Starfish_ A Novel - James Crowley [5]
“I’m guessing that the old chief had a little too much firewater,” a familiar voice said.
Lionel looked up into the bad teeth and scraggly beard of Jenkins’s running buddy, Private Samuel Lumpkin. “That about right, boy?” Lumpkin continued.
Under different circumstances Lumpkin and Jenkins might not have been friends, but years in the service on the plains had brought them together, and their general disrespect for everything, including themselves, had solidified the deal. Lumpkin knelt down and wrested the bottle from the Frozen Man’s hand.
“Spoils of war,” Lumpkin said. But as he stood, he startled. on the fence directly in front of him sat Beatrice.
Beatrice looked Lumpkin in the eye with an unnerving intensity. Lumpkin took a step back, still holding the bottle.
“Who in the hell are you?” he asked, collecting himself.
“Beatrice,” she answered, her voice steady.
Jenkins took a step toward Beatrice, the Frozen Man still in prayer at his feet.
“Beatrice, huh?” Jenkins slurred. “Well, Beatrice, as I was tellin’ yer young schoolmate here, this is our li’l secret.”
Ulysses continued to nervously shift and move about the corral behind Beatrice. A bugle blew in the background, which was soon followed by the ringing of Brother Finn’s bell. Lionel watched as the children made their way into the chapel, but he knew that his sister would remain where she was, sitting on the rail. She would wait to make sure that the two soldiers didn’t do anything more to disrespect the corpse.
“You heard the bell, git!” Jenkins shouted.
Beatrice didn’t move, so Lionel didn’t move.
Jenkins took another step closer to Beatrice, his hand on the beaded sheath of the knife that he had stolen from the Frozen Man.
“What’s a matter with this one? Don’t she speak English?” Jenkins asked, turning to Lumpkin, then back to Beatrice. “You deaf? Hard of hearing?”
Jenkins reached out, grabbing a firm hold of Beatrice’s patchwork jacket. Beatrice still didn’t move, but Ulysses did. The big horse reared back on his hind legs, then rushed the fence, almost ramming it with his head. Private Lumpkin jumped back, knocking Lionel to the ground.
Beatrice remained calmly perched on the fence as though she alone were in control of Ulysses, her own personal cyclone. Sergeant Jenkins hadn’t moved either, which seemed to inspire Ulysses to rear back on his hind legs again and paw viciously at the air. The commotion had drawn the attention of Brother Finn, who now stood at the open door.
“What is this?” Brother Finn inquired. “Sergeant, what’s going on here?”
“Just another Injun, Monsignor,” Lumpkin answered. “But this one’s real drunk.”
“Private, I’ve told you before I am not the Monsignor. Brother Finn will do.” He hurried to the Frozen Man and knelt down to feel his forehead.
Jenkins’s and Beatrice’s eyes were locked. Up on the hill, Lionel saw the captain appear on the porch of his residence.
“Drunk? My Lord and Savior, Private, this man is dead.” Flustered, Brother Finn released the Frozen Man. “Alright, you two. Let’s go. Time for Mass. we’ll have to say a prayer for this poor soul.”
Beatrice jumped down from the fence, still eyeing Lumpkin and Jenkins. More soldiers gathered as Brother Finn urged Lionel and Beatrice toward the chapel. The captain turned back to his quarters, and a soldier entered the corral and tried to calm Ulysses, who still paced, snorting and kicking at the air.
“Don’t worry, Brother Finn. we’ll see that the man gets a proper Christian burial,” Jenkins said. “Whether the heathen deserves it or not.”
Brother Finn nodded and continued toward the steps.
“Oh, and Be-a-trice,” Jenkins went on, “why don’t you come see me after Mass. You’re wearin’ your hair a tad bit longer than current regulations.”
Lionel saw Jenkins give Beatrice a scalping sign behind Brother Finn’s back. Beatrice eyed Jenkins all the way to and up the stairs of the chapel.
“Who in the hell does that creepy little Injun think she is?” Lionel heard Lumpkin shout.