Lane led him into The Jct. Trading Post and to a display of t-shirts and sweatshirts. As she followed him as he perused a wide array of cheesy options, she pulled out her phone and made a quiet call. Matt hardly noticed the shift in atmosphere. He wasn’t finding what he wanted. Everything for men was either tacky or something related to college sports. The women’s clothing was exactly what he wanted, but nothing would work for a big guy like his father. He’d have to try the airport.
He turned and did the “in your way shuffle” with Lane for a moment, before placing his hands on her shoulders and rotating them manually. As she returned to her phone, he sought out Christmas ornaments on clearance by the register. He found one with a bear wearing a Santa hat and paddling a canoe that would be a perfect gift for his Aunt Judy.
“I like that. It’s cute. Is that for your mom?” Lane’s voice at his sleeve almost made him drop the ornament, but he passed it across the counter to a scowling man on the other side.
“Can you wrap that in some tissue or bubble wrap or something? I’m afraid it’ll get destroyed on the plane.” Matt turned to Lane and shook his head. “No, my Aunt Judy. I just hope she makes it another Christmas to use it. She loves Christmas.”
“We’ve never celebrated it—” A derisive snort cut her off. Lane turned to the source and stood towering over a short squatty woman. “As you well know, Mrs. Peterson. Maybe we should try it this year.”
Lane stalked out of the store as though angry, but Matt could see that she was not as immune to the snubs and subtle attacks as she pretended. He smiled at the woman before him, and reminded himself that being rude was no way to combat rudeness. “Do you know where I can find some snack foods?”
The pudgy woman pointed to a corner of the store he’d not visited yet. Twenty minutes later, they wandered up the boarded sidewalks of Argosy Junction with bags of chips, nuts, and boxed donuts on one arm, and a few post cards and an ornament in a smaller bag on the other. “I need something for Mom. I just don’t know what to get. I’ll try to find Dad a sweatshirt at the airport.”
“Oh! I forgot! That run-in with Mrs. Peterson unsettled me for a minute. Dad says we have lots of Argosy Ranch sweatshirts and t-shirts if you want one. They have a big sheep head on the front with ‘Argosy Ranch’ arced around it and then it says ‘Argosy Junction, Montana’ on the back. We’ve probably got a few hats like mine too if you want one.”
Grinning, Matt nodded. “Thanks. It’ll be perfect. Dad can’t start on bison or buffalo when he’s wearing a sheep on his chest. Talk about making a guy feel sheepish—”
“That was a very bad, yet predictable, pun. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Not in the least, “Matt said nonchalantly, “I found it very apropos.”
“An inner city thug who reads Shakespeare and uses words like apropos. What next?”
~*~*~*~
After a stop at the local grocery store, Matt and Lane sat on Matt’s bed eating sour cream and onion chips dipped in cottage cheese. Lane protested at first, but after the first bite, grabbed the carton of cottage cheese, and held it hostage, allowing him only occasional dips. With the door and curtains open to protect Lane from any further gossip, they played rummy, war, crazy eights, and old maid.
Josiah Gideon paced the courtyard for most of the visit until something in him snapped. He knocked briskly on the door and then stepped inside. “Mr. Rushby, may I have a word with you please?”
Lane’s shoulders slumped. She climbed from the bed, grabbed her purse, and slipped between Josiah and the door. “It’s not worth it, Matt. I’ll go. Feel free to come out any time.”
Glaring at Josiah, Matt tried to stop her, but Lane drove through the entrance before he made it outside. Josiah crossed his arms and tried to stare down his guest. “The Argosy family is not welcome here. I will have to ask that you refrain from allowing any more of that family in our cabins.”
The temptation to remind him that a member of “that family” slept under their roof every night was keen; however, he refrained from yielding and kept his response civil. “That’s not in the terms of agreement that I signed. I agreed not to have any overnight guests without registering them, but nowhere did I sign anything saying I wouldn’t allow anyone in particular or in general in the cabin.” Matt’s jaw took on a hard edge as he worked it trying to keep his cool.
“Then we’ll refund your money immediately and ask that you be out by five o’clock.” Josiah saw the involuntary glance Matt gave his cell phone, and shook his head. “I wouldn’t attempt to find another room in this town. I can assure you that they’ll be closed to you.”
~*~*~*~
“He was right. I’ve called everywhere, and no one has a vacancy. One irate woman actually said that she’d never have a friend of the Argosy’s as a guest.” Matt stood shuffling his feet, disappointed that he had to leave. “I just couldn’t go without saying thanks and telling you how much I enjoyed meeting you. Here’s my address—”
Warren Argosy slammed his fist down on the table and strode from the room. Lane offered an apology. “He almost moved us when this all happened. He knew it’d be like this, but our land—”
Martha rose silently and followed her husband. Patience stood, looked from Tad, to Lane, back to Matt’s disappointed face, and stomped her foot in frustration. “I hate those mean people. I do! I hate them!” Tears exploded, and she rushed from the house.
Matt stood. “May I?” Lane nodded and Tad lowered himself back into his chair. Jude and Levi exchanged confused glances.
Matt found Patience sobbing into Boozer’s fur in the barn. Unfamiliar with little girls, and as uncomfortable as any man around feminine tears, he sat beside her and stroked her hair. She turned to him and clung to his shirt, wailing about the injustices of life and declaring her undying hatred for the Brethren.
“Shh—don’t, Patience, don’t.”
“But—” Ready to defend her beloved new friend, Patience wasn’t one to be hushed, even by Matt.
“I mean it; you’ll be the one hurt in the end if you do. Hate is a cancer. It eats away at you until you rot and die, but the thing that you hated is untouched by it.”
“They hate us and we’re not untouched! It’s not fair!”
Using his sleeve, he wiped tears from her face and nodded. “You’re right, life isn’t fair. But, we have different injuries from their hate. We get scratches and cuts and if we let them, stabs with a knife, but these are wounds that can heal. The only way to get rid of cancer is to kill it with other poisons, or to cut it out of us.”
“And hate is cancer?”
Smiling, he nodded. “It’s emotional cancer. So is bitterness and jealousy.”
“But, I don’t want you to go. You just got here. You saved for all those years and missed all those wonderful movies, and now you don’t get to stay. That’s just mean.”
“He doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to.” Lane’s voice drifted in from the barn door. “Dad said to invite you to stay here. We have plenty of room, and you’d get a more realistic picture of life on a Montana ranch here than at Gideon’s anyway.”
Matt would have demurred. Truly. It was on his lips to make some sort of weak protest at the least, but Patience squealed, jumped to her feet, and practically dragged Matt back into the house. Seeing her father, she rushed to his arms and jumped into them.
“Thank you, Daddy!”
“Well, I didn’t issue the invitation for your benefit, but you’re welcome. Sorry, Matt, looks like you don’t have a choice on the subject. Impatience here already accepted for you.”
With the grin that they all were growing to love, Matt tugged Patience’s hair. “She was a bit misnamed wasn’t she?”
“Oh Patience wasn’t named to reflect her personality, but as a reminder to my wife.”
Martha blushed and scuttled to the kitchen where the sounds of banging pots and pans immediately followed. Warren winked to Matt as he followed. “She kept whining abou
t wanting it all over, and I kept telling her to be patient. When the baby finally arrived, the midwife asked her name and we both blurted, ‘Patience’ in exhausted disgust. Poor thing.”
Patience spun around the room sending her dress flying out and looking like a bell. “I like my name. I get a new Pilgrim costume every year because of it. I bet I wouldn’t get one anymore if my name was Lane or Carrie. I got the best name ever!
“Matt, can I go get your suitcases from your car? I’ll be careful with them.”
He started to protest that he could do it himself, but Tad shut him down. “Let her. It’ll keep her out of trouble. I’ll go help.”
~*~*~*~
Saturday passed, then Sunday. Each day was a different adventure with the Argosy family. They inoculated lambs, fixed fences, checked for injuries, and generally prepared for the shearing process the next week. Matt couldn’t believe how everything worked out for a better vacation than he could have ever imagined. His flight was early Friday morning. He’d have to leave Thursday night, but he intended to enjoy every day to its fullest from now until then.
Four
Sweat trickled down Matt’s back and temples. He wiped ineffectively at his forehead with his sleeve; shearing was hard work. The professional shearers were fast at their job, but the boys and Matt helped gather sheep, pen them, run them through the chute, and then released them to pasture again.
It was hot grueling work, and Matt now understood how ranchers could put away mounds of food in no time flat. His jeans were already getting looser. He’d pulled his belt a notch tighter that morning giving Lane the opportunity to tease him. “You’re going to waste away to nothing—or is that w-a-i-s-t away?” she’d said.
He felt good. His job at the metal works was as a welder. It too was hard, hot work, and he came home dirty and sweaty each night, but this place was different. Even his lungs felt alive and full of what seemed to be the freshest air in the world.
At night, he rode back to the stables on Cardiff and unsaddled her. He’d learned to do it all and loved it. His westerns hadn’t betrayed him after all; life in Montana was everything he’d dreamed it could be. He’d already decided that his vacation to California was cancelled if the Argosys ever invited him to come again.
Thursday, he rode in at noon for lunch with the rest of the workers, but unlike the rest, he unsaddled Cardiff and brushed her down while Lane watched from the barn window in silence. Matt probably seemed like a different man than the one she’d met in the pasture that first day—maybe because he was. His movements were gentle, but confident, and he’d learned quickly how to soothe the horses as he worked.
As Matt led Cardiff to the corrals, he spied Lane watching him and turned Cardiff loose to find her own way to the water trough.
Standing a good three feet from the window, he eyed her curiously. “What?”
Lane shook her head. “Nothing. You just fit in here so well that I forgot you are from another world. You’re leaving.”
His feet shuffled a few inches closer. “Yep. Gotta clean up and hit the road in a few hours. This week—”
The tension in the air was unlike anything either of them had ever known. He wanted to hold her and tell her how glad he was he’d met all of them, but especially her. He couldn’t. If he got much closer with the heavy layer of wool coating every inch of him, she’d need medical attention. He ached to say something, but he knew he shouldn’t. He was leaving. She was staying, and by the time he got back, if he ever returned, things would probably be very different. “Lane, I—”
Patience dashed into the barn. “Matt! You’re missing dinner, and it’s tacos. Come on! “She grabbed his arm and pulled.
Matt’s eyes met Lane’s and then he disappeared from sight. Lane sank to the ground at the base of the window and stared into the corral. Cardiff eyed her curiously. “I’ll bet you’re gonna miss him too. You almost had him trained.”
~*~*~*~
Matt drove down the driveway with a lump in his throat, refusing to glance at the rearview mirror. He’d left Patience bawling and Lane even more sarcastic than the day she’d found him in the pasture. Warren had looked disappointed as he shook hands, thanked him for his help with the shearing, and invited Matt back anytime.
The drive through Argosy Junction was bittersweet. He stopped to fill up with gas, smiled at a little girl in a calico jumper who agonized over a candy purchase, and then wondered if she’d grow up to be like the others in her church. A small gift shop next to the station caught his eye as the little girl raced inside to show someone her choice. He still needed a gift for his mother…
A pretty woman greeted him as he entered. As he stepped in the door, he saw the woman admire the child’s candy bar and nibble a corner generously offered by the girl. Her hair hung to the middle of her back in auburn waves, and contrasted with her green floral dress, it was an attractive sight. She clearly belonged to the Brethren.
The gift shop was bright and pleasant. Everything seemed arranged as though a cluttered home rather than a store. He saw throw pillows, afghans, lamps, and wall pictures in the front room. The next room was decorated like a kitchen with hand thrown pottery, kitchen towels, aprons, and reproductions of antique things. All through the shop, each room connected with the next, until he found his way back in the front room.
Though usually not much of a shopper, the store was an unusual experience for him. He enjoyed the homey feel of interesting things scattered around to tempt customers. Eventually, he bought the wool afghan he’d first fingered when he entered the store. It was amazingly soft, a gorgeous heathery purple, and the kind of thing his mother could never have afforded. Her household items were discount store bargains—cheap things that merely imitated the finer things in life.
The woman wrapped his purchase carefully. When she saw the name on Matt’s credit card, she smiled. “You’re the man who has been helping out at the Argosy’s. I’m so glad. I know that sounds odd coming from a stranger, but they need friends. I’d love to meet them. If you talk to them soon, would you let them know that they’re always welcome in our store? We’re the Wheatleys—John and Rose.”
Matt gave her a gratified smile and signed the slip. As he stepped through the door, Mrs. Wheatley called to him. “Um, Mr. Rushby—”
He paused again and looked back at the woman. “Please tell the Argosys that we’re not looking for new customers. We’d just like to offer our friendship.”
Five
The sounds of the city assaulted his senses as Matt rolled his suitcase down the walkway leading to his apartment building. Neighbors called out to him, sirens screamed in the distance, and horns blared almost as loudly. The constant beat of hip-hop thundered seemingly from nowhere.
He’d been afraid that he’d want to get back on another plane and return to Argosy Junction the moment he entered his “real world,” but the familiar has a pull on all of us that the ideal can’t possibly attempt. He bounced his suitcase up familiar stairs, dragged it through dingy corridors, and finally through the door that had been home for most of Matt’s life.
“I fly two thousand miles to see you guys, and I don’t even get a hello?” Matt smirked as he waited for his parents to notice him over the din of the TV set. He hadn’t missed that. How had he not missed TV? His mind wanted to ponder the question, but his mother’s arms, his father’s jokes, and the familiar sights of home sent it to another part of his memory for later contemplation.
He regaled them with stories of ferocious sheep, and then confessed that he’d just been a panty-waisted coward. He promised pictures of his work during shearing were forthcoming, and he passed out his gifts. Jake Rushby tossed on a t-shirt, sweatshirt, and ball cap, all emblazoned with the Argosy Ranch insignia, and insisted on hearing all about the ranch. Carol, without any attempt to hide her mirth at the story Matt told, fingered her afghan and marveled at wool that didn’t itch.
Saturday arrived before Matt realized that Friday had ended. His arrival blurred
into stories of life on the Argosy Ranch, and before he knew what happened, he collapsed into bed still exhausted after a hard week’s work and the beginning effects of jet lag. His sleep, however, was interrupted by dreams of sheep, little girls with braids, gawky teenaged boys, and the most soulful voice he’d ever heard. They called to him, but he couldn’t find them.
The following morning, he was confused. The living room was empty. There were no Saturday morning cartoons, no scents of coffee brewing, and Carol’s famous pancakes were still sitting as batter in the fridge. His stomach growled at the thought. It took a circle of the apartment to realize that his parents were still asleep. No one woke up before nine on the weekends. Breakfast wouldn’t be done until eleven. He’d starve before then. A week on a sheep ranch had already changed his sleeping and eating patterns, and he didn’t want to interfere with the delicate inner workings of his appetite.
Moving quickly, he pulled jeans and a t-shirt from his drawer. The jeans immediately settled low on his hips. Frustrated, he grabbed his work belt and cinched it up a notch pulling his t-shirt low to cover it. No one wore belts in his neighborhood, but he’d never been fond of the jeans-hanging-off-the-hips look—or feel.
He laced his shoes, stuffed his wallet in his pocket, grabbed his hoodie and keys, and dashed out the door. Already the familiar gait down the stairs had him in a normal rhythm of life. He sauntered down the sidewalk, around a few corners, and into McDonald’s. As much as he loved biscuits and gravy, he’d missed the familiar flavors of an Egg McMuffin.
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