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“Up the road. Most of them have lost arms or legs or eyes to dynamite. Some have the consumption. They’re called ‘lungers.’”
“I think you should leave here.”
“And go where?”
“Wherever you want. I’m still a fairly well-to-do man.”
“And your wife will have no objection?”
“I control my own finances.”
“That’s not Maggie Bassett’s reputation.”
“Why do you badmouth me, Ruby?”
“Why did you ask about the invalids’ home?”
“It doesn’t seem right these men should be hidden away,” he said.
“Do you want to visit them?”
“Probably not.”
“No one else does, either.”
“Maybe they chose their lot,” he said before he could stop himself.
“They chose to blow up themselves for the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company?”
She was wearing a long pleated green dress with a white blouse she had probably washed in a tub behind the house for the express purpose of eating dinner with him and his son. And now they were arguing. Over what? The misfortune of men for whom they were not accountable.
“I don’t know about these things,” he said.
“Maybe it’s time you learned.”
She had not taken the candy or the bouquet or the whirligig or even acknowledged them.
“I brought y’all these,” he said.
“That’s nice of you.”
“I’m not good at expressing my feelings,” he said. “That’s probably why I’ve committed so many violent deeds in my life. But I flat-out adored you, Ruby.”
“Do you love me now?”
“What do you think? Ishmael was my darling little pal, and you were my darling companion.”
“You want us to move back to Texas?”
“If you like. But I’m legally bound to Maggie. I cain’t change that.”
“I see,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder at Ishmael, who had just come out of his room.
His face lit when he saw Hackberry. “Hi, Big Bud,” he said.
“How you doin’, you little woodchuck?” Hackberry said.
“I’m not a woodchuck.”
