by Janet Dailey
The waiting time was not idly spent. The quarter horses Alison had trained for the show ring and speed events were retrained for working use. Two of the five horses had to be sold when they proved too nervous and unsuitable. In addition, Alison completed her horseshoeing course while Edie and Jerry read every available piece of literature regarding ranch management, cattle and land use. Others didn't take their plans seriously, but they did.
Four months from the Sunday they had sat around the table, made their decision and begun the plans, the real-estate agent called to tell Edie about a ranch that had just been placed on the market.
The owner, an elderly man, was being forced into retirement by an injury. Everything about the ranch sounded ideal, from its total acreage, the amount of pastureland and hay ground, ample water supply, to the financial terms of the sale. Having left Alison behind to look after the horses and the house, Edie and Jerry flew to Rapid City for a first-hand look at the ranch to be certain it was what had been represented to them.
The real-estate agent met them at the airport and drove them out to the property. Snow covered the land, hiding more than it revealed as it followed the curvature of the hills and dipped into gullies. The dark green of pines was scattered across the winter landscape. Driving into the ranch yard, Edie viewed the outbuildings with their snow-covered roofs and drifts banked close to their walls. There was no movement, no sign of stock, but smoke curled out of the chimney of the house to wind a white trail against a startling blue sky.
"The buildings look run-down, don't they?" Jerry observed in a remark to Edie.
"With luck their appearance is deceiving," she replied in a low voice. "They must be structurally sound or they would have collapsed."
The tires crunched in the snow as the real-estate agent slowed the car to a stop in the center of the yard. Switching off the engine, he glanced at them. "Would you like to walk around outside first? Anson Carver, the owner, is on crutches, so we'll have to show ourselves around. The footing is too tricky for him to be hobbling around on."
"We'll look around first," Edie agreed.
She buttoned up her fleece-lined suede parka as Jerry stepped out of the car and pulled his cowboy hat low on his forehead. Edie discovered why he did this when she slid out and a stiff wind blew its icy breath over any exposed skin. Bareheaded, she turned up the fleece collar of her coat and buried her hands in the warm pockets.
They tramped around and through the ranch buildings. As Edie had suspected, the barns and sheds were soundly built, but there were boards and windowpanes that needed replacing. The sliding track for the barn door had broken and another side door was precariously hinged. The signs of repair they did see were the lick-and-a-promise kind. Even the corral and holding pens of the feedlot were constructed out of an assortment of materials—boards, wooden posts, split rails—whatever was handy and the right length at the time.
Trying to hold the front of his topcoat shut against a tugging wind, the agent produced an aerial photograph of the property and oriented them to their location so he could point out boundaries and landmarks. The picture had been taken during the summer, so it was difficult to recognize much with the wild and rolling terrain blanketed with snow.
They wandered farther out from the ranch yard into the near pasture. The snow was nearly to the top of Edie's insulated boots. A thin crust on the top crunched with each step. Jerry paused to sweep away a patch of snow with his boot. Beneath the snow was a tangle of long, yellow grass frozen together in thick clumps. The agent was busy extolling the merits of the place, stressing its wild, natural beauty. It took a few pointed questions from Edie regarding more practical matters, such as how many head of cattle they could expect the land to support, before he realized she would not be swayed into buying a place merely because of its beauty.
When they turned back toward the ranch yard, Edie moved to the fence row where a strip had been drifted clear of snow parallel to the line. She slipped on a patch of ice and grabbed for a post to keep from falling into a drift. Instead of supporting her, the wooden post gave under the pressure of her grasping hand. Jerry's quick reflexes kept her from stumbling to her knees.
"It must have rotted through at the base," he murmured grimly under his breath, and ran a calculating eye along the fence line.
Edie knew what he was thinking. The entire property would probably need new fencing. "This place needs a lot of work."
"You can say that again," Jerry agreed before they caught up with the agent.
The house was in no better repair than the rest of the buildings. It was a one-story, rambling affair that appeared to have had rooms added on with no attempt to adhere to design. White paint was chipped and peeling away to expose gray boards. A knock on the door brought a summons to enter. The interior of the house was as cheerless and dingy as the outside. After the brilliance of the bright sun glaring off white snow outdoors, it took Edie a moment to adjust to the gloom.
The front door had opened directly into a living room where an old wood stove was giving off waves of heat. The sudden change in temperature made Edie's chilled skin tingle with needle-sharp pain. The cold had nipped her cheeks red and made her facial muscles stiff, while the wind had tousled her chestnut hair into casual disorder. She paused inside the door to unbutton her coat and smooth her hair, not wanting to track into the house with her snow-wet boots on. The real-estate agent didn't appear to suffer from any such compunction and walked to a corner of the room where an old man sat in an armchair with one plaster-cast leg propped on a footstool.
"Hello, Mr. Carver. I'm Ned Jenkins from the real-estate office," the agent introduced himself. "I telephoned you this morning to let you know I was bringing these people out to look at your ranch."
"I remember," the old man's gruff voice answered, then he turned his keenly piercing gaze to the pair standing by the door. He waved an impatient hand for them to enter the living room. "Come in. I don't intend to shout across the room to carry on a conversation with you."
"Let me take off my boots first so I don't track," Edie stated, and bent to unfasten them. A puddle of dirty water was already beginning to form on the floor around her feet.
"Take them off if you've a mind to," the old man scoffed, "but a little water and mud ain't going to be strange to this floor."
Regardless of his lack of concern, Edie went ahead and removed her boots, and Jerry did likewise. She set them neatly against the wall before crossing the room in her stocking-clad feet to meet the present owner.
Aware that Jerry was a step behind her, Edie stopped in front of the old man's chair. Age had wrinkled his sun-browned face and thinned his hair until there were only wispy gray tufts atop his head that he made no attempt to tame into place.
The real-estate agent introduced them. "Mr. Carver, this is Mrs. Gibbs from Illinois. Mr. Anson Carver, the owner of the property."
"How do you do, Mr. Carver?" Edie was faintly surprised by the firmness of the grip of the withered hand that clasped hers.
"This is her son, Jerry Gibbs," the agent continued the introductions.
"How do you do, sir?" The crispness of Jerry's acknowledgment hinted at the years he'd spent in the military.
"Your son?" Anson Carver's sharp gaze swung back to her, sweeping her from head to foot. "What did you do? Have him when you were straight out of puberty?"
At first Edie was taken aback by the crude and blunt question. Then a rueful smile slanted her mouth. "Jerry is my stepson," she admitted.
"Where's your husband? How come he sent you instead of coming himself?" he demanded with continuing bluntness.
"I lost my husband eight months ago, Mr. Carver. I'm a widow," Edie stated in a voice that invited no sympathy.
Again she was subject to his scrutiny as he took special note of her figure revealed by the unbuttoned parka swinging open. "With a face and a figure like yours, you won't be a widow for long."
After his previous remarks, Edie wasn't shocked by this statement fro
m him. "I believe you are flattering me," she smiled it away.
"At my age I don't have to say things I don't mean. In fact I can say a lot of things I do mean." His smile indicated that he derived tremendous pleasure from doing just that and shocking people in the process. Definitely an irascible rascal, Edie decided. "Pull up a chair and sit down. I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you," Anson Carver ordered.
The agent brought a straight chair over for Edie to sit on while Jerry got a chair for himself. It was too hot this close to the heating stove to leave her coat on, so Edie took it off and draped it on the chair back.
"So you came out here to look at my ranch," the older man declared in a gruff challenge. "What do you think of it?"
Edie took a breath then told him. "To be frank, Mr. Carver, you've let it go to hell."
Her candor startled him. With a frown he grumbled, "The place seemed to get too big for me to handle alone. Either that or I got too old. I admit it needs fixing up here and there."
"Here and there?" She lifted a challenging eyebrow. The heavily ribbed, biscuit-colored pullover she was wearing with her brown corduroy slacks gave Edie a very earthy and countryish look. "Your buildings are in need of repair. I doubt if there is a section of fence on the property that doesn't need to be replaced. And who knows what other things the snow is hiding? It's going to take a lot of labor and material to bring this place up to par."
"In other words you think I'm asking too much for the ranch?" he bristled.
"Yes, I do," Edie admitted.
"I suppose your husband left you a bunch of money and you've decided to invest it in a cattle ranch." He sounded faintly contemptuous, but Edie had faced that attitude many times in these months since they'd made their decisions. "Who's gonna run it for you?"
"Nobody is going to run it for us. We are going to do it ourselves," she said, nodding toward Jerry to include him in her plural pronoun.
"Do you think you can handle it?"
"We'll do a better job than you have lately," Edie shrugged.
"You're pretty frisky for such a slip of a gal. If push come to shove, you'd do some shoving yourself, wouldn't you?" he grinned unexpectedly. "What do you think this place is worth?"
Edie told him and added her terms. They haggled back and forth for several minutes. Every time the real-estate agent tried to make a relevant point, the old man told him to shut up. They went through a rapid series of compromises until the last difference in their two positions was settled.
"Lady, you drive a hard bargain, but you just bought yourself a ranch." The man extended his hand to shake on the deal. He sliced a piercing look at the agent. "Did you make a note of all the terms so we can draw up an agreement?"
"Yes, sir. I—"
"Fine. Start writing it up." Alison Carver was quick to dismiss him from the conversation. Now he was directing his attention to Jerry. "You look like you got a head on your shoulders, boy. Do you think you and your stepmomma can handle this place?"
"I do or I wouldn't be here," Jerry stated with a faint smile.
"Got any more like him?" Anson Carver shot the question at Edie.
"I have a daughter. She's looking after our place in Illinois while we're here."
He rested his head against the chair back for a moment. "I'm glad someone like you is buying the ranch. I didn't want to see it gobbled up into somebody else's holdings," he explained rather absently. "I've lived in this house seventy-two years. It's good to know that somebody will be living in it when I'm gone."
"Where will you go, Mr. Carver?" Edie asked.
He pursed his lips, puckering them as if there was a bad taste in his mouth. "I'm moving to my granddaughter's in Deadwood. She's got a room all fixed up for me, she says."
"You'll always be welcome to stop by," Edie stated.
His gaze swung to her, a sudden twinkle lighting his eyes with mischief. "A widow and two kids," he chortled in apparent delight. "I'd love to see his face when he finds out!"
"Whose face?" A frown flickered across her forehead.
"It's a private joke." He didn't explain. "You won't understand until after you've lived here for a while. At my age there are few pleasures left in life that I can enjoy. But to know that I'm the one to show the he-bull in these parts that he can't have everything the way he wants it gives me a lot of satisfaction. Mind you, it's nothing personal, but I'll have many a laugh over this in that room in Deadwood."
"Does it have something to do with the ranch?" Edie persisted, puzzled by his answer and certain that he intended her to be.
"You aren't going to have any problems you can't handle," he assured her. "When do you want possession?"
Edie glanced at Jerry. There were a great many things that had to be done in Illinois—put their house and acreage up for sale and pack. Plug there was all the legal paperwork involved in buying this place.
"The end of March? What do you think?" she asked.
"That sounds good to me," Jerry nodded. "Spring will be breaking. That gives us a little over two months."
"Would that suit you, Mr. Carver?" she asked.
"Fine. Make a note of that, Jenkins," he ordered. "While he's writing all this down, why don't you go in the kitchen, Mrs. Gibbs, and fix us some coffee? I would, but—" he thumped the plaster cast on his leg "—I don't get around too good." He pointed to a hallway behind him. "It's that way."
"I don't mind at all," Edie agreed, and rose from her chair.
As she left the room she heard Jerry ask, "When we were walking around outside, I didn't see any sign of livestock. Don't you have any?"
"No. When I got laid up, I didn't have any way of looking after them. And I never could keep good help on the place. So I asked…my neighbor to round up anything that moved and sell it."
Edie couldn't help thinking it was comforting to know they would have the kind of neighbors who were willing to help out in time of need.
EVERYTHING SEEMED TO FALL INTO PLACE after that. Within a month after they had listed their Illinois property for sale they had a buyer. All the legal paperwork for both the sale of their property and the purchase of the ranch was completed in two months. During the last week there was a string of farewell parties for them.
Edie was aware that many people thought she was being disrespectful to Joe's memory by selling the place where they had lived and moving away. But Joe had made this chance possible. She was convinced it would be a greater injustice to him if she didn't take it.
Happy seemed an inadequate description of the way she felt. She was excited, eager, looking forward to this new life and its challenges. It seemed an adventure. She wanted to laugh aloud for no reason at all. Since she was alone in the cab of the rented U-haul truck, she did.
A series of signs were tacked to the row of fence posts along the highway. Edie read them with quick glances and reached for the mike of the CB radio, temporarily mounted on the dash. It had been one of the going-away presents.
"Breaker one-nine. This is the Dakota Dreamer in the rocking chair. How about that Pony Girl up there at my front door?" She used the C.B. radio jargon to call Alison in the car ahead of the truck.
"You've got the Pony Girl. Come back," Alison responded.
"Did you read those signs we just passed? Come back."
"I must have missed them. What did they say this time?" her daughter asked.
"They said, 'You are entering God's country. Don't drive through it like hell,'" Edie told her.
"Yeah, so ease back on the hammer, Pony Girl," Jerry joined their radio conversation. "Your back door has a load of dog meat, in case you've forgotten. Slow it down." He was bringing up the rear of their small caravan in his pickup truck, pulling the horse trailer loaded with their horses and gear.
"My foot got heavy, Leatherneck. I'm easing it back," Alison replied.
"Hey, Pony Girl," Jerry called her back. "If you see a rest area, pull over. I want to check the horses."
"That' s a ten-four," Alison agreed.<
br />
Then the radio went silent for a while in Edie's cab except for the chatter of some other CBers some distance away. Her gaze strayed to the rolling landscape of the South Dakota prairie. Its flat appearance was deceptive as its grassed sod undulated toward the horizon. Trees, mostly cottonwoods, clustered wherever there was water. There was a timeless quality about this open expanse of land stretching endlessly into the beyond that had a magic all its own. Patches of snow could be seen in shadowed ditches, an indication that winter hadn't released its grip on the land.
After traveling almost a full hour, Edie saw the dark mass looming on the horizon. Her mouth barely curved as she recognized it, her pulse quickening in a surge of excitement. Again she reached for the CB mike to share her discovery with Alison and Jerry.
"Breaker one-nine for that Pony Girl and Leatherneck. Do you see that on the horizon?" she asked.
"Where?" Alison came back. "You mean that mass of clouds? I hope we aren't in for a storm."
"Those aren't clouds," Jerry corrected. "That's the Black Hills. Now you know how they got their names."
"There's some roadside tables just ahead. It looks as if there's room for all of us to park," Alison informed them. Edie saw the turning indicator blinking on the car ahead of her and flipped hers on.
When the rental van filled with their furniture and belongings was parked and the motor switched off, Edie grabbed her parka and the thermos of coffee from the passenger seat. Alison was already standing by the roadside picnic table, stretching and arching muscles cramped from long hours of driving. Yesterday they had started out at daybreak and continued till dark, crossing from Iowa into Nebraska. Now the Black Hills dominated the horizon, rising above the prairie—pine-covered slopes giving the deceptive impression of darkness and earning the landmark its name. Their ranch, their new home, was on the western edge of this sacred Indian land within the national forest.
"We don't have far to go now," Edie declared as she joined Alison by the picnic table. A cold wind tried to slide its icy fingers inside the collar of her jacket, but Edie fastened the top button to keep it out.