by With Heart
Barker Fleming had been at the stockyard when Johnny and Keith arrived at daylight. Johnny had ignored him, but Keith had welcomed the help he offered.
“What’s he butterin’ you up for?” Johnny asked while saddling his horse.
“He thinks I’m pretty.”
“Go to hell.”
“Cheer up, son. You’ve got an extra man to help. You can sleep in the saddle all the way to Vernon.”
After Barker had caught and saddled a skittish buckskin, Keith had made the comment that he was a skilled horseman.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Johnny had remarked sarcastically. “He’s an Indian, isn’t he?”
By midmorning, after Johnny had been in the saddle for more than four hours, he felt as if he had been kicked in the back by a steer. It was not unusual for him to be sore for a week after a rodeo. His aches and pains had not, however, kept his mind off the evening he had spent with Kathleen. He had played over in his mind every word they had exchanged, every touch. That she had returned his kiss and one time had even initiated it, was still a wonder to him. He could close his eyes and smell the lemony scent of her hair as it swept across his face and feel her soft, seeking lips beneath his.
He groaned when he thought of his blundering words, and how she had reacted when she thought that he hadn’t wanted to be with her. He had thought of himself as a man who had been around a bit after the work he had done for the Bureau with Hod Dolan, but, compared to her, he was pure backwoods. He felt like a clod when she talked about some feller named Shakespeare who made up silly verses.
Kathleen wrote stories for the newspaper and for a magazine. Hell, he’d never read a book in his life. How would she feel about him if she knew that? They had nothing in common. For all he knew she hated horses, and he loved them. She lived in town and mixed with people who talked stock market and shares and things like that. His bank was in a milk can in the barn. He and Kathleen were as different as daylight and dark. He couldn’t allow himself to fall in love with her. If he did, he could look forward to a lifetime of misery.
Is it too late? If a woman was constantly in your thoughts, he asked himself, if you saw her face while you lay in a sleepless bed, and if every word she said and every look she gave you were of utmost importance, did it mean you loved her?
Oh, Lord. It was too late!
Johnny watched Barker ride ahead and block off a road to keep the herd from turning off. The man had been on a drive or two and seemed to be enjoying the work. If he had to do it day after day, Johnny thought, it wouldn’t be so much fun. This was a little outing for a rich man who had some time to kill.
The McCabe ranch was a sprawling compound. The main house, built before the turn of the century, was weathered, two-story, and had a wraparound porch. Ruth, who had left Rawlings ahead of the drive, stood on the porch and waved as the herds passed on their way to the lower pastures. By the time the stock was penned, it was noon. The drovers, including Johnny and Barker, washed at the bench on the back porch and went into the house for dinner.
Johnny had been to the McCabes’ many times. Keith’s grandmother greeted him with affection.
“You haven’t been to see me for a while, John. Ya got another girl?” Mrs. McCabe was the only person who ever called him John.
“I’ve not seen a girl yet who could hold a candle to you, Granny,” Johnny said, using the name every man on the place affectionately called her. He felt comfortable here. He knew the old lady genuinely liked him because he had seen her reaction to those she didn’t like.
“Ruth said you did good at the rodeo, John. Wish I could a seen it.”
“If you had been there, Granny, I’d have been so nervous, I’d not have stayed on long enough to get out of the chute.”
“Ah, go on with ya. I knew ya was comin’ and had Guadalupe make sweet potato pie,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.
“You’re a woman to ride the trail with, Granny.” He glanced at the smiling face of the Mexican woman who had been born on the ranch the year Granny McCabe, as a nineteen-year-old bride, came here to live.
With an arm across her shoulders, Keith proudly introduced Barker to his grandmother.
“Be careful. She rules the roost with an iron hand.”
The frail little woman held out her hand. “Welcome to our home, Mr. Fleming.”
“Thank you, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
“You met my wife yesterday,” Keith went on with the introductions. “And this is Guadalupe.”
“Mrs. McCabe. Ma’am,” Barker said smoothly. “Something smells mighty good.”
The table took up one side of the large kitchen. Workers on the ranch had always taken their meals with the McCabe family. Guadalupe or Ruth got up to get more biscuits, pour coffee, or refill the platter of roast beef.
The talk around the table was mostly about the stock drive and the rodeo. Then Keith asked Barker if he thought they would soon be in a war.
“I don’t know how the United States can stay out of it if Hitler takes over Europe, and it seems that is what he has in mind.”
“There’s an ocean between us,” Keith argued. “I can’t see him attacking us.”
“The only thing that would prevent it, if he’s determined to rule the world, would be that he would be spreading his troops too thin.” Barker’s eyes caught Johnny’s. “I’d rather we fight him over there than on our own territory.”
“Unless we are attacked,” Keith said. “I hate to see our boys dying on foreign shores.”
Johnny had not heard enough about what was going on in Europe to make a comment. He lowered his head and finished his meal.
After the meal, Keith took Johnny, Barker, and another drover back to Rawlings. Barker sat in the front seat with Keith, and they continued their conversation about the possibility of war.
“I think Roosevelt is smart enough to keep us out of it,” Keith said.
“Some of the big companies are already gearing up to furnish arms, tanks, and airplanes to the British. Hitler will hop over the channel as soon as he reaches Normandy.”
“What about that Maginot Line? I thought that was supposed to stop him from taking France.”
“It’s my understanding that the Maginot Line was built to keep the Germans out during World War I. The French have strengthened it, but this is not going to be a war primarily fought by foot soldiers like in the war against the Kaiser. The Germans now have heavy tanks and airplanes. I’m afraid the Maginot Line is not going to be the protection the French think it is.”
Listening to the conversation, Johnny realized more than ever just how little he knew about what was going on in the world. What the hell was the Maginot Line? Keith seemed to know.
“Those factories you’re talking about are putting men to work. Roosevelt likes that. He’s done a fair job of pulling the country out of the Depression, but there’s a lot to be done yet.”
“What do you think, Johnny?” Barker half turned in the seat to ask the question.
Johnny’s hat was tilted down over his eyes. He feigned sleep and didn’t answer.
At the fairground, Keith stopped where Barker and the other drover had left their cars.
“I’ll give Johnny a lift into town to get his car and save you the trip,” Barker said. “I know you want to get back home.”
“That would save me time. Thanks. And thanks for the help today.”
“It was my pleasure and a real pleasure to be in your home.”
“Anytime you’re down our way, drop in. The door is always open and the coffeepot on.”
Johnny got out of the car and lifted his saddle off the carrier on top.
“You going into town?” he asked the drover who got out on the other side.
“Naw.” He grinned shyly. “I’m headed for Deval to see my lady friend.”
“How about you and Kathleen coming down next Sunday, Johnny?” Keith leaned out the window.
“Can’t make it, but thanks.”
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“Come down when you can. You’re always welcome.”
“Will do.”
“Throw your saddle in the back of the car, Johnny,” Barker said after Keith left. He regretted that Johnny was not pleased about being left here with him.
“Pretty fancy car for a dirty old saddle.”
“It’ll clean.”
Instead of getting into the car, Barker went to the front of it and leaned against the fender. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered them to Johnny. Johnny shook his head and built his own smoke from a sack of tobacco he took from his shirt pocket. Barker made no move to get into the car.
“I’m ready to go if you are,” Johnny said.
“I’d like to talk to you.” Barker’s voice was not as calm and as sure as it had been. His dark eyes watched Johnny anxiously as he sought the right words to say.
“Yeah? You want to offer me a job? No, thanks. I’ve got one.”
“Do you like ranching?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing it.”
“I can understand that. You lived for a while with your sister on a farm near Red Rock. I thought you might prefer farming.”
“How did you know that?” The coldness of Johnny’s tone reflected his emotions and alerted Barker that he might have started out on the wrong foot.
“I talked to Isabel Perry last week in Oklahoma City.”
“You . . . talked to Isabel?” Johnny said it softly and menacingly.
“Yes. I wanted to know if her mother was Dorene Perry and if she had a brother.”
Their eyes met in a long, silent war. Johnny’s breath came fiercely.
“You knew Dorene?” Johnny’s lips curved in a sneer. “That says a lot about you.”
“Yes, it does. I knew her when I was a stupid, headstrong, resentful kid of eighteen. I went to the city to sow my wild oats and prove to my father that I was a man.”
“Don’t tell me the story of your life. I’m not interested in a hotheaded kid cuttin’ his apron strings.” Johnny spat out the words.
“I’m a half-breed. My mother was Cherokee, my father a white man. Back in those days, and even in some places now, you’re looked down on as not worthy to associate with white people, even if you do have financial means. I resented that then . . . and I resent it now.”
“You’re ashamed of your people?”
“Not now. I was when I was a kid of eighteen. I didn’t want my mother to be a Cherokee. I wanted her to be white like my father.”
“At least you had a mother. Mine was a whore. She liked being a whore.”
“You always knew that?”
“From the time I was old enough to know what a whore was. Before that I wondered why I had to sleep in the closet with the door shut while she slept in the bed with a strange man.” Johnny dropped his cigarette and ground it in the dirt with his boot.
“I was with Dorene during the summer of 1912. She was young and fresh and pretty. I didn’t know that she had a husband and daughter. I was fascinated with her.”
“—And screwed her,” Johnny said with disgust.
“Yes. At eighteen the sap runs high. I spent all the money I could get on her until Father came to the city and put a stop to it. He sent me back East to school. I hated him for it then. I love him for it now.”
“Well now that you’ve told me your life story, I’d like to get to town and get my truck. I have things to do.”
“I’m your father, Johnny.” Barker’s voice was quiet and anxious.
The words were dropped in the stillness of the afternoon. They were ordinary words, words that had no meaning to him, Johnny thought, until they seeped into his consciousness and he became aware that the man had said that he was his father.
Unreasonable anger flared.
“That’s a fine thing to drop on a man.”
“I didn’t know any other way to do it.”
“What do you want me to do? Get down on my knees and thank you for screwing a whore and bringin’ a breed into the world who had to root-hog or die during his first fourteen years?”
“No . . .”
“You threw your seeds in the wind, mister. You think that one of them stuck in a whore named Dorene, and I’m the result?”
“I don’t just think it. I’m sure of it. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” Barker knew that Johnny was confused and hurt.
“Yeah? I wasn’t hiding anywhere.” Johnny felt as if an iron band was squeezing his chest.
“I came through Oklahoma City six or seven years ago and wondered what had ever happened to the girl, Dorene. I knew, even at age eighteen, that she would have had a bad end. I think I felt a little responsible for it.”
“Lookin’ for more of the same?” Johnny said nastily. “I’m surprised if she didn’t give you the clap.”
“My wife was in the hospital at the time and being with a whore was the last thing on my mind. From the tavern where she had worked I learned that Dorene had a boy who was part-Indian. I couldn’t do anything about finding you then. But after my wife died, I sent a detective to find the last man Dorene lived with. He told us that Dorene talked about her life when she knew that she was dying. She told him that the father of her son was an Indian kid. She wanted to see her boy, but knew that he was better off with her husband.” This being so important to him caused Barker to speak hurriedly and in jerky sentences.
Johnny turned his back and looked off across the prairie. He wiped a hand across his face. This was something he didn’t want to deal with. He had put the circumstances of his birth behind him, and he wanted to know nothing about the man who had sired him.
“Didn’t you ever wonder about your father?”
Johnny turned. His eyes bored into those of the other man.
“I didn’t have to wonder. I was told up until the time I was big enough to fight that my mother was a whore and that my father was a drunk Indian, a blanket-ass, a dirty redskin, a dog eater, or anything else anyone could think of to make me feel dirty and worthless. No, I never wanted to lay eyes on the son of a bitch.”
Barker winced at the raw hurt in his voice. “Was it so bad for you?”
Johnny ignored the question. “The best man I ever knew was Ed Henry, Dorene’s husband. He gave me my name and a roof over my head. He taught me to love horses, how to fix a car, and how to be responsible for my actions. He suspected that I was Cherokee and even told me to be proud of my people. For the short time I was with him, he taught me a hell of a lot.”
“I’d like to meet him.”
“He’s dead.”
“Do you want to know about me, my family—?”
“Hell no! Why should I? You mean nothing to me. Nothing is changed. I’ve made my own path up to now and will make it alone from now on.”
“I found your birth certificate in the courthouse in Oklahoma City. Dorene listed me as the father of a boy born April 15, 1913. I’ll get a copy if you want to see it.”
“I don’t.”
“I would like for you to come to Elk City and meet your half sisters, your brother, and your grandfather.”
“Listen, mister, let’s get something straight. I’ve gotten along without you for twenty-five years. As far as I’m concerned, you are like a bull that serviced a heifer. There is no more connection between you and me than between that bull and the calf.”
“There is, but I’ll not intrude in your life if I’m not welcome. I wanted you to know that you have a family, blood ties; and if you ever need us, we are there.”
“What I need is to get to town and get my truck. I’ve got chores to do at home.”
“All right. Get in.”
They drove into town in silence. Not a word was exchanged until they neared the alley behind the Gazette, and Johnny said, “Stop here.”
As soon as the car stopped, Johnny got out.
“This has been a shock to you, as it was to me when I first heard about it. I’m leaving for Elk City tomorrow, but I’ll keep in
touch.” Barker spoke while Johnny was getting his saddle out of the backseat.
“Suit yourself.” Johnny hoisted the saddle to his shoulder and walked down the alley toward his truck.
• • •
Kathleen began work on her story for the magazine after she had washed her hair. She needed to wash all of her underwear, but it wouldn’t do to hang it outside on the line on Sunday. She washed a couple pairs of panties and her hose and hung them in the bathroom.
Clara had come home in the middle of the morning. She was in a foul mood. Kathleen could hear her arguing with her mother and tried not to let their voices distract her as she sat before her typewriter.
With effort she dragged her mind away from the time she had spent with Johnny. For her it had been wonderful. She would treasure the memory of his kisses forever. For just a small moment in time they had been the only people in the world. He had said that he had thought about her since he met her on the highway; yet, when he said it, it was as if she were a thorn in his hide. How would he act when she saw him again? He had promised to go with her to Red Rock. Surely he’d not back out on the promise.
Kathleen forced herself to go back to the story she was writing. After reading the last few pages of the manuscript, she began to type.
Durango wakened with a start. Someone was trying to get into his ranch house. He eased open the barn door and saw a shadowy figure. “Put your hands up, stranger. No funny business or you’ll get both barrels.” The stranger turned and the moonlight shone on her face. Durango gasped, “Oh, my God. Hallie, little sister. Is it you?” He shoved his gun into his holster. He—
Kathleen yanked the page from the typewriter, turned it over, and tried to start again. But the words wouldn’t come. Johnny’s face intruded into her mind’s eye. She felt the roughness of his cheeks and the softness of his lips when he kissed her. Why had this man become so important to her?
Pressed by the magazine deadline, Kathleen determinedly brought her mind back to Durango and Hallie.
He ran to her and lifted her in his arms when she sagged against him. “Help me, brother. Hide me—”
