Maybe I'm Amazed

Mal couldn’t remember the last time he ate a real meal, sitting a real table, surrounded by well-scrubbed and smiling faces. He nodded his thanks at Mrs. Rose as she passed his full plate and dug into the food, his stomach twisting with a hard hunger cramp as soon as he tasted his biscuit. Lee Rose continued speaking as the meal was served, but he didn’t seem terribly offended by Mal’s lack of response. The three Rose children ate their dinner politely and silently, though they couldn’t stop stealing glances at Mal. He didn’t mind—after all, he was a stranger at their table. He grimaced when his fork scraped against the bottom of the empty plate. He was still hungry, but he wouldn’t infringe further on their hospitality. Especially since they were all still eating. When he glanced up, Mrs. Rose’s eyes were dancing in the dim lamplight. “I like to see a man with a hearty appetite.” Mal smiled. “It’s easy to have a hearty appetite when the food is this good, ma’am. These biscuits are heavenly.” “They’re Christian’s special recipe,” the youngest child volunteered. “She lets me help with them.” “Emily, children should be seen and not heard at the dinner table.” “Sorry, Ma.” She put her head down and focused on her food once again. “Well, these are some good biscuits.” “Christian!” Mrs. Rose didn’t lift her voice, but she didn’t need to in the small house. Only a thin wall and door separated the dining room from the kitchen. “She will get you more food.” “Oh, no, ma’am, that isn’t necessary.” “Yes, it is. Don’t let it ever be said that a man left my table hungry.” A girl shuffled out of the kitchen, her head down and shoulders hunched. At first, she looked no more than a child, but as she approached the table, the fire cast more light on her form, and Mal could see she was young, but she wasn’t a child. Her long hair hung around her face in dirty black strands, and her body was a little too pinched to look inviting. She didn’t make eye contact with anybody in the room. “Please serve another plate to our guest, Christian.” The girl nodded, took his empty plate, and left again. “Forgive her,” Lee said, licking the gravy from his mustache. “Mrs. Rose has tried to teach the poor girl English, but she is, no doubt, incapable of learning.” “She seems to understand it,” Mal said, glancing at the empty space where his plate used to be. “She does a bit, by the grace of God, but she only knows that savage tongue her mother insisted on teaching her.” Mal wanted to ask who she was, and why she was there, but he doubted the answer was anything that should be discussed over the dinner table. When the girl returned to the room, he tried to watch her without staring. He saw a curious light in her eye that might have just been his imagination. She carefully placed his dinner in front of him, bending next to his arm. She glanced up from the corner of her eye, and their gazes met. That curious light was still present. Lee resumed his speech as soon as the girl returned to the kitchen, and Mal resumed eating. He only listened with half an ear now, as Lee spoke of the great times he used to have with Mal’s father, the great Brandon Hawkins. Mal already knew these stories, though he had heard slightly different versions of the same events. Brandon always spoke of his years in the Union army as though he was delivering a lesson in history. Lee took a different approach. “I swear, I never saw so many Rebs. I told Brandon I was going to take out at least two dozen of them. He said he’d take that bet, and the stakes were the first pair of decent shoes we could find. Well, I took out twenty-five of those bastards, and I’ll be damned if the twenty-fifth didn’t have the newest pair of boots I ever saw! Must have been a gift from his mama or his wife. They were a size too small, but I was wearing rags on my feet at that point. Anyway, I insisted your pa should take them, since they were just about his size, but he wouldn’t, you know. He said I’d won the bet fair and square.” Mal smiled and laughed at the appropriate points. The children didn’t even react. Perhaps they had heard all of this a hundred times already. Or perhaps they weren’t listening to him at all. Mrs. Rose smiled at the right times, too, but otherwise, her attention was completely focused on Mal. He resisted the impulse to fidget under her watchful gaze, but he couldn’t help but think she saw something she shouldn’t. Like he was naked in front of her. She didn’t even have the good manners to look away when he glanced up and caught her staring. His joy at eating a real meal at a real table diminished gradually, and by the time he finished his second helping, he was ready to bolt for the door. And it wasn’t just because Mrs. Rose was making him uncomfortable. Straps of silver light fell against the floorboards as the full moon rose over the flat prairie, and he wasn’t accustomed to missing a moonrise. He had seen every single one on his journey west from Ohio, and it didn’t seem right to miss one now. “Thank you again, ma’am, for the meal. It really was very tasty.” Mrs. Rose smiled at him. “We’re happy to have you. Mr. Rose has told us so much about your father that you already felt like family.” Lee laughed. “She’s right, you know. But I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have you here, Malachi. If you’re half the man your father was, you’ll be a treasure to us.” Mal inclined his head. “Thank you. I knew when I received your letter that I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.” “Children, go wash your face and hands. It’s time for Bible and prayer.” Each child got up in turn, like they were going through the motions of a carefully choreographed dance. As soon as they trailed into the kitchen, Mal stood as well. “I’d like to excuse myself, if you don’t mind.” “I’ll come outside with you. It seems like a perfect night to enjoy a pipe.” It was just generally a perfect night, in Mal’s opinion. The air was sweet with spring blossoms, and he could hear calves bawling in the distance. A cool breeze tickled the back of his neck, but it was just enough to revive him after his heavy meal. “You don’t mind bedding down in the bunkhouse, I trust.” “Not at all. I’m definitely used to worse.” Lee nodded and began the careful process of packing his pipe with tobacco. “I expect you have questions about Christian.” “A few. I don’t recall you mentioning her before.” “She’s our ward. Her and her sister. We found the two girls when we were passing through Texas, and Mrs. Rose was worried about their heathen souls.” “She doesn’t look like a heathen to me.” “No, I guess she resembles her poor mother, God rest her soul.” “What happened to her mother?” “She was taken by the Comanche when she was twelve. Apparently, they had her for years, and when the Rangers finally found her, she didn’t want to leave. I don’t know how they finally got her away from the tribe. She had apparently forgotten her Christian name, and what’s worse, she was raising those two little girls to be heathens. She died shortly after they brought her back to San Antonio, and that’s when Mrs. Rose found the two little girls. She feared for their immortal souls, and at the time, she thought God would not see fit to bless us with our own children. She named them Christian and Mercy.” Mal nodded. It wasn’t an unfamiliar story. “She struggled to teach them the Bible and about God’s plan for us all. But they’re either too dull or too stubborn to learn. It’s my measured opinion that neither of them ever really had a chance. They’re too savage. They were found too late.” Lee lit his pipe and puffed on it silently as a cloud passed over the moon. “If you ever need anything, though, try to talk to Christian. Mercy is a sweet girl but…sometimes I fear she isn’t all there.” “What do they do now?” “Pull their weight, like everybody else. God knows I’ll never get them married off. Mercy isn’t much more than a child, and Christian is far too surly and difficult. You’ll see what I mean.” “Well, sir, if you don’t mind…” “Sir? What’s this sir stuff? Didn’t you hear Mrs. Rose say you were practically family? You can call me Lee.” Mal felt more comfortable with “sir,” or barring that, “Mr. Rose,” but he nodded. “If you don’t mind, Lee, I think I’ll get myself settled for the night.” Lee invited him to the house for breakfast and promised to show him around the place bright and early. Judging from what Mal had seen when he first rode up to the homestead, there wasn’t much to be shown. The horses were kept in a huge herd to the east of the house, watched by dark little boys who might have been Mexican or Indian. Besides the house, the plot also had two barns, a bunkhouse, and a smoke house. None of it was impressive. But Mal wasn’t there to be impressed. There were only four cowboys in the bunkhouse, and none of them seemed interested in him. He had claimed the only free bed in the small space before dinner, and he was pleased to see nobody had disturbed his saddlebags. Not that he kept anything valuable there to tempt an honest man. “You ever work cows before?” Mal looked up, trying to ascertain where the question came from. All four men had their heads down, all four chewed on their tobacco, and all four were studying their grimy cards. “Yes.” “I heard you were from New York.” “My father was born there. I’ve never been to New York.” “That’s not what I heard.” Now Mal could tell who he was speaking to. The oldest of the four men, he had long gray whiskers and long gray hair beneath his dusty hat. Washed-out blue eyes regarded him from beneath the rim, and Mal thought he saw something distinctly hostile on the man’s creased face. “I’m from Ohio.” “Not much better than New York, if you ask me.” “Nobody asked you, Jack. Are you playing or are you yapping?” This man’s voice was deeper, but younger. The other two at the table grunted in agreement. Mal considered lying down, but he felt jittery. He knew he would have an early morning, and after his long journey, sleep would probably be the best thing he could do. But the moon was still calling to him, and he knew from experience that cowboys could drink and gamble all night without a break. He didn’t want to spend any more time with these men than he had to. He let himself out the door and noticed, with a sigh of relief, that the front porch was empty. But he could see a small shape leaning against the back corner of the house, and his curiosity got the better of him. He suspected it was Christian, but he would have been happy to meet Mercy, too. The girl didn’t move as he approached, though he didn’t take any pains to disguise himself. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint her age, and now he didn’t think he’d ever know. She stood with a shawl over her shoulders, protecting herself from the fragrant breeze. Strands of her hair danced around her face and neck, and she didn’t turn to face him. But she was aware of him. Mal knew it. He was careful not to get too close. He didn’t want to startle her. “Those biscuits were good.” She didn’t respond. He rested against the wall behind her, studying the slope of her shoulder. Even though she had her weight on the corner, she didn’t look hunched over now. Mal had a feeling if she walked away from him, she wouldn’t be shuffling. “The whole meal was great. Did you make it all?” She inclined her head. Or it might have been the shadows and the wind, giving the illusion of movement. “Thank you.” He didn’t expect her to respond—though he wasn’t convinced she couldn’t speak—but when she didn’t even move again, he wasn’t sure what to do. Mal figured he had about another minute, two at the most, before he started to look like a fool for trying to engage a lady who didn’t even look at him. “Have a good night, ma’am.” She moved faster than he expected, her small hand reaching out to grab his jacket. She still didn’t speak. She just held him. “Yes?” Christian gestured to the ground before ducking into the kitchen. When she pushed the door open, he felt a rush of heat from the large wood stove. Mal couldn’t see her well in the darkness, and she didn’t light a lamp. She returned to the door with a napkin clutched in her hand and tried to hand it to him. “What is this?” She didn’t answer, so he unwrapped the small package to expose two pieces of cake. He looked up and she smiled. Maybe it wasn’t a full smile. But compared to the earlier dour expression on her face, she was positively beaming. He responded in kind, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Christian nodded, stepped back, and closed the door. Mal stood there for a moment, half-hoping she would open the door again and join him. He settled on the step in front of the door and took a bite of the sweet cake. Mal couldn’t contain his sigh of pleasure. The dinner had been delicious, but this moment was perfect. He chewed slowly, savoring each second of sugar and moonlight, listening to Christian move on the other side of the wall. Stoking the fire. Preparing the dough for the next batch of biscuits. Rinsing the dishes. Sweeping the floor. But there was still no sign of Mercy. Mal licked the crumbs from his fingers, his mind drifting to his mother. She was still in Ohio, quietly living on whatever Mal could send her, and what his father had left her. He had left home when he was sixteen, but every time he visited, she clung to him a little tighter. The world got bigger and scarier with every passing year, but Mal could not give her the one thing she wanted from him. He couldn’t stay with her. Instead, he made his living and his reputation on the cattle trails, crossing and crisscrossing the endless prairies. The sky above him darkened, and he realized somebody had blown out the lamp in the second-floor window. Mal knew that should be his sign to go to bed, but he was loath to leave his comfortable step. Especially since he could still hear Christian inside. But when the light in the bunkhouse disappeared, he knew it was time to abandon the door. Mal finished the piece of cake he still held and stood. A chorus of snores welcomed him in the bunks, and Mal hesitated. It would be easier to just bed down out in the yard, but he had the feeling it would offend Mrs. Rose if she found him sleeping in the middle of the barnyard. Mal settled on his straw-stuffed mattress without taking off his boots and pulled his hat low on his eyes. He still tasted the cake on his tongue, and his mind was filled with visions of Christian’s shining brown eyes, and her small, almost-smile.