brought him closer.
The card players all crowded around. Introductions were made, but none of them really registered with Riley.
“It’s a miracle, that’s what it is!”
“Where have you been keeping yourself all this time, Riley?”
Shaking hands with these people, Riley started to sweat.
Cole eyed him. “Virgil, give us a bottle of the Canadian and two glasses. We’ll take a seat over by the window.”
“I’ve got something even better—I’ve been saving this for really special customers.” He handed Cole a bottle of JamesonIrish whiskey. “This one’s on the house,” Virgil said. “Welcome home, Riley.”
“By God, now that’s a miracle. I never heard Tilly tell anyone that,” someone put in.
Virgil waved an impatient arm at the speaker. “ You come back from the grave, Wilbur, and I’ll let you drink on the house too.”
Cole led them to a table beside a flyspecked window, but everyone came along with them.
“How was it in France? We heard some pretty bad stories about them Huns. Shaw said you’re a hero—that you saved thirty-two men. Everyone in here bought him a drink that day!”
“I knew we could lick them better’n the Frenchies or those Limeys. We won that war for them. And Riley, that wound you got and the cane, they’re like medals,” Virgil said.
An ember of anger began to sizzle in Riley’s gut. He kept his eyes on the whiskey bottle in front of him and his voice low. “I don’t want to talk about any of that.” He knocked back the drink Cole had poured in one hot swallow, then took another.
“All right, all right,” Cole said, “let’s not make Riley fight it all over again. We just came in for a drink.”
“Cole’s right. Back off, boys,” Virgil said. “Give Riley some air. Go back to your cards and drinks.” Then to Riley he added, “We don’t mean to give you a hard time. It’s just that—after what—we’re so glad to see you again—” The man broke off, red-eyed and clearing his throat, to take his place behind the bar again. A loud honk sounded as he blew his nose on the bar towel.
Cole watched him go and then raised his glass to Riley. “You mean a lot to the people around here,” he said in a low voice.
Riley took a deep breath and waited for his nerves to settle. He downed another shot, relieved by the pleasant, fuzzy blur thatran through him and dimmed the constant questions that crossed his mind. “It’s good to know that I wasn’t a jackass.”
Cole laughed. “Only sometimes.”
They sat there drinking and eating peanuts, with Cole giving Riley a rundown about the businesses on the street and who ran them, passing an afternoon that seemed removed from the anxiety he felt at the farm. Then a ratty wreck of a man shambled in, bringing with him a foul combination of odors—an unwashed body, wet and dirty clothes, manure, mildew, stale sweat, and God knew what else. As familiar to Riley as was Susannah’s scent, so was this man’s stench. So very familiar, and yet as with hers, Riley did not know why.
The man shuffled around in place, as if looking to see who might be in here today. His bloodshot eyes fell on Cole’s table and he goggled at them, open-mouthed with surprise, revealing the few rotting teeth that remained in his head.
Riley heard Cole groan under his breath.
“By God, is that Riley Braddock?” He whooped soddenly and made his way to the table. “Cole, we been wonderin’ when you’d bring him by!”
“We’ve been pretty busy, Winks.”
Riley had heard about this man in passing. He was the town drunk and had been involved in some crime with another dodgy sort during the influenza epidemic. The other man was now in jail. The sheriff hadn’t charged this one with anything because he was generally regarded as so pickle-brained as to be almost feeble-minded.
Winks crowded closer—a stinking mess of dirty clothes and slow wits—nearly driving Riley back into the next table, chair and all. “I bet
The card players all crowded around. Introductions were made, but none of them really registered with Riley.
“It’s a miracle, that’s what it is!”
“Where have you been keeping yourself all this time, Riley?”
Shaking hands with these people, Riley started to sweat.
Cole eyed him. “Virgil, give us a bottle of the Canadian and two glasses. We’ll take a seat over by the window.”
“I’ve got something even better—I’ve been saving this for really special customers.” He handed Cole a bottle of JamesonIrish whiskey. “This one’s on the house,” Virgil said. “Welcome home, Riley.”
“By God, now that’s a miracle. I never heard Tilly tell anyone that,” someone put in.
Virgil waved an impatient arm at the speaker. “ You come back from the grave, Wilbur, and I’ll let you drink on the house too.”
Cole led them to a table beside a flyspecked window, but everyone came along with them.
“How was it in France? We heard some pretty bad stories about them Huns. Shaw said you’re a hero—that you saved thirty-two men. Everyone in here bought him a drink that day!”
“I knew we could lick them better’n the Frenchies or those Limeys. We won that war for them. And Riley, that wound you got and the cane, they’re like medals,” Virgil said.
An ember of anger began to sizzle in Riley’s gut. He kept his eyes on the whiskey bottle in front of him and his voice low. “I don’t want to talk about any of that.” He knocked back the drink Cole had poured in one hot swallow, then took another.
“All right, all right,” Cole said, “let’s not make Riley fight it all over again. We just came in for a drink.”
“Cole’s right. Back off, boys,” Virgil said. “Give Riley some air. Go back to your cards and drinks.” Then to Riley he added, “We don’t mean to give you a hard time. It’s just that—after what—we’re so glad to see you again—” The man broke off, red-eyed and clearing his throat, to take his place behind the bar again. A loud honk sounded as he blew his nose on the bar towel.
Cole watched him go and then raised his glass to Riley. “You mean a lot to the people around here,” he said in a low voice.
Riley took a deep breath and waited for his nerves to settle. He downed another shot, relieved by the pleasant, fuzzy blur thatran through him and dimmed the constant questions that crossed his mind. “It’s good to know that I wasn’t a jackass.”
Cole laughed. “Only sometimes.”
They sat there drinking and eating peanuts, with Cole giving Riley a rundown about the businesses on the street and who ran them, passing an afternoon that seemed removed from the anxiety he felt at the farm. Then a ratty wreck of a man shambled in, bringing with him a foul combination of odors—an unwashed body, wet and dirty clothes, manure, mildew, stale sweat, and God knew what else. As familiar to Riley as was Susannah’s scent, so was this man’s stench. So very familiar, and yet as with hers, Riley did not know why.
The man shuffled around in place, as if looking to see who might be in here today. His bloodshot eyes fell on Cole’s table and he goggled at them, open-mouthed with surprise, revealing the few rotting teeth that remained in his head.
Riley heard Cole groan under his breath.
“By God, is that Riley Braddock?” He whooped soddenly and made his way to the table. “Cole, we been wonderin’ when you’d bring him by!”
“We’ve been pretty busy, Winks.”
Riley had heard about this man in passing. He was the town drunk and had been involved in some crime with another dodgy sort during the influenza epidemic. The other man was now in jail. The sheriff hadn’t charged this one with anything because he was generally regarded as so pickle-brained as to be almost feeble-minded.
Winks crowded closer—a stinking mess of dirty clothes and slow wits—nearly driving Riley back into the next table, chair and all. “I bet
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