Evan rolled down the window and called back, “You forgot something, Joe.”
Wade jumped out, but stayed by the pickup, Joe keeping his distance. Evan rested his arm on the window, letting the standoff run its course.
“Evan? I hope you know by now, there’s no more reason for me to stay here.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Frances’s never goin to sign on to it. No how no way.”
“Is that a fact?”
“You bet it is. Why should she? There’s no dam ever goin to get built. And no premium for her to sell that land.”
“She showed you her crystal ball?”
“Hellwater Reservoir don’t have the money and never will.”
“Wrong-o potato head.” Evan got out. “They not only have the money, they have a hard deadline. I’ll tell you why. The reason I had to drive back to Billings yesterday? A meeting, the HRC board with Arapahoe Oil, a huge regional energy company. Arapahoe owns most of the recoverable soft coal rights all over the front range. Turns out they’ve done millions worth of R&D on a new technology that converts this coal to liquid fuel. Which means now they can transport it straight to the Gulf by their own, existing pipelines. Not railroad. Which means? They’re going to make a goddamn killing.”
Evan shielded his brow, the orb of rising eastern sun directly in his eyes. Joe reached down for a handful of gravel and began to toss stones one by one. A lone eagle dipped in and out of the cottonwoods lining the Hellwater.
“This conversion technology though, it needs water. A lot of water. So, enter Hellwater Reservoir Corporation. As of yesterday HRC is under contract to Arapahoe to provide that water. This dam, Joe? It’s not just some puddle water for a few hard scrabble ranchers needing irrigation. HRC has three months to start work. Or the deal ends.”
Evan leaned against the hood.
“Joe, take your time, let that sink in, so to speak. But that dam is going to be built and built soon. Hundreds of millions are at stake. Meaning, once I package it all up and bring everyone in, which at this point means only Frances, all that land will get far fatter prices than I first thought.”
Sunlight rose in layers over the mountainsides, turning the sage brush meadows turquoise. Shadows of dew twinkled black then blue then silver. Joe threw some more stones at nothing in particular.
“It ain’t Frances’s land, Evan. It’s Emma Meeks’s.”
“True. God only knows why. But that means nothing now. The state already granted contingent approval, which means eminent domain law takes precedence. It’s only a matter of time” He lit a cigarette. “We’re not asking Frances to like it. Burchard and Gustafsen sure didn’t, and they’re just as ornery and obstinate. As Emma’s custodian, Frances has no other choice.”
Joe toed the gravel. “She don’t trust you, Evan. She still thinks Lillian’s usin you to steal it all away from her. Like she always meant to.”
“Just because my mother is equally entitled to her share doesn’t mean she’s stealing anything. We’re a family and we have to act like one. If it weren’t for me. . .whatever, but I’ll tell you this: Every one of us—including that old goat—will get a whole lot more than that wasteland will ever be worth.”
“You’re all heart.”
Evan threw down his cigarette, opened his door, didn’t get in.
“Joe, I’ll go with you to talk to Frances one more time. Once she knows just how much we stand to make, you can’t honestly think she won’t listen?”
Joe gazed over the open range around him; watered by the recent snow, lush migratory greens now covered the land all over except where red rimrock chiggered its surface. He could picture the water canals to come, lacing the fields, winding around slopes, oblivious to property. Water never had trouble knowing which way to go.
“I oughta just go back to work,” he muttered. “The hell with all this.”
“But you don’t have a job, Joe,” Wade said. “Do you?”
Joe guffawed loudly enough that the antelope grazing nearby raised their wary ears.
“Joe, give it some more time; no reason to leave just yet.”
Joe, clearly lost in thought, tossed another few stones, then cast them all away.
“All right. One more day. After that, I don’t give a damn; I’m leaving.”
He walked to the pickup.
As Evan pulled out and turned around, his two passengers watched the antelope, their hides and the grasses under them rippling with capricious breezes stirred up by the early morning exchanges between earth and sky. Wade sighed.
“I sure would’ve liked to be the first human to ever come here, right, Joe?”
The lone eagle he had been watching came to roost in a tall cottonwood.
“Far’s I can see, Wade, you might just be the first.”
JOE, ALONG WITH Evan, arrived that night, Frances already at dinner, sawing at a chop of mutton, rusty boning knife clutched in her two-fingered hand. Emma in her rocker, head lying flat on her old bosom, legs splayed, black-ringed eyes closed.
“You two may’s well sit down and eat her food; she ain’t goin to. Where’s that boy’a yours?”
“Stayed in town. Tired out I guess.”
Frances braced herself, got up, hobbled into the kitchen. She returned with a blackened skillet, from which she tore out three remaining chops and put them on a plates, then drained skillet grease over them.
Evan took a chair and lit a cigarette.
“Smells just scrumptious, Frances. But much as I’d like to, I have to decline. Because of my ulcer.”
“Suit yourself. Joe might still know what’s good for him anyways.”
She pushed the plate to Joe, who in fact was very hungry, and immediately ripped into them. While he ate, no one spoke. Evan smoked. The only sound was the occasional beller of the pregnant cow across the river.
Emma twitched suddenly, gasped faintly, then was quiet. Frances went over to her, looked at her, then sat back down. When Joe finished, she cleared the food and took scraps out for the dogs. Through the porch door, he saw the dogs sniff the bowl and back away.
He gauged Frances to clearly know why they had come, yet she seemed uninterested. To have softened somehow. And Joe began to feel a little more at ease. He glanced at Evan, who winked as he smoothed back his hair over the crown where it was thinning.
“Frances? Joe and I have a lot of respect for the responsibility you feel for this place. That’s why. . .”
“Why we figure you might listen to reason this once,” Joe added.
Frances raised the part of her forehead where an eyebrow used to be. “When I hear some I will.”
She pushed him a pan of chokecherry-rhubarb pie, the center fallen, the edges baked away from the tin, the crust wooden, the filling sour, but Joe devoured it anyway, spooning a gob of cream from the crock to cut the sharp bitter taste.
Evan rubbed at the yellow film on his nails. “What I need to explain. . .”
“Save your breath, Evan. The place ain’t mine to give over to anyone. Even if I wanted.”
“Actually, as custodian, you have the legal right to do whatever is in Emma’s best interest.”
“Till she dies.” She drummed two fingers on the oilcloth. “Years ago when mother made up her mind leavin the place to Emma, since Emma would never have no mind for that kind of thing, she also made up her mind that when she went, the place went to Leonard. Him and only him. Nobody else.”
“Only him?” Joe demanded.
“It’s what she said. So that’s what goes. Since you’re his son, and since he’s dead, well, I guess that leaves only you, don’t it?”
Joe pushed back from his seat.
“See there, Evan? We should’ve known better than think we could talk to her like a normal person.”
“I wasn’t talking of normal people, as I recall, Joe. I was talkin of you. Not someone with any common sense.”
“As if she had any,” Joe said to Evan.
“If you had
some yourself, you’d get it straight, Joe. What side’a the fence you’re on.”
Frances caned over to Emma, planted herself behind the rocker and looked straight at Joe.
“Joe? I guess it’s time you might as well know. Emma here was Leonard’s mother. Not me.”
Evan stopped in mid-inhalation. Joe threw up his hands. Stood. Sat.
“Goddamn! Is there any end to this bullshit?”
“No need for your damned cussin, if it’s all the same to you.”
Evan leaned forward. “What do mean? Leonard was. . .”
Frances spoke flatly to the window. “I raised Leonard from a baby, same as his twin, Harlo. But the sorry fact is they was both Emma’s. The way Emma used to sneak out in the fields, we figure it was some old sheepherder; they’re the only ones low enough to take advantage of a simple girl like she was. She never had but the wits of a child, let alone a mother. So obviously there weren’t much choice but to raise the child myself. Even so, Emma bore Leonard, which makes his son Joe here her only surviving heir, not me, and that’s how it is.”
“My god.” Evan took a flask from his jacket and drank. “So. . .Joe would own the ranch. . .if. . .”
“I knew better than to come back. I never should’a. . .”
Joe, holding the wall, feeling light-headed, abruptly walked outside for air. Despite the day’s heat, now it was cold out. When he came back, Evan was helping Frances wash dishes in the galvanized steel tub. Joe sat back at the table. He stared at Emma. He got up and stood beside her rocker. He nudged her.
“What they hell’re you doin?” Frances said, wiping her hands.
“Wakin her up. I want to hear it from. . .”
“Don’t be a damn fool.”
“I’m not a damn fool.”
“Seems to me you are. Can’t you see she’s dead?”
WADE WOKE DURING the night; laughing downstairs in the Mint. Marly. Evan. Not Joe Meeks. He woke again, and quiet. And so, several more times, each time, not sure where he was, each time a bit scary, until he made himself remember. So much had happened, all in a few weeks: his first big city, his first birthday party, his first plane ride. His first ranch. His first real relative. His first vacation, really, and with his father too. He had gone from the worst day ever, his mother’s funeral, to the best. More excitement in the days since Evan Gallantine had shown up than in his entire twelve years. He felt so lucky he felt guilty. Just thinking about it he couldn’t go back to sleep. When he saw it getting light, he went downstairs.
Anne under a bright lamp in the lobby, pulling her hair, intently reading. Lamplight shone on her neck; Wade followed it down the milky white curve within her half-buttoned shirt. Pretending to browse the phone book, he stepped nearer. Anne looked at him, then went back to reading. He moved nearer still.
“You mind?”
“Are you reading the surveying manual your boss gave you?”
“Mine to know; yours to find out. Joe comin this morning?”
Wade didn’t know.
“Annie? That you?”
In one movement Anne swept her reading material into a satchel as the stairs creaked and Marly appeared.
“You’re up this early, honey?”
Noticing Wade, Marly turned to him. “Joe stayed up the Hellwater last night, sweetheart.” She gently felt his forehead above his injured eye. “Old Emma Meeks died yesterday.”
Wade nodded, not really listening; her hand cool, soothing. Marly went on.
“Evan’s sure tickled, that’s clear. I didn’t quite follow it all, but turns out somehow Joe owns the ranch now. Guess he can’t get away quite so soon as he wanted. Lucky us, huh Wade?”
Wade nodded. The lobby door opened. Squash Maloney walked in. Half asleep, but not so much he couldn’t throw Anne a hurt, angry look.
“What’s he doin here?” Anne asked, suspicious.
“I have to get help from somewhere, honey. Since you’re up, I want you. . .”
“I’m goin in early, Mom; I can’t.”
“Not till six thirty.”
“No, I’m ridin with Norman today; he’ll be pullin up any minute.”
Marly started to raise her voice when two guests came down the stairs, the two smiling Asian men Evan was with their first night in Meagher. A third, much younger, in a suit like the others, carried their luggage. Evan met them outside and the four got into a waiting black sedan and drove off.
“Listen, Annie,” Marly said, “Push is comin to shove here, so this surveyin business is gonna have to end sooner or later. I just cannot do without some help.”
“Fine, you got Squash now.”
Squash, despite the oscillating bewildered looks from Marly to Anne, was for the most part still asleep.
“No, not fine. I need a partner, Annie; like I told. . .”
“Well I ain’t that partner.”
She stood up defiantly.
“I could help,” Wade interjected.
“There. There’s your partner, mom. Use him.”
A horn sounded out front; she grabbed her satchel and ran out.
“I thought maybe I could help Joe out, Marly, and start taking care of myself.”
Marly sighed. She put her inside wrist on Wade’s forehead again.
“The swelling’s gone down. It’s gettin better?”
“Just some headaches now and then.”
Marly poked Squash in the arm; his eyes fluttered open.
“All right, Mr. Maloney, let’s get you goin; there’s half dozen highway department people stayin here tonight, and their rooms need to get ready.”
She nudged him toward the cafe, turning back to Wade.
“Since you and your dad might be around a while longer, I don’t know but that we couldn’t work somethin out. But first, young man, you get yourself over to the clinic. Have Edna give you somethin for those headaches. This afternoon, once I get Squash goin, you come start by helpin me out upstairs. Okay by you? Partner?”
“Okay by me,” Wade grinned.
A MAN WITH a clerical collar and black clothes approached the clinic as Wade was going in. Wade recognized him from the Mint, though it wasn’t until now, close up, that he realized that the line of dirt along his upper lip was in fact a narrowly cropped moustache. The man deferred to him with a grand sweep of his arm.
“After you, my lamb.”
“It’s okay, you go ahead.”
“No, no; I insist. For unto us a child is given. Please. Go in.”
Inside, behind a counter, was a very, VERY fat woman. She sat on two rolling chairs lashed together in tandem. Her flesh spread over every side; though she pressed her thighs close together, her knees could not get within a foot of each other. Her two beady eyes scowled up at Wade over a pair of bifocals, then forgot him altogether when the religious-looking man stepped in.
“At last,” she cried. “You’d be the new clergyman Sheriff McComb said might stop by. We have the hitch-hiker he collared right back here, Mister, um, sorry, I don’t recall your name.”
“If you would,” the man said, “I prefer to be addressed as Father.”
“Well of course; my pleasure, Mr. Father,” she said, all excited, “and such a nice name, too. Now if you’d come straight back with me, you can have your look at him, but I do want to tell you,” she whispered, leaning forward as much as she was able, which wasn’t much, “he’s quite suspicious looking. I’m thinking—and see if you don’t agree with me on this—that he’s way more than a run-away. No sir, he’s most likely a dangerous escapee. I sure doubt you would ever want such a renegade as him to be your acolyte or what have you. I myself told McComb he ought better lock him up before he does something gruesome. Such characters we get around here; you’ll see, Mister Father.”
“I’m sure I will, Mrs. . .”
“Maloney, Mrs. Maloney,” she beamed, “but Edna’s just fine.”
“I’ll have a look just as soon as you administer to my anonymous young companion, Mrs. Maloney. Inas
much as he was here first.”
He sat on a waiting chair, leaving Wade standing alone before her.
“I see,” she said sternly.
Weathering her fearsome glare, Wade supposed she was Squash’s mother, since they had the same last name, and now he felt sorry for Squash, understanding why he might have problems when it came to girls.
“If you’re here about your head, young man, it looks fine to me.”
Her flat puffy nose jiggled when she spoke. “I know,” he said, “but Marly. . .Mrs. Croft. . .told me to tell you to have the doctor give me something for my bad headaches.”
“You can’t deceive me as easy as you presume. First off, she ain’t married and ain’t no “Mrs.” part of the Croft name. Second off—which Marly knows as well as anyone—there’s no doctor here.”
“But isn’t this the clinic?”
“Of course it is, but before I call Billings and request a visitation, I must first deem it necessary.” She rifled papers at him. “Here, fill this out and this and this too.”
“No, it’s all right,” Wade said, turning to leave. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.”
“Hold on there, young man; where do you think you’re going? You may not just walk in here and leave, a complete and utter stranger. We need to know what’s going on here.”
She flailed the forms at him. Wade filled out what he could, using Meeks as his last name, just to show her he was no complete and utter stranger.
“What’s this?” she said, pointing a fat finger at his sheet.
“Meeks. Capital M, little e-e-k-s.”
She hmphed as she read it. “Wait here,” she commanded, then rolled on her two squeaking chairs through a frosted glass door. Behind it, Wade saw a skinny young man with a scraggly goatee and an unshaven face. He wore no shoes, his feet were black, and he was picking his bare toes and licking his fingers. When he noticed Wade, his eyes widened into large brown marbles. Reminding Wade of the eyes of the fawn Joe had freed from the fence.
The glass door slammed and the fat woman rattled back, a manila folder quivering in her massive lap.
“I happen to have a file here, surname Meeks, Christian name Joseph,” she said. Wade reached for it, curious, but she snatched it out of reach.
“Excuse me, we don’t let just anyone walk in and see our records.” She wedged her bifocals up her nose. “In this folder there is only one item, a bill for the delivery of an eight pound three ounce infant named Meeks, Joseph. From the date of the charge, I can be certain you are not he.”
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