Song of Oestend (4 page)

Next to him, Deacon was still laughing. He pushed his hat back and looked over at

Aren with mischievous eyes.

“You better watch out for the wives at BarChi. Just ‘cause they’re married don’t mean they won’t be after you. Especially Daisy. Seems Dante don’t pay her much attention. But take my advice, friend—don’t go there. Dante or Jeremiah find out, they’ll throw you to the wraiths, and I ain’t joking.”

“Don’t worry,” Aren said. “I’ll keep my hands off the wives.”

“Not your hands I’m talking about,” Deacon said, and Aren found himself laughing.

“We got nine hands at the BarChi, not counting me,” Deacon went on. “Nearest women are at the ranch we just left behind. Next nearest is the Austin ranch up north, and that’s a two day trip each way.”

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

23

“What about the whorehouse in Milton?”

“Only a fool would go there.” Deacon shook his head. “You’ll be glad you had a chance last night. All the way back to the McAllens’ is a blessed long way to go for a roll.”

“Must make for some rather uptight ranch hands,” Aren said, and this time it was

Deacon who laughed.

“They’re young,” he said. “Stiff breeze’d be enough to make them ‘uptight’.”

“So,” he said to Deacon, “three sons and nine hands. And you.”

“And you now, too.”

“Plus three wives. Any children?”

“Yeah, couple of the sons have kids, but you don’t gotta worry about them.”

“Is that everybody at the ranch?”

“And Jeremiah.”

“And Olsa?”

“And Olsa,” Deacon confirmed. “But Olsa’s been around so long, she’s not treated quite like a maid or a hand. She stays in the house.”

“Where do the hands stay?”

“In the barracks.”

“Where will I stay?”

“You’ll be in the barracks, too.”

“With the hands?”

“Yup.”

“What are they like?”

“Hands come and go. They’re almost all city boys like you, but younger.”

Aren was only twenty-four. If the hands were younger, it meant they were boys who

hadn’t gone to a university, and maybe hadn’t even finished their basic schooling, either.

Young men who had no skills to offer except the strength of their bodies. “Is it hard work?”

“Hard enough, I guess. Some go home after a season. Some decide the mines pay better.

Some decide to try a different ranch, or forget this ain’t the city and wander off at night and the wraiths get them. Or maybe they get gored by a bull or shot by an angry son for lifting the wrong skirt.” He shrugged. “Most of them aren’t men yet, no matter what they think,” he said. “They’re only boys.”

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

24

“You don’t like them?”

“Not that I don’t like them. I just don’t care. Hands are all the same in the end.”

“Including you?”

“Not anymore.”

“Including me?”

Deacon looked over at him, and Aren was glad to see that, for once, he didn’t seem to be mocking him. His smile was open and friendly. “No. I haven’t quite decided where you fit in.”

“I don’t know, either.”

“I know you don’t. But don’t you worry, Aren. Soon as I figure it out, I’ll be sure to clue you in.”

“You do that,” Aren said. They both laughed. Aren wasn’t really sure why, but he was

pretty sure he didn’t care.

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

25

They arrived at the BarChi shortly after dinner time. It was bigger than the McAllen

ranch in every way. There was a large house, flanked by the biggest barn Aren had ever seen.

Then again, being from the city, that wasn’t saying a lot. Corrals surrounded the barn.

Yapping dogs ran in excited circles around the wagon as they drove up, although the only people Aren saw were four young boys playing tag in the yard. Other than the dogs and the laughter of children, he could hear nothing but the swishing of the long grass blowing in the wind and the distant lowing of cows. Aren wasn’t sure if it was peaceful or spooky.

The buildings formed a rough circle around an open courtyard. Across the courtyard,

opposite the house, was another building, long and low.

“That’s the barracks?” he asked Deacon.

“Yup. Your new home.”

There were two large windmills, one near the house and the other by the barracks.

Another house with its own small windmill stood farther off, past the corrals, roughly two hundred yards from the main buildings.

“Who lives there?”

Deacon frowned. “Nobody, anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Haunted.”

Aren looked at Deacon in surprise. He thought the big cowboy was pulling his leg, but Deacon’s expression was earnest. “You can’t be serious.”

“Swear I am. Used to belong to Jeremiah’s brother, but he died thirty years ago. Since then, nobody’s been able to live there. Few people’ve tried over the years. Had a foreman back when I was a kid, then a bookkeeper a few years later. Both went crazy, I guess. Went running outside in the dark.”

“And the wraiths got them?”

“Yup. Last person tried to live there was Jeremiah’s middle son, back when he first got married. They lived there one month, and his wife told him she wouldn’t stay another damn SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

26

night. Told him if they didn’t move back to the main house, she was packing up and going back to her daddy’s house, and taking her dowry with her.”

There was nothing outwardly frightening about the house. It had once been white, like the main house, but had long since faded. It was two stories tall, but very small, with a covered, wrap-around porch. Aren couldn’t help but think it was a waste to leave a house like that vacant.

They pulled up to the barn and Deacon stopped the wagon. “You go on in the house,”

he told Aren. “Jeremiah’ll be wanting to talk to you.”

“What about my things?”

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry,” Deacon said, winking at him. “I won’t steal your paint.”

A young lady wearing a long dress and a lace kerchief on her head was waiting for him at the front door of the main house. She led him silently to an office. It contained a giant desk and two straight-backed wooden chairs, one on each side of the desk. The only other thing in the room was Jeremiah Pane himself.

“Have a seat,” he said, after shaking Aren’s hand. “Let’s talk a bit.” Like most men, Jeremiah was taller than Aren, and his hands were hardened with calluses. Although he was probably closing in on sixty, he was fit and lean. Not a soft man, like Aren’s father or his father’s rich friends. Not like the professors at the University who’d never done a hard day’s work in their boring lives. Jeremiah may have had three sons and ten hands to work his ranch and mine, counting Deacon, but it was clear he did plenty of work himself as well.

“Here’s what Gordon left behind,” Jeremiah said, handing Aren a stack of ledgers he

pulled from one of his desk drawers.

“Gordon was the previous bookkeeper?”

“He was.” Jeremiah cleared his throat and fidgeted nervously with the kerchief around his neck. “Gordon had a room here in the house, but there was some”—he stopped and

looked pointedly at Aren—“
trouble
with one of my daughters-in-law. I don’t want to tempt fate a second time, so I’ve put you in the barracks with the hands.”

“I’m sure that will be sufficient.”

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

27

“Nights down there can be awful rowdy, but during the day they’ll all be working, so

that should give you the peace and quiet to get your work done.” He fidgeted some more with his collar. “Did Deacon warn you about the wives?”

“He recommended I keep my hands to myself,” Aren said.

“Do us both a favour, son, and take his advice.”

“I promise you sir, it won’t be a problem.”

Jeremiah snorted. “That’s what they all say.”

That was probably true, but those other men obviously hadn’t been men like Aren. He

doubted he could bed a woman even if he tried. Still, there wasn’t much else he could say to reassure the man, besides spilling his secret, and he didn’t think that would be wise.

“There’s always plenty of extra work around the ranch,” Jeremiah told him. “I hired

you on as a bookkeeper, and that’s the only job you’re required to do, but if you want to earn the respect of the hands, you’ll help them out when you’re able. Having the respect of that bunch of fool boys may not seem like much, but if you don’t have it, they’ll do what they can to make your life hell, especially if you’re living out there with them.”

“That makes sense.”

“Good.” Jeremiah stood up from behind his desk, indicating the interview was over.

Aren stood up, too, gathering up the ledgers. “Go on downstairs now. Kitchen’s in the back of the house. You boys missed supper, but Olsa will make sure you don’t go to bed hungry.”

Aren found his way to the kitchen and a woman who could only be Olsa. Her slightly

stooped back was to him, but she turned at the sound of his footsteps. Aren was surprised to see her eyes were clouded white.

“You smell like the city,” she said. “You must be the new boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, sit, sit!” she commanded. “I saved some supper for you and Deacon. Not easy to do with those greedy hands eating everything in sight!”

Aren watched her make her way around the kitchen, her movements as sure as if she’d

had two good eyes. She gave him a bowl of thick stew and the crusty end of a loaf of bread, then sat down across the table from him. He found the unwavering gaze of her sightless eyes unnerving.

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

28

“Deacon warn you not to roll with the wives?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “He warned me.”

“Good.” Her face was dark brown and deeply-lined, and her long, braided hair was as

white as her eyes. “Keep it in your pants and you’ll do fine.”

Aren was glad she couldn’t see him blush. He wasn’t sure how to respond but was

thankfully saved from having to answer by Deacon’s arrival.

“There you are!” Olsa said, and Aren couldn’t help but wonder how she’d known it

was Deacon. “I saved supper for you.”

“I knew you would,” he said. “Thanks, Olsa.” He leaned in as if to kiss her on the

cheek, but she pushed him away.

“Get away!” she snapped. “You smell like cheap perfume. Don’t you come near me till

you’ve washed it off. You know better than to roll with a maid that covers herself in that filth.”

“Sorry, Olsa,” Deacon said, although the smile he gave Aren didn’t look sorry at all.

“You’re not sorry now,” she said. “I can hear it in your voice. But you will be when

you’re coming to me with your pecker oozing ‘cause some damn girl gave you the rot.”

“Yes, Olsa,” Deacon said, although he didn’t look any more apologetic than he had the first time.

“She leave a mark on you?”

“Nothing that won’t fade.”

“Fool! How many times do I have to tell you that marks are symbols, and symbols have

power?”

“It ain’t that kind of mark.”

“Bah.” She waved her hand dismissively at him. “Ungrateful brat. Don’t know why I

waste my time on you.” Deacon seemed to be used to such insults. He grinned as he sat down and started eating his stew.

Olsa turned back to Aren. “Fred McAllen shove that daughter of his under your nose?”

“He did,” Deacon answered for him.

“You be careful, now,” she said, still apparently watching Aren with her cloudy eyes.

“That girl looks sweet enough, but you marry her, there won’t be any blood on your sheets the next day, I promise you that.”

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

29

“Oh, blessed Saints,” Aren swore, ducking his head to hide the blush on his cheeks.

Even as he did it, he realised it was pointless. Her eyes might have been sightless, but he had a feeling Olsa could see his embarrassment just the same.

“Now that younger one,” Olsa went on, “she’s probably pure, but only because she

don’t like men as much as her sisters. You could marry her, but you’d find your bed awful cold at night.”

Aren covered his face with his hands, willing himself to stop blushing.

“Olsa,” Deacon teased, “stop. You’re embarrassing him.”

“I’m doing him a favour! Those girls are trouble.”

“You’ll scare him away before they do.”

“Fine!” She jumped up from the table with a speed and agility that was surprising and snatched the bowls of stew away from them. “Go on with you, then, if you’re so damn smart.”

“Come on, Olsa,” Deacon groaned. “Don’t be like that.”

“I’ll be any way I like. That’s the privilege of being old.”

“We’ll be good—”

“Bah!” she said as she set the bowls down on the floor for the dogs. “Get out of my

kitchen.”

Deacon sighed heavily. Aren had managed to finish most of his stew before Olsa had

snatched it away, but he was fairly sure Deacon hadn’t had more than a bite or two. “Come on,” Deacon said to him. “There’ll be no changing her mind now.”

SONG OF OESTEND

Marie Sexton

30

“Crotchety old woman,” Deacon griped as he led Aren across the lawn, although he

sounded more amused than angry. “I swear I go to bed hungry more often than not.”

“Is she always like that?”

“Most days.”

Deacon was walking fast, and Aren had to hurry to keep up with him. The armload of

ledgers he was carrying wasn’t making it any easier. “Would you really go to her if you caught the rot?”

“Probably, although she’d never let me hear the end of it.”

“Is she a doctor or something?”

“‘Or something’, I guess. She knows things most folks don’t, about plants and how to

use them to heal people.”

“But she’s not a doctor?”

“No. She’s one of the Old People.”

That puzzled Aren. “What does being old have to do with it?”