New Way to Fly

by Margot Dalton

  He felt a little better, enjoying the tongue-lashing. It was good to have Mary stand up to him for a change. She’d always been so shy and withdrawn, so easily hurt that she made him feel bluff and clumsy. But this was a new Mary, able to give as good as she got.

  A wave of love for her swept over him, so intense that he felt weak. He looked at her humbly, and then something she’d said penetrated his tired mind, making him sit up a little straighter.

  “Work?” he asked. “What work needs to be done, Mary?”

  “Oh, God, don’t even ask.” She shook her head and ran a hand over her freshly styled hair. “I don’t know where the work should even start, Al, but it needs to get done, and I guess it will.”

  She opened a briefcase that lay on the floor beside her, taking out a bundle of legal papers. Bubba recognized a bill of sale, and his heart began to pound miserably.

  He looked at his wife, summoning a smile, trying to look cheerful. “Well, I guess this is it. End of the line, hey kid?” he said. “Where do you want my John Henry?”

  “Right here,” Mary said, pointing at a line near the bottom of the form where she’d already signed.

  “Who’s buyin’?” Bubba asked, trying hard not to disgrace himself by bursting into tears as he signed his name and gave away the place he loved.

  “Jim Sawyer,” Mary said, checking the signature. “Here, too, Al,” she added, holding out another form. “And here.”

  He nodded obediently, his mind reeling. “Jim Sawyer! He don’t have enough money to buy our ranch, Mary. With all them kids, he can’t hardly manage to—”

  “Buy our ranch?” Mary gazed at her husband in disbelief. “Jim’s not buying our ranch, Al.”

  “But…but Mary, all them papers…” Bubba waved a helpless hand at the mass of legal forms.

  Mary smiled and touched his cheek with a gentleness that almost brought the tears to his eyes once more. “Jim’s just buying that little piece of our land adjoining his home place. Remember you always told him you’d sell it once the oldest boy got married and they needed to set up another house?”

  “Well, yeah. But…” Bubba paused, drowning in confusion, his mind trying hard to grasp what she was saying. “But, Mary, that little piece of land ain’t worth more’n…twenty, thirty thousand, at the outside.”

  “Forty-one,” Mary said smugly. “I drove a hard bargain.”

  “Mary…forty thousand, that’s just a drop in the bucket. You done good, but we need a hell of a lot more to buy down the bank notes.”

  “Well, it’s a start,” Mary said calmly. “It’s enough to float a small operating loan, and together with that, I’ve got the money I need to start my business.”

  “You’re goin’ into business?” Bubba asked faintly, staring at the brisk attractive woman opposite him, wondering how, all these years, he could have overlooked her beauty and intelligence.

  “You bet,” Mary said calmly. “I sure am.”

  “Where?”

  “Right on our ranch,” Mary said in that same matter-of-fact voice. “Cody approves, and he’s even given me a whole year to get going and start showing a solid profit. Right now I’m busy mapping out fences and brooder houses, ordering incubators, making up designs for special breeding pens…”

  “Mary,” Bubba interrupted, “what are you talkin’ about, girl? What the hell is goin’ on?”

  Mary Gibson smiled at her husband, her face pink with excitement, her eyes shining. “I’m raising ostriches,” she said.

  Bubba sank back in his chair and stared.

  “It’s a wonderful business, Al,” she said earnestly. “Better than you could ever imagine. I’ve spent so much time researching it, talking with this other ostrich breeder I just met, checking out contacts, putting together a proposal that Cody could take to the board meeting. Al, it’s just foolproof.”

  “Ostriches,” Bubba whispered, still gazing at his wife with that look of stunned amazement. “Sweet jumpin’ catfish, she’s raisin’ ostriches.”

  “If you laugh,” Mary said calmly, “I’ll bash this chair over your head. Now, just listen.”

  “Ostriches,” Bubba said, choking.

  Mary gave him a cold warning glance, sat straighter in her chair and opened the briefcase.

  “Look at the literature, Al. I had these papers photocopied at the library, but most of what I know I’ve learned from talking to other breeders. Now, with the capital I’ve got plus what Cody’s advancing me, I can buy a breeding male and two females, and once the laying season starts in December, that’ll likely guarantee me no less than five eggs a week. I need to buy the incubators and pay for the special fencing up front, but the…”

  The woman obviously wasn’t joking. Bubba leaned back in his chair and gazed at her, stunned, his mind reeling. “Mary…” he began faintly.

  “Be quiet and let me finish, Al,” she said. “Now, a full-grown ostrich weighs about four hundred pounds and the hides sell to leather-makers for close to a thousand dollars each, but that’s not the area I’m interested in. The real money lies in raising breeding stock for other ranchers, and that’s what I’d like to do. Are you with me so far, Al?”

  “Breeding stock,” Bubba said obediently. “Not hides.”

  “Right. An egg incubates for forty-two days, and the chicks are eight or ten inches high when they hatch. They eat pellets and drink water right away. They have to be registered as purebred breeding stock, and then all you do is keep them warm, give them some running room and sell them when they’re three months old.”

  “For how much?” Bubba asked, gathering himself in hand and beginning to feel a stirring of interest.

  Mary looked at her husband. “Two and a half thousand dollars,” she said quietly.

  “Two an’ a…” Bubba gasped and fell silent as the implications of what she was saying dawned on him. “For each chick?” he asked in disbelief. “An’ you’re gettin’…five a week, you say?”

  Mary nodded, smiling happily. “Isn’t it wonderful? And Al, they’re just the sweetest birds. A lot of people don’t like them but, I…I’ve always liked ostriches,” she finished lamely, her cheeks pink. “I really have.”

  “An’ Cody thinks this is a good idea? He’s willin’ to back you?”

  “He thinks it’s terrific. He says more ranchers in the Hill Country will have to develop this kind of flexibility if they want to survive.”

  “Survive,” Bubba whispered. “The ranch can survive, Mary?”

  Mary nodded. “We think so. It won’t be easy,” she added warningly. “Even though there’s the potential for really good profits, most of what we make the first few years will just go toward clearing the debts. But after that…”

  “It’s gonna be a lot of work, Mary.”

  “I know. That’s why I want you to hurry up and get out of here, Al Gibson!”

  “Will you have enough help now, though? Will young Luke be able to…”

  Mary shifted uncomfortably in the chair and avoided her husband’s eyes. “I had to let Luke go,” she said quietly, toying with the handle of her briefcase. “I need the bunkhouse for somebody else. Besides,” Mary added, looking up bravely, “it wasn’t right, having him there, Al. People were gossiping, and even though nothing ever happened, I think I liked to…pretend something might, just to get even with you for the way you hurt me, you know?”

  Bubba nodded and covered her hand gently. “I know,” he said. “Was that on Luke’s mind, too?” he asked casually after a brief awkward silence. “Did he think he’d just move in on the ranch an’ all, with me outa the way an’ you alone?”

  “I don’t know,” Mary said honestly. “Maybe I’d be flattering myself to think that he had any interest in me. Maybe he only wanted a warm place to sleep, or maybe he really wanted to help. Luke Harte’s not an easy man to figure out, I know that much.”

  Bubba nodded, trying not to show his relief that the young drifter was gone from Mary’s life. “So,” he asked casually, “who
’s gonna be helpin’ you with these ostriches, Mary?”

  “That’s another wonderful thing,” she said, her eyes brightening, the awkwardness disappearing as she leaned forward eagerly. “You remember Rosa Martinez who works for Carolyn at the Circle T?”

  “I think so. She’s real good with horses? Got into some trouble down at Fort Stockton an’ shot a guy for hurtin’ her kid?”

  “That’s right. Well, she has a sister named Maria who’s married to a young fellow taking an agriculture course at the university in Austin. They have a little boy about four, and you know what?”

  “What?”

  “They’ve worked with ostriches in New Mexico, at a ranch near Carlsbad!” Mary leaned back in triumph, smiling at her husband, who nodded his shaggy head thoughtfully.

  “An’ they’ll live in the bunkhouse?”

  Mary nodded happily. “It’s so perfect, Al. They know I can’t pay much, but he’s going to school on an education grant and she has a part-time job at the library in Crystal Creek. In return for the house and some groceries and me baby-sitting while she works, they’ll help me with the ostriches, so it works out great for everybody. And he’s such a darling,” she added, her face softening. “Little Bobby, I mean. It’s going to be pure pleasure, having a little one around the place again.”

  Bubba Gibson stared at his wife and shook his head in wonder. “Mary Gibson, you’re one in a million,” he said slowly. “You know that? One in a million.”

  She smiled shyly, her face soft, her eyes gentle. “It feels real good to hear you say that. I…I love you, Al.”

  Bubba swallowed hard, wishing he had a better command of words, wishing he could take her in his arms and let her know how much she meant to him. This quiet courageous woman had given him back his life, his love, his hope for the future…given him more treasures in this one half hour than any man could dream of.

  But the guards were moving into the room now, watching as the three women said their halting farewells, waiting to usher them out the door.

  Mary turned and peered past a burly uniformed shoulder to smile and wave. Then she was gone, leaving Bubba alone, his mind reeling with crazy images of sunshine and green hillsides and dancing ostriches.

  He followed the guard back to his cell, stepping inside with an automatic murmur of thanks. While the guard’s departing footsteps echoed down the corridor, Bubba looked around at the drearily familiar walls and the stained ceiling.

  But the place didn’t seem nearly as oppressive now. Even the noise of the fan out in the hall didn’t depress him anymore. It sounded almost jaunty, a cheery little chirping sound like a cricket.

  Bubba peered cautiously out into the barred hallway, then sank down beside his cot on creaking knees, burying his face in his coarse gray blanket.

  Bubba Gibson hadn’t prayed for a long time, hadn’t thought much about God for years, in fact. But he tried to pray now. Tears wet his cheeks and burned in his throat as he choked out a halting thanks for all the blessings he didn’t deserve, for life and hope, for the promise of light in this bleak darkness, for the sweet rolling acres that meant the world to him and, most of all, for the love of a wonderful woman.

  ALVIN CREPT ALONG the side of the truck, cowering at Brock’s heels and casting quick furtive glances into the black depths of the barn. He turned with sudden panic, dug in his heels and tried to scale the side of the box, falling back in the dust in a disorderly heap at Brock’s feet.

  Mary Gibson shifted a pad of paper from her right hand to her left and bent to pat the shivering little dog, gazing down at him in concern.

  “What on earth is the matter with him, Brock?”

  “He’s scared of your big black tomcat,” Brock said with a grin. “Come on, Alvin. Up you go.”

  He hoisted the dog into the box of the truck. The two neighbors watched as Alvin settled himself with an air of arrogant bravado, pausing to gnaw contemptuously at one of his forepaws. From the safety of this new vantage point, he lifted his head and gave a couple of aggressive challenging barks, then dropped his chin heavily onto an old sack and fell asleep.

  “What a coward,” Mary said, smiling at the ragged dog.

  “Yeah,” Brock agreed. An awkward silence fell, while Brock poked with the toe of his boot at a bundle of posts and heavy-gauge wire stacked near the fence. “Pretty stout fencing,” he ventured.

  “Yes,” Mary agreed placidly. She watched as her big cat crept silently out of the barn and began to circle the truck, head low, paws daintily extended, yellow eyes blazing.

  “You planning to raise buffalo or something, Mary?” Brock inquired mildly, unaware of the tomcat’s stealthy approach.

  “No,” Mary said. “I’m not.” She smiled, glancing sideways at the cat, which had flattened itself against a rear tire and was casting a speculative glance up at the truck box.

  “Mary…”

  “Yes, Brock?”

  “Mary, what’s going on? Is everything okay here? I mean, you’re not selling the place or anything like that, are you?”

  “No, Brock, I’m not selling. I’m just diversifying, that’s all. Isn’t that one of your favorite words?”

  Brock studied his neighbor thoughtfully. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, Mary?” he said. “You’d tell me if you needed help or anything? Because I’d do anything I could. You know I would.”

  “I know, Brock. And very soon you’ll know what’s happening over here, too, but I want to get things going before I start talking about it. I promise that when I’m ready to discuss my plans, you’ll be the first to know.”

  The tomcat leaped lightly to the edge of the truck box behind Brock, teetered for a moment and then dropped soundlessly inside, crouching in one corner, eyeing the sleeping dog on his bundle of sacking. The cat’s tawny eyes glittered and his scarred ears twitched dangerously as he edged forward.

  Still oblivious to the small drama being enacted just behind him, Brock leaned back against the truck box and raised his handsome face to the sunlight. “Say, Mary…” he began, trying to sound casual.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you going to the McKinneys’ Halloween party on the weekend?”

  “I guess so,” Mary said, casting another fascinated glance at her cat, which was now sitting next to Brock’s sleeping dog. The big animal was as still as a statue, crouching there with uncanny patience, his muscular body tense and contained so that his fierce yellow eyes seemed to be the only living thing about him.

  “Kind of strange, isn’t it?” Brock commented in that same deliberately offhand way. “I mean, Halloween’s been and gone, hasn’t it? This is November already.”

  “I know, but they wanted to have the party when Cal and Serena could be there, and apparently this was the only weekend.”

  “What a lot of damn fool nonsense. I don’t know if I’ll go,” Brock said gloomily.

  Mary chuckled. “For heaven’s sake, you sound just as cranky as old Hank Travis.”

  Brock gave her an abashed grin and kicked at the dust with the toe of his boot. “So,” he ventured, “who’s going, Mary? Is pretty well everybody going to be there?”

  Mary took pity on him and touched his arm with a gesture of motherly compassion. “I think Amanda’s gone back to New York, Brock,” she said gently. “Beverly told me she was planning to leave this week, and I haven’t heard from her, so I guess she’s gone. Although,” Mary added with a troubled expression, “I’m surprised that she didn’t come out to say goodbye to me. We got to be pretty good friends, Amanda and I.”

  “Yeah, I know. I guess you two were—”

  Brock got no further. Suddenly the cat coiled and hissed, slashing the air with wicked claws while Alvin backed into a corner, barking hysterically, his eyes rolling with terror.

  Brock shooed the cat away and gathered the shaking little dog into his arms where Alvin huddled and burrowed, trembling in convulsive spasms.

  Mary laughed aloud while Brock gave her a rueful grin over Alvin
’s quivering ears. “Women are so cold,” he commented sadly. “No pity at all for a poor sensitive guy and his feelings.”

  Still laughing, Mary watched as Brock bundled his unhappy dog into the cab of the truck, gave a cheery wave and drove off toward his own ranch. Then she turned away and concentrated happily on the plans she was drawing up for a set of breeding pens.

  BROCK DROVE ALONG the dusty back trail toward his own property with Alvin still shivering on the seat beside him. He patted the frightened little dog with absentminded gentleness, thinking about what Mary had just told him.

  So Amanda had gone back to New York after all.

  Brock had always known she would, once this little adventure was over and she decided to accept the glamorous job and life-style that her New York boyfriend could offer. But he’d always hoped that she’d come and say goodbye before she left, make an effort to explain herself and leave things on a better footing between them.

  “I guess I’m just a fool, Alvin,” Brock commented sadly to the dog, who gazed up at him with dark suffering eyes. “Taken for a ride by a pretty face, that’s all. I wonder if I’m ever gonna learn. She’s not even worth the effort of being this unhappy, dammit.”

  But the words didn’t satisfy him, didn’t help to ease the ache in his heart.

  She’d laughed at him, used him, betrayed him and tossed him aside like an old garment, but Brock still couldn’t shake the stubborn conviction that during those sun-spangled moments of wonder amid the grass and flowers, she’d felt the same things he had. He’d seen the glow of love on her beautiful face, felt her curving sweet body melting in his arms and heard the broken halting whispers of things she didn’t even know she was saying….

  Could he possibly have imagined all that? Who exactly was the real Amanda Walker?

  Brock frowned, his mind tugging wearily at this same question that had haunted him ever since he met her. He worked back through his memories, trying to recall all the personalities he’d seen wrapped up in that one woman.