Page 50 of The Widow and the Wanted

He looks pleased with himself when he says, “I ain’t never seen Okee scared of nothin’. Except”—He darts a look at me and smirks—“maybe this little general here.”

“General?” I repeat.

Boone’s grin widens before he throws a playful salute. “Marches in and starts givin’ orders. ‘Quit swingin’ around.’ ‘Button your coat.’ Next she’ll have us standin’ inspection.”

I feel my mouth twitch despite myself. “If I were a general, you’d be in irons for insubordination.”

“Told you. Everything’s gotta be your way. That’s the problem with you educated folk,” Boone says, wagging his head like he’s sorrowful for me and Okee both. “Always thinkin’ there’s a right way to breathe.”

“There is,” Okee murmurs. “Through your nose. Quietly.”

Boone makes an offended sound and sits back, but his eyes stay bright with mischief. He taps the paper with a knuckle. “All right then. We do it your way, wild, since you know so much. You ask your spirits a question. I’ll take full responsibility if a dead bastard climbs out of the wall and starts causin’ trouble.”

“Fine then,” I say, turning to Boone. “Would you care to partake in a game of planchette?”

Boone offers another a lazy salute and sets the tip of his middle finger on the penny, his hand a map of veins and sinews.

I start. “Are there any spirits present who wish to make themselves known?”

The candlelight flickers. Okee sits back with his arms crossed, shaking his head. Boone and I hover over the penny, our fingertips barely grazing it. Boone’s eyes are rimmed red, his usual sleepy expression gone heavier with whiskey. In the unsteady light, I can scarcely tell whether his eyes are open at all, until he grins and the dimple in his cheek catches the candle glow. The penny begins to move. It glides slow and certain to the left, toward the word yes, still written in Mary’s neat hand. Boone perks up at once. “Ope, we hooked us a haint, y’all,” he announces, far too loudly.

“Shhh,” Okee says. “Mercy, this cabin is too small for you to be shouting.” He casts Boone a long, dry look. “And I doubt very much any spirit you communicate with would appreciate being likened to a mackerel.”

I clear my throat. “Can you tell us if the men who left those tracks outside mean to harm us?” It slips sideways swiftly.

YES →

We stare at it a moment. Boone cracks his knuckles and loosens his shoulders.

“All right, spirit,” he slurs. “If you’re real and ain’t just us sittin’ here playin’ with our own fingers—answer me this.” He pauses, eyes flicking to mine with that dangerous glint. “What do you figure we ought to do now that we’re snowed in, gettin’ on each other’s nerves?”

Okee raises an eyebrow as the penny glides—smooth, quick, no hesitation.

F →

U →

The penny stops, and I announce it aloud as I scribble the first letter down, then the second. Our fingertips touch, resting on the coin. It immediately slides down.

C →

It’s only then that the shape of it settles into sense. I pause, pen hovering, then let out a short breath.

“Oh, honestly,” I say.

“Boone,” Okee scolds. Boone’s already laughing—head thrown back, booming, chair creaking under him. “What’s the matter?” he says. “Let’s see what the spirit’s fixin’ to say.”

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. The half word sits there on the paper like a child’s prank, bold and foolish. I lift my finger away from the penny.

Boone leans forward, eyes bright. “Come on now, little general. Don’t quit. Haint’s got somethin’ to say.”

“Come on. Don’t spoil the fun. Ask something true.”

“Fine,” he says, finger poised on the edge of the penny. Okee watches intently for a man who has chosen not to participate. “Oh, spirits and haints of the afterlife, where we headin’ after all this?”

The cabin goes still.

The penny does not move at first.