Wyoming
Page 2
Chapter 2
Allison’s Uncle Nick stood holding a metal tray with six large bowls of steaming chili and a basket of cornbread. His barrel-chest and thick arms made the tray look small and delicate despite the sizable bounty it carried. Zach and Allison were seated on one side of the table, Allison’s Gramma Jane and cousin Cindy across from them, and Aunt Ruth at the far end. Nick gave a sly grin then said, “We’ve got hot, medium, and mild. What’s your pleasure, Zach?” His words had a forcefulness that may or may not have been intended.
Zach shunned spicy food, but couldn’t bring himself to request mild. “Medium sounds good,” he answered.
Nick feigned surprise. “You’re sure?”
Zach looked to the women for guidance but found only gently grinning faces.
“This is western chili, Zach. None of that east-coast pansy stuff.”
Zach saw he was trapped now. “Medium’s good.” From the corner of his eye he saw Ruth stifle a chuckle.
Uncle Nick passed out bowls of chili to each of the women, then gave Zach his, and ended by setting a bowl at his own place at the head of the table. Once he set the tray on the kitchen counter and returned to sit down, Aunt Ruth said, “Mamma, would you please bless the food?”
Gramma Jane bowed her head and said with sharp annunciation and full volume, “God of life, give us the grace of your Son and the power of your Spirit along with these gifts of food and drink, that we might use them to meet the challenges ahead, till the day we find ourselves at your heavenly feast. Amen.”
Nick said, “Let’s eat.”
Well, Zach’s chili was hot—hotter than anything he’d ever tasted or dreamed of tasting, though the sensation of having his mouth on fire hardly qualified as tasting. Worse, the large glass of water he quickly downed didn’t help relieve the fire; it only made it spread down his throat and into his stomach. The cornbread he wolfed to try to smother the fire didn’t help either. He saw Nick watching him. He did his best not to show his discomfort. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead; he wiped them away with his napkin, then grabbed another napkin, then another. He kept eating the chili. Eventually his mouth grew numb. After a while, he reached the bottom of the bowl.
Nick nodded approval from the head of the table. “Want more, Zach?”
Zach said, “Sure.”
“Want to try the hot?”
“Medium’s good. Need to work my way up to the hot.”
Nick brought him back a bowl of chili that was not nearly as spicy as the first. Zach found himself almost missing the kick—almost.
After dinner, Allison and Zach lingered at the table with Nick and Ruth while Cindy and Gramma washed dishes in the kitchen. Nick and Ruth had big mugs of steaming coffee in front of them; Ruth had found some teabags buried in the pantry for Allison’s tea, and Zach stuck with water—his fourth glass. Nick said, “Now let me get this straight—you want to camp on the prairie?”
Zach looked to Allison, who was looking at her tea, gently pushing the teabag against the side of her cup with a spoon. He said, “That’s the plan, yes.”
“No shade from the sun during the day, near freezing overnight?”
Zach said, “We’ll manage.”
“Ticks, scorpions, rattlesnakes.”
Allison looked up quickly, splashing a few drops of tea from her cup.
Ruth said, “Nick, stop.”
Nick shrugged. “Just telling it like it is. Seems like a strange honeymoon to me, but what do I know?”
Ruth looked to Allison. “Hardly any snakes out there nowadays, Honey. Snakehunters got most of them.”
Zach said, “We want to try it.” What he didn’t add was that he thought he wanted to be a homesteader, at least in a recurrent dream of his; and he’d imposed this dream on Allison who, six weeks out of high school, had no clearly defined goals to counter Zach’s. So this camping venture would be a test for them both.
Nick looked at Allison. “And you, Sweety?”
Ruth said, “Nick!”
Allison said, “I’ll try it,” but with little conviction or enthusiasm.
Nick said, “O.K., then. In the morning I’ll lead you to our camp by the river—best piece of land in our summer range. There used to be a sheepwagon down there, if hunters or the coyotes haven’t torn it up.”
“Sheepwagon?” Allison asked.
Ruth said, “A little like a modern-day Conestoga wagon—with rubber tires and a curved tin roof. Set up with a small woodstove for cooking and heat, and a raised platform across the back for a mattress: cozy, but functional. I kept house in one for a couple weeks, when Nick and I were first married and he had to cover for a herder in the hospital with appendicitis.”
Zach said, “See.”
Ruth smiled. “Never so glad to get back to a real bed—with room to roll around!”
Zach said, “We have a mattress in the truck. We can sleep there and use the sheepwagon for cooking.”
Nick nodded. “I’ll come by Jane’s in the morning to get you—5:30 sharp.”
Zach nodded. Allison looked at her empty cup.