Drunken laughter bled into the street and curdled there. Behind me the reluctant sun sent furious red glares that sliced across the town square. If you had a job you might have called this time "quitting hour," but for most this was the transitional period when drinks turned from desperate to social. No matter how many men occupied the saloon, every man who drank during daylight drank alone. It was only with the relief of the cover of darkness that men could shed the yokes of their respective realities and share a constructed type of joy with their compatriots.
Those slotted double doors flapped closed behind me, just like they always had when I entered. Conversations skidded into oblivion, just as they always did. All eyes were upon me momentarily. I surveyed the room meeting none of them, but focusing on the dark, lacquered bar. It was carved from oak and ran nearly as deep as the rest of the room, stopping shy of a poker table in the back corner. Pa was hidden behind it from the waist down.
"To Lucene!" The cheer came from a modest man at the far end of the bar, his mug thrust high over his head.
"To Lucene!" The chorus seconded his motion and echoed his cheer.
Pa beamed. I laid his plate before him.
"Gentlemen," he announced, "My daughter!"
The applause was thunderous. Many of the men drunkenly stomped their feet rather than relinquish their mugs in service of clapping. The room rumbled, erupted in such a volume it scarcely seemed possible it could all be the work of one room of men, but in the presence of ale cured sorrow cascades of uproar are hardly uncommon. I flashed a smile and gave a quick, but humble curtsy. At this the pitch of the fever soared. A series of whistles cut through the air. Mugs clinked and cracked. Someone howled like a wolf. Pa raised his hands high over his head and the cacophony contracted down into silence. All eyes were now upon him.
"My goodly daughter has kindly brought her dear old Pa some much needed vittles. So if you need your glasses filled either come and get it now, or hold your peace until I can get this down."
Cheers erupted again as the men bellied up to freshen their drinks. One by one, glasses full, men returned to their seats, their conversations, their jokes, their questions and philosophies, their dares and their threats. With their backs turning, all but one forgot me entirely. A lone stranger watched me intently from the poker table. He folded his hand and I pretended not to notice as I turned to Pa.
Pa's charm won him the respect and admiration of all men. I watched the men thank him, shake his hand, exchange jokes. It was my turn to beam. Pa was a farmer by trade, but this was his true calling. He loved people and they loved him. He listened when they spoke, really heard the things they said. He was a shining star in more lives than mine. He poured three fingers of rye into Mr. Greene's glass.
"How's Mrs. Greene?" Pa asked.
"Fat and nosey," Mr. Greene slurred.
"At least you've got your health." Pa and Mr. Greene laughed.
I tipped my head back as I laughed loudly, but my laughter was interrupted by a determined tapping on my shoulder. I turned with cheer still fresh in my face and my heart to face the stranger. His wore his dangerous grin like a weapon. A bolt of lightening dashed from my belly, through my chest and straight into my brain. I said nothing, but fixated on the small black gap in his smile where a tooth used to live.
"It surely was thoughtful of you to bring supper for your daddy. Do you bring supper every evening?" His voice was low, discreet, but direct. His voice was pooling water.
"No." I answered, glancing around me. No one seemed to notice us. "Not every evening. Just when we have enough, or when I haven't seen him in a few days and I miss him."
"And is that the only reason you've ever found yourself here?" He shuffled a deck of cards while he spoke, but looked only at me. I struggled to diagnose his implication.
"Certainly." I answered coolly. "For what other reason would I ever venture into a saloon?" Exempting looking upon devastating, grinning strangers with remarkably well groomed beards, of course.
"Well, that was a mighty fine ovation you just received. Seems like maybe a girl could grow somewhat accustomed to that." The pooling water had a heat underneath it that wouldn't be subdued by his hushed tone.
"Maybe some girls," I countered, "maybe even most girls, but I'm not most girls." I squared my shoulders to him while I spoke.
"No you are not. That I can see." He looked me up and down as though he were some judge, some authority on the matter. "But would this particular girl have another reason for a visit to hear dear old daddy?"
"None," I answered sharply.
"She wouldn't happen to be looking for someone? Perhaps someone new to town? Someone staying here at the Inn?" I had known he would be outspoken, but his confidence was transforming into egotism.
"I suspect you're referring to yourself?" Ice formed in my own voice.
"I'm not naming names."
"How downright egalitarian of you. It is quite a quality you possess. I must admit I'm somewhat relieved. For a moment there I thought you were in danger of being an egotist and a cad, but since you're not naming any names, I guess you've shown me." I slathered my sarcasm thick and wide. He didn't flinch. He just stood there staring and grinning.
"You're not afraid to show your fire. That's refreshing. But you haven't answered my question. Does your honesty pour out of you as liberally as your hostility?"
I do not take kindly to challenges to my integrity, and I take even less kindly to being bullied into vulnerability. My intentions and secrets are my own. I am entitled to change them and my mind at my own tempered will.
"I only came only to speak with Pa and if this conversation continues, I think I would rather leave than endure it. That is true and honest," I said.
"I believe it is," he challenged, "but it's not what I asked you." He allowed his words to fall with great weight down on my head.
"Well then, you are not being clear," I lied. "Do ask again, and let it be the last time you speak."
"I will ask again, and I promise it will not be the last thing you hear me say. I did not ask why you'll stay, now that you are have arrived, but rather, why, specifically, other than bringing supper to 'Pa,' you chose to come here in the first place."
I held his stare as meanly as I could.
"It is hot in our house, and cool on the street. I have not seen or spoken to my father in three days. I missed him. I thought the walk may clear some cobwebs from my mind, and on that point I was decidedly correct." I omitted all else. Honesty be damned.
"And what cobwebs could possibly be clogging up that pretty little head of yours?
"The answer to that, good stranger, is without a doubt, none of your business. I hope you can sleep soundly knowing that is the full and wholesome truth."
Pa came upon us with his characteristically twinkling eyes, ever the innocent.
"Ah, Lucene, I see you've met Daniel. He's the newest addition to Morrison. Good fellow, despite having arrived amid a small controversy. You must understand, Daniel," Pa said addressing the stranger, "Morrison is a very small place and shrinking these days. Any small excitement is likely to be blown up into a mountain from a molehill. It'll pass."
"And what controversy might this be?" I asked eyeing Daniel defiantly. He knew what I knew.
"There was a bit of a misunderstanding," he explained patronizing. "regarding honor. Unfortunately it led to an altercation."
"Honor?" I asked not faking my surprise.
"Honor." He answered. " Honor and integrity are quite important to me."
I squinted at him as though it may help me to see through him, but it didn't. I addressed Pa.
"Pa, we shouldn't keep Daniel from his games. And we shouldn't keep you from your supper." I excused Pa and I from Daniel's hard stare, but the stare followed us as we walked to our table. It was a long time after we sat that Daniel returned to the poker table. He didn't look at me again.
"He's a little odd," Pa said, "but I believe a good boy. I think he'll make a fine addition to town if he can stay out of trouble."
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