The Cedar Tree (Love Is Not Enough)

by McGriffith, Danni

  "Hey, Jerry," he yelled. "You get any meat on your tray?"

  Jerry paused. "I think so, man," he called back. "I got somethin' here that looks kind of brown…ish."

  "It's not beans, is it?"

  A silence stretched out. "I don't think so."

  He eyed his bowl. "Thanks a lot, Gramps," he muttered.

  Other than the hoops at noon, the three meatless meals, and periods of conversation when he alternately baited Jerry and made half-hearted attempts to ease his worries, there were no diversions except the Bible and frequent bursts of pent up energy he released by doing push-ups until his arms trembled. He'd heard of hostages needing to conserve their energy to stay alive, but so far the oatmeal, beans, and more beans had been enough to keep him going.

  The Old Testament surprised him. He'd always thought of the Bible as the world's most boring book, but the beautiful women and strong men inhabiting its pages captured his attention. Wars and fighting, flagrant immorality—fat guys getting stabbed and other murders, drunkenness, adultery, lying, cheating, stealing—the ancient text held it all. The warriors, especially Gideon and David, fighting against impossible odds in hand-to-hand combat, appealed to his imagination and sometimes he told Jerry about them.

  When he tired of reading, he lay staring moodily at the underside of the top bunk, picturing Katie as she'd been a few days before. What had that look in her eyes meant? Had she taken back those words she'd said to Lance…the ones she couldn't take back? Did he have a chance with her now?

  Briefly, his hope rose then he remembered her words from that night on the mountain. Nothing had happened to change her opinion of him…except now he was in jail.

  With no hard labor to tire him, the long hours of the night—when his defenses were low and self-honesty strong—stretched endlessly, making it impossible for him to rationalize Katie's words from that night on the mountain anymore. He was what she'd said he was, except…he hadn't been completely selfish. She had needed him that night and he'd come through for her. And he was in jail now because of her, so…maybe in a way, he was in jail for God because he'd defended her?

  He didn't get on his knees and ask about it.

  One night, Jerry's voice called through the darkness.

  "Gil? You gonna bounce that ball all night, man? I got to have some sleep. They're takin' me outta here tomorrow."

  For some reason, the guard hadn't confiscated the basketball earlier after he and Jerry shot hoops. Sleepless, he had been bouncing it against the wall in the darkness, unaware of Jerry in the other cell.

  He caught the ball on its return bounce and held it. "Sorry, dude."

  "How come you get the ball anyhow?"

  "Maybe they thought you'd try to off yourself with it."

  He threw the ball again. A long silence came from Jerry's cell.

  "How would anybody kill theirself with a basketball?" Jerry asked, at last.

  He sighed. "Jerry, go to sleep."

  "I can't sleep."

  "Sure you can."

  Only the monotonous bouncing of the ball disturbed the darkness for a long while.

  "You don't sleep much either," Jerry said. "You yell in your sleep sometimes. You have bad dreams or somethin'?"

  He shifted on his bunk. "Sometimes."

  "What'd'you dream about?"

  He paused. "Mostly fightin' with my dad."

  Jerry didn't need to know—nobody needed to know—about the recurring dream with Darlene, and…the other thing.

  "I never knew my dad," Jerry said.

  "Probably just as well," he said bitterly.

  "At least you know who your dad is. He probably took care of you. Taught you somethin'."

  "Yeah. He taught me how to ride, and rope, and drink—" his lips twisted—"and how to be the worst husband material in the world."

  "You married?" Jerry's voice held surprise.

  "No. You?"

  "No." Silence came from Jerry's cell. "I can't think of one woman who's ever loved me. Can you?"

  He grinned a little. "My mama."

  "My mama dumped me off on my grandma."

  "She probably loved you."

  "She burned me with her cigarettes and locked me in the closet."

  He held the basketball. "Sorry, dude."

  "You're lucky, Gil. You got two people who love you. Your mama and your gramps. I ain't got nobody…"

  ***

  The next morning a skinny guard took Jerry away. He didn't return. That afternoon the fat guard approached Gil's cell.

  "Get up, Howard. Somebody's here to see you."

  Had his grandfather relented in spite of his only having got to Proverbs in the Bible? He stepped into the visitors' room and stopped in surprise. Karl Campbell and his brother, Tim, sat at one of the round tables.

  He grinned. "They let you guys in here?"

  "It's not maximum security," Karl said, grinning back. He removed his black Stetson, uncovering his light hair and the glaring whiteness of his forehead as he scanned the grey room with its one, barred window. "Nice digs."

  "Real sweet. There's even a basketball court out back." He eyed Karl's clean cut, lean jawed face, curious if he had been one of the church guys who had been stupid. "You ever spent time here?"

  Tim snorted. "Ha. That's a good one. Katie says he's got a policeman complex." The boy glared at his brother, his gaze resentful beneath the brim of a dusty Stetson, too big for him and resting on his ears. "He thinks he's some kind of law enforcer."

  Karl eyed his young brother. "At least I ain't got an idiot complex."

  Tim's Adam's apple bobbed in the throat of his checked shirt. "I did not leave that gate open, Karl," he said, his voice cracking.

  "You did, too." Karl turned. "I had to bring Dad's truck to town to get tires on it. Thought I'd stop and see if I could borrow Lucky for a week or so. Sam came up lame."

  "Sure," he said. "Unless Gramps turned him out in the big pasture, too. If that's the case, good luck."

  "No, he's up at the barn with Shorty. Thanks."

  "How's Dave?"

  "Doin' better. Still spends a lot of time in bed, but he can get around on crutches a little now."

  "That's good."

  "Yeah. We're all thankful." Karl studied him. "How much longer you got in here?"

  "Another week probably. One of the conditions of my…er…parole is I've gotta get through the Bible. I'm only about half done."

  Karl's slow grin started in his eyes, making his resemblance to his sister more obvious. "Doin' you any good?"

  He grinned. "Somethin's made me never want to come back here again. It might be the food." He paused. "What happened with Katie and her boyfriend?"

  Karl shrugged. "Don't know." He glanced at Tim. "You know?"

  "Naw," Tim said disgustedly. "She just goes around bawlin' and mean as a snake all the time."

  "Could you tell her somethin' for me?"

  Karl eyed him warily. "What?"

  "Tell her I ended up in here because Rod Baker said…somethin' about her that day I saw her at the post office."

  Tim's eyes under his hat lightened with interest. "What'd he say?"

  Karl frowned at Tim. "Shut up, why don't you?" Then Karl turned to him. "Why would you worry about that?"

  "Probably the same reason you worry because Annie won't give you the time of day," Tim said, scowling at his brother.

  Karl's sunburned cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. His eyes glinted. "Say one more word, twerp, and I'll pound you into the ground."

  "In the jail? I don't think so. That fat dude over there's got a gun."

  Eyeing Karl's tight jaw and big fist clenched on the table, he hastily intervened. "I just want her to know."

  Karl slowly turned away from Tim. "You may as well have saved your knuckles, dude. Rod's an idiot. If you want to shut his mouth, you'll have to kill him. Anyhow, I doubt Katie gives a flip what he thinks. "

  "Well, I care what she thinks. Tell her that, too."

  "Al
l right." Karl stood, settling his hat on his head. "You roughed up Rod Baker for runnin' his mouth about her, and you care what she thinks, for some stupid reason."

  "You can leave the last part off."

  Karl nodded down at his shoes, and grinned. "You oughta see if they'll let you keep the shoes."

  ***

  A few days later, morning sun flooded through the small window in the visitors' room. Gil studied the west wall of the room where the sun's rays, flashing off the chrome of the metal chair frames, splashed patterns of reflected light all over it—like the shifting patterns in the kaleidoscope he'd had when he was a kid. A metal door clanged in the hall and then the door into the visitors' room opened. His grandfather made his way through the tables and sat down, crossing one of his packer boots over his knee.

  The old man searched his eyes. "Finished it, did you?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Yes, sir." His grandfather grinned. "I like that. You read about Jesus?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You think you could ever take orders from a guy like that?

  "I don't know that He'd ever want somebody like me."

  "He wants you."

  "I don't think I could be good every day for the rest of my life."

  "Could you be good today?"

  He grinned wryly. "Maybe."

  "That's all you got to worry about. One day at a time." The old man's gaze didn't leave his. "Answer me. You think you got enough respect you could take orders from Him someday?"

  He remembered the instant of awe that had filled him when he'd glimpsed the mounted army spilling through the mountain gap after the One on the white horse.

  "I could take orders from Him if He wanted me to," he said, finally.

  His grandfather studied him, his head to the side.

  "What about the quiz?" he asked.

  "That was it. Two questions."

  "Did I pass?"

  The old man studied him for a moment longer then grinned and slapped him on the knee.

  "You did." His grandfather rose. "Get your stuff. I'll wait in the pickup."

  ***

  Over the next two days, the flashy paint horse twisted and dodged away from pursuit, but then a dead-end ravine and greed for alfalfa hay undid him. The following day, the horse devoted itself to bucking around the breaking pen, but the brutal ride didn't satisfy anything within Gil, it just hurt his knee. That afternoon, he phoned an acquaintance that owned a rodeo outfit and sold the paint horse at a good profit.

  The rest of the week he and his grandfather prepared for the fall cattle drive down from the mountain, and on Sunday, when his grandfather asked him to go to church, he did.

  From the foyer, he sought Katie on the pew where she usually sat with Lance. She wasn't there and Lance sat on the far end of the unattached males' pew, his elbows resting on bony knees, his big, loose jointed hands clasped between them.

  He sat next to Karl at the opposite end of the pew. Lance glanced up. His mild blue eyes glinted behind his wire framed glasses then he shoved them up with a long forefinger and turned back to a moody contemplation of the checkered floor.

  He turned to study the two men on the elders' bench. Their expressions reflected genuine care for the members of their flock—not just chafing authority. When the young preacher, Will O'Neil, stood at the pulpit and mentioned the children of Israel in his sermon, he remembered who they were and made the connection between the ancient tribes and Jesus. Surprisingly, he didn't find Sister Helen's mustache quite as off-putting, and fragile Sister Sylvie might be more of a grandmother than just a disappointing prospect as a cook.

  One thing had stayed the same, however—Annie, the beautiful Navajo girl, still didn't give Karl the time of day.

  Throughout the following week, he and Slim Stanley worked together under deep blue skies while the mellow autumn sunlight filtered down through almost bare aspen branches. With the help of Slim's dogs, the two of them on horseback popped cattle out of the brush and trees to pen them in big corrals near the line shack. If the old alcoholic drank, he couldn't tell it, and Slim made a good hand in spite of his endless collection of off-color jokes. Finally, the numbers for all the ranchers' cattle tallied, and they cut Howard and Campbell cattle out of the bawling, milling herd and into a separate pen.

  The next morning before dawn, he opened the door of the shack to heavy snow, already weighting the pine boughs. He saddled Lucky in the lean-to and fed him a measure of oats. While the horse ate, he returned to the cabin. Melting snow dropped from his slicker to sizzle on the hot iron of the stove while he poured a cup of coffee from the graniteware pot. He grinned at one of Slim's jokes—a little jarring for so early in the morning—but Slim enjoyed it, laughing uproariously as he slapped his leg.

  A motor sounded outside then a minute later, his grandfather opened the door, stomping snow off his boots while a deep cough racked him.

  "Soundin' good there, Gramps." He poured the old man a mug of coffee. "I told you if you weren't better by now to stay home."

  "It ain't nothin' but a little cold. I can still drive," the old man said hoarsely, fishing a red bandana from the back pocket of his coveralls. "I'll drive your truck home then we'll come back for Jon's tonight." Turning to Slim, he loudly blew his nose. "Doin' all right, Slim? It's a cold bugger this mornin'…"

  A few minutes later, Jon, Karl, and Tim filed into the cabin. Katie slipped in the doorway behind them, her small form swallowed by bulky coveralls and a brown chore coat.

  Caught off guard, he froze with his cup midway to his mouth.

  She met his gaze with shy uncertainty. Color rose in her wind whipped cheeks then she turned away. His heart hammered while she sat down on the edge of Slim's bed and unwound a blue scarf from her hair.

  He silently finished his coffee while the other men ate stale doughnuts from a bakery box and drank the last of the coffee.

  Katie looked everywhere except at him.

  "…comin'?" His grandfather's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Or are you gonna stay here all day?"

  "Huh?"

  The old man took a long look at him and then at Katie sitting stiff and silent on the bed.

  His grandfather frowned. "Let's get goin' before the snow gets any deeper."

  A few minutes later, he led Lucky through the faint dawn light to the front of the shack. Across the clearing, Katie tried to mount her mare, but hindered by the bulky clothing she wore, her boot slipped from the stirrup. He crossed the space, his boots squeaking in the fresh snow. Her breath formed a cloud of vapor around her head as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

  "Here," he said, holding out his gloved hand.

  She hesitated, but then placed her boot into his hand to swing onto the saddle. He stared up at her, tongue-tied, his hand on the pommel.

  Avoiding his gaze, she fidgeted with first one stirrup and then the other then leaned forward, brushing at a strand of Candy's red mane between her ears. Finally, she sat back in the saddle.

  He cleared his throat. "It's pretty cold for you to be ridin' today."

  She glanced at him. "I can do it."

  "I know." He grinned crookedly. "I've seen what you can do."

  The color deepened in her cheeks and she looked away. Pine smoke filtered across the silence between them, filling the air with its scent. Snowflakes, like feathers, settled on the blue wool of her scarf and on her long lashes.

  "You were right," he said, at last.

  She looked at him, questioning.

  "That night up here in the cabin. You were right about me."

  She shifted on her saddle. "I'm…I shouldn't have said all that," she said quietly. "I appreciate what you did. We'd…I'd have been in trouble without you."

  "Tim would've pulled somethin' out of his hat."

  She rolled her eyes. "His fat head."

  He laughed and turned away, dropping his hand to Candy's saddle cinch. "Did Karl tell you why I was in jail?"

  "Yes."

  "In c
ase you want to know—" he tightened the cinch a notch and looked up—"it was worth goin' to jail for."

  A shy smile started in her eyes. "It was a dumb thing to do."

  He grinned. "I'm a moron."

  Her smile widened. He slowly sobered.

  "You should smile more, Katie. You've got the prettiest smile I've ever seen."

  She flushed. "Yours…isn't so bad, either."

  He flashed another grin. "It's pretty stupid."

  She winced apologetically. "Not always."

  His heartbeat quickened. It was time to make his move.

  He rubbed his gloved hand over his whisker stubble. "Sorry I didn't shave. I didn't know you'd be here." He lifted his hat. "I got a haircut, though. Gramps thought I looked like a pretty boy, too."

  "It…looks nice."

  He studied her. "They took my chew at the jail. I haven't had any since, and I quit goin' to the bar, too."

  She nodded jerkily.

  "You don't have a boyfriend now, do you?"

  She looked away and the snowflakes melted on her lashes. Her gloved hand rubbed nervously over the brown cloth covering her leg. She swallowed. "No."

  "Want one?

  Slim whistled to his dogs and the corral gate opened. Karl and Tim yelled, and a few moments later the cattle streamed out of the pen and through the clearing toward the lake. The pickup motor started behind him, but he kept his gaze fixed on Katie's downturned face.

  "It wouldn't be right," she said, at last. "You don't believe like I do about the Lord and everything. It wouldn't ever work out right and…it's important to me."

  "I know it. I'll go to church with you."

  She looked up in surprise.

  Stepping closer, he placed his hand over hers, stopping her tense movement. "Are you still…indifferent to me, Katie?"

  She flushed deeply, but shook her head.

  "Let's try it, then. If you don't like me, I don't think you'll have any problem tellin' me to get lost."

  "Maybe you wouldn't like me."

  "I already like you." He grinned. "A lot."

  The pickup horn behind him blared.

  He glanced at his frowning grandfather in the cab, and then back at Katie. "What about it?"