June 7, 1933, 12:16 p.m.—EDW Ranch
Benji stepped back and surveyed the area they had cleared out at the back of the barn. “All right. That’s looking good.” He turned to Reggie. “Reg, why don’t you go on up to the house and see if your Mom could make us a plate of sandwiches? And maybe a pitcher lemonade.”
“’Kay.” Reggie started away.
“And tell your mom we’re hungry. We’ll eat over in the shade of the icehouse.”
Reggie waved and broke into a trot toward the house.
Picking up a flat-nosed shovel and a rake, Benji pointed over to one corner of the barn. “Mose, grab that wheelbarrow and follow me.”
He did so, and they went across the yard toward the chicken coop, which was just a few yards away from the icehouse. They left the tools by the coop and went over into the shade.
They had barely gotten settled, both of them removing their hats, when Benji looked up. “Uh-oh,” he said, and he got to his feet. Celeste was coming from the ranch house at a fast walk, dragging Reggie along. From the stiffness in her back and her expression, Benji knew she was not happy. And she was certainly not carrying a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade.
Mose got slowly to his feet, holding his hat in his hands. “This the missus of the house?” he asked in a low voice.
“Uh . . . she’s my sister-in-law. Reggie’s mother.” By this point he could see that her eyes were spitting fire. “Stay here,” he murmured, and he moved forward swiftly to intercept them.
“What’s up, Celeste?”
She pulled to a halt, dropping Reggie’s hand. “What’s up? Are you serious, Benji?” She pointed toward the icehouse. “What is he doing here?”
Benji half turned, taken completely aback. “Mose?”
“Whatever his name is, I want him gone. Now, Benji!”
He swung back around, dumbfounded. “What?”
“You heard me.” She started to push past him. “If you won’t do it, I will.”
Benji cut her off, planting his feet. “No, Celeste! He’s helping us.”
“That’s what I tried to tell her,” Reggie said.
Celeste whirled and gave her son such a withering look that he fell back a step. “Stay out of this, Reggie, or go back to the house. This is between me and Benji.” She came back around. “What were you thinking, Benji? Bringing a person of color onto the ranch.”
Benji winced knowing that Mose could hear every word she was saying. “A person of color? What difference does that make? He’s a good man.”
“You are so naive,” she hissed. “He has to go.”
Deeply shocked, Benji moved in closer, lowering his voice. “Come on, Celeste,” he urged. “He was a sharecropper. His landlord threw him off the land. So he had no choice but to try to find work wherever he can. He sends every dollar he makes back to his family in Georgia.”
“Don’t be so gullible, Benji. Either you send him away, or I will.”
“No!” He said quietly. “I will not send him away.”
Celeste was in a cold fury now, and she stepped closer and thrust her face near his. “Benji, your parents left me in charge here. You will do what I say.”
For a moment he stared at her, but then he laughed. “They left you here because you didn’t want to go up to La Sal and spend the day helping Rowland with the branding. You are in charge of Reggie, but not me, and you certainly are not in charge of the ranch.”
Celeste recoiled and fell back a step.
Benji lowered his voice again, speaking earnestly. “Celeste, there’s a lot of work to be done before Mom and Dad get back. Me and Reggie can’t do it alone. Mose came along, and he’s a darn good worker. I say he stays.”
She stared up at him balefully, her chest rising and falling, her face flushed, angry red patches starting to appear on her throat and neck. “Benjamin Westland, you are intolerable. I’m going in and calling your parents right now to tell them what’s going on.”
She whirled and started away. Benji quickly fell in beside her, waving for Reggie to stay where he was. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll come in and find you Rena’s number, though they may not be anywhere near the phone.”
“I can manage,” Celeste said scathingly. But obviously she hadn’t thought how to call them.
“But just so you know, Celeste. I’ll tell you exactly what Dad is going to say. He’ll ask if Mose is a good worker. This is not the first man who’s passed through here that we’ve brought up to work on the ranch. We’ve had several of them help us out, and—”
“Black people!” she cut in, triumphantly. “Have you ever hired a Negro before?”
Her question caught Benji off totally off guard. “Uh . . . no, but we’ve hired several Mexicans. And we get Utes or Navajo from time to time. They’ve really been hit hard on the reservations.”
“Then you can’t say what your father would do, can you?”
Trying hard not to lose his temper, Benji went on. “And do you know what my mother will say when you ask her? She’ll say, ‘Can you fix some supper for them tonight?’”
That shocked Celeste. “Never!” she cried. “I will not cook anything for him.”
“Don’t bother,” Benji snapped. “I’ll make lunch.”
“Are you defying me?”
“You better believe it,” he muttered. “I’ll get our own food. But he is going to help us with the work.”
Celeste was so angry her hands were trembling and her face was a bright red. “Fine,” she finally said shrilly. “But Reggie’s going to stay in the house today.”
“No, Mama!” Reggie tried to pull free.
She nearly yanked him off his feet. “Reginald Dickerson, don’t you dare sass me!”
Dazed by the swiftness of it all, Benji turned to his nephew. “Reggie! Do what your mother tells you.”
“No, Benji, I—”
“Do it!” he roared.
Reggie fell back a step, his eyes filling with tears.
Benji went to him, taking him by the shoulders. “I’m sorry, Reg. But you have to do what your mother says. It will be all right. Go now.”
“Thank you,” Celeste said through tightly pressed lips. Then she took Reggie’s hand, whirled around, and started for the house, not glancing back once.
12:49 p.m.—EDW Ranch House
Benji set the tray of sandwiches and the pitcher of lemonade on the counter and then left the kitchen and tiptoed down the hall. He stopped outside the door of Tina’s old bedroom and listened for a moment. There was no sound, though he was pretty sure that Celeste had heard him rattling around in the kitchen. And maybe even heard him coming down the hallway. He raised his fist, hesitated for a moment, and rapped softly. “Celeste?”
Silence for a long moment. He rapped again.
“Go away!”
Benji reached down and tried the doorknob. It was locked, of course. He hesitated, but then smiling he reached up to the top of the doorsill and felt along it with his fingers. And sure enough, the nail was still there. Careful not to make any noise, he inserted it into the small hole in the doorknob’s faceplate and gently pushed. There was a soft click. Grinning, he replaced the nail, knocked again, and said, “Celeste, I’m coming in.”
He opened the door slowly, suddenly afraid that she might have undressed and gotten into bed. But she gasped and snapped up to a sitting position. She was still fully clothed. Benji quickly stepped in and shut the door behind him.
“How did you do that?” Celeste barked.
“An old trick of my parents,” he said. He moved over and took the chair from the dressing table, turned it around, and sat down.
Celeste sniffed haughtily, laid down again, and turned on her side so she was facing the wall. “Please go away, Benji. I’d like to be alone.”
“I know. And I will, but th
ere’s something I want to say first.” He quickly held up his hands. “This is not about Mose. Nor Reggie. And I’m not here to get you to change your mind.”
“I don’t want you to apologize, Benji. You don’t need to.”
“Good, because I’m not going to apologize.” He laughed as she bristled at that. “Not now, at least. I’ll do that later.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what it is about you and me, Celeste, but from early on, we seemed to have this way of butting heads together, like a couple of billy goats going after one another.”
A long silence, and then she said, “At least you didn’t swear at me in German today.”
Benji chuckled softly. “Hey, I didn’t swear at you that first time either. I just told you that I hated you and that you were no longer my friend.”
Celeste turned over to look at him, and there was a faint smile on her face. “It sure sounded like you were swearing at me.” Her smile faded. “I have regretted saying what I said to you so many times since then.”
“Not as many times as I have cursed myself for what I said back to you.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Celeste, I want to say something, and I would appreciate it if you would let me finish, though I have no right to ask you to do that.”
She brought both hands together and then put them under one cheek and laid her head on them, watching him steadily. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“We Westlands are not always much with words,” he began.
“Oh, really?” she asked with an ironic smile. “I hadn’t noticed that. Except in Frank, of course. And your Dad. And MJ. And. . . .”
Benji laughed and went on ruefully. “You may not believe this, but I think that you are a remarkable woman, Celeste.”
Her eyes widened a little.
“No, I mean it. When I think of all that you’ve done, all that you are, how smart and talented you are, your love for Reggie, how . . . how lovely you are. And,” he hurried on, “by that I’m not just talking about how beautiful you are, which you are. But. . . .” He was blushing now and frustrated with himself. “You are a remarkably lovely woman in every way. Gracious, intelligent, self-confident.”
“Oh, yes. I am that. Maybe to a fault.” Then she blinked as tears came to her eyes. “Thank you, Benji,” she whispered.
“How you dealt with the tragedy in your family in Boston is amazing. What you’ve done with your life—your schooling, your teaching, your art. It is remarkable. And now, what you and Frank have done? That’s amazing. I don’t have to tell you how absolutely ecstatic the whole family is about that. We thought we were going to lose you.”
She had to look away. “As did I.”
“Frank told me that it was your courage and your determination to put things right that got you two back together, and he said that he loves you more now than he ever thought possible.”
Celeste sat up, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hands. “He said that?”
“Yes.” Benji got up, went over, and sat down on the bed beside her. “So, my dear sister-in-law, I just wanted to say that this—what was it that you called me earlier? Chiot effronté?”
She laughed. “Yes. Very good.”
“Well, I want to say to you that this impudent, insolent pup knows that he has hurt you very deeply. And he has come to ask you to teach him how to say something else in French.”
Crying openly, Celeste wiped at her eyes again. “What?”
“How do you say, ‘I am very, very, very sorry’?”
She reached out and laid a hand on his cheek and very softly said, “Je suis très, très, très désolé.”
“Ah,” Benji said solemnly, getting to his feet. “Then, mademoiselle, I hereby–”
Celeste hooted. “Sorry, Benji, but mademoiselle is a single woman. My appropriate title is madame.”
“Oh.” He wrinkled his nose. “Sorry.” He spoke very slowly now. “Madame, je suis très, très, très désolé.”
“Merci beaucoup,” she whispered. “Thank you, Benji.” Then another thought came, and with it a bit of an impish smile as she added, “So does this mean you’re going to send Mose away?”
“Nope. He’s going to help me clean out the chicken coop.”
“The coop that you’re supposed to be cleaning out as your punishment.”
Benji winced. “The very one.” Then the smile was back. “But if it makes you more comfortable, I won’t bring him into the house. We’ll sleep in the bunkhouse. And he’ll probably be here tomorrow, too.”
“You are incorrigible,” she cried. “Absolutely incorrigible.” Her expression softened. “And some woman, some day, is going to be very, very lucky to have you.”
The grin was back. “I think I’ll write that in my journal, just so I can remind you of it the next time we clash.”
Celeste pointed to the door. “Out!” As he went to the door, chuckling to himself, she called after him. “And, by the way, how did you get into my room?”
“Mom and Dad always kept a nail on the top of the door frame so we couldn’t lock them out.” He pointed upward. “It’s still there.”
Celeste sobered. “Oh, Benji. You do know that I consider you to be the little brother I never had?”
That took him by surprise, for he could see in her eyes that she really meant it.
He moved closer and bent down and touched her arm briefly. “And you do know that I think of you as my sister, not just my sister-in-law?”
“I do.”
“Maybe that’s why we fight so much?”
June 7, 1933, 9:47 p.m.—Front Porch, EDW Bunkhouse
As lights flashed briefly across the barn, Benji leaned forward, looking out toward the lane and the road that led down to town. The last of the summer sunset was all but gone now, so he couldn’t make out the model of the car that passed on the road a few moments later. But it didn’t slow as it approached the turnoff into the lane and went on by with the rattle of tires on gravel.
Mose lowered the book to his lap and turned his head. “Y’all ’spectin’ someone?”
Benji shrugged. “Not really. Mom and Dad said they’d be late. Mostly old habit, I guess. Not a lot of people use this road going up to Horsehead Peak, so we always check ’em out.”
Mose nodded absently and picked up the book again. But as he opened it on his lap, his eyes were looking out into the darkness.
Benji studied his face in the light from the single overhead bulb. “Thinking about your family?” he asked after a moment.
“Yes, I was thinking of my young-uns, wondering what they’re doin’. Thinking of their mama, too.”
“How long has it been since you heard from them?”
“Oh, I ain’t heard from them since I left this spring, Benji. ’Bout three months ago now, I reckon. I write them all the time, send them money when I can, but I never know where I’ll lay my head one night to the next, so there’s nowhere they can send me mail.”
“Of course.” Then Benji had a thought. “Do they have a phone?”
“Naw. Closest phone’s the one at the general store in Barnesville.”
“Do you happen to know the number there?”
Mose looked at him for a long moment, but then as he was about to answer, he stopped and turned his head toward the ranch house. There was the soft sound of footsteps crunching on gravel. Surprised, Benji turned too. In the faint glow of the light near the barn, Benji thought he saw a movement. He squinted but couldn’t make it out. “Reggie? Is that you?”
“Yes!”
He reared back. “Does your mama know you’re out here?”
Celeste’s voice came floating to them through the darkness. “Yes, she does.”
Both men got to their feet and Mose set the book on the table. A few moments later two figures appeared coming around the corral. Reggie was carrying a plate with a whi
te dishtowel over it. Celeste was carrying a pitcher full of milk in one hand and a flour sack in the other filled with something heavy.
“Oh my goodness,” Benji murmured under his breath. “What have we here?”
As mother and son approached the bunkhouse and stopped just short of the steps, Reggie blurted out, “Me and Mama made some oatmeal raisin cookies. You want some?”
Mose chuckled in that deep way of his. “Well, Reggie, that’s like askin’ a dyin’ man in the desert if he’d like a drink of water.”
“Good.” Reggie took a few steps forward and held out the plate to Benji. Celeste stepped forward, and Benji could tell that in addition to the pitcher of milk she had some glasses in the flour sack.
Benji was staring at her, and she blushed under his gaze. “We know you had a long day today,” she said, almost shyly, “so we thought you might like a little something sweet.”
“We sure would,” Benji said, taking the plate and the pitcher from them and putting them on the small table between their two chairs. Celeste set the flour sack down and removed two glasses.
“Hope you enjoy them,” Celeste said, and she started to turn away. “Come, Reggie.”
“Hey!” Benji exclaimed. “Hold on. Won’t you stay and have a cookie with us?”
Reggie whirled. “Can we, Mama? Can we?”
“I. . . .” Celeste’s eyes turned down. “We don’t want to bother you.”
“Nonsense. Come on up here. Reggie, you and Mose get a couple of chairs from inside the bunkhouse. And two more glasses.” As they moved away, he held his chair for Celeste and motioned for her to sit down. “Mose was just about to tell me about his family. Please join us.”
She hesitated, her face flushing a little.
Benji nudged her with his elbow. “What if I promise to take that nail down from over your door and throw it away?”
“That’s sheer blackmail.”
“Or nail-mail,” he said with a straight face.
Chuckling, Celeste took the seat. He moved the other chair beside her. As he sat down he reached out and touched her hand. “Thank you, Celeste. I guess it would embarrass you if I picked you up and swung you around in a big bear hug.”
Out of the Smoke Page 27