Twilight, Texas

by Ginger Chambers

  “OH...MY...HEAVEN!” Karen breathed as she gazed at the objects, large and small, that had been crowded, many one on top the other, into the antique shop. Tables, chairs, bookcases, armoires, bed frames, benches, buffets, lamps, dolls, glassware, pottery, ceramic figurines...and that was just what she saw at first glance! Very little space was left for a person to stand.

  “Augusta kind of lost it this past year,” Bette said. “John tried to get her to slow down, but she wouldn’t listen. It was like she knew she didn’t have long and was determined to do as much as possible while she still could. Diego and Benny did all the heavy lifting.”

  Karen slumped against the door frame. “I never expected—”

  “Wait till you see the storage shed out back,” Bette warned. “It’s packed, too. And if it had a drawer, she put things in it.” Bette opened a drawer at random and inside were numerous small items wrapped in tissue.

  “My...heaven,” Karen repeated.

  Bette smiled. “We thought you’d be surprised.”

  “I was planning to stay for a week, maybe a little more. But this—”

  “You could always go back and forth for a while, until you have it all sorted out.”

  Karen shook her head, not in disagreement but in awe. “A good friend of mine said I’d be here a lot longer than I thought. She has...dreams.”

  “Well, she’s right about this one. Could take you a month, maybe more, even working full-time.”

  A month! Karen recoiled from the thought. She couldn’t take that long off work! But then, if she ever was serious about going into business for herself, wasn’t this the time? She could sell some of the more valuable pieces, use the proceeds as a start-up fund, maintain the rest as stock and—

  She reined in her racing thoughts. Her aunt’s shop had always been an eclectic mix of collectibles as well as true antiques, leaning more toward general interest than Mr. Griffin’s rustic hill-country specialties. In order even to begin to know what she had here, she was going to have to examine each piece, consult her aunt’s extensive reference library and probably talk to numerous experts. Over the past four or five years she’d increased her knowledge of antiques, but mostly in the area she dealt with as a shop assistant on a day-to-day basis. She’d have to take her time with this lot. Not rush anything, either in going through the legacy or in making up her mind about the advisability of opening her own store. And there was always Martin. What would he—

  Mentally, she caught her breath. What was she to say to him? He wasn’t going to like the idea of her being away so long.

  “This is pretty,” Bette said, studying the porcelain figurine of a ballet dancer. “But I’d never buy it. Nice things have a way of holding you back. Clipping your wings, when what you’d really rather do is fly away.”

  “Fly away?” Karen repeated, coming out of her daze.

  Bette replaced the dancer on a crowded shelf. “Sometimes I’d like nothing better. But then, I’m still trying to work through this mess we’ve gotten ourselves into...and I don’t mean Augusta’s clutter!”

  “How long before Twilight’s big night?” Karen asked, understanding her reference instantly.

  “Fifteen days. That’s why they’re in such a hurry to get this agreement lined up. The whole thing was a brainstorm of this Raymond Armstrong person, and for it to work, they have to get moving fast. You probably heard they want to fix up the music hall for the showing. On the inside only, of course. Redo the wiring, recondition the floor. They’ll supply their own chairs, too—our old ones don’t seem to be good enough—and replace the old velvet stage curtain with a new one. Not to mention rigging up their own fancy generators, because they’re afraid the whole thing will put too much of a strain on our puny little power lines.”

  “How many people will attend, do you know?”

  “I’ve no idea. The movie’s stars, of course, and their fancy friends. The director, the producers, Melanie and her staff—”

  “You don’t like her very much, do you?”

  “She flirts with John.”

  “Surely it doesn’t mean anything.”

  Bette lifted her eyebrows. “John thinks it’s cute. I don’t.” She resumed her head count. “Not to mention all the media types—critics and celebrity journalists and such that they’re going to bring along, hoping for good reviews and lots of publicity. That’s why John and the others see this as the perfect opportunity to show off the town. To let people know we’re here and get them to want to come visit us. John’s making big plans to put out signs advertising Twilight on the interstate—right after our showing and before the big one in Hollywood. He’s planning to put them up as far west as Balmorhea and east as Sonora. Then they’ll stake out some other smaller signs along the highway here, leading them in. John’s already ordered T-shirts and caps and coffee mugs and bumper stickers—all those touristy kinds of things that’ll have Twilight’s name on them. Isaac Jacobs designed the town logo. It looks pretty good, actually.”

  Isaac Jacobs was Twilight’s resident artist. Independent, almost to the point of being a hermit, he painted and occasionally sold primitive-style landscapes.

  Bette continued, frowning, “We’ve been told the studio will provide travel trailers for everyone staying the night. The whole thing’s supposed to last a couple of days. The studio wants to entertain ’em real good. Then when the stars get here, they’ll do a lot of interviews. John’s concern is for after. If tourists show up like he hopes, they’ll need a place to spend the night, too. That’s why he’s looking to renovate inside the old hotel. Just a few rooms at first, and more later... if things work out. At one time he considered using our extra rooms, but I put a stop to that right quick. It’s bad enough he’s offered to put up that TV crew that’s coming. I will not have a bunch of tourists parading through my home at all hours of the day and night!”

  John and Bette lived in the apartment above the saloon, which was rumored to have had a shady history. There were at least six bedrooms in the Hat—far more than the Dansons needed. The ones not in use, Bette kept locked. Still, Karen could respect her feelings.

  “I’m surprised he even asked,” she murmured.

  “John’s done a lot of silly things lately,” Bette returned. Then, looking at the clutter awaiting Karen’s attention, she said, “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Lucky for you Augusta left the upstairs a lot straighter than this. I checked. I didn’t want you to get here and not be able to set foot inside. You know where she kept everything, so you shouldn’t have any trouble. But if you do, give a holler. I’m not far away.”

  Karen accompanied Bette outside, hugged her warmly and watched as she went in through the saloon’s back door.

  Karen’s gaze then traveled slowly over the open area comprising the buildings’ backyards, from one end of town to the other. Storage sheds, an old garage or two, a broken-down corral, several upended metal drums for burning trash, a rusting car, bits of this and that. Beyond this, the otherwise barren landscape went on and on. It had all seemed so romantic to her as a child, so very different from life in her parents well-ordered home in a well-cared-for neighborhood near the university. Now the romanticism was gone. She was seeing it through adult eyes—seeing things as they truly were.

  People she’d always assumed had all the answers were suddenly just ordinary human beings in search of answers themselves. Bette had seemed so strong and steady in the past. Now she seemed...uncertain. John had changed, Juanita had grown up.

  Karen climbed the long flight of exterior stairs that led to her aunt’s apartment and found, true to Bette’s word, the neatly appointed rooms in perfect order. She drew a long breath, then smiled at the light fragrance of lilacs that still lingered in the air. Augusta’s favorite scent.

  Tears threatened, even though she knew her aunt would disapprove. She’d died at a comfortable age, doing what she liked best, on one of her antique scouting trips. What could be better? Augusta would challenge. Still, as Karen moved about
the rooms, paying homage by touching this and that, it was through a misty haze. As that Melanie person had said, Augusta had been a special person. Someone Karen would miss always.

  She found a photograph of her aunt and herself on a small table. It had been taken the last summer she’d spent in Twilight, shortly after they’d successfully created a flower bed in the hardscrabble earth by the shop’s back door. Both were smeared with dirt and grime, yet they were grinning happily into the camera, their arms flung across each other’s shoulders. She’d been thirteen, Augusta in her early sixties.

  Karen ran a finger over her aunt’s beloved face, then did as Augusta would have wanted—she put her sadness behind her and got on with the necessities of settling in.

  Her first chore was to move the car around back so she could carry her things upstairs to the bedroom that had always been hers when she visited.

  It, too, was exactly as she’d left it. Her aunt hadn’t changed a thing. Unicorns were still the main theme, playing on shelves in ceramic form, on walls in print and paint, on a lamp base, on a music box, in glass and crystal. She’d mentioned in a letter once that she liked unicorns and had arrived the next summer to find Augusta had filled the room with them, having scoured the state for the collection. Once again a pang of loss tugged at Karen’s heart.

  After she finished unpacking, she considered starting on the jumble downstairs, but abbreviated sleep the night before and the long and, in part, harrowing journey here, not to mention the discord she’d discovered upon her arrival, had exhausted her. First thing tomorrow she’d attack it and have a look at that storage shed, too.

  Her body urged her into bed, no matter the hour. But the special quality to the light filtering into the room through the airy curtains reminded her of yet another childhood treasure. An unobstructed view from her bedroom window of one of nature’s extravaganzas—a West Texas sunset.

  She was just in time. The sky was resplendent with reds, pinks, purples, gold and silver, all shifting and changing in intensity and brilliance against a collection of feathery clouds as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon.

  Karen didn’t move until the last flicker of color faded. In fact, she barely breathed.

  “SEE? WHAT’D I TELL YOU? Sunsets out here are pretty amazing.” A smile tugged at Lee Parker’s lips as he stood beside his fellow crew members on a rise providing a panoramic view of the area.

  “Whoa!” his camera-soundman Manny Cruz exclaimed in his best California hip. “That’s some kinda special, dude!”

  Leë transferred his gaze to Diane, Manny’s wife, who worked as his research assistant. Diane was a cute blonde with short hair, an upturned nose and a natural plumpness that looked good on her.

  “I agree,” she said, smiling.

  Manny dropped his role-playing as he motioned to the impressive complex at the center of the valley. “So’s that!” he said.

  The headquarters of the Parker Ranch. A ranch so large it was measured in hundreds of sections, which had to be divided into nine work divisions in order to keep them all straight. It only seemed fitting that the headquarters itself would be massive. A family compound with houses set around a U-shaped drive and tree-filled courtyard, a work area with bunkhouse and outbuildings and barn and, continuing left, an expansive collection of corrals, chutes and pens, where cowboys prepared daily for many of the down-and-dirty jobs of ranch life. The complex covered a good half mile. Possibly more.

  “I agree with that, too,” Diane echoed. She tore her gaze away to look at Lee. “Why didn’t you tell us your folks own such a large chunk of West Texas?”

  “Because my folks don’t own it. It belongs to the family. There’s a bunch of us, so there’s lots of shares.”

  “Who are those people down there, then?”

  “They’re on-ranch Parkers. They live and work there year round. I’m an off-ranch Parker. All I do is visit occasionally and vote my one share.”

  “And collect a dividend?” she guessed.

  “Yep,” he agreed.

  Diane tsked. “Now, don’t get started with those cowboy ‘yeps’ and ‘nopes’. Tell us about it!”

  “It’s pretty simple,” Lee replied. “Two Parker brothers came here shortly before the Civil War to make themselves a ranch. Took a lot of doing by them and their descendants, but what you see is the result.”

  Diane grumbled, “I’d probably have to strangle you to get the full story.”

  “Next time I have a chance I’ll search out the family history book. It tells all about it.”

  Diane brightened. “A history book?”

  “Now you’ve done it,” Manny complained, grinning. “She won’t rest until she’s read it. Then she’ll want to do a show—”

  “I love history!” Diane defended herself.

  “So do we!” Manny returned. “Only we know when to take a break!”

  “I was taking a break—with you, remember?—until Simon Legree here called and—”

  “We better get going,” Lee broke in. “I promised Mae we’d be in before dark. And she’s not a person you make promises to lightly.”

  “What would she do?” Manny teased. “Have your head?”

  “She might,” Lee said, with just enough seriousness to make his friends wonder. They might as well be prepared, he thought, even though he himself hadn’t been. Because he’d missed the annual family get-together-and-stock-holders meeting for the past number of years while building “Western Rambles” into the respected series it was today, he’d been caught off guard to hear Mae still sounding so full of spit and vinegar. She’d passed her eighty-eighth birthday, after all. But there she was, still on a high after recently overseeing her great-niece Jodie’s marriage to the local sheriff.

  “You should’ve been here a week ago,” Mae informed him during his call to tell the family of his upcoming visit. “We put together a nice little wedding, even if it was on fairly quick notice. Groom stayed put, at least,” she’d added in an obvious dig at his younger brother. She hadn’t forgotten the terrible insult Alex had inflicted on the Parker name. Neither had he. Alex, on the other hand, seemed to have developed a convenient case of amnesia about the entire event.

  “Mae...” Diane mused as she climbed into the rear of the sturdy off-road vehicle they used to transport themselves and their equipment from one shooting location to the next. “You’ve mentioned her before. She’s...what to you?”

  Lee settled behind the wheel. “A distant cousin. My great-grandfather and her father were brothers. But she’s more than that. She runs the family. You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.”

  “You’re just chock-full of surprises, aren’t you?” Diane muttered as she shoved a duffel bag back into place among the other gear after it fell against her shoulder. “What else are you not telling us?”

  She was kidding, but had hit a little closer to the truth than Lee felt comfortable with.

  “Who, me?” he asked innocently. “Surprises?”

  Once Manny had climbed into the front passenger seat and secured himself, Lee swung the Range Rover back onto the narrow road.

  This was the way they’d spent a good portion of their lives over the past five years. After lining up the subjects they wanted to cover for the series’ upcoming season and making all the various arrangements—which at times held some of the same logistical challenges as moving a small army—they set off on two three-month-long sorties during the year to visit those places and people of interest, gather as much information as they could on-site, record it, then take the raw footage back to their headquarters in San Francisco, where they would later edit it into half-hour shows.

  They hadn’t taken any time off in two years until now, when they’d tried to allot themselves three weeks. Barely a week into their vacations, though, Lee had stopped by the office in San Francisco to collect the mail and found the letter from Twilight, Texas, informing him of the remake of Justice at Sundown . The letter had gone on to detail the studio’s int
erest in holding a junket in the same town where the rescue and hanging had actually occurred, then finally rambled on at great lengths to describe the town, its history and its interesting characters.

  Lee had almost tossed the letter aside. On another occasion they might have given it some consideration, but with the junket’s date so close, and Manny and Diane in Maui, and him... well, him blissfully staying put in the Bay Area, it wasn’t going to work. Then a name had caught his eye: Augusta Latham-Lamb. She was listed as one of Twilight’s interesting characters. A deceased character, it turned out as Lee read more closely, whose niece, Karen, would soon be coming to take possession of her aunt’s antique shop. The letter writer had then moved on to another town character, but Lee’s attention didn’t follow. Augusta Latham-Lamb and Karen...Latham? The same Karen Latham his brother had left standing at the altar?

  Lee had straightened instantly, trying to stretch his memory back seven years. He’d been seated next to an Aunt Augusta at the wedding rehearsal dinner. She’d wanted to talk about antiques and where she was from—some tiny little place in Texas. A veritable ghost town was the way she’d described it. It all fit!

  Lee had then started to play with the possibilities. Traveling to Twilight to cover the preparation for the movie remake’s junket could be a legitimate action. They could show the effect of both the old and new versions of the movie on the tiny town and its people and throw in a more rounded view of the town’s history, not to mention the area’s. Where the heck was Twilight, Texas, anyway? It had a slightly familiar buzz, but he couldn’t place it. Didn’t matter, though. He could look it up. He started to plan, developing the idea, then made the intrusive telephone call to the Cruzes.

  “It’s now or never,” he’d explained to Diane. “You remember the original Justice at Sundown, don’t you? It was pretty big. I’ve put feelers out and it’s rumored this new version will be big, too. It stars Johnny Mehan as the outlaw hero, Andrea Wright and Paul Colins. All heavy hitters. It should give us some good numbers if we get the timing right. I was thinking we could rush it through, or at the very least slot it at the beginning of this season’s schedule. Possibly even market it as a ‘Western Rambles’ special, while interest in the movie is high. What do you think?”