“No, it would have hit no matter who was president.” The talk turned to politics, and afterwards Amos asked Jerry, “You don’t like Bonnie going out with Peters, do you?”
“None of my business. She’s a grown woman.” The answer was curt, and Jerry turned away at once. There was almost a deadness in him that Amos hated to see.
Later he spoke to Lylah, who said, “Jerry’s always been such a—a vibrant young man. Now he seems just lost. We’ve got to do something! If he only knew God, that would help, but he seems to have put a wall around himself. He won’t listen to anybody.”
“What about Peters? What kind of a man is he?”
“Actually, not bad for a Hollywood movie star.”
“That’s like saying that someone’s not bad, except for being a bank robber. You don’t like him?”
“I don’t like Bonnie going with him. She’s at a dangerous age and in a dangerous frame of mind. I think she could make a big mistake.” Her eyes grew troubled and she said, “I feel like she’s my own daughter, but who am I to talk to a young woman about making a mistake?” Bitterness tinged her tone and at once Amos went to her and put his arm around her.
“I think you’ve done pretty well, Sister,” he said. “I’m proud of you.” Tears came in her eyes as he kissed her cheek, and the two felt as close as they always had.
Bonnie was aware that her dates with Brent Peters were displeasing to her family. Lylah had talked to her, hinting at the fact that Peters was a smooth operator and not one to make a firm commitment to any woman. “I know that!” Bonnie had said shortly. “That’s nothing to me. I’m just having fun.”
Lylah had longed to say more, but she had seen the stubbornness in Bonnie’s eyes. Later she had said, “Jesse, Bonnie’s twenty-seven. She’s turned down two or three decent young men. Now I’m afraid Brent Peters may be too much for her. But I can’t talk to her. She’s sweet, but she’s got a stubborn streak in her.”
Driving home after the opera, Bonnie was laughing at Peters’s description of it. He was a witty man and she liked his company very much. Finally she said, “It was fun, Brent, but I don’t think I want to go to an opera again very soon.”
“You don’t like music?”
“Oh, I think you have to start learning opera when you’re very young.” A smile touched her lips and she laughed softly. “I can’t imagine a world where everybody sings when they want someone to pass the butter.”
Peters found this amusing, and when he stopped the car in front of the house, she turned to get out, but he touched her arm and said, “Bonnie—”
Bonnie turned to him, noting that he was serious. “What’s wrong, Brent?”
For a moment he said nothing. He was a handsome man in the prime of his life. His black hair gleamed and there was a serious look in his dark eyes. “I’ve been thinking that you and I might be able to make a life together.”
Bonnie was stunned. She had never once thought that Brent Peters would consider her in the light of marriage. “Oh, you don’t mean that, Brent. I’m not from your world—I never could be.”
“My world’s not too great.” Peters made no attempt to touch her. He turned toward her, however, and his chiseled face was handsome in the moonlight. “I’ve never known an unselfish woman before, but I think you are one.”
“You’re wrong about that!”
“I don’t think I am. Most of the time women go with me because—well—I’m a movie star. If I were a mechanic, they wouldn’t give me a second look. But I think you’re different. Do you feel anything at all for me?”
“Why, I like you, Brent.”
“That’s a pretty weak word—like.” He studied her for a moment, then said, “I won’t rush you, but think about me as a man you might marry. I know,” he said quickly, “I’m a two-time loser. Twice I’ve said I loved women and married them. But both times we were looking out for number one.” Then he did touch her, but it was a gentle touch. Reaching out, he let his hand rest on her cheek and said, “You’re very beautiful—but that’s not why I feel what I do for you. You’ve got something inside you that draws me. I’m pretty selfish myself, always wanting my own way. I’ve got some bad habits—” He smiled, then leaned over and kissed her smooth cheek. “But the right woman could reform me. Think about it!”
Bonnie did think about it—indeed she thought of little else. But she spoke to no one about what had happened. The next day, she asked Jesse where Jerry was and was told, “At the cemetery, I suppose. He goes there every afternoon, you know.”
Bonnie stared at him then said, “I need to take the car, Jesse. I’m going to talk to him.”
“That might be a good thing. Go ahead, Bonnie. He’s pretty lost.”
Forty-five minutes later, Bonnie pulled up beside the cemetery, on the edge of the Hollywood community. The green grass was neatly trimmed and the stones were all evenly spaced. She saw Jerry sitting on a bench next to Cara’s grave and went at once to him. He looked up and a strange look came into his face as he rose. “Hello, Bonnie,” he said quietly. “Nothing wrong, is there?”
Bonnie said sharply, “Sit down, Jerry! Yes, there is something wrong.” She waited until they were seated and then said, “I don’t know how to say this, Jerry, except to tell you right out. I never was good with words, like Jesse is.”
Jerry was staring at her. She was wearing a light green blouse and a brown skirt. The wind blew softly through her hair and he studied her intently. “What’s the matter?”
“You’ve got to give her up!”
“What?”
“You’ve got to give Cara up. You can’t go around carrying her death on your conscience. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I–I guess it was, in a way. I should have done something.”
“There was nothing you could have done. She was very strong willed. You knew that. Everyone knew that . . .” She went on talking for a while but hope ebbed and finally she repeated, “You’ve got to give her up, Jerry.”
Jerry stared at her bleakly. He stood to his feet and she rose with him. “I can’t just throw a switch. You can’t get rid of people who are in your heart, can you, Bonnie? Could you do that?”
The question made Bonnie pause and she said quickly, “No, Jerry, I couldn’t do that.” She turned and walked away, and Jerry slumped on the bench, staring blindly at the polished marble stone.
UNDER SIEGE
By the time the siege had lasted three days, Maury was beginning to wonder how they would ever hold out. Water was not a problem, since they had a pump that gave plenty of fresh water for drinking and for washing, but Maury and Violet had begun to cut the food rations down. She was cooking a pot of dandelion greens, which Violet had taught her how to do, when Pete hobbled in and sat down heavily, his face wet with sweat. “What’s that cooking?” he inquired.
“Dandelion greens.” Maury forced a smile and said, “I never thought I’d be reduced to eating weeds, but Violet says they’re good.”
“I always liked them.” Pete looked at the tall woman carefully and asked quietly, “How are you doing, Maury? Not your cup of tea exactly.”
“Pete, I don’t see how they can do this to us,” she said. “Are they that strong, Kingman Oil?”
“Yes, they are.”
“But you have a lease.”
“That doesn’t mean much.”
“Can’t you do anything?”
“I could get an injunction. But what if I do?” Pete shrugged. “Kingman will file a countersuit. They’ll find something to go to law about. The case will go to the courts.” He leaned back in his chair and tapped the cane, which he was able to use instead of crutches, on the floor.
She looked carefully at Pete and said, “Surely the law will be some help.”
“No, it won’t. The courts will delay everything, extensions, motions, change of venue. Then about five years from now they might make some kind of decision.”
“How can they do that?”
“How can th
ey do that?” Pete echoed. “Where’ve you been, Maury? These people own the courts. That’s why nobody comes out a winner in a fight against these big oil companies. They’ve got you, they’ve got the money, and they can wait and hold out.”
Maury looked up and asked quietly, “What are you going to do?”
“Pray that we hit oil. If we do that, their little siege line won’t mean nothin’.”
“What would happen then?”
“There’d be people in here in thirty minutes waving contracts in my face to buy all the oil that we could pump outta here. It would blow Kingman away, and he can’t stand the thought of that.”
A week later Pete was talking to Dent late one afternoon and said, “Dent, we’re gonna pull a little stunt tonight.”
“What’s up, Pete?”
“I’ve been watching their lines. After dark I think we could sneak out. But first, we’re gonna rig a little surprise. Sooner or later, they’re gonna try to bust in here. I want to put up an alarm system.”
“Wish we had my dogs here from back home. That’d be all the alarm system we need. What’s on your mind, Pete?”
After darkness fell, Pete led Dent out, carrying a bunch of sticks that he had broken off into three-foot lengths and sharpened. They made their way halfway down the slope and he drove one into the ground. “Now,” he whispered, “drive one in about ten feet away down there.”
Dent obeyed, and then they tied a string between the sticks about a foot off the ground. “Now,” Pete whispered, “take those cans out and tie two of ’em together about four or five feet apart.” He had filled a sack with cans from their own private garbage heap out back of the house, and finally Dent saw what Pete had on his mind.
“If somebody clumsy comes up this slope, dragging his hands or feet across that string, he’s gonna set them to jangling.”
“Give us a little bit of warning,” Pete nodded. “Now, come on. I’ve spotted a thin spot in their defenses.”
The guards had grown careless. Some of them had gathered around a fire, so that Pete and Dent crept through without any trouble. When they were outside the line, Pete said, “Now, the trouble is getting a ride to town.”
“What’re we gonna do when we get to town?”
“I’ll show you. We’ve gotta have something more to fight back with.”
It took only thirty minutes to get a ride. A farmer came by and stopped his truck long enough to pick them up. Thirty minutes later they were in town, in the back room of the hardware store. The owner’s name was Rooney, and he grinned at Pete, saying, “I thought you’d be coming to make a buy.”
“I don’t have much money,” Pete warned.
“Well, you gotta have something to fight Kingman off with and I’m the only place you’ve got to get it from. What do you think about these little dandies?”
Rooney picked up a pry bar and ripped the top off a crate, one of many piled around the perimeter of the room. Lifting off the top, he waved proudly, “How about that?”
Pete and Dent moved in and there, inside the box, were hand grenades, all packed carefully in straw, like eggs in a nest.
Dent took a deep breath but said nothing.
“Finest hand grenades you can buy,” Rooney said. “Better’n dynamite! If the blast don’t get ’em, the steel will.”
Pete reached out, picked one up, hefted it in his hand. “Pretty heavy,” he commented.
“Yeah, that’s the good thing about them. You don’t have to throw them, not on that hill where you are.”
“What do you mean?” Pete inquired.
“All you have to do is just roll ’em down. Any time Kingman gives you any trouble, roll a few of these down. You’ll see how bashful fellows get when they’re facing live hand grenades.”
“All right,” Pete said, “but you’ll have to deliver ’em.”
“Can’t do that. Kingman won’t let anybody through. You know that, Pete.”
“We can get ’em in,” Dent said suddenly. “Might have to make a few trips but they’re not watching very careful. I’ll bring Bailey, if I have to. He can carry both of these in one trip.”
“How much?” Pete demanded.
“Well, let’s see—fifty—we’ll let ’em go for maybe twenty-five a case. What do you say?”
Pete paid the man off out of a thin roll of bills. He said, “You’ll have to drive us back close to the camp.”
It actually went very smoothly. Rooney drove them back, and they deposited the two cases of hand grenades under a shrub and made their way back through the lines. Dent came back with Bailey, who carried both cases as lightly as if they were filled with air.
“Don’t tell anybody about this, Dent,” Pete said, as they stashed the grenades in an equipment shack under a pile of rusted pipe. “Might make the others nervous.”
“What are they, Mr. Pete?” Bailey inquired.
“Something to discourage folks from coming to visit us.” Dent winked at Pete and nudged Bailey in the ribs. “Come on, we’ll have to go to work early in the morning if we’re going to hit that oil.”
Somehow Pete Stuart’s stubbornness had become a cause to Horace Kingman. He had become accustomed to easy victories, but now the little colony perched on the hill and the sound of the drill slowly cutting its way down through the hard rock infuriated him. He had established a headquarters at the site and had restrained himself for three weeks. Now, as the month was coming to an end, he decided it was time to do something. Calling Ollie Bean and Ted into his tent, he stared at them grimly. “All right, we’re gonna make it a little bit harder on our friend Stuart.”
Bean shifted his feet nervously. When he spoke, the gap in his front teeth made his words a little fuzzy and hard to understand. He kept his lips closed as much as possible. Nothing had ever embarrassed him so much as being mutilated in this fashion by a single blow from a man. “What’s on your mind, Horace?” he said.
“We’re gonna make life a little more interesting.” Horace Kingman pulled his shoulders back and glanced up in the fading light to where the shack sat on the hill. The derrick was outlined against the gray sky. A few stars, dimly seen, surrounded it as twilight fell. “As soon as it gets good and dark, take a bunch of the fellows, and go shoot the place up.”
“You mean, really shoot at ’em?” Bean asked. This time he did smile and nod, the gap between his teeth obvious. “Good! I’ll let ’em have it.”
“Don’t kill anybody, Bean,” Horace Kingman warned. “Stuart’s got to have a little sense. When he sees bullets flying around those women and kids up there, I think he’ll cave in. I don’t know what they’re eating up there anyhow. They must be getting through the lines.”
“No, sir! Nobody gets through my lines!” Bean said, stung by the words. “Are you sure you don’t want to at least draw a bead on some of the men?”
“Not in the dark, you fool. All we’d need is to have a child shot up there. We’d have every do-gooder newspaper writer in the country down on our necks. Naw, keep your shots high. Wouldn’t hurt to knock the chimney down, maybe, something like that. Okay! Go after it.”
“Dad, I don’t think we ought to do this. There’s no point in it. They can’t hold out much longer.”
Ted Kingman had said nothing more to his father about his opposition to starving out the Stuarts, but now, looking at Bean’s piggish eyes, he knew this was something that could explode in their faces. He said as much. “Like you say, Dad, if a woman or child gets hit, you know what the papers will say.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna get hit,” Bean said. “My guys know how to shoot. I’ll tell ’em to aim high.”
Kingman turned to his son, saying, “I want you to go along. Take a gun and be a leader for once in your life.”
The younger man tried to meet his father’s eyes, but he was unaccustomed to standing in his way. He said nothing, but later that night when Bean and his men moved out, he went along with them. He had a pistol that had been forced on him by his father, but
he had taken the shells out of it and thrown them away. Now, with an empty gun, he moved ahead into the darkness.
Up at the shack, the alarm sounded abruptly. Dent and Pete had been sitting on the front porch late that night talking. Almost everybody else was in bed, except for Bailey, who sat with his back against the wall of the house. They had been quiet for some time when suddenly a tinny sound came to them.
“That’s the alarm!” Dent said quickly. “Somebody’s coming up the hill!”
“I think they’re gonna try it! Quick! Get the grenades!”
The two men raced to the shed and Pete said, “I didn’t think they’d be fool enough to try it.”
A shot rang through the air and a piece flew off the chimney. “Keep down!” Pete shouted. “Bailey, pick up one of those cases of grenades and follow me!”
The full moon had come out, so as the three men made their way around to the side of the house they could see that men were coming. Now the shots began to echo, most of them hitting the roof of the house. “Gimme one of those grenades!” Pete demanded. “Dent, you put yours down in that gully over there. See where they’re coming up?”
“Yeah, I see ’em.” Dent grabbed a grenade and ran over twenty feet. The grade fell away shortly into a steep incline. He took a deep breath, pulled the pin, and thought to himself, I hope this thing doesn’t go off when I turn it loose. He then sent it rolling down the hill. He could not see the grenade, of course, although the moonlight outlined the men brightly. He waited for a few seconds and thought, The thing didn’t work! Then there was an explosion and a red flash illuminated the landscape. Shouts of pain and alarm followed, and Dent laughed as he called out, “Come on! We got plenty more!” Immediately, a grenade went off to his left where Pete had loosed it at another group.
The three men moved around the house, tossing the hand grenades down. Some of the grenades failed to explode, but others went off stunningly. “Keep down! Keep in the house!” Dent yelled when Violet stepped outside the door. “Shut the door and stay inside!”
A Season of Dreams Page 21