"I guess no Indian would dare bother you," Augustus said. "They know they wouldn't stand a chance." "We kept some of them alive the last few winters, once the buffalo were gone," Clara said.
"Bob gives them old horses.
Horse meat's better than nothing." She put a little milk in the baby's bottle and showed Lorena how to feed him. The baby stared up solemnly at Lorena as he drank.
"He's taken with you, Miss Wood," Clara said. "He's never seen a blonde, I guess." The baby took a sneezing fit and Lorena was afraid she had done something wrong, but Clara merely laughed at her anxiety and the child soon settled down.
A little later, while Clara was frying the chicken, Call came up from the lots. He wanted to buy some horses and had found some to his liking, but neither Cholo nor July would make the deal. They had shown him the horses readily enough, but informed him that Clara made all the deals. It seemed irregular to him: two grown men right there, and yet he was forced to do business with a woman.
"I was told you're the horse trader," he said.
"Yes," Clara said. "I'm the horse trader. You girls finish this chicken and I'll see what Captain Call has picked out." She looked again at the boy who had blushed when she smiled at him. He was saying something to Sally and didn't notice her look. To her eye he was the spitting image of Captain Call, built the same way, and with the same movements. So why is your name Dobbs? she wondered.
On their way to the lots Call tried to think of something to say, but he was at a loss. "You have a pretty ranch," he said finally. "I hope we do as well in Montana." "I just hope you get there alive," Clara said. "You ought to settle around here and wait five years. I imagine Montana will be safer by then.
It ain't safe now." "We're set on being the first there," Call said. "It can't be no rougher than Texas used to be." Clara set such a stiff price for her horses that Call was tempted to balk. He felt sure he would have done better with her husband, if he had been up and about. There was something uncompromising in Clara's look when she named the prices. It was as if she dared him to bargain. He had bargained over many a horse in his day, but never with a woman. He felt shy. Worse, he felt she didn't like him, though so far as he could remember he had never given her any reason to take offense. He studied the situation in silence for several minutes --so long that Clara grew impatient.
Newt had followed them, thinking the Captain might need him to help with the horses if he bought some. He could see that the Captain was mighty put out with the woman. It surprised him that she didn't seem to care. When the Captain was put out with the men, they cared, but the woman just stood there, her brown hair blowing, not caring in the least and not giving an inch. It was shocking: he had never expected to see anyone stand up to the Captain, except maybe Mr. Gus.
"I'm neglecting my guests," Clara said.
"There's no telling when I'll get to see Gus McCrae again. You take all the time you want to think it over." Newt was even more shocked. The Captain didn't say a word. It was almost as if the woman had issued him an order.
The woman turned and as she did, she looked at Newt. Before he could drop his eyes she had caught him looking at her in turn. He felt greatly embarrassed, but to his surprise Clara smiled again, a friendly smile that vanished when she turned back to the Captain.
"Well, it's a stiff price, but they're good horses," Call said, wondering how the men could bring themselves to work for such a testy woman.
Then he remembered that the younger man had been the sheriff chasing Jake. "You come from Arkansas, don't you?" he asked.
"Fort Smith," July said.
"We hung your man for you," Call said.
"He fell in with a bad bunch. We caught them up in Kansas." For a second, July didn't remember what he was talking about. It seemed a life ago that he had left Fort Smith in pursuit of Jake Spoon. He had long since ceased to give the man any thought. The news that he was dead did not affect him.
"I doubt I would have caught him myself," July said. "I had horse trouble, up around Dodge." When Clara got back to the house she was in high color. The way Call had stood there silently, not even asking a question or making an offer, just waiting for her to come down on the price, struck her as arrogant. The more she thought about it, the less hospitable she felt toward the man.
"I can't say that I'm fond of your partner," she said to Augustus. He had talked the girls out of some chicken gizzards and was eating them off a plate.
"He ain't skilled with the ladies," Augustus said, amused that she was angry. As long as she wasn't angry at him, it just made her the better-looking.
"Ma, shall we take buttermilk?" Betsey asked. She and Sally had changed dresses without their mother's permission, and were so excited by the prospect of a picnic that they could hardly keep still.
"Yes, today we feast," Clara said. "I asked Cholo to hitch the little wagon. One of you go change that baby, he's rather fragrant." "I'll help," Lorena said. It surprised Augustus, but she went off upstairs with the girls. Clara stood listening as their footsteps went up the stairs. Then she turned her deep-gray eyes on Augustus.
"She's hardly older than my daughters," Clara said.
"Don't you be scolding me," he said. "It ain't my fault you went off and got married." "If I'd married you, you would have left me for somebody younger and stupider long before now, I imagine," Clara said. To his surprise she came over and stood near him for a moment, putting one of her large, strong hands on his shoulder.
"I like your girl," she said. "What I don't like is that you spent all these years with Woodrow Call. I detest that man and it rankles that he got so much of you and I got so little. I think I had the better claim." Augustus was taken aback. The anger in her was in her eyes again, this time directed at him.
"Where have you been for the last fifteen years?" she asked.
"Lonesome Dove, mostly," he said. "I wrote you three letters." "I got them," she said. "And what did you accomplish in all that time?" "Drank a lot of whiskey," Augustus said.
Clara nodded and went back to packing the picnic basket. "If that was all you accomplished you could have done it in Ogallala and been a friend to me," she said. "I lost three boys, Gus. I needed a friend." "You ought to wrote me that, then," he said. "I didn't know." Clara's mouth tightened. "I hope I meet a man sometime in my life who can figure such things out," she said. "I wrote you but I tore up the letters. I figured if you didn't come of your own accord you wouldn't be no good to me anyway." "Well, you was married," he said, not knowing why he bothered to argue.
"I was never so married but what I could have managed a friend," she said. "I want you to look at Bob before you go. The poor man's laid up there for two months, wasting away." The anger had died out of her eyes. She came and sat down in a chair, looking at him in the intent way she had, as if reading in his face the events of the fifteen years he had spent away from her.
"Where'd you get Miss Wood?" she asked.
"She's been in Lonesome Dove a while," he said.
"Doing what?" "Doing what she could, but don't you hold it against her," he said.
Clara looked at him coolly. "I don't judge women that harsh," she said. "I might have done the same under some circumstances." "I doubt it," he said.
"Yes, but you don't know as much about women as you like to think you do," Clara said. "You're overrated in that regard." "By God, you're sassy," Augustus said.
Clara just smiled, her old beguiling smile.
"I'm honest," she said. "To most men, that's sassy." "Well, it might interest you to know that Lorie started this trip with your old friend Jake Spoon," Augustus said. "He was his usual careless self and let her get kidnapped by a real rough man." "Oh, so you rescued her?" Clara said. "No wonder she worships you. What happened to Jake?" "He met a bad end," Augustus said.
"We hung him. He was with a gang of murderers." Clara didn't flinch at the news. She heard the girls coming back down the stairs.
Lorena was carrying the baby. Clara stood up so Lorena coul
d sit. The baby's eyes followed her.
"Betsey, go find July and the men and ask them if they want to wash up before we go," she said.
"I doubt you can get Woodrow Call to go to your picnic," Augustus said. "He'll be wanting to get back to work." But Call went. He had come back to the house, still trying to think of a way to talk Clara down on the horses, only to find the girls loading a small wagon, Lorena holding a baby and Gus carrying a crock of buttermilk.
"Could you drive for us, Captain?" Clara asked, handing him the reins to the little mule team before he could answer. With such a crowd there watching he couldn't muster a protest, and he drove the little wagon three miles west on the Platte to a place where there were a few small cottonwoods.
"It ain't as nice as our place on the Guadalupe, Gus, but it's the best we can do," Clara said.
"Oh, your orchard, you mean," Augustus said.
Clara looked puzzled for a moment--she had forgotten that that was what they called the picnic spot on the Guadalupe.
The day remained fair, and the picnic was a great success for everyone except Captain Call and July Johnson, both of whom felt awkward and merely waited for it to be over. The girls tried to get July to wade in the Platte, but he resisted solemnly. Newt waded, and then Lorena, rolling up her pants, and Lorena and Betsey walked far downstream, out of sight of the party. The baby dozed in the shade, while Clara and Augustus bantered. The long gap in their communications proved no hindrance at all. Then Augustus rolled up .his pants and waded with the girls, while Clara and Lorena watched. All the food was consumed, Call drinking about half the buttermilk himself. He had always loved buttermilk and had not had any for a long time.
"You don't plan on returning to Arkansas, Mr. Johnson?" he asked.
"I don't know that I will," July said. In fact, he had given no thought to his future at all.
Augustus ate most of the fried chicken and marveled at how comfortable Lorena seemed to be. She liked the girls, and seeing her with them reminded him that she was not much more than a girl herself, despite her experiences. He knew that she had been advanced too quickly into life, though perhaps not so far to yet enjoy a bit of girlhood.
When it came time to go back to the ranch he helped Lorie into the wagon with the girls, and he and Clara walked behind. Newt, who had enjoyed the picnic mightily, fell inffconversation with Sally and rode beside the wagon. Lorena didn't seem concerned--she and Betsey had taken to one another at once, and were chatting happily.
"You should leave that girl here," Clara said, startling Augustus. He had been thinking the same thing.
"I doubt she'd stay," he said.
"If you stay out of it she might," Clara said.
"I'll ask her. You have no business taking a girl like that into Montana. She might not survive." "In some ways she ain't so young," he said.
"I like her," Clara said, ignoring him. "I expect you'll marry her and I'll have to watch you have five or six babies in your old age. I guess I'd be annoyed, but I could live with it.
Don't take her up to Montana. She'll either die or get killed, or else she'll age before her time, like I have." "I can't tell that you've aged much," Augustus said.
"You've just been around me one day," Clara said. "There's certain things I can still do and certain things I'm finished with." "What things are you finished with?" he asked.
"You'd find out if you stayed around me much," Clara said.
"I notice you've taken a fancy to young Mr. Johnson," Augustus said. "I expect if I did stay around he'd beat me out." "He's nearly as dull as Woodrow Call, but he's nicer," Clara said. "He'll do what he's told, mostly, and I've come to appreciate that quality in a man. I could never count on you to do what you're told." "So do you aim to marry him?" "No, that's one of the things I'm through with," Clara said. "Of course I ain't quite--poor Bob ain't dead. But if he passes away, I'm through with it." Clara smiled. Augustus chuckled. "I hope you ain't contemplating an irregular situation," he said.
Clara smiled. "What's irregular about having a boarder?" she asked. "Lots of widows take boarders. Anyway, he likes my girls better than he likes me. He might be ready to marry again by the time Sally's of age." At that moment Sally was chattering away to young Newt, who was getting his first taste of conversation with a sprightly young lady.
"Who's his mother?" Clara asked. She liked the boy's looks, and also his manners. "I never knew Call was prone to ladies," she added.
"Oh, Woodrow ain't," Augustus said.
"He can barely stand to be within fifty yards of you." "I know that," Clara said. "He's been stiff all day because I won't bargain away my horses. My price is my price. But that boy's his, and don't you tell me he ain't.
They walk alike, they stand alike, and they look alike." "I expect you're right," Augustus said.
"Yes, I'm right," Clara said. "You ain't answered my question." "His mother was a woman named Maggie," he said. "She was a whore. She died when Newt was young." "I like that boy," Clara said. "I'd keep him too, if I got the chance. He's about the age my Johnny would be, if Johnny had lived." "Newt's a fine boy," Augustus said.
"It's a miracle, ain't it, when one grows up nice," Clara said. "He's got a quiet way, that boy. I like that. It's surprising to find gentle behavior when his father is Captain Call." "Oh, Newt don't know Call's his father," Augustus said. "I expect he's heard hints, but he don't know it." "And Call don't claim him, when anybody can see it?" Clara said, shocked. "I never had much opinion of Call, and now I have less." "Call don't like to admit mistakes," Augustus said. "It's his way." "What mistake?" Clara said.
"I wouldn't call it a mistake if I raised a boy that nice. My Johnny had wildness in him. I couldn't handle him, though he died when he was seven. I expect he'd have ended like Jake.
Now where'd it come from? I ain't wild, and Bob ain't wild." "I don't know," Augustus said.
"Well, I had two sweet ones, though," Clara said. "My last one, Jimmy, was the sweetest. I ain't been the same since that child died. It's a wonder the girls aren't worse-behaved than they are. I don't consider that I've ever had the proper feeling for them. It went out of me that winter I lost Jeff and Johnny." They walked in silence for a while.
"Why don't you tell that boy who his pa is?" Clara said. "I'd do it, if he was around here long. He should know who his pa is. He's got to wonder." "I always thought Call would work up to it, eventually," Augustus said. "I still think so." "I don't," Clara said.
A big gray wolf loped up out of the river- bed, looked at them for a moment, and loped on.
Ahead, the baby was fretting, and the girls and Lorena were trying to shush it.
When they got back to the ranch, Call gave in and told Clara he'd pay her price for the horses. He didn't like it, but he couldn't stay around there forever, and her horses were in far better condition than the nags he had looked at in Ogallala.
"Fine, go help him, boys," Clara said.
Cholo and July went off to help. Newt was helping the girls carry the remains of the picnic in.
He was sorry they were leaving. Sally had been telling him all she planned to do when she grew up. She was going East to school and then planned to play the piano professionally, she said. That seemed unusual to Newt. The only musician he knew was Lippy, and he couldn't imagine Sally doing what Lippy did. But he enjoyed listening to her talk about her future life.
As he was coming down the steps, Clara stopped him. She put an arm across his shoulder and walked him to his horse. No woman had ever done such a thing with him.
"Newt, we've enjoyed having you," Clara said. "I want you to know that if Montana don't suit you, you can just head back here. I'll give you all the work you can stand." "I'd like to," Newt said. He meant it.
Since meeting the girls and seeing the ranch, he had begun to wonder why they were taking the herd so far. It seemed to him Nebraska had plenty of room.
For most of the trip Newt had supposed that nothing could be better than being allowed to be a cowboy, but now
that they had got to Nebraska, his thinking was changing. Between the Buffalo Heifer and the other whores in Ogallala and Clara's spirited daughters, he had begun to see that a world with women in it could be even more interesting. The taste he had of that world seemed all too brief. Though he had been more or less scared of Clara all day, and was still a little scared of her, there was something powerfully appealing about her, too.
"Thank you for the picnic," he said. "I never went on one before." Something in the boy touched Clara. Boys had always touched her--far more than girls. This one had a lonely look in his eye although he also had a quick smile.
"Come back when you can, we'll go on many more," she said. "I believe Sally's taken a fancy to you." Newt didn't know what to say to that. He got on his horse. "I expect I better go help, ma'am," he said.
Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove Page 89