The Audacity of Goats

by J. F. Riordan

  “Now, where were we?”

  “Nowhere really, yet.” She was silent as she drank her coffee.

  “You are thinking rather loudly,” observed Pete.

  “I saw you talking with Dean Hillard last night. What was that about?”

  “Jake is right. He’s a slime bag.”

  “Actually, I think I led you astray. What Jake actually says is ‘scum bag.’”

  “They would both apply.”

  “Yes. So, what did he want?”

  Pete put his cup down and turned to her. He cupped her face gently in his hands, and looked seriously into her eyes.

  “There is no reason on earth that we should waste our precious time together discussing that slime-slash-scum bag. Life is short.”

  Fiona grinned. “Yes, it is. And Jake really has a way with words, hasn’t he?”

  “I like Jake,” said Pete. “He promised to show me his technique for attaching dollar bills to the ceiling at Nelsen’s.” He looked at her, considering. “But on the whole, I think I’d rather stay in tonight.”

  After the morning group had dispersed, Shay was seated at the counter at Ground Zero sipping her coffee. The Angel Joshua was nearby, radiating peace and joy as he polished the coffee machine, while Roger took inventory of supplies.

  “So, Roger, I’ve been thinking about you,” began Shay.

  Roger looked up from his task and gazed at her with a scientist’s intensity. He said nothing.

  Brimming with innocent enthusiasm, Shay continued. “You know. Thinking about how I can help you get to the next level. And, well, I’m leading a group on a yoga retreat to Utah. It’s past the deadline to register, but I’m sure there’s room. You should come.”

  “I am already registered,” said Roger mechanically.

  Joshua looked up, studied Roger for a moment, and silently went back to his polishing.

  Shay was astonished. “You are?”

  “Yes,” said Roger. “I saw the flyer in Sturgeon Bay and contacted the travel agency that was listed.”

  “And you signed up when you saw I was leading?” Shay smiled modestly. “That’s really sweet, Roger.”

  Roger’s face registered no change, but he shook his head.

  “No.”

  Shay looked at him quizzically. “No?”

  “I didn’t know you were leading.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No. I just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to improve my technique.”

  Shay shrugged good-naturedly, and beamed her sunny smile. “Well, that’s what I call fate! I’m really glad you can make it. You’ll love it.”

  Roger gazed at her without changing his expression.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Elisabeth was in the kitchen when Roger got home that night. She was standing by the stove, stirring a pot au feu that had been her great grandmother’s recipe. There was an open bottle of wine and two glasses on the table.

  She had been waiting for him before pouring a glass for herself, a break in her usual habit, but she wanted to remain clear-headed for the conversation she had planned. They would have a glass together, they would have dinner, and she would not confront him. She would ask. She would ask him what had happened. He would tell her when she asked. Roger was not a liar, and she doubted whether he was even capable of minor dissembling.

  Elisabeth knew what she had seen. But she needed to hear him tell it. She needed him to know she knew. More than anything, she needed this terrible weight on her chest to be lifted.

  Roger walked into the kitchen, bringing the cold air with him. Rocco greeted him joyously, and Roger stooped to rub the big dog’s ears.

  “Hello, Roger,” said Elisabeth calmly as he came to her and kissed her dutifully on the cheek. “Would you like some wine?”

  “Yes,” said Roger. And then, “Do you feel better?”

  Elisabeth shrugged, “A bit. I thought we should have a nice dinner. We haven’t had dinner together all week.”

  Roger nodded. “I want to tell you about my plans,” he said seriously. “I have plans for the future.”

  Elisabeth, her heart softening, turned to face him.

  “Oh? What plans?”

  “I am going to go away for a week. I leave on Saturday.”

  Whatever Elisabeth had been expecting, it had not been this.

  “That’s a bit sudden. This is Thursday.” Her outer calm did not reflect the turmoil within. “Where are you going?”

  “To Shay’s yoga workshop in Utah. She says it will help me make the next step.”

  Elisabeth’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And what step would that be?”

  Roger looked puzzled. He knew that something was wrong. He searched his brain for some clue. He looked at his wife. She was wearing jeans and a heavy white sweater. Her hair was loose and falling around her shoulders. Her complexion was rosy from the warmth of the room. Suddenly he remembered, and looking at her with a profound sense of satisfaction he said, “You look nice. You look very nice in that.”

  Weeping with fury, Elisabeth fled the room.

  Ben was a faithful friend to the herd of deer that had learned to trust him. Almost every day after school, no matter the weather, Ben made his way to the watering place. Sometimes there would be nothing there but tracks, or it would be too cold or wet to wait, but he always left some food anyway. On other days, if he waited patiently, they would appear, one by one. He had learned to settle himself on a large rock nearby, and to listen for the sounds of their approach.

  Soon it began to seem that the herd had learned to time their visits to meet him, and although there was only one member who easily approached him, the others had come to accept his presence. A sudden move or a sneeze would send them scattering, but otherwise, they grazed peacefully as he watched. When something startled them, they would stop to stare with their big brown eyes, nervously flicking their ears, and if they were not reassured by what their senses told them, they would make their sudden flight into the brush, their white tails high as they leapt and ran. Ben’s particular friend would follow then, too, but clumsily, with his awkward gait.

  It was The Angel Joshua, not Roger, who took it upon himself to make arrangements for the men’s yoga group to continue their practice while Roger was away. Roger’s indifference to the group’s presence made him utterly unconscious of their being affected in any way by his absence. It did not even occur to him to mention that he would be away for a week.

  At the end of the session on Friday morning Joshua asked Roger whether he should host the group while Roger was at the workshop with Shay the following week. All heads turned to hear this conversation.

  Roger shrugged and went on with his work at the counter. Joshua turned his shining gaze upon the group. “I’ll open up at the usual time, and we can just carry on while they’re gone.”

  The men were far more interested in the details of the workshop and the trip that Roger was taking with Shay, and they asked many questions, most of them in low-voiced asides to Roger when they were certain that Shay would not hear. When she excused herself a bit earlier than usual, saying she had an appointment in Green Bay, the questions flew thick and fast.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “What’s this workshop about?”

  “Is Elisabeth going?”

  “She’s not?”

  “Is she okay with it?

  “I don’t think my wife would go for me taking a trip with Shay.”

  Roger did not deign to answer most of these questions, finding it necessary merely to grumble that Elisabeth had gone to Madison to visit her brother. Meaningful looks were exchanged behind his back at this piece of information.

  Terry, who had been silent during the conversation, looked at Roger, shaking his head in disbelief while he made a long slow whistle. His thoughts were a whirl of envy on the one hand, and sympathy for Elisabeth on the other.

  “Man.” He shook his head again before adding, “You better watch yourse
lf.”

  Roger glared at him, but whether it was resentment or his usual expression, no one could tell.

  After Pete’s departure, Fiona had to mentally slap herself to keep from moping around the house. She had debate prep to do, and all the routine household things she had neglected while he had been there, not to mention some deadlines to meet, but she was having a hard time motivating herself to do any of it.

  Once again, Pete had left with great expressions of tenderness, but no word about when he would return. Fiona knew that his work created for him an erratic schedule, and she also knew enough about him to know he would not make promises he could not keep. But none of this was any particular consolation.

  On the one hand, she asked herself what the point might be of a relationship of this kind: more based on uncertainty than commitment. On the other, she knew that Pete had spoiled her for anyone else. Whether she liked it or not, waiting—or pretending not to—was the price of this relationship. So far, at least, she was choosing to pay it. But an indefinite future like this did not hold great appeal.

  She was drinking her third cup of coffee and playing listlessly with a spoon on the table when it suddenly occurred to her that she knew exactly what she needed: Elisabeth. She would take the day off, and see if she could convince her friend to do the same. It had been ages since they had done anything fun together.

  But Fiona’s call to Elisabeth told her immediately that something was wrong. They had not spoken for a week, not since Elisabeth’s call the morning after Pete had arrived, and Fiona, distracted, had not been attuned to any particular signals. But she could hear now the stress in Elisabeth’s voice, even though Elisabeth was not forthcoming.

  “Hey,” said Fiona, casually. What’s going on?”

  “Oh,” said Elisabeth, “nothing much.” And then she added, “Roger’s away for a few days, so I’m a bit at loose ends.”

  Fiona’s attention was caught. Why would Roger go somewhere without Elisabeth?

  “Oh, really? Where did he go.”

  “To a yoga workshop. In Utah.”

  “Ah,” said Fiona, endeavoring to be neutral as she visualized increasingly unlikely scenarios. “Well, that sounds… interesting.”

  “With Shay,” said Elisabeth quietly. Her words hung in the air as Fiona’s startled mind raced through the implications.

  “With Shay? Really? Are you sure?” This did not sound like Roger. Roger wouldn’t do something like this.

  “Of course I’m sure,” snapped Elisabeth.

  “But how? How are you sure?” Fiona could not get her head around this. Roger? Unfaithful? Never! It was not even plausible.

  “Because he told me.” Elisabeth’s voice had begun to tremble.

  Fiona went instantly into action. She could talk sense into Elisabeth later. First she needed to do some triage.

  “Look,” she said, brightly. “This is really great timing. I’ve got this debate coming up, and I could really use some help with my prep, not to mention some moral support. Why don’t you pack up Rocco and come over? I can have a fantastic dinner ready by the time you get here.”

  “I’m in Madison,” said Elisabeth. “At my brother’s.” Fiona could hear the catch in her voice.

  “Where’s Rocco?” she asked. Elisabeth’s sister-in-law was not among Rocco’s fans, Fiona knew.

  “He’s here,” said Elisabeth. “Busily protecting the kids.” She tried to laugh. It was a pathetic attempt.

  “Look,” said Fiona. “This must all be some kind of dreadful mistake. If I know one thing, it’s that Roger loves you. Come home. Come to the Island. I haven’t seen you or Rocco for weeks. We can talk. I could use your company.”

  She hoped that the appeal to Elisabeth’s altruistic nature would do the trick.

  Elisabeth took a deep breath. She loved her brother and his family, but in her present mood, she did not feel that she was an asset to their household, and besides, she was tired of avoiding questions. Fiona would be different. Fiona would understand.

  “Well, all right. I suppose we can come. If you’re really sure.”

  “Of course, I’m sure,” said Fiona briskly. “Come as soon as you can. Tomorrow, maybe. And since you’re in civilization, bring a case of something good to drink. Something South African, maybe.”

  “I don’t think we need a case.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Fiona.

  It was dark and the temperature was below zero, but Emily went straight to the barn after the animal husbandry presentations. Embarrassed and angered by that child, Ben’s, remarks, she was determined to prove him wrong. But even as she considered this, the doubts swirled in her mind. She was remembering the open barn door, the loose latches, the excessive consumption of goat chow, and the random disappearance of things. Someone had been letting her goats mingle. Her first thoughts were on the carelessness of children. Those scouts! They must have been the ones who had been so careless as to leave the barn unsecured, and after she had been so generous, so giving of her time.

  “No good deed goes unpunished,” she thought bitterly.

  But then another idea came into her head. She remembered the screaming, the open door, the missing rope, and the rumors that a stranger—and, no doubt, a crazy one—was living in the woods somewhere on the Island. Could someone have been in the barn? Could a stranger have left open a gate, taken the rope, allowed the animals to mingle?

  Nervously, she looked behind her as she flipped on the barn lights and went to look into the does’ stalls. She looked them over, one by one, and then she began to count. One… three… five… eight… twelve. A dozen pregnant does who should not be. Just as the boy had said.

  Emily was annoyed, wondering how she could have been so oblivious as to have missed this. She had been busy, sure, but this was basic stuff, the kind of thing an experienced farmer should notice. That she was not all that experienced was something that would not occur to Emily. But to be shown up by a child! That was a difficult pill to take.

  Emily was not one for self-doubt, however, and her mood swiftly changed. “Well, after all,” she thought to herself. “The mind is a tricky thing. I wasn’t looking for the signs, so I didn’t see them.” The more she thought of this, the more the idea grew on her, and the more it seemed absolutely true and perfectly understandable.

  Now properly reassured, Emily’s customary complacency returned and settled around her like a shield. She was not to blame. If anything, she, herself, was a victim. Although, whether of irresponsible children or of… something else… she couldn’t be sure. And, of course, she reminded herself, she really had been terribly, terribly busy. True, she preferred to choose the mating pairs of her flock, but she could always sell the kids and make a tidy profit.

  Telling herself all this, and resolving to have a strong word with that do-nothing police chief, she closed up the barn and bustled into the house.

  After the phone call with Fiona, Elisabeth had announced her plans to her sister-in-law, kissed her nieces, and driven home from Madison that afternoon, stopping only to visit an exceptionally nice wine store on the way. She and Rocco had been the first car in line when the early ferry arrived at Northport the following morning.

  Fiona greeted them with joy. The guest room was ready with fresh linens and flowers on the table; there was a pot of coffee brewing, warm banana bread made from the latest bunch of black bananas, and a box of treats for Rocco. Elisabeth’s suitcase had been brought upstairs and her coat hung on the peg in the hall. Rocco’s bed had been set in his favorite corner of the living room. The case of South African wine had been stored in the pantry, and the first two bottles extracted for chilling, ready for later.

  After investigating the house to see what had happened in his absence, Rocco settled comfortably under the kitchen table, while Fiona and Elisabeth sat down to drink coffee. Fiona studied her friend’s face with concern. She looked pale. Her eyes were swollen and heavily lined with dark circles.

  “So, what�
��s going on?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  Elisabeth took a deep breath and poured out her tale.

  After two days indoors talking and preparing for the debate, Elisabeth and Fiona were spent, and Fiona suggested a change of scene.

  “It’s too damp and cold to walk very far. Let’s just take a drive around the Island. We can stop on the way back to pick up some milk for morning.”

  Rocco joyfully agreed that a ride would be welcome, and they piled into Fiona’s car.

  The sights in this miserable final phase of fading winter were not especially stirring, but they drove around the edges of the island, stopping here and there to look at the water and the great, floating slabs of ice that blew with the wind and currents. They had rounded the eastern edge of the island, and were driving northwest along Detroit Harbor when they came upon the historic Washington Hotel. The lovely restaurant there had been closed, and the shuttered windows conveyed a sense of desolation in the dreary weeks-old snow. A For Sale sign, with the name of the realtor who had sold Fiona her house, stood prominently at the roadside. Awash in a sense of nostalgia that had been augmented by Elisabeth’s mood, Fiona pulled up so they could look.

  “It’s sad,” said Elisabeth, gazing at the elegant old building with its venerable trees, expansive lawn, and broad porch. “We had such lovely dinners there.”

  “I’m afraid it’s an indicator of health for the Island’s economy. The fact that it’s stood empty so long is a bad sign.” Fiona sighed. “I wish I could buy it.”

  Elisabeth gave her a skeptical look. “Because you’ve done such a great job at restoring your current place. You still have vermin living in your walls.”

  “You say vermin as if it were plural. I think there’s only one.”

  “Judging by the noise I heard last night, it could be fifty. You need to do something about it, Fiona. Your house is going to fall down around your ears.”