They stopped for a quick lunch around noon, and as they got going again Mr. Milne asked Miss Sadie to let Thomas ride her horse for a bit, so he and Thomas could talk. With narrow eyes, Thomas mounted the animal and followed Mr. Milne on ahead of the rest of the group. Stanley joined them. Mr. Milne said nothing until they’d gone well out of earshot of everyone else.
“Thomas, you have me worried.”
Thomas looked at him, then gestured with his head and eyes at the land around them.
“I’ve always wondered if this area could be farmed. I would like to live here, in the shadows of those mountains.”
“I don’t blame you, Thomas. I know your Mama had a hard life. I know better than you.”
Thomas grunted, and looked at the mountains ahead of them. He decided that he would let Mr. Milne say what he wanted to say, and respond to nothing. What good would it do? Mr. Milne’s mind was set. Papa’s mind was set. The council’s mind was set. Words wouldn’t do any good, anymore. The time for persuasion had passed. Thomas would just have to defy them in whatever way he could devise.
“And I know,” Mr. Milne said, “she never treated you kids equitably.”
He waited, as if for a response. When none came, he continued on.
“I can’t foresee what the next few days hold. I don’t know how things will shake out—what with the barrier down and the Moabites coming with their zombie horde. But we have to try and preserve our country’s freedom in the long-term. That’s why I can’t tell you anything.”
It took a great deal of effort not to speak and accuse Mr. Milne of talking around the issue at hand. Why not just say it directly? Why not tell Thomas what was going on? It only firmed Thomas’s resolve. It only made Mama’s voice in his head that much louder.
“We have a good reason for resurrecting her, Thomas. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t for the same reason I haven’t been able to tell you your whole life.” He grunted and looked back at the wagon moving on the road behind them. “I’d practically trade my soul for your Papa not knowing. That’s bound to end up poorly.”
Thomas had had enough. He couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.
“I’ll do anything within my power to stop you. Nothing you can say will change my resolve.”
As he said it, he knew it for the truth. All his life—all his work, family, hopes, dreams, and future—seemed to have come down to this one thing, to depend on how the situation played out. He’d seen a magnifying glass once, in the general store. A novelty for a rich kid to buy. It had made things bigger, brought them into focus where you aimed it. He felt like everything he’d ever lived and done until that point was a magnifying glass on his current challenge.
Mr. Milne sighed. “I reckon you have the right to feel that way. Unfortunately, I can’t promise that you’ll ever get any answers—even after your Mama is alive, again. I don’t intend for anyone to get any answers. Not Franky. Not Charles. Not Clara May. Not this militia. Nobody. Too many people already have too many answers. It puts us all at risk.”
“I’m tired of your riddles.”
“They’re not riddles.”
“And I’m tired of you acting like you know what’s best for everyone. Who are you? You’re a tailor from St. George. You’re not the mayor. You’re not the president. You’re not even an uncle. Why are you so tangled in this thing? It’s not your family. Why can’t you stay out of it?”
Stanley, who loped alongside Thomas, looked up at him as if surprised at the tirade.
“That’s exactly it,” Mr. Milne said. “I’m involved because I started it.”
“You started it? What does that even mean? It’s not like I’m a little child. It’s not like I’m Clara May or Franky. I can keep the confidence. If you have such a good reason for bringing her back, tell me what it is. Maybe it will change my mind.”
“Will it?”
He met Mr. Milne’s deep blue eyes, surrounded by that pock-marked face, dark hat, and dark suit. Their gazes locked and held, and Mr. Milne seemed to look into Thomas’s soul. Thomas gazed back, and saw only the same determination that he felt.
Would it change his mind? Could anything Mr. Milne say possibly change his mind?
No. No, it couldn’t. Thomas didn’t want her alive. More importantly, she didn’t want to be alive. Nobody had respected her in life. He would see to it that they respected her in death.
“That’s what I thought,” Mr. Milne said.
He started to say more, to offer up more words of comfort or persuasion or whatever, but Thomas turned his horse around, and returned it to Miss Sadie.
Anything.
* * *
They arrived in Gateway as dusk spread across the sky. They couldn’t actually see the sunset, since the approach to Gateway took them into the beginnings of Zion’s Canyon, and the steep walls blocked out the sun. But the subtle dimming of the sky to a hazy purple served as a reliable signal that the sun set as they approached town.
While Gateway didn’t sit in what folks considered Zion’s Canyon, it did sit in the mouth, where the canyon walls began to rise in steep cliffs, some of them topping off in peaks of unusual shape. Thomas didn’t know much about geology or history, but those horizontal lines that ran the length of the mountains—some red, some white, some brown—seemed like windows to the past. Layers of time displayed themselves there, as if to brag about the permanence of mountains. The endlessness of days and the land’s ability to endure change.
The canyon's quietness in the fading sunlight answered the question about zombies: none had yet come to Gateway.
A cluster of sawed log houses kept watch along the west side of the Virgin River, separated from the river by a dirt road that wound northward, into the canyon. The buildings looked much like the Baker home, except not falling down. On the east side of the street, and on the opposite riverbank, the Mounteer Fish Hatchery included a handful of squat buildings. They surrounded—and practically blocked from view—the pond created by diverting some of the river’s flow.
If not for the hatchery, almost no fish would have been available beyond what came out of Quail Creek near the Baker farm; the Virgin River, while wide and often deep, was simply too muddy to support much more than tasteless suckers. Bottom feeders. The types of fish that Papa and Charles would've been if they’d been fish.
As they approached the town, Franky became excited. He glanced back at Thomas often, and began to bounce his feet.
“Yes, Franky,” Thomas said, breaking an hours-long silence. “We’ll go to the hatchery first thing.”
Franky grinned wide.
Thomas tried without success to not feel guilty. What if they didn’t have a place for Franky? It would devastate the kid. Even if they did have an available spot, would Franky fit in, be happy there? How terrible did it make him that he wanted his brother to take care of himself, or be taken care of by others?
No, he couldn’t think like that. He’d spent all his life taking care of his family—his Papa’s family. He deserved an opportunity to make his own life, and couldn’t be held back by the demands placed on him by his parents and siblings.
As they approached Gateway’s first house on the left, and the wooden bridge over the river on the right, Thomas hopped out of the wagon. Franky and Stanley joined him. Mr. Milne gave them instructions on where the family would stay the night—on a farm at the far edge of town—and told Thomas to keep his head about him. Thomas ignored him and set off for the hatchery. Miss Sadie dismounted and followed.
“I’ve always wanted to see the hatchery,” she said. “I’ve heard about it all the way over in—.” She cut herself off and looked at the militiamen. “At home.”
Thomas grunted, not sure if he welcomed her company or not.
“Be careful crossing that bridge,” Charles called after them. “She’s likely to destroy it on you.”
Thomas didn’t even turn. Neither did Miss Sadie. Leave it to Franky to ruin a perfectly good cold shoulder.
&nbs
p; “Okay!” Franky said, looking back and waving. “We will!” Excitement oozed from his tone.
Thomas swallowed hard. It was wrong, what he was doing. No matter which way he looked at it, it didn’t sit right. But he so wanted to escape Papa and Charles. So much. And he couldn’t very well tell Franky no, now. Not after he’d planted the idea. If anyone was going to tell him no, let it be the Mounteers.
They crossed the bridge—without incident—and walked up a short lane to the home. A long-haired dog came out from between the two buildings. It gave an inquisitive bark. It mostly wanted to greet and get to know Stanley. The two dogs approached each other with cautious tail-wagging and bum sniffing, but seemed to become quick friends. So, Thomas led Franky and Miss Sadie between the log home and a long, squat building.
As they paused on the other side, Thomas looked for someone to talk with about Franky. Miss Sadie and Franky, however, gaped at the scene before them.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Miss Sadie said.
“I love this place,” Franky said.
A field of trampled grass curved around two sides of a pond that stretched at least a hundred yards long, and not quite as wide. The steep canyon walls rose up on the far side of the water. On the north side, a canal of diverted river water fed a series of smaller pools, which filtered and calmed the water before it reached the main pool.
The area lay in shadow, but enough daylight remained that even an idiot would have seen that hundreds or thousands of fish filled the pond. They came to the surface in droves, biting at the insects that filled the dusky air over the water. It almost looked like rain fell on the pond, with so many ripples appearing across the surface every moment. Here and there, a fish jumped out of the water, and a quiet splash filtered across the pond.
“I could stay here forever,” Franky said.
He went to the water’s edge, mouth gaping. The dogs joined him.
A bit of Thomas’s guilt receded. Franky’s brains would keep him from working at most places—not only because he couldn’t learn the skills, but also because he would have no interest in most places. As it was, it took a great deal of effort to make him productive on the farm. He would never last farming for someone with less patience or no blood ties. But here, at the hatchery, he could work all day long and love every second. It was, no doubt, the best place in the world for him.
Perhaps, given enough time, he could seek a blessing related to the hatchery. Maybe fish coaxing, or water enhancing.
But that still didn’t change Thomas’s motivation. He should have wanted to find a place for Franky here because it was best for Franky, not because it would facilitate Thomas’s abandonment of his duties.
“What can I do for you folks?”
Thomas turned at the gruff, deep-southern-accented voice. A middle-aged man sauntered out of the wide building to the side, from an open door that spilled yellow lantern light into the yard. He had his thumbs hitched in the pockets of his overalls. In the dimness, Thomas couldn’t be certain, but he thought the fellow’s face looked somewhat fishy, with roundish eyes and a mouth that hung open. He even walked with his feet moving in a strange side-to-side manner, like a fish’s tail propelling it through the water. For all Thomas knew, he had the blessing of fish angling insight, which altered his appearance and movements just a little.
Franky turned from the water. Anticipation filled his face as he came back toward Thomas and Miss Sadie.
“I love your pond!” Franky said. “I can’t wait to pull fish in!”
Thomas nearly groaned. His suggestion that they look into work at the hatchery had made the job a foregone conclusion to Franky. He didn’t understand that the hatchery might not have a place for him. Thomas should’ve checked with the hatchery first, before getting Franky’s hopes up; he figured that not checking made him a fool.
“You can fish any time,” the man said.
He reached Miss Sadie and Thomas, and reached out to shake hands. It was a credit to Miss Sadie’s upbringing that she didn’t hesitate to take the hand in hers, since with the man came a strong fishy smell. And the hand was wet. Who knew with what.
“It doesn’t cost much to fish,” the man said.
Franky’s eyebrows moved together and he cocked his head. “It doesn’t cost much?”
“Nope.” The man rocked back-and-forth on his toes and heels, like a little kid. “You just pay per fish.”
Franky gave Thomas a confused look.
Thomas cleared his throat. “Ah, well. We actually came to inquire about work.” Thomas thought up a quick lie. “I was given to understand that you might have some work available, with perhaps some room and board as part of the payment.”
The man furrowed his brow. “No, that’s not the case. We do have one boy who works for us, but the rest of the hatchery is run by me and my sons. We don’t have use for another person.”
The anticipation and excitement on Franky’s face transformed to disbelief and shock.
“What?”
“You don’t have any work?” Thomas said.
Just as anger and bitterness had filled him earlier, after the race, now shame began to rise. Shame and regret. He’d gone about this all wrong.
“Nope,” the man said. “None.”
Franky’s lower lip began to tremble.
Miss Sadie frowned, looking back and forth between Thomas and Franky as she tried to figure the situation out.
“Could someone just work for room and board?” Thomas asked.
The man shook his head and stuck out his lower lip.
“We’ve got everything taken care of. Don’t need any more people.”
A tear fell down Franky’s cheek. It glistened in the last of the light. His head bobbed from side-to-side in disbelief.
Thomas scrambled for other options, for anything. But if the hatchery didn’t have work, it didn’t have work. There was nothing more to it.
What an idiot he was. He knew how Franky got. He should have said nothing until he’d talked with the hatchery. He was a fool. A blessing-lost fool.
That ain’t no way to treat your brother. Ain’t no way. You need him, just as much as he needs you. Treat that sweet boy like your life depended on it, Thomas.
“I’m sorry,” the man said. “You can fish any time you like, it doesn’t cost—.”
Franky began to wail. Still shaking his head, he ran for the path between the buildings. With a look of helplessness at the man and Miss Sadie, Thomas started after him.
He needed to try and repair the damage he’d caused.
* * *
Thomas raced down the path, through the dimness, hoping he didn’t stumble in a hole or rut. To the right and left, the shadowy shapes of sagebrush passed by. The failing light transformed Franky into a vague human shape in front of him, running toward the bridge. His sobbing came to Thomas almost like the cry of a disembodied spirit, faint in the dusk. Thomas called after Franky several times, but Franky responded only with pounding feet and wailing.
The dogs ran out past Thomas, up by Franky’s side. They barked, excited for the sudden action. Ahead, the gully of the river cut through the bumpy shape of the sage brush-covered ground, like a long shadow. The flat bridge, with its waist-high railing, was just a rectangle of black.
Thomas pushed himself harder, ignoring the cramping in his legs, and gained on Franky. By the time they reached the bridge, and their boots fell heavily on the wood just a few times, Thomas’s hand closed over Franky’s shoulder.
“Franky, stop! Let’s talk.”
Franky halted so fast that Thomas nearly ran into him—only avoiding a collision by jumping to the side. He nearly tripped over the dogs, who scooted aside and cavorted with each other.
“They don’t want me,” Franky said.
“That’s not it." He would have given anything to help Franky understand, to overcome his slowness. He stepped close to Franky, closed his hands around his brother’s arms. “They just don’t have enough work f
or anyone. Right now they would turn away anyone coming for work.”
In the dimness, Franky’s face twisted. Tears glistened on his cheeks. At least he listened. At least he tried to understand things.
Below them, the river rushed by. Thomas hoped its sound soothed Franky. To him, it seemed to mock.
Miss Sadie, her white dress and light hair clearly visible in the dimness, approached the bridge at a jog. The dogs ran to her.
“They don’t have work for anyone?” Franky said.
“Not for anyone,” Thomas said.
Miss Sadie reached the bridge, followed by the dogs.
“Maybe," she said, "you could do some fishing right now. I have money. I can pay for it, if you like.”
Franky’s face brightened. “Really?”
“Yes. Go on back there, and tell the man you want fish. I’m sure he has a pole.”
Just like that—with that simple distraction—the pain fell out of Franky’s face. Without any hesitation, he pulled away from Thomas and darted back across the bridge and up the path toward the house. The dogs followed him.
Miss Sadie stayed, looking at Thomas.
“Thank you,” he said, marveling at the simple solution to the problem. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
He would’ve tried to make Franky feel better by talking about the job, but in the long run would've probably only made things worse. It was like a woman, though, to figure out how to handle something like that.
She folded her arms and shook her head. Her tone bore heavy disapproval.
“I’m not sure what just went on here, but I think I understand.”
He struggled to find words to defend himself. He couldn’t, though. He didn’t deserve any kind of defense. Instead, he only found anger at her for judging him. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know his situation.
“I don’t think you really understand,” he said. “I don’t think you have any real idea.”
She grunted. “Oh, you’re complicated, Thomas. Very much so. But I’m beginning to see into you. I’m beginning to understand.”
“And do you hate what you understand?”
Keep Mama Dead Page 20
