Ms. Got Rocks

by Jacqueline Colt

  Rocky braved the hot cabin and ordered the bedroom set online. Shopping done for the rest of the year, Thumper and Rocky went to the river edge and sat in the shallows, while the dogs swam. Rocky thought Thumper was a little girl rabbit. She looked really comical sopping wet after wading in the summer warmed river shallows. She was getting longer, looking more like the classic jackrabbit than a baby bunny. Rocky got several adorable bathing suit issue photos of the little rabbit.

  Rocky did not hear from Deputy Justin Dixon.

  Rocky did see Callaghan. In the third week of August, when she still had the chain over the driveway, there was a hoot at the bottom of the hill, one hot, dry, boring afternoon. Rocky recognized the truck, and added the loaded shotgun to the equipment in the pickup cab.

  When she got to the bottom of the hill there sat Mr. Callaghan. Getting out of the truck but not unlocking the chain nor taking it from the posts on either side of the road, Rocky waited. She waited by the hot chain for at least a minute before Callaghan came out of his truck and stood by the door.

  Lovie was comfortable sitting by her foot, until she got a sniff of Callaghan and she stood on alert.

  “Callaghan is planning a Mexican stand off event,” Rocky thought.

  They stood opposite one another under the broiling sun. Just stood and stared.

  Rocky forgot her hat and her head was scorching in the sunlight. She didn’t look at her watch, but started counting to sixty in her head. She planned to turn around and drive back to the porch, if Callaghan hadn’t stated his business by then. She reached forty-five, when he finally spoke.

  “Mrs. Got Rocks,” he said.

  “Mrs. Hardwyn,” she corrected.

  “Sounds like a porn star I used to know in Dublin."Callaghan stated.

  "What a totally off the wall thing to say." This guy was another wacko, like Rocky had not had her fair slice of wackos this year. “You haven’t kissed the Blarney Stone, Callaghan. You are not welcome here,state your business and clear out,” Rocky brusquely informed him.

  “I’ve come to make a deal, Mrs. Hardwyn,” he paused like he expected her to say something.

  He spoke first. “I’ve come to ask you, since you are injured and can’t dredge. Ah, could we come to an arrangement, where I can lease your claim,” he finally got it out. “Lease till the end of the season. I know that you will be back dredging next season,” he was giving Rocky a rather pitiful look with those wonderful eyes.

  “Mr. Callaghan, I do not do business on a handshake. I require legally drawn up, legally binding, in writing contracts,” Rocky began fast thinking, would this be a good idea, how much of a good idea? Would she get to see Callaghan every day?

  “That is not a problem,” his voice was changing to a honey sweet Irish brogue.

  “What would constitute a problem for you, Mr. Callaghan?” Rocky asked.

  “A problem would be if you would not allow me to lease the claim. Another problem would be if you would not have dinner with me soon,” he said.

  “Well, then you have at minimum one problem, possibly two. To avoid a mistake Mr. Callaghan, my name is Mrs. Hardwyn as in married Mrs. Hardwyn,” she said this even though she has been going by her maiden name Clancy for months.

  “What are you intending to offer me to lease my claim,” Rocky was trying to sound totally, supremely business like in the face of that handsome body in tight jeans and a navy blue Tee with Taz stitched on the pocket.

  “Ah, I thought five percent of net would be a good price,” he looked uneasy. He knew that this was a highway robbery price.

  “Stuff that in your left ear, and come back when you have a serious business offer,” Rocky returned to the truck and started it. The dogs climbed over her to get in the passenger seat. That wasn’t exactly the picture she wanted to present to him, but there it was.

  Rocky watched from the porch lawn chair as Callaghan walked up the driveway. While she waited for him, she thought of what she really would like from leasing him the claim. Hitting on a figure that seemed equable to her, there was plenty of gold still to be had by someone skilled enough to get it from the claim. Whether Callaghan was a good dredger or not was his problem.

  “Mrs. Hardwyn,” Callaghan said as he approached the porch and Phoebe made it apparent that she was moving into a more offensive position.

  “Mrs. Hardwyn, perhaps I was hasty with that offer. I can go as high as eight percent after expenses,” he offered.

  “Mr. Callaghan, fifteen percent of daily clean up before expenses,” Rocky offered back at him.

  “Nine per cent of net and you are killing me, Mrs. Hardwyn,” he counter offered.

  “I’m not close to killing you, yet, Mr. Callaghan, we both know what that claim is capable of producing. I’m sure you saw the pictures of my monster nugget on TV. Fifteen percent, Mr. Callaghan, of gross.”

  “Nine percent of net, then,” Callaghan was trying to look firm.

  “Are you going to do the remediation of the riverbed, when you have finished working?” she asked.

  “For the nine per cent, yes, I would do the remediation also,” he was weakening, though she had not got everything she wanted yet.

  “With the remediation I could come down as far as thirteen percent of gross, and you would also have to reclaim any mercury that you found,” Rocky said.

  “I can’t make a profit at that per cent of a cut,” he looked her square in the eye.

  A huge laugh came roaring out of Rocky.

  “Mr. Callaghan, gold is almost 1800 dollars a troy ounce. If you can’t make a profit on a claim like mine at those prices, you have no business working a claim like mine at all,” Rocky said through her laughter.

  “All right twelve percent of net, I clean up. Final offer,” he said.

  “No, Mr. Callaghan the final offer is thirteen percent of gross on a daily basis, you have seven day a week access, remediation of the river bed, recovery of mercury and I’ll throw in the use of my Dad’s sampling map, saving you days of working time. Final and last proposal, Mr. Callaghan, take it or go,” Rocky was now standing, signifying the end of negotiation.

  The Irish eyes looked into the other set of Irish eyes.

  Callaghan paused. Rocky waited. Again, he blinked first.

  “Deal,” he said sticking out his hand.

  Rocky took his rough hand, shaking it as she said, “I do not do business on a handshake, Mr. Callaghan. “I’ll have the contract ready tomorrow morning. You can sign it then, when you bring your gear over.”

  Without another word, Callaghan hopped off the porch scaring poor Phoebe half to pieces. He strode down the driveway without a look back. Shortly thereafter, Rocky heard a truck cruise off toward town.

  Rocky called the Sheriff Substation and told the duty officer that Callaghan had permission to come onto her property. She was hoping that Justin would call to confirm or something.

  Tomorrow might be interesting.

  * * *

  Rocky received a terrific, long, funny letter from Jen in Anchorage. Jen wrote she saw Fabienne, the girl friend of Rocky’s almost former husband, Tony. Jen said that Fabienne made a point to stop her to say that she dumped Tony recently. Fabienne didn’t tell Jen why, however.

  Rocky tried not to gloat, but she still carried a grudge that her possessions and her dog's toys and beds went to the Anchorage land fill because of Fabienne.

  The same day that Jen’s letter arrived, Rocky got a lovely box of heather colored wool yarn to try to knit a winter sweater. She also received an even lovelier letter from her attorney advising her when the divorce would be final. Rocky wondered if at the end of September she would feel really sorry. She was building a better life alone here in the Gold Country than she ever had with Tony, even counting all the weird people she had met since coming back to Whiskey Gap.

  Rocky bought a bigger mailbox. That one minor thing seemed to signify to her that she was home at last. Callaghan did not show up the next morning to sign the dredging
rights lease. At noon, Rocky closed and locked the gate at the county road. Callaghan could still get into the property by the back way, if he wanted to go that route. He obviously knew the way.

  Driving to Sacramento to the doctor’s office for a checkup was not going to be a treat. The late August heat was broiling the land of the lower Sierra to a crispy crusty golden brown. The doctor’s office opened at the time that Rocky would rather be home escaping the heat by wading in the river.

  She planned a side trip to an office supply warehouse after the Doctor visit. She needed software for processing photos for the gallery calendar. Sitting in the hot cabin learning new software would be an event equaling going to the dentist.

  She stopped at the 7-Eleven, a few miles from the cabin on the way back that miserable hot day. As she went in the store she glanced at the Sacramento newspaper headlines.

  Mafia Don-Ette Arrested.

  Drinking the bottled cold tea and reading the article, Rocky sat and sweated in the late afternoon sun. The truck air conditioner could not keep up with the heat, but Rocky could not wait to read the article.

  Jasmine had been arrested at Logan Airport in Boston returning from what the newspaper called her ten week flight to freedom in Moscow. She was taken to the Boston City Jail awaiting extradition to California on the attempted murder of a local juvenile last May.

  Rocky thought, “That juvenile will be a grandfather before Jazz gets tried for anything.”

  On the way home, she felt a sense of freedom, now that it was over. Rocky knew it would be a cold day in hell before she had to testify against Jazz. The Harris family attorneys would keep that tied in knots for a lifetime.

  She also knew that she would never have a relationship with Justin Dixon and it seemed likely she would never see Callaghan again. Verging on thankfully, something in the back of her head warned her. She was ready to move on.

  The next day Callaghan did not show up to sign the dredging contact or begin operation. Was it disappointment she felt.

  Chapter 27

  “With the new mailbox, and a new floor, I guess we are staying, girls, Rocky told her fur persons when she put the last touches on the new kitchen floor.

  She had bought a half sheet of sub flooring plywood to repair the soft spots. After looking at, possibly a thousand samples of flooring she chose the little brick pattern that was popular in the era the cabin was built. The brick red color would hide the dog paw tracks well.

  When Rocky finished shoring up the sub floor from underneath with pier blocks like the guy at the lumberyard told her, she patched some parts of the sub floor that were spongy with the plywood. Rocky thanked her lucky leprechaun that she was left handed. Laying out the new flooring was a job trying to do with one hand, rolling it down was the easy part.

  “Where did I get this idea to do this now?” Rocky yelped as she bumped her finger stump again.

  When she finished that day, Rocky had to pack her right hand in ice and sit on the porch in phantom pain from the missing tip of her finger. Nothing she could do would stop the pain, but the ice made the swelling go down.

  Next morning, she felt better. She admired the new kitchen floor. She could wait to put the base coving on for another day or two when the swelling in her hand was reduced.

  That was the good part of that trip to the city. The surgeon was not pleased with her finger. He ordered X-rays as he suspected that Rocky had chipped more bone from the fingertip. He advised her that she would have surgery to remove more of her finger if she did not allow it to heal properly. The surgeon scared her, but she still went ahead with her flooring plan.

  It was the next Wednesday morning, a morning so desperately hot there was no getting any relief from the heat. Rocky put the pets under the sun shower and even though they could walk down to the river any time during the day, the three animals seem to enjoy the cool water and the cool bathtub. Rocky thought the only hot food she was going to eat that day was a mug of coffee. Thumper and the dogs dripped out on the porch for a bit after their shower.

  Thumper liked to start her day by keeping the front lawn grass trimmed and calling it breakfast. It was so hot that Phoebe did not want to hunt; she seemed content to rest on the porch and casually watch Thumper hop across the lawn.

  Even though it was hotter than the hinges of Hades, Rocky told herself she needed to pack up the dredging gear for the year. The dredging season finished in a few days. The imperative to earn a living in the coming winter was striking home. Things were rolling down the year into winter.

  The concerning thoughts on winter without a job were beginning, there had not been a job offer from any airline, and she doubted that she would accept it, if they did offer. The thought of leaving Whiskey Gap was beginning to hurt in the area close to her heart.

  Making a sincere effort not to move while she drank the hot coffee to not risk getting hotter, Rocky listened to the soft sounds coming from the back yard.

  When you live in the country you get used to sounds in your back yard, like a muskrat hiking over to the river dragging his scaly tail behind him, or an owl catching breakfast on the hoof.

  Rocky did not even look up, she was thinking of the prospects for the winter season, writing on her ever present list.

  A sound had at last captured Rocky’s attention; a more insistent whoosh wet breath pounding with gravel rattling on pavement sound. Rocky gathered her energy to peep out the window over the sink.

  “Holy Hotcakes,” Rocky said out loud and she hastily turned toward the living room and tip toed to get the camera and return.

  The back yard was full of a herd of buffalo. The biggest baddest looking one was pawing gravel out of the barbeque fire circle while he snorted with a lowered head and folded back ears at the new black barbeque.

  Rocky checked the film counter, there were twenty-four frames left and one whole roll in the little holder on the camera strap. Sixty shots should get her one to use for a calendar and one to arrange with the old pennies she found underwater.

  Creeping to the back door, she opened it a crack and pointed the barrel of the lens out and froze long enough for the buffalo to check it out. Waiting an agony of moments she opened the door wider to see what was happening.

  The bull was still challenging the barbeque to a fight. Rocky got two good shots of that, even cuter were the mothers and baby buffalo calves. They were standing in a semi-circle watching the Big Daddy roughing up the barbeque.

  Rocky started the portraits of the family groups at the left and moved to the sweetest pair on the right side. She reloaded the film and stopped to watch the beasts. The male buffalo was pawing the ground and kicking the pea gravel from hell to breakfast. His harem was standing admiring his heroism at protecting them from this hideous creature of a barbeque. It was hard not to laugh at them.

  As fast as he started the fracas, he stopped. The bull turned away from the cabin and went to the old garden spot with the loose soft composted soil. The huge animal lay down as Rocky started shooting frames. The bull rolled over and wriggled his massive hind quarters into the soft soil, and Rocky shot more frames. The bull stopped moving and lay quietly in the soil with his feet stuck into the air. Rocky shot two more frames. The frame counter advised there are only three more shots on the roll. Rocky knew that when she developed that film there was at least one more frame that could be usable. That gave her four more shots, before she had to move.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rocky saw movement, a little brown gray smudge moving toward the cute young cow and her calf. Rocky slowly and carefully turned her head away from the bull and saw Thumper hopping toward the cow.

  If the cow were showing any aggression, Rocky would have scared the bejeebers out of the whole herd to protect Thumper. The cow had the calf behind her and she was showing only signs of curiosity, as the bunny slowly hopped toward her. When Thumper was a foot from the cow, the calf saw the bunny and did a calf runny, hoppy stiff legged dance with delight to the rabbit. Thumper stood o
n her hind feet and looked like a milk chocolate Easter Bunny touching noses with the buffalo calf. The camera clicked onto the stop. Out of film, Rocky watched the herd, storing the images into the best camera, her memory.

  Thumper either became bored with the buffalo or had hot feet, she turned and hopped back to the front of the cabin.

  Rocky raced to the darkroom area and grabbed three rolls of whatever speed film was closest and ran back to the kitchen.

  The buffalo were gone. That fast, poof.

  Hearing splashing noise, she ran to the front porch, and saw the herd in the river. She ran off the three rolls only stopping long enough to change to a longer lens and add new film.

  The dogs were still lying on the porch and neither of them let out a growl, bark or a peep.

  After an hour of rolling in the river, the buffalo herd moved off to the west across the river. Rocky was in hope that those sharp buffalo hooves digging into the hard pan had stirred up some gold off the riverbed. The gold would still be there tomorrow.

  Setting up the floor fan into the closet she called a darkroom, she went to work in the stifling heat. For the next hour Rocky dripped with sweat locked into the little darkroom developing the buffalo portraits.

  When they were dry, she reduced two really cute calf portraits into the three by five inch format that the Sacramento Zoo preferred, and enlarged one of the bull with his feet in the air, and one of him challenging the barbeque. She trimmed out the barbeque and printed the two bull shots on heavyweight artistic paper the gallery would like.

  She was melted into a human butter puddle when she finished but she did not even notice.

  The photos were so good, that she could not believe that she took them. The unplanned background of the shots was the huge monolith rock at the edge of the meadow. The buffalo look as though they were in the fourth century posing for a cave painting entitled “The Clan of the Cave Buffalo”.

  Rocky stepped into the shower, and thought about photo frames to buy next time she went into Auburn.

  “Jazz would have loved seeing the buffalo,” Rocky told the dogs as they dabbled in the twilight lit river that evening.