Davy slipped from the inn and scampered down a dark dusty pathway toward whale oil lit lamps flickering in distant windows. Being out late at night was not a new experience for him, but this was the first time he was not conscious of sounds of the forest around him, no owls hooting, no crickets chirping, no wolves howling and no mysterious crunching in the underbrush. His nose could not detect the smell of the pines, the musty aroma of decomposing fallen trees and no scents of animals marking their territory.
Turning down a wider, better illuminated lane Davy stopped to stare at the merchandise in the windows of shops. One display was of bowls, plates and utensils of a metal that looked like pewter but was much shinier. In the next window down he examined stacks of coats, shirts and breeches that made his new clothes look shabby. Davy looked at his jacket and trousers, trying to smooth out the wrinkles but to no avail. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed new shoes and boots, many of them made of glossy leather. How did they make them like that?
He walked to the open door of one place and looked in to see a smoke-filled tavern with strangely dressed men. Smiling to himself, Davy wondered if they were sailors. He had always wanted to meet sailors and see ships with their big sails.
“Hey! Boy!” A man carrying a tray of mugs yelled, “Git outta here! Go home to your mama!”
The man laughed as Davy ran down the street where he was drawn to another doorway, from which emanated a strong aroma of grilling steak, reminding Davy he was still famished. Meyers did not like to give him food, alluding to the evils of gluttony as described in the Good Book. Peeking into this tavern Davy noticed the atmosphere was just as dank with tobacco fumes but the customers were better dressed than the fellows in the first establishment. Some of them even wore powdered wigs and brass buckles on their shoes. Their coats had a bright, expensive sheen to them. They sucked on long pipes that appeared to be made of a different material than the clay used by many of the smokers in the mountains. Several eyes finally locked on him.
“No loitering!”
“Yes, young man, no loitering!”
“Move along or we’ll fetch the authorities!”
As he scurried further down the road he vowed one of these years he was going to be rich, and no one would ever chase him away again. Soft laughter down a small shadowy lane caught his attention, and Davy carefully walked toward a two-story brick residence covered with ivy. As he came closer the door opened, and he stepped back into the shadows, not waiting to be reprimanded another time. A man, dressed like those fellows in the first tavern, staggered out, followed by a plump woman wearing a frilly, loose, thin coat over a silken translucent lacy dress. Suddenly Davy became conscious of the warmth of another body behind him. Whoever this person was, she smelled of gardenias.
“What a pretty boy.”
Davy turned to see a slender young woman, not much taller than he and dressed in a crimson coat with a fox fur collar. When she smiled he saw her rouged lips. He opened his mouth but nothing related to the English language came out.
“No need to be afraid of me, darlin’.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “My, you’re shiverin’. You better come with me.”
Before he could object she slid her arm around his waist to lead him toward the open door. Davy was scared, but her scent kept him from resisting. Just as they reached the door, a massive figure blocked the light.
“Ain’t he a li’l young for you, Lula?” a basso profundo voice boomed.

***

Night enshrouded David’s farm on the Obion River as he his guests disappeared in the dark. He sat, his shoulders hunched, on the side of the pit, whose embers waned. His mind was blank from numbing fatigue, a new sensation he never experienced before his hair became tinged with gray. David was too tired to think anything. William walked up and sat beside him, staying silent for a long moment.
“I meant it, you know.”
“Meant what?” As soon as the words left his mouth, David remembered what his nephew meant. William was going to Texas with him.
“Goin’ to Texas.” He paused. “Uncle Abner, too. The others I don’t know, but we meant it.”
“I know.”
“When pa died, you and Aunt Elizabeth was good to me. You was like a father to me. In fact, if I couldn’t have my own pa, I’d rather have you than anybody else I know.”
“Thank you.” David could not say more. If he did he would cry. He was almost fifty years old, way too old to cry.
David and William spent a few moments staring at the emerging stars.
“John Wesley feels the same way,” William finally said. “I know he does. He’s kinda quiet, you know, keeps his thoughts to himself. But he feels—he’s always been good to me like a brother.”
“I know.”
“Robert too,” William continued. “He’s still awful young, you know. Sometimes he don’t understand. For a while there I blamed pa for dyin’ on me. Men ain’t supposed to git sick and die, but now I know better. Sometimes people git sick, and nobody can do nothin’ about it. Like you can’t help wantin’ to go places. Robert will know better, when he grows up some.”
“I know he does.” In truth of fact, David did not know if Robert loved him or not.
“You goin’ by the Gibson County farm before we leave, ain’t you?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“Aunt Elizabeth is a good woman. I like Robert. He’s a hard worker. Sissy is sweet. And everybody loves Matilda. She’s more like you than any of ‘em.”
“That’s a fact.” David laughed as he thought of his youngest daughter.
“I know it ain’t none of my business, but I never understood why you moved to Rutherford Ford and Aunt Elizabeth took the youngin’s to Gibson County.
“I had to take care of ma. I guess after Robert Patton died Elizabeth had had enough of lookin’ after old folks.”
“That don’t sound like her.” William paused. “I’m sorry. It ain’t my place to say nothin’.”
“No, you’re right.” David was too tired to think of another good lie. “She’s a good woman.” He sighed. “I wanted to live here, and she wanted to live there.”
“Like I said, it ain’t none of my business.”
“No, you got a right to know. If you’re goin’ to Texas with me, you got a right to know. It’s jest that I don’t know.”
“Maybe before you leave you ought to find out. I don’t know, but if I had a wife—no disrespect to you, Uncle David—oh forgit it. I ain’t never goin’ to have a wife anyway.”
In the dull glow of the dying fire David examined William’s mottled face, pocked by a bad case of measles, and his yellowed teeth abnormally bucked through his thin lips.
“You have a good heart, son,” he said. “Women care more about that. And a good head.” Swallowing hard he added, “You’re right about your Aunt Elizabeth. I’ll spend October with the family. Then we leave for Texas.”
“Good.” William grinned, his protruding teeth displayed in prominence.
“It ain’t right, about that will, though,” David said, wanting to do something to show his appreciation to his nephew. “What if I provide you with a horse, gear and a rifle for the trip? That should cover the two hundred dollars owed you in your grandpa’s will.”
William’s eyes lit and he leaned over to him David a huge embrace. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”

***

“God, I hate the dry heaves.” Vince staggered into the living room.
Hmph. Our big husky brother isn’t so big and husky anymore.
“Hello, Vince,” Dave said. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well.”
Vince moaned as he eased himself down on the sofa.
“Yeah, I don’t know what got into him.” Lonnie sat in his chair and leaned back. “He don’t never get sick. I can’t remember the last time”—his glance caught the television screen—“why, that was a strike! He shouldn’t have walked him!”
“Are you going to the funeral?” Dave asked.
Vince moaned again.
“I don’t see how he can make it if he don’t feel no better than this.”
“Oh no.” Making a big effort to rise, Vince collapsed back on the sofa. “I’ve got to try to go.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it none,” Lonnie said. “It don’t make no difference.”
“Everyone remembers how sick you got when mom died,” David said. “They’ll understand you’re sick again.”
“Thanks.” Vince sat up with caution, holding his stomach. “I guess that’d be best, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure,” Dave agreed.
“What do you think, Pop?” Vince said.
“If they don’t get rid of that manager they ain’t never going to win a game.”
“No,” Vince said, “about me going to the funeral.”
“You’re going to the funeral? I thought you wasn’t going.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Pop.”
“No need in it,” Lonnie repeated.
Dave watched Vince scrutinize him from his hair to his sports shirt to his khaki-colored trousers.
“Well,” Vince said after a long examination, “it’s been a long time since we’ve seen you.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Waco ain’t that far away,” Vince said.
“I didn’t know I-35 was a one-way street.”
“The Pup got you on that one.” Lonnie erupted with a guffaw.
“I’ve been busy too.” Vince grunted and rolled over on the sofa.
“I was trying to remember how come we started calling you Puppy.” Lonnie put his head in his left hand and wrinkled his brow.
I remember. That jerk there was making fun of me. He said I was saying David Pi’ip, not Phillip. I couldn’t help it if I had a speech impediment, so I bopped him upside the head.
“Mother laughed, saying Allan sounded like he was saying pup,” Dave said. “She said she thought it was cute. Pup.”
“It was Vince,” Lonnie said, taking his hand down from his face.
“It was Allan,” Vince corrected him.
“You always acted like some li’l ol’ puppy dog,” Lonnie said, “so the name jest stuck.”
“Allan never could talk right,” Vince said.
“As I recall,” Lonnie continued, “the Pup couldn’t talk good neither. His mama always had to tell me what he was saying. Like a li’l mush mouth.”
“That’s right,” Vince agreed.
Dave felt Allan’s arm around his shoulder.
Yes, Puppy, you and I are just alike.
Dave shook Allan’s arm from his shoulder and walked to the dark hall. He felt Allan behind him again.
Don’t go there. Bad memories.
Allan was right. Their small bedroom down that hall did hold bad memories of a hot summer night with the moon shining through the window; and yes, a dog was barking. As well as Dave could remember, he was five; Vince was eleven; Allan was seventeen. Allan told him to shut the window because the dog’s barking was keeping him awake. Vince sat up and said no, it was too hot to shut out the breeze. Dave stopped halfway to the window. Again Allan shouted at him to close it right now because that barking was driving him crazy, and Vince growled he had better not if he knew what good for him. As Dave took another step Vince jumped from his bed and choked him. Allan pulled him off. Dave shook his head, not wanting to remember any more, and walked to the back door.
“The backyard,” Dave murmured. He glanced over his shoulder at Vince. “Remember when we used to play ball back there?”
“Yeah, you couldn’t throw a ball right to save your life,” Vince said.
“It seemed so big back then.” He ignored Vince. “I don’t think I quite remember where the playhouse was. Yeah. Under that big oak there. It was the whole world back then.” Dave paused. “I think I’ll walk out in the yard awhile.”
Opening the door, he took one step and fell to the ground with a startled yelp. As Dave rubbed his back he heard his father inside the house.
“Oh. Tell the pup the back porch rotted off.”