Abandon.
“Yessir.”
“That’s good. It cost a damn sight more than we can afford.”
He lifted the lid and peered into the graniteware pot on top of the stove. The snow had finally melted, tiny bubbles rushing up from the bottom. He took his tin cup down from one of the newspaper-lined shelves above the washbasin and poured the hot water over the old Arbuckle’s grounds. “Christmas mornin, ain’t even got a decent cup a coffee to sip. This is belly wash.” The front door swung open and Bessie stumbled in with two armloads of firewood and a draft of bitter cold. She dropped them on the floor, opened the iron stove, shoved in three logs. “Guess it’s still snowin,” Billy said, noticing the streaks of white in Bessie’s yellow hair.
“Comin down like it got no mind to stop. Dust me off, will ye?”
Billy walked over, brushed the snow off her blankets.
“W-w-w-well, looky what’s under the tree,” he said.
Bessie saw the small package on the flour sack and smiled. “I didn’t think you’d got me nothin.” Bessie draped the blankets over the rocking chair beside the stove and approached the dying spruce.
She lifted the present. “Heavy.”
“C-c-c-c-come over to the bed.” Bessie sat down on the mattress. Harriet crawled over, crouched at her parents’ feet.
Bessie ripped off the old newspaper.
“Holy God, Billy.” What lay in Bessie’s lap amid the torn newspaper was inconceivable, a dream.
“I weighed it,” Billy said. “Twenty-two pounds.”
“Mama, let me see.”
Bessie hoisted the bar of solid gold, the metal freezing cold to the touch, marred with scrapes and tiny chinks, a dully gleaming bronze.
“How much?” she asked.
“Gold’s at twenty dollars and sixty-seven cents a ounce, so you’re holdin more’n seven thousand dollars right there.”
It was more money than Bessie had ever heard of. She began to cry. Billy put his arm around her.
“Where’d you get this?” Bessie asked.
Billy sipped his coffee. The grounds had been used and reused so many times, they barely even colored the water.
“Look at this place.” He waved a hand at their shanty. “We live in squalor,” he said. “Ain’t ye tired of it yet? This floor turnin to mud ever time it rains? Chinks fallin out. They’s goddamn drifts in the kitchen from snow blowin through the walls.”
“Where’d you get it?” Bessie asked again.
“I-I-I-I don’t think ye need to know. We’re rich, Bessie. Concern yourself with that. Oh, and this ain’t the only one.”
“What do you mean?”
He grinned. “That bar’s got a whole mess a brothers and sisters.”
Bessie dropped the bar on the bed and stood up. With her hands, she framed Billy’s acne-speckled face. He’d been trying for a mustache the last six months, but it looked patchy and ridiculous.
“I need to know right now what you done,” she said.
He swatted her hands away.
“What you mean, what I done? I’m providin for my fuckin family.”
“Billy, when you brought the high-grade home from the mine, I didn’t like it, but I let it go. Next thing I know, we got a half ton a ore in the root cellar. I said nothin. But that.” She pointed at the bar of gold. “You take it from the Godsend?”
“What if I told you I found it and—”
“I’d call you a black liar.” He jumped to his feet and grabbed Bessie’s arms and shoved her toward the kitchen.
She crashed into the washbasin and the shelves. A can of condensed milk fell on her head, jars of sugar, long sweetening, flour, and salt shattering on the dirt floor. When Bessie looked up, Billy stood over her, eyes twitching, face bloodred.
Harriet had disappeared under the table, but her crying filled the cabin.Billy ripped the oilcloth off the table, glared at his daughter. “Now you shut that fuckin yap, Harriet! I’m speakin to your mother, and I don’t wanna hear peep one out a you!”
The little girl buried her face in her dress to muffle her sobs.
“Your
“Yessir.”
“That’s good. It cost a damn sight more than we can afford.”
He lifted the lid and peered into the graniteware pot on top of the stove. The snow had finally melted, tiny bubbles rushing up from the bottom. He took his tin cup down from one of the newspaper-lined shelves above the washbasin and poured the hot water over the old Arbuckle’s grounds. “Christmas mornin, ain’t even got a decent cup a coffee to sip. This is belly wash.” The front door swung open and Bessie stumbled in with two armloads of firewood and a draft of bitter cold. She dropped them on the floor, opened the iron stove, shoved in three logs. “Guess it’s still snowin,” Billy said, noticing the streaks of white in Bessie’s yellow hair.
“Comin down like it got no mind to stop. Dust me off, will ye?”
Billy walked over, brushed the snow off her blankets.
“W-w-w-well, looky what’s under the tree,” he said.
Bessie saw the small package on the flour sack and smiled. “I didn’t think you’d got me nothin.” Bessie draped the blankets over the rocking chair beside the stove and approached the dying spruce.
She lifted the present. “Heavy.”
“C-c-c-c-come over to the bed.” Bessie sat down on the mattress. Harriet crawled over, crouched at her parents’ feet.
Bessie ripped off the old newspaper.
“Holy God, Billy.” What lay in Bessie’s lap amid the torn newspaper was inconceivable, a dream.
“I weighed it,” Billy said. “Twenty-two pounds.”
“Mama, let me see.”
Bessie hoisted the bar of solid gold, the metal freezing cold to the touch, marred with scrapes and tiny chinks, a dully gleaming bronze.
“How much?” she asked.
“Gold’s at twenty dollars and sixty-seven cents a ounce, so you’re holdin more’n seven thousand dollars right there.”
It was more money than Bessie had ever heard of. She began to cry. Billy put his arm around her.
“Where’d you get this?” Bessie asked.
Billy sipped his coffee. The grounds had been used and reused so many times, they barely even colored the water.
“Look at this place.” He waved a hand at their shanty. “We live in squalor,” he said. “Ain’t ye tired of it yet? This floor turnin to mud ever time it rains? Chinks fallin out. They’s goddamn drifts in the kitchen from snow blowin through the walls.”
“Where’d you get it?” Bessie asked again.
“I-I-I-I don’t think ye need to know. We’re rich, Bessie. Concern yourself with that. Oh, and this ain’t the only one.”
“What do you mean?”
He grinned. “That bar’s got a whole mess a brothers and sisters.”
Bessie dropped the bar on the bed and stood up. With her hands, she framed Billy’s acne-speckled face. He’d been trying for a mustache the last six months, but it looked patchy and ridiculous.
“I need to know right now what you done,” she said.
He swatted her hands away.
“What you mean, what I done? I’m providin for my fuckin family.”
“Billy, when you brought the high-grade home from the mine, I didn’t like it, but I let it go. Next thing I know, we got a half ton a ore in the root cellar. I said nothin. But that.” She pointed at the bar of gold. “You take it from the Godsend?”
“What if I told you I found it and—”
“I’d call you a black liar.” He jumped to his feet and grabbed Bessie’s arms and shoved her toward the kitchen.
She crashed into the washbasin and the shelves. A can of condensed milk fell on her head, jars of sugar, long sweetening, flour, and salt shattering on the dirt floor. When Bessie looked up, Billy stood over her, eyes twitching, face bloodred.
Harriet had disappeared under the table, but her crying filled the cabin.Billy ripped the oilcloth off the table, glared at his daughter. “Now you shut that fuckin yap, Harriet! I’m speakin to your mother, and I don’t wanna hear peep one out a you!”
The little girl buried her face in her dress to muffle her sobs.
“Your
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