Stillwater

by Mary Jo Hazard

  I pictured the cow at the slaughterhouse head butting Mr. Parker and hoped she didn’t go after O’Malley.

  “Easy, cow,” O’Malley said, taking a few deep breaths. He wiped some sweat off his forehead. “Easy, girl.”

  “You got her, O’Malley,” Captain Steele shouted, throwing him a rope from the truck. “Get the damn thing off the street; we’ve got to get the truck to the hotel. Tie her to the light pole.”

  I didn’t know much about cows, but I couldn’t see this one giving up without a fight.

  O’Malley and the cow squared off. She stared at O’Malley, pawed the concrete, and made a mad growling sound in her throat.

  Most of the firemen had jumped off the fire truck and raced down the street to the fire. The driver kept the engine revved up and the siren blaring, all ready to pull out as soon as the cow got out of the way, but the cow wasn’t moving.

  “Hurry the hell up, O’Malley,” Captain Steele yelled impatiently. “Throw the goldarn rope around the cow’s neck. We got a fire to get to.”

  O’Malley threw the rope. It missed the cow’s head and slid off of her back.

  “Goddamn it, O’Malley,” the fire chief yelled. “The building’s burning down. Get that cow under control.”

  “For Chrissake,” Mr. Cannon yelled from the curb. “My wife could do a better job lassoing that cow.”

  “Shut your trap, Cannon,” O’Malley said, his face turning beet red. “I don’t see you out here trying.”

  The cow turned sideways as if she’d decided to show O’Malley how big and powerful she was. She kicked out her hind feet and spun around in a circle, making the policeman drop the rope and dive to the ground to avoid being struck by her hooves. She came to a stop over O’Malley, who was laying face down on the ground protecting his head with his hands.

  Hail Mary full of grace, don’t let the cow injure O’Malley, and I’ll never sin again.

  Captain Steele ran over with a thick rope and whacked the cow on the rear end. “Get the hell out of here.”

  She mooed twice and zigzagged her way up the street through the parked cars. Captain Steele ran over to the fire truck and jumped on. The truck peeled out of the side street on to Hudson Avenue and stopped in front of the hotel. The remaining firemen leaped off, unrolled the hoses, and raced into the building.

  “You okay, big fellow?” Sulley asked, helping the policeman up.

  O’Malley made a disgusted sound and shook him off. “Where the hell’s my hat?”

  “Right behind you,” Sulley said, handing it to him. “Grab your lariat and go get that cow.”

  “I’d like to know how the hell that cow got here,” O’Malley said, jogging down the street after the cow.

  I watched the crowd disperse—most of them went down the street to the fire—wondering what to do next.

  “You didn’t let that cow loose, did you?” Louanne said in a worried voice. She grabbed my arm. “Tell me you’re not stupid…”

  I pulled away from Louanne and headed toward the hotel. The cow was supposed to have lived free and happy out in the country; instead it had crossed over the bridge, stopped the fire truck from getting to the fire, and attacked O’Malley. I couldn’t even imagine how much trouble I’d gotten myself into this time. My head ached so much I couldn’t see straight; I didn’t know if it was from the smoke or my stupidity.

  When I reached the hotel, several men were running out of the building with their arms full of bottles.

  Captain Steele cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Put that liquor down. Get away from there, you damn fools. What the hell is wrong with O’Malley?” He threw his hands up in the air and looked at me. “People stealing liquor and he’s off chasing a cow.”

  I bit my lip and looked away.

  Most of the looters set the bottles down on the sidewalk and ran back into the hotel for more. A few high school boys grabbed the bottles the men had set down and ran away before the fire chief could do anything.

  Louanne poked me. “Grace, there’s Mr. Kutter running across the street.”

  We watched while he grabbed several bottles off the porch, ran over to his car, and tossed them in the back seat. He stood for a minute, and then he got in and drove away.

  Firemen trained their hoses on the burning hotel. The fire hissed, and thick black smoke poured out of the windows. The looters had picked up the remaining bottles and disappeared. Three houses away, Uncle Tony stood motionless on his front lawn observing everything.

  “Let’s go back to Louanne’s,” Maggie said, rubbing her eyes. “This smoke’s killing me.”

  Flames shot up in the air, and the heat from the fire drove us back down the sidewalk. Firemen scurried out of the building as the roof collapsed with a loud roar.

  We sat down on Louanne’s front steps and watched the firemen hose things down. Tony stayed out by the sidewalk.

  “Grace, did you let that cow out?” Louanne poked me in the chest. “Is that what you did when you went back to the corral? Tell me.”

  “What?” Maggie said, opening her eyes wide.

  I swallowed and pulled the rubber band off my ponytail. Doc had always told me to put myself in other people’s shoes; I’d thought I was doing that with the cow. I hadn’t wanted her to die. I could feel how scared she was, and I had wanted to save her. But maybe the other shoe thing only worked with humans.

  “I might have,” I said, retying the laces on my sneakers. “I didn’t see her get out, but I did open the gate.”

  “You what?” Maggie snorted. “Are you crazy?”

  Uncle Tony turned around and made eye contact with me. His eyebrows flew up, and one corner of his mouth turned into a little smile.

  I didn’t smile back. Uncle Tony probably thought I was crazy, and I was starting to think that too. Maybe I was like my father—I did a lot of dumb things. I’d never thought about it before; maybe it was true—maybe I was crazy.

  “The cow knew she was going to die,” I said, trying to describe to Maggie and Louanne how I felt. “I wanted to save her. You heard Mr. Hogan; he was going to kill her too. I know it’s dumb, but I thought if she escaped, she could live wild. Mr. Hogan has a lot of cows; he might not even miss her.”

  “Oh, she escaped, all right!” Maggie laughed. “And she was wild—so wild she almost killed O’Malley—then you’d go to jail for cow theft and murder of a policeman.”

  “Don’t laugh, Maggie,” Louanne said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Grace was trying to save the cow’s life.”

  “Grace, you’re in a lot of trouble,” Maggie said. “Technically, you stole that cow. You know you did.”

  I looked up the street. Doc was in front of our house talking with Vinnie the butcher and some of our other neighbors.

  “I have to go,” I said, needing to talk to Doc. Uncle Tony stepped back to let me pass, and he smiled when I walked by. I was so worried about what Doc was going to say that I didn’t even think about Uncle Tony’s smile until much later.

  CHAPTER 23

  As soon as I got home, I told Doc I needed to talk.

  “Come inside,” Doc said, leading me into the living room. He pointed to the couch while he eased himself into his leather recliner. He leaned back, cupped his chin in one hand, and looked at me. “What’s the matter, Grace?”

  My mouth was dry, and my tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of my mouth. “We saw Mr. Kutter coming down the road this afternoon when we were out riding our bikes. We didn’t want him honking his horn at us, so we went into Mr. Hogan’s slaughterhouse.”

  “Go on,” Doc said, nodding encouragingly.

  “The doors were open, and we just walked in,” I said, choking up.

  “It’s okay, Grace,” Doc said, crossing his legs. “Take your time.”

  I got up and knelt down on the floor next to him. “Mr. Hogan had a cow chained up so it couldn’t get away. The cow was frightened; it made all kinds of awful sounds like it was begging him to stop. Mr. Parker
didn’t listen—he had a gun in his hand. He shot the cow in the head—right between her eyes. There was blood everywhere and the cow just fell over dead,” I said, crying so hard I couldn’t talk.

  Doc put his hand on my shoulder. I made myself stop crying and pulled back so I could see his face while I told him the rest—the part that made no sense.

  “But that’s not the worst,” I said, talking louder and faster. “When Mr. Hogan was killing the cow, I kept seeing my father kill himself. I was screaming, and my father looked at me like he didn’t know me, but all of a sudden he recognized me and smiled.”

  I bit my bottom lip so hard I tasted blood. “Daddy cocked the gun, put it against his head, and pulled the trigger. I tried to make him stop, Doc, I tried to save him, but he…” I sank back down on the floor and hugged myself.

  “Grace, come on, let’s get you off the floor,” Doc said, standing up. He sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside him. “Come on up here beside me.”

  “Okay,” I said, sinking down on the couch next to him.

  “Whoa, Nellie,” he said, taking his handkerchief out of his pocket. “Your lip’s bleeding, Grace; put a little pressure on it, and make it stop.”

  I sank back on the couch and gently patted my lip. My blood made bright red splotches on the white cloth—just like the ones on the bloody slaughterhouse floor.

  “Listen to me, Grace,” Doc said, but then he paused and didn’t say anything. Tears glistened in his eyes, and he tried to blink them away.

  “Didn’t he love me enough to put the gun away?” I whispered. “Why?”

  “Of course he loved you. If love was enough, he wouldn’t have done it,” Doc said, holding my face in his hands. “Your father was so sick that he couldn’t think straight.”

  “I’m sick too, like my father and Uncle Tony,” I said, watching Doc’s face through my tears. “I thought if I let the cow loose, it was like I was saving my father.”

  “You’re not sick, not sick at all. Finding out how your father died was a terrible shock, and you’re not over it,” Doc said, shaking his head. “It’s on your mind all day long, and I hear you yelling at night when you have nightmares.”

  I hadn’t realized Doc knew any of that; I’d thought I was doing a good job of hiding it.

  “And I bet if you start to have fun and you forget for a minute or two, it pops back up, and you blame yourself for having fun. Right?”

  “Yes,” I said, blowing out a long breath.

  “You’re going through a tough time, Grace. Suicide’s a horrible thing for a kid your age to come to terms with. But awful as it is, everything you’re experiencing is normal—all of your thoughts and feelings are normal.”

  I sighed.

  “I promise they’ll go away eventually,” he said. “You probably don’t believe me, but they will.”

  I wanted to believe him. I wanted things to be normal again.

  Doc put his arm around me and squeezed me hard. “Grace, you’re not sick. It’s grief, not mental illness,” he said, shaking his head and smiling a sad little smile. “Don’t worry about that anymore.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, tears of relief pouring down my cheeks.

  “I’m sure, honey,” he said, folding me into a big hug. “You’ll never forget your father, and you’ll always miss him, but I promise you you’ll start to feel better. The flashbacks and nightmares will go away.”

  Doc went into the kitchen. I stopped crying and thought about what he’d said. He wouldn’t lie to me—just knowing the awful thoughts and bad dreams wouldn’t last forever made me feel better; I sank back on the couch and closed my eyes. I was so lucky I had Doc.

  A few minutes later, he came back with a tray of cookies and some lemonade and set them down on the coffee table. He handed me a cookie and a tall glass of lemonade with a strawberry on the top, just the way I liked it.

  “Feeling better?” he asked, as he settled back with a cookie of his own.

  “Yes,” I said, taking another sip. “A lot better.”

  “That’s good, because we have to talk about something else.”

  I raised my eyebrows and looked at him.

  “Do you remember the Wallis family?”

  Of course I did. They lived in the country and had more kids than anyone could count. As soon as you said “The Wallis family has ten kids,” another baby arrived. The older ones went to Saint Mark’s on scholarship because they were very poor. Their uniforms were hand-me-downs; my mother gave them mine after I outgrew them. They didn’t get good grades, but it wasn’t their fault. They had to help on the farm every spring and fall, and they missed a lot of school.

  I reached for another cookie, and Doc went on. “Well, Tom Wallis bought three calves last year to fatten up so he could sell them and feed his family. Two of the calves died in January. Wallis didn’t have enough money to feed three calves until spring. The cow you turned loose was the lone survivor. Tom told me that cow meant he could put food on the table for his family—so they wouldn’t go hungry this winter.”

  I brushed the cookie crumbs off of my lips with my napkin. Until now, I’d never thought about the cow’s owner. I never thought the cow was going to keep kids from starving.

  “Honest, Doc, I didn’t know that,” I said, feeling my eyes fill up again. “I’ll take my bike and look for the cow, but if I find her, I don’t know how to catch her.”

  Doc rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “I appreciate that, but the cow’s been caught. She’s back at Hogan’s, and the Wallis children will have food this winter.”

  “So everything’s okay?” I said, standing up.

  “Appears to be,” he said, looking at me.

  “I just thought about the cow. I didn’t know…”

  “Now you do, Grace, now you do,” Doc said. “But it’s not just me you owe an apology. I suggest you write a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Wallis telling them how sorry you are. I’ll take you there myself when you’re finished.”

  I was definitely sorry, but the thought of facing Mr. and Mrs. Wallis made me so nervous I was sick to my stomach.

  “Maybe it would be better if I mailed it,” I said. “They might be busy or not home.”

  “Grace,” Doc said, sipping his lemonade. “Go write the letter.”

  “Going,” I said, heading toward my mother’s office. My mother’s students gave her stationery for Christmas and at the end of school, so we had plenty of boxes of writing paper. I looked through them for good apology paper. I rejected the ones with flowers, cute bunnies, and little bears. I tossed the rainbow paper aside too; somehow it didn’t look like paper Mr. Wallis would like.

  Mr. Wallis was big, and he looked like a prizefighter. One day when I was on office duty at school, he came in to get his daughter because she was missing homework. I felt sorry for her because he did not look like the understanding type at all.

  Eventually, I found plain white paper, and after several false starts, I figured out what to say.

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Wallis,

  I don’t know much about cows, but when I saw your cow at Mr. Hogan’s slaughterhouse, she seemed really nice. I wanted to save her life. My grandfather told me your family was depending on her for food this winter. I didn’t know that. I shouldn’t have opened the gate. That was wrong. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.

  Very truly yours,

  Grace

  I folded the letter carefully, put it in an envelope, and licked the flap. Doc was waiting on the porch to drive me over to the Wallis place. He turned on the radio and whistled along with it like he didn’t have a care in the world while I kept thinking how embarrassing seeing Mr. and Mrs. Wallis was going to be. What if they were really mad and didn’t accept my apology? What if they tore up the letter and told me to get out of there?

  It was getting dark when we pulled into their driveway. The moon was high, and some of the Wallis kids were whipping around the front yard on old scooters. Two little girls
sat on the sagging porch steps playing a hand-slap game, and three boys were hanging upside down in the pine trees that lined the driveway.

  I glanced at Doc for reassurance, but he was staring straight ahead. When he turned the engine off, I got out and headed for the front door. The Wallis kids stopped what they were doing and watched me. I took a deep breath and knocked twice.

  A man’s voice boomed. “Door’s open.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Wallis sat at a big round table in the kitchen; he waved a lit cigarette in my direction, motioning me over. It looked like they’d just finished dinner and were relaxing before they started the dishes.

  “Girl, what’re you doin’ here?” Mr. Wallis asked. “Do I know you?” Stubbing his cigarette out, he scratched the back of his neck and stared at me.

  Mrs. Wallis looked at me with a puzzled look on her face. She was holding a tiny baby wrapped in a fuzzy blue blanket.

  “My grandfather, Doc, drove me over. I…I’m Grace…the one who let your cow out,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “I’m very sorry, I wrote this letter apologizing.” I put the envelope on the table.

  “So you’re the cowgirl.” Mr. Wallis slapped the table with both hands. “Hildy, she’s the cow thief. This here little girl’s a cattle rustler. Ain’t she somethin’?”

  I looked at Mrs. Wallis.

  Mrs. Wallis kissed the baby’s little bald head. She pulled the blanket away from his face so I could see him. “What’s your name, honey?” she asked, smiling at me.

  The baby started to cry, and Mrs. Wallis stood up and jiggled him.

  “Grace,” I said, but the baby was crying so loud that I don’t think she heard me.

  “Meltdown time,” she said. “Always happens right after dinner.”

  “Girl, I’ve got kids of my own. I never know what the hell they’re gonna do, but mostly it’s the boys.” Mr. Wallis shook his head and tapped my envelope with a dirty fingernail. “For a girl, you’re a handful. Tell your grandpa he’s got his work cut out for him—and tell him I’ll drop a couple of steaks off after Dolly’s butchered tomorrow.”