The Cypress House(134)

Paul nodded. They finished the Coca-Colas and then Paul’s train was boarding, and they got to their feet. Arlen wanted to help him with his bags but didn’t yet have the strength.

“You’re going to her, aren’t you?” Paul said. It was the first either of them had spoken directly of Rebecca.

“Yes,” Arlen said.

Paul looked away, managed a faint smile, and said, “You tell her I said hello. Please?”

“I will. You know that. And I love her, Paul. I hope you understand that.”

Paul nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t make me glad at first, doesn’t really now, but maybe there’ll come a day… anyhow, I know you do. I know it, and it matters.”

“Good.”

“You know where to find me,” Paul said. “So when you land somewhere, let me know.”

“You’ll hear first thing,” Arlen said. “And you’ll come see us.”

Paul nodded again, and now people were shoving past them toward the train. Paul put out his hand. Arlen ignored it, reached out and wrapped his arms around the boy’s lanky frame and hugged him long and hard.

He remained on the platform long after the train was out of sight.





57


HE RETURNED TO FAYETTE COUNTY to put smoke in an old man’s eyes.

He had never wanted to set foot on this soil again, never wanted to see this place again, beautiful though it was. All he wanted to do today was head north, on toward Camden, but there were duties in this life, balances to be kept, and Arlen Wagner owed a large marker in Fayette County.

So did Edwin Main.

The town looked different, almost unbelievably so, but Arlen supposed it might say the same of him if it could.

His first stop after getting off the train was at the site of his boyhood home. It wasn’t there. A woman was out across the street, and she was a young woman, unlikely to remember, so Arlen walked by and inquired.

“You mean the devil house?” she said.

“Devil house?” He tried to keep his voice steady.

“That’s what the children and the old women called it,” she said, and she laughed. A light sound, carefree. “Man who used to live there, he was the craziest this place has ever seen, and then some. Thought he could talk to the dead.”

Arlen kept his eyes away from her as he said, “What happened to the house, though?”

“Fire took it. Has to be fifteen years ago now. I was a girl.”

He nodded and thanked her and told her to have a fine day. She smiled brightly, looking up at the overgrown yard where the devil house had once stood.

On into town then, his stride weakening the longer he walked. From time to time he reached under his jacket and touched the butt of the pistol in his belt.

Anything goes wrong, he thought, and your stay here will keep you from ever seeing Camden. You’ll see the bars of a jail cell for the rest of your days, or, if you’re lucky, a noose.

It had to be done, though.

The house that had once belonged to Edwin Main was now the property of another family. A young boy was playing in the yard, and when Arlen asked his name, he said Lichman, Ben Lichman, and nice to meet you. He had heard of no one named Edwin Main.

Arlen allowed that it was nice to meet him, too, and then he spent a time staring up at the house before he moved on down the road.

A man near the town square was unloading bricks from the bed of a truck, and Arlen stopped and tipped his hat and said beg pardon, but I have a question.

The man straightened, nodded, waited. It was a simple question, but Arlen was having trouble getting it out. The pistol was heavy on his belt.

“I’m looking,” he said, “for a man named Edwin Main. I was hoping you could tell me where to find him. I have some business with him.”

The man looked at Arlen, frowned, and said, “I can tell you where to find him, but I don’t know what sort of business you’ll be conducting at the graveyard.”

Arlen stood in the street and stared at him. The pistol felt much lighter on his belt now.

“Edwin’s passed?”

“Nine year ago at least. Horse threw him.”

“A horse,” Arlen echoed, and suddenly he wanted to laugh, wanted to fall down in the middle of this street where once his father’s blood ran into the dust and laugh until tears streamed down his face.

“That’s right. Was a powerful loss to folks around here. Edwin Main, he was the best we had.”

Arlen said, “Was he, though?” and then he tipped his hat again and walked on toward the cemetery.


It wasn’t hard to find Edwin Main’s grave. He had the largest monument in the place, a ponderous marble slab bearing the dates of his life and the phrase “missed and loved by all.” Joy Main’s grave, older, smaller, sat beside it. Arlen dropped to his knees and brushed aside the grass and leaves that had gathered on the stone’s face. When it was clean, he stepped back and looked at Edwin’s marker and drew his pistol. He thought about putting a few rounds off its shining marble, driving some nicks into that pretty stone, but then he slid the gun back into his belt.