Ann rose from her little stool with a slight groan. “I guess I’d better check that roast,” she said, rubbing her knee. “You hungry? It will be a while till dinner, but I have some fresh oatmeal cookies.”
“Cold milk?” I asked hopefully.
“You bet,” she grinned.
I followed her into the kitchen and extracted a cookie from the belly of the yellow tabby cookie jar. I sank my teeth into the chewy oatmeal and sweet raisins. Ann opened the refrigerator door covered with pictures of smiling children, grocery lists, and colorful magnets.
“Where’s Zee?” I asked.
“Mackenzie will be home soon. Out with some of her ‘buddies,’” she said with a sigh.
“How is she doing anyway?”
She pursed her lips, staring into the interior of the refrigerator as if to find the answer there. “Mackenzie is all right, I guess. Struggling a bit lately, though. She has a new hairstyle every other day, and she’s on the phone 24/7. I don’t know these new friends she has.” Concern washed over her face as she pulled a gallon jug of milk from the shelf. “I only see them from a distance when they drop her off. Makes me worry. I feel like I’m losing touch with her sometimes.”
“Sounds like a lot of kids her age,” I said in an effort to comfort her. I knew that this battle between Zee and her parents had been quietly escalating for some time. Or was it mostly a battle between Zee and herself?
“I guess. Anyway, you are her hero—going off on your own, traveling, sending her postcards from … where was that? Cancún?” She sighed again. “Well, it is important for her to know there is something out there to shoot for. Anyway, it’s good for her to have you around.” She patted my arm with her warm hand and went to the cupboard for a glass.
“Looks like your uncle is back,” she said, looking through the kitchen window.
I saw the gray F-150 pickup rolling down the lane, churning up a cloud of dust behind it.
“He had a call to make. Sick horse, I believe. I guess I’d better get dinner on,” she said
I opened the screen door just as my uncle Martin’s pickup ground to a stop. He swung his lanky body down out of the truck and pulled off his cowboy hat all in one motion as he spotted me. The two dogs bounded up and made a frenzied dance beside him.
Crossing the yard in a few great strides, Martin bellowed, “I’ll be darned! Miss Jenna!” He swept me up off the ground in a bear hug. “It’s good to see you, girl. How ya doin’?”
“Fine,” I said, struggling to catch my breath.
He tossed his hat on the porch swing and combed his long, bony fingers through his coal black hair. It was streaked with gray. The fine lines that crinkled at the corners of his hazel eyes did nothing to diminish his appearance of vitality. He slapped the dust off of his jeans and eyed me with a crooked grin. “You come to help us move my bison beauties to the south field? We got fifty new calves this year.”
“I saw some of them on the way in, close to the fence. I never get over how big they are. They are so massive.” I spread my hands. “It just seems like they’d march right through that fence if they wanted to.
He pulled a bandana out of his rear pocket and wiped his forehead. “Big as they are, they are easier to work with than cows in some ways. Despite their wild look, they are not as rough on the fence as the cows. You feed ’em and make sure they have water and treats like oats, and they don’t tend to challenge a fence. They’d rather just hang around with the herd.”
I picked up a stick and threw it for Hershey. He chased the stick for a moment and then became intensely preoccupied with a gopher hole.
Martin leaned against the porch, ruffling Freckles’s ears. “And despite their size, moving those bison is not too big a deal,” he said as Ann came out onto the porch. “You just have to realize you are better off leading them than pushing them. They are a lot like some people, you know.”
“You talkin’ about me?” Ann asked, playfully slapping his arm. “Come on in, Jenna, or he’ll talk your ear off out here.”
I was following them into the house when a dilapidated blue Toyota drove up, music blaring. My cousin Zee, a petite girl with hair streaked blonde and black, jumped out laughing. She pulled a backpack onto her shoulder, but before she could shut the door, the car tore out of the driveway. “You’re crazy!” she shouted after it. “Crazy!” The car careened down the lane, door flapping, narrowly missing a gatepost.
Watching the scene through the open door, Martin gritted his teeth and swore under his breath. He tossed his jacket on the boot well and went on into the kitchen.
I stepped out onto the porch, leaned on the railing and hollered, “Hey, you!”
Zee squealed, tossing her bag on the ground. She ran to the porch and threw her arms around me, nearly tipping me over. “Jenna! I’m glad you came down!”
Despite our age difference, Zee and I had always been close. When Zee was a baby, I led her along for hours, teaching her to walk, her tiny fists clenched around my fingers. For a week after I had my tonsils out, Zee was my little slave, bringing me popsicles, conveying messages to my friends on the phone until I regained my voice. I remember carrying Zee home on my back nearly a mile from the creek when a bee stung her on the foot, swelling it instantly to twice its size. It was hard on Zee when I graduated high school and went off to the university in Missoula, then spent time away working and traveling.
“You look awesome!” I held Zee at arm’s length, looking her over. “Nice necklace, girl.”
Zee’s hand went to her throat. “Oh, I love it. Thanks for sending it. Yeah, sorry, I was going to email you and thank you for it. It’s from … now where did you say it was from?”
“I picked it up in the Caribbean in June. I’d like to get you a buddy pass and take you there someday. How’ve you been?”
I put my arm around Zee and drew her up onto the porch. We sat for a while on the swing, Zee chattering on about her friends and complaining about school.
Eventually, she paused for breath and asked, “And how’s Derek?” She practically sang his name, her hand to her chest, “The one from California with the cool car?”
“Oh, fine, I guess. He’s coming through this way again next Saturday so he said he’d stop for the reception.” I felt a tension in my throat at the thought. So far, I had been able to preserve a certain distance between Derek and my family. Jack’s wife, Elizabeth, had met him once at my house, but largely I had been reluctant to bring him around. I had hesitated to bring those two worlds together. I wondered how they would fit. It was like looking at the pieces of a complicated puzzle.
We watched as James drove up in his khaki green Jeep and honked the horn. He jumped out and strode up to the door.
“Hey, you guys,” he smiled.
“Hi,” Mackenzie said, looking a little starstruck.
He opened the door and Angela came out looking much less formal, but no less lovely in blue jeans and a pink sweater. “Mom, we’ll be back at about nine. Love ya,” she called into the kitchen.
She gave Mackenzie a squeeze on the knee. “See you guys later. Don’t forget to try on that dress, OK, Zee?”
“I did,” Zee called after her. “I look ridiculous,” she whined.
“You’re fine,” Angela said firmly as James helped her into the Jeep.
“Seriously,” Zee said, looking tragic. “I look like a clown with a big red bow on my butt.”
I laughed and poked her in the ribs as Ann called us in for dinner.
“Smells wonderful! Looks great.” I peeked over Zee’s shoulder at the table already set with Ann’s fresh, feather-light rolls and homemade huckleberry jam.
As Zee slumped by, Ann reached over and pulled her into a quick hug to which there was a reluctant response. “Mom, you’re messing up my hair,” she protested.
“Get the plates please,” Ann said, pushing her gently toward the cupboard.
Martin strolled into the kitchen. He pulled the lid off of a heavy roasting pan and
a delicious aroma filled the air. “You missed this last time you were here. Bison roast. Prepare your taste buds for the best meat in the West,” he told me with an emphatic nod of his head.
Zee mimicked sticking her finger down her throat.
Her mother sighed. “Zee thinks she’s vegan,” Ann whispered to me. “But apparently only when she’s not at McDonald’s.”
I suppressed a grin.
We gathered around the table and passed steaming bowls of mashed potatoes and fresh garden green beans.
When I took a bite of the meat, my uncle poked his fork in my direction, “Now how do you like that, gal? Good, right?”
“It’s delicious.” I chewed thoughtfully. The tender meat had a hardy flavor—sweet and rich. “I always said you raise the best bison in Montana.”
He smiled. “And your aunt does a great job cooking it up too. Now here’s something interesting,” he said, still brandishing the fork. “Did you know people tend not to be allergic to bison? Why’s that you say? Nobody knows for sure. Probably the natural way the animals are raised.” He studiously amassed a pile of potatoes on his plate, poured on gravy, then dove in with gusto.
Between bites, they peppered me with questions about my work at the airport. Ann filled me in on all the news about people in town. Births, deaths, divorces, fortunes made and lost. Zee talked in glowing terms about a new movie I “just had to see.”
“Jack is coming in the morning to help cut firewood,” my uncle said, tossing his napkin on his empty plate. “I told him if he wanted to borrow my fishing boat again, he’d have to put in some hard labor. Better feed him too, Ann. Don’t want him keelin’ over on the job.”
Ann smiled and nodded her head.
“He’s bringing that friend of his, Michael,” he continued. “He’s a good hand. We might actually get some work done.”
Ann raised her eyebrows. “Hmm,” she said. She suddenly busied herself smoothing her napkin across her lap. “Now, he’s the one that Elizabeth mentioned, I believe. The one she said might be of interest to a certain party here at this table.”
Zee looked hopeful.
“No, not you, Zee,” Ann said.
I rolled my eyes.
“Not that I would ever interfere with such things,” Ann said with mock innocence.
Sounded like trouble brewing to me.
“So, do I really have to go to the shower in the morning?” Zee complained.
“Of course,” Ann said. “You are one of the bridesmaids.”
“Sure. It is one of your ‘bridesmaidly’ duties,” I teased. “You have to keep the bride happy and organize the gifts and all of that.”
She looked a little encouraged. “Gifts?”
“Tomorrow,” Ann said firmly. “Ten o’clock. Rebecca Gibson’s house. You can’t be late.”
Zee nodded. “I got it,” she said and speared a carrot.
“It’s crazy to have a shower so close to the wedding, but I guess Angela couldn’t get time off from school and drive over here until now.” Ann said. “So much to do. Oh, well, it will all come together.”
Chapter 7
dc
The next morning, I awoke to the aroma of bacon and hot cinnamon rolls. I shuffled into the kitchen, wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt, my hair spiking out in all directions. I put an arm around my aunt and gave her a squeeze. “I think I died and went to heaven! Everything smells so good.”
“Good morning! How did you sleep?” Ann asked. She stood at the stove in a red, candy-striped apron, wielding a pair of tongs over the spattering pan of bacon. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled up loosely into a hair clip.
“Fabulously.” I stole a hot slice of bacon from a plate beside the stove. “Can I help?”
“Almost ready. Your uncle will be back in a few minutes. He went out early to get some chores done.” She placed a bowl of fresh applesauce on the table.
“Oh, that looks so good.” I grabbed a nearby spoon, plunged it into the sweet, spicy applesauce, and filled my mouth with the taste of fall in the Bitterroot Valley. “Hmm. That right there,” I murmured, “that is worth a million bucks. You just can’t buy applesauce like that in the store—not like yours.”
My aunt smiled.
Martin came in the door, stomping mud off of his feet. “Good morning, Jenna.” He sat on the bench by the front door and unlaced his boots. “Get some rest?”
“It is so quiet out here. I slept like a log.” I valued the quiet at the ranch. When I was in LA, the apartment above mine had been occupied by four professional rugby players who rumbled across my ceiling both early and late. I learned to sleep through it eventually, but often dreamed I was being trampled by a herd of elephants.
Martin stepped over to his wife, kissed her on the cheek and, at the same time, deftly absconded with a cinnamon roll.
“Sit down now, you,” she admonished, good-naturedly pushing him towards a chair. “Jack called. He’ll be here in a little while to help with the wood,” she said. “He’s dropping Elizabeth off at the shower and then coming by.”
“He better get on over here. We have work to do. Day’s a-wastin’,” Martin said as he folded his tall frame into the chair at the breakfast table.
“Mom, have you seen my brush?” Angela came into the kitchen, her hair in hot rollers. “Good morning, Dad.” She gave him a squeeze. “Hey, Jenna, thanks again for coming down for the shower. I’m kind of nervous. I hope everyone has fun.”
“Sit down and have some breakfast,” Ann said, bringing a steaming plate of eggs and hash browns to the table.
“I have to get ready,” Angela said. She stuffed eggs and bacon between two pieces of bread and ran upstairs. “Sorry, I told Rebecca I’d be early!” she called over her shoulder.
Ann shook her head. “You’re gonna give yourself an ulcer, eating on the run like that,” she called after her. “Well, we might as well get started. Zee sleeps late,” she said, a touch of irritation in her voice.
“Now, you are free to stay here as long as you like, you know,” my uncle said with a wink as he passed me the rolls.
“I have to get back tonight. Work tomorrow.” I surveyed the table laden with food and patted my stomach. “Just as well. I’d gain ten pounds if I stayed any longer.”
A moment later, Angela thundered back down the stairs. “I gotta go.”
She hugged Ann, then grabbed her coat and purse.
“See you guys over there.”
She flew out the door and down the steps.
“And where is that James fella?” my uncle asked. “Seems to me if he is going to be part of this family he ought to be helping haul in the winter’s wood, fancy groom or not.”
“You’re just looking for some slave labor,” I teased him.
“He has some things to do with his parents, can’t remember what,” Ann said, pouring Martin some orange juice when he held up his glass. “You’ll have plenty of time to put him to work around here after they are married.”
I was scraping up the last sweet smudge of applesauce with a bit of roll when I looked at my watch. “Oh no! It’s getting late. I have to jump in the shower before we go to Rebecca’s.”
“Jenna, will you please see if you can rattle Zee’s cage? I don’t want her making us late to that shower,” my aunt said.
I took my dishes to the sink and then went to knock on Zee’s bedroom door. No response. I pushed open the door to see her wound up in a sheet, dead to the world. I grabbed a pillow from the floor and unceremoniously tossed it at her. She raised a tousled head and looked like she was winding up for a caustic remark, but stopped short when she saw that it was me.
“Get up, you laze,” I taunted her.
Zee uttered a groan and buried her face into the mattress.
“Get up,” I repeated, shaking her exposed foot.
Again, a muffled retort, then more clearly, “I was up till four o’clock on the phone with Erin. She was in a bad way—boyfriend dumped her.”
Then
silence.
“You have to get up,” I urged. “Angela’s shower. We can’t be late.” I jiggled the bed with my knee, provoking a tortured groan. I figured that was as much of a reaction as I was going to get out of Zee for now. I left the room considering a cold, wet washcloth to plop strategically on her neck.
My uncle and aunt must be getting soft in their later years of parenting, I thought as I collected a towel from the hall closet. When I was a kid, chores came right after breakfast, and breakfast came long before lunch. I shook my head and headed for the bathroom.
When I came out, Ann had her coat in her hand.
“I have to get on over to Rebecca’s. I need to be a few minutes early to help Elizabeth with the refreshments.” She checked her watch. “Would you please bring Zee? At the rate she’s going it will be halfway into next week before she’s ready.”
A
As soon as I could drag Zee away from the mirror, we followed Ann’s trail down the lane. We got to Rebecca’s and knocked on the door. One of Angela’s friends ushered us into a world of white balloons and pink crepe paper. Elizabeth reigned over the food table laden with triangular white sandwiches and an assortment of sweets, ample enough to put an elephant into a diabetic coma
“Just in time.” Elizabeth gave me a hug. Her thick chestnut hair was loosely bundled at the back of her neck. Soft strands framed her face, accenting her clear skin and hazel eyes.
I raised my eyebrows appreciatively at the food on the table. “Wow, this looks beautiful … and dangerous.”
She laughed. “Rebecca really outdid herself. I’m just organizing a bit.”
I handed her the requisite napkins—bright pink, not baby pink—which she fanned artfully into a perfect semicircle and placed them between the crystal punch bowl and a tall tower of cupcakes nested in golden foil cups. I helped her lay out the mints, nuts, and plastic tableware she had asked me to bring.
For the entertainment segment of the shower, the guests split into three teams and made a bridal gown for Angela out of white tissue paper and rolls of toilet paper, complete with a bouquet fit for a Kleenex queen. She laughed and smiled and still looked lovely, but I would’ve hated to see her try to weather a rainstorm in that outfit.
Heartbeat of the Bitterroot Page 5