by C. J. Box
“So, you’ll work it out with Ben?” Cassie said as if they’d agreed on something.
“I’ll do my best if he will,” Isabel said as she looked back to the television. Within seconds, she was shaking her fist at the screen.
*
Cassie tapped on Ben’s closed bedroom door and waited a beat.
“Yeah?”
She was still not used to the deep croak of his adolescent voice.
“Can I come in?”
“I guess.”
He lay fully clothed on his bed and as she entered the room and closed the door behind her, Ben shoved his phone under a pillow to obviously hide what was on the screen. To cover the move, he reached out and pulled an open history book closer to him.
He was still wearing his shoes and she fought the urge to tell him to remove them from the coverlet. It was one of those small battles she no longer needed to win because of the overall consternation it would cause.
“Doing some homework?” she asked, knowing he hadn’t been.
“I’ve got a couple of chapters to read.”
She sat on the end of his bed. “Then maybe a little more reading and a little less texting.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed, but Cassie smiled. She was encouraged by the fact that he had been texting with someone. She could only imagine how tough it had been for him to start the ninth grade at Bozeman High School having recently moved there and without knowing anyone. He was at a tough age to be a freshman anywhere. And she could only imagine it because Ben didn’t talk to her about it.
She glanced around his room because she didn’t enter it very much anymore. There were dirty plates on his desk from midnight snacks, a new poster with the MSU Bobcats football schedule, clothes piled on his chair, and an overflowing trash can.
“I know, I know,” he said. “I’ll clean it up.”
She nodded.
Ben’s father and Cassie’s husband, Army Sergeant Jim Dewell, had died in combat in Afghanistan. Ben had never met him but he’d hung a photo of him in the camo uniform and helmet on his wall back in North Dakota and it was on his bedroom wall now. With every month, Ben resembled his father more and more: dark-haired, wide-spaced eyes, a slouched and ambling gait, a little more of a passive-aggressive attitude than necessary. In Ben’s mind, his father had been a hero and Cassie encouraged his perception.
So many years had lapsed that she no longer dwelled on the fact that Jim had enlisted in the military shortly after he learned she was pregnant. If Ben had ever done the math himself, comparing his age and his dad’s enlistment date, he’d never brought it up.
“I’m going to be gone for a few days for work,” she said.
He moaned and threw his head back.
“It won’t be so bad,” she said. “I’m asking for you to try and find a way to get along with Isabel.”
“She’s such an old hippie, Mom. And the stuff she tries to make me eat…”
“She’s your grandmother and she loves you.”
“I’m trying to gain weight and that brown rice crap she feeds me doesn’t help at all.”
“Why are you trying to gain weight?”
“So, I can move up a wrestling class. There’s this guy, Jason—I can’t beat him. He owns the hundred-and-thirteen-pound weight class and as long as he’s there I’ll never be able to travel with the freshman team. I need to get to one twenty.”
“I’m sure you will,” she said, trying to remember what it was like when she didn’t have to worry about putting on more weight. “Or maybe you’ll beat him.”
He shook his head as if to say it simply wasn’t possible. “Maybe if he died or something.”
“Ben.”
He shrugged. “Mom, I’ve really been thinking about the sport of wrestling lately.”
She arched her eyebrows but she had an inkling what was coming.
He said, “What would you think if I quit? I don’t think I’ll ever beat Jason. It’s like he’s a superhuman monkey or something. And I’m not sure I really love it, you know?”
“I understand what you’re saying but you’re a Dewell. Dewells don’t just quit when things get hard.”
“Isabel says I should follow my passion.”
“And since when did you listen to Isabel?”
He moaned and rolled his eyes.
“Your dad never quit,” she said. “He didn’t like quitters. I don’t quit. Just because something is difficult is not a good reason to run away.”
He seemed to be thinking about it. “Did Dad really say that? That he didn’t like quitters?”
Although Cassie couldn’t actually recall Jim using the words, Cassie nodded in the affirmative.
“I’ll tell you what,” Cassie said. “Finish out the season. Do your best. If you absolutely don’t want to sign up for wrestling next year, we can talk about it then. But you made a commitment and you have to see it through. It wasn’t a commitment to me or your coaches—it was a commitment to yourself.
“If you start letting yourself off easy every time things get tough, you’ll regret it,” she said.
He sighed. “Okay. I’ll stick with it this year. But if they kill me or cripple me that’s on you.”
“I’ll take that chance.” She smiled.
“Don’t forget me here while you’re on your trip,” he said. “Isabel might try to poison me with that health food crap.”
“I’ll leave enough money that you can eat out a couple of times if you must.”
He moaned again but it wasn’t as forceful as the first time.
She caught herself from wondering out loud if maybe he could stay with a friend for a night. It might give him something to look forward to. But she wasn’t sure he had any close friends. Back in North Dakota, it would have been Kyle Westergaard.
She patted him on the leg and said, “So how are things going? You don’t talk much about school.”
“They’re fine.” Deadpan.
“Are you meeting some people? Making some new friends?”
“Please,” he said squirming, “I told you everything is fine.”
“You can still talk to me about things, you know,” Cassie said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So maybe you should.”
“Don’t say you worry about me, Mom. Okay?”
She knew there was no point going on. She pursed her lips and patted his leg with finality and stood up.
“You can always call or text while I’m gone,” she said.
“I know.”
“By the way,” she asked, trying to make the question sound simply conversational, “You were chatting with someone on your phone when I came in. Do you mind if I ask who it was?”
“Ah, it was nobody,” he said but his face flushed. “Just someone I met in English class. She’s kind of weird.”
“She?”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” he said adamantly. “I knew you’d blow it up into something I didn’t want to talk about.”
“I’m not blowing anything up.”
“She just moved here, too. That’s all.”
“Okay, Ben.”
“ Really,” he said, “That’s all. Jesus, Mom.”
Cassie closed the door behind her. In the hallway, she hugged herself and smiled.
Then it was time to get to work.
five
With her laptop open on the kitchen table and glass of Syrah within reach, Cassie flipped to a fresh sheet on her legal pad.
She’d decided to start at thirty thousand feet and zoom in.
Hutterites were communal Anabaptists who traced their roots, like the Amish and Mennonites, to the Radical Reformation of the sixteenth century in Germany. They faced religious persecution in Europe and fled to Russia, which welcomed them to establish farm colonies to help feed the local populace—until the Russians threw them out as well. The Hutterites did what so many persecuted religious sects did: migrated to either Canada or America in the 1870s. Shortly after es
tablishing themselves on the prairies of western Canada and the Rockies, the group branched out into three distinct congregations, called Leuts, known as Schmiedeleut, Dariusleut, and Lehrerleut. All three factions lived in colonies, practiced pacifism and socialism (which they described as “the sharing of goods”), dressed in traditional clothing, and spoke English as well as an off-brand Bavarian dialect.
There were nearly fifty thousand Hutterites still in Montana, most of them members of the Lehrerleut branch, named after their leader who was a teacher, or Lehrer in German.
Hutterites believed in six guiding principles:
Baptism was for adults, not children;
Members should not wield the sword;
The Lord’s Supper is symbolic of the suffering of Jesus and should be done in remembrance of Him;
Pastors in the church are responsible for teaching, disciplining, and other duties;
Oaths are not to be taken;
and the ban should be applied to those baptized members who fall into sin repeatedly.
It was the ban Cassie was most interested in, because that was the reason the Kleinsassers had ended up leaving the colony and founding their ranch in Lochsa County in the first place. They’d been banned from the Lehrerleut.
She could find no additional information online why Horst Kleinsasser and his wife, Pauline, had been thrown out of the Lehrerleut sect. She wasn’t really surprised, since the Hutterites online presence seemed to be limited to anodyne website documents and a few video clips from documentaries done on the colonies in Montana. It was obvious that the sects didn’t like to speak to the press or issue statements of any kind.
If there were other families banned from the sect, Cassie couldn’t find any mention of them. Only the Kleinsassers, and no reason was given. Was it some kind of religious offense, she wondered, or did the grandfather commit other sins, like assaulting young women? Maybe it ran in the family.
On her pad, Cassie sketched the family tree from what little information she could find on Hutterite websites and Lochsa County records and made notes next to each name.
Horst (deceased). Born 1892, Russia. Patriarch of the family, banned from his sect. Founded the Kleinsasser ranch south of the town of Lolo in 1916 in Lochsa County. Supplied beef to U.S. Government during WWI. Established the Kleinsasser Trust. Married to Pauline. Died 1981.
Pauline (deceased). Matriarch. Married to Horst. No info. Died 1983.
Jakob (deceased). Firstborn son (1925), inherited and expanded the ranch to 60,000 acres. Officer, Montana Stockgrowers Association. Republican. Ran and lost a bid as lone Montana congressman in 1952. Married to Rita. Died 1972 on the ranch.
Rita (deceased). Born 1928. Three children: Horst II, Wilhelmina, Susanna. Married to Jakob. No info. Died 1980 in Great Falls.
*
Cassie searched in vain on the internet for any records for Wilhelmina or Susanna and gave up after fifteen minutes. It was as if they’d vanished. Horst II, however, had plenty of hits.
*
Horst II (67). Born 1952. Inherited and expanded the ranch to present 80,000 acres. Served in U.S. Navy during Vietnam War. Established a small chain of livestock feed stores in western Montana. Found not guilty of second-degree murder of a ranch hand. Named Montana Stockgrower of the Year, 1992. Lochsa County Commissioner, 1984–2004. Chairman, Montana Republican Party Central Committee. Montana delegate to 1980 and 1984 Republican National Convention. Married to Margaret. Still on ranch.
Margaret (64). Born 1955 in Victor. Four children: Blake, Cheyenne, John Wayne, Rand. Married to Horst II. Still on ranch.
Blake (43). Born 1976. Left Montana in 1995, age 18. Graduated Columbia University 1999. Employed Bridgewater Associates (1999– 2002), JPMorgan Asset Management (2002–2005), D. E. Shaw & Co. (2005–2009), Kleinsasser & Associates (2009–present). Divorced, no children. Residence: NYC and Gallatin County Jail.
Cassie snorted at that. His resumé was … discordant.
Next, there was: Cheyenne (39). Born 1980. Lolo High School graduate. Two years, Montana State University. Married and divorced (three times). Currently single. Daughter Franny Porché, age fifteen. Lives on ranch.
John Wayne (35). Born 1984. Graduated University of Montana 2006, Agribusiness Degree. Married to Rochelle. Currently CEO of Kleinsasser Ranch. (Suspected by Blake to be behind it all.) Two sons, John Wayne Ju nior, and Tristan. (Ages?)
Rand (32). Born 1987. Entered U.S. Army in 2005, dishonorably discharged 2006. Divorced, no children. Convicted of assault—eighteen months in Deer Lodge. Currently working on Kleinsasser Ranch. (Said by Blake to worship John Wayne.)
*
Cassie sat back and noted a few things that might be of significance.
The Kleinsasser women, from Pauline through the present time, seemed to make no mark. This was unusual in Cassie’s experience. On the Montana ranches she grew up around, the women were the heart and soul of the enterprise. While their husbands worked and catted around, the women maintained the family enterprise. The Kleinsasser clan appeared to be an aberration from that.
Second, the journey of the family seemed to follow the pattern she’d discussed with Rachel earlier when it came to so many private ranch holdings. The multigenerational Kleinsassers were an illustration of “the curse of the third generation.” Horst and Pauline founded the place, Jakob and Rita expanded it, Horst II and Margaret grew it further, and the third generation of Blake, Cheyenne, John Wayne, and Rand were blowing it all to hell.
The third generation also appeared to be an aberration from the past, which appeared to Cassie to have been fairly stable. The oldest, Blake, had run away at his first opportunity to make a life elsewhere. Cheyenne remained but had multiple husbands and at least one child. John Wayne was married, but Rand seemed to exist in his own dysfunctional world.
What happened to them?
She thought of a quote she’d once read by Samuel Butler in The Way of All Flesh: “If there are one or two good ones in a very large family it is as much as can be expected.”
Yet the Kleinsassers appeared to have missed even that meager benchmark.
Also, John Wayne seemed to have been the first manager of the ranch not to expand it or create additional enterprises.
Lastly, she thought it was odd that there were only three grandchildren: Franny Porché, John Wayne, Jr., and Tristan. How could that be? Hutterites were known around Montana for large families. The Kleinsassers seemed to be an odd exception to that.
Then Cassie thought about what Blake had told her about the trust and the moral turpitude clause.
With Blake out of the picture, would fifteen-year-old Franny as the oldest grandchild eventually inherit everything?
Cassie made a note to ask Rachel her legal opinion on that the next time she talked with her.
*
She turned to the discovery evidence that the prosecution in Lochsa County had turned over to Blake’s original attorney and that had since been forwarded to Rachel.
Cassie confirmed that Blake’s first lawyer was named Andrew Thomas Johnson. Cassie underlined that name because he was a man she wanted to talk to. Whether Johnson would talk to her remained to be seen.
The arrest report file for Blake Kleinsasser contained a document that was entitled “Statement of Franny Porché.”
Cassie read it over.
STATE OF MONTANA
COUNTY OF LOCHSA
The undersigned, FRANNY PORCHÉ, being duly sworn hereby deposes and says:
1. I am under the age of 18 and am a resident of Montana. I have personal knowledge of the facts herein, and, if called as a witness could testify completely thereto.
2. I suffer no legal disabilities and have personal knowledge of the facts set forth below.
3. I’m accompanied by my mother Cheyenne (Kleinsasser) Porché and my uncle John Wayne Kleinsasser, both of legal age.
Executed this third day of July, 2019.
*
The statement was signed in a
loopy, childish script by Franny as well as by her mother and her uncle.
On the evening of July 2 I participated in my church youth group at the First Congregational Church in Lolo. When the youth group concluded I went outside the church to wait for a ride from my mother back to the ranch. I was alone.
I was surprised when instead of my mother waiting for me in the parking lot it was my uncle Blake. He opened the passenger door of his car, which was a blue four-door sedan, I believe. He said he’d drive me home.
I asked him about my mother and he said my mom had given him permission to pick me up. I didn’t have any reason not to believe him even though I didn’t really know him all that well. Uncle Blake had not been around when I was growing up and I’d heard things about him from my uncles but I’m not one to judge.
I got in the car and we drove out of town in the direction of the ranch. Even though the windows were open (it was a hot evening), I thought I could smell alcohol on his breath when he spoke. His eyes were red and he looked flushed.
Uncle Blake asked me if he could borrow my phone so I gave it to him thinking he was going to call my mother and let her know we were on our way home. But he didn’t use the phone and instead placed it in the center console and closed the lid.
He said it was hard to talk to anyone these days because they were always on their phone—especially kids my age.
Then he said he wanted us to get to know each other better so that we could trust each other. He said he really wanted me to get to know him better. I know how that sounds, but it wasn’t creepy at the time. I was kind of flattered that he thought of me that way.
He said he wanted to show me where he spent most of his time when he was growing up on the ranch. He said he wanted me to know that even though my uncles told me different, Uncle Blake had spent a lot of years there and he had a real connection to the ranch that I probably wasn’t aware of.
I thought that was weird, but most adults are weird. I didn’t feel threatened at that time and I was curious to see where he was taking me. I’ve spent the last few years on the ranch when my mom moved back but I don’t know it all that well. I didn’t grow up on the ranch like everyone else. I knew there were old buildings scattered around but because I can’t drive yet I’ve never been to them.