“I was there,” Jason began to laugh, “and he took the pail, emptied it and then gave it to me to fill. Told me there might be gold in the rocks so I should examine each one carefully. Oh! I did think those sparkles might be gold—I didn’t know it was fool’s gold! So, I picked up where you left off, Will, carefully picking up the stones, examining each one, spending hours on my task. Much later in life I realized this was his way of babysitting.”
Everyone laughed, thinking of their own stories about VF.
Vicki asked anyone who would listen, “Did you hear Fred’s stories about your granddad?”
“Who’s Fred?” a chorus asked.
“Fred was his best friend from first grade throughout his life. He told great stories about himself and other kids, including your great granddad, who went to the 2-room school where Fred’s mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Wiseman, taught. It was called ‘Scott’s School,’ located about three miles from this farm, and it was there that granddad Landry learned to speak English, learned how to argue cases, learned how to care for his health and well being, and learned to believe in himself,” Vicki answered.
“What do you mean he learned to argue cases?” LJ asked.
“Mr. Wiseman had been the county justice of the peace before he taught school, and he held court once a month to teach the kids what plaintiffs, defendants, witnesses and a jury of one’s peers meant. Want to hear about one that your granddad was a defendant in?”
“Sure!” everyone said at the same time.
“Ok.” Vicki looked at the youngest children, “Your great granddad had broken another kid’s pencil. His testimony was that the other kid had broken his first. VF pleaded not guilty, and he ended up sawing wood—the punishment, because he was found guilty. To his dying day he contended that he was a victim of a miscarriage of justice. However, his sentence was handed down by a jury of his peers—his classmates.”
“What other stories did Fred tell?” Mason asked.
“He told us about the leghorn chickens they kept for eggs. And the turkeys. They raised turkeys at the school. Once a big chicken snake tried to swallow a turkey. He gulped down the turkey’s head and killed the turkey, but he couldn’t swallow that big bird. Also, there were copperhead snakes that would bite Fred’s family’s rat terrier dogs every now and then. The bite would swell the head of the dogs horribly, but they didn’t die.”
Food continued to be passed around the table.
“Do you remember that time granddad killed the rattlesnake in the middle of the back pasture on the ranch?” Jason asked.
Thad, Iris’ other son, nodded. “Shit! Gives me chills thinking about it. That was the biggest rattler I’ve ever seen—must have been eight feet long….
“Then he cut off the rattlers to show everyone, putting them in the bottle of formaldehyde. I was only about four or five years old then—just a little older than you, Misha,” he said to his son across the room. It made an impression,” That shuddered.
“And he strung the damned snake sans rattles on the fence at the entrance to the ranch,” Jason said.
“Yeah, something like the Romans did with their traitors!”
The grandchildren giggled. They had no clue what their daddies and uncles were talking about, but it sounded exciting.
As food was consumed, there was the usual, “this is delicious,” and “pass the dressing and gravy, please.” The activity around the table increased by the fuel and drink, dialing up the volume in the room. Vicki, being the boss, wanted everyone to focus on the stories of VF.
“So, does anyone remember the story about Dad and Trigger?” she asked. “It’s such a great tale. Kids, ya wanna hear this?”
All the kids looked at her in anticipation. “YAAA.”
“OK. This happened nearly fifty years ago on Silvercreek Ranch. It’s a true story. Trigger, your great granddad’s prize Angus bull, was being bullish—he wasn’t going to move into the adjoining pasture to join the cows.”
Vicki was talking in her most animated voice—loud and a bit shrill—while she stood and recreated the drama.
“Whoa…whoa…whoa…,” Iris interrupted. “I know remember this day! It was Jo Jo, not Trigger.”
“I stand corrected. Jo Jo. And to continue…
“‘Come on, Jo Jo’ VF ordered, ‘don’t you want to join the girls? …. Let’s go,’ he stretched one arm straight and motioned with a gloved hand for mighty Jo Jo to move into the pasture with the opened gate.
“Both bull and VF stood their ground.
“He yelled, ‘Move, Jo Jo.’ And waved his arms.
“Jo Jo stood there, unmoving. Staring at VF.
“VF walked away, and then picked up the largest, heaviest log he could find with one hand.
“‘Damn you, Jo Jo. I said ‘MOVE!’
“There was a heavy thud as VF hit the bull right between the eyes with that enormous piece of wood.
”Immediately, Jo Jo fell—legs splayed in four directions.
“Dead.
“All of us stood, mouths open, shocked. Even your great granddad was stunned.”
The children giggled, some of them pantomiming hitting a bull over the head and twitching.
“I remember,” Iris said suddenly, “saying to Dad, ‘That was your best bull.’”
‘And now he’ll be our best steaks,’ Dad said.”
“Yeah…” Will, Iris’ oldest, mused, “I’m sure he hooked that damned bull up to his tractor and dragged its ass to Johnson City for processing.”
Will, Thad, Jennifer, Jessica and Jason looked at each other and laughed heartily.
“He was so strong and fearless, with energy like a teenager,” Jessica said, smiling brightly. She recalled a series of mental snapshots of her grandfather on Silvercreek Ranch. Years ago on his horse in the back pasture. Pulling up enormous turnips in the vegetable garden. Showing her how to crack pecans with a rock. Giving her a thimble full of his homemade mustang grape wine. And the snakes.
“He even showed us how to kill a coral snake,” she said, while the family grew still. “He said it was important to chop its head off. But first, you had to be sure it was a coral snake. Red and yeller kill a feller.”
“Red and black, venom lack,” Jason chimed in.
“Once when we saw one, he got a hoe, ran over to the snake, and chopped off its head,” Jessica continued, as the little kids grimaced.
Jennifer jumped in. “Remember those black racing snakes? Granddad used to run over them when he saw one on the road.”
“OK, everyone, this is getting a little icky,” Joseph said as he shuddered.
As the plates were cleared Vicki called for everyone to have a seat. “Iris has something to say before dessert.”
“Thanks, Vicki.” Iris was happier than she had been for the past twenty-two years. “We have some toasts, and I’d like to start with Karen.”
Hap’s widow stood and raised her glass. “I just want to say that if Hap was here, God love him, he would tell you, each and every one of you, that yew look mawvelous. Just remember, it’s not how you feel, it’s how you look, and yew look mawvelous.” Everyone laughed gently.
Karen’s eyes welled with tears, her voice more somber. “He would also tell you how much he loves you. I’ve read letters he wrote when he was in the Navy. He loved his little brothers—Joe and Richard—so much. He’d say ‘I can’t wait to come home and see how much they’ve grown. I have some presents for them.’ Because I feel his presence here among you all, he and I thank Iris for making this day possible.”
Everyone in unison said, “Here. Here.” And sipped their appropriate sparkling water or wine.
“And now, Vicki,” Iris announced.
Vicki raised her glass and cleared her throat. “I’d like to toast Richard. Richard, my dear brother, may the road rise up to meet you. May the wind a
lways be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields. May God bless you and keep you.”
“That was Dad’s favorite,” Mary noted.
Again, everyone said “Here. Here.” And sipped.
“Mary?” Iris motioned as if moving the trains along.
Mary stood, and raised her glass. “I’d like to toast to our mom, Virginia Williams Landry.”
Everyone groaned.
“Now now. She loved to laugh and she lived for her children. Truth be told she could be horribly abusive. Let’s just let facts be facts. Bless her heart. But everyone deserves her place in that eternal space. May she feel peace and love in her blessed heaven above.”
All said “Here. Here.”
As people sipped, there was a quiet echo. And then a polite stillness.
Iris stood. “And finally, as we have dessert, I’d like instead of a toast to Dad, and your granddad, and great granddad Colonel VF Landry,” Iris looked lovingly at the children, “that we have our usual Top 10 Quiz in his honor.”
Everyone raised their glasses. “Here. Here.” And sipped.
Iris added, “I have a little book about him for each of the great grandchildren, and Luke wrote the introduction.”
Luke, Mary’s oldest, saw this was his cue. He stood to read. “I didn’t think I’d feel so shy about this, especially since I never really knew Granddad Landry. I was just four, a year older than my son, Mason, is now, when he died. But I’ve learned a lot about him, so I wrote something,” he smiled softly, his hands slightly shaking. The room grew calm.
“Here’s an excerpt that Iris wanted me to read…OK…here goes:
What this book tells you is how committed Colonel Landry was to his faith, his family, his country, and the land. If you find even a smidgeon of DNA begging you to grow something, or smiling when you’ve worked yourself into a sweat, or feeling warmth and love in a church pew, or holding dear the hand of your mother, father, sister or brother, or tearing up when you sing My Country ‘Tis of Thee, you may be feeling the glow of your great grandfather Landry smiling within the universe.”
Luke smiled, set aside the page, and saw that his mother’s eyes were welling with tears. He walked over to Mary, knelt and hugged her.
Iris and Jason handed out the books to the great grandchildren and/or their parents. One of the great grandchildren, Misha, three years old, giggled as he looked at what seemed to be ancient pictures of his ancestors. “Who’s this old man?” he said, pointing to VF in an old photograph.
Thad, his father, said, “The man on that tractor is your great-grandfather.”
“OK kids and children! Are you ready?” Iris walked around the table and stood beside the poster. It read:
Trump’s hair
Where are the Democrats?
Senator McCain
Should sugar drinks be banned?
Liars and Cheaters
Super Bowl bets already
Sean Spicer
Healthcare in the USA
What are you doing to make this a better world?
“Let’s get started. It’s gonna be a wild and woolly new year with our newly elected creepy president. Who takes topic #1?” Iris asked.
“Who wants pie? Cake? Kolaches?” Vicki cried out as she and Father Joe began to serve dessert while the children and adults started their lively discussion on each topic.
“Me!” a voice yelled out loud and clear above the prattle.
“Moi! I…want…pie.”
Everyone turned to look at the landing above the large dining room towards the sound of the foreign voice. Towards the open front door, as wind whipped around the intruder.
Bits stood on the top step looking regal in the Russian sable she had once given Virginia.
Holding a bottle of her Silvercreek wine, she raised her arms wide and shouted “Merry Christmas, ya’ll!” to the surprised gathering.
“What the hell?” Will asked.
“I’d like to start the discussion, too” Bits yelled, Manolo Blahnik heels planted on the steps.
Iris walked angrily towards her and stood her ground. “You are not invited to participate in this discussion, nor are you invited to have pie.”
The vibe in the room was electric. It was time to do something, to stop the madness. Stop the politeness. To unleash the buried anger.
Vicki held her pie server like a knife and walked towards Bits. “Go home, Bits.”
Then Mary got up and started walking towards Bits, moving her hands and arms as if brushing her away. “Please leave.”
Then everyone stood, walking towards her as Bits’ expression turned from conqueror to feared captive.
At once, they all yelled, “Go home, Bitch, go home!”
Bits stood still, not knowing what to do.
“Go home, Bitch, go home!” They chanted, louder, and in unison.
“Go home, Bitch, go home!”
A generation of anger seethed.
“Go home, Bitch, go home!”
Bits’ eyes grew large as she absorbed the taunts. Then, just as surprisingly as she appeared, she turned and raced to her Mercedes SUV, started the engine and disappeared into the deep Texas night.
There was a group gasp and then a long exhale before everyone laughed and applauded simultaneously.
Iris asked everyone to sit again.
“That’s what we call rich white trash,” Joseph announced, knowing that he would be confessing his sins later that week.
Suddenly, the sound of sirens filled the air.
“Whaaaa…?” the boys asked. The sound grew closer and louder.
“Not to worry,” Iris answered. “I half expected Bits to show up so I let my friend Sheriff Frank alert the Rangers. Evidently there’s a warrant for her arrest.”
“From the wine scandal?” Vicki asked.
“You’d think, right? No, it turns out she’s been abusing cats and her neighbors turned her in. They found ten dead cats in a dumpster, some with their paws slit open….” Parents Thad and Luke ran to their toddlers and put their hands over their ears.
Iris continued, “and some with missing paws….”
Everyone gave a disgusted “ugh….” And imagined the scene down by the cattle guard to Thunder Valley Farm, where Bits was being arrested on Christmas Eve.
“And with that….what do we think of Trump’s hair?” Iris asked, smiling broadly and continuing with the political discussion, just as VF would have done.
Jason began, “It’s a wig.”
“No, it’s a metaphor,” Luke insisted.
“For what?” Joseph asked, as he served pie.
“For what he’s hiding. He’s hiding his insecurities by covering his head with strings of bleached hair.” Luke loved to dissect people’s behavior.
“I get your point. Perhaps it’s a metaphor for the big lie,” Joseph said.
“What big lie?” Jennifer asked.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” little Mason chimed in. Mason was Luke’s three-year-old son.
“I’ll take ‘Where are the Democrats,’” Thad, Iris’s son, who lived in NY, announced.
“OK, Thad, where are the Democrats?” Iris asked with a smile.
“They’re here, in Texas, coming out of hiding, and they’re moving here from the blue states. I think Texas is going to see a resurgence of Democrats. I think the Republican stronghold on Texas will not last. You’ll see...”
“One can only hope,” Vicki interrupted, “after what has happened to Lloyd Doggett. He used to be the Congressman from Austin—Jake’s old job [very few people at the table remembered Congressman Jake Pickle, VF’s good friend from his college days]. They gerrymandered his district and shoved him way the hell over to the far eastern corners of Austin and the surrounding co
unties over nearly to San Antonio.”
“I’ll take Senator McCain,” Will announced. Will was a Navy vet. “I think he’s gonna fight enormous battles with Trump the liar. McCain will live to regret that he took on failin’ Palin as his running mate.”
“McCain will stand up to him,” Jennifer, Vicki’s oldest daughter, who also served in the Navy, said. “McCain is a helluva lot stronger than anyone thinks. He should have been a democrat. I want to know what people think of Sean Spicer.”
“Who?” Larry, Mary’s son, asked.
“He’s a Trump truth spinner. Trump’s not even in the White House and he’s already spinning,” Jessica, Vicki’s youngest daughter, said. “I don’t trust ‘em.”
“OK, I think we’ve covered the liars and cheaters. What about sugar drinks—anyone think they should be banned?” Iris asked.
“I’ve been thinking about sugar,” Joe answered. “Sugar is a demon.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Vicki motioned to Mary.
The youngest children were now getting up from the kids’ table and running around.
“Sugar messes with your mind,” Joe continued. “I think Bloomberg is right on wanting to ban large amounts of sugared sodas. We all need to eat less sugar. I have this theory about Virginia and sugar.” Joe now referred to his mother as Virginia when he talked about her.
“What’s that, Joe?” Iris asked.
“I believe that some people are allergic to sugar in that sugar does something to the chemistry of the brain for some people, deregulating their reasoning and hormones, creating a cocktail of confusion and anger.”
The room was listening.
“So, you contend that Mom’s dysfunction came from her ingesting large amounts of sugar?” Iris continued.
“If you think about the times she had those rages and correlate them with what she was eating, I think it would lead you to wonder,” Joe said.
“It’s a theory, Joe, but it seems that Mom was always making pies, especially those with a lot of corn syrup, and..
“Fudge with a lot of sugar…” Vicki added.
“And pecan pralines which are all sugar,” Will noted. “They were my favorite!”
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