A Strange Little Band

by Judith B. Glad

  "The rule is--"

  "Yeah, Okay. But remember, I warned you."

  He stayed in the dining room while she ducked into the kitchen.

  Gran was sitting at the big table, cutting celery into sticks. "Got your bike all packed?"

  She snatched a celery stick. "All done. I left it leaning against the back wall." The celery was nice and crisp. "Owen and I are going into town for ice cream. We'll be back in an hour or so."

  "Whose car are you taking?"

  "We're not. I need to walk. Tomorrow I'll be sitting all day." She snatched another celery stick.

  "Dinner's at seven," Gran called as she escaped.

  She waved in acknowledgement. "Let's go," she told Owen, "before somebody puts us to work."

  They jogged all the way to the highway, then walked single file along the shoulder. It would be nicer if they could walk side by side, so they could talk, but maybe this was better. She wanted to ask him to write to her, and didn't know how.

  The little settlement of Last Chance was less than three miles by road and trail from the houses at the Floating Nought. There was plenty of time for them to sit at a picnic table behind Abe's Fly Shop and eat their ice cream. CeCe had made friends with the old man in the fly shop on Wednesday, when she'd picked up a nail as she rode through town. He'd invited her to sit in the shade behind his shop to patch her tube. "Not so noisy as out on the road," he'd said, " and a lot less dusty." She knew he wouldn't mind if they used his table.

  "I didn't want to come," Owen said, once they were settled, "but now I'm glad Mom made me."

  CeCe licked up an icy drip that threatened to run across her thumb. "Me too. Not want to come, I mean. My dad didn't give us a choice."

  A fish jumped in the river, sending ripples across the shining surface. "They're your relatives. I never figured out how, but at least you belong."

  "Gran actually is my grandmother--my mom's mother. But it doesn't matter. She's yours too, now. I heard her telling Aunt Louisa how glad she was Peter brought you. She's really something else."

  "Oh man, isn't she? When I told her what I wanted to do, she said she'd see what she could do to help me. Later Ward...uh, Uncle Ward said he had a friend in the Navy who might write me a letter of recommendation. That is so cool." He paused, looking uncertain. "I hope they remember."

  "I think if Gran makes a promise, she keeps it. Even my dad thinks she's special, and he doesn't trust most people." Lifting her cone high, she bit off the tip and slurped out the last of the ice cream. Her dad hated it when she did that. "I call him Ward. He doesn't fit the uncle picture. So what's this about the Navy?"

  "The Academy. I really want to go there. In June I went back to a week's show-and-tell. It was great. My great-grandfather was an admiral. Nobody else in the family has ever been on anything bigger than a rowboat, I think. But I know I'd like it."

  He leaned back and stared across the river at the Tetons, shining brightly in the late afternoon sun, but he seemed to be looking at something much farther away. "An aircraft carrier. That's what I'd like to serve on. Or maybe a battleship. Something big. I'm good with electronics, and..."

  He told her about his electronics hobby, and she was impressed, even if she understood maybe one word in ten. In return she told him of her dream to race professionally. "I have to prove myself as an amateur first. And Dad says I have to go to college. That's okay, because I like school. And I've got a long way to go before I'm good enough."

  "No wonder you were so bummed when your bike got wrecked. I'd've been totally pissed."

  "I was. But there wasn't anything I could do about it. And at least I'm getting a replacement." But not for a month or more. Not until the summer cycling season was over.

  Neither of them said anything more for a long time. The river gurgled and the birds swooping close to its surface let out high-pitched little squeaks. Traffic on the highway was a constant growly sound behind them, but somehow it faded away and left nothing but peaceful sounds.

  She was perfectly content to sit here with Owen. If only they'd gotten to be friends earlier in the week. Maybe--

  "Shit! Look at the time. We're going to have to run all the way back."

  CeCe glanced at her watch. Six-twenty. "You're right. Let's go."

  "Wait." He caught her arm before she could take off running. "Write to me, will you?"

  "If you'll answer."

  His smile was a promise. "Let's go. Bet I can beat you there."

  "No way!" She sped off at a dead run.

  They arrived at the cookshack gasping for breath and holding each other up. But they were in time for dinner.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Two little boys were playing in front of the bunkhouse when Clay arrived at six-thirty, bearing wine and an appetite. They led him to the cookshack, chattering about the chuckwagon ride they'd taken that afternoon, down at the park.

  Annie came out of the kitchen to greet him, wearing an old fashioned calico apron over her jeans. She brought with her mouth-watering smells of roasting meat and rich spices. "I'm glad you came. When I couldn't call you back, I wasn't sure if you were."

  "You couldn't keep me away. I'm already tired of my own cooking. Will this go with dinner?"

  She held the bottle up. "Riesling's always good, but especially with turkey. And this is a good label. You didn't find it here, did you?"

  "No, I brought over a case of my favorites, since I wasn't sure just what the wine situation was here."

  "Idaho has some excellent wineries," Annie's father said, as he joined them. "Good to see you, Knight. I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for."

  Before Clay could answer, Annie said, "Now, Dad, don't scare him off." In response to a call from the kitchen, she gave them both a quick smile and left them alone.

  Gib Ogilvie grinned after her. "C'mon. I'll introduce you again. Bet you can't remember most of the names from the other day."

  "One or two. But a refresher wouldn't be amiss."

  Shortly he had a glass in his hand and was in the middle of a hot debate about the Mariners' chance at a pennant. His years in the bank had given Clay the ability to get along with almost anyone, but he found this family not just congenial, but downright comfortable. He wasn't fooled by the apparently innocent questions about his job, his income, and his political philosophy. What made the not-so-subtle interrogation interesting was that he got the impression that they didn't really care about the answers, beyond curiosity.

  Once he'd answered most of the really personal questions, the conversation reverted to the argument that his arrival had interrupted. The lanky, bearded fellow--Ben?--said, "Damn it, Eric, when are you gonna learn that more government just means more taxes? Sure, we need quality controls on drugs, whether they're for people or animals, but every time you ask the government to do it, you raise the price and you give those idiots in Washing ton one more reason to reach into our pockets."

  "And what about those drugs a year or so ago, the ones that turned out to do more harm than good? If the government had been--"

  "Bullshit!" One of the younger men said. "Take it from me, Eric, we need less government involvement rather than more. In my business--"

  "That's enough!" Cecile's voice cut through the men's deeper ones. "You know the rules. No religion or politics in the cookshack. How in the world you expect to enjoy your dinner when your bellies are tight with tension, I don't know. Now either pick a neutral topic or go outside and do your fighting."

  "And don't expect us to call you for dinner," Hetty added.

  "Annie tells me you're a steelheader," Clay said to Gib, in the silence that followed. "Ever do any fly fishing?"

  "I tried it once," Gib said. "Thought it was too easy."

  "Too easy? Let me tell you--"

  "I've fished up around Park City," Eric said. "The lakes up there are world class lakes."

  Clay bit back his opinion of lake fishing. Just because it wasn't for him didn't mean it wasn't for everyone.
"I've never been in that area. I've heard it's spectacular."

  "You want spectacular? Ever been back East? I'm not a fisherman, but I've talked to those who are. They say the Upper Delaware is as good as anywhere out here." That was Annie's brother. Peter...Ogilvie? Yes, Annie had said he lived in Ohio.

  "So what made you give up your career to become an innkeeper?" Ward asked him.

  Clay hesitated before replying. "Y'know, I didn't think of it that way. What I wanted was a place I could fish every day and make a living at it. The innkeeper thing was just part of the deal."

  Ben slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Good luck with it. You'll find life here a whole lot different from the city."

  "Thank God!" Clay said, and everyone laughed.

  Annie's last task in the kitchen was to whip the cream for dessert. When it stood in high peaks, she covered the bowl with plastic wrap and set it in the refrigerator. Then she removed the beaters and went in search of Clay.

  "For me, Annie?" Janice, Elaine's youngest said, eyeing the spoons. Annie held them high, out of the child's reach.

  "No! Mine!" Jeremy grabbed her around the knees.

  Joey threw himself on Jeremy's back. "Me too! Me too!" he yelled.

  Jennifer's voice cut through the noise. "Joseph! Behave yourself."

  Annie bit her tongue when the little boy stepped back from the fracas, his shoulders drooping, his lower lip stuck out. She was strongly tempted to hand him a beater, just to get Jennifer's goat.

  "Not for any of you. This is for grownups."

  "Not fair!" Jeremy protested, but he released her. He ran after Joey and punched the younger boy in passing. Joey yelled and Jennifer glared.

  Annie wove her way among relatives to where Clay stood. Without interrupting the conversation--which was about fishing, naturally--she waved one of the beaters under his nose.

  Clay stopped his spirited defense of catch-and-release fishing and grabbed the beater. His other arm slipped around Annie's waist and he pulled her close against his side.

  "Are you sure you want to spoil my dinner?"

  "Pooh! One little bit of whipped cream won't ruin your appetite. It's just a promise of great things to come. Here, Frank. This one's yours."

  Frank's expression of surprise as he accepted the beater tickled her. Hetty had said he'd no experience with a big family. She wondered what he thought of this one. He'd sure had a memorable introduction to it.

  Content to be held at Clay's side, Annie listened with half an ear to the conversation. Her father was vigorously defending fish as food, while Stewart insisted that they were only edible when red meat was lacking. Evan made a tentative remark about the benefits of a vegetarian diet, and was ignored. Ward listened with sparkling eyes, never saying a thing until Ben commented that it was a shame that overfishing was seriously endangering many ocean species. Then he said, "Whoa. No politics, remember."

  "Hell, Ward, conservation isn't politics, it's basic survival."

  "Tell that to the damn politicians," Peter said.

  Ben grumbled, but he did so under his breath.

  Annie, who agreed with him, reached out to squeeze his arm. She wondered what Clay's thoughts were, made a mental note to sound him out on the topic.

  And many others. In the last few days, his opinions had come to matter a great deal to her.

  A shrill whistle broke into the debate. "Dinner is served!" Hetty said into the sudden silence. "And this time, the adults will serve themselves first. So you kids just stand back out of the way." She glared at Jennifer, who had been the one to insist that her children be served first every previous night. "We didn't slave over a hot stove all day just so you kids could mess up our work of art. Are you ready, Aunt Thea?"

  "Ready," came a voice from inside the kitchen.

  Annie hurried into the kitchen before her mother could emerge. She was sorry to miss Clay's reaction to the feast.

  Clay wasn't sure what to expect, His impression was that this bunch didn't stand much on ceremony, but when Hetty called out "Ta-ta-da" and pretended to flourish a trumpet, he wondered if he hadn't overlooked something.

  In a moment Thea came through the door, carrying a huge platter containing an elaborate Viking ship fashioned out of a watermelon. "Don't you lay a finger on that," Hetty cautioned Eric, who was standing close to the serving table with two plates in his hands. "Wait until it's all here."

  The next offering was an enormous turkey, followed by a cauldron of candied sweet potatoes, one of mashed potatoes, mounds of sage dressing, and a gallon or so of dark, rich giblet gravy. Numerous bowls of pickles, olives, carrot curls, cheese-stuffed celery, and spiced peaches followed, until one of the long tables was almost completely covered with food.

  Clay's mouth had dropped open when the table was about half filled. "I thought you people were roughing it this week," he said to Ward, when Annie emerged for the second time, her hands full of a big, napkin-lined basket.

  "This is our Thanksgiving dinner. We always have it at the end of the reunion, because most of us can't take the time off later. It's traditional."

  "I like your traditions. But do you think there'll be enough?" he said, still marveling at the great amounts of food before them.

  "Barely. You haven't seen this crowd eat yet. Come on, grab a plate."

  Clay hadn't shared Thanksgiving with a family since his own parents had died. He found himself curiously touched by the sense of belonging he felt with these people. It wasn't that they had adopted him, but more that they had simply opened their hearts to a stranger within their midst. They pulled him into conversations, they treated him like a friend, and they informed him that they expected him to help with the cleanup. "The women cook," Cecile told him, as he accepted a second piece of pumpkin pie. "The men clean up. It's tradition."

  He couldn't even regret that he hadn't been able to sit by Annie. She'd found a seat between her Uncle Ward and the teen with all the piercings, while he'd been captured by Owen, who wanted to learn more about fly fishing. CeCe, who'd looked wistful when she explained that their dad hadn't been able to get away from work this week, had sat on his other side, quietly listening to his conversation with her cousin. They were nice kids, the sort he hoped his own would grow up to be.

  If he ever had any of his own, that was.

  The women all disappeared when dinner was over. "They'll bring up bedding for the littles," Ben explained. "We don't want anyone to miss the show. Here, see if you can find room in the freezer for this." He handed Clay a plastic container of turkey, the last shreds from the ravaged carcass. He wouldn't have believed it, but there were practically no leftovers. Of course, some of the kids had eaten like there was no tomorrow. Clay was sure he had seen the littlest boy--Barty, was it?--go back for fourths.

  At last scanty leftovers were stacked in the refrigerator and freezer and the kitchen looked as if it had never been used to prepare a feast. Clay followed Evan into the dining room in time to see Ward setting up a laptop and a projector at the far end. Damn! I wanted to take Annie for a walk. He hadn't bargained on having no time at all with her.

  "I hope you don't mind," Annie said softly into his ear as she slid onto the bench in the place he'd saved for her. "More tradition. We all send Uncle Ward photos of what we've done since the last reunion."

  Once again he slid his arm about her waist. This time she leaned into him. "It sounds like a great way to keep track of each other." Guilt niggled at him. A second cousin had sent him photos of her kids last Christmas, and he hadn't even sent her a card. He dug into his memory for her children's names and found nothing.

  "It is. And I love it." Annie leaned into his encircling arm.

  Clay, whose body had reacted predictably, welcomed the sudden dark when Ward turned off the lights.

  "If you'll all keep it down to a dull roar," Ward said, is voice carrying over the babble, "we'd like to start this with a little surprise. Ma, will you narrate?"

  Cecile explained that the first slide
, a rather fuzzy black-and-white shot of a shabby farmhouse with a handsome young man standing on the porch, was one of a number of old photos she'd had scanned.

  "Some of you have seen my albums, but not for many years. These start with the early years, when our children were small. That's Tom at our house near Grand Coulee. And this next one shows Ward admiring his baby sister."

  "Is that really you, Mom?" a young voice called out.

  "My sister," Annie whispered.

  Clay watched Cecile's family grow larger and older. He marveled at the primitive conditions under which Annie's grandmother had lived and raised a family, and he found himself fascinated at this saga of a family whose members had done such interesting things, but never so much so that he was unaware of the warm armful of woman with him. The light touch of her hair against his cheek reminded his again just how much self-control he needed while he was with her.

  Each child's life was shown, then each grandchild's. He saw Annie grow from a dainty little girl with long brown pigtails and a sweet smile into a coltish teenager, then into the lovely woman she was. When a slide of her wedding came up, he felt a deep and burning envy of the slickly good-looking man she had married, He felt her stiffen and rubbed his hand up her spine. "I wouldn't buy a used car from him," he whispered in her ear. She giggled and relaxed.

  Annie stiffened again when a slide showed Calvin's first birthday party. She stared at it, waiting for the inevitable tears, but they did not come. Hardly conscious of Clay's stroking hand, she waited for the smothering grief that had, before this, overcome her at the sight of her son. Waited. And waited.

  Her heart ached, but she did not dissolve. When the next slide appeared, she sat a little straighter, sure that now she could go on with her life. The pain and guilt were still there, would always be there, but they were manageable.

  Maybe she was ready to look to the future again.

  The slide show finally ended at eleven and the family dispersed. Parents picked up small, blanket-wrapped bundles and herded yawning children out of the cookshack and down the paths to the houses. Soon only Hetty and Frank, Annie and Clay, were left.