Chapter 8 #2
Cutter moved toward him, lingering just over his shoulder. “Not a bad barn you’ve got here. Looks almost too nice for horses.”
“Father Tillman fixed up the front part here,” Ben replied, wishing he didn’t have to speak to Cutter at all but feeling like there was no choice. “That way the older boys could have a place to be away from the orphanage.”
“Ah, yes. The ‘wayward children’ on the sign,” Cutter said with a grinding laugh. “Were you one of them?”
“Yes.” Ben blotted the horse’s wound dry and then searched a nearby wooden shelf for the little tin of ointment they usually used on such injuries. It’d rusted a bit, but the ointment inside was still good.
“I thought that might be the case.” Cutter strutted around the barn, turning his head this way and that, examining every corner. He even looked into the stalls. “Tell me, you haven’t seen a young woman around here lately, have you?”
Ben focused hard on the yellowish goo on his finger as he carefully rubbed it into the horse’s wound. He was about to lie on the Lord’s land, but he’d committed far worse sins than that. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, you’d remember her if you did. About this tall.” Cutter held his hand out just below his shoulder. “Wild, curly hair that goes with her personality. She’s a feisty one, too. Got a mouth on her like no young lady ought to have.”
That was Hattie. Ben had no doubt about it. He hadn’t heard anything particularly untoward out of her mouth, but neither had she acted quite like any other girl Ben had met. She had a wild look in her eyes, and she’d been wary about accepting any help even from a nun and a priest.
Ben didn’t know Hattie well. He didn’t know who she really was or where she was from, but he felt an instinctive urge to protect her. “You men are the first visitors we’ve had in a while.”
“Hm. All right.” Cutter made a few more restless circles through the barn. He seemed content to let everyone else do the work, and yet he didn’t settle down. “Were you in the war?”
The question hit Ben so suddenly that it made him turn and look straight into Cutter’s eyes. They were disturbingly black, far darker than any eyes he’d seen before. They sucked everything in and gave nothing back. “I was,” he finally said.
“I knew it,” Cutter said triumphantly. “I can always tell.”
“How?” Ben felt exposed, as though he’d pulled back his shirt and the top of his trousers to show Cutter his scar. It throbbed painfully, something that always happened when he thought about it too much.
“It’s a look men get in their eyes,” Cutter said slowly, holding Ben’s gaze as he sauntered toward him. “It’s a look that says they’ve seen things, things they never want to see again but which will haunt their dreams from now until the end of time.”
Ben’s heartbeat throbbed, making his entire body pulse along with it. “I was just a courier,” he finally said.
Cutter’s dark brows roved up toward his hatband. “Just a courier? Seems to me like that means you’ve seen more than most, moving from one battlefield to another, always with someone breathing down your neck. Eh?”
Ben was saved from having to answer when Bo let out a bloodcurdling scream. Adam and Stan were holding him firmly, trying to keep his thrashing limbs in check.
Sister Matthews looked over her shoulder at Cutter. “I’ll do what I can to patch him up, but these cuts are deep. He might lose his right eye. You need to get to a real physician before any gangrene sets in.”
“That’s my brother,” Cutter warned. “Don’t you let him die, Sister.”
She pulled a needle and thread from her kit, but her hands were shaking slightly. “I’m doing my best, but truly, you must get him to a doctor.”
Ben put the horse in a stall and went to grab another one. They were all rather occupied by the thicker grass that grew just outside the barn and had patiently waited their turn. He walked up to a deep black horse, and it didn’t flinch when he took its reins.
“That’s my mount.” Cutter had glided out on silent feet after Ben. “I suggest you take good care of him.”
Ben had come to the orphanage for refuge, but it’d quickly turned into another battlefield.
It angered him that Cutter seemed to act as though everyone ought to perform miracles for his benefit.
“Your brother is in bad shape, you know. Sister Matthews can mend cuts and scrapes, and she’s tended plenty of fevers, but there might not be much she can do. ”
Cutter grinned again as he rocked back on his heels. “A little orphan boy goes off to war and comes back as a man. You’re concerned about me, Ben. You don’t like having me here.”
It was no great revelation, as far as Ben was concerned. He stood silently, letting Cutter do the talking.
“Well, now.” Cutter strode over and put his arm around Ben’s shoulders, clutching him tight under his arm and pressing his hand hard into Ben’s bicep.
“Don’t you worry, Ben. If she can heal Bo up with a needle and thread and maybe a few prayers, then we’ll be happy to leave the good people here alone. ”
“And if she can’t?”
Cutter let go of him, shoving him away as he did so. He fished a cigar out of his jacket pocket and bit down on the end of it. “I wouldn’t waste any time worrying about it. With a little bit of luck, you’ll never need to find out.”