Death on the High Lonesome

by Frank Hayes

  “I thought we were going to Redbud,” Virginia said.

  “No, but before we go farther, I should tell you something.”

  Virginia looked genuinely puzzled.

  “Do you know anything of my background or ancestry?” Virgil asked.

  “No, not really. I know that your parents are dead. I think I heard something about a car accident years ago. You live alone. Your father was the sheriff. You’ve been the sheriff for about fifteen years. Not much else.”

  “Do you know that I’m half native? That my mother was full-blooded?”

  “No. I didn’t know anything about that.”

  “That means you are quarter-blood. How do you feel about that?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Some people even today, around here, have racial attitudes about Hispanics, Native Americans. Indians, if you will. Those attitudes aren’t always positive.”

  Virginia looked at Virgil, a slightly mocking look on her face. “I think those people are the same people who are homophobic and anti anyone who isn’t exactly like them,” she said. “Those people aren’t just here. They’re everywhere. Thankfully, I don’t think there are as many of them as there used to be. But why are you telling me this?”

  “Because, I realized maybe you might have a problem meeting the man I was bringing you to. You see, he is my grandfather and your great-grandfather and he is a full-blooded White Mountain Apache. So what do you think?”

  Virginia glanced out the window at the desert landscape. “I think you should start the car. I would very much like to meet my great-grandfather.”

  Virgil turned the key in the ignition. Slanting sunlight creased the terrain as they headed toward a distant plateau. Deeper crevasses were already in darkness.

  “There he is,” Virgil said as they topped the last rise.

  Virginia followed the direction of his outstretched hand. She saw a figure drive a small flock of sheep into a makeshift corral, then draw a gate to seal the enclosure. She noted how the sides of the structure were reinforced with mesquite. A young dog was barking at the last of the flock that had gone through. Virgil pulled the car to a stop alongside of the double-wide trailer. A tall butte at some distance in back of the trailer blocked the stirring breeze that caught their dust trail as they had made their way to the top of the ridge.

  “This is stunning,” Virginia said as she exited the vehicle, looking out on the desert trail they had traveled to reach the high point where they now stood. The sepia shades from light tan to dark brown broken by reds and occasional blue crisscrossed the vista below. It was an artist’s palette that stretched the limits of the naked eye. They stood there while the lone figure made his way toward them, the young dog trotting at his heels.

  “Hello, Grandfather. I’ve brought someone to meet you.”

  “Good. I always enjoy company.”

  “I’m Virginia. Virginia Hayward.” She looked into the dark face etched by a long life to find a growing smile and bright eyes.

  “Yes. Of course you are. It is good to finally meet you. I am your grandfather, but maybe you should be calling yourself Virginia Dalton. You have your mother’s red hair, but I see much of your father in your face.”

  “But how did you know?” Virgil asked.

  “After your mother and father were buried, I went one day a short time later to offer a blessing on them. That day I met a beautiful girl with flaming hair who had also come to pay her respects. We spent some time together sitting on a bench. She was delightful. She told me her name along with the name of a boy she loved. That boy stands before me now with his and her daughter.”

  “Grandfather, you amaze me.”

  “That is good, to be able to surprise someone at my age. I would never want to be thought of as boring.”

  Virgil’s laughter echoed off the cliffs. “I don’t think you will ever have to worry about that,” he said.

  “Let us go inside. I would like to celebrate this meeting. I have a nice cold bottle of Chardonnay.”

  Once inside, he went to a cabinet that stood at the end of the wall that led into the dining room. He took three wineglasses and set them on the kitchen table.

  “Virgil, there’s a bottle chilling on the door in the refrigerator. Would you get it?”

  Virgil did as he was asked. “Grandfather, are these new glasses?” Virgil asked as he poured.

  “No. I have had them a long time, but I only like to use them for special occasions.”

  In the quiet silence, the three sat for a long time talking while they enjoyed their wine.

  “I love the location of your home,” Virginia said at one point.

  “Yes. I chose it for the beautiful sunsets. In warmer weather, I like to sit and watch the close of day. Sometimes, I think on my past, but mostly I prefer thinking about tomorrow. I do not live in the past. Every sunset is different. It is like watching an artist at work. Sometimes, we miss the beauty in the world because we get caught up in our lives. I’ve been guilty of that especially when I was younger. Now, I think I look with different eyes.”

  “Yes,” Virginia said. “I think I’ve been guilty of that, too.”

  The old man smiled. “Do not beat yourself up over that. You will see many sunsets. I can’t afford to waste any. I’m running out of them.”

  He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. Her eyes brightened and a smile grew on her face. Virgil watched the interaction. He liked what he saw. A little while later they stepped outside the trailer.

  “See what I mean?” Grandfather swept his hand in the arc of a magician. They stood looking off the mesa. The only sound was a hint of wind along with an occasional bleat coming from the makeshift corral. The young dog was curled up in a ball by the two steps that led up to the trailer. The last shards of light struck the earth at random, filtering through some low-lying clouds. They watched until there was only a sliver on the horizon.

  “It’s getting cold. You better get inside, Grandfather.”

  “Yes. If I catch a cold, Mrs. Hoya will not be happy.”

  “Mrs. Hoya?”

  “Grandfather’s significant other,” Virgil said.

  “There you go, blowing my bachelor image, Virgil.”

  Virginia laughed. “Well, Grandfather, I’m glad a man like you, so handsome and full of life, is not going to waste. I hope Mrs. Hoya realizes what a good catch you are.”

  “Granddaughter, I will tell her. I’m sure she will appreciate your words. Remember, my door will always be open to you.”

  Virginia kissed the old man and gave him a serious hug. His face lit up.

  * * *

  “I think you made a great hit with Grandfather.”

  “I’m so glad you took me to meet him. He was not at all what I expected. Chardonnay. He drinks Chardonnay. I really like him.” They had been on the county road awhile. “I’m really glad you asked me to come with you. Another piece of the puzzle.”

  “Guess maybe we’ve both been missing some pieces.”

  By the time Virgil turned off the road heading up to Crow’s Nest, it was dark. Somehow the house that stood at the highest point on Hilltop Ranch was even more imposing on a dark night. The lights from within seemed like beacons. Virgil pulled up directly in front of the house.

  “I’m pretty busy right now, but I hope we can find more time to spend together.”

  “I’d like that. Hopefully, before I leave.”

  “Leave?” Virgil said.

  “Yes, after the holidays. Going back to school. I still have one more semester. Then I’ll have my degree and like Grandfather said I can begin concentrating on tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t know. Maybe we’ll have a lot more time after that.”

  “I’m not so sure. We’ll have to see.”

  “What do you mean?”


  Virginia took a deep breath, angling herself in the seat so that they were face-to-face. “I don’t know, but I’ll try to explain. Virgil, I like you. But when I found out about you I was angry. Really angry. Not at you. I didn’t even know you then. I knew logically it wasn’t your fault. But I felt cheated. First by my mother, then by you. Maybe it doesn’t make sense to you, but I grew up thinking I was one person to find out later I was someone completely different. I guess it’s hard for you to understand. I mean we have no shared memories or experience. No Christmas mornings, no birthdays, no learning to ride a bike while you held on to the back of the seat. Nothing. I don’t even know what your favorite foods are or how you like your coffee or even if you drink coffee. We can never go back to recapture that. You can’t rewind the clock. Remember some more of Grandfather’s wisdom. We live in the present. I’ve got to come to grips with who I am, then figure out how I’m going to get on with my life. In a way, I almost wish my grandmother never told me about you. On the other hand, I’m beginning to understand why my mother fell in love with you. I’m so confused.”

  Virgil could see tears freely streaming down Virginia’s cheeks. He didn’t say anything right away. He reached out his hand, lightly touching a tear, then laid his palm against Virginia’s cheek.

  “I don’t know if this helps,” he said, “but I’d like you to know that I also feel cheated. All those things you missed, I missed also. I would’ve liked to have been there, but like you said, we can’t go back. So, I guess the only thing we can do is go forward. Like Grandfather, I prefer to think about tomorrow, whatever it will bring. But I want you to know that I want you in all of my tomorrows. By the way, I like my coffee with just a hint of half-and-half . . . a little sugar.”

  Virginia smiled, took his hand, gave it a light kiss, opened the car door, then ran up the stairs to the porch without looking back.

  12

  Except for the motion-sensitive lights triggered by his car as he parked near the barn, along with the overhead light on the front porch, which Cesar had turned on for him, the place was in darkness. There was no sign of life. He vaguely remembered Cesar having said something about checking with Manuel about a quantity of hay they could buy from the Thompson ranch. He knew the quality might be questionable, but he also knew that Cesar would make the right call. He never worried about the day-to-day operation of the ranch. Virgil had always known that Cesar made it possible, like he had for Virgil’s father, to function as sheriff. Virgil also knew that this role in Hayward had changed significantly from his father’s time. Hayward was growing. Three full-time deputies along with Dif were no longer enough, especially when one was down, as was the case with Jimmy. It was something Virgil knew he would have to address, but for now all he wanted was a little downtime. It had been a long day and he was beat.

  He threw the switch as he stepped into the kitchen. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he realized he’d been gone almost twelve hours. He opened the refrigerator, standing for a long minute, trying to find something quick to throw into his stomach, which felt like a hollow drum. His search was not rewarded. Finally, he grabbed a couple of slices of white cheese, ripped the cellophane off, and stuffed them in his mouth. Then he grabbed a can of soda and washed the cheese down while he stood there with the door open. He remembered getting yelled at by his mother for doing the exact same thing. It was the kind of flashback that occurred not infrequently. He closed the door, stood in the quiet, listening for the sounds of past ghosts, then moved toward the stairs. Ten minutes later, he was standing in a hot shower, trying to wash away the day. His clothes lay in a pile by the bed where he had dropped them. When he came back into the room, he picked them up. He threw everything but his pants into the bathroom hamper. He picked those up, folded them, and placed them on a hanger. During this process, something fell out of one of the pockets, landing noiselessly at his feet. He reached down to the hooked rug. Even in the dim light, he recognized the key.

  “Damn, I forgot.”

  It was the key to the front door of the Black Bull. He laid it on the night table by the bed, picked up the clock next to it, set it for 8 P.M., then stretched out on the bed. His mind was racing. He had little hope of sleeping, even as tired as he was, so he awoke with a start when the alarm went off just over an hour later. He was groggy from the deep sleep, so he sat on the side of the bed a couple of minutes. Then he got to his feet. It had not been that long ago when the prospect of a trip to the Black Bull would have been the high point of his day. She would be there waiting for him. Now it was just a sad reminder of dashed hopes and expectations. It had been a long time since Virgil’s underside had been so exposed. Even now, the thought of her was an opened wound. For an instant, he toyed with the idea of not going. Why should he care about Kyle’s unfinished business, whatever it was, or what promises he had to keep? Besides, he had made it a point the last few months to go nowhere near the Black Bull, and he didn’t want to go now. Going to meet Kyle, in a long list of things he didn’t want to do, was close to the bottom. The hurt was still fresh.

  When he stepped outside, he saw a light coming from Cesar’s rooms in the barn. He was tempted to step over, but he knew it would just be a weak attempt to avoid the inevitable. A buck with a full rack streaked across the driveway in front of him as he headed toward the county road.

  “I know what’s on his mind,” Virgil said to the empty truck. “Rutting season’s in full swing.”

  He pulled out onto the hard surface, gunning the engine. It was a black, cold night. There were no other vehicles.

  “Guess I’m the only one heading to a dark, empty roadhouse. Need to have my head examined.” Then he gave a soft laugh. “Gotta stop talking to myself. Or get a dog.”

  The next ten minutes were spent in silence until he rounded a bend in the road. Then he caught his first glimpse of the Black Bull.

  “Looks like somebody’s home,” he said, seeing a light coming from the vacant building. The familiar crunch of tires as he pulled into the parking lot did little to lessen his reluctance at being there. When he stepped out of the truck, he looked around for Kyle’s vehicle, but came up empty. He thought about walking around back to see if it was parked there, but reckoned that was not such a smart move without a flashlight so he stood for a short time by the truck. He thought about the light coming from inside, but chalked that up to security. He saw no movement there.

  “Well, maybe I’m early or he’s late.”

  He fingered the key in his pocket while he stood next to his truck. The chill in the night air was making its presence felt. His first inclination was to get back into the warm cab and wait, but he changed his mind and walked up the stairs to the porch. When he reached the top, he took one last look around. Not a sign of a car or pretty much anything else, so he took the key from his pocket and walked to the front door. He slipped the key easily into the lock. When he stepped into the semidark room, he was surprised at the warmth. Glancing to his left, he could see the black bull waiting in silence for his next victim. A quick look around the rest of the room told him everything else was as he remembered. The unlit fireplace centered the far wall, while empty tables and chairs circled the dance floor in front of it. High-backed chairs lined the long horseshoe bar, in quiet anticipation. It gave him an uneasy feeling. Small wall lights on either side of the bar and on the wall midway up the stairs that led to the top floor were the only illumination. Darkness that hugged the corners and recesses in the room blunted any sharp edges, heightening the emptiness. The murmur of the wind outside was the only sound he heard beyond his own heartbeat and the pulse in his ears. He felt unsure, almost like an intruder to a forbidden place. There was no music, no twang from a guitar or a soulful voice wrenching emotion from the lyrics of a song. No “Yahoo!” from a wannabe bull rider or even the subtle laughter that flowed from discreet conversation at the scattered tables. It was only him, standing in the half-light, feeling the presenc
e of departed ghosts from nights not so long ago.

  He moved across the room toward the end of the bar. He paused to see the initials he had carved so long ago during another life, at the invitation of the owner. A thousand or more hieroglyphs covered the surface, shellacked and preserved for the amusement of the patrons who would one day sit at this bar. His carving testified to the last twenty years of his life and the love he had shared with Rusty. As he stood there, his fingers tracing the long-ago declaration, the distant sound of music found his ear. At first he doubted what he heard, then, looking about the huge empty space, he turned his head toward the stairs. He walked to the first step. He started to climb, paused at the landing, then climbed the rest of the flight. He opened the door at the top, stepping into the small, empty room that he knew had always served as an office. He did not stop. Instead, he crossed to the far wall, to the door that led into the living area. As he stood before it, the plaintive voice of the Prairie Rose froze him in his tracks. His hand rested on the doorknob while K.D. Lang’s voice pierced his consciousness. He had held Ruby close, moving in slow unison, when they had danced to that voice and that song. He was thrown back to another time and place. Inexplicably, the doorknob turned in his hand, then was plucked from his grip as the door opened from the other side. Transfixed, he looked at her like she was a mirage and he had been lost in a terrible wasteland. He wasn’t conscious of his own breath or anything that might have connected him to some kind of reality. There was only the sudden vision that filled his gaze. A vision that he had lost.

  He saw her reach out to him. He drew back. He could not give in. He could not surrender, knowing what he knew. He felt the softness of her hand as it reached out, touching his cheek, tracing the scar that had morphed into an age line. He felt her drawing him inside, drawing him close. The room was spinning. K.D.’s persistent, mournful wail filled his ears as she came nearer. He tried to resist. They swayed together. He was lost in remembrance. Finally, as the voice ebbed then faded away, she broke the spell.