Page 88 of Repentance and Absolution
We lay there together in bed, listening to the sounds of the wolves and the crackle of the fire in the stove, and Oscar said, “Well, at least we ain’t camping out on in the open and bein’ chased by outlaws. I reckon we been in sorrier circumstances than this—and everything turned out all right.”
I turned my head and gazed at him.
“That’s true enough,” I said, in a spent, soft voice.
‘All right’ was a subjective term, since I believed that Oscar was still traumatized by what had happened with Spook and Whitlaw. But we’d survived and made it all the way to Port Essington. And we were making a home here, together. No sorry pack of wolves was gonna take that away from us.
I pulled him in and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Oscar Yates. You know that, don’t you?”
He grinned. “I do. And I’m thankful for it every day.”
* * * *
The wolves were still there in the morning. They’d howled off and on all through the night, but we’d been able to sleep in bits. Still, when I peeked out of the curtains at dawn and saw them slinking around, some of them lying in the snow like they had nowhere better to be, my heart sank.
“They’re still there, ain’t they?” Oscar said, peering o’er my shoulder.
“Yep.”
“Git! G’on, you bastards,” he said, his voice at a conversational level. “We ain’t got nothing for you.”
“We’re gonna need to feed the stock and give ’em water. I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”
Oscar must have seen the concern on my face. He put a hand to my shoulder. “Maybe they’ll be gone by lunch time.”
“I hope so.”
We had a chamber pot to piss in, and I supposed we could use a bowl or something for the other if we couldn’t hold it, but neither of us really wanted to do that. We were doing our best to subdue any urges of that sort until we could get to the privy.
We had some cheese and bread for breakfast, and I made coffee, which tasted very civilized and welcome, with the wolves hanging about outdoors. When we were done, I looked around the little place and sighed.
“Well, we might as well do some cleaning and get this shack polished up while we’re stuck inside.”
I held the broom out to Oscar and picked up a rag. Oscar stared at the broom in my hand.
“I think I’d rather take my chances with them wolves.”
“Very funny. Here. Take it.”
He took it, with a look of displeasure on his face like he was touching something distasteful.
“It’s a goddamn broom. It ain’t gonna hurt you.”
“I ain’t so sure about that.”
I stared, perplexed, at him. I’d never met anyone so against doing domestic chores. He was fine in the stables. He’d muck out stalls and shovel shit. He’d done all right when we were traveling. But now that we actually had a small house to live in, he didn’t seem to want any part in keeping it up. I don’t know if t’was because he thought those were women’s jobs or if he simply couldn’t be bothered because he’d never had to take care of his own place before. But t’was getting to be a sore point, and I guess the stress of those wolves had got to me.
“Oscar, for fuck’s sake. I can’t keep this place up by myself. Sure, it’s small and all, but it takes a lot of work to keep a house clean and presentable.”
Oscar wrinkled his nose. “Presentable? Who we gonna present it to?”
I raised my arms like t’was obvious. “Why, anyone who comes o’er. I don’t want people comin’ in here and thinkin’ we live like animals.”
“Well, I don’t think—”
“Oscar, shut your trap and sweep the floor.”
He glared at me. Then he stuck out his tongue.
