The Wolf in Winter Read Free Page B

you’re strong, you fold when you’re weak.”
    “You could try bluffing,” said Thomas. “You could at least make some kind of effort.”
    It was always like this between them. They liked each other wellenough, but the pleasure each derived from the other’s company was directly proportionate to the degree of pickle he could give over the course of an evening.
    “I brought the whisky,” Luke pointed out. “It wasn’t for me, you’d be drinking Old Crow.”
    There were murmurs of agreement.
    “Ayuh, this one’s a sippa,” said Calder, laying on the accent with a trowel. “Wicked good.”
    Each man took it in turn to provide a bottle for the weekly poker night, although it usually sufficed for two evenings, and it was a point of pride to bring along something that satisfied all tastes to a degree. Luke Joblin knew Scotch better than any of them, and that night they were drinking an eighteen-year-old from Talisker, the only distillery on the Isle of Skye. It was a little spicy for Thomas’s palate, but he had to admit that it was far superior to The Glenlivet, which had been his selection some weeks earlier. Then again, Thomas had never been one for hard liquor, preferring wine. He gave the whisky a second swirl from habit, and took a small mouthful. He was starting to like it more and more. It certainly grew on a fella.
    “Maybe I’ll let you off this once,” said Thomas.
    “That’s generous of you,” said Luke.
    In the end, Calder took the pot with a flush, just as Thomas had anticipated. Thomas was enduring a mauling that night. If things kept going the way they were, he’d have to break another dollar.
    By unspoken consent, they rested for a while. Talk turned to local matters: business dealings, rumors of romances, and problems in the town that needed to be addressed. Tree roots were just about coming through the sidewalk on Main Street, and the Town Office needed a new boiler. A dispute had also arisen over the old Palmer house, with three families seeking to acquire it for their children. The Palmers, a private couple even by the town’s standards, had died without issue, and represented the end of their line in Prosperous. The proceedsof their estate were to be dispersed among various charities, with a portion going also to the town’s central fund. But living space was at a premium in Prosperous, and the Palmer house, though small and in need of repair, was much coveted. In any ordinary community, market forces would have been allowed to prevail, and the house would have gone to the highest bidder. Prosperous, though, didn’t operate that way. The decision on the sale of the house would be made according to who was owed it, who had the best claim upon it. Discussions would be held, and a consensus reached. The family that eventually acquired the house would make some reparation to the others. Luke Joblin would get his commission, of course, but he would earn it.
    In effect, the poker night functioned as an unofficial meeting of most of the board of selectmen. Only Calder Ayton didn’t contribute to the discourse. Meetings bored him, and whatever Ben Pearson decided was always fine with him. Old Kinley Nowell, meanwhile, was absent on this occasion, laid up in hospital with pneumonia. There was a general feeling that Kinley didn’t have long on this earth. Possible replacements had to be considered, and Ben now raised the matter with his fellow selectmen. After a little back-and-forth, they decided that some younger blood wouldn’t hurt them. They’d approach the elder Walker girl, Stacey, once the chief selectman had given her consent. Hayley Conyer—she didn’t care to be called a selectwoman, didn’t approve of that kind of nonsense—was not one for poker games or whiskey evenings. Ben Pearson said that he would talk to Hayley in the morning and sound her out, but he told the others that he didn’t anticipate any refusal, or any problems with the nomination. Stacey Walker was a