Prairie Fire

by Kayt C Peck

  Brad picked up the art on Pookie’s oversized sketchpad and held it up for all to see.

  “That’s mighty fine work, girl,” Curley said, and the group murmured agreement.

  “It’s going to be a sculpture,” Pookie said.

  “That’s pretty awesome,” Brad said.

  “Where you going to put it?” Mrs. Haskell asked.

  “She’s got a place picked out by the corrals at our place,” Judy answered.

  Pookie stood up, turning her art back toward herself so she could study it more closely. “Judy’s going to teach me to weld to build the frame for each of the animals. We talked about maybe using adobe with a glazed finish for the exterior.”

  “Be kind of a waste just at your corrals,” Brad said.

  “Sure would.” Curley’s face shone with a bright smile. “Why don’t you build it right here in front of the community center?”

  “What a great idea,” one rancher said.

  “I agree,” his wife added.

  “All those in favor say ‘aye,’” Curley called.

  The vote was unanimous. So began the Coldwater area’s first community art project.

  Chapter Eight

  Homecoming

  It was a good thing the Kentons had a farm yard. No regular suburban home could handle the parking. Not just the Coldwater folks turned out for Harold’s homecoming. Half the church choir from the Dulson First Baptist Church was there, along with their minister. They’d certainly missed Harold’s bass voice these many Sunday mornings. Three members of the Dulson County Farmers’ Cooperative board of directors were there, including Chub Smithson, who drove all the way from his farm near Conway, clear on the other side of the county. To no one’s surprise, Fire Chief Rome was there along with Sally Lyne, the volunteer EMT who had treated Harold when he was burned. During his time in the hospital, Sally called almost every week just to see how he was doing.

  Brad and Julie were busy making coffee and tea for all the visitors, and the house was full to overflowing. In the kitchen, the table and counters rapidly filled with pies, casseroles, and homemade bread. Country folk know how to express love and caring in a very practical way. The recuperating Harold and his worry weary wife wouldn’t need to be concerned about feeding themselves for a while. Judy and Kathleen stayed outside, greeting newcomers and directing parking, reminding folks not to park by the front gate to the house. They wanted the path kept clear to make Harold’s last few steps on the final leg of his journey home as easy as possible.

  During their last trip to Amber, Judy and Kathleen found Harold to be restless and grumpy. Martha’s patience was obviously wearing thin. After the third time Martha referred to her beloved husband as a “cantankerous old coot,” Judy offered to stay with Harold while Martha and Kathleen, with Pookie in tow, went to lunch and then to the mall. Martha got an over-due haircut and came back with a brand new shirt for Harold, one from the western wear store and just the color and style he liked. When he saw it, tears came to his eyes, the first Judy had seen from the tough and weathered rancher since her own parents’ funeral.

  While they were alone, Judy listened as Harold ranted, worried about the ranch, worried about hospital bills, feeling as trapped as a steer left forgotten in a branding squeeze chute. He calmed after a while. His burns had largely healed, although the doctor warned him he needed to be watchful of the delicate new skin around both the graft and on his thigh where they’d taken healthy skin to replace burned tissue. The knee replacement had gone well, and Harold amazed them all in the hospital physical therapy department with how well he progressed. He wanted to go home, pure and simple. Harold knew he was ready, and he was frustrated at the doctors’ caution in keeping him longer.

  After he’d settled some, Judy described how well the wheat looked on both their places, wheat planted for the winter grazing, but always welcome as a secondary cash crop when the rains were enough to make it worth harvesting. She and Brad had already contracted a harvest crew from Abilene. They would be in the Dulson area in a week or two as they followed the ripening wheat from south to north. By the time she started her update on the successful calving of the heifers—having lost only one premature calf—Harold was more his old self, the calm and steady man who was a second father to her.

  The day had finally arrived. Harold would be home in less than an hour. He’d called from their cell phone, Martha driving, telling Brad to have the coffee on and his worn-out recliner ready to welcome the ‘master’ home. Brad did a little jig at the sound of his father’s excited voice, then took a marker and paper from the table near the phone in the kitchen. He wrote “RESERVED” in bold letters and unceremoniously ran Curley Thompson out of his father’s favorite chair, placing the sign in the middle of the seat.

  When the Kentons’ Buick pulled into the yard, a cheer went up, starting with a small group of men resting and whittling under a shade tree. The people in the house heard the commotion, and Brad and Julie abandoned their guests to run to meet his parents. People lined up along the sidewalk, shouting things like “welcome home” and “you look darned good, Harold.”

  Harold and Martha were both grinning ear-to-ear as they stepped from the car. Harold carried a cane, but he forgot to use it as he walked, limping ever so slightly. He shook hands, calling the names of his many friends as he made that longed-for walk into his own house on his own ranch. Martha barely got out of the car before some of her lady friends from church waylaid her with tearful hugs. Judy gently slipped the car keys from Martha’s hand. She hit the button on the key fob to open the trunk, and she and Kathleen quietly retrieved suitcases and bags from the trunk. They waited for the crowd to clear, one-by-one following Harold and Martha into the house. Instead of following the group through the front door, Judy and Kathleen took the bags to the back porch, went through the kitchen, down the hallway, and deposited bags in the Kentons’ bedroom. It sounded like a New Year’s celebration from the laughter and loud conversation in the living room. It truly was a day of celebration.

  There had to be twenty people gathered around Harold, now seated in his favorite chair, Martha in her own chair beside him. Judy and Kathleen didn’t even try to make their way through the crowd. Despite their presence on the outskirts, Martha searched for them, making eye contact and mouthing the words “thank you.” Judy winked in response and Kathleen waved.

  “Darned if I don’t smell home cooking coming from that kitchen,” Harold said, his face beaming with happiness.

  “Brought two loaves of my homemade yeast bread,” Mrs. Haskell called.

  “You got enough food to feed an army in there,” Curley said.

  “Good thing,” Martha responded, “‘cause we pretty near have an army in our living room.”

  “You listen here, Martha Kenton. That food is for you. You don’t need to feed all us,” said a dumpling looking woman Judy didn’t know. Must be from the church, Judy thought.

  “Well, I’m not offering,” Harold said. “After all those weeks on hospital food, I may eat myself into oblivion on all that good food.”

  Sally Lyne, wearing her EMT vest, stepped to a spot beside Harold. “Harold, we’re all glad to see you, but don’t you overdo it, including the eating.”

  Harold stood, a full head taller than the woman beside him. He put a hand on Sally’s shoulder and looked into her eyes.

  “There’s my angel,” he said, his voice shaky. “The angel who was there for me at my darkest hour.”

  He wrapped Sally in a gentle hug, one he seemed disinclined to end. Martha stood and wrapped her arms around them both. Sally finally stepped away, swiping quickly at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

  “What you talking about? I was just doing my job,” she said.

  “I’ll never forget what you did for me.” Harold looked up, searching the faces in the room until he spotted Fire Chief Rome. “Ted, I won’t forget what all you folks in the fire department did that day,” he said, speaking directly to the Chief.
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  “Harold, your son and Judy Proctor over there --” The Chief used his chin to point to Judy at the back of the group, “have been busy while you were in the hospital.” He held up an over-sized brown envelope. “What I have here is authorization from the Dulson County Commissioners and the State Fire Marshall’s office for the charter of the Coldwater Volunteer Fire Department.”

  “We did it for you, Dad,” Brad said. “We don’t want a day like the day you got burned ever again, for anyone.”

  Big, tough, weather-beaten cowhand that he was, Harold Kenton cried. His wife cried. The dumpling lady from their church cried. Judy cried. Kathleen cried. Pretty much everyone cried, although most of the tougher men managed to hide it in the form of a bout of unexpected coughing.

  “That’s not all, Harold,” said Joe Bob Johnston, foreman of the Bar H, the biggest ranch in the area. He pulled at his bushy mustache in a nervous gesture. “You know my boss, Bob Hanks.”

  “Sure I do. Who doesn’t? Most of Texas knows he’s an oil man’s oil man. Seemed like a nice enough fellow when you two came in for coffee when you were pheasant hunting.”

  Joe Bob looked around the room. Most times, the big cowboy didn’t speak much. Judy had never seen him nervous before. She doubted he was particularly comfortable making a public announcement.

  “Mr. Hanks, well, he heard about the fire, and he got downright motivated when he learned how far it was to the nearest fire station. Anyway, he’s agreed to donate the money to build us a firehouse. Been talking with folks, and we figure it can go beside the Community Center.”

  “And we’ve already located a used Class A pumper and a former State Forestry brush truck you can use until we can get grants for new equipment,” Chief Rome added.

  “Yippee!” Brad called. He grabbed Julie and tried to lead her in a dosey-doe, but there wasn’t enough room in the crowded living room.

  Judy grasped Kathleen’s hand, as happy as Brad over it all, but a bit more self-restrained. Kathleen leaned close to her lover.

  “Looks like you and Brad really started something,” Kathleen whispered.

  “We sure did,” Judy responded. Somewhere mixed in her joy for the day, there was a cold kernel of fear. A firefighter, Judy thought. Damn, a firefighter.

  “That’s enough excitement for today,” Sally Lyne said, authority in the voice of the diminutive woman. “All you folks need to go home and let this man rest.”

  Obediently, everyone did as they were told.

  aaAA

  As they pulled into the drive at their own headquarters, Kathleen changed direction from house to corrals after she spotted Pookie riding Old Buck in the arena behind the pens.

  “That darned hat,” Judy said as she watched the young rider.

  “Well, you told her she had to wear a hat if she was going to be out working. You even gave her the money to buy it,” Kathleen said.

  “Where in the hell did she actually find a derby? I hadn’t seen one of those in years.”

  Kathleen parked the car where they could watch Pookie ride. “Did you really expect Pookie to buy a nice, practical hat?”

  “I was all ready for a ball cap that said ‘Save the Whales’ or some such, but a derby…never imagined.”

  “It goes well with her hair.”

  “That it does, and the black hat goes good with the black of her dog collar.” Judy watched in silence for a few minutes as Pookie loped the horse in a big figure eight. “She’s doing good on Old Buck.”

  “Same horse I learned to ride on, but you know Pookie rode before.”

  “She told me she had a pony, but sometimes learning to ride badly is worse than not learning to ride at all,” Judy said. “She’s got a good touch and a solid seat.” She reached to take Kathleen’s hand. “Still not as much of a natural as you were from the get go.”

  “You going to leave her on Old Buck?” Kathleen asked.

  Judy rubbed at her chin, thinking. “I been thinking about getting another horse for you. You’re ready for one with a little more spunk. We could put Pookie on Dan.”

  Kathleen laughed. “Just so you don’t expect me to rope any cattle. I’m afraid a good horse could lose me by accident.”

  “Well, Jackson’s done that to me a time or two.”

  “I know. I helped clean up and bandage your scraped face the last time, remember?” Kathleen laughed. “Why do you think I’m so certain a good horse would lose me?”

  Judy opened the door to the car. “We’ll see,” she said as she and Kathleen both stepped out of the vehicle. She looked at Kathleen over the top of the car. “I’ll ask Joe Bob to keep an eye out for another good but gentle horse. Truthfully, I’m thinking about asking him to start Sally’s colt for me. I don’t bounce as good as I used to, and that round-pen of his is perfect for starting to saddle train a young horse.”

  Kathleen sighed and leaned wistfully on the car. “Oh please, Judy. I’d feel so much better if you did.”

  Judy smiled, glancing sideways at her lover. “We’ll see.”

  Pookie rode up to the fence and pulled Old Buck to a stop. “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “Great!” Kathleen answered. “You missed a good time.”

  “I would have felt funny. I saw how Mr. Kenton looked at me when I went with you to the hospital. I did have fun hanging out with Mrs. Kenton though.”

  Judy laughed. “Give him time. Although you better be darned glad Martha didn’t take your advice about dying her hair. Harold would have roasted you both alive.”

  “She’d look good blond…maybe with a streak of blue.”

  Judy sighed and shook her head. “It’s your turn to cook tonight, kiddo. What we having?”

  “I have lentils in the crock pot with some Cajun spice, and maybe a nice salad with poppy-seed dressing.”

  “Sounds…good,” Judy responded.

  Judy and Kathleen got back in the car and Kathleen drove them to the driveway by the house.

  “Kathleen?” Judy said as they drove.

  “Yes?”

  “What are lentils?” Judy asked. “Some kind of meat?”

  Kathleen laughed so hard she couldn’t answer.

  Chapter Nine

  Young Love

  It was a long drive to Amber. Pookie rode quietly in the backseat of Kathleen’s car, so quietly that the two women in front kept sneaking glances at her in the mirror or over their shoulders.

  “What’s up, Pook?” Kathleen finally asked.

  “Well…we’re going to Amber,” Pookie answered.

  “I know that,” Kathleen drawled. She turned around in the driver’s seat and looked at Pookie over the top of her sunglasses.

  “Sometimes it pays to state the obvious,” Pookie said. She didn’t look at Kathleen, instead staring at the arroyos around the Canadian River as they hurled along the state highway between Dulson and the city of Amber.

  “All right, kiddo. Why so quiet?” Judy asked, a hint of authority in her voice.

  Pookie chewed briefly on her lower lip. “You say they call it the Ladies’ Room?”

  “Yep,” Judy answered.

  “And they’re all lesbians?”

  “Lesbian or gay friendly,” Judy answered.

  Kathleen giggled. “Wait until you meet Sara Jean.”

  “Who’s that?” Pookie asked.

  Judy laughed so hard she snorted. “She’s some bow-head, rich house wife who came the first time because she thought the ‘lambda ladies’ were a meeting of her college sorority alumni.”

  “She comes back to get advice from the lesbians on how to deal with her husband and her flirty neighbor,” Kathleen added.

  Pookie laughed too, taking her gaze from the passing scenery and looking toward her companions. “Sounds like fun, but…well…”

  “Spit it out,” Judy said.

  “Are there any…you know…girls?”

  Judy and Kathleen exchanged a quick “ah-ha” glance. “Pookie Thompson, are you hoping to find a girlfriend?
” Kathleen asked.

  “Well, yeah.” Pookie unfastened her seatbelt and leaned forward into the space between the two front bucket seats, placing her hands on the shoulders of the two women. “You know…well…it’s been a while.”

  Judy’s mouth hung open, and she turned to face Pookie. “How old are you?” she demanded.

  “You know how old I am. I turned eighteen in March,” Pookie responded.

  Judy huffed in disdain. “I’ll have you know I didn’t get around to doing ‘it’ until I was in my twenties. And fasten your seat belt,” Judy said.

  Doing as instructed, Pookie scooched back in her seat and re-buckled the belt. “Times have changed, Miz Judy. Times have changed.”

  “Well, I think waiting until you’re a little older is a good thing,” Judy said. “Don’t you agree, Kathleen?”

  All three listened attentively to the hum of tires on the pavement.

  “Kathleen?” Judy said.

  More tires on pavement.

  “Kathleen, honey. How old were you the first time you…well…did ‘it’?”

  Kathleen cleared her throat. “Pookie, there’s a wide range of ages among the women at the Ladies’ Room. We kind of bonded with some of the adult couples, so, I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t notice how many unattached young women were there.”

  Judy put a hand on the dashboard and leaned her back against the door, facing Kathleen directly. “You’re not going to answer my question, are you?”

  “Not in front of Pookie, no.”

  Judy licked her lips and nodded. “Fair enough, but we will talk later.”

  “Hey!” Pookie called. “No mom fights are allowed on account of me.”

  The two women laughed. “Not a fight, sweetie. Just a slightly uncomfortable…discussion,” Kathleen responded.

  Judy sighed. “I guess I’m not a good standard to go by. After all, I spent my life until college just on the ranch, riding a bus to school until I was sixteen. Even after Brad and I started driving his dad’s old pickup into town for high school so he could do football, and I could do band…well, I guess if I’d had opportunity, it might have been different.”