The Audacity of Goats

by J. F. Riordan

  Nancy reached into the pocket of her battered barn jacket and withdrew a gleaming, silver flask. “It was my grandfather’s,” she said, when Jim commented. “These are his initials. I can remember him on nights like this in the barn taking little nips.” She held up the flask. “I think we could all use a slug.”

  She took a long swallow and offered the flask to Fiona, who shook her head.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m likely to fall asleep as it is.”

  Nancy passed the flask to Jim. He lifted it in tribute first to Nancy, then to Fiona, took a drink, and handed it back to Nancy.

  Nancy took another swallow of brandy. “Frankly,” she said, her blue eyes fixed on Fiona, “you look terrible. Why don’t you go home? I have a cot in the corner over there, for these sorts of occasions, and I’ll have a better night without you two hovering around and whispering. Go on. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

  Fiona hesitated.

  “Go,” said Nancy firmly.

  “You’ll call me?”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Jim stood up. “Okay. We’ll leave you to it.”

  He looked at Nancy. “You let me know if you need anything. I’ll hear the phone. I’m a light sleeper.”

  She nodded, a small wry smile on her face. “Will do.”

  “Come on, Fiona,” said Jim. “You look exhausted. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Fiona took a long look at the sleeping animal and allowed herself to be lead away, Jim’s hand on her elbow.

  Together they walked down the dirt drive. The moon was half-full, and the sky was a deep, almost metallic blue. The toe of Fiona’s boot caught a rock and she stumbled. Jim’s grip tightened to keep her from falling.

  “You sure you’re okay to drive? You can’t even walk straight.”

  He was smiling.

  “I’m fine.” She smiled back, a weak, exhausted smile. “Don’t worry about me.” Even as she spoke she felt the tears begin to fall. She cursed herself. She hated crying. She rarely cried. And she knew instinctively that triggering Jim’s sympathy was dangerous. She couldn’t let him see. She extricated herself from his grip, and pretended to be looking for her car keys in her pocket. When they reached her car she wanted to make this quick and casual, but he stopped, and taking her arm, turned her to face him. He left his hands on her arms, looking down at her.

  “Are you worrying about the election, or about what’s going on back there?” he indicated the direction of the barn with his head.

  “Both, I guess. But more the latter than the former.”

  “I can’t speak to the outcome of the election,” he said. “But I think he’s going to be okay. You did the right thing. You made the right decision. You were right to try to save him.”

  One tear slid down her cheek.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you, Jim. I can never really thank you.” She caught herself before her voice broke.

  He raised one finger to the tear, wiped it away, and looked into her eyes for a long moment. She saw him waver, then make a decision.

  “It’s okay,” he said, and reaching for the handle of her car door, he opened it and watched her get in. “I’ll be here tomorrow in case Nancy needs anything. I’ll see you then.”

  “I have to report to the clerk’s office in the morning.”

  “It doesn’t matter, we’ll take care of things here.”

  She started the engine.

  “Good night, Jim.”

  “Good night. And good luck.”

  She watched him for a moment as he turned and walked back up the hill toward the ATV.

  Chapter Thirty

  The next morning at nine o’clock sharp, following the instructions of the town clerk, the two candidates and their representatives arrived for the recount. In addition to the clerk, Lars Olafsen, the retiring Chairman of the Town Board was there. His decades of steady leadership would lend an authoritative calm to the proceedings. Gradually the rest of the board members began to arrive as well.

  Word of the tie had spread to every corner of the island, and as a result there were significantly more spectators than the night before. Folding chairs had been set up yesterday around the perimeters of the room, and when the chairs ran out, people leaned against the walls and doorframes.

  The clerk’s office was small, and although she had carefully consulted the law about her duties in these extraordinary circumstances, she had omitted to take into consideration the increased number of observers. After a brief conversation with Lars, it was agreed that the recount should be moved to the community room.

  The seriousness of the situation did not drive the islanders to stand on ceremony, and in no time the assembled observers were busily setting up the chairs in the usual arrangement for town meetings. When the last chairs had been scraped noisily into position, the clerk, her assistant, and the rest of the Town Board seated themselves at the long folding tables in the front. Stella and Fiona sat in the front row, but at opposite ends.

  The clerk stood to explain the rules.

  “Good morning,” she began.

  “An electoral tie is a rare occurrence. I have consulted the records, and to the best of my knowledge, it has never happened before in the history of the Island. Under Wisconsin law, if the totals are within point-five percent, a recount is automatically triggered. This begins with a canvassing of the precincts: a reporting of the ballot totals in each precinct. In a canvassing, the ballots are not re-counted.”

  A low buzz of surprise began.

  “However,” said the clerk loudly, silencing the crowd, “since the Town of Washington has only one precinct, and we have a tie, a re-count is necessary.”

  She eyed the group severely.

  “This is a serious event, and it is incumbent upon us to do everything properly. I will therefore request that the conduct of the observers be serious and respectful. The observers’ role is an important one: it is to safeguard the integrity of the process by bearing witness to all that is done.”

  A smattering of applause began, and the clerk looked over her glasses with disapproval.

  “This is not a sporting event. I have the authority to dismiss from the room anyone who is disorderly.” She watched to see the effect of her words on the crowd. They sat now in respectful silence.

  “We will begin.” Returning to her place at the table, she took her seat and opened the lone ballot bag. “DesRosiers, DesRosiers, Campbell, DesRosiers… .”

  Elisabeth, holding a yellow legal pad with two columns, kept a careful tally of the votes as they were called out. Fiona, bored out of her suspense and distracted by wondering what was happening at the barn, tried not to slump in her seat.

  When the counting finished, the clerk and her assistant tabulator spoke to one another in low voices. Elisabeth nudged Fiona and showed her the legal pad.

  The clerk removed her glasses and stood.

  “The results are: Stella DesRosiers, 222 votes. Fiona Campbell, 222 votes. We have a tie.”

  The crowd stirred and a low murmur began, but the clerk continued speaking.

  “In such cases, the law calls for a coin toss.”

  Fiona and Elisabeth exchanged glances.

  Stella stood up, outraged. “A coin toss? You can’t be serious.”

  Lars stood up and stepped around to the front of the table. “I can assure you, this is quite proper, and according to law. As outgoing chairman, I will conduct the coin toss.”

  “That can’t be correct,” insisted Stella.

  Chairman Olafsen looked at her with long-suffering patience. “Election law is available to everyone on the Internet. The point is quite clear. You can check it yourself. Later.”

  Subtly, but distinctly, he turned his attention away from her.

  “We will use this quarter,” he said, pulling a coin from his pocket, and turning it to demonstrate that it included both a head and a tail. “Will the candidates please come forward?”


  Not quite muttering under her breath, Stella came forward, glowering. Fiona rose from her seat and followed, hoping that her now chattering nerves were not showing.

  “Ms. DesRosiers will call. Heads or tails?” asked the chairman, politely.

  “Tails—no—heads!” said Stella as Lars flipped the coin into the air, caught it neatly, and slapped it onto the back of his hand.

  Irresistibly, Fiona and Stella both leaned in as the outgoing Chairman removed his covering hand to reveal the coin.

  “It’s tails,” said Lars Olafsen, calmly. “Ms. Campbell wins.”

  The room erupted in cheers from Fiona’s friends.

  Fiona offered her hand to Stella, and it was refused. Surrounded by her supporters, Fiona left the hall in a wave of triumph.

  Stella was conspicuously aloof from the people there who were her voters. Her shoulders were stiff and she seemed to emanate the resentment that was her normal state of being. For one brief moment, Fiona felt pity for her, but she quickly dismissed it. Had the results been different, Stella’s ruthlessness would have been unbounded. If Stella had any capacity for pity—which Fiona thoroughly doubted—she would not have shown any.

  Dismissing Stella from her thoughts, Fiona gratefully accepted the congratulations of all the observers.

  Elisabeth managed to work her way through and gave Fiona a hug. “We’re going to leave you to get on with it,” she said, smiling. “Roger and I thought we’d go for a little drive before the ferry.”

  Fiona smiled back. “Things are good?”

  “Yes,” said Elisabeth simply. “They are.”

  School that day was a torment for Ben. Normally attentive in class, he had to be reprimanded three times by his favorite teacher, Ms. Larson.

  He did not know the answer to a simple question about American History, he didn’t finish a test in the time allotted, and he daydreamed through the explanation of a new concept in Math. By the end of the day, Ms. Larson was exasperated.

  “Ben, if you don’t put your head on straight, I’m going to have to ask you to stay after school.”

  “Sorry,” said Ben, humbly. Staying was the last thing he wanted.

  When at last the day was over, he burst from the school doors, and was shocked to see his mother’s SUV waiting there.

  “Mom,” he said, in greeting. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to take you home,” said Nika. “I think maybe we’ve been letting you run a little wild, young man.”

  Ben’s heart fell. “But I can’t!” he cried. “Mom! I have to go to the barn. I have to see if Robert’s okay!”

  Nika was silent, considering. They were reaching a crossroads with Ben. She needed to be careful to keep him talking, and to make their restrictions sensible. There was no reason not to go to the barn. He had rescued the animal, after all. And besides, she was eager herself to find out more about what had happened. She smiled at Ben.

  “Let’s go together.”

  He knew better than to argue. Reluctantly, Ben got into the truck, and they headed up the road to Nancy’s.

  Fiona was there when they arrived. The vet had come. The goat was clean and newly bandaged, lying in fresh straw, and sleeping from the painkiller he had been given. Fiona was leaning over the stall, watching him when Nika and Ben arrived.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Ben asked, without greeting.

  Nika caught Fiona’s eye, and they smiled at one another.

  “I think so, Ben. The vet says he needs to sleep for a while and let his body fight the infection. But he should be all right.”

  She stepped back to make room for the boy to look into the stall.

  “Congratulations,” said Nika, quietly. “You won.”

  “Thanks. I’ve barely had a chance to think about it.” “There’s still time,” said Nika. And then, “I’m glad you’re staying.”

  “Me, too,” said Fiona.

  They chatted for a while, as Ben contented himself with watching the sleeping animal. After a half hour, Nika went over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “We should go, Ben. I have things to do at home.”

  “Can’t I stay?” he asked. “Please?”

  Behind him, Fiona caught Nika’s eye and nodded. Nika sighed with pretend exasperation.

  “You will have to ask Ms. Campbell.”

  Ben turned pleading eyes to Fiona, and she smiled at him. “You can stay, Ben. I’ll take you home.”

  “Thanks!”

  “But I expect you home for dinner,” said Nika sternly. “No later than six o’clock. You will set the table, and tonight’s your night for dishes.”

  Ben would have agreed to anything. “Okay,” he said, happily. And without a backward glance at his mother, he returned to his place at the stall.

  Fiona walked with Nika to her truck.

  “Thank you,” said Nika. “This animal is all he can think of.”

  “He’s good company,” said Fiona. “I like having him here.”

  At a quarter to six, Fiona and Ben were in her car, driving to his house. The light had shifted, and the days were getting longer. Where only a month before the stars would already have been out, now daylight still remained. The spring snow lingered only in shady places along the edges of the roads where the plows had piled it. The rest of the land was clear, the fields of last year’s grass golden in the late afternoon sun.

  Fiona was imagining herself walking across them, her boots sinking into the spring mud. She lost herself in reverie, reliving the events of a few days before. She was more exhausted than she had ever been, both mentally and physically. Everything loomed large and bleak. She longed for Pete’s comforting voice and his nonchalant approach to crises. Now that she had won the election, she was confronted with the perennial challenge of successful candidates: she had to do something, and she was damned if she knew what.

  Ben, meanwhile, was lost in his own thoughts. There was something he needed to know, but he didn’t quite know how to ask.

  “Ms. Campbell,” he began tentatively.

  “What’s up, Ben?” Fiona glanced at him sideways as she drove. His face was turned from her, looking out the window. She heard him take a deep breath.

  “Are you going to tell?” he asked. “Are you going to tell my parents everything?”

  Fiona was silent as she drove, thinking.

  “I wasn’t planning to, but to be honest, I haven’t had time to think about it.” She looked at him again, quickly. “What do you think I should do?”

  He hadn’t expected this question.

  “I’m not sure.” He hesitated, not wanting to ask for her silence, but desperately hoping for it.

  Fiona looked in her rearview mirror, saw nothing coming, and pulled over to the side of the road. Surprised, Ben looked over at her, but as she began to speak, he broke the glance, and looked straight ahead.

  “You know, Ben, everyone has things they don’t tell anyone. Things they think, or feel, or do. Not because they are shameful, but because they are private.” She watched his young face. He was listening earnestly, even though he wasn’t looking at her.

  “It’s okay to have private things, Ben. It’s part of what makes you human.” She paused, unsure whether she should go on. “It’s also part of what makes you grown-up.”

  He slowly turned his head to look at her.

  “But,” she said, and she waited until his eyes were on her face, “sharing our secrets with people we love is also something grownups do. It’s not always easy, but it is one of the greatest bonds we have in life. The sharing and keeping of our deepest selves.”

  Ben frowned. Fiona couldn’t tell whether he had understood what she meant, or whether it had made any difference. She needed to say one more thing.

  “You’re a young man, Ben. What you tell people is your decision. You have to decide what is right.”

  And with that, she pulled her car back onto the road and took him home.

  That night, Elisabeth and Roger sat togeth
er on the porch, listening to the singing of the spring peepers. Rocco lay contentedly at their feet. It was a cool night, and breezy, but the fresh air was alluring and the house seemed stuffy by comparison. It was too nice to go in, so they sat together in companionable silence, a candle burning on the table between them.

  Elisabeth, exhausted by the excitement of the election was about to suggest that they go in when Roger suddenly spoke.

  “Listen,” he said. “I have an idea. It’s a plan. A plan for the future.”

  Elisabeth sat back in her chair and listened. After he finished speaking they were silent again. Elisabeth’s mind was whirling with new ideas and possibilities, and she felt an intense awareness of her surroundings. The peepers seemed to be growing louder. “Possibly,” Elisabeth thought, “there are more hatching every minute.”

  Roger cleared his throat and she looked at him. She hadn’t realized she had been silent for so long. He would be expecting an answer of some kind.

  “So,” said Roger. “I also have a question. Something different from the other idea.” He paused. “Would you like to come to yoga with me?”

  Elisabeth smiled in the darkness. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  After she dropped Ben at home, Fiona contemplated stopping off at Nelsen’s for some companionship, but she turned instead back toward Nancy’s. When she pulled up, she saw Jim’s truck parked in the drive. He was leaning over the stall when she came in, just as she had been doing so frequently the last twenty-four hours.

  “I was worried about him,” said Jim when he saw her. “I wanted to make sure he was okay. To see for myself.”

  Fiona smiled at him. “I’ve always said you have a soft heart for a ranger.”

  They stood together gazing at the sleeping animal. He already looked better, Fiona thought. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, but he seemed whole, somehow, and healing, and different from the irascible creature she remembered. “Or maybe just clean. And quiet,” she told herself wryly.

  Jim broke into her thoughts. “Have you noticed anything strange?”

  Fiona looked at him.