Rich White Trash

by Judi Taylor Cantor

  “Water’s dark. Did you ever swim in that tank or canoe in it?” Mary asked.

  “Too muddy to swim in and probably too polluted. No one had a canoe,” Vicki answered. “I remember Dad teaching Hap and me to fish. We had bamboo fishing poles with corks. We’d put a tiny piece of Vienna sausage on the hook and throw it out. I’d usually sit on that huge boulder by the oak tree,” she pointed across the tank, “and Hap would be where we are and he would never be able to sit still. Even so, he caught the biggest catfish.”

  “So, this was before Dad bought Silvercreek Ranch?” Iris asked. “I’m trying to get a sense of the time.”

  “Yes, you were about five or six, and Mary you were a mere gleam in your dad’s eye!”

  “Right. When I was eleven or twelve, that’s when Dad bought Silvercreek. Then we hardly came to the farm,” Iris said.

  “Well, by that time, Dad spent most of his weekends at the ranch—and so did all of us…well, except Mom and the babies. Then Grandad became too old to run the farm, so Dad bought him out and moved him and Grandma to Flatonia.”

  Iris became contemplative and turned to look at Vicki. “I remember you caring for Granddad on his deathbed. I remember the day he died. I had just driven down from Austin with Dad and walked into the bedroom in their little house in Flatonia. Dad placed quarters on his eyes.”

  The three sisters sat beside the tank, under the shade of a large pecan tree, quietly thinking about those times.

  “Just think, Vicki, you’ve nursed both Dad and his dad during their deaths. That must have had an effect on you.”

  Vicki was matter-of-fact. “It’s just part of our mortality, I think. If I think about it too much I’ll get depressed just knowing I won’t get out of this game alive. Granddad lived a very long life. Dad not so long. Surely I was much more upset about Dad’s death, with Mom being so crazy and accusing me of killing him.”

  Iris jumped up. “OK, babes, enough of the sadness. I have a treat for you. No more farm stuff today. I’m taking you to Shiner to hear some music and drink a cold one.”

  Shiner was a tiny town about 20 miles from Flatonia known for its Shiner beer brewery. A new hole-in-the-wall dance hall called Cyril’s had opened up next to the town’s Catholic church. It served Shiner on tap in various flavors, smoked sausage, and up-and-coming musicians for a minor cover charge. That evening’s show was a cowboy who played jazz piano and sang intermittently. No dancing on Thursday nights, just music.

  Vicki, Iris and Mary took a quiet booth far from the cowboy, and ordered—Shiner blonde for Iris, Shiner bock for Mary and a ginger ale with lime for Vicki. They decided to share a large plate of smoked sausage with jalapeño and cheese, Czech bratwurst, bread, pickles, and potato salad.

  “So, what’s up buttercup?” Mary asked, after sipping her Shiner and feeling no pain.

  “I didn’t bring you here just for the music and sausage,” Iris admitted. “First and foremost we need to toast to Mare’s judgeship. Your highness.”

  The server delivered the drinks and they raised their glasses.

  “No, Iris, it’s ‘your justice,’ and I’m not there yet. I’m running for judge.”

  “Well, if I lived in Texas I would vote for you,” Iris said.

  “She’s got my vote,” Vicki chimed in. “I heard the polling is trending your way.”

  “It’s an uphill battle. It’s still a Republican state,” Mary said.

  “Here’s to democracy! Here’s to Mary Landry, Texas State justice!” Iris declared.

  They clinked glasses and said, “Here, here!”

  “Now, let’s get down to business. Mare, remember sending me a copy of that letter Mom had stowed away at the ranch? The one from Dan?” Iris asked.

  “Yes. Quite the shocker. And I have news. Let’s talk about it.”

  Vicki interrupted, “A letter from Dan? Are you talking about the same Dan that Faye told me about?”

  Mary looked surprised. “What did Faye tell you?”

  “It’s a long story. I had to travel to Dallas to have lunch with Faye. She was very reticent to tell me but I patiently listened. The bottom line is that Mom probably loved this guy Dan more than Dad. She knew him from the time she first met Dad, which was when she was 13 or so.”

  “We don’t know for sure if he was Hap’s father,” Iris said. “I really want to understand Mom and Dad’s relationship, why they always seemed to be fighting, why Mom was always accusing Dad of having an affair, and how Hap’s birth may have ruined a love story.”

  “Well, for one thing Hap didn’t ruin it,” Vicki was agitated. “Mom did. From what Faye said Mom had an affair with someone named Dan while Dad was on a secret mission in the War. Then Dad comes back and finds that Mom’s pregnant.” Vicki was agitated.

  Iris took a folded page from her pocketbook. “Let me read you this letter that Mary found at the fortress and see what you both think, in light of Vicki’s meeting with Faye. So, this is from a guy named Dan, no last name, on University of Washington embossed paper, and he’s damning with faint praise her engagement to Dad:

  I believe you said he was quite a serious chap with a feeling of great social responsibility. More power to him.

  I have bid fond farewell to the ‘Gina’ I used to know.

  “He called her Gina? He said ‘chap’?” Vicki asked.

  “Yes, he also called her Regina—his rendition of the name Virginia. I think he was making fun of her adopted Catholicism by taking Ave Regina—the canonical hour of prayer before bedtime—and turning it into his pet name for Mom. This was a bright guy.”

  “Clearly Mom liked bright guys,” Mary interrupted. “Wonder if he played guitar? Or loved to draw or make model airplanes?” She was smiling broadly.

  Iris nodded in agreement. “This is getting a bit deep, but remember how Mom used to say that when she told guys her name was Virginia they’d say ‘yeah, Virgin for short but not for long?’ I think this was Dan and Mom’s little inside joke. Remember, Vicki, from your Catholic school days, the words to some of the Ave Regina…..?”

  Iris began to sing, “Glorious Virgin, Joy to thee, Loveliest whom in heaven they see.”

  Vicki joined in, “Fairest thou, where all are fair, Plead with Christ our souls to spare.”

  “But think about what he’s saying. He bids her fond farewell. Why? Were they in a serious relationship and her way of breaking it off was to send him a note telling him she was engaged?” Iris asked, and then continued to read:

  I could hardly believe that such a charming, pleasure loving, carefree character who lived for today and didn’t give a damned for the morrow, was gone. But then I thought—who am I to say that the age of miracles has passed?”

  “Wait a minute,” Vicki said, “let me see this.” She took the page from Iris and re-read aloud “…such a charming, pleasure loving, carefree character who lived for today and didn’t give a damned for the morrow…Wow!” she laughed. “Our mother? Charming? Carefree? She must have been fun to be around once upon a time. Maybe that was Dad’s attraction to her—she was so different than the women he briefly dated during law school. Like the future governor’s wife.”

  “You mean Nellie Connolly? Dad dated her?” Mary asked.

  “Yes. She was sophisticated, wealthy, and probably too smart to be controlled by Dad,” said Iris, taking the letter back from Vicki and reading purposefully, slowly, to let the words sink in.

  I just had one disturbing thought. I wonder if she is sure that this character change is a permanent thing. The world will suffer a loss because the man who marries ‘Gina’ will have his hands so full and his personal responsibilities will be so great that he will not have time for any social responsibilities.

  “Damn. He had her pegged.” Vicki put down her fork. “Was this the only letter from Dan? Faye said Mom had a sheaf of letters from Dan.”


  “The only one,” Mary said, “and it was hidden under the lining of the trunk.”

  The waiter returned and refreshed the drinks. “Ice water for me,” Iris smiled and raised her eyebrows, “driving.”

  “Could I get you dessert?” the handsome waiter offered, “pecan pie, butterscotch bread pudding, poppy seed cake.”

  In unison the sisters answered “poppy seed cake. Three forks.”

  “Gotcha,” Mr. Handsome smiled.

  “Prophetic, don’t cha think?” Mary asked.

  “The poppy seed cake? Because it was Dad’s favorite?” Vicki questioned.

  “No, no, no. Back to Dan. Yeah, this guy could predict the future, because it’s exactly as he said. Dad had his hands so full after he married Mom that he wasn’t able to become the person he wanted to be—a man of social responsibility like a state supreme court judge,” Iris answered, talking rapidly.

  “So, how did this work if this Dan was the same Dan who was Hap’s father? And to answer your question, Vicki, this was the only letter from Dan. No last name. Darn it!” Mary said.

  “Faye said that Dan was in the Navy and about to ship out of Florida. I was an infant with Mom in Florida. So she clearly got pregnant while Dad was away, and then Dad comes back Stateside and Mom is nine months pg!”

  “Jeez ah peet!” Mary exclaimed. “Can you imagine how that changed Dad? He has this terrible, horrible near death experience in Czechoslovakia where his five buddies die, then he’s told he has to change his name, then he comes home to his ‘Sweet Virginia’ and she is about to have a child he did not father. And it was so early in their marriage.”

  “He couldn’t divorce her! Catholic church wouldn’t like that,” Vicki noted.

  “He had been so devoted to her. She hung the moon for him. I read all the letters she saved from before he enlisted in OTC through the war. She was his all. He was going to make her an Officer’s wife. He kept saying she was going to be a ‘real Lady’—with a capital L.” Mary felt enlightened, but sad for this couple she knew as Mom and Dad.

  “Can you imagine what this did to both of them—the trust was broken. Maybe Mom’s accusations of Dad having affairs with his secretary, then with his students—maybe that was all about her guilt.” Vicki was on to something.

  “Why do you think Mom married Dad?” Mary asked.

  “Especially if Dan was a great lover,” Vicki quipped.

  “Exactly,” Iris said. “I remember Mom saying once that Dad was a ‘slam bam thank-you mam’ kind of lover.”

  “Yeah, Mom was so subtle in her criticism. I think he had to be a fast lover—so many kids could interrupt at any time,” Vicki laughed.

  “I’ll bet if Dad was pressuring Mom to marry him like Mare says the letters show, and the war was about to begin, she probably wanted some stability in her life. Don’t you think?” Iris was trying to understand the dynamic.

  “What do you mean pressure her?” Vicki asked.

  “You’ll have to read the letters for yourself. I’ll have them copied and put in a little book for you. You’ll see—Dad constantly talks about how she’ll be an officer’s wife, and then he talks about how badly he wants to get married. And then various dates will go by and he’ll talk about the stress of being in the Air Corps and how his officers don’t tell them anything and that he doesn’t know when he’ll be home, etc. etc.,” Mary said.

  The waiter interrupted with a large slice of poppy seed cake and three forks, placed the plate in the middle of the table, bowed and left. The sisters grabbed a fork, took a bite, and sighed….

  Another thought occurred to Vicki, “You think that’s why they both beat up on Hap? Because his birth and the affair ruined their trust?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Mary said.

  “I dunno. I think Dad just wanted Hap to be more like him—very rigid and devoted to his studies, his religion, his country,“ Iris noted. “And in the 50’s parents slapped their kids around. That’s what Dad did to him and Joe and Richard when they misbehaved. But Mom’s treatment specifically of Hap was ugly, tortuous, seemingly premeditated. She targeted Hap.”

  Vicki agreed. “As they got further and further into the marriage they couldn’t divorce. The assets were so important to both of them.”

  “Right,” Mary interjected, “Texas is a community property state, meaning that when couples divorce the property has to be divided equally. I can see that Dad NEVER wanted to divide his property.”

  “His land was his mistress,” Iris said. “He wanted to keep both the ranch and the farm together.”

  “And he needed to keep his dignity,” Mary said, “Can you imagine his pals at the American Legion, his friends at church, his associates in the AG’s office, his colleagues at UT Law School—any of those people—can you imagine how they would take his divorcing her or vice versa?”

  “Well, we’re talking and talking about Dad, but what about Mom?” Iris mused. “She must have had all those feelings so bottled up. This is just a slice of explanation for her erratic behavior. You think Dan was the love of her life, or just one of many? And why was she so horrible to Jillian?”

  “I think it’s because Jillian was the spitting image of Evelyn, her sister who was in the State Hospital. She was helpless to take care of Evelyn, probably was mad as hell about that because Dad wouldn’t let Evelyn live with us, so the thought of seeing Evelyn’s face every day when she looked at little Jillian probably made her crazier. But we will never know,” Vicki frowned, and finished the cake.

  Iris was pensive. “OK, so why aren’t we crazy as well, after going through such a crummy childhood and seeing all this abuse?”

  “Maybe because all of our childhood wasn’t terribly abusive. There were fun things we did. We had vacations, we had our horses on the ranch, we had our Friday night dances, and we had each other,” Vicki said, tickling the top of Iris’ hand. “Or, maybe we are all crazy.”

  Iris smiled, remembering how Vicki would gently tickle her back when she was very young, to put her to sleep. She would say she was practicing the piano on her back.

  The bill appeared, Mary paid.

  “OK. I’ve been waiting all night to tell you this,” Mary said soberly.

  Vicki and Iris paid attention.

  “I had Hap’s DNA analyzed and Dad’s DNA analyzed separately.”

  “And…..” Iris pleaded.

  “That’s what you did with the lock of Dad’s hair I gave you?” Vicki asked.

  “Yes, and I got a sample of Hap’s hair from Karen. Sent them off to a company called 23 And Me.” Mary paused. Iris and Vicki held their breath.

  “And they are not related.”

  “Well…well…well…” Iris said. “Mystery solved.”

  In the background, the cowboy pianist announced, “Closing Time is one of my Lyle Lovett favorites.”

  “Mine, too!” Iris yelled, and began to sing along as he played his jazz rendition, “The night she is a true companion…I shuffle in…….”

  Everyone got up singing in unison and adding serious bills to the singer’s tip jar, “closing time…unplug them people, and send them home, it’s closing time.”

  * * *

  Day 4 of the Thunder Valley Farm adventure brought them early in the dewy morning to the far west side of the farm, the other side of Cady Creek. There the water ran clean and deep through an area that looked unlike any other part of the farm.

  VF explained.

  If you drive to the far side of Cady Creek—completely opposite to the trestle bridge—you’ll find land that is terraced. After taking an agriculture course in high school, I convinced your Grandpa that we needed to terrace the land if we were to grow melons and a lot of other moneymaking crops, in addition to the corn, oats, and wheat in other fields. I rented the equipment and put in the hard work to terrace the land. Then I planted. The crops did
well.

  Notice where the creek makes a U. The hill above that is the Indian Mound. Take a walk around, but leave the arrowheads if you find any. Our neighbors said the Shoshone tribes left those mounds, but I found out later that they were Comanches, who were descended from Shoshone. The Comanches were fierce warriors, fluent in many languages, usually elegantly dressed, and loved to steal horses. Your Grandpa told me of the time he had to buy back one of his horses from the Comanches. This is where I think there is buried treasure.

  Vicki, Mary and Iris started looking around the creek. “Maybe the treasure is gold in the creek?” Vicki wondered.

  “Well, if it’s buried treasure, we’ll never find it,” Mary said. “Remember that Dad said Mr. Hortus was captured by the Comanches and saw bandits bury what he thought was treasure? Well, I tried to contact Mr. Hortus soon after Dad told me that, and he was already too demented to talk with me. When I would ask him a question, he would point upwards and say, ‘Kanuna.’ That was his Comanche name that meant bull frog. Perhaps it also meant bullshit!”

  They hiked up the tall hill to the burial mound and felt a comforting presence. The day was cool, an anomaly for south Texas in the spring. Large cumulus clouds floated in exaggerated alphabet shapes. At the top of the hill, without speaking, they clasped hands, bowed their heads, and spent several minutes in silent respect for and awe of the Comanche Indians buried below. Iris sat down, crossed her legs, closed her eyes and meditated for half an hour. She did not hear the gurgling below her, or the call of the eagle above. She felt a gentle wind, and welcomed a warm, invisible embrace. Finally, she opened her eyes, lifted her arms wide and screamed, “Yes!”

  “What?” Mary and Vicki asked.

  “I’ve got it. I know what I must do with this land. Thank you. Thank you for coming with me on this tour, for helping me find what I’ve got to do.” She hugged her sisters. She had work to do. She could clearly see the transition her land was about to undergo.