by Alice Duncan
Both Kenny and Phil stayed on their bulls for the entire however-many-seconds they were supposed to stay on, but Phil’s bull was meaner and less predictable than Kenny’s, so Phil won that competition, too. I noticed that Kenny didn’t appear to be very happy about it, and that he and Phil exchanged another few words that didn’t seem awfully friendly. Then, as Esther Strickland clung to Kenny’s arm (and Sarah presumably went off somewhere and cried), Phil walked away from them. I could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was peeved, and I decided to go talk to him. Maybe if he comprehended that I was proud of him and cared about him, he’d realize he’d wronged me and would return to my side.
Or something. I guess it boiled down to me not wanting to give him up without a fight, although the notion that I had to fight for him was really galling.
I found him looking grumpy, wandering among the tables that were laden with food. Every now and then he’d pick up and nibble something. He didn’t see me, so I said, “Hey, Phil.”
He looked up and frowned at me. Now, I ask you, was that any way to treat the woman to whom you’d been devoted for several years? I think not. But I pretended I didn’t notice the frown. “Great job with the horses and bulls, Phil. You looked really good out there.”
“Hmm. Thanks.”
Gee, if he were any more happy and grateful to me for voicing my praise, he might just fall asleep. I was not amused. “Well, I just wanted to tell you I thought you did a great job.”
“Hmm.”
Hmm. Okay, then. I felt like telling him to take his horse and his bull and go to Hades, but I was trying my very best to pretend that nothing Phil did could affect me in any way at all, so I just said brightly, “See ya!” and turned around and headed back toward the fence. If my chest ached and my eyes burned and I wanted to scream and shout and throw things and then go to bed and cry for a year or two, I wouldn’t let on.
Because I felt so rotten, I decided to take a little walk around the place before heading back to my friends and being forced to make a peppy conversation with Myrtle—or, God forbid, Hazel. I made off in an easterly direction, away from where the rodeo was going on.
In a field some yards off, I could see my brother and Davy Gunderson and a couple of the Wilson boys playing ball. I still wondered why a person with a single grain of sense would play baseball when there was a rodeo going on. On the other hand, these were boys, and boys have never been noted for their common sense. In fact, I’ll never understand boys as long as I live. And then they grew up to be men, and everyone knows there’s no understanding men.
I veered right, away from the baseball game, hoping Jack wouldn’t see me and resume his taunts. As I neared a stand of shinnery oaks, I heard voices. Angry voices. Well, shoot. I didn’t want to have anything to do with an argument; I already felt bad enough.
I took a quick turn to my left, but I wasn’t quick enough to avoid seeing Kenny Sawyer stomp out of the oaks, his face red and his eyes blazing. Behind him stomped Armando Contreras, his hand clamped on Josephine’s arm, hauling on her as if he was furious with her and Kenny both.
“But I swear, Mando, we weren’t doing anything!” Josephine cried.
It looked to me as if Armando had her arm in a really painful grip, but I wasn’t about to interfere.
“You know how people around here talk, damn it!” Armando said. “And that Kenny Sawyer is a damned snake! If anybody else had seen you, you’d never live it down, and neither would I!”
Kenny whirled around. “Who you callin’ names?”
“You, you damned snake!”
“Why, you son of a. . . .” Kenny started back toward Armando.
I stood there, scared, wishing I could think of something to do that might defuse the situation. I didn’t think fast enough to do anything useful.
In the end it was Josephine who saved the day—or maybe she only saved her husband from having his nose busted. She yanked hard on Armando’s arm, he stumbled slightly, and she jumped in front of him, facing Kenny. “Just go back to the rodeo, Kenny. Please. Armando didn’t mean it.”
“The hell I—”
“I tell you,” she cried, drowning out Armando’s voice, “he doesn’t understand what was going on! Just go back, Kenny. Please!”
Deciding that, while I might be generally useless, I might be able to help a tiny bit in this case, I hurried into the fray. “Kenny! Hey, Kenny, I’ll go back with you.”
None of them had realized they had an audience, I guess, because they all three jerked and turned toward me. Josephine whispered, “Oh, Annabelle, thank you.”
Kenny said, “Well. . . .”
Armando tried to tug himself out of his wife’s grip, but Josephine hung on tight, digging in her heels and making furrows in the earth.
“Come on, Kenny. There’s nothing to be gained by making a fuss. This is supposed to be a party, after all. You don’t want to spoil it.”
“I don’t let anybody call me names,” Kenny said stubbornly.
Then you ought to stop flirting with other men’s wives, was what I wanted to say, but I managed to restrain myself. God alone knows how. “I understand,” I said instead, “but Armando’s famous for his hot temper. He never means what he says when he’s mad.” I sent Armando a happy smile to let him know I was only teasing, but I was really glad Josephine was holding on to him when I saw the look on his face.
Being more audacious than was generally the case, I stepped boldly forward and took Kenny by the arm. Since he was a cowboy, and cowboys prided themselves on their chivalry—when other people were watching them, anyhow—he pretty much had to do as I’d suggested and walk back to the rodeo with me. My heart was hammering like a kettledrum the whole way.
“You did a great job on the bulls, Kenny,” I said, trying to make polite conversation.
My attempt came to naught. “I lost.”
“Well, maybe, but you still did a good job. You came in second. That’s not bad at all.”
“Huh.”
Okay, so much for playing on his ego.
My luck was holding true to form. As we passed the barbecue tables, Phil glanced over. He’d been kind of stooping gloomily over the array of desserts, but when Kenny and I strolled into view, he straightened as if somebody’d goosed him. Wonderful. Now Phil would probably think I was two-timing him with Kenny, when all I’d done was try to stop a fight before it got started.
Then again, I thought, maybe seeing Kenny and me together had made Phil’s heart lurch a little bit. That might not be such a bad thing. My own personal heart had been flipping around like an acrobat at the circus in recent days, thanks to Phil’s infatuation with Esther Strickland.
What a stupid world.
But at least Kenny and Armando hadn’t come to blows. I wondered what Kenny and Josephine had been doing amongst the oaks. Maybe Josephine’s parents ought to have named her Jezebel. First it had been Richard, and now it was Kenny. I’d always believed Josephine and Armando to be a happy couple, but maybe I was wrong. God knows, I seemed to have been wrong a lot lately. Anyway, when we got near the chutes, I said, “I’m going to go join my friends now, Kenny.”
“All right.” He looked sulky. Sounded sulky, too.
Because I thought he needed at least a small scolding, I said, “Try to stay out of trouble, okay? And that means not messing with the wives of other men.”
He shot me a hideous glower that looked out of place on his handsome face. He snapped, “You don’t know anything about it!” and stomped off.
I sighed, internally acknowledged that I didn’t know anything about a whole bunch of stuff and turned to walk the other way.
When I got back to the fence, Hazel and Myrtle were talking. Actually, Hazel was doing all the talking. Myrtle was looking rather as if she’d like to throw Hazel in front of a rampaging bull, an emotion I understood quite well.
Glancing around with what appeared like something akin to panic, Myrtle saw me and said brightly, “Oh, Hazel, I’m so sorry
, but Annabelle and I have to help with the barbecue preparations.” And she shinnied down that fence faster than you could spit (that’s a cowboy expression. It seemed to fit here, given the rodeo and all. If I ever said it out loud at home, my mother would skin me).
Looking back over her shoulder as we walked off, Myrtle said, “I didn’t think that girl would ever shut up. Annabelle, I swear, she lives for gossip, and the nastier it is, the better she likes it.”
“I know. It might get her in trouble someday, too.”
“How?”
Excellent question, and one to which I didn’t have a ready answer. That being the case, I said, “I don’t know, but I’ll bet somebody will really get mad at her one of these days, and then she’ll be sorry.”
Myrtle looked doubtful—and for good reason, I suppose, since I hadn’t noticed a whole lot of divine retribution going on around me recently. “I’m glad you told her we were going to help out at the barbecue. I don’t want to watch the stupid rodeo anymore.”
“How come?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess Hazel was getting to me. And Kenny and Armando just about got into a fight a few minutes ago.”
Myrtle brightened up a bit. “Did they really?”
“Yes. Kenny was with Josephine. I swear, I don’t know what’s the matter with people.”
“I don’t, either, Annabelle. I never thought Josephine would two-time Armando.”
“Me, neither. I sure wouldn’t if I were married to him. He’s got a mean temper.”
“He sure does. I don’t think he’d hit Josephine, though. Do you?”
I thought about it for a second. “I doubt it, but he might try to fight some man and get himself killed for his effort.”
Myrtle shuddered.
“It’s not just her, either,” I said. “Kenny’s been cozying up to all sorts of females lately.”
Myrtle sighed.
I grumped along in silence for a minute, then burst out, “And there’s Esther Strickland, too.”
“Esther?” Myrtle sounded awfully darned surprised, which she shouldn’t have been if she’d been paying attention.
“Darn it, Myrtle, that Miss Esther Strickland is a cat! Did you see her hanging all over Kenny?” I didn’t mention Phil, although she’d been hanging all over him, too. “Poor Sarah.” And poor me.
Myrtle put on her self-righteous expression. “She wasn’t hanging all over anybody, Annabelle. She’s only interested in what cowboys do in the rodeo, and she’s friendly. She’s really a lovely person. She’s totally devoted to her brother.” Almost as an afterthought, she added piously, “And the Lord.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, wishing I’d not said anything at all about the Strickland witch.
“You’d find that out for yourself if you’d come to one of the meetings with me.”
“I don’t want to go to one of their stupid meetings.”
“They’re not stupid. That’s your sinful heart talking, Annabelle Blue, and you know it.”
Phooey.
But, I reminded myself, as somebody—probably God—once said, this, too, will pass. It couldn’t pass soon enough to suit me.
Myrtle and I had a good time dishing out food at the barbecue, though. I manned the beans and helped serve up big slabs of barbecued beef, and serving duty turned out to be fun. When Josephine Contreras held out her plate for me to plop some beans onto, I wanted very much to ask her why she’d been so cozy with my brother-in-law that day and the day before, and then with Kenny, but I didn’t. Which proves yet again that every now and then I can hold my tongue. Anyhow, she was with her husband, who seemed to have calmed down, and I took that as a good omen.
“Looks good enough to eat,” said Armando, grinning at me, from which I presumed that all was forgiven.
Just before she moved along to the salads, Josephine leaned over and murmured, “Thanks again, Annabelle. I was afraid they were going to fight.”
“Sure,” I said, happy to be appreciated by someone, even if it wasn’t Phil.
Zilpha and Mayberry seemed very happy when they held out their plates. “Heap ’em high, Annabelle. I’m a hungry man.” Mayberry winked. He’s a really nice guy.
He was also getting to be a slightly pudgy one, but I didn’t point that out to him. “Sure thing, Mayberry. Here you go.”
“Isn’t this a wonderful party, Annabelle?” Zilpha asked. She was bright and cheery. She was pretty much always bright and cheery. She’s a much nicer person than I am.
“It sure is,” I said, wishing it were so.
Richard and Hannah were next in line, and they were holding hands. Was Richard holding her hand because he was genuinely devoted to her, or was he holding her hand because he didn’t want Hannah or anyone else to know he was cheating on her with Josephine Contreras? I hoped like fire it was the former, although it had always seemed to me that Richard loved money above all things. Except maybe Hannah. Truth to tell, he seemed devoted to her most of the time—which made his tête-à-têtes with Josephine terribly difficult to understand.
It was driving me nuts that I couldn’t think of a likely reason for Richard to have been so darned friendly with Josephine—several times within my own line of vision, and who knows how many other times out of it—other than an affair. Maybe that meant I had a low mind. I don’t know. Still, I couldn’t quite feature Josephine needing to chat with Richard about a business deal, which was the only reason I could imagine for Josephine and a banker to be chummy. Especially outside of the darned bank. Nuts.
I was glad to see that Kenny Sawyer and Sarah Molina had evidently made up their quarrel, if they’d had one. It seemed to me that Kenny was oblivious, and Sarah was the one who was unhappy most of the time. However, now they were in line together, and he had his arm around her waist. That looked like a good sign to me. I smiled at Sarah. “Hey, Sarah.”
“Hey, Annabelle, those beans look good.”
“They are. Made by my own personal mother. With chilies and ham hocks. I can vouch for them.”
She laughed. It was definitely an improvement over crying. Looking at her critically, I decided she was every bit as pretty as Esther Strickland—not that looks are supposed to count, but they do anyhow. Sarah was taller and quite a bit darker than Esther, and had glossy black hair that she’d left long—lots of girls in those days were getting their hair shingled at the barbershop—and big brown eyes. I thought she was lovely, and she was also very nice if somewhat weepy. I also thought that Kenny was an idiot if he didn’t treat her well, which he didn’t.
Kenny himself was tiny bit taller than Phil, being a shade over six feet, I guess. He had curly brown hair and greenish eyes, and most folks, including me, considered him at least as handsome as most of the cowboys in the flickers. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Kenny had decided to head out to New York or Los Angeles and try to get himself a job in the motion pictures, actually. He was the type who’d like to strut and posture in front of a bunch of people. Have I mentioned before that I didn’t like him much?
“I know I already told you this, Kenny, but I really meant it when I said I thought you did a good job today on the broncs and bulls,” I said as I scooped beans.
“Thanks.”
Sarah smiled happily and squeezed his arm. I wonder what it is about some women that they can be happy with men who treat them like dirt. It’s another one of life’s puzzles, I reckon. There are sure a lot of them.
Ma and Pa were next. Ma asked nervously under her breath, “How do people like the beans, Annabelle?”
“They love ’em, Ma.”
“Nobody’s complaining because they’re too spicy, are they?”
“Everybody around here loves spicy stuff, Ma. You know that.”
“I don’t know.” Ma always worried about her cooking, but she needn’t have because she was a very good cook. “Maybe I should have left out that last chili pepper.”
“Naw,” I said, spooning beans onto her plate. “They’re perfect.”
/> “That’s what I’ve been telling her,” said Pa, holding out his own plate.
Then Phil showed up, looking long and lanky and ever so handsome. I smiled at him, in spite of the mean way he’d treated me not an hour earlier. He was with a couple of the other cowboys in the competition, but he said, “Hey, Annabelle, I’m sorry I was grouchy earlier.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised by his acknowledgement of his former crankiness. “Were you?”
“Yeah, I was. But I’m not mad at you or anything. I was thinking about something else.”
Why in the world would he be mad at me? “Oh,” I said, “okay,” and wondered what the “something else” was. Esther Strickland, perhaps?
There I went again, making myself miserable for no good reason.
“Hey, when you’re through dishing up grub, come over and sit with me, okay?”
Boy, you just never can tell, can you? One minute the wind blows one way, and the next minute it blows the other, keeping you constantly off guard. I renewed my vow to run off and have adventures on my own, since men were so unreliable.
“Sure, Phil. I’ll be happy to join you.”
And then, a few people down the line later, the good reverend and his not-so-good sister appeared in front of me. Although I wasn’t happy to see either one of them, I smiled sweetly. “How-do, Miss Strickland, Reverend Strickland. Have you been enjoying the rodeo?”
“Oh, my, yes,” Esther said in her innocent, little-girl voice. She was hugging her plate to her chest. I hoped there was no food on it yet. Or maybe I didn’t. “The cowboys are ever so handsome and robust, aren’t they? I’ve never seen so many fine-looking gentlemen. And so athletic! My goodness, I don’t know how they do what they do.”
“Er . . . yes. They’re a bunch of great guys, all right.”
Holding his plate out to me, her brother looked pained for a second but recovered at once. “Yes, indeed. They’re a fine group of fellows. And good Christians, too, according to Mr. Gunderson.”
