“Did you help out when he did?”
“No,” Jeb said irritably, as if offended by the question.
“There’s a lot to do around here,” Graydon said. “Sure could use an extra hand if you’re interested. I’ve got to ride out and take a look at the fences tomorrow. Want to come along?”
Jeb looked down and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. “I don’t ride. Don’t like horses.”
Only a slight twitch of his lips told Mary Dell that Graydon was surprised by this information. Why wouldn’t he be? Jeb was one of the few boys his age who didn’t know how to ride, at least in this part of Texas. Mary Dell knew that Jeb wasn’t telling the whole truth about his equestrian experiences. He had ridden, or tried to, once.
When Jeb was about six, Jack Benny had decided to teach him to ride. The boy was tense, frightened of Ranger, a mean-tempered, sixteen-hand-high black horse that Jack Benny rode on the few occasions when he actually showed up to work, and nervous that he would disappoint the father whose approval he so desperately craved. Naturally, that was exactly what happened.
Mary Dell and Lydia Dale were outside the paddock when it did, and Mary Dell could tell by the way her sister gripped the top rail of the fence with both her hands that she was just as nervous as her son.
The first thing that happened was that Jeb approached Ranger from behind, so the horse tried to nip at him. It wasn’t Ranger’s fault—no horse likes to be snuck up on, though one a little more patient and used to children might have taken it in stride. It wasn’t Jeb’s fault either; Jack Benny should have told the boy to approach the animal from the side. Actually, he did tell him, but not until Jeb had already made the mistake. Then Jack Benny snapped at his son, asking what the hell was the matter with him? Didn’t he even know how to mount a horse?
“Of course not,” Lydia Dale mumbled under her breath. “You never took time to teach him.”
Mary Dell looked sideways at her sister. Her knuckles were white where they clutched at the rail, and her arm muscles were taut, pushing against it, as if poised to jump the fence and pull Jeb out of the paddock. Mary Dell wished she would.
Jeb’s lower lip was trembling as he mounted the horse, and his eyes were wide with fright. Ranger must have seemed like a giant to a child so small. Why hadn’t Jack Benny saddled up one of the ponies for him instead?
For a couple of minutes, it seemed like everything would be all right. Ranger, with Jeb astride, clutching the saddle horn for all he was worth, calmly circled the paddock. But when Jack Benny instructed the boy to give the horse a kick in the flanks so he’d pick up some speed and Jeb refused to do so, saying this was fast enough, Jack Benny scowled. He walked quickly to the opposite side of the paddock and slapped Ranger hard on the rump. The horse reared, not a lot but enough. Jeb tumbled off, landed in the dirt, and started to cry. Jack Benny walked over to the child. Towering over his son with his feet spread and arms crossed, he told Jeb to quit being such a crybaby and demanded that he get up and get back on the horse.
Lydia Dale practically vaulted over the fence and ran across the riding ring to comfort her sobbing son. After ascertaining that Jeb hadn’t broken anything in the fall, she picked him up and carried him into the house. Jack Benny sneered as she left, saying it was no wonder Jeb was growing up to be such a momma’s boy.
That was the first and last time Jeb had ever tried to mount a horse. Mary Dell wanted to pull Graydon aside and explain the situation but knew she couldn’t, not without embarrassing Jeb. But she didn’t have to explain; Graydon already seemed to have a pretty good bead on the boy. He’d always been that way, Mary Dell remembered. Not much of a talker but observant, able to understand what any creature, whether it walked on two feet or four, was feeling just by watching it. Donny had that same gift—that was part of what had made him such a good rancher—but Graydon possessed it in even greater measure. Mary Dell felt so lucky that Graydon had come to their aid.
“I used to be a rodeo rider,” Graydon said, looking at the top of Jeb’s drooping head. “Did you know that? First time I met your aunt was outside a rodeo ring not far from here, at the fair. She tripped and fell and I helped her up. We talked, but just for a second. About the time she got to her feet, they called my name for the bull riding competition.”
Jeb lifted his head and looked up at Graydon, clearly impressed. “You were a bull rider?”
“Among other things. That was a good day,” Graydon said, smiling just a little. “I took first place in the bull riding. I met your aunt Mary Dell. And later, I met your momma.”
“You know my momma?”
“Yep,” Graydon answered quickly. “I met the whole family that day. The next day wasn’t quite as good, though. I got thrown and broke a rib.”
Jeb winced. “Must have been a mean horse.”
“Naw.” Graydon shrugged. “Horses aren’t mean, not naturally. But if they’re in pain, or if people mistreat them, or frighten them, sometimes they act mean. If you take time to get to know a horse and let him get to know you, feed him, brush him, let him get familiar with the way you talk and smell, he won’t be mean to you or try to throw you. See, that bronc that threw me, he was just scared. He was wild, had never been ridden, and didn’t know me from Adam.
“Now that I think of it,” Graydon said, almost as if he were talking to himself, letting his gaze drift toward the horizon, “I don’t believe I will ride fences tomorrow. Seems to me I should spend the day getting my feet under me. Dutch says y’all are missing some feed. I should introduce myself to the hands, assure them I’m aware of the situation and will be keeping an eye on it.”
He paused for a moment, scratched his thinking spot, just below his ear.
“Probably ought to spend some time looking over the stock too, get to know them a little better. Say,” he said, looking down at Jeb, “I don’t suppose you’d like to help feed and curry the horses in the morning? You’re pretty well filled out for your age. I need somebody strong to help me haul hay bales and water buckets, somebody who can show me the ropes and help me get the feel of the place.”
Jeb bit his lower lip, turning it from pink to white as he considered this offer. “I guess so,” he said cautiously and then, more stoutly, “Okay.”
“Thank you, son,” Graydon said, laying his arm on the boy’s shoulder. “I sure appreciate the help.”
The kitchen door opened. Lydia Dale, carrying the baby and looking irritated, stepped out onto the porch calling, “Jeb! Where are you? Grandma says she sent you out—”
Seeing her eldest standing next to Graydon pulled her up short. She stopped in mid-sentence, closed her mouth, and opened it again.
“Hey.”
Graydon touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Hey, Lydia Dale.”
After an awkward pause she stared straight at Jeb, looking only at him.
“Where have you been? Grandma says she sent you out to round everybody up for supper fifteen minutes ago.”
“Sorry, Momma.”
She turned her attention to Mary Dell, looking past Graydon as if he were as insubstantial as a breath of wind. “Are you staying for supper?”
Mary Dell shook her head. “Howard still hasn’t had his afternoon exercise session.”
“Well, the rest of y’all better get in here. The meat is getting cold.” She turned on her heel and went quickly back inside, letting the screen door slam behind her.
Jeb trooped obediently across the yard, but stopped when he realized Graydon wasn’t following. “You better come on. Granny gets mad when the food gets cold.”
“You go on without me. I’m going to head on back to the tack room, get my gear unpacked.”
“I thought you already did that,” Mary Dell said.
“I’d like to take some time to get settled in. I’m not that hungry.”
Mary Dell doubted that, but she didn’t blame him for hesitating to sit down at the family dinner table. He hadn’t exactly been welcomed with open arms.
“Why don’t I go in and fix you a plate?” Mary Dell asked. “I can bring it out to the barn for you.”
“Let me!” Jeb exclaimed. “I’ll do it. I can bring Uncle Graydon’s dinner. And while you’re eating, maybe you could tell me about competing on the rodeo circuit? If you don’t mind.”
“I’d be happy for the company. I’ll even pull out the belt buckle I won at the Fort Worth Stock Show,” Graydon said with a small smile. “It’s silver and big as a saucer. Too heavy to wear, but it looks nice.”
Jeb’s eyes grew wide. “Real silver?”
“I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Never thought to check, but it’s got a good shine to it. Anyway, you run in and have your supper. Be sure to help clear the table when you’re finished. There’s no hurry. Okay?”
“Okay! Yes, sir!” Jeb galloped toward the house, grinning for all he was worth. When he got to the door, he flung it open and rushed inside without bothering to wipe his boots. A moment later, the echo of Taffy’s harangue wafted through the air, the words indistinct at such a distance, but the general nature of her complaint was clear enough.
CHAPTER 32
April 1984
Mary Dell was exhausted. Run-ins with her mother always wore her out and in the three weeks since Graydon Bebee had come to the ranch, battles with Taffy were a daily occurrence. Almost always, the thing they fought about was Graydon.
Today, Taffy’s tizzy came about because Graydon had fired two of their hired men. Truthfully, Mary Dell wasn’t sure of the wisdom of that move, especially so close to the start of lambing season, but Graydon was the ranch manager, and she felt she owed him her support. Too, coming down on the opposite side of any argument Taffy made was habit by now, an itch she just couldn’t keep from scratching. But it sure was tiring.
She’d gone to the big house just a little after lunch, summoned to the scene by her mother. Mary Dell didn’t want to go, she had so much to do, but knew somebody had to listen to Taffy gripe. If it wasn’t her, it would be Dutch or Graydon. Dutch had to put up with enough as it was, and Graydon had his hands full running the ranch, so Mary Dell was on deck.
It should have been a half-hour errand, but by the time they returned home to the trailer, just as the sun was setting, both she and the baby were in bad spirits.
Howard kept tugging at his left ear and fussing during exercises, cried during his bath, and he howled while Mary Dell rocked him for a full hour before finally falling asleep. By the time she tucked him into his crib, it was well after ten.
Mary Dell wasn’t feeling very good either. The ranch was at its most beautiful in spring, green leaves were sprouting and little wildflowers were popping up everywhere, so pretty, but the pollen was sure making her miserable. She went into the bathroom and searched through the cabinet for her allergy pills, an over-the-counter medication she’d discovered that seemed to work pretty well. The box of pills was empty, so she went searching through drawers, hoping to find a forgotten supply of medication or at least a reasonable substitute, locating some on Donny’s side of the cabinet. It was a prescription, but the bottle said it was for allergies and the pills looked the same, so Mary Dell took two.
She desperately wanted go into her bedroom, flop face-first onto the mattress, and sleep. Howard would be awake in another three hours, maybe less, demanding to be fed. The way he was pulling at his ear made her think he had an ear infection brewing. She’d have to call the pediatrician the next day. But before that and before she could go to bed, she had to eat something, wash the dirty dishes piled in the sink, and go through the week-long backlog of mail that was piled up on the “catchall” counter next to the microwave, the spot where the things she didn’t have time to deal with or put away landed until she did have time. By now, it was a big pile and getting bigger, a treacherous clutter glacier, advancing slowly but surely, threatening to engulf the entire countertop. Tired as she was, she had to deal with it now, while the house was quiet.
What had happened to her? She’d always been such a good housekeeper. People had warned her that having a baby changes your life and your priorities, but nothing they’d said prepared her for the reality of parenthood—especially single parenthood of a child with Down syndrome.
And her family wasn’t helping either, she thought as she tiptoed out of the nursery, down the hall, and through the living room, gathering up more stray items to add to the catchall pile. Here was Graydon, an absolute godsend in their hour of need, an angel on horseback coming all the way down from Kansas to help them, and Taffy treated him like he was a drifter looking for a handout!
It’s not so bad when it’s me; I’m used to it. She’s been against him from the first second. But she has no call to treat him so mean. I’ve had it with her! And if she ever says another careless word about Howard—that’s it! I’ll never speak to her again, and I don’t care what Daddy says.
Mary Dell felt a twinge of guilt. She knew she should forgive and forget, but this was easier said than done. She’d never been particularly short-tempered, not until recently. These days, it took just about every ounce of energy she had to keep from exploding, sometimes over the silliest things. She’d always said that there would be less offense given if less offense were taken. But when those offenses were directed toward Howard, it was a whole different ball game. When someone was mean to her baby she became not just offended, but incensed. Marlena Benton didn’t know how lucky she was to have escaped their confrontation in the Tidee-Mart with nothing more than a bruised ego. It had taken every ounce of self-control Mary Dell had to keep from planting her fist right into Marlena’s smug, over-lipsticked mouth.
As she spread pimento cheese on a slice of Wonder Bread and popped the top on a can of Dr Pepper, she wondered if Taffy had ever felt like that about her. She could imagine her mother getting into a catfight to defend Lydia Dale, but it was impossible to conjure a picture of Taffy doing the same for her. No use wondering why; Taffy was Taffy and nothing would change that.
It was her sister’s behavior and attitude that really irked her. Hadn’t Lydia Dale been the one wringing her hands with worry over how she could help Mary Dell lighten some of the financial burdens and responsibilities that had fallen into her lap? The fact that her twin was now unwilling to do something as simple as display a little hospitality and support when Graydon showed up, offering a real answer to at least some of their immediate problems, made Mary Dell wonder if Lydia Dale was as worried about her as she professed to be.
Mary Dell pulled a stool up to the counter, next to the catchall pile.
She was starting to wonder if Taffy’s self-centered ways were rubbing off on Lydia Dale. She didn’t like to think that of her own sister, but a lot of women became more and more like their mothers as they aged. Mary Dell had seen it firsthand.
Take Pearl Dingus; when Pearl was a child, she was a rebel. She took her momma’s oft-repeated advice not to “drink, or smoke, or chew, or go around with boys who do,” and turned it right on its head. Well, that wasn’t quite fair. Pearl didn’t ever chew, at least Mary Dell didn’t think she did, but she’d done about everything else and had just about driven her parents over the edge. But somehow, as the years passed, Pearl had morphed into her momma’s image. She traded in her halter tops and miniskirts for high-button necklines and calf-length hemlines, married a preacher, and started “speaking the truth in love,” which, as far as Mary Dell was concerned, was just another word for lecturing, just like her momma did. Mary Dell liked Pearl, even if she was a little self-righteous, and figured it was better that she’d forsaken the road to hell and damnation to follow in her mother’s footsteps, but she couldn’t say the same thing about her sister turning into a next-generation Taffy. Nothing good could come of that!
How could Lydia Dale have supported Taffy’s opinion over hers? She was supposed to be on Mary Dell’s side! Other than Dutch, no one was on her side. No one lifted a finger to help! Didn’t they see how hard she was working? How trying to c
are for Howard and figure out a way to keep the ranch together, not to mention stuffing down the grief of being abandoned by her husband just when she needed him most, was wearing her down? How could they be so selfish? She expected that kind of thing from her mother, but she’d never, ever imagined Lydia Dale would abandon her too. The more Mary Dell thought about this, the angrier she became. Washing down a mouthful of pimento cheese sandwich with a long and fortifying swig of Dr Pepper, she started in on the catchall pile, determined to take control of this mess, if nothing else.
She pulled four quilting magazines out of the pile and shoved them aside, then decided that she’d probably never, ever have five minutes of time to herself to read magazines again and threw them all into the trash. Then, rethinking her action, she pulled her favorite, Quilt Treasures, out of the wastebasket performing a quick flip-through to see if maybe, just maybe, the magazine had published one of her quilts but had forgotten to notify her. Next, she started ripping open envelopes one after the other, scanning the contents and dividing them into personal letters, advertisements, and bills.
The stack of personal letters was pathetically small, only one little thank-you note from Mrs. Covey, a lady she knew from church, a recent widow. Mary Dell had shown her how to make her husband’s old ties into a memory quilt. The old woman’s heartfelt note helped douse Mary Dell’s ire, but not enough and not for long. After tossing out the stack of advertisements, Mary Dell started in on the bills. It dwarfed the other two stacks by an exponent of three. All the usual suspects were depressingly present—electricity bills, mortgage bills, insurance bills, tax bills, propane bills, and the car payment, accompanied by the ones that were less regular but also added up—doctor bills, vet bills, feed bills, magazine renewal bills, another from Jimmy’s Garage for the oil change and 150,000-mile service on her car, as well as a credit card bill that still carried most of the balance for that ridiculous, over-the-top orgy of Christmas presents that Donny had bought, the toys he’d assured her they could afford and then paid for with a credit card—just months before he left town and left her holding the bag!
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