Read Online Bitter Creek by Peter Bowen - Free Book Online Page A

“They went to the cathedral for Christmas Mass. She remembers that, and she would have remembered moving a long distance, because it was cold and hard to do. …”
    Du Pré nodded.
    â€œIt makes sense,” said Pidgeon. “They would have tried to get to Fort Belknap, where they would have known people. Now if we just knew where, exactly, Pershing and his men were day by day. …”
    â€œPatchen is looking,” said Du Pré. “In Washington.” He roared up the long rise to the bench road and he turned left and speeded up.
    The turnoff to Bart’s big house was a few miles down. Du Pré stopped and Pidgeon got out and checked the mailbox. She came back with an armload of envelopes.
    â€œNinety percent crap,” she said, dumping the pile in the backseat.
    Du Pré pulled up to the main house.
    Bart was standing out on the porch, holding a glass of soda.
    Pidgeon got out and she fished the mail from the backseat. She pecked Bart on the cheek as she went by.
    â€œGIT, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Booger Tom yelled. He was out of sight behind the machine shed.
    â€œI think the finest thing I may have ever done is get those water buffalo,” said Bart. “It has taken years from Booger Tom’s face. He looks barely forty, though quite purple most of the time.”
    â€œGODDAMNIT, YA CUD-CHEWING BASTARD, GIT OUTTA THERE,” Booger Tom yelled.
    â€œSo,” said Bart, “when do you take her to see if you can find that place? I will help in any way that I can, just don’t ask me to go and dig up bones. …”
    Du Pré laughed.
    â€œYou and Benny,” he said. “He has to call me, he has someone dead in a traffic accident.”
    â€œI understand,” said Bart.
    Du Pré drove back down the foothills to Toussaint. He parked at the saloon.
    Madelaine was inside, sitting on her stool behind the bar, looking intently at her beadwork. “Du Pré,” she said, “that poor old woman is living, all those savages?”
    â€œThey love her,” said Du Pré. “They are not very savage.”
    â€œAmalie is from another time,” said Madelaine. “They want to know about that. All those kids want to know things, they are a good bunch.”
    â€œI like them,” said Du Pré, “farther away I am. Maybe one day they pack up, tear me to pieces like wolves. …”
    â€œYou love them too much,” said Madelaine. “So many of them, it is hard for you. …” She laughed.
    Du Pré went behind the bar, mixed himself a ditch. “I take her tomorrow, we go and look where I think she was,” said Du Pré.
    â€œHow you figure that out?” said Madelaine.
    â€œMaybe I don’t,” said Du Pré, “but we got to start.”
    â€œLong time gone,” said Madelaine.
    â€œThat Pidgeon, she ask good questions,” said Du Pré.
    â€œThey live on Moccasin Flat?” said Madelaine. “Helena, where the airport is now?”
    Du Pré nodded.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Madelaine. “Didn’t used, live there winter, too much wind, went to Great Falls.”
    Du Pré nodded.
    â€œWhat was the weather, 1910?” said Madelaine.
    Du Pré looked at her.
    â€œPallas find it on the computer,” said Madelaine. “She find anything on the computer.”
    Du Pré looked at his watch.
    â€œI be here another three hours,” said Madelaine.
    Du Pré drove to Jacqueline’s and he parked and walked round to the backyard. Amalie was not there, but Pallas was, sitting in a folding chair under the lilacs. She had a book open on her lap. “You are not riding your horse,” said Du Pré.
    â€œLittle warm for him now,” said Pallas. “Lourdes and I, we ride later; I am studying a little …”
    Du Pré glanced at the book.
    â€œPoetry,” said Pallas, “different people. Some of it is good.