Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [186]
“Yes,” Roland said. “All right.”
“I hate this,” Jake said morosely.
Roland said, “So do I.”
Three
Eddie was sittin and whittlin on the Jaffordses’ porch, listening to some confused story of Gran-pere’s and nodding in what he hoped were the right places, when Roland and Jake rode up. Eddie put away his knife and sauntered down the steps to meet them, calling back over his shoulder for Suze.
He felt extraordinarily good this morning. His fears of the night before had blown away, as our most extravagant night-fears often do; like the Pere’s Type One and Type Two vampires, those fears seemed especially allergic to daylight. For one thing, all the Jaffords children had been present and accounted for at breakfast. For another, there was indeed a shoat missing from the barn. Tian had asked Eddie and Susannah if they’d heard anything in the night, and nodded with gloomy satisfaction when both of them shook their heads.
“Aye. The mutie strains’ve mostly run out in our part of the world, but not in the north. There are packs of wild dogs that come down every fall. Two weeks ago they was likely in Calla Amity; next week we’ll be shed of em and they’ll be Calla Lockwood’s problem. Silent, they are. It’s not quiet I mean, but mute. Nothin in here.” Tian patted a hand against his throat. “Sides, it ain’t like they didn’t do me at least some good. I found a hell of a big barn-rat out there. Dead as a rock. One of em tore its head almost clean off.”
“Nasty,” Hedda had said, pushing her bowl away with a theatrical grimace.
“You eat that porridge, miss,” Zalia said. “It’ll warm’ee while you’re hanging out the clothes.”
“Maw-Maw, why-y-yy?”
Eddie had caught Susannah’s eye and tipped her a wink. She winked back, and everything was all right. Okay, so she’d done a little wandering in the night. Had a little midnight snack. Buried the leavings. And yes, this business of her being pregnant had to be addressed. Of course it did. But it would come out all right, Eddie felt sure of it. And by daylight, the idea that Susannah could ever hurt a child seemed flat-out ridiculous.
“Hile, Roland. Jake.” Eddie turned to where Zalia had come out onto the porch. She dropped a curtsy. Roland took off his hat, held it out to her, and then put it back on.
“Sai,” he asked her, “you stand with your husband in the matter of fighting the Wolves, aye?”
She sighed, but her gaze was steady enough. “I do, gunslinger.”
“Do you ask aid and succor?”
The question was spoken without ostentation—almost conversationally, in fact—but Eddie felt his heart gave a lurch, and when Susannah’s hand crept into his, he squeezed it. Here was the third question, the key question, and it hadn’t been asked of the Calla’s big farmer, big rancher, or big businessman. It had been asked of a sodbuster’s wife with her mousy brown hair pulled back in a bun, a smallhold farmer’s wife whose skin, although naturally dark, had even so cracked and coarsened from too much sun, whose housedress had been faded by many washings. And it was right that it should be so, perfectly right. Because the soul of Calla Bryn Sturgis was in four dozen smallhold farms just like this, Eddie reckoned. Let Zalia Jaffords speak for all of them. Why the hell not?
“I seek it and say thankya,” she told him simply. “Lord God and Man Jesus bless you and yours.”
Roland nodded as if he’d been doing no more than passing the time of day. “Margaret Eisenhart showed me something.”
“Did she?” Zalia asked, and smiled slightly. Tian came plodding around the corner, looking tired and sweaty, although it was only nine in the morning. Over one shoulder was a busted piece of harness. He wished Roland and Jake a good day, then stood by his wife, a hand around her waist and resting on her hip.
“Aye, and told us the tale of Lady Oriza and Gray Dick.”
“ ’Tis a fine tale,” she said.
“It is,” Roland said. “I’ll not fence, lady-sai. Will’ee come out on the line with your dish when the time comes?”
Tian’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked at his wife like a man who has