn’t

pour a drink, though. The thought of more whisky made his stomach turn. He put the glass back.

“I’m sorry I forgot to tell you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, something’s got you riled up.”

If I tell you, you’ll think I’m a fool
. Aren stood with his arms crossed, staring at the wood grain on top of the bar.

Deacon sighed heavily. “Aren, will you look at me? Please?”

Aren had to take a deep, shaking breath to steady himself. He forced himself to turn

around. Deacon’s hurt confusion was clear in his eyes, and Aren hoped his own heartache wasn’t as plain to see.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Deacon said. “I don’t know how any of this

works. I wish you’d just tell me why you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not,” Aren said, which was partially true as well. He wasn’t angry with Deacon for going into town. He wasn’t even angry he’d roll with a maid on the way. What really made him angry was the fact that it made him so angry.

“You’re lying,” Deacon said.

Aren couldn’t face him any longer. He couldn’t admit how much it hurt knowing

Deacon was going to share himself with somebody else. He could barely admit the entirety SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

212

of it to himself, let alone to his lover. “Just go!” Aren turned away again. He put his hands on the top of the bar, bracing his weight on it, biting his lip against the lump in his throat, hoping he could keep himself together until Deacon was gone.

“Holy Saints!” Deacon swore in exasperation. Aren heard the scuff of his boots on the wood as he turned to leave, but after three steps towards the door, he stopped and came back. “Aren, I leave for town as soon as the sun’s up. I don’t want to leave with you angry.”

As soon as the sun was up? He wasn’t even waiting until after breakfast? “Why so

early?” Aren asked, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “You’re in such a hurry to reach the McAllens’?”

Deacon’s only response was silence, and Aren resisted the urge to turn around and face him. He knew whatever he saw on Deacon’s face—whether it was anger or mockery or

disgust—he wouldn’t be able to bear it.