The Legend of Sander Grant

by Marc Phillips

  He reached his truck, waited for it to warm up, then drove through the fields toward home knowing that he was just handed an enormous piece of the puzzle Roger had been toiling over the whole of his adult life.

  The snow started before he reached the house. Sander walked in, smelled the boiling cabbage with undertones of salt pork, corned beef hash ready and waiting in covered dishes somewhere, and he realized how long he’d been gone. He took a ladle from the counter and dipped out pot liquor from the peas to warm his throat.

  ‘What’d Will have to say?’ asked Jo.

  ‘Told me I needed a hobby.’

  ‘Did you wish Jedediah a happy birthday?’

  ‘It aint his birthday.’

  ‘No, it was last week.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Go in there by the hearth and warm up. Your face is blue,’ she told him. ‘Lunch will be ready in half an hour.’

  Dalton’s arms spilled over the sides of the rocking chair and he had his feet propped up near the fire, drying his boots. He was listening.

  ‘I know you don’t wanna get back into the art scene, but I hate to see you quit painting. You’re good at it. Seems, if you didn’t sell them, painting would qualify as a fine hobby. Give us good stuff to hang on the walls, too.’

  ‘Maybe. Except I don’t see the benefit in doing something I aint paid for. Do you have a hobby?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Dalton, ‘raising a son.’

  Sander’s comments had little to do with his willingness to return to the studio. Virtually the instant his granddad mentioned a hobby, he was already considering working out his thoughts on canvas. Not to be hung on any walls. Not to ever be seen, but to purge the most troubling images from his mind so, hopefully, he could better cope with the inscrutable mess that was his story. Paper might be the better medium, as it was easier to get rid of. He would pick up some charcoals on his way to Allie’s house, if the art supply store was open.

  10

  Sander was early for dinner at the Sandoval place. It was intentional. From the covered porch, he and Allie could smell the food mingling with the split mesquite Jaime liked to burn in the fireplace. The wind had calmed once the snow began to fall in earnest and they watched the flakes stack higher and higher upon the galvanized top rail of the backyard fence.

  ‘It’s time for me to say something, Allie, and I’m not sure how you’re gonna take it. Not sure how you should take it, is what I mean to say.’

  ‘Stop,’ she said. ‘It’s my fault. I’ve been scared of papa long enough. I already told my mother that we’re getting married sometime this year and she didn’t think it would be a big deal. If I start by telling papa that I won’t quit school, she says – she hopes – he’ll go for it. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to put you through the ringer, though.’

  That was not what Sander had in mind to bring up. Yet it was happy news. She had never given him any assurance she wouldn’t talk to her parents about marriage whilst the two of them debated strategy, and he hadn’t asked for any. He smiled and took her hand, but thoughts of binding agreements, loopholes, and negotiations in heavenly conference halls left little room in his brain to formulate proper expression of what he felt at that moment. Given time and a stillness of mind, he might have found words. Then again, words were not his forte.

  ‘Today is a good day, then,’ he told her. ‘After we eat, I’ll ask your father for your hand. If he wants me to walk the gauntlet, I’ve got all evening. Or as long as it takes.’

  Allie snickered. ‘I don’t think it’s as serious as all that. He’ll ask for details on how you intend to take care of me. Don’t take offense. And there’s the Catholic thing.’

  There’s other things too, Sander told himself. There’s everything you mean to me that I haven’t taken time to say. There’s the fact that I’ve allowed all the rest of this crap to jump ahead of you, to eclipse the single most important thing. He had not taken heed of what his granddad told him about priorities. That would change. He promised himself it would. Evidently not this instant, but soon.

  ‘Got it,’ he said. They pressed their cold lips together. Sander pulled away first. ‘I wanted to talk to you about meeting my granddad, though.’ Thinking on it, he said, ‘This isn’t easy and it can wait for another time.’

  ‘I know Frank, babe. He’s been into the store.’

  ‘He’s not the–’

  Clarita called from the back door, ‘Dinner is ready, Allie.’

  He was relieved.

  Sander drove up at the ranch shortly before midnight. He came in as quietly as he could, only to find that his mother was waiting for him, working a jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table.

  ‘Is dad asleep?’

  ‘Yeah. He wanted to see how it went over there, but around ten o’clock he said one of you had to be ready for work tomorrow and he went to bed.’ She followed his eyes to the stairs, then, ‘Well. How did it go?’

  ‘Clarita’s tamales are good. Her gravy’s kinda watery, but I like salsa with mine anyway.’

  ‘They have enough for you? I’ve got leftover lasagna if you’re hungry.’

  ‘Thanks. I got full.’

  ‘And Jaime?’

  ‘He had enough to eat too, I guess.’

  ‘Sander, I’m tired. Please tell me you talked to him about marrying Allie.’

  ‘How did you–’ Sander let it go. She’d always been able to read him at a glance. ‘Okay. We talked about it. He aint happy about Allie getting married before she’s out of high school, but he understands these are not normal circumstances. He wanted a look at the ranch books to see that we weren’t in debt and I told him, all due respect, he could go to hell and wait. But I gave him some round numbers, told him he could call our banker, and suggested he look at his own books. Not once have we asked him for credit. And paid him, I estimate, somewhere in the order of thirty thousand dollars through the second half of last year.’

  ‘He listened to all that?’

  ‘He asked, mamma. Then I told him his grandchild would be raised in his daughter’s tradition. I would do everything in my power to make sure the Sandoval heritage was as strong an influence in our kid’s life as my own. That aint as hard as he might believe, considering that my heritage is so encumbered by unbelievable nonsense that it’s doubtful I’ll ever share it with another living soul.’

  ‘You’ll rethink that when you have your own boy.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Sander.

  ‘And you’ve told Allie what to expect along those lines?’

  ‘Yeah, but you and Jaime and Clarita all take it as a given that we want to have a child. There I was agreeing that the kid would be baptized and confirmed a Catholic while I’ve never seen Allie without her clothes on.’ Sander sighed. ‘No matter. I don’t care who sprinkles water on whom or if somebody in a robe wants to dunk us all in a river.’ He stopped to rub his forehead and wobbled a bit when he closed his eyes. ‘Rites and rituals notwithstanding, tequila comes from the hind tit of the liquor sow. They ought to strip chassis with that stuff, not drink it. I’m going to bed.’

  ‘You got a date in mind?’ she called after him.

  ‘First of June,’ Sander said as he mounted the stairs. ‘At the courthouse with their padre witnessing. That’s the only consideration I wrung out of him all night. See you in the morning.’

  Sander heard his dad snoring as he closed his bedroom door.

  The calendar seemed to crease and fold inward upon itself over the following week and a half, jumping past whole days and allowing time to slow only when they ran into a frustrating snag in the fields. Sander couldn’t recall individual dates to judge whether he had managed the workload to full potential, or whether he had loafed. When he awoke the morning of the tenth and went down the list of things yet undone before the Argos man arrived, he thought he might have stumbled onto what his granddad meant when he talked about the malleability of time. If not, the facts suggested he simply wasn’t the foreman for this job. He gave a
half-hearted, silent blessing to his crew for the pace of work he was about to saddle them with, and an equally tepid, open prayer of thanks for however many of them came back tomorrow. Sander didn’t really know who he was talking to and didn’t guess it mattered.

  Work commenced at a quarter of six. Men sweated despite the cold and they cursed. They knelt and nursed aches, cuts, and busted thumbnails, then stood up again. At 7.00 PM they fell into their vehicles and drove home. Every one of them came back for more.

  By the night of the thirteenth, the place was ready and Sander thought it no small miracle. If anybody looked inside the slaughterhouse, he would discover it to be an empty building. It looked good from the outside, though, and they padlocked the door. No reason for anybody to go in there. For the first night in weeks, Sander slept soundly and did not wake until morning.

  Dale Hugh was right on time. He called from the Dallas airport at 6.15 AM and drove up in his rental car two hours later. He greeted Dalton with a business card, Argos Meat Distributors, LLC.

  ‘Good to meet you.’ Dalton handed the card to Sander and shook the man’s hand. ‘My son is the one you wanna talk to.’

  Sander shook his hand. Mr Hugh was well over six feet tall and Sander could tell he was used to looking down to speak to people. No doubt he had heard about the Grants, but standing there between them nonetheless took him off guard.

  ‘Is everybody in your family this big?’ he asked Sander.

  ‘No. Should we have a look at the facilities first since they’re closer?’

  The man composed himself. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to see the stock.’

  ‘Feed lots are in the back,’ Sander pointed toward the fields. ‘Keeps the smell away from the house. Your car won’t make it. You can ride with us if you’d like.’

  ‘How many head are out there?’

  ‘All told, six hundred eighty. Most are breeders. We’ve set aside a hundred twenty growers and they’re just completing their finishing cycle.’

  ‘Where are the breeders?’ asked Dale.

  ‘Center pastures, mainly. Bulls in the middle. We’ll pass them on the way.’

  ‘Let’s walk,’ the man said. ‘That okay with you?’

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Sander, looking down at the polished alligator boots shining below the hem of Dale’s jeans. ‘It’s a far piece, though.’

  ‘I have other boots in the car. If you don’t mind, I’ll change and we can get started.’

  As they walked past, Sander pointed out the semen storage facility, the meat cooler, and the slaughterhouse as though they had been a part of the operation from the start. That’s how he wanted it to sound, at least.

  ‘You two run this place by yourselves?’ asked Dale.

  ‘It’s Sunday,’ Sander reminded him.

  ‘Right.’

  Dale kept up on the trek to the feed lots. He had a few questions, mainly regarding the age of sires, the condition of the bulling heifers and feed content. Otherwise, they talked little.

  When they reached the first feed lot, Dale pushed down the top wire and stepped over the fence without breaking stride. Sander touched his daddy’s arm, indicating they should hold back and let the man do his work. There were four dozen animals in the tight space and none were too accustomed to strangers walking among them. Dale moved slowly and deliberately, though. He knew his business and he knew what he was looking for. After twenty minutes, they moved to the next lot. Same story there, but it was a larger space and took the man a bit longer to get close enough to some of the wary calves.

  On the walk back, Sander asked, ‘Would you like to see our cooler or the semen facility?’

  Dale perked up. ‘Are you selling the line?’

  ‘No,’ said Sander. ‘We store semen for our use only.’

  ‘Oh. Thanks, then, but no. Glad to see you’ve invested in some peace of mind. Far as the cooler goes, if it works, it’s fine. Looks a bit on the small side, but then again yours isn’t a sizeable operation.’

  He left Sander and Dalton to wonder what he meant to accomplish with that remark.

  Back at the gate, Dale said, ‘I’ve got some paperwork in the car. Is there somewhere we can sit down?’

  ‘Inside,’ Sander said. ‘We’ll make another pot of coffee.’

  At the dinner table, Sander carefully read over the distribution agreement Dale gave him. Twenty-some-odd pages, detailing the rights and responsibilities of each party, and the sliding percentage cut Argos required after all risk was elsewhere assumed or insured against, which percentage ranged from seventeen and a half to thirty. Sander passed the papers to Dalton, who read only the first page. The price per pound offered was twice over what he was used to seeing. He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Dale. ‘I have another copy of that,’ and he reached for his briefcase.

  ‘No need,’ said Sander. ‘Have you had Grant Beef before?’

  ‘Absolutely. We tested samples from five different domestic outlets.’

  ‘Tested samples,’ repeated Sander. ‘What I’m asking is, have you personally ever eaten one of our steaks?’

  ‘Yes. Many times.’

  ‘Then,’ Sander pointed at the packet Dalton held, ‘you know that dog won’t hunt. Did you just come out here to see some of the Texas countryside?’

  ‘Mr Grant, I’m very sorry if I’ve offended you. I meant to do no such thing. It’s our standard agreement.’

  ‘And what you inspected out there – those were standard cattle?’

  ‘Sir, we only deal with the best.’

  ‘No,’ said Sander, ‘I don’t think you believe that. Whether you had a Grant sirloin in San Francisco, or one of our ribeyes in Kansas City, you know it was better than anything your company handles.’ Dale started to interject, but Sander continued, ‘Which means you deal with second-best.’

  ‘Much larger operations–’ began Dale.

  ‘We’re not talking about the size of the ranch. I gave you our production estimates before you flew your jet down here. What we’re talking about is Argos getting Grant Beef at the same price it pays for that other stuff. So I guess we’re done talking. There’s a few bigger ranches you can visit on the drive back to Dallas. Get your map and I’ll show you where they are.’

  Dalton’s heart was pounding, but he tore his eyes away from the numbers and slid the packet across the table to Dale. Though it pained him, he would do all he could to back his son’s play.

  Standing, Dalton said, ‘I’ve got to get more feed in those troughs. Nice of you to come out, Mr Hugh.’

  The two nodded to one another and Dalton walked out. He forced himself to keep his eyes ahead until he reached the gate. Opening it, he glanced back and saw through the patio door that Sander and Dale remained at the table. He couldn’t tell which was talking, or if either one was.

  It came time to prepare lunch and Jo couldn’t stay out of the kitchen any longer. She walked past the dining table as Sander was putting his pen to some paperwork. She didn’t linger, or even speak, but she did notice how many handwritten revisions her boy was initialing. The other man was stoic and didn’t seem to see her pass through.

  The Grant family celebrated at dinner. Spirits in the house hadn’t been so high in years. Never had there been this much conversation once food was on the table.

  ‘So, what did you say then?’ Dalton asked.

  ‘Oh, he wasn’t done,’ said Sander. ‘He had quite a bit to say about how Argos had an obligation to their shareholders and an international supply chain to manage. Keeping in mind, he pointed out, a declining global demand for beef per capita.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Jo.

  ‘Really. I wished him luck with that. Hoped they survived the big crisis and all, but said we didn’t have any trouble retailing our meat at upwards of seven dollars a pound. Once we were ready to come out with our aged cuts, I said, we could walk all over the price he was offering and do it domestically, without forking over his perc
entage. And I let him know his percentage was several points higher than his competitors.’

  ‘How did you know he wouldn’t leave?’

  ‘I didn’t. Not for sure. He came here with Xerox copies of that agreement, prices typed in there no telling when. That pissed me off. Then I noticed the name of our insignificant operation was typed in there as well, before the forms were copied. Before he had even seen the place.’

  ‘Boy, you amaze me sometimes,’ said Dalton.

  ‘I just played his game, daddy. His rules. We both knew this ship was about to sail, but he was confused as to who was on the ship and who was dickering from the dock. Once we got that figured out, he made a couple of calls and we came to an agreement. He even offered to leave a little money for the long-distance bill.’

  Jo smiled at her husband as she pushed her chair back. ‘Eat, yall. I got another pan coming out of the oven.’

  The Argos wire transfer arrived in the ranch account a day before the trucks rolled in to load one hundred head. Sander was determined to further increase profit by cutting as much as possible from their processing fees, so within a week of the day Dale Hugh left, he had located and purchased the equipment to finish his slaughterhouse. He had ads in the paper for skilled slaughtermen and packers. Meanwhile, he had every one of his crew working to tool and tweak production – from feed lot to meat cooler. He had another phone line installed in the barn with a big clanging bell ringer he could hear anywhere within sight of the house. It bugged hell out of Jo, but she got used to it.

  Both of his parents were happy to see that Sander once again set aside a few hours a week to hole up in his studio. They hadn’t realized it, but they missed the smell of his art. He kept the door closed now, which was a change, and he kept his works in progress covered when he wasn’t in there. Though they longed to see what he was creating, Jo and Dalton respected his privacy.

  In late February, Sander and Allie set a firm date for their nuptials. The ninth of June. The local Justice of the Peace, Howard Ott, collected the fee to preside over the ceremony and open the courthouse annex that Saturday. Their families bemoaned that the couple seemed to approach this occasion more from a logistical vantage than a romantic one. It had helped to bring around Jaime, who revered level-headed decision making despite the fact that emotions often governed his behavior. With the decision made, however, he found himself wanting more for his daughter. Like a traditional Mexican wedding; all the town present to witness the culmination of a fairytale courtship that he had in large part stymied.