Read The Western Light for Free Online Page B

glowing.
    â€œPlease tell me about you and my father, Mr. Pilkie.”
    â€œCall me John,” he replied, his eyes softening.
    â€œOkay, Mr. Pilkie.”
    He snorted. “We Pilkies are dogans, eh?” He lifted a gold chain out of his shirt and wiggled its tiny gold cross. I made admiring noises and he tucked away his gold chain and said: “Well, Mary, before Doc Bradford, we only went to Catholic doctors. But when my granddaddy put his fingers too close to the sawmill blade our Catholic doctor wouldn’t come. It was January, and snowing hard. So the sawmill manager phoned Doc Bradford. Your daddy didn’t care about us being dogans or cat-likers, as you Protestants call us, and he didn’t care about the weather, either. If you ask Doc Bradford to come, he comes lickety-split. Everybody knows that. Doc Bradford is our hero, eh? And two hours later your daddy arrived in his sleigh at my grand-daddy’s sawmill. He sewed two of my granddaddy’s fingers back on and closed up the hole on the little one because the saw had chewed it to bits.”
    He bent back his baby finger, and I imagined I was looking at his grandfather’s four-fingered hand.
    â€œAnd then Doc Bradford went back out into the storm,” Sal said. “Can you imagine anything so crazy? He drove the horse and sleigh across the frozen bay.”
    â€œHe was just doing his job, Sal.”
    â€œYou hush up, John,” Sal interjected. “You don’t know this part and I do. I know the nurse who was working in Doc Bradford’s office back then. Doc Bradford lost his bearings.”
    â€œI do so know this part. Her daddy put down his doggy and let it find the way home.”
    â€œThat’s what Doc Bradford did,” Sal said. “He had a fox terrier by the name of Tipper, and the little dog picked its way through the ice and led your father back. ’Course, once Doc Bradford got to the mainland, he knew where he was.”
    â€œBut Mary wants to know how her daddy took out my appendix. Look girls, here’s the damage.” He lifted up his shirt and Sal and I gaped at the laddered scar that vanished under his belt.
    â€œJohn, for the love of money.” Sal slapped his arm and he tucked his shirt back under his belt. “I guess I need one of these to make me remember, eh?” He grinned at me and reached for Sal’s cigarettes. “Well, here goes, Mary.”
    â€œEntertaining the ladies, Pilkie?”
    We all jumped. Sib Beaudry stood in the doorway.
    â€œSal, you keep this. Your boyfriend here says I have to go.” He threw over Sal’s unlit cigarette and Sal caught it with a flirtatious yelp. For a moment, Sal looked almost pretty and it came to me that Sal was still a young woman even though she was ten years older than Little Louie, who was twenty.
    â€œThat’s enough palavering, you two.” Sib gave Sal a dirty look.
    â€œWait a sec, Sib, will you?” John leaned close, and I smelled something tangy, like shoe leather mixed with lemon juice.
    â€œMary, a smart girl like you needs a desk of your own.”
    â€œGet moving, Pilkie,” Sib snarled. “Now.”
    â€œOh, cool your jets, eh Frenchy?” The next thing I knew John was kissing my hand and then he kissed Sal’s. Sal giggled. I blushed. Sib’s face turned red. “Don’t take any wooden nickels, Mary,” he called as he sauntered out of the kitchen.
    â€œSo what do you think?” Sal asked after they’d gone. “You met the mad killer, eh?”
    â€œHe doesn’t look like a killer. He’s not mean enough. Do you know what he said when the Bug House boys threw snowballs at him?”
    â€œYou tell me.”
    â€œHe said, ‘Aim low and you hit something.’ Why would he say that?”
    â€œHe was making a joke, Mouse Bradford. John thinks highly of himself. I should know. He’s my cousin. And he’s slicker than a