Ruth always gave him a monthly trim since there generally wasn't a barber handy.
"Can you take care of my beard too while you're at it?" Kid asked as he sat down. He could shave himself and usually did, but getting rid of a beard was a little more trouble.
She put a towel around his neck. "I'll do that first," she said. She took the scissors to it, cutting as much of it off as she could.
Then she brought out the razor, the straight steel catching the sunlight. "Now comes the fun part. You're not afraid I'm going to slit your throat?" she asked.
"I trust you with my life. But mostly I feel safe because I saw you shave the under-fur off the pelt for your muff."
She laughed as she got the bowl of water and soap ready. The razor was still nice and sharp since it hadn't been used in a while.
"To be perfectly honest," she told him as she brought the razor against his skin. "I'm glad you're getting rid of it. Your beard kind of tickles."
He couldn't say anything back because if he did, the sharp razor would nick him.
30 minutes later, she announced, "I knew you were there somewhere under all that hair."
"It does feel nice to be clean-shaven again," he agreed.
"I have to shave you more often," she said as she wiped the small hairs off the blade. "It was kind of nice getting to say anything I wanted to you."
"Like you don't do that anyway," he said, using the towel to dry his now smooth cheeks.
"Yeah, but this way there's no smart replies," she teased.
She went after his hair next, getting it up off his ears and collar. "There. Now that I got you all cleaned up, I can work on the stove."
She referred to the little box stove that had been left behind. It wasn't a grand model, but it was a luxury to them. It didn't just heat; it could bake too. Something they couldn't do over a campfire. She could also stand at it instead of having to kneel and crouch to do the cooking and it looked as if it would be easier on wood, a time-saving device.
"A nice lady who lives just down yonder promised me some eggs yesterday after the revival, so if I get it cleaned up, we can have us some baked goods."
"Can I do anything to help?"
"You could run to the store and get some more flour. I thought we could bake Señor Martinez something for his kindness in letting us stay here."
"Sure," he agreed.
It amazed him on his way there how much bluer the sky looked and how much sweeter the birds seemed to sing without the fear of death hanging over his head.
He was checking the flour to make sure there were no mites in it when he heard a cough from the customer beside him.
He recognized a consumptive cough now. "Give it time, friend. This air'll likely clear your consumption right up."
He laughed dryly. "I have been here 3 years."
"It didn't cure you?" Of course, he'd read that such could be the case.
"It acted like it did for a time, but it was false hope. The disease is always there lying in wait like a vulture. I've learned that the hard way. Watched my wife and little girl die of it."
Despite the fact that the day was a pleasant 60s, it felt as if cold had sunk deep into his bones.
He paid for the flour and then he went on a long walk, sack of flour in hand, to think it all through.
He was back to having no future and that meant he had no future with Ruth. A thought that made him feel empty inside, but he had to separate from her before it came back on him.
On the bright side, he thought, it'd give her the liberty to go where she pleased again. He still worried about her safety without him, but that was worry he was going to have to hand over to God because He was giving him a death sentence. Ruth would be alone whether he liked it or not.
He'd have to think of a way to make sure she was financially set. He could at least do that much. The fastest way, if that old man with the sweat lodge could be believed, was to collect some Apache scalps, though definitely not the easiest if the bloodthirsty stories he heard were true.
His steps eventually led him back to Ruth.
She looked endearing covered in the black smudges of her labor and the stove looked fresh from the store thanks to her cleaning and polishing. His breathing became a little ragged as he thought how limited his time with her was.
"Took you long enough," she said with a smile.
"I was just jawing with some of the townspeople," he said, his lips tight. "You got to know my every move or something?"
She only furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement at his snarly mood. "I was just playing with you, honey. So what do you feel like? Bread, cake, cookies?"
Putting it off and waiting until the sickness returned wasn't going to make it any easier on her or him. And there was never going to be a right time to say it. "I'd like a divorce."