The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard - Elmore Leonard [177]
Maddox straightened slightly against the post. “You’re marrying her, you must’ve known she worked at the Casa Grande.”
Calender was suddenly conscious of his boy looking up at him. He said, “Come on, Jim.” And, glancing at Dick Maddox: “We’ve got to move along.”
They started up the street toward the two-story hotel, and Maddox called, “What time’s the wedding?” The man with him laughed. Calender heard them but he didn’t look around.
When they were farther up the street, the boy said, “Who was that man?”
“Maddox is his name,” Calender said. “He used to be old man Granby’s herd boss. Now I guess he works around here.”
They were silent, and then the boy said, “Why’d you get mad when he started talking about her?”
“Who got mad?”
“Well, it looked like it.”
“Most of the time that man doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Will Calender said. “Maybe I looked mad because I had to stand there and be civil while he wasted air.”
“All he said was other people knew her,” the boy said.
“All right, let’s not talk about it any more.”
“I didn’t see anything wrong in that.”
Calender didn’t answer.
“Maybe he was good friends with her.”
Calender turned on the boy suddenly, but his judgment held him, and after a moment he spoke quietly: “I said let’s not talk about it any more.”
But it stayed in his mind, and now there was an urgency inside him, an impatience to meet this woman face to face and try to read there what her past had been. It was strange. From the letters he had never doubted she was anything but a good woman, but now—And with this uncertainty the fear began to grow, the fear that he’d see something on her face, some mark of an easy woman.
Damn Maddox! Why’d he have to say it in front of the boy! But he could be just talking, insinuating what isn’t so, Calender thought. A man like that ought to have his tongue cut out. All he’s good for is drink and talk. Ask old man Granby, he got his bellyful of Maddox and fired him.
They went into the hotel, into the quiet, dim lobby with its high- beamed ceiling. Their eyes lifted to the second-floor balcony which extended all the way around, except for the front side, so that all of the hotel’s eleven rooms looked down on the lobby, where, around the balcony support posts, were cane-bottom Douglas chairs and cuspidors and here and there parts of newspapers. The room was empty, except for the man behind the desk who watched them indifferently. His hair glistened flat on an angle over his forehead, and a matchstick barely showed in the corner of his mouth.
“Miss Conway,” Will Calender said. The name was loud in the high- ceilinged room, and he felt embarrassed hearing himself say it.
“You’re Mr. Calender?”
“That’s right.” Calender thought: How does he know my name? He stared at the room clerk closely. If he starts to grin, I’ll hit him.
“Miss Conway is in number five.” The clerk nodded vaguely up the balcony.
Calender hesitated. “Would she be—up yet?”
The clerk started to grin, and Calender thought: Watch yourself, boy. But the clerk just said, “Why don’t you go up and knock on the door?”
The boy frowned, watching his father climb the stairs and move along the balcony. He was walking funny, like his feet hurt. Maybe she won’t be there, the boy thought hopefully. Maybe she changed her mind. No, she’ll be there. He pictured her coming down the stairs, then smiling and patting his cheek and saying, “So this is Jimmy.” A smile that would be gone and suddenly come back again. “My, but Jimmy is a fine-looking young man. How old are you, Jimmy?” She’ll be fat and smelly like Mrs. Granby and those other ladies down on Yeso Creek. How come all women get so fat? All except Ma. She wasn’t fat and she smelled nice and she never called me Jimmy. He felt a funny feeling remembering his mother, the sound of her voice and the easy way she did things without complaining or getting excited. What did Molly have to have a mother for? She’s gotten