‘What time?’ asked Spears.
‘When it’s daylight, you need to already be here.’
So, with Javier, their longest-standing employee, his son Anthony, the Smitherman brothers and Spears, Sander had his starting workforce of five. He and Dalton made seven. It would do for now.
Monday morning, Sander told Javier, ‘Take the surveyor’s transit and lay us out a feed lot, four square, adjacent to the other one.’
‘Just four acres?’ Javier asked.
‘For now. It’s all the fence we’ve got. Then get everybody driving T-posts down there. Space em out and make em last. Dad and I will put dead men on the corners to hold the tension.’
Dalton already had some boulders in mind for that, ones he’d been meaning to get out of the creek for years.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Javier to Sander.
As he and his son walked through the gate, Anthony said, ‘Is he the boss now?’
‘You saw Mr Dalton standing right there,’ said Javier. ‘If he wanted to tell us otherwise, he would’ve.’
Meanwhile, Sander and Dalton would spend the day cutting their best stock from the south pasture. The man from Argos Meat Distributors wanted a look at what he would be representing. He was flying in from British Columbia in a few months, giving Sander the time he felt he needed to have everything in place. They had several dozen handsome calves on hand, more mature beef that could stand a little conditioning, and Sander wanted all of them in a feed lot as much as possible until the Argos man arrived. First impressions being as they are, he also wanted the meat cooler humming, whether there was beef hanging in it or not.
By Wednesday, the new lot was fenced and Javier had staked off a pad beside the barn where Sander had determined to put the meat cooler. They could not afford even a used commercial unit big enough to hang the weight of beef Sander had in mind. He had books, though, on insulation methods, air locks, and refrigeration. Much of what he needed to know he had learned from the semen facility. Dalton trusted him, but when he saw the size of the pad Javier and Anthony had laid out, it scared him. Sander saw it.
‘Easy, dad. Stages. We’ll get the concrete down first and let it sit there until we can afford to frame it.’ Dalton nodded. Good plan. ‘Then, when it’s starting to come along, we can start on our slaughter facility.’ And Dalton’s trepidation returned in a breaking wave.
‘Come on,’ Sander told him, ‘we’ve got digging to do.’
Michael Spears turned out to be an industrious hand, if a little cocky. It was fortunate for him that he worked hard because, among this crew, a good-enough effort would stand out like a leghorn rooster in a dog race. Still, Javier didn’t cotton to the fella and, as Dalton was knocking off for lunch that first day, he pulled the big man aside and shared his thoughts.
‘That one,’ said Javier.
‘Spears?’
‘He’s aint right, boss. I don’t know what it is, but–’ He began again. ‘My wife’s brother, Miguel, he’s a good worker. Knows cattle. I trust him. This Spears, he bugs me.’
‘Seems to me like he’s pulling his load. You need to talk to Sander about this.’
Javier had a good relationship with Dalton and considered they were friends. He had worked this ranch since before his own son was born and long before Jo got pregnant, so he knew them all very well. Yet, he was hesitant to second-guess Sander on his first week as foreman. He said nothing more about it.
The big trucks started rolling in early the next day to pour the concrete. Sander was happy to defer to Javier’s knowledge of flatwork and under the Mexican man’s direction they had footings in and the slab floated before dusk. Spears hadn’t screwed up anything, but it was only his second day. Javier was watching him.
Sander could not keep his dad from working on Sunday, though he insisted the hired help take the day off. He intended to push them, to wring every wage dollar out of these guys before he had to hire more, and he did not want them burning out. Besides, Sander had put off going back to First Unitarian long enough. It was on his mind more and more lately.
Sander purposely left early Sunday morning because he wanted to talk to Roger before his lecture, if possible. Roger was standing on the steps of the church smoking a cigarette when he drove up. There were no other cars there.
‘I thought you quit,’ Sander said.
‘I said I tried. It didn’t take. I’ll have one now and again.’ He studied it as though it was his first. ‘Stress drives me to vice.’ He tipped the ash and put it to his lips, drawing hard enough on the butt that the end glowed even in the sunlight.
Sander noticed he did look a little frazzled today. Then again, he didn’t know the man. Maybe this is how he always looks when he’s not in front of the congregation. Whatever, it seemed none of Sander’s business.
‘Nephilim?’ he said to Roger.
‘Yeah.’ Roger thumped his cigarette into the gravel but made no move to go inside. He kept looking at the butt down there, like he was thinking there might have been more in it. ‘Your mother talks to God?’
‘Is that what Jason told you?’ Then, ‘Jason says you talk to God, too.’
‘Sometimes. Has Josephine talked to Him lately?’
‘I’m ... not sure where you’re going with this, Roger. I guess most Christians talk to the Lord.’
‘Don’t be coy, Sander, please.’ That set Sander on edge. Roger saw it. ‘I know we’re talking about the same thing. She hears the voice of God.’
‘She says she does. I haven’t heard it.’
‘And you doubt her?’
‘Roger, I don’t think this is any of your business and it’s starting to piss me off. What is it you’re after?’
‘You mentioned Nephilim to her, in passing, or she saw it or something. Am I right?’
‘I asked her and dad both if they knew anybody by that name.’
‘You need to ask her again. Not about the name. Just ask her if God’s had anything to say lately. Would you do that?’
‘Absolutely not. If she had something to tell me, she would.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Roger.
Two cars pulled onto the gravel at the same time. A pickup truck was close behind.
‘I have to prepare,’ Roger said, and turned to go inside.
Sander stood there wondering whether he’d just been uninvited to attend service. Joyce, Neil, and Carla Rae climbed the steps together.
‘You gonna stand out here all morning?’
Sander didn’t know which one said it. More tires crunched in the gravel behind him. He went in and took his seat. Jason sauntered in a few minutes later and sat down beside him as the pews gradually filled.
‘Good to have you back.’
Sander turned to him. ‘How long have you known Roger?’
‘He moved here two or three years ago, donated this house to start the church. The bottom half, anyway. You forget your Bible?’
‘Don’t need it,’ said Sander. Then, ‘Seems like you told me you went to another church. Back when we first started talking about it.’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Jason recalled. ‘I was driving to Longview at the time. Calvary Chapel.’
Sander lowered his voice as the congregation settled in. ‘Then you found this place, or Roger found you?’
‘I think he came by the studio. Why?’
‘And how much have you told him about me and my family? Private things.’ Sander was looking straight ahead.
A shocked and wounded aura radiated from Jason as he stared at the side of Sander’s face. Sander felt sure any response would strike him as pitifully sanctimonious, so he was glad Roger was coming down the stairs.
Today’s service began rather lackluster in presentation, at least compared to the only other one Sander had seen. Roger invited less participation this time and he moved through the text more quickly. Sander had no problem keeping up, but he could tell that a few points needed to be revisited, broken down so the whole congregation might follow by
the light of their own logic, from question to revelation. This is what had impressed Sander so much at his last visit.
Instead, Roger hit the key points squarely on the head, then moved on, like it was a review. And maybe it was – this story of Abraham’s willingness to murder Isaac because God told him to – Sander couldn’t know. Yes, Roger again held his audience enrapt and displayed a knowledge of scripture that would shame a savant. But there was something building in his tone that ... What was it?
‘“Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest,”’ quoted Roger, punctuating the air with his chalk. ‘Just so we know, so there can be no illusions that Abraham had any grudge against the kid; God said take him up there on the mountain and kill him. Not because he had transgressed against the Lord. Not for any reason save testing Abraham. And without comment, Abraham saddled his ass the next morning and set off. He lied to his boy on the way up. Isaac wondered, “... but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” I can just hear him: “Daddy, we forgot the lamb.”
‘His father told him not to worry about it because, “God will provide himself a lamb.” Now, do you think once Isaac figured out he was the lamb, he just shrugged and climbed up on that altar? I mean, would you? Nuh-uh. Says in the next verse that Abraham bound him. Tied him up. Subdued and forced him down, in other words.’
Roger stopped and looked down as though Isaac’s wriggling body were on an imaginary altar before him. He stilled the boy with his empty hand and raised his chalk into the air like a knife, then stood like that while he met eyes with the congregation.
Sander knew what he was sensing before. There was anger here. Bile behind the words, barely disguised as a bit of drama for educational effect. Roger gave a half-hearted smile, lowered his chalk and the scene vanished. So, seemingly, did the anger.
‘Of course, Abe doesn’t butcher his son,’ continued Roger, with a decidedly professorial tone. ‘We all know God stops him. The conventional lesson gleaned from this story is unquestioning obedience. As such, Abraham’s is a fine example, but that message accounts only for the God perspective. Let’s take a look at the thing from Isaac’s point of view.’
As soon as Roger bid them good afternoon, Sander was on his way home. He hadn’t seen his grandparents in so long, he was elated that their car was in the drive when he pulled up. For the time, he forgot all about his brief conversation with Roger on the church steps.
‘Good lord, Doris,’ said Frank as Sander walked in the door, ‘look at this monster!’ Sander passed his father in the kitchen and Frank said, ‘Damn you people make a guy feel like a mouse turd.’
Doris wiped her hands on a dish towel and reached up to hug her grandson. She whispered, ‘He’s been into the whiskey this morning. We’ll get some food in his belly.’ Then, pushing back so she could have a look at him, ‘You look nice. Hungry?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll just go change.’
Frank didn’t sober up much during lunch, mainly owing to the Jack Daniel’s he kept adding to his iced tea. No matter, it was good to see and be seen by all. What with all that had been going on of late, their regular Sunday meal together had unintentionally fallen by the wayside. As Doris rounded up her husband and her Tupperware of leftovers, they resolved as a family to remedy that. Lunch on Sundays, at the ranch, unless there was some good excuse.
Once they were gone, Sander said, ‘Grandma doesn’t look so good.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jo, ‘she hasn’t been getting out much and she’s complaining about her legs hurting. When she called last night, I thought it would be nice to have them over. Forgot to tell you this morning.’
‘No, it’s great.’ Sander pondered on a diplomatic way to say this, couldn’t find one and so, ‘She’s gained a lot of weight.’
‘I know. It’s got me worried there’s something she’s not telling me.’
‘Diabetes,’ said Sander.
‘She won’t go to a doctor. I think it may be why dad’s drinking so much.’
Dalton said, ‘I’m gonna check the troughs.’ Before he slid the patio door closed, he added, ‘I don’t know why you don’t just talk to your folks. Easier than trying to guess what somebody’s thinking.’
Sander chewed on a toothpick while he collected his thoughts. Jo loaded the dishwasher.
‘I need to ask you something, mamma. It’s about the church.’ That wasn’t right. ‘No it aint. It’s about God.’
Jo stopped. ‘Okay.’
‘Has He said anything to you lately?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like anything. Has He spoken to you?’
‘Yes, He has, Sander. Just the other night.’
‘What did He say?’
‘I’m not sure it’s relevant. Anyway, I had a few things to say myself.’ She wiped the same spot on the counter over and over, round and round. ‘Sometimes we disagree. I don’t just take whatever, you know, He says at face value and I have my concerns and sometimes it takes a good while–’
‘Mom?’
‘He listens, too, damnit. He listens to me when I make sense.’ Sander waited. ‘He said that Jason’s church is not a good place for you. But only you can decide that, son.’
‘He didn’t say it in those words, though, did He?’
‘I can’t remember, exactly.’
His mother was lying and Sander knew it. He also knew it wouldn’t do any good to press her for more. Pans and dishes make a different clang when a woman has set her jaw. She had told him enough that he was sure there was more. Roger’s cryptic nervousness might not have been as baseless as it seemed. But the conversation was over.
Sander helped his dad prepare for tomorrow morning, ate dinner standing at the sink, then retired to his bedroom and gazed at the sheetrock ceiling for seven hours.
At breakfast, he and Dalton prepared a list of things they needed to have behind them by week’s end and Sander left with the big flatbed to pick up a load of feed and lumber before the hands arrived.
‘Good morning, stranger,’ said Allie, as Sander walked into the True Value. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while.’
‘I know. Kinda hectic this past week. I’ll get it under control.’
‘Come for your feed?’
‘Yeah. You working here all day?’
‘Dad’s sick. The flu or something, so I took off from school. The pallets are out back. Chain’s open.’
‘Do you feel sick?’
‘Nope.’
‘Can I have a kiss, then?’
Morning sunlight glinting off a windshield in the parking lot separated them. A man in overalls was making his way to the door.
‘Can we go out Friday?’ she asked. ‘Just a movie or something.’
‘Saturday’s better. I’ll call you.’ He turned to leave.
‘Hey,’ she called, ‘you’re a good kisser.’
The chain across the loading area in the back was unlocked, like Allie said, but Jaime’s forklift wouldn’t start. Sander checked the battery connections, the fuel tank, the glow plug leads, and every other part he could get to without stripping off the engine housing. He gave up after the better part of an hour and began loading feed sacks by hand. Each pallet held twenty hundred-pound bags, an even ton, and there were sixteen pallets. It was time consuming work. His next stop was McCoy’s to pick up lumber, then he was on his way back. It was nearly noon when he arrived. Michael Spears’ pickup was parked in front of the gate, so Sander pulled his loaded rig in behind. He heard voices from the barn and it sounded like the guys were on their break, so he decided to wait until he had something in his belly before telling them, one more time, do not block the gate.
He smelled lunch before he opened the side door to the kitchen. Peering into one of the ovens, he saw it was chicken spaghetti. Lots of cheese, chilies, and diced tomatoes. He went from fairly hungry to ravenous at the sight of the bubbling casserole dishes in there. Then he walked around the corner and saw Dalton sitting at the table, Jo rubbing his neck. Midday sun sil
houetted his parents from the patio door behind them, and Sander’s immediate thought was that he had never seen his dad this tired. He noticed wrinkles too, about Dalton’s brow, down the sides of his face, and deep ones where his throat met his chest. He tried to unsee them.
‘You sick? Allie said there’s flu going around,’ said Sander. ‘Jaime never missed a day of–’ but by that time, he had reached his end of the table opposite Dalton’s and could see by the overhead light a blood stain on his dad’s collar. ‘What happened?’
His mamma wouldn’t look at him. The corner of Dalton’s forehead was laid open at the hairline and it looked like he needed stitches.
Dalton said, ‘Awe, that jerk blindsided me. Caught me with the edge of a shovel. Shouldn’t have turned my back on him.’
‘Who did? Where?’ Sander turned loose the back of his chair and its heavy oak legs thudded on the tile.
‘It’s nothing, son. Let’s eat.’
‘Dad, who hit you?’
‘The new guy. Spears. He showed up three hours late and stinking of booze, so I had to let him go. Javier’s already called his brother-in-law to replace him.’
That was Spears’ truck Sander had hemmed in at the gate and he knew it. He covered the length of the table and blew by his mom and dad in two strides.
‘Don’t. He’s leaving,’ Dalton said, but Sander was already out the door. ‘Stop him, Jo.’
She ran out on the patio hollering after her boy.
Michael Spears now sat in the cab of his truck, door open and feet on the ground, drinking from a pint of whiskey. The Smitherman brothers were eating their lunch in the shade of the barn as Spears shouted at them, telling them to go get somebody to move this fuckin’ feed wagon so he could go home. When he laughed, he looked like a jackass eating briars. The noise carried across the acres and that laughter was a bellows to the blaze in Sander.
Michael followed Larry’s eyes and saw Sander coming, fast. He dropped the bottle on the floorboard, swung his feet into the cab and slammed the door. The truck engine sputtered and died. He was pumping the accelerator like hell, trying the ignition again when Sander reached him. Spears scurried over and slid out the other side when Sander punched through the window, pulled the locked door from its hinges and tossed it. Spears rolled himself over the gate and lit out across the pasture on all fours. He rose, stumbled past the barn, and barreled headlong through the tall grass without looking back.
The Legend of Sander Grant Page 9