'Nobody calls them rip-snorters but you,' Mr. Kane said grumpily.
'They're something, those rip-snorters,' she told Matthew. 'First the air starts humming with electricity, then in she comes! With wind ripping from every direction at once, and rain slashing down, and thunder crashing and shaking the mountain, and lightning cracking and smelling like the air was frying! I love it!'
'I know I'll love it too. I really like this place, what with the sunsets and the nice people. Except for the Bjorkvists, everybody's pitched in to help me out.'
Ruth Lillian cast a glance at her father, who cleared his throat and said, 'Look here, boy. I've thought it over, but I'm afraid I can't use any help.'
'None at all, sir?'
'No, none at all.'
'… I see…'
Matthew allowed the silence to lie there until Mr. Kane felt impelled to say, 'As I was telling Ruth Lillian, all right, maybe there are a few things that need fixing and sorting out. But I simply don't have the time to work out what needs doing, and when, and how. So that's that.' As though to punctuate his decision, he scratched a lucifer to light his lamp, but the match head broke off and flew hissing onto the pile of receipts he was copying into his account book. He jumped up and slapped it out with his hand, giving himself a painful little blister. 'I can't afford any help! That's all there is to it!'
'I understand, sir.' Matthew nodded gravely, his brow knit, as though hefting Mr. Kane's problem in his mind. Then: 'What would you say to me looking things over and deciding for myself what jobs need being done? That way you wouldn't have to waste time working up a list or anything, and you could just come look at the work when it's finished and tell me if it's good enough. And as for pay…? Well, I'll just do the job, and you pay me whatever you think it's worth. And if you don't have the money to hand, well, you can pay me when you do. Now, I honestly can't think how I can offer any fairer than that, sir, but if you've got some other way we could work things out, it'd be just fine with me.' He waited respectfully to hear what this other way might be.
Ruth Lillian donned her most concerned expression and waited too, watching her father with a glint of amusement in her eyes.
Mr. Kane touched his blistered finger with the tip of his tongue and blew the wet spot cool. Then he drew a long sigh.
He later realized, with some irritation, he never did hire Matthew. Not in so many words, anyway. He just growled and returned to his accounts. Ruth Lillian scratched a lucifer and lit his lamp for him, and Matthew asked her if they had any drippings up in the kitchen, because there was nothing better for a burn than drippings.
Although, of course, butter would do, too.
In a pinch.
AFTER SHARING THE KANES' supper, Matthew insisted on helping Ruth Lillian wash the dishes. He turned from the draining board to explain to Mr. Kane that he always used to do the dishes for his ma when she was tired or when she'd been… well, she wasn't feeling well.
Later, as they sat around the table, coffee mugs between their hands and the kerosene lamp in the middle, flat-lighting their faces and throwing their shadows against the walls behind them, Matthew asked Mr. Kane intelligent, insightful questions about the running of a general store. The thoughtful tone of his questions and the rapt expression with which he absorbed the responses drew the best out of Mr. Kane who, before bitterness had soured him, used to like nothing better than talking late into the night with cronies. Occasionally, Matthew glanced across at Ruth Lillian, who was only half listening to her father's rambling, excessively detailed explanations. Her eyelashes were lowered, and she was adrift in some daydream. The lamplight burnished her high-piled cupric hair, and Matthew knew there was no more beautiful girl in the world. This was the sort of girl the Ringo Kid helped when she was in trouble, and he never asked anything in return, because he was only doing what any real man would do in the circumstances.
That night, Matthew slept on the counter down in the shop, beneath a four-tail Hudson Bay blanket Ruth Lillian had taken out of stock. He woke twice during the night, intensely aware of the girl sleeping above him.
LONG BEFORE MR. KANE started making breakfast for himself and his daughter, Matthew had folded up his Hudson Bay blanket and returned it to the shelf, then slipped out to explore the abandoned buildings of the sleeping town before going to the Traveller's Welcome, where he found Jeff Calder stumping around the kitchen. He had started early to make breakfast for the girls and Mr. Delanny to show that he didn't need no help! Matthew was careful not to get under his taskmaster's feet, while at the same time being cheerfully helpful. Rustling up breakfast shouldn't have been a complicated matter, for it consisted simply of coffee, bacon, and canned beans; but the first boiled over, the second burnt, and the third had to be served tepid because in all the years Jeff Calder had been battling the smoky Dayton Imperial stove, he had never got the hang of the goddamned-useless-sonofabitchin' thing! Matthew knew how to stop the stove from smoking by adjusting the air intake, because he had often had to cook when his ma wasn't up to it, but he also knew that it would be a mistake to show Jeff Calder up, so he just watched the old soldier fuss and fidget and cuss. Every once in a while Matthew would mutter things like 'So that's where you keep the mugs,' or 'Yes, sir, I think I got the idea,' or 'I'll remember that, so's I'll be able to get everything tomorrow morning.'
Following Jeff Calder's curt instructions, Matthew set up three places for the girls out in the barroom, and one place at a distant table for Mr. Delanny, who was strict about maintaining his distance and dignity. He experienced again the clogging thickness that the stench of whiskey always brought to the back of his throat, but this was soon supplanted by the smell of charred bacon, which drew the girls down early, and Matthew hurried to carry their breakfasts in, saying a bright good-morning to each in turn as he set down her plate of beans and bacon. They hadn't bothered to do more than put on wraps and flick a little water into their puffy, wear-stained eyes.
'Well, look what the cat drug in,' Queeny snorted with a husky laugh that caught in her throat and made her cough wetly over her first cigar of the day.
'I'm the new help,' Matthew said, snatching his eyes from Queeny's half-revealed breasts so quickly that he inadvertently settled them on Frenchy's-oops-then away quickly to her face, but he didn't want her to think he was staring at the rumpled scar that tugged her right eye toward the corner of her mouth, so he lowered his eyes to her breasts again-oops-then glanced quickly over at Chinky, whose breasts (thank God) were small and didn't bulge out of her loose wrap. Having followed this maladroit display with her slippery yellow eyes, Frenchy sniffed and shook her head dismissively.
'Well?' Queeny demanded. 'You going to bring us our coffee, or are you just going to stare at our udders?'
Matthew swallowed but maintained his aplomb. 'Coffee coming right up, ma'am.' He stopped at the door and turned back with a boyish grin. 'But such fine udders are a terrible distraction to a poor country boy.'
Queeny hooted with laughter, Frenchy smiled, and Chinky wondered what they were talking about.
Having come down to the barroom during this exchange, Mr. Delanny shook his head and smiled thinly. A natural con, that boy.
After he finished washing the dishes and sweeping the kitchen, Matthew found Jeff Calder fiddling around behind the bar and Mr. Delanny setting out a hand of solitaire. 'Well, I guess that's about all, Mr. Calder. Thanks for showing me the ropes. I think I'll be able to manage breakfast by myself tomorrow.'
'I ain't sure I want you managing any-'
'Oh, excuse me, sir, there's something I want to ask before I forget. Tomorrow, should I set your place with Mr. Delanny, or at a table of your own?'
'What? Ah, well… ah… well, I suppose a table of my own will do good enough.' He hadn't anticipated being served breakfast from now on. Well, now!
'Good luck in your game, Mr. Delanny,' Matthew said brightly as he left.
The gambler nodded without looking up from his layout. 'You too, boy.'
BY THE TIME HE had scrubbed the bath barrels until the wood was furry, it was past noon, and Matthew was damp with soapy water and sweat. After washing up and putting his shirt back on, he went into the barbershop to tell Professor Murphy, who was dozing in a shaft of sunlight, that he'd be back to sweep out later that afternoon. 'Meantime, sir, would you mind taking a gander at the tubs- when you find the time, that is? Tell me if they're done to your liking.'
When he came down to reopen the Mercantile after dinner, Mr. Kane found Matthew sitting on the porch.
