by Frank Hayes
“Not just yet. If I told you, I’d have to kill you or else Rosie would kill me.” Virgil stepped out, leaving Jimmy with a puzzled expression on his face.
• • •
There were times when he felt the weight of his job more than other times. This was one of those times. He was sorry he hadn’t stopped by Margie’s before he came home. He would have liked to have sat over a cup of coffee along with a slice of one of her homemade pies. There might even have been some social interchange. Margie kept him up to speed on local town gossip. On a personal level he hadn’t had much social interaction out of the office since Ruby. He could hear Cesar, his stand-in Mexican father, telling him to work at not being alone.
The inventory of the refrigerator for a late-night snack a few minutes after he got home did nothing to stimulate his appetite. There was a covered dish with some mystery meat that looked like a laboratory experiment gone wrong. Cesar always said when in doubt dose it with hot sauce, but Virgil just didn’t feel like taking a chance. He dumped it in the trash bin then settled on a couple of hot dogs, which he threw into a fry pan along with a can of beans. A few minutes later he was pushing them around on his plate, wondering why he had bothered. Even the cold beer he had opened tasted doubtful. Most of the meal ended up with the mystery meat, the last of the beer emptied into the sink. Twenty minutes later, after a warm shower, he was flat on his back in his dark bedroom staring at a spot on his ceiling that he couldn’t see, wondering how he was going to tell Mr. Jessup that the charred body from the trailer was not his son. On the other hand, he had no idea where Everett was and whether he was alive or dead. People talk about closure but Virgil knew he had none to give. This was not going to be an easy call. In any event, he knew that with the daylight he was facing another trip down to Roscoe Flats. The thought of it was ruining his night’s sleep.
Chapter 14
The horses were blowing condensation from their nostrils when they stepped out of the barn. It was the coldest day since Virgil had been up in the high lonesome country on the Thompson ranch at Thanksgiving. Another reminder that they were getting deeper into a new season was the layer of frost that had settled over everything. It would only last until the rising sun had a chance to do its job. Cesar stepped out of the barn with a couple of Plymouth Rock hens following at his feet. They immediately ran ahead, pecking and scratching at the ground, whipping up ice flurries as they did. By the time Cesar reached the steps leading to the front porch Virgil was standing at the top, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He handed it to Cesar as he stepped onto the porch. Then he reached over to get his own cup, which was perched on top of the railing. Together they sipped the hot liquid while they silently watched the day begin.
“It’ll all be gone by nine o’clock,” Virgil said.
“Si, but it is pretty while it lasts. Maybe we get more this winter.”
“Could be . . . been a little colder than usual. Horses’ coats are pretty thick. How’s the stock look?”
“All good. Time to wean that foal off the old mare. Probably going to be tough. She likes being a mom but it’s got to be done. He’s almost seven months.”
Virgil drained the last of his cup.
“Why don’t we wait until after the first of the year? We don’t want the two of them carrying on when everyone is here for that party. Couple of days more or less won’t make any difference.”
Cesar took Virgil’s cup along with his own, then went inside. Virgil stayed on the porch until he returned.
“Heading into Hayward?”
“Nope. Other direction. Down toward Cielo and Roscoe Flats. Got some news for an old-timer down there. I want to tell it in person.”
“Long drive when you could just pick up the phone.”
“Yeah.” Virgil was watching the frost starting to drip down from the barn roofs. “Kind of feel like this is the kind of telling should be done face-to-face since it’s good news. Besides, I like this old man.”
“Those are good reasons,” Cesar said.
Virgil gave a half wave then walked down the steps and got in his car.
Once on the road he called Rosie to tell her his plans for the morning. Not being her usual responsive self, he questioned her on it.
“I’m okay. It’s just that it’s been over twenty years since I had morning sickness.”
“You and Dave break the news to the kids yet?”
“Last night.”
“How did that go?”
“Well, one of the boys said, how did that happen? Dave said, if you don’t know then you mustn’t have paid much attention in that biology class you had in high school. The other boy said he thought he’d have a tough time relating, since he would be twenty when the baby was born. My daughter wanted to know if we knew anything about birth control. All in all, Dave and I would have to say the conversation wasn’t the highlight of our day.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll come around.”
“I guess. It’s just . . . Oh, I don’t know. Guess I was thinking just when I was wrestling with the prospect of middle age, I kind of get a reprieve. Now, I don’t know. I mean, this child is going to be an aunt or uncle to someone older than he or she will be. Like I said, I’m a grandma, Virgil.”
“Listen, you and Dave will have plenty of time to contemplate getting old when you’re old. In the meantime, you will be too busy with this little one to think about it. That’s a good thing. Take it from someone who is trying to figure out how to be a father for the first time when he is on the north side of forty. By the way, I’m liking it.”
After the conversation ended, Virgil spent part of his drive time mulling over his own words. For the first time he confronted the fact that it was true. He was happy to be Virginia’s father. His only regret was that it took twenty years to find out.
It was a little after ten by the time he was knocking on Mr. Jessup’s door. After a few minutes with no response he was beginning to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have just made that phone call, like Cesar had suggested. He stepped off the front porch. The field to the side of the house that ran the length of the half-mile driveway was vacant. No sign of the horse that had greeted his arrival when he came the previous times. He was contemplating his next move when he noticed a pickup by the barn in back. Virgil walked down along the side of the house to the barn. He slid the barn door open, then gave a call. He was about to give another when he heard a response from deep within. Following the sound, he began walking the length of the barn. The almost finished casket was still up on a couple of wooden horses covered with a tarp so he stepped around it. He hadn’t realized how big the barn was until he started walking its length.
“Mr. Jessup, it’s Sheriff Dalton.” There was a momentary silence following his shout-out.
“Down in the last stall, Sheriff. Could use a little help.” Virgil broke into a trot, running the length of the walkway until he reached the last stall. He saw Mr. Jessup then heard the cow. He remembered hearing a cow in the barn on his last visit.
“What’s up?” Virgil asked the question as he scaled the top rail of the stall then dropped down to stand next to Mr. Jessup. The cow bawled again.
“She’s having a hard time bringing this calf,” Mr. Jessup said. “Straining so hard I’m afraid she’s going to cash her whethers, if I don’t get it out soon.” It had been a long time since Virgil had heard the phrase. He knew it meant a prolapsed uterus, when a cow pushed so hard trying to deliver her calf that she literally pushed her uterus out right after the calf. The cow was obviously working hard trying to deliver her calf. If she succeeded then kept pushing she could expel part or all of her uterus. Getting the calf out quickly would help to avoid this. Coming alongside Mr. Jessup, Virgil saw the calf’s feet sticking out.
“Here, let me have a go,” Virgil said. He slipped off his belt then looped it around the calf’s protruding feet. Once he had a snug fit he began to pull with a slow steady pressure. The cow bawled again, then Virgil could sense a contrac
tion. He pulled steadier. The calf’s legs almost came all the way out, then he saw its head. He reached forward, pushing the calf’s head down into a diving position. There was a sudden gush of birth fluids, then the head came through as the calf in its diving position fell into the soft bedding that covered the floor of the stall. Virgil dropped to his knees, then pulled as much of the birth sac off the calf’s head as he could to open up the mucous passage. Mr. Jessup handed him a towel. He rubbed the calf vigorously but there was little response. Virgil spied a full water bucket in the corner of the stall, so he jumped up, grabbed it, then poured the cold water on the calf in a torrent. There was an immediate response. The calf’s eyes widened while it took in a couple of gulps of air. Its rib cage filled with oxygen and it gasped. Its breathing after a couple of minutes became regular, then it tried to lift its head.
Virgil stood up. Mr. Jessup put a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you, young man. You saved the day.”
By this time, the cow had turned around, giving her full attention to the calf. She began to vigorously lick the calf, which was showing more and more animation in response. The two men watched in silence for a while. After about ten minutes the calf struggled to its feet.
“As many times as I’ve seen it, I still find it a wondrous thing.”
Virgil nodded in assent.
“Hey, that’s a Jersey cow.” Virgil made the comment as if he was seeing the cow and calf for the first time. The rust-red tint of the calf was matched by its mother.
“So it is,” Mr. Jessup replied. “Don’t see a lot of them in beef cattle country, do you?” Virgil waited for more to come. The old man reached over and pulled a wooden crate from alongside the wall of the stall, which he had obviously been using to sit on while he was waiting for the cow to calf. He sat down heavily, his breathing somewhat labored. Virgil saw for the first time that his shirt was soaked through with perspiration. “My people came here from New England over a hundred and fifty years ago. All they had by the time they got here were a few possibles and a Jersey cow. My grandmother told me that if it weren’t for that cow they never would have made it through that first winter. Her mother’s milk had dried up. The cow saved her life. Ever since, there has always been a Jersey cow in the family and on any land we owned. You might say it has become a kind of tradition. That calf can trace its history all the way back to that first Jersey cow that came into this country.” He paused for a moment.
“Guess old Ginger there and her new baby are going to be the last of the Jessup cows.” He paused again. “Always thought Everett would keep it going.” There was a noticeable sag to the old man’s shoulders. He stood up off the box.
“Come on, Sheriff. Let’s get on over to the house, get something to drink.” A few minutes later they were sitting at the kitchen table. “I think we earned this today.” He set two cold cans of beer on the table then popped the tab on each. “Need a glass?”
“No. This will do just fine.” Virgil took a long drink from his can, then set it down on the table. “Mr. Jessup, I wanted to talk to you about Everett, that’s why I came today.”
“Didn’t figure it was to deliver a calf. Is it about getting Everett, so I can put him up on the hill?”
“Not exactly,” Virgil answered. “You see, that body that came out of the trailer wasn’t Everett.”
“Not sure I understand.” Mr. Jessup leaned forward in his chair.
“Well, Dr. Kincaid examined the body. Says, it belongs to someone younger then Everett and not as tall. We think there’s a possibility it might be a young man from the reservation.” Virgil could see the old man trying to put the pieces together. He was working his mouth and fingering the beer can on the table.
“Are you saying Everett is alive? I know he told me he had someone over there helping with the decorations.” The note of hope in his voice could not be missed.
“We just don’t know, Mr. Jessup, but there’s a possibility. But I need to ask you a favor.”
“A favor?”
“Yes. Because I’m not sure what’s going on exactly. I think it would be best if we could keep this information between us for a while.”
“But why?” Mr. Jessup asked. Virgil took another swallow from his can before answering.
“Because, maybe if Everett was the target and whoever was after him think they got him, there’s a chance they will stop looking. I think Everett has a better chance staying alive right now if he stays dead.”
Chapter 15
Virgil had intended to drive straight back to Hayward but the last couple of days had made him aware of how out of touch he really was with this part of the country. When Rosie had referenced the sand and gravel company, along with the other changes to the area, it just reinforced the notion that not only was the county too large for the size of his staff to patrol, but its profile was rapidly changing. When he reached the intersection after leaving Roscoe Flats, he made the right turn toward Cielo. If Roscoe Flats was not much more than a wide spot in the road, Cielo had definitely taken a step up. The first sign was the gas station and the Kwik Mart. Virgil pulled in off the road, parked and went inside. It even smelled new. The smiling dark face behind the counter greeted him. By his accent, Virgil judged him to be Indian or Pakistani. Virgil went to the back of the store, where he figured the cold drinks would be located. He took two bottles of Snapple from the shelf, then returned to the front of the store. Another younger man had joined the first man in back of the counter. Virgil asked for a turkey and Swiss hero with lettuce and tomato. The older man went to make his sandwich. Virgil nodded to the younger man.
“Nice store . . . looks new,” he said.
“One month, we’re open one month,” he answered in precise, slightly accented English.
“How’s business been?”
“Very good,” he replied. The door opened, a couple of men came in and went to the back of the store. A minute later they were standing alongside Virgil. Virgil could see their trucks outside. Each of them ordered a sandwich. The man standing next to Virgil, sporting a mustache and beard and wearing a brightly colored headband, broke the ice.
“Howdy, Sheriff. Little way from Hayward, aren’t you? We don’t see much law down here.”
“That must mean everyone down here is law-abiding or the state police are doing a great job.”
“Well, we try to stay out of trouble, don’t we, Lou?” The other man just rolled his eyes. Virgil’s sandwich was placed on the counter. Virgil reached in his pocket. The man behind the counter made a waving motion.
“No . . . no. It is my pleasure. We are happy to see you.” He looked at the younger man, who Virgil now took to be the older man’s son. He said nothing.
“Thank you for the gesture,” Virgil said. “But it is on me. As a matter of fact, I’d like to treat these two gentlemen here.” Virgil put thirty dollars on the counter.
“Well, if that don’t beat all, Lou. The law is buying us lunch. That’s a first. Sheriff, I ain’t always had positive interactions with the law. Thank you very much.”
“Enjoy your lunch,” Virgil said as he picked up his change and turned toward the door. He was standing next to his vehicle when the two men came out of the store. “Would you happen to know where the sand and gravel company is?” he asked them. He remembered seeing the sign on his last trip but didn’t know whether that indicated the actual turnoff.
“Can do better than tell you, Sheriff. Follow us.”
Virgil followed them for three or four miles. As he did he noticed a small plaza that had sprung up around the local post office. He glanced at five or six stores that were open for business—a deli, a florist, a hardware store, and at the far end of the row of buildings, what would pass for a restaurant and a bar. There were a couple of vacant storefronts but the plaza itself looked well maintained. A little further on, he passed two churches, one on either side of the road, and then a feed store. They came to the railroad crossing, which Virgil vaguely remembered, then
a half mile after the crossing the two trucks turned left just past the sign he had seen, on to a recently blacktopped drive. Virgil saw another bigger sign a quarter mile down for Diamond Sand and Gravel. He followed the two trucks through the gate then pulled up next to them in the paved parking lot. He shut off his engine and got out of his vehicle.
“You guys didn’t have to go out of your way,” Virgil said. The bearded man had rolled down his window.
“Not a problem, Sheriff. We work here. If you follow that path it will take you right to the main office.” He pointed to the path that edged the parking lot. “We’re continuing on to the plant. We park there. Anything else you need?”
“No. Thanks for leading me here. I might have missed the turn after the railroad tracks. I thought it was Mesquite Sand and Gravel.”
“It is. Diamond’s the old name. It’s just been changed to Mesquite recently. They just haven’t gotten around to putting up the new sign.”
“By the way, would either of you happen to know an Everett Jessup? I understand from his father that he works here.”
After a slight hesitation, the bearded man’s silent partner stuck his head out of the window of his truck.
“I know Everett, Sheriff.”
Virgil left his spot then walked to stand between the two pickup cabs.
“Everett and me play on the same softball team. Company has sponsored a team last couple of years. We play in a league. Everett’s a pitcher.” The image from the photo on Mr. Jessup’s wall immediately popped into Virgil’s head. Everett had been dressed in white. Virgil realized it had more than likely been a uniform. Tall and lanky, Everett looked the role of a pitcher. “Ain’t seen him lately, though. ’Course, there’s no softball now. He maybe is on vacation. Lots of people in the office take time in the winter when things slow down a little. Guys like me and Jesse spend a lot of time now crushing rock, building up stockpiles for the spring when it gets busy. Jesse, you know Everett. We was drinking with him at the end-of-season barbecue.”