by Frank Hayes
“What’s the matter, Dad? You’re looking kinda glum.”
“There’s a word you don’t hear much anymore, ‘glum.’ Yeah, I reckon it fits. Guess when you see what you’ve spent your whole life doing coming to an end that can bring you down. Bit by bit, people, then parts of your life start to drift away. Guess I just wasn’t ready, didn’t see it coming. Then, of course, there’s life’s little ironies. You know I always hoped High Lonesome would be there for generations yet to come. While they were coming along, I hoped your brothers would take hold. That never happened. Now, your mother’s gone along with one of your brothers and Cal shows up here this morning, says he wants to take High Lonesome off my hands. Says he has backers who’ll buy it on speculation, then I can move to town. As he put it, sit on the front porch, put my feet up. Guess what he means is I sit there watching sunsets till I run out of them. That’s not exactly what I had in mind for my last days.”
Charlie slumped down in his chair, let out a sigh, then turned his face to look out the window. Marian grabbed the remote, clicking off the television.
“So Calvin’s going to offer you a retirement package. Dad, you should have told him to stick it.”
34
Virgil left the office as soon as Jimmy came in. Simon Levine had stopped by and was talking with Rosie when Virgil had returned from High Lonesome ranch. Simon wanted to know if Virgil had any word about the probability of him becoming a member of law enforcement in Hayward. Since Virgil knew the town council had their weekly meeting the night before, while Simon was sitting in front of him he put in a call to Mayor Bob Jamison.
“Mayor’s office.”
“Is he there, Hilda?”
“No, Virgil. You can probably reach him on his cell.”
“I’m sure you can help me out. Everyone knows that secretaries are the real powers behind the throne. No doubt you’ve already typed up the minutes of last night’s meeting. I want to know what happened about my request for a new deputy.”
“Damn you, Virgil. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I am so . . . so pissed.”
“Hilda, that you or has some evil twin taken over your body? Never heard you cuss before.”
“You want to know if you can tell that Simon, Simon Levinson, whether or not he’s got a job.”
“Levine, Hilda. Simon Levine.”
“Whatever. I’m so mad, if I could reach through this phone and grab you by the throat, I would in a heartbeat.”
“Hilda, what did I do?”
“I’ll tell you. You got your new deputy—Simon, Simon Levine or whatever his name is. You want to know what I got in this trade? I got Lester Smoot’s nearsighted nephew as my assistant. Just what I need, some hormonal kid looking down my dress every time I bend over. You know Lester’s had a hard-on for you ever since that night when Dif popped him in your office. Don’t get me wrong. I think Dif should’ve got a medal for that. But no, he didn’t and I got Elroy. That was the bargain so you could get your new deputy. You owe me big-time, Virgil.”
“Thanks, Hilda, for the info along with keeping one of Lester’s kin out of my office. A hard-on, pissed off. I didn’t even know you knew about such things, Hilda.” A low laugh followed Virgil’s comment.
“I wasn’t raised in a bubble, Virgil. Grew up on a farm like most everyone else around here. Remember, you owe me.”
“Point taken. Thank you, Hilda.”
Virgil hung up the phone. “Looks like you’re going to be taking up residence in Hayward, Simon. You can tell Chet he’s going to get his couch back as soon as you get a place of your own.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. I really appreciate the opportunity. Hope I don’t disappoint you.”
“Don’t worry—if you do I’ll just take you out in the desert and shoot you.”
Virgil smiled, then got up from his desk. He walked Simon to the door, then stood there watching him drive off. Virgil walked back into his office, collapsing into his chair.
“That’s a good thing you did, Virgil,” Rosie said. “I like him. We had a long talk before you came in. On the other hand, guess Hilda ain’t going to be leading a parade down Main Street in your honor anytime soon.”
“No, not likely. Remind me to stop by Kleman’s and send some flowers over to Hilda.”
“Forget the flowers, she ain’t the type. A bottle of hooch takes the edge off quicker. Hilda likes vodka.”
Virgil nodded, then stood up. “I’m beat. Heading home. Feel like I haven’t spent any time there lately. Need a break. Jimmy’s coming in now so you’ll have company.” Virgil waved as he opened the door for Jimmy, then left.
It was not just an idle comment. Virgil felt like he hadn’t spent any time at home lately. During the last couple of weeks, it seemed like just a place to hang his hat, get some shut-eye, and change his clothes. He missed being there. Something about the rhythm of life that recharged his batteries.
Ark had been right. The weather had definitely made a right turn. The sun was setting earlier. Any wind that blew from the north packed more of a punch. He rolled his car window almost all the way up. Glancing at the dashboard, he saw the outside temperature was hovering around fifty. A little cool for the first week of December in this part of the Southwest. Ark was also correct about the snow. If and when they got any, unless it was above four thousand feet, it generally wasn’t substantial. Usually it was gone in a couple of hours. Virgil actually liked snow. Maybe because it was a rare occurrence, but he liked how it transformed the world so quickly. All the sharp edges became blunted, softer. It became an impressionist painting.
He pulled into the driveway. The car rolled to a stop by the corral. He stepped out. Everything was quiet. He held his breath for a moment, joining the conspiracy of silence. No movement. Not a breeze or a leaf that clung stubbornly to a branch stirred. He could see horses in the distance, unmoving dots on the far hills. Time stood still. He breathed deeply, letting the quiet wash over him like a wave. It was what he needed. For a long time he stood there, reluctant to let time move on. At last he turned away. Then started for the house.
Fifteen minutes later, he was back outside in work clothes. He went through the barn methodically doing the daily chores that were saved for the end of the day. He knew Cesar would appreciate his efforts. The barns were still infused with new-wood smell from their recent construction. Mixed with the perfume of horse manure, leather, and hay it was not unpleasant. Only the evidence of age and past memories were missing but Virgil knew that to move forward you had to leave some things behind.
He didn’t even realize he had broken a sweat until he got to the end of his work, then stepped outside into the chilled air. On his way to the house, he noticed a wood pile off to one side, which had grown in his absence, so he turned, then went back to the barn. A few minutes later, the rhythmic sound of logs being split broke the silence. Virgil stayed with the task for almost an hour. When at last he drove the ax into the heart of a large log to keep its edge, he stepped back, rewarded with close to a quarter of a cord of wood piled in a heap. He knew that the mound would continue to grow through Cesar’s or Pedro’s or José’s efforts. The rest would fall victim to a mechanical log splitter. It didn’t matter to Virgil. He was rewarded beyond that with an ache between his shoulders, along with sweat running freely from his pores. He felt good.
After he showered and changed he came downstairs, went into the kitchen, and took inventory of the refrigerator. He saw a freshly dismembered chicken, washed, plucked, and sitting on a plate. He did not dwell on the fact that the chicken population in the barn had been reduced by one. By the time Cesar came through the door a half hour later, the hapless fowl was frying in a pan.
“Looks like I’m done for the day. Somebody did my barn chores for me. They even split some wood. Must be that their life has become easier or it’s a product of guilt.”
“You’re getting a litt
le too profound for me. I guess when you get old, you just can’t be thankful, you got to look for some kind of sinister motivation. A good deed can’t just be a good deed.”
“Who’s getting profound now?” Cesar said.
“Just set the table and get a couple of cold ones.”
“Yes, boss. Anything you say. By the way, if you want me to rub some horse liniment on your shoulders later . . . You know it’s been a long time since you swung an ax.”
“Keep it up, old man, and you’ll end up like this chicken.”
* * *
After dinner, Virgil took a walk outside to check on the horses. Jack whinnied when he stepped off the porch in greeting. Virgil went to him.
“Nice to be recognized,” he said. Virgil ran his hand across Jack’s neck, taking note of his thickening coat. “Guess you know winter’s definitely coming. Putting on a winter layer already.”
He stayed with Jack while the night shadows stretched across the land. Cesar waved to him as he went toward his quarters in the adjacent barn. Then Virgil headed toward the well-lit house. A little while later he settled into a chair in front of the television. Before he turned it on, he punched a number into the phone. It rang and rang on the other end until a message prompt came on.
“Hey, Virginia, I’ve been pretty busy. Just wanted you to know, well, I’ve been thinking about you. Oh, it’s Virgil.”
He hung up the phone with that awkward feeling he had felt before whenever technology got in his way.
* * *
There wasn’t much on the television that held his interest once he got past the latest global crisis. None of the so-called reality shows held his attention. He tried watching a guy who presented himself as some kind of survivalist making it in the wilderness with bare essentials. Virgil stayed with it until he showed viewers how to build a debris shelter where he was going to spend the night. This stretched the limits of Virgil’s belief. He couldn’t get past the notion that the entire experience was being filmed in this “wilderness” by a camera crew who were in all likelihood going to bunk down in some three-star motel in the nearest town. Virgil had an even harder time, when they turned off the camera getting ready to leave, accepting the notion that the survivalist wasn’t going to crawl out of his superbly constructed shelter and head out with them for the adjoining room, a hot shower, and maybe even some room service.
The chicken had been good enough that after a couple of hours of uninspiring television he was curious enough to go see if there was anything left of it. Cesar had cleaned up after they ate. His disappointment was complete when all he could come up with was a leg that didn’t offer much more than two mouthfuls. He started prowling the cabinets, looking for something to fill that empty space in the pit of his stomach, when he heard a knock at the door. Glancing out the window he saw the headlights of a car blink off. He wasn’t in the mood for more policing tonight so he went to the door less than hopeful. His relief was apparent when he opened it and saw Virginia standing there.
“Sorry, if it’s too late, but when I got in my car down in Redbud I heard your message. So when I was driving by I thought, why not stop.”
“Glad you did. Come on in. Afraid it was going to be another late-night incident that I’d have to deal with.”
“Do you get a lot of those?” she asked as she came into the kitchen.
“A lot more than I used to. Hayward’s changing. I’m sure that’s not news to you. Anyone that’s been away for any length of time, like you at college, sees it more than anyone who is here every day.”
“You’re right. They even put in a traffic light down at that intersection by that motel they built in Redbud.”
“Guess that’s progress,” Virgil said. “Anyway, I worked up more than my usual appetite doing a little work around here when I came home. I was trying to scare up a snack. Will you join me?”
“I could eat. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll see what I can come up with. You can get the beer.”
“You got a deal,” Virgil said. “That’s the easy part.”
Ten minutes later they were sitting on either side of a plate filled with crackers topped with cheese, olives, and sprinkled lightly with salt and pepper.
“That’s a lot more inviting than anything I’d have come up with. Looks a lot nicer, too.”
“A lot of chefs say the presentation is as important as the food itself.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Virgil said. “Guess I’ve always started and ended with my appetite. Don’t know if looking at something that looks good is going to satisfy me as much as eating it.”
“I can’t say I disagree,” she said as she popped a fully loaded cracker into her mouth. “I like to eat.”
Virgil smiled, watching her.
“So did your mother,” he said. “She could eat two-thirds of a pizza after a movie, but it never showed. She was also willing to try anything. I remember her bringing me to this place that had just started serving Hawaiian pizza. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the concept of pineapple on pizza, but she dove right in. That’s the way she was with everything.” Virgil averted his eyes, looking at the clock on the wall, but not really seeing the time. Virginia reached across the table, covering his hand with her own.
“Thanks for telling me that. I’d like to hear more about my mother from you.” For the next hour while they cleaned the plate and sipped their beer Virgil talked. Virginia hung on every word.
“So you never said what you were doing down in Redbud.”
“Oh, I’ve been working there since the pecan harvest. It’s a busy time. The start of a new year.”
“How’s everything going? I mean with the business.”
“Good. Caleb and Uncle Micah are working a lot more together. They’re talking about more expansion, maybe getting into retail. I suggested maybe starting off with mail order. The harvest was better than expected this year.”
“Is that something you would be interested in?” Virgil asked. “I mean, careerwise?”
“I’m not sure. Remember, I’m going back after Christmas for one more semester. Guess it’s time to start thinking about my future. Don’t forget your promise. We’re going to spend some time together around Christmas.”
“Looking forward to it. By the way, I’d like you to meet your mother’s best friend. She’s married to Doc Kincaid. A real nice lady. I told Doc about you. About us. He said she’s going to want to meet you.”
Virginia had stood up from the table, then grabbed her jacket, which was hanging on the back of a chair. Virgil stood also. Then they both started for the door.
The air was much colder. They stood together on the porch, their breath rising into the night.
“I’d like to meet Mom’s friend. How did you tell Dr. Kincaid?”
“What do you mean?” Virgil asked. “I just said you were my daughter.”
Virginia smiled, looking at Virgil. “That’s a coincidence. When I was in the office today, one of the drivers came in and we were talking for a while. Then he asked me my last name. I told him Dalton. Then he said that’s the same name as the sheriff. I told him that was right because the sheriff is my dad.”
She reached up, gave Virgil a kiss, then ran down the steps to her car, disappearing into the night. Virgil stood there a long time looking after her. He had never been called Dad before.
35
Virgil knew there had been a change before his eyes were half open. It could happen like that in these parts. It sounded like someone throwing pebbles against the window. He remembered how cold it had been the night before when he and Virginia were standing on the porch. He didn’t recall seeing the moon or any stars, but beyond the cold, the recollection of other things warmed him. There were going to be a lot of stops along the way today he knew, but before he made any of them he began with a call. The phone rang only once before it was pi
cked up.
“Reservation police, Sandra Redfern. How can I help you?”
“Sandra, Virgil Dalton here. Has Billy come in yet?”
“No, no, Virgil. That’s why I’m here early. He wanted to go check on your grandfather first, before he started his day.”
“Why, what’s up?”
“Well, since he had the fall, Billy’s been going there each morning to make sure he’s set up for the day. Mrs. Hoya isn’t coming back until tomorrow.”
Virgil didn’t want to advertise his lack of knowledge or neglect.
“Okay, Sandra, thanks. I’ll probably catch up with him there.”
Virgil knew when he hung up the phone that another stop was added to his list. He jumped into the shower, then dressed in record time. Downstairs, he wolfed down an English muffin and a glass of juice, pausing only over a hot cup of coffee. He would have liked to sit over a second one to jump-start his engine, but knew that would have to wait. When he stepped outside onto the porch, the day effectively did what the second cup of coffee would have. A blast of the coldest air he’d felt since the previous winter hit him in the face, shaking him into full consciousness. When he reached the last of the five steps that led to the path, he almost took a header. Only his quick grab on the side rail kept him from going down. As he looked around he realized that a glaze of ice coated the landscape. He made his way a bit more carefully to his cruiser. When he got in he had to hit the defrost button, something that he hadn’t done in a long time. The icy rain that had been pelting his window had stopped, but had left its residue. Within a couple of minutes the windshield wipers had cleared the last of the icy remnants from his field of vision. A little over a half hour later he had busted through Hayward, almost reaching his grandfather’s turnoff. The roads down had been a little slick, but he knew that the ground still held on to its heat, so he didn’t hesitate when he reached the road up to the mesa. Billy’s car was still there, parked to the left of the double-wide. When he stepped inside the trailer, the two of them, Billy Three Hats and his grandfather, were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
