"Dad, who's that?" A stoic figure had been standing in the road for as long as that section of road had been visible; Joseph watched to see if it moved.
"I don't know, son."
"Joseph," Lucy whispered, "do you have the gun?"
"I do."
"Joseph, I want you to know… I love you," she said, searching his brown eyes.
"And I do, too. But there's nothing to fear; there's a multitude with us. And I haven't even seen the thing move; it could just be a trick of the eye." Their gaze was punctuated by Patrick's stick clicking on the wheel. "Patrick, son. Patrick! In the wagon. Now. Stay there. Good, now be silent. Remember your grandfather, and don't move."
Locked into a slow collision, the family continued towards the man on the road.
"Well, howdy!" Joseph shouted, "we're passing through. How about you?"
The man spoke not but turned his attention, grasped his bag, and raised his right hand, pointing only his index and middle fingers to the sky. "Are you friendly?" Joseph asked, coming to a halt next to the man, "do you have a name?"
"Name?" Said the young man, pronouncing the 'e' as 'ah.'
"Yes."
"Hasidah," he said.
"Has-I-dah?"
"Yah-s."
"Okay, Hasidah. I'm Joseph, and my wife Lucy. We mean no harm. May we pass?"
"Excuse me," he began in broken enlish," I speak poor. I want to go. Can do?"
Joseph looked at Lucy, squinting, and she leaned in, whispering, "He wants to come with us."
"Insane."
"He's just a boy, hardly 20. We could use the extra hand."
Joseph kept his hand on the revolver as the stranger watched. Joseph looked at the young man in one small garment, sizing him up like his father taught him. " Empty your bag," he commanded.
"We've hardly seen anyone else on this trail," Joseph said to Lucy. Remember, there was one time we saw the other wagons behind us and there was the other time we saw some ahead of us. They were way out there, with no chance to catch up and never to be seen again. " He looked at the boy spreading his things out so they were clearly visible, then back to Lucy, "And this is the first person we have real contact with?"
Lucy fruitlessly tried to understand what her husband was thinking before defending her stance: "I'm sure you'll be able to keep us safe, Joseph. Talk to him. We'll finish the day, and then you talk to him. You'll be able to see what his story is and get him on our side. I think we're risking more by continuing just the three of us, all things considered."
Lucy watched Joseph as he looked away, exhaled sharply a breath that was patiently drawn, and the familiar enigma of her husband pressed in on her consciousness. The mystery of Joseph used to excite her. He used to be so masculine, stoic, and tree-like. What's changed? She thought, is it me, or him? She speaks softly to her husband, and he hears, but she feels like yelling to make him understand. Do I only think he doesn't understand? She notices her hand clenching the soft fabric of her skirt and lets it loose, breathing through it like her mom taught her.
Joseph peered over the horse's head at the contents Hasidah spread evenly over the road. A book, pencils, one large skinning knife, and a few sticks of dried meat tumbled out. Joseph wondered how one could survive on so little. "Lucy," he said, "the boy has nothing to live off of and looks like he's starving; I don't think there's any way he could hurt us today. That said, after he eats, gets some sleep, and regains his hope, there's no telling what he can do. You remember the feral people those folks told us about, right? He's probably one of 'em. Barely more than animals, they said. I can't trust that."
"I remember what they said, and all they had were rumors, ya know. They didn't even come here before telling us we'd seen more country than they had then. Besides, people can't be feral animals. People are people, Joseph. We all got moms and dads, kids and siblings, hopes and dreams." Lucy leaned into Joseph and grasped his knee, "We have a multitude with us, right? What's one hungry boy but a chance to display grace? Give, and you shall receive; we must help him, and in turn, he'll help us; that's life."
Joseph looked toward the bushes behind Lucy's left shoulder as she spoke, only looking away to see Lucy's hand on his knee. "I want you to know that my protecting you and Patrick could look like the boy getting shot in front of both of you or me getting injured in some kind of struggle," Joseph brought his eyes back to meet Lucy's, "and maybe both. It could be ugly."
"I doubt it."
"But it's possible; that's life."
"Okay," she said, "I'll accept it."
"Fine then, we'll give it a day. I'll speak to the boy, see if he's feral, and go from there." Joseph moved his wife's hand off of his knee. "Give me the blade," Joseph said to Hasidah.
Hasidah slowly moved his gaze back to the couple, and then, once Joseph's words made sense, he snapped into action, but the swift movement lasted until he began moving his arms down. The exhaustion felt like a part of his skeleton; his joints ground as he walked toward the man. Hasidah gave him the knife. It had a fine edge, well kept. Joseph sheathed it and stuck it under his leg. "You may travel with us today, but you'll go ahead, and we'll follow. Gather your things; we're running out of daylight."
After a moment, Hasidah understood and got himself together. He began walking, and Joseph's horse followed. Joseph moved the horses slowly forward with his pistol on his lap, and the family was silent. Sensing his time-out as over, Patrick peered over his parents to the person walking in front of them.
"Is that Hasidah?" He asked.
"Yes, honey," Lucy replied.
"A new friend?"
"No, my love."
"Then who is he?"
"We don't know, but we will soon. I need you to stay still today. No running."