Eventide - Kent Haruf [104]
Son, Raymond said. I’m just wondering here, but do you think you would want to help me some? I could use a hand on the weekends.
Doing what?
Doing whatever needs doing. Working around the ranch.
I guess I could.
I’ll give you a call. How about next weekend? How would next Saturday suit you?
It’d suit me fine.
You’d have to get up early.
What time?
Five-thirty. You think you could do that?
Yes sir. I always get up early.
All right. You take care now. Get yourself some sleep. I’ll give you a call next week.
The boy got out and went up to the house. Raymond sat watching him until the door closed, then drove home. He drove out south and by the time he turned off the highway onto the gravel road he was thinking again about Rose Tyler.
41
LUTHER AND BETTY WALLACE WOKE TO A SUDDEN pounding on the front door. Who’s out there? he called.
It’s Donna, Betty said. She come back to us.
Maybe it ain’t her, Luther said.
She climbed out of bed and called: Donna, I’m coming, honey.
They went down the hallway, Luther in his underwear, Betty in her worn yellow nightdress, and when Luther opened the door Hoyt Raines shoved violently into the room.
No! Betty cried. You can’t come in here. Get back.
Shut up, Hoyt said. He stood before them, his face ragged and blood-smeared, his ear still bleeding a little, his eyes glassy. You two are going to help me whether you like it or not. Those sonsabitches over at the tavern—
You get out of here, Luther said. Just get out.
Goddamn you, Hoyt said. He hit Luther in the chest and Luther stepped backward and sat down all at once on the couch. I got no damn place else to go, Hoyt said.
You can’t stay here, Betty said. They won’t allow it.
Shut up. Hoyt took her arm and flung her onto the couch beside her husband. Just sit there, he said. And keep your goddamn mouth shut.
He went across to the kitchen sink and ducked his head under the faucet, soaking his head, the blood running thinly from his face over the dirty dishes, and then he stood blindly, his lank hair dripping, and grabbed a dish towel to wipe at his head and neck. Luther and Betty sat on the couch, watching him.
So, you heard what I said. I’m staying here tonight.
You can’t, Betty said.
I told you to shut up. Now by God, shut your mouth. He glared at her. It won’t be long. Just for tonight. Maybe two nights. I don’t know yet. Now I want both of you to go back to your room and stay there and keep quiet.
What are you going to do? Luther said.
I’m staying in that back room. And you listen to me: I’ll kill you if you try to call somebody. I’ll hear you on the phone. He looked at them. Did you hear what I just said?
They looked back at him.
Did you?
We ain’t suppose to talk, Luther said. You said for us to shut up.
Now I’m saying you can talk. Did you hear what I said would happen if you try and call somebody?
Yes.
What’d I say?
You said you’d kill us.
Remember that, Hoyt said. Now get up from there.
He herded them back to their room and shut the door, then walked down the hall to the last room. When he opened the door Joy Rae was sitting up in bed in her nightgown, one hand cupped over her mouth. He walked across the room and pulled her onto her feet, and when she began to scream he slapped her. Stop that, he said. He pulled her out in the hall and into the next room, where Richie was crouched on the floor in his pajamas, waiting in the dark, as if preparing to run off. But seeing Hoyt with his sister he lost control of himself. The front of his pajamas suddenly went damp.
You stupid little son of a bitch, Hoyt said. He shoved Joy Rae into the room and lifted the little boy by the arm. Look at you. He slapped him. The boy slipped out of his hands and fell on the wet dirty carpet.
Now take those goddamn pants off. Get out of them.
The boy whimpered and pulled off the soaked pajamas. Then Hoyt took out his belt and began to whip him. The boy screamed, squirming wildly on the floor, his thin bare legs kicking, his hands reaching out