by Oakley Hall
“Well, you’ll have to decide,” he said harshly. “I want you to tell me, not him. I don’t want you to talk to him about it till you tell me what you decide. Do you understand?”
“I don’t want to,” she said.
His breath whispered hot and dry through his lips. “Why?” he said.
“I just don’t want to.”
He didn’t say anything more. His head felt hot and he rubbed his hand over his eyes. He had not felt this way since Cora’s death, and he hated it. Now at the end of the summer Denton would take V away from him; he was afraid of it as he had been afraid Mr. Burgess or John Schuford would take Cora away from him, jealous as he had been then. He had thought this kind of jealousy was gone forever with Cora’s death, and now it was back.
Shamefully he remembered the terrible, continual awareness he had had that he had been old, and Cora young. And Denton was old, and V young. Shamefully he wondered if Denton would treat V as he had treated Cora. But somehow he knew that Denton would not, because, of all the terrible insufficiencies he himself had, Denton had only this one. Denton was only old. Denton would take his daughter away.
But what else was there for her? When Denton asked her, she must realize there was nothing else. In a way she was trapped. He glanced at her quickly and then down at his empty plate with the knife and fork crossed upon it. What else was there for her?
“What’s the matter, Papa?” V said.
“Nothing,” he said. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and after a moment, “Papa, who’s that running the tractor?”
“Fellow named Jack Ward.”
“Is he any good?”
He nodded.
V laughed nervously. “Jill was riding up on the seat with him this afternoon. It looked awfully funny. She acted just like she was helping him.”
When they left the table she clumped around the house in her new boots, admiring herself in the mirror in her room from time to time. She was restless and talkative. After she had kissed him good night he sat up late, rocking in the leather rocker beside the floor lamp, worrying.
Now he would have to go over and tell Denton she did not want to go to college, and he hated the prospect. Denton would ask his advice, and he didn’t know what advice to give. He wanted to see the best thing done; the only thing of importance now in his life was that the best arrangement be made for V, and he only knew what her life would be like if she married Denton, and knowing that, he was afraid to think what it would be like if she did not.
He could not bear to face Denton now. Denton would have to wait, at least until Ward had finished knocking up the stumps in the bottom. He would not be able to avoid speaking to Denton when he returned the tractor.
7
On Monday, just before one o’clock, Baird went down to the bottom to find out when Ward thought he would be able to finish. Ward was sitting against one of the stumps with his cap pulled down over his eyes and his long legs crossed, tossing crusts of his sandwiches to Jill. When Baird squatted beside the stump and spoke to him, he pushed his cap back on his head and snapped the lunch pail closed.
“About another three days,” he said. “I’m leaving the rest I got to shoot till last.”
“There enough powder left?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Baird nodded, rubbing Jill’s back. Jill stood rigid, grunting contentedly.
“Say, how you going to get rid of those stumps?” Ward asked.
“I thought I’d rig an A-frame to get them on the truck. Juan can take them out and dump them somewheres.”
“I’ll tell you what might be better. I’ll doze up a ramp you can back up to. I can push them right onto the truck.”
Baird frowned, removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. This, he knew, would be much faster than using a block and tackle, which would require all of his and Juan’s time for at least a week. This would be better, even if he had to pay Ward for two or three extra days. “Good idea,” he said. “You might as well get on that right away. How long’ll it take you to make your ramp?”
“Hour, maybe. I can do it this aft. You want to start loading in the morning?”
Baird nodded. He pushed Jill away and gazed down the smoothed track the dozer blade had made to where the stumps were herded together, looking like huge pulled teeth. “Good,” he said. He saw V riding down the hill toward them on Tony, the horse jerking his head up and down as he picked his way over the broken ground.
“That’s pretty good land,” Ward said. “Pay much for it?”
“No,” Baird said. “Yes, it’s all right.” He saw Ward grinning at V, who had pulled the horse up close by. She was smiling self-consciously and patting Tony’s neck as he cropped the grass. Ward got to his feet, slouched across and cupped his hand over Tony’s muzzle. Tony snorted and jerked his head away.
“This is Mr. Ward, V,” Baird said. “That’s my daughter.” Ward grinned up at her and put his hands in his hip pockets.
“I thought she was a timekeeper or something,” he said. “She’s been out here watching me every day.”
V flushed. “I’m glad to meet you.”
“That’s a lot of quarter-horse,” Ward said, teetering back on his heels. “Where’d you get him?”
“His father’s Copper McCloud.”
“Yeah? He’s got his old man’s color, all right. How about riding him sometime?”
V looked startled. “Oh, I don’t think…Nobody ever rides him but me.”
Ward shrugged and said, “Does he know any tricks?”
“Oh, sure. He’s awfully smart.”
Baird watched them silently, chewing on his tobacco and listening to them talk and wondering what V thought of Jack Ward. Finally he spat a stream of brown juice, rose, and walked over to them.
“Well, see if you can get that ramp up this afternoon,” he said to Ward. “I’ll run Juan down with the truck first thing in the morning.”
“Right.” Ward was laughing at something V had said. They watched him start the cat and climb into the seat, where he paused to light a cigarette. Walking up the hill beside the horse, Baird saw V looking back over her shoulder, sitting up very straight.
But at dinner that night she was angry and silent. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Oh, that Jack Ward!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I let him ride Tony and he ran him all over the ranch. I’ll bet if I hadn’t caught him he wouldn’t have let him cool down even. Oh, he’s so conceited.”
“Tony needed a good run. You baby him too much.”
“I don’t either! And I wish you’d tell him to stop riding Jill around on that old tractor, Papa. She’s going to get hurt.”
“She’d more likely get hurt if he left her on the ground.”
V set her mouth in a tight line and said nothing more. She pushed her fork at the potatoes on her plate, and then without taking a bite, put her fork down and rubbed the back of her hand hard across her lips. She took a drink of milk.
“He’s a good cat skinner,” Baird said placatingly. “He’s the best I’ve ever seen around here.”
“Oh, yes, and doesn’t he know it!”
“Well, he’ll be through this week.”
“Oh,” V said. “Will he?”
“I think I’ll let him go Saturday.”
“That’s good,” V said.
And by Saturday Ward had pushed the last of the stumps onto the truck for Juan to take out and dump, and was knocking down the ramp he had built. V had stayed at home all afternoon and when Baird came up to the house from the bottom, she made him go down again and ask Ward to have some iced tea with them before he left.
Baird had been meaning to have Ward take the tractor back to Denton, but instead he had him park it beside the truck, and they walked up from the shed together. Ward stopped to wash his hands and face at the pump, then caught up with Baird again, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt, and running them
over his hair.
V was waiting for them on the front porch. She had crushed mint in the glasses, and she poured tea from the sweating pitcher as they came up the steps. She handed them each a glass and Baird sat down in his rocker across the table from her. Ward leaned against the porch rail.
“Thanks,” he said. “This’ll go good.” He grinned at V.
“It’s been a hot day,” Baird said. He looked keenly at Ward, wondering how old he was; in his middle twenties, he imagined. Probably he had been brought up on a farm, as he himself had been, and probably he had never finished high school either. He wondered how Ward had happened to become a cat skinner. He wished he knew more about Ward, watching him leaning against the porch rail with the glass of iced tea in his hand and his legs crossed, sure of himself, and relaxed and self-contained. Baird turned to look at V, who sat stiffly in the straight chair she had brought out from the parlor, rattling the ice in her glass.
“Plenty hot,” Ward said. His yellow eyes were inspecting V boldly, but after a moment he turned to Baird and his face became serious.
“Say, you got plenty of water for irrigation?”
“Yes,” Baird said. “There’s plenty and it’s not very deep. I’ve got a new pump.”
“I was looking at your ditches. They’re in pretty foul shape. But I guess you know it, unh?”
“Well, I’ve had Juan working on them,” Baird said.
Ward and V both laughed, Ward mirthlessly, without smiling, rubbing his hands over his cheek. “That poor old Mex,” he said. “He’s a natural for the WPA, isn’t he?”
“He’s awfully hard on hoe handles,” V said. “Papa, remember the time he broke the hoe and cut his leg and you were so mad?”
“Why don’t you get those ditches dug out while you still got the cat?” Ward said.
“Juan’ll get them finished after a little.”
“You can do a good job, little rig like that. It’s going to take that Mex till 1951, the way he’s going.”
“Could you do it in a week?”
“Say ten days. I maybe could do the worst part in a week, but you might as well get it all done at once.”
Baird rocked back, clasped his hands behind his head and computed ten days wages. Denton did not need the cat back yet, he knew, and this would mean he could put off talking to Denton. “All right,” he said. “Why’n’t you stay and take care of that for me?”
“Sure.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally V said, “Where are you from, Jack?”
“Lodi.”
“Do your mother and father still live there?”
“They’re dead.”
“Oh,” V said, in a little voice. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be. We didn’t get along too good. I don’t even remember my old man.”
“Don’t you have any relations?” Baird asked.
“I’ve got a bud in the Marines. I don’t know where the hell he is, though.” Baird frowned and Ward pushed himself upright and placed his glass beside V’s on the marble-topped table. “Well, I better be going,” he said. “Thanks a lot for the iced tea.”
“Do you have to go?” V said.
“Got a date.” He grinned at her and shook hands with Baird. “See you Monday.” They watched him go down the steps and around the corner of the house and in a few minutes he drove past in the yellow roadster. His black hair stood upright in the wind and he waved as he started down the hill.
V poured herself another glass of tea and took a cookie from the untouched plate on the table. Baird was staring at the dust settling in the curve of the road where the roadster had disappeared. “Cookie?” V said.
He took one. “Nice young man,” he said.
She shrugged and looked at him coolly over the top of her glass. “Oh, he’s all right. He hasn’t got very good manners.”
“Well, I’ll be glad to get those ditches dug out,” Baird said, but he was strangely disturbed. Would it be better if V married someone like Jack Ward? Suddenly he began to dislike Jack Ward, and at the same time to feel fiercely loyal to Denton. The cat skinners, he knew, were a wild bunch; Ward was probably a drunkard. Maybe he should let Ward go, tell him he had changed his mind about the irrigation ditches.
But then he told himself that this was foolish; he had seen no evidence that Ward was attracted to V, and he had tortured himself over this kind of thing with Cora, too many times. Still, he thought V liked Ward, and it would be because he was the first young man she had known at all.
And his idea that V was interested in Jack Ward confirmed itself day by day. She began spending a great deal of time out where the dozer was working, and soon she was packing sandwiches for herself so she could eat with Ward in the orchard at noon. Baird would see them down among the trees in the shade, laughing and teasing Jill, sitting against the side of the cat while they ate their lunches. He began to wish he had not let Ward stay to dig out the irrigation ditches, that he had let him go instead when he had finished the stumps. He hated Jack Ward.
And V began neglecting Tony. One evening Baird found the feed trough in the corral empty, and he had to fill it himself. The second time it happened he meant to take her to task about it, but he did not. He had never seen her so happy and he did not want to spoil it, for Ward would be gone soon enough.
She seemed happy as she had been when she had first had Tony. He would hear her singing in her room sometimes, and there was color that was not merely from the sun on her cheeks. One night she made him take her in to Bakersfield to a Marx Brothers movie, and they had such a good time he would always remember it; Jack had told her to be sure to see the movie, she said. And finally he realized with a terrified, outraged jerk at his heart, that she was crazy in love with Jack Ward.
8
Then one evening V was not at the house in time for supper and he went outside to see if he could find her. It was a long summer dusk, with the mountains to the east purple and black with shadow, and the hot wind sighing up the valley from the desert. He looked down through the orchard where the D-4 was parked, a dark mass among the trees, and then he walked slowly back to the corral. Through the kitchen window he could see Mary’s bulky figure silhouetted above the stove, the tall rosy glow of the stovepipe beside her. Juan’s black head was pressed against the glass as he sat leaning back on the stool between the stove and the kitchen table.
Jill let out a single, sharp bark as he entered the corral, and jumped up on his leg. Tony’s feed trough was empty again; he set his lips and shook his head; he would speak to V this time. Tony stood patiently at the trough. His coat, dull copper in the fading light, felt rough and uncurried, and he made a muted sound as Baird patted him on the muzzle.
Going around the shed to get some feed, he halted, frowning, as he came upon Ward’s roadster. Then he stepped inside the shed door, halting again to let his eyes accustom themselves to the darkness.
He heard the sounds before he could see. The sound hit him savagely in the face, but still he did not know what this was he had come upon. Then he knew, and the darkness cleared from his eyes like settling dust and he saw. He saw V’s face turned up toward him, a white triangle in the darkness. Ward’s face, a dark one, and he could hear V’s terrified uneven breathing.
A husky sound swelled in his throat and forced its way through his lips. He staggered a step back; he could have torn his eyes and ears from his head for what they had seen and heard, to punish them, to prove them horribly, monstrously wrong. He almost cried out to her, but the cry was muted and drowned in the surging sea of outrage that swept over him.
He was panting, his body convulsed, his chest pounding, as he hurried toward the house. He passed Tony, who was stamping and snorting, he passed Jill, who whined at him. But he didn’t hear. He could not think; he only knew what he had to do, for the white triangle of face turned up to him from the shed floor had been Cora’s face, confirming past all doubt diseased and crazy suspicions that had been dying now for thirte
en years. His boots grated harshly on the path, were noiseless as he cut across the grass, sounded sharply again as he ran up the steps. He paused for a moment before the door, trying to control his breathing, the nauseated, raging fist within him clenching and unclenching with the beating of his heart. “Whore!” he whispered.
He went in and crossed the kitchen without looking at Juan or Mary. The door sprang shut behind him. In V’s room the panting broke loose from him again, like an animal clawing and leaping from his arms. He looked around him, gasping for breath; he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Whore!” he whispered. He saw the white triangle of Cora’s face staring up at him from the dark floor of the shed, above it Mr. Burgess’ face, above it John Schuford’s face, above it the face of the man who had helped him cut the alfalfa that year, above it the dark face of Jim Lewis, who had brought them milk and ice, and who was dead now, above it myriad, nameless, unknown triangles of faces. He saw Cora tumbling with them all on the floor of the shed. But they did not look up at him in terror, there was no uneven, terror-stricken breathing. They looked up at him and laughed and called him an old hick, throwing at him, like stones he could not dodge, his age, his poverty, his ignorance; looking up at him and talking about poetry and cuckolding him and shaming him and laughing.
With furious haste he pulled V’s suitcases down from their shelf in the closet. He jerked open the drawers of the bureau and blindly dropped her things into the suitcases, mouthing harsh, self-pitying words. And now Cora’s face had separated itself from V’s and was dead and gone, and now it was V who was cuckolding him, lying on the filthy floor of the shed like an animal with Ward.
The suitcases were almost full. He threw in the Texas boots and the gay diploma and the photograph of V on Tony, a diary he had given her for her birthday once and she had never used, a half-eaten box of candy he found in the back of the bottom drawer—and he sank down in the chair and looked wildly around the room once more.