taming.”
“Don’t do this.”
“If he doesn’t want to,” Asa said, “leave him be. He’s a grown man now, as he keeps reminding us.”
Noona placed a hand on her brother’s arm. “If you won’t do it for him, do it for me.”
“I hate you,” Byron said.
“Twenty-three hundred,” she said again.
“I’m not you, sis. I don’t like blowing people’s brains out anymore.”
“I’ll help Pa blow out the brains if that’s what bothering you. I just want your company.”
Byron stepped to the window and stared down at the street, and sighed. “‘But ever and anon of griefs subdued there comes a token like a Scorpion’s sting,’” he quoted.
“Is that a yes or a no?” asked Noona.
“I’ll go,” Byron said. “For you, not for him. But I won’t kill. I am done with killing, now and forever. Whatever else I can do, I will.”
Noona grinned, went over, and pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Honestly, boy,” Asa said, rising. “You are gloom itself. We’ve done this how many times? We’ll take the usual precautions.”
“Nothing will go wrong,” Noona said.
“I hope not,” Byron said and turned to Asa. “But if it does, I have your epitaph.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Listen,” Byron said, and quoted with, “‘Thy days are done, thy strains begun. Thy country’s strains record the triumphs of her chosen Son, the slaughters of his sword. The deeds he did, the fields he won, the freedoms he restored.’”
“I just don’t understand you sometimes,” Asa said.
“Enough of that.” Noona raised her hand as if she held a glass. “To Colorado,” she said happily, “and the last hurrah of the Delawares.”
30
T hey took a train to Denver. Or, rather, a series of trains, since they had to switch a couple of times. It was only possible because earlier that year the Fort Worth and Denver Railway had completed their line and commenced service.
Noona was delighted. Usually they rode horseback to the next town or took stagecoaches if it was far off. She liked to ride a horse but not for days at a time, and she could only take the confines of a bouncing stage for so long before she wanted to jump out.
The train cars swayed a little now and then, and there was the constant chug of the engine and the clack of the rails, but all in all, it was as comfortable as could be compared to horseback and a stage.
“This is grand,” she said as they took their seats in the dining car. “This is awful grand.”
“Unusual for you,” Byron said to Asa, almost as if it were an accusation.
“If it’s to be our last time together,” Asa said, “we might as well make it special.”
“No if,” Byron said. “It is.”
“What will you do? How will you make a living?”
“I don’t know yet,” Byron said, “but anything is better than blowing out brains.”
“Not that again.”
Noona smacked the table so hard, their glasses of water shook. “No, you don’t. I won’t put up with it. Byron, you keep what’s eating you to yourself. Pa, don’t bring up how he feels. We’re going to get along if it kills us.”
“Fine by me, daughter,” Asa said.
“Byron?” Noona said.
“‘ ’Tis a base abandonment of reason to resign our right of thought.’”
“Another of your quotes,” Noona said. “Cut down on those, too. You only do it to show off.”
“Oh, sis.”
“Just because you can memorize more words than anybody doesn’t mean you rub our noses in it.”
“I recite it because I like it.”
“Be that as it may. Half the time I don’t know what in blazes you’re saying, and more often than not it sets Pa off.”
“That’s not my intent.”
“Besides,” Noona said, “that precious poet of yours died, what, over sixty years ago? Not much he said matters today.”
Byron reacted as if she had thrust a blade between his ribs. “You can’t be serious. Lord Byron will be read for a
“Don’t do this.”
“If he doesn’t want to,” Asa said, “leave him be. He’s a grown man now, as he keeps reminding us.”
Noona placed a hand on her brother’s arm. “If you won’t do it for him, do it for me.”
“I hate you,” Byron said.
“Twenty-three hundred,” she said again.
“I’m not you, sis. I don’t like blowing people’s brains out anymore.”
“I’ll help Pa blow out the brains if that’s what bothering you. I just want your company.”
Byron stepped to the window and stared down at the street, and sighed. “‘But ever and anon of griefs subdued there comes a token like a Scorpion’s sting,’” he quoted.
“Is that a yes or a no?” asked Noona.
“I’ll go,” Byron said. “For you, not for him. But I won’t kill. I am done with killing, now and forever. Whatever else I can do, I will.”
Noona grinned, went over, and pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Honestly, boy,” Asa said, rising. “You are gloom itself. We’ve done this how many times? We’ll take the usual precautions.”
“Nothing will go wrong,” Noona said.
“I hope not,” Byron said and turned to Asa. “But if it does, I have your epitaph.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Listen,” Byron said, and quoted with, “‘Thy days are done, thy strains begun. Thy country’s strains record the triumphs of her chosen Son, the slaughters of his sword. The deeds he did, the fields he won, the freedoms he restored.’”
“I just don’t understand you sometimes,” Asa said.
“Enough of that.” Noona raised her hand as if she held a glass. “To Colorado,” she said happily, “and the last hurrah of the Delawares.”
30
T hey took a train to Denver. Or, rather, a series of trains, since they had to switch a couple of times. It was only possible because earlier that year the Fort Worth and Denver Railway had completed their line and commenced service.
Noona was delighted. Usually they rode horseback to the next town or took stagecoaches if it was far off. She liked to ride a horse but not for days at a time, and she could only take the confines of a bouncing stage for so long before she wanted to jump out.
The train cars swayed a little now and then, and there was the constant chug of the engine and the clack of the rails, but all in all, it was as comfortable as could be compared to horseback and a stage.
“This is grand,” she said as they took their seats in the dining car. “This is awful grand.”
“Unusual for you,” Byron said to Asa, almost as if it were an accusation.
“If it’s to be our last time together,” Asa said, “we might as well make it special.”
“No if,” Byron said. “It is.”
“What will you do? How will you make a living?”
“I don’t know yet,” Byron said, “but anything is better than blowing out brains.”
“Not that again.”
Noona smacked the table so hard, their glasses of water shook. “No, you don’t. I won’t put up with it. Byron, you keep what’s eating you to yourself. Pa, don’t bring up how he feels. We’re going to get along if it kills us.”
“Fine by me, daughter,” Asa said.
“Byron?” Noona said.
“‘ ’Tis a base abandonment of reason to resign our right of thought.’”
“Another of your quotes,” Noona said. “Cut down on those, too. You only do it to show off.”
“Oh, sis.”
“Just because you can memorize more words than anybody doesn’t mean you rub our noses in it.”
“I recite it because I like it.”
“Be that as it may. Half the time I don’t know what in blazes you’re saying, and more often than not it sets Pa off.”
“That’s not my intent.”
“Besides,” Noona said, “that precious poet of yours died, what, over sixty years ago? Not much he said matters today.”
Byron reacted as if she had thrust a blade between his ribs. “You can’t be serious. Lord Byron will be read for a
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