Portraits

by Cynthia Freeman

  He took her first to the corral, where she sat on the fence and watched him show off his equestrian ability. He called attention to his special tooled saddle, which he used only on very special occasions—like honeymoons. Then he showed her the bunkhouses and introduced her to the cowhands.

  The first night of the tour he drove the jeep up to the timberline and came to a halt. “Honey, this is where we’re going to bed down for the night. It’s not going to be matzo balls, gefilte fish and your mother’s noodle kugel, but I make the best damn baked beans and venison you ever tasted…” When they turned in for the night, she was shivering in the cold Nevada air and climbed into her sleeping bag to undress. “Don’t bother with that flannel nightgown,” Eliot said. He got in alongside her, zipped up the bag, and before she knew it she was very warm and cozy. Very.

  The first real bath she had on their honeymoon was the night they spent at Ben’s. Juanita was a beautiful woman, of Mexican, Indian and Irish ancestry, and Ben clearly adored her. How could he not? Michele thought. Dinner that night was thick bean soup, roast leg of venison and peach cobbler.

  When they got back to the house after the honeymoon it seemed that Eliot thought she still had a few things to learn about the life she’d live with him.

  For example—how to ride. “It’ll toughen up your butt,” he said.

  But when she sat in the dust after her first spill, she said, “I’m not getting back on that thing—”

  “Of course you are, that mare’s damned sensitive.”

  “Really, what about my butt?”

  “After a few more falls, it won’t be quite so tender. Now, up you go.”

  “Eliot, I’d do anything in the world for you, but I’m not going to get up on that—”

  Before she could finish the sentence, she was back in the saddle again. By the time autumn came she was an accomplished enough rider to accompany Eliot to the round-up in the northwestern part of the ranch.

  If their life took on a pattern, it was one that Michele never found boring. From time to time they spent a weekend in Reno, where Eliot thought he had a little catching up to do at the gaming tables. One night his winnings were so great that he bought drinks for everybody and ended up going to bed drunk as a hoot-owl. The next morning, without any apologies, he said, “I sure had one hell of a time. How about you, lady?”

  “Well, I was okay after you simmered down and I was able to get your boots off, but I must admit I was thinking of taking another room.”

  “Why?” he asked, nibbling on her ear.

  “’Cause you snored.”

  “I always do that when I get drunk as a skunk. But drunk or sober, I expect to wake up and find you right alongside of me…”

  Once a week she drove into Reno and shopped, had lunch with Fran Kaufman, then was at the ranch in time for dinner. She always bought Eliot some crazy little thing she knew would make him laugh. And he always did.

  In December, Michele and Eliot trudged through the snow until they found the perfect Christmas tree. As they took a rest from their efforts to chop it down, Eliot said, “I know it’s a little against your principles, the Christmas tree thing, but I’ll help you light your Chanukah candles and you help me trim the tree. That way we’ll work out the whole damned thing…”

  Doris and Henry came to spend Christmas with them, and the uproarious Christmas Eve party included the Kaufmans, Ben and Juanita, and an assortment of Eliot’s relatives. Eliot was especially fond of Aunt Effie, who was a little hard of hearing except when it came to being offered what she’d like to drink.

  Eliot also decided that this year there was going to be a Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus giving out the presents, so after dinner he and Michele went upstairs and changed into their costumes. She put on a gray bouffant wig that came to a topknot, granny glasses, shoes laced to the ankle and a long red skirt with a white ruffled blouse. When she stuck the pillows into her blouse, Eliot came over and took a good handful. “You know something, lady? I wouldn’t mind a bit if I could nosh on those.”

  She laughed and danced away from him. “Eliot, you’re crazy.”

  “Is that any way to talk to Santa Claus?” Flinging the sack over his back and handing her an enormous basket, the two of them walked back into the livingroom with the record player blasting “Jingle Bells.”

  Eliot dusted the fake snow off his shoulders, and suddenly Mrs. Claus was calling out the names.

  After everybody had gone to bed, Eliot whispered, “Lady, this was the best damn Christmas I ever had in my whole life.”

  She said quietly, “I got a secret to tell you. You’re going to be the best damn father—”

  He let out a whoop. “You mean you been holding out on me?”

  She answered hesitantly, “Yes, darling, I guess I have.”

  Catching the apprehension in her voice, he turned on the lamp and said, “For how long?”

  “As long as I could. I’m in my fourth month.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Michele, I thought we got rid of all those ghosts. I thought riding that mare would strengthen your butt and your courage. Now I’ve got news for you, lady. As of today, and this is an order, you’re going to take it easy. And you’re going to leave the worrying to me. I can be a tough buzzard. You’ve got something that belongs to me and I mean to collect.”

  “Oh, Eliot, I love you so much, and I don’t want anything to go wrong for us.”

  “Well, you just stop worrying about it and keep thinking about what we’ve got ahead of us. If there’s anybody that ever loved a woman, it sure as hell is me.”

  In the months that followed, Eliot did everything he could to reassure her, and made certain that she was not subjected to stress or strain of any kind. He called Doris and told her that he thought it would be good for Michele to have her mother there toward the end of her pregnancy, and so Doris came out in the beginning of May to spend a few weeks with her daughter and son-in-law.

  A week before the baby was due, Eliot took a large suite of rooms at the Riverside so that they would be close to the hospital. His timing had been quite accurate. At the Reno Presbyterian Hospital on May 15, 1959, Michele was delivered of a boy. When Eliot saw Steven Burns for the first time, he threw his hat in the air and twirled Doris in his arms. “By God, you’re the best damn looking grandmother in the world.”

  She laughed, with tears in her eyes. “And, Bill S. Hart, I love you too. You’ve got to be the best damn son any mother could be privileged to have.”

  After seeing Michele, who was every bit as joyful as he was, he walked down the hall toward the nursery and waited, looking through the glass. When he saw the nurse bring his child out to be taken to Michele he said, “Here, give me that little fellow.”

  She protested that it was against the rules. He told her, “To hell with that. I’m going to take him in to see his mother. You better get used to that rule.”

  “But you don’t have a mask and a gown on.”

  “I don’t think this kid’s going to mind a bit,” and he strode down the hall with the little blanket-wrapped bundle and swung open the door. Laying the child alongside Michele, he said, “Here’s your Christmas present…best damn present you’re ever going to get from me.” He bent over, kissed her lingeringly. “Thank you, lady. You’re one hell of a woman.”

  “And you’re the best damn man I’ve ever known in my life.”

  The whole household revolved around Steven, and no matter where Eliot happened to be Michele always heard the sound of his jeep coming round the bend at feeding time.

  He dashed up the stairs to the nursery, kissed her generously, and settled into the big wing chair to watch as Michele held the child to her breast. Eliot loved the look and sound of his son’s enjoyment. From time to time, she would glance over and smile at him. When she’d finished nursing he’d say, “Here, give me that kid. Burping’s my job.”

  “Eliot, you’ll have to put a diaper over your shoulder.”

  He obeyed reluctantly. “You
know, this kid’s going to get a few germs anyway, diaper or no diaper…Wow, fellow, that was a good one.” Then he’d hold the child in his arms and look down at him. “I’ll be damned if you’re not the best-looking kid I ever saw. You look just like your mother.”

  “Eliot, he looks exactly like you and you know it.”

  “Only his plumbing. The rest of him is you, Michele.”

  “Have it your way, but he’s absolutely a duplicate you. Your father swore he thought he was seeing you for the first time again.”

  Looking at the child and smiling, he said, “You really think so?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to him.”

  “Yeah, come to think of it, he does look like me. And he’s a damn good-looking kid in spite of it.” …

  Doris and Henry came out to spend the week for Steven’s first birthday, and there wasn’t a happier grandfather than Henry. As for Doris, she couldn’t understand why Steven wasn’t the most incorrigibly spoiled child in the world. Michele doted on him, and Doris doubted if there was a toy left in Reno. The things that Eliot bought were absolute insanity. A panda the size of a six-year-old, a huge red fire truck, an electric train set…On the momentous occasion of Steven cutting his first tooth, Eliot insisted it had to be on beef jerky…By the time Steven was two, he was riding on Eliot’s lap in the jeep, and on Steven’s third birthday, Eliot took him into Reno and had him outfitted with boots, a Stetson and chaps…“Here, let me take a look at you. Yeah, terrific. Okay, buckaroo, let’s go home and show mama…”

  When Steven was four Eliot kept him out an entire week during round-up, but this was one excursion that backfired. When they came home, Steven was put to bed with a very bad cold, which made Eliot more than a little nervous. Maybe this time he’d gone too far. The humidifier in Steven’s room ran day and night for a week, and Eliot wouldn’t leave the child for a moment. He slept on a cot in his room and it was only when Steven was up and around, “full of piss and vinegar again,” that Eliot began to relax…

  At six, Steven looked like a miniature Eliot and could ride a horse almost as well. Eliot gave him his first rifle, which didn’t please Michele in the least. But Eliot said that his father Ben had taught him to shoot at that age and Steven was going to do the same. If Michele had any funny ideas that he was going to grow up to be a sissy, she had another guess coming…

  When Doris came at Thanksgiving that year, she proudly announced that Michele had a little niece, a sabra by the name of Aviva, born at the Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem.

  “Mama, I know you miss them terribly and eight years is such a long time. Why don’t you and dad go and visit? Imagine how thrilled they’d be for you to see the new baby. And Mordechai is almost nine now.”

  Doris sighed. “I’m dying to see them, and dad and I have thought about it, but the trip is so expensive…Then again, if we don’t do it now…You’re right, we’re going this summer.”

  “Oh, I’m so happy, mama. What are you smiling at?”

  “The differences in my grandchildren’s lives—one a cowboy living in Nevada, the other living on a kibbutz in the Negev, and my new sabra…Isn’t that a magnificent name, Aviva?”

  “It’s beautiful. What does it mean in Hebrew?”

  “Robin…I mean Rahel said it meant spring, the most beautiful time of the year.”

  Indeed it was, Michele thought, remembering the spring morning she’d given birth to Steven. That morning had been the final proof to her that her ghosts were a thing of the past.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  BUNDLED IN HIS HOODED Mackinaw coat, Steven sat in the jeep between his mother and father. It was a tradition that Steven was familiar with, the cutting down of the Christmas tree. He had chosen this year’s tree almost a year ago, and he knew it would be ready for cutting.

  It was cold and crisp, a winter wonderland. The boughs on the towering firs and pines were bending under the weight of the snowfall.

  They got out of the jeep, eagerly took the axes and lanterns and trudged through the snow to Steven’s tree.

  As Eliot swung back his axe to make the first cut, they heard the sound of gunfire. None of them were startled since hunting jackrabbits in the snow was not uncommon, but “some crazy bastard” was poaching on Eliot’s land and he didn’t like that.

  “Wherever the hell you are, get off my land,” he called out.

  The echo of his voice hadn’t even died when another shot rang out and Michele and Steven watched Eliot double over and fall face down into the snow.

  It was so sudden, so unexpected, that Michele wasn’t quite sure what had happened. When she saw him lying motionless, she cried out, “Get up, Eliot.” When he didn’t move she bent down, her knees sinking into the snow, and tried pulling him onto his back. But she was trembling now, and she wasn’t strong enough. “Steven, help me. Help me roll daddy over!”

  They finally got him on his back, but when she saw the blood rushing from Eliot’s mouth she became hysterical. “Eliot, get up, get up!” she pleaded. “Don’t do this, Eliot, get up.” She bent down, took his head in her arms and held him against her. “Oh, my God, Eliot you can’t, you can’t…”

  Steven stood wide-eyed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Mommy, dad’s hurt. Let’s get a doctor.”

  She took off her coat and covered Eliot. “Please, Eliot, get up.” But all she heard was the sound of his labored breathing. “Darling, we’ll be right back,” she said frantically. She grabbed Steven by the hand and they drove to Ben’s.

  When she arrived and opened the door, Juanita saw the blood on Michele’s hands and cheek. “My God, what’s happened?”

  “Eliot’s been shot—”

  “Oh, my God, no…”

  “Where’s Ben?”

  “He’s in bed.” She ran through the house and came back moments later with Ben. “Let me get my coat, Michele. Juanita, call Dr. Mason to get an ambulance out there. Have Nick and some of the boys meet us…where’s Eliot?”

  “Over at the east acres…we were cutting down a tree…”

  Ben took Michele and Steven out to the jeep and drove them back to where Eliot was, and minutes later four of the hands had arrived. Ben had told her to stay in the jeep while he went to Eliot, but suddenly she couldn’t stand to just sit there, to be without Eliot. As she got out and started across to her husband, one of the men stopped her.

  “Mrs. Burns, let me take you home. The others will take care of Eliot.”

  Trying to push him aside, she screamed, “No, I want to see Eliot.”

  “Mrs. Burns, come on, let me take you home.”

  “Michele, I think you’d better listen to Mac,” Ben said “Go ahead now, and I’ll meet you up at the house…”

  By the time they brought Eliot back, there was no need for the ambulance. The men carried him into the house and up the stairs to his room, with Ben following.

  Michele started to go in, but Ben stopped her.

  “Don’t go in, Michele.”

  “Get out of my way, Ben.”

  “Michele, listen to me…Eliot’s gone.”

  She looked at his face. “It can’t be true. Just an hour ago we were…Get out of my way, I’m going to see my husband.” She opened the door…His face was covered, and he was lying so still. She refused to believe it, he was going to get up any minute. She walked slowly to the bed, took the sheet off his face and spoke to him as though he would answer. “Eliot, darling, please wake up, please…” And then she threw herself across him and let the anguished, soundless cries wash over them both…

  When Ben called Doris she understood what was being said but she couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible…“How is Michele?”

  “In pretty bad shape.”

  “Steven?”

  “About the same, I’m afraid. I guess it’s going to take us to see this thing through.”

  “Yes, Ben. Henry and I will be there as soon as we can get a plane.” …

  When
they went up to Michele’s room and saw her sitting in the large wing chair and staring quietly into the fire, Doris wished she could die rather than see her child like this. “Darling, daddy and I got here as soon as we could.”

  Michele did not respond.

  “Michele, darling, come lie down.”

  She looked at Doris. “You know Eliot’s dead.”

  “Yes, darling, we know. Now please come lie down.”

  “No, I can’t ever sleep in that bed again. I just want to sit here alone, mama.”

  “Please, Michele.”

  But Michele wasn’t listening. Then, quietly, “I want to die, mama.”

  “Don’t say that…Eliot wouldn’t want you to say that.”

  Henry said, “Come on, darling.”

  She looked up at her father. “Dad, I want to sit here, this is what I have of Eliot.”

  “You have more than that. You have Steven—”

  “No, I can’t look at Steven. When I do, I see Eliot.”

  Taking her hand, he said, “Come, dear…”

  Like a child, she followed him down the hall to another room. Tucking her under the covers, he said, “I want you to take one of these.”

  “No, I don’t want to go to sleep. I never want to go to sleep, I don’t want to do anything.”

  “Please, Michele, do this for me—”

  Doris had a glass of water handy as Henry put the Nembutal to her mouth. They sat in the room until she finally fell asleep, then they went to see Steven.

  He was crying and angry. “Somebody killed my dad and I’m going to kill them.”

  Henry held the little boy very close. “You mustn’t say that, Steven. It was an accident.”

  “No!” he screamed. “I’m going to kill them like they killed my dad.”

  “Steven, listen to your grandpa. If you love your father you won’t say that kind of thing, because you know he wouldn’t want you to. Now, I know it’s going to be very hard, but you must try to be a brave boy and remember, your mother needs you. Your father would want you to remember that.”