"Sure ya don't want to take 'er this year?" Daryl asks as Carol ties the bow of the Little Bo Peep bonnet around Sweetheart's chin.
"Shannon's bringing wine, and I like seeing all the costumes when I hand out the treats."
"Where'd she get wine?" The tavern won't sell an entire bottle to take home – not of wine.
Carol straightens the little girl's frilly bonnet and smooths out a wrinkle in her dress. "She traded Kelly for it."
"Ah." They did loot several bottles of wine from the storage closet at that apartment complex. The finder's fees were all donated to the Harry's widow. Kelly's still working for now – the baby's not due until December – but she's been trading some of the loot to stock up on jarred food.
There's a knock at the door. Carol grabs the bowl of treats – Daryl went looting for little toys again, but she unfortunately didn't have enough sugar to make rock candy this time. It's just Garland and Shannon, holding VanDaryl in her arms. The eighteen-month-old is wearing a wooly sheep's costume, made with cotton balls and felt, as a companion to Sweetheart's Little Bo Beep.
"Where's Gary?" Carol asks as she steps back to let them inside.
"He wanted to go with a friend this year," Shannon says.
Garland frowns as he closes the door behind himself. "He's getting too cool for his old man."
"He's not even five!" Carol exclaims.
"Well, they have adult supervision," Shannon says. "Albert's mother."
"I assumed," Carol assures her. "I just mean he's too young to be too cool for his father."
"You just wait and see," Garland warns her.
Carol looks down at Sweetheart. "You'll never be too cool for your mother, will you?"
Sweetheart cranes her neck back and smiles up at her. Then she toddles forward to hug VanDaryl as Shannon sets the little boy on his feet. One of the cotton balls falls off his costume.
"Uh-oh!" Sweetheart says as she steps back, picks it up, and hands it to him. VanDaryl puts it straight in his mouth, and Garland sighs and fishes the now wet blob out.
"Adorable costume," Carol tells Shannon. "You did a great job."
"What makes you think I didn't make it?" the mayor quips. He holds up the dripping cotton ball. "Trash?"
Carol points to the trashcan under the kitchen counter.
[*]
The jagged smile of a jack o' lantern glows on the rough doormat outside the cabin that used to belong to the now deceased Ernesto. Daryl lifts Sweetheart up by her hips, and she grasps the metal door knocker and pounds it. As he settles Sweetheart back down on her feet, VanDaryl leans back against his father's legs. Gunther swings open the door.
"Twi twee!" Sweetheart shouts, while VanDaryl merely thrusts out his plastic pumpkin with a silent smile. It's their tenth cabin, the tenth that had a paper pumpkin out front to indicate they welcome trick or treaters, anyway. The kids know the routine.
"I don't have anything for your buckets," Gunther says, "but I have fresh apple slices inside for the kids. And I've got a treat for the fathers, too."
Garland and Daryl glance curiously at each other before following Gunther inside.
"Nice place," Garland tells him, "but you could use some more furniture."
"Linda took most of it for the loft, and I left mine in the dorm for the next roomer. But I have all I need for a bachelor. I suppose if Dianne ever deigns to move in with me, I'll pay Dante to build more. Or I'll pay Daryl to loot some for me." Gunther shoots a questioning look at Daryl.
"Sure." Daryl's always happy to earn some more tobacco or ammo for trade.
A dog looks up from the handwoven rug before the rustic brick fireplace and growls. It's clear the rug was made by Inola. They have one somewhat like it in Sweetheart's room. "Quiet, Ajax!" Gunther orders. "They're friends." The farmer looks back at the men. "He's a good herd dog, but sometimes he gets grumpy around strangers." Daryl didn't realize Gunther had a dog. He knew he had working dogs, of course, but he thought they all slept in the barns.
The dog licks its chops and settles its head on its feet again.
"Are you proposing to Dianne again at the trade fair?" Garland asks as they follow Gunther to the kitchenette, which has no dining table. There are two lonely bar stools at the counter, which still has the evening's uncleared dinner plate and cup.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that? No, she can propose this time," Gunther insists. He opens a small plastic cooler and hands each of the men an apple slice for the kids.
"Good luck with that." Garland pinches off a small piece of apple and feeds it to VanDaryl off his fingertip.
Daryl hands Sweetheart the entire slice. It's thin and soft enough, and she's pretty good about not choking herself these days. She hums while she eats it. "'N where's our treat?" Daryl asks.
Gunther walks around to the other side of the counter, which must have shelves beneath it, and pulls out two shot glasses. Next there emerges a mason jar of clear liquid.
Garland looks at him warily. "I thought you quit drinking."
"I did. I got this for the trick or treaters." He unscrews the metal circular cap and pours a little in each shot glass.
Daryl plucks up his shot glass.
"Happy Halloween," Garland says as he raises his glass. Daryl toasts him, and they both shoot back the moonshine.
Garland hisses, and Daryl blinks and says, "That shit ain't as bad as it usually is."
"It's not Jamestown shine," Gunther tells them. "It's Candy shine. Dianne brought it when she came to visit on the mailboat. Candy's started trading it to Oceanside. Henry bought her entire second batch for his pub. This is from her third batch. Apparently she's doing quite the business for herself."
"Good for her," Garland says. "Better shine than…the old business."
"Indeed. Eugene's treating her well, according to her last letter. Who knows? She might even fall in love with her husband one day."
"Stranger things have happened," Garland replies. "My wife fell in love with me."
Gunther chuckles.
Sweetheart reaches up for Daryl's empty shotglass. She gets on her tippytoes and strains to reach it, saying, "Thwisy, thwisty."
"I'll get them each a shot of lemonade," Gunther says. "I made it for the kids." He gets down two more shot glasses and pulls a mason jar of lemonade from the cooler.
"Why aren't you taking the orphan you sponsor trick or treating?" Garland asks.
"He's too old for that now. Or so he says. He went to the teenager's party in the museum's theater."
"Ain't he nine?" Daryl asks.
"Ten," Gunther replies. "And that's a teenager these days. I mean, the kid already knows how to shoot and ride better than I did at sixteen. And I grew up on a farm."
"Will you sponsor another orphan when he ages out?" Garland asks. At thirteen, the kids graduate from the upper school, start apprenticeships, and work to support themselves.
"Of course, if one comes up for sponsorship. Aren't they all covered?"
"For the time being," Garland answers. "But you know some people only sponsor for a year at a time and don't renew. Shannon and I would ourselves, but, you know…two kids to support now."
"Well, with the hours I work since becoming farm manager, and my private tobacco garden, I'm the richest man in Jamestown," Gunther says. "I think I've even surpassed Raul."
"Mhmmmmm!" Sweetheart says as she holds up her empty shot glass of lemonade to Gunther. VanDaryl has dribbled half his down his chin trying to drink from the little glass.
"One more," Gunther tells her.
He refills VanDaryl's shot glass, too, but this time Garland helps the toddler get it to his mouth.
"We get seconds?" Daryl asks.
"Not if you want to stay on your feet," Gunther tells him.
"Don't feel a thing."
"But you will, if you have a second."
"I feel a thing," Garland says. "But Daryl's got about ten pounds on me."
"Think it's more like twenty pounds," Daryl tells him.
"No, you're just short," Garland ribs. "So it doesn't spread out as much."
"'M average," Daryl insists. "For a man."
"And tall for a woman."
"Stahp," Daryl growls, but he can't hold the scowl. It twitches into a smile. Garland's ribbing is gentler than Merle's ever was, but there's something brotherly about it, too. "Lightweight."
The two friends carry on. They trick or treat at the butcher and his wife's cabin next, where the kids each receive a strip of deer jerky. "Gotta pay the Daddy tax," Daryl tells Sweetheart as they leave. He fishes the jerky from her pumpkin and takes a bite.
"No!" she cries.
"Ya can't chew it. 'S tough, and ya only got four teeth."
Sweetheart puts a hand on her hip and stomps her foot. "No! Dada, no!"
The look in her eyes is so much like Carol's when Carol is angry that Daryl almost forgets, for a second, that the girl is not biologically theirs. "Let's see ya try to eat it," Daryl insists, handing her the stick.
Sweetheart puts it in her mouth and bites down with her four tiny teeth. She makes a face of disgust because the jerky is heavily salted. She pulls it straight out of her mouth – it's barely been punctured - and slides her tongue in out over and over as if she could thrust the taste away. Garland laughs and Daryl takes the jerky back. "Told ya so." He tears off another piece with his teeth, says, "Mhm, mhm, mhm," and swallows it down.
VanDaryl, after watching this display quietly, pulls out his jerky from his pumpkin and hands it straight to his father without attempting to taste it first. "Why thank you, son," Garland says, and the two men munch on deer jerky as the children toddle on.
