Rain Shadow(2)

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

The bell over the shop door tinkled. Anton Neubauer glanced up to discover Estelle Parkhurst storming into his store.

"Mr. Neubauer." Ruddy-faced and out of breath, she marched to the counter behind which he sat on a stool.

On the glass work surface in front of him, a myriad of tiny gears and  springs lay-pieces of the clock he'd been working on for the past hour.  "Mornin', Mrs. Parkhurst. What can I do for you?"

"You can teach that son of yours some manners for one thing," she  huffed. "And for another you can replace the window on the alley side of  my office."

"Again?" Anton slid his new spectacles from his face and pinched the  bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry about the window. I'll talk to Nikolaus  about it."

"Talking seems to have little effect on the boy. He's only six years  old, yet he's allowed to run wild in the streets. What he needs is a  firm hand and strict guidance! "

"Playing in the alley is hardly what I'd call running wild, Mrs.  Parkhurst. I can't expect him to stay cooped up in here with me when I  have work to do on Saturday."

"Well, then you should leave him with one of his aunts. The child needs supervision."

Anger rising, Anton stood. "Look. My sisters-in-law both have children  of their own to look after, and they take care of Nikolaus plenty as it  is." He checked an exasperated sigh. "I said I'd replace the window.  Nikolaus is just a boy. It's only natural for him to throw things when  he's playin'."

The woman puffed out her ample bosom like a banty rooster. "If he throws  one more thing through my window, I'll report you and your boy to the  authorities! Do yourself a favor, Mr. Neubauer. Find that child a  mother."

Slack-jawed, Anton watched the door close behind her. The bell tinkled  musically. He dropped to the edge of the stool. "Tell me something I  don't know, ya old pickle puss." Intuitively, he turned in the direction  of the back room. His towheaded son kicked the doorjamb with the tip of  his scuffed shoe.

"Hi, Papa." Nikolaus thrust his lower lip forward, and his shoulders  sagged. A streak of dirt across one cheek completed the irresistible  look of little-boy innocence.

"Nikky."

"You gonna whup me?"

"C'mere." Anton knelt on the wooden floor.

Mutely, hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded denim overalls,  Nikolaus trudged to his waiting father. His round blue eyes filled with  tears. "Sorry."

Anton's chest tightened with tenderness and guilt. Hanging around the  confining shop was difficult for a child with all the energy of a  lightning bolt. For weeks he'd been promising to take Nikolaus hunting  for a wild turkey. He pulled the child against his wide chest and hugged  him hard, struck as always by the changeless and unbounded love his son  inspired. "I know, son."

"It was just an ol' hunk of cinder I found in the alley. I didn't think I threw it hard enough to bust the glass."

"You've got quite an arm there. You'll be a good mosche balle player  when you're a little bigger." The boisterous game was a favorite  activity among the male population of the Pennsylvania Dutch community. A  good mosche balle player was revered by all.

"Really, Pa? Ya think I will?" Nikolaus drew back excitedly.

"Really. I'd better tell Uncle Franz and Uncle Jakob to watch out."

The bell over the door tinkled, and father and son exchanged resigned  glances. Pickle Puss Parkhurst again? Anton stood. One of his brothers  closed the door behind him.                       
       
           



       

"Didn't expect to see you, Jakob."

"I brought Lydia's eggs into town."

"Uncle Jake!" Nikolaus ran and flung his arms around the legs of the man who looked much like his father.

Jakob ruffled the boy's pale blond hair with a huge hand. "Look what Aunt Lydia sent for you."

The child accepted the small bag and drew out a sugar cookie.

"Why don't you take your cookies in back and play with your horse collection for a while?" Anton suggested.

"Okay, Papa." He headed for the back room.

Anton sat and gestured to the other stool.

Jakob straddled it and splayed a large hand on the glass counter. His  eyes, less intense, a frostier blue than his brother's, sparked with  humor. "Who's the lucky girl tonight?"

"Hmm." Anton put on his spectacles and poked at the clock parts with a long finger.

"C'mon. Your bride shopping isn't exactly a secret. Seems you'd be quite  a catch for these local gals. Last week Helena McLaury, the week before  that Sissy Clanton... I hear the widow Schofield even had a few spins  around the dance floor with you last month. Whatsa' matter, did she step  on your toes?"

"This isn't funny, Jakob. I need to find a wife, and none of the women around here are passable."

"Sissy is under thirty and has all her teeth. What's wrong with her? And  next to my wife, the widow Schofield makes the best apple dumplin's in  all of Pennsylvania."

"I didn't see you marrying either of them." Jakob had met his wife on a  trip through Accord. She had been a member of the Harmony Society.

"She has a sister." Jakob's bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Right pretty, too."

Anton shifted his weight, and the stool squeaked beneath him. "I don't  care if she's drop-dead beautiful. Just so she's mild-mannered  and...domestic. She has to cook and sew and be a mother to Nikolaus."

"And a wife to you."

Anton shrugged. "That too, I reckon. Nikolaus needs two parents. A  family." The rest wasn't important. He didn't have to love this wife. He  didn't want to love her. Not after Emily. He'd messed things up good  there.

Never again would he allow himself to be vulnerable or stick his neck  out begging for hurt. He wanted a woman like Annette or Lydia, his  brothers' wives. Sissy Clanton wasn't so bad, in fact, he was seeing her  again tonight. All week long he'd tried to picture the three of  them-himself, Nikky and Sissy-living in a house together as a family. He  would work the farm with his father and brothers, as always. Winters  he'd fix watches and clocks for extra money, and Sissy would take care  of the house and cook for them. Nikky would go to school.

He'd thought he loved Emily, but maybe he hadn't loved her enough. Maybe  he was incapable of pleasing a woman. Thinking about Emily still left  him feeling confused and empty. She'd been discontented...had held back  from everything and everyone and he hadn't known how to reach her, how  to please her. There had always been something missing, and he hadn't  known how to correct it. He took the blame for making a hasty choice and  expecting too much.

Nothing he'd imagined about his marriage had come to pass. He blamed  himself for not recognizing her unhappiness sooner, for not knowing how  to fix things. Ignoring a problem didn't make it go away. But this time  he wasn't going to delude himself or Sissy into believing the  impossible. Some marriages were for practicality, and both people had to  accept the fact. If Sissy couldn't accept a friendly arrangement, he  wouldn't pursue the idea.

But he did visualize a clean house, tasty dinners, evenings around the  fireplace, playing checkers with his boy while his wife sewed. Those  details focused as clear as a bell in his mind. What dealt him trouble  was imagining taking Sissy to his bed. How could he-

The door burst open, the bell clanging in protest. "Anton! Jake!" panted  Tom Simms, a local farmer. "A train derailed down by Ed Jackson's  place! People and animals are hurt bad. Livestock-and buffalo-are  running wild. They need help!"                       
       
           



       

Anton peeled his spectacles from his ears and shouted after Tom, already  out the door, Jakob on his heels. "I'll take Nikolaus to Mrs.  Parkhurst's." He sprinted to the doorway. "Buffalo?"

"Yeah," Tom hollered over his shoulder, running toward the next store.  "This ain't just any ole train. This here's Buffalo Bill's Wild West  Congress of Rough Riders!"

* * *

The scene Anton came upon a short time later was one he'd tell his  grandchildren about. A small herd of elk huddled beneath the dappled  shade of an elm, cropping grass like cattle. He drew his horse up and  gestured for Jakob to look. They watched in puzzlement for a moment  until three brown and white spotted ponies thundered past, and the elk  loped off toward a stream.

Sounds reached them before they comprehended the scope of devastation.  Animals shrieked in pain and terror. Men shouted, and echoing gunshots  rang out.

An endless string of black railroad cars lay twisted haphazardly across  the gently sloping ground like a child's forgotten toy. Mortally wounded  horses and longhorn steer writhed on the ground, and two Indians  dressed like cowboys fired bullets into the animals' heads, ending their  misery.