Hour Glass Page 16

  He had a strange accent that some of the miners had as well. Something European I didn’t know how to label. I stood up as straight as I could being that I was now the man of the family. My eyes met the man’s to discuss business.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see.”

  Another long pause. For a bad second, I thought about going back to Dora’s and raiding Hour’s swear jug. It wouldn’t yield much, but perhaps it would close the gap.

  “Is it enough for a coffin, sir?”

  “Well . . .”

  The man looked down at me, scratching his chin. He was a tall, lean man who seemed very well put together. His suit was cheap but clean, and his fingernails were meticulously trimmed and tidy. Tufts of strawberry-blond hair stuck out from under his broad hat. Try as I might, I couldn’t find so much as one thread out of place on his whole person.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “Not de finest, mind you, but I have been working de extra hours making simple coffins on account of de pest tent out here. It won’t buy you a stone for de headstone, though. Haf to be de wooden kind.”

  “Thank you, sir. That will be fine.”

  “For de epitaph, will you write the spelling here on dis paper?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Did your fadder have religion?”

  “How come you askin’?”

  “To know if I should ask de preacher to come say a word.”

  “Do he charge?”

  Another long silence fell between us, and the tall man examined me from on high.

  “No. Is free.”

  “Then yes, please. Thank you.”

  “Funeral will be in two hours. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I turned to leave, but the undertaker called out and stopped me.

  “Hey dere, Mr. Glass.”

  Something stung deep in my ribs at the title. My pa was Mr. Glass, Mr. Hank Glass. But now, I was Mr. Glass. I was the man of the family, and the man was called Mr. Glass.

  “Yessir?”

  “My wife, she grows flowers. Not’ing impressive, not here, but maybe she has some for your fadder? Maybe to make de coffin look nice?”

  “Thank you, sir. I would be much obliged.”

  We nodded to each other, and I left to finish the tasks at hand at Dora’s. I had to dress and help Hour dress. All through the brothel, the girls bustled about, donning their nicest dresses with hats and everything. Dora and Joseph greeted me with sad faces full of sympathy. To my utter delight, I found Hour with Nancy May. She was sitting stock-still, playing with Fred as Nancy combed her ratted head of raven hair with a proper hairbrush. It was a nicer piece than anything that ever went through Hour’s tangles previously. The only thing she’d ever had was back at the shanty, an old hairbrush that was handed down from my mother to Pa to her mother and then to her. The look on Hour’s face was one of happiness, or at least as happy as Hour ever looked. Relief overtook my senses to see that someone else had done some of my tasks for me. I wondered about Hour’s odd mood only briefly. Easier for all of us that she weren’t a mess, I reckoned.

  Looking around, I saw that everyone was accounted for, except Jane. Even Charlie Utter and his brother Steve were there for the funeral. They weren’t in Dora’s place but had volunteered to dig the grave in Ingelside Cemetery for my pa. Craning my head to and fro, I searched the ocean of sad faces as I wandered around Dora’s, but there was no Jane. Not nowhere.

  “She ain’t here, kid,” said Dora suddenly from behind me.

  “Jane?”

  “Yeh, she ain’t here.”

  “She at the pest tent?” I asked.

  Dora let out a sigh.

  “No, she ain’t there neither.”

  “Then, where is she?”

  “Where do you think?”

  Dora gave me a crooked look that said a mouthful without opening said mouth. I left her side and passed through the saloon, knowing exactly where Jane would be. I found her as I so often did—drunk with a bottle in her hand and half unconscious against the side of the outhouse. Her hat tipped down to hide her face, so it was difficult to see if she was asleep or just faking it. Approaching her slowly was normally the best tactic, so that was exactly what I did. I made my presence known to her with a small clearing of my throat.

  “I know you is here, Jimmy Glass.”

  “Are you coming to the funeral? It’s in ’bout two hours.”

  Jane shook her head slowly and tilted her hat so she might be able to see me properly. Those eyes of hers were gray and red-rimmed. The scent of bourbon was so strong I didn’t need to get much closer to know how very drunk she was.

  “My apologies, kid, but I ain’t comin’.”

  “Why not? Everyone’s goin’.”

  “If’n that’s true, then why you need an old drunkard like me stinkin’ up the ranks?”

  “I want you there, Jane. Please.”

  “I ain’t goin’. Bill’s there. Hurts too much to be in that place with other people, just talkin’ and carryin’ on like the fact he’s dead don’t make a lick of difference. Walkin’ past that marker that I know is fuckin’ his. Nah, kid. I’m sorry, but I ain’t goin’.”

  “But you hafta, Jane. I thought we was friends and all. Hour will want you there too.”

  “Hour probably won’t care a lick if’n I’m there.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Sorry, kid. My answer is no. I send to you and your sister my greatest condolences, but I can’t go back there, not yet.”

  Anger made the blood in my veins hot. It pulsed its way around my body until my head felt like it might burst from the pressure. A calm man might look at the situation. Jane had lost her Bill not even a month ago, and the strain had hurt her bad. Not to mention, she had on several occasions saved my very life and the life of my sister. Jane had even nursed our father until his death. This woman didn’t owe me a thing, but my heart told me otherwise.

  “You . . . you ain’t nice like I thought. If’n we was real friends like you say—”

  “Is this where you gonna call on that favor I owe you, kid? Is that the next part?”

  The sarcastic disdain in her voice was like a cold slap to the face. Her eyes glared at me under the hood of drink. I was struck dumb and silent by it, but after all, she was right, wasn’t she? Maybe it hurt more because she was right. I was about to use that to get her to show up, and if that wasn’t a coward’s move, I wasn’t sure what on this earth was.

  None of that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, and I stomped off away from Jane and her filthy corner of the world to go back to Diddlin’ Dora’s, where everyone was properly melancholy in the way people ought to be. Jane, in her differentness, could keep her bourbon and her bit of mud and squalor. I still had an army of prostitutes willing to brave the drizzle of the stormy day to look properly forlorn on account of my pa’s passing.

  We made our way slowly, as processions are wont to do, through the muddy parts of the Deadwood thoroughfare. All the girls were in attendance, as were Dora and Joseph. Nancy May was the type to hate events outside her kitchen, so she volunteered to stay behind and look after Diddlin’ Dora’s. She armed herself with a double barrel shotgun in case any person got the fool idea to rob the place whilst the owners were away.

  Charlie Utter and his brother were waiting at the cemetery over an open grave. Someone, possibly the Utters, had already lowered the casket containing my father’s body into the hole in the ground. Charlie and Steve stood stoic and solemn next to it, hats over their hearts. As we approached, Charlie bowed his head to me, and I bowed back. When I peered inside, I saw a bouquet of wildflowers tied together with a ribbon on top of my pa’s pine box. The undertaker was right. It did make the whole thing look nicer.

  There was quite the gathering surrounding my pa’s grave, most had never known
him. I did see the faces of a few of the miners we knew from the creek. They actually had known Pa. I hadn’t the money for a newspaper bit about him, but rumors traveled quick in the camp, and the sight of old friends warmed me.

  Hour stood next to me, her face staring intently at the hole in the ground. She didn’t seem upset much by the idea of the funeral, but according to her, Pa was flying now. To her, I supposed, there wasn’t much to be sad about.

  The undertaker presented himself then as we all looked around for a person to lead the proceedings. No preacher had come to the site as promised, and I wasn’t sure how to go about a thing like this. When he motioned me over, I went, leaving Hour in the care of Lil’ Missy standing next to me. Dora followed me on over as well.

  “Preacher Smith, he will not be attending,” said the undertaker.

  “Whatcha mean? I thought there weren’t no fee,” I protested.

  “There wouldn’t be, and there is not.”

  Dora made herself known by nudging into the conversation.

  “Talk straight. What happened to Preacher Smith?” she asked.

  “Don’t rightly know. I went to his place, but he weren’t there. Just a note.”

  The tall undertaker produced a note for us to read.

  Gone to Crook City to preach, and if God is willing, will be back at three o’clock.

  “It’s pert near four,” said Dora.

  “Yes. I s’pose God weren’t willin’, or perhaps some Injuns were more willin’. I do hope not. I was on my way to tell de sheriff, but I reckoned I need to tell you. I’m sorry, but there is no preacher comin’ for de service.”

  “What are we gonna do? I don’t know what to say,” I said, suddenly panicky.

  “I am afraid I am a terrible public speaker,” said the undertaker.

  “What do you say at a thing like this?”

  I turned the question at Dora who always seemed to have some answer or another. Her all-knowing eyes looked a little lost, like she was swimming. She smiled warmly to cover up all the uncertainty inside of her.

  “We’ll make do, kid. Maybe we can take turns sayin’ nice things. I know Joseph had himself an old family bible. I reckon he can run back and . . .”

  The vivacious woman trailed off when she spotted something over my shoulder. Sight unseen, the thing must have been wonderful because her grin turned from painted on to a real thing etched into her skin. Her eyes softened like all was suddenly right in the world, and for the briefest of moments, I thought maybe Preacher Smith had arrived after all. The thing was, when I turned around, there was no preacher man. There was no man at all. It was Jane. She marched across the cemetery and stood above my father’s grave, looking from person to person. When she found my face next to Dora’s, she gave me a wink. Never had I been so relieved to see a person in all my life.

  “We ain’t got a preacher, kid, but I think you got the next best thing.”

  I nodded, and we rejoined the rest of the congregation. I took my place next to Hour, front and center. Delicately and slowly, I felt a small hand creep underneath mine own and interlace fingers with me. I held Missy’s hand without hesitation as she leaned that blonde head full of curls on my shoulder. Jane, for all her informal nature, took off her hat and held it to her chest.

  “I ain’t the type that should give a sermon, or speak at the grave of a person, but word made it that Preacher Smith ain’t a-comin’ today, so I’m afraid the lot of you are stuck with me.”

  A few smiles and snickers infected the crowd.

  “Anyhow, I aim to give Hank Glass as proper a Christian burial as I’m able. I didn’t know the man well, but I did spend the last few days of his life with him. Illness don’t seem like a good death. It ain’t brave or glorious like dyin’ in battle. It also ain’t cowardly like dying whilst runnin’ away. It just is . . . the way the moon is and the sun is.

  “Hank Glass was a good man. In his illness, Hank Glass ain’t spoke to me about life. In fact, I will speak truth now, since that’s what is proper. He didn’t get the chance to say a word to me, the poor wretch. So how is it that I know he were a good man, you might be wonderin’, if’n he never talked to me personal? Well, that would be because I spoke with his children, Jimmy and Hour over yonder. In fact, I do believe there are but a handful of you here today that actually knew the man in question. Most of ya’ll are here for the same reason I am, because you got to know these two fine kids.”

  I wanted to cry. Somehow, someway, I knew Jane wouldn’t like me to do that. And after how wrongly I had treated her earlier, I held in the brine pushing its way to the surface. Missy squeezed my hand and added a bit of bravery to me.

  “You fine folks here have only spent a couple o’ weeks with the two Glass children, and here you are, at a funeral fer a man you didn’t know. Maybe that speaks only to yer character, but let’s face it, I have drunk with all of ya’ll, and there ain’t much character between us to spread ’round with a butter knife.”

  More laughter from everyone, especially Dora.

  “Maybe some of ya’ll been cussin’ too much around little Hour here, and now are in debt to her swear jug that ole Charlie Utter made fer her. Yes folks, you can blame Mr. Charlie Utter right over there for the sudden disappearance of your pennies.”

  Charlie laughed and shook his head. He daubed his eyes with a handkerchief from his pockets. Steve patted his back.

  “Nah, I think the real reason be the character of them two kids. I know I have felt it. Jimmy Glass there saved my life sure as the sun’ll set, and Hour brings about the goodness in every person she meets. There ain’t a lick of coward in either of them. What can we, as passin’ guests in their lives, say made them as they are? Well, the answer’s simple. Their pa. All these years on his own, and look at what fine people he brung up.

  “You ask me how I knew Mr. Hank Glass was a good, fine man? I know it because I can see the fruit of his efforts in his children. May he reap sweet rewards in Heaven. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said the congregation together.

  Somewhere, from some unknown spot in the crowd of prostitutes around me, a girl took up singing a hymn. Others slowly but surely joined in, seeming to know the words by heart. The crowd around me swayed, causing me to sway gently to and fro as well. I didn’t know the words, but the sound and feeling of it was comforting, and the tears I couldn’t hold back any longer fell down my face without effort.

  When I looked up again, I noticed that Jane was gone. No longer did she stand above my father’s grave saying the words I wanted to be able to say and couldn’t. Craning my neck a bit, I found her a little ways from where we stood. Jane was sitting on a different grave, away from the masses. She was doubled over and weeping against a grave marker. It took me a long minute to understand which grave it was, and when I did I wanted even more desperately to take back everything I had said to her by the outhouse. The grave marker she was crying against said it was Wild Bill Hickok’s grave.

  19

  Two whole days passed after Pa’s funeral before I got mind enough to head back to our claim. In the meantime, Hour and I did good work at Diddlin’ Dora’s to pay our part, even though she said we didn’t need to. It was high on my mind to go back to our home though. The time spent in town was a different sort of living, but we belonged at home. I needed to be able to earn a living for Hour and myself, so working Pa’s claim was the right thing to do. After all, the claim would move down to me, seeing as how I was his eldest and only son.

  Hour stayed with Nancy May the afternoon I set out to secure our spot on the creek. When I told Dora where I was headed, she seemed worried for one reason or another, but I was hell-bent on getting the place back up and running. I promised I’d be back before dark so she wouldn’t worry. Besides, I wasn’t planning on leaving town yet. There were too many folks to say goodbye to for me to leave just like that. The moving process would be
one of many transitions.

  With a gunnysack over my shoulder, I set out to make my way through town and down into the gulch where our claim sat. I looked at Deadwood as it passed me by with a sad fondness. It was never so apparent how lonely and quiet our lives were down by the creek until I spent a bit of time in town. I would miss it terribly, but assured myself Hour and I would visit often. It weren’t like we were going to California or some other far-flung place.

  The time I made was good, and before long, I was loping my way down the steep slope toward creek tucked away in the gulch. The tinkling sound of water was a welcoming one, even if it did make me feel the sudden urge to release my own water. The going here was a little slower as the recent rains had made the mud slick and the falling leaves covering it slicker. I nearly slipped and cracked my hind end in half several times, but before too long, our little shanty was visible through the thick trees.

  A smile curled its way across my face as I spotted the canvas roof of the little place I called home not too long ago. The thing of it was, the shanty weren’t the only thing I spotted. There was movement nearby. A deer maybe, or a rabbit, I thought, but then, there were two and three. I squinted to peer further, thinking maybe a pack of wolves or something of the like. Quickly I understood the moving figures weren’t deer and they weren’t rabbits. Men. There were men, crawling all over our home, close to a dozen at first guess.

  Air caught in my throat, and I held it there, as to not make a sound. Several of the men had guns, and I did not. I swallowed hard all of those noble intentions I had been carrying with me. Fear rippled through me and made my hackles rise. The thing of it was, I didn’t understand what was happening until I saw Mr. Mills. He was holding a rifle and departing my shanty with a handful of dishes. They were the white dishes that belonged to us. I knew him. He was one of my pa’s friends who owned a claim not far away. We had him over for supper whenever Pa managed to take down something bigger than a squirrel or a hare. Mr. Mills had attended Pa’s funeral, hat in hand.

  Then there was Mr. McCreeny. I spotted him too, taking a few sifting pans and shirts. He had been plagued with small pox too, but he recovered. He was our friend and an attendant at Pa’s funeral only two days prior. That man, I had seen him weep two days ago. Our friends and neighbors, they were here ransacking the place like it was a dead carcass and they the vultures.