Chapter 19
Boone stood at Foster Fairchild's front door with his hat in both hands and tried, with the new bravery that had been growing in him for two nights, to keep his shoulders from going up around his ears.
Mr. Barclay was on the road behind him, in the buggy with Miss King, a polite distance off by the post at the corner. They had said they would wait there until he was done. Boone did not look back. He had to do this part by himself.
He knocked.
A step inside. A hand on the latch. His collar had gone damp at the back. He held his hat so tight the brim bent under his thumbs. Foster opened the door. He had his sleeves rolled up. He had a towel in his other hand. He looked at Boone and did not say anything.
"Mr. Fairchild, sir."
"Keaton."
“I've come to apologize, sir."
"Have you?"
The two words had hooks in them. Boone made his hands stay easy on the hat brim.
"Yes, sir. To you and to your daughter.”
Foster did not step aside from the doorway. He did not step forward, either. He stood in the doorframe with the towel in his hand and waited.
Boone had practiced this in his head all the way in.
He had practiced it in the bunkhouse last night.
He had practiced it at the table this morning with Mrs. Letts pretending not to listen while she stirred the pot.
None of the practice was any use to him now, because Foster Fairchild's face was not the face he had been practicing for.
The face he had been practicing for was angry. The face in front of him was tired.
He set the practiced version down. He took the breath of a boy who was going to speak without it.
"Sir. I asked your daughter Gillie to take a walk with me at night without your permission.
I did it once, last week, at Mr. Wardell's store.
I asked because I like her, and if I had not had the courage to ask then I might never have summoned it.
You heard at Mr. Barclay's rail that I did not lay a hand on her, and that I ran when the shots came.
I am here to say it again at your door, sir, where it ought to have been said first. I did not see her after that night until the day she walked past me on Main, and I did not speak to her then either.
I have not been near her. I had no business asking her without your leave. I am sorry."
Foster did not answer.
"I respect her, Mr. Fairchild. I respect her more than I demonstrated by my conduct. I admire her. She did nothing you have to be ashamed of. She agreed to a walk. Perhaps she shouldn’t have done, but she only did it because she was asked, and the asking was mine.
I would like you to understand that, sir, before any other thing happens in this conversation. "
Foster wiped his hands on the towel, one finger at a time, and said nothing.
Boone made himself go on. "Sir. I have come to ask permission."
"For what?"
"To see Miss Fairchild after church on Sunday."
Foster's jaw set.
“After failing to secure a nighttime assignation with my daughter, you’re here trying to secure a daytime one?”
"Sir. Hear me out. Please."
"Speak."
"I am asking your permission. To walk with Miss Fairchild after church this Sunday.
With your knowledge. In the daylight. From the steps of the church to the corner of Main and back, sir.
No farther than you name. Mr. Barclay or Miss King will walk with us, at whatever distance you set.
From now on, sir, I will conduct myself only as you see fit.
I will not ask a thing of your daughter without coming to your door first. I am asking, sir, for the chance to begin again, in the open, with your name on every step. "
Foster set the towel down on the table by the door. He set his hand on the doorframe. He did not say anything yet.
"Sir, I?—"
“Stop talking."
Boone hushed.
Foster looked at him a full ten seconds. Boone did not look away. He hadn't looked away from anybody in two days, since his name had come clean off the rail of Mr. Barclay's porch, and he wasn't going to start with Foster Fairchild's door.
Foster set his hand flat on the doorframe. He let a breath out through his nose.
"Gillie," Foster said.
The response came from behind Foster, somewhere in the hall. A quiet voice.
"Yes, Pa."
"Come here."
She came to the doorway behind her father and stopped at his elbow, her bonnet in her hands, her eyes on Boone for the first time since the boardwalk outside the milliner's.
Her face was pale, but her eyes were not.
They had a clear light in them that Boone had not seen since the back of the general store.
"You know this boy?”
"Yes, Pa."
Her voice was small and it didn't shake. Boone's chest hurt with how it didn't shake.
"You agreed to walk with him."
"Yes, Pa." Her hands tightened on the bonnet brim.
"You would have lied to my face about it?”
"I have not lied about it, Pa."
Foster's hand came off the doorframe and hung at his side, undecided.
"You didn’t say. A lie by omission is no less a lie.”
“I'm sorry."
Foster looked at his daughter another second. Then he looked at Boone.
“Can either of you tell me why you didn’t come to me about this?”
They were both silent for a moment, then Boone spoke up.
“I didn’t come to you because I feared you’d think I wasn’t good enough to walk with your daughter. A man who doesn’t know me would just see a ranch hand with no home outside of his ranch. I wouldn’t expect you to see my hard work, or my honesty, or the things I’ve proven to the man who pays me.”
“So you chose a path of dishonesty instead?”
“I did, sir. And what makes it worse is that I knowingly encouraged Gillie to embark on the same path. I offer no excuse for that. I can’t truly explain why I made that decision, other than fear of your refusal. I was sure you’d say no, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it.”
Foster regarded them both for another moment.
"Sunday. After church. From the church steps to the corner of Main.
With Mr. Barclay or Miss King at a polite distance.
Not behind a hedge. Not in a buggy. Not past my house.
You will come to my door before the walk and after the walk.
You will say good afternoon and goodbye where I can hear you. Do we have an understanding, Keaton?"
"Yes, sir."
Each term came down like a post going into a hole. Boone would have agreed to a hundred more.
"You will not ask my daughter any further question without my hearing it."
"No, sir."
"You will not be at any willow on any creek with my daughter, in the dark or in the light, in this lifetime or the next. Are we clear?"
"Clear, sir."
Foster looked at him another second. Then he nodded once.
"Good day, Keaton."
"Good day, Mr. Fairchild. Miss Fairchild."
Gillie did not say anything. She lifted her hand, a fraction, at her side, and let it down. Foster closed the door.
Boone stood on the step. He let one breath out, put his hat on, turned, and walked back down the path to the road, where the buggy was waiting at the corner.
Miss King and Mr. Barclay watched him approach.
He did not run the last three steps, because running was what he had been doing all week and he didn't intend to do it again.
He came up to the buggy. He set one hand on the rail.
"It worked," he said.
Miss King smiled. Mr. Barclay smiled. Boone allowed himself, for the first time since the prologue of his own foolish week, to smile back.
“Honesty prevailed. Who saw that coming,” Mr. Barclay said, with a smile.