by Frank Hayes
Rosie smiled at Edna, then let go of her and Virgil and got to her feet.
“You’re right, Edna. I’m going to have to tell her a lot about her dad. Most of all, how he loved her . . . how he loved us all.”
Chapter 26
Clara was watching from that same window in the kitchen when Virgil pulled into the driveway. Night had long since crept over the land. She had gotten a call. She had been waiting an eternity. She saw the car come to a stop alongside the corral fence. She heard as the engine quieted, saw when the lights shut off, how against the dark shadow of the barn the car became almost invisible. There was no moon or ambient light coming from the night sky. She waited. It was a long time before a door opened. The dome light fell on a figure that looked somehow different from the man who had left the ranch hours earlier. She watched as he stood up. He moved slowly. For a long time he just stood there next to the car looking into the darkness. She could see his expelled breath rise on the night air. Finally he turned, taking a few steps toward the house. As he got closer, he stepped within the arc of the porch light, which she had lit for him. She saw him reach for the railing. That movement told her all she needed to know. She had never seen him reach for it before. He stopped at the boot jack then hung up his sheepskin coat on the wall peg once he stepped inside. It was all rote. He looked around like he almost didn’t know where he was. She wrapped him in her arms then led him to a chair. He looked at the bowl of stew she put in front of him, staring at it like he didn’t know what to do next. Infused steam rose from the bowl. She put a spoon in his hand. He began to eat. Then he started, when the hot liquid touched his lip. He put his hand to his mouth.
“You’ve got a small cut on your lip. I can see it. You probably did that to yourself. I’ve done that, bit my lip when I got tense or stressed by something.”
He looked at her directly for the first time.
“Dave is dead. Dave Brand is dead.”
“I know,” Clara said. “He was a good man, a close friend to you. You will miss him, but we will talk about it tomorrow. Now you need to eat. Then I want you to go upstairs, take a warm shower and go to bed.”
The words in her soft voice washed over him like a salve.
He turned his attention once more to the bowl.
“Put the spoon in on the left side of your mouth, away from the cut.” He did as she said. When he had finished she put a cup of hot tea sweetened with some honey in his hand. “I know you are not much of a tea drinker but drink this.” Again he did as she said.
He drank the tea down in three gulps. It was not unpleasant. He tasted something in it other than the tea. When he had finished, she took the cup from him, then helped him to his feet. Then she walked with him to the foot of the stairs.
“Now, go take that warm shower then right into bed.” He put his foot on the first step then stopped and looked at her. He looked like he wanted to say something, but for some reason the words would not come.
“Do as I say, Virgil. We will talk in the morning. It will be better.” Virgil walked up the stairs. A couple of minutes later she could hear the pipes groaning. They stopped a short time later. Five minutes after that, she crept up the stairs and opened the door to his room. He was in his bed, never stirring when the beam from the hall light crossed his face. His clothes were in a heap piled on the floor. She gathered them up, laying his belt with the gun still holstered on the chair next to his bed. Quietly she left, closing the door, went back downstairs.
A little while later, after she had put the clothes that were bloodied to soak in cold water, she poured some of the amber liquid from the opened bottle on the counter over ice in a glass then took it inside to the living room.
• • •
Morning sun was working hard to diminish the glaze that had settled on the ground during a colder than usual night when Virgil walked into the kitchen. Aunt Clara was stirring a saucepan of oatmeal laced with brown sugar and sliced apples.
“Just in time. Sit down. I’ll get your juice. Did you sleep well?”
“Better than I thought I would, like a dead . . .” He didn’t finish the analogy. Before he sat down Virgil walked to the window.
“There was a heavy frost last night, but the sun has started to do its job.” He turned to look at her when she spoke. She noted the pencil-thin scars on his cheeks seemed a little deeper, but he didn’t have the haunted look of the previous night. She came away from the stove with the pot of oatmeal then began to spoon some of it into a bowl by his place. He started to protest. “Nonsense,” she said. “It’s a cold morning. You need a good start.” Just then Cesar came in from outside.
“It’s cold out there. That oatmeal looks good.”
“Looks good, tastes better. Sit down, I’ll get a bowl for you.”
“Thank you, Senora.”
“De nada,” she responded as she set a bowl in front of him. Virgil slid into the chair opposite. Then Clara sat. The three ate in silence for a moment.
“Been a long time since I had homemade oatmeal. Tastes good,” Virgil said. Cesar grunted in agreement.
“You men are all alike. Clyde was the same way. Left alone you won’t take the time to boil water. Stand in front of the icebox drinking milk right out of the bottle because you’re too busy to get a glass.”
“Me, I cook sometimes, frijoles and chili. Also huevos for breakfast.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Clara said. “What about you, Virgil?”
“Oh, I’ve been known to throw a steak on the grill. As far as that other criticism, I do drink milk from the container sometimes. Why dirty a glass? By the way, it hasn’t come in bottles in almost fifty years, Clara. And that white thing over there is a refrigerator. We haven’t had an icebox in seventy years.” Clara reached over, slapping Virgil’s arm. They sat over coffee trying to ignore the immediate past along with the impending future.
“Virgil, I have a suggestion. Things have taken a bad turn. I know you are facing a lot in the next few days. But it might be wise to take a step back.”
“Not sure I understand where you’re going with this.”
“Well, all I’m saying is that when things get turned upside down without warning, we need some time to catch our breath. We need some time to readjust, get over the shock. Nothing is going to happen for another couple of days. Dave’s not going to get to Simpson’s before Wednesday. Alex called before you got up to tell you Simon and Dif are at the office. Everything is quiet down to Redbud and the state police are increasing patrols in the Hayward area for the next few days. So why don’t you take a little time to regroup.”
“Clara, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not saying you’re not, Virgil. All I’m saying is give yourself a day or two, some breathing room.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Cesar said.
Virgil looked from one to the other. He had never been hardheaded. The logic made sense. He knew he was still churning inside.
“But what am I going to do? Sit in a chair for the next two days, contemplating an uncertain future?”
“Maybe do some work?” Virgil looked at Cesar.
“You, Pedro and José pretty much got everything covered until calving in the spring.”
“Pretty much, sure, but we never seem to have time to get into the backcountry to check fence and shelter for the cattle if we get bad snow.”
“There you go,” Clara put in. “Ride fence for thirty or forty miles. Get some calluses on your butt. Maybe check to see if Grandpa’s old cabin is still standing. Get out in the country. Clear your head. That’ll do you a world of good, Virgil.”
Virgil got up from the table, walked to the window again. All trace of frost was gone. A barn cat was sitting on the top rail of the corral licking its paws. A clear blue sky framing the full sun beckoned. At last he spoke to the waiting listeners.
“Well, I guess I’m going to spend a day or two riding fence.” He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to see the sati
sfied looks of the two co-conspirators.
• • •
The ranch house was well out of sight when he pulled Jack up the first time. The chilled air felt good because it had been tempered by a rising sun. There was no wind. A slight steam rose off Jack’s neck. Virgil reached into the pocket of his denim jacket. It was only a little after ten according to his cell phone. He had charged his phone before he left, just in case. It was his only link to what he left behind, what he had to face when he returned. He got off Jack, then relieved himself by a twisted cottonwood that was probably twice his age. He reached into his saddle bag, pulling out one of the apples that Clara had placed there. Jack had dropped his head to nibble at some bunch grass.
While Virgil sat on a nearby rock, he watched Jack move from tuft to tuft. He had chosen a hackamore for his headset rather than a bit and bridle, making it easier for Jack to graze. He got up, pleased that he didn’t feel stiff, and gave a soft whistle to Jack, who immediately raised his head then started walking to Virgil’s outstretched hand and the apple core that sat in his palm. Virgil took the reins, which he had double-tied around Jack’s neck so he wouldn’t step on them as he walked. Holding them loosely in his hand he led Jack to a perch on a rimrock that overlooked a scene of undulating landscape all the way to the far hills. He could have been the last man on the face of the earth. The land, untouched, looked like he imagined it had when his great-grandfather first saw it, well over a hundred years before, when he first came into this country. He realized as he stepped up into the saddle that Clara was right. There was a healing power in the land.
Chapter 27
Simon had been sitting at Virgil’s desk when Dif came into the office.
“I didn’t know where to sit,” he offered, almost by way of an apology.
“I know,” Dif said. “It’s almost like you are wearing someone else’s clothes. Edna’s cousin died about six months ago. He was older than me but we were about the same size. Anyway, Edna comes home one day with one of his coats. I put it on. It fit perfectly. It was a real nice coat, didn’t make any difference. Wore it once. Couldn’t get it out of my head that it belonged to someone else. Just didn’t feel right.”
“Yeah, it was a choice, between Virgil’s desk or Rosie’s.”
“I got an idea,” Dif said. “It’s only going to be for a couple of days. Give me a hand.” Dif went over to the long yard-sale table, which sat against the far wall. He unplugged the microwave and the coffeepot, then carried them to the counter next to the refrigerator. He put the microwave on one side of the sink, the coffeepot on the other side. Simon joined in, carrying the tray full of coffee cups, setting it alongside the coffeepot. Then they pushed the two desks together, Rosie’s and Virgil’s, in an L formation, creating an open area for the table. Then they moved the table. After placing two chairs next to each other, there was plenty of room between them for one of the computers and a phone. Dif even found two desk pads in the storage closet next to the bathroom. “Now we ain’t jumping into somebody else’s grave,” he said.
Simon had just sat down when the phone rang.
“Sheriff’s office. How can I help? Well, he’s not here right now. No, actually he is going to be out of the office for a couple of days. I can take a message. It’s likely he’ll call in.” Simon motioned to Dif for a piece of paper and a pen, then wrote down the name of the caller and a number. “Okay, I’ll pass this along.”
“Anything important?” Dif asked.
“Not sure. She wouldn’t tell me any more than her name. I thought she sounded a little unsure, anxious.” Simon fingered the slip of paper. “Jessica Allison is her name. She said to tell him Jessie needs to speak to him.”
“Don’t know the name. Can’t say I’ve ever heard Virgil mention her. Guess we ought to pass it along to Clara. She said he would check in with her.”
“Where is he?” Simon asked.
“I think he’s taking a little time to get his feet on the ground after yesterday. Guess you know about that. He’s up in that high country. Clara and Cesar talked him into it.”
“Yes, unfortunately I do. But for the sheriff it’s not just the personal loss but all the fallout. He is not only going to have to bury his friend but figure out how to replace him.”
“Yeah, I think when he hired you, he thought he could take a breather for a while. Then the bottom dropped out. I remember Sam, Virgil’s father, saying one time, when everything seemed calm that’s when he would start to worry.”
• • •
It was late in the afternoon by the time Virgil reached his great-grandfather’s cabin. He had ridden the fence line a couple of hours, even though he realized pretty early on it was a ruse. The wire was tight as a drum. Cesar and the boys stayed on top of everything. The wind had begun to pick up again. By the time he reached the cabin, he was starting to feel the cold. Even Jack with his thick winter coat seemed ready to settle in for the night. When they came in sight of the small barn and corral he broke into an easy lope.
Virgil saw that the basic structure of the cabin and the small barn looked sound. The barn door was hanging open on one hinge. Some of the rails on the small corral had pulled free. One was broken, in pieces on the ground. He got off Jack, double looped the reins again, let him free to graze. For the next half hour he resurrected the corral and the barn door. He checked the interior of the barn. There were two rough stalls on one side, one on the other. The open space where there was no stall was used for hay storage. Virgil was surprised to see four or five decent-looking bales showing good color there. He figured at some point Cesar must have sent José or Pedro up there on an ATV. All part of the plan, he figured. The hay was still tightly corded, so Virgil put his knee into the middle of one bale, slipping the twine that held the hay tight as he did, then he carried a couple of flakes outside, dropping them in the middle of the corral. Jack at some distance nickered as he picked up his head and immediately trotted toward the corral. When he came inside he dropped his head, picked up a mouthful, began to chew. He continued eating while Virgil brought the tack inside of the barn, hung the saddle on what was a makeshift saddle rack, then hooked the headgear and reins over the pommel. When he left the corral he turned his attention to the cabin.
He knew he had been delaying going in, because the minute he stepped inside the bittersweet memory of the last time he was there would be waiting for him. He remembered what he had told Clara when she referred to the cabin. She knew full well why he had never returned to the cabin. Clara had known it had become a special haunt for Virgil and Rusty when opposition had begun to build from her mother about their relationship. Virgil didn’t know until years later why Audrey had been opposed to the idea of them as a couple. Nevertheless, the cabin had become their go-to place. In the naïveté of youth and in the full flush of emotion, there they had talked about their future life together.
He stood outside the cabin door, a cold wind blowing at his back. The flood of memory had anchored him to the spot. He was reluctant to let it go. It was not unlike the feeling he had when he first entered the newly built barns a few months earlier, wiping out the childhood he had shared in the old barns with his parents. Now once again, when he stepped inside this old cabin, another door of his life would close. The lesson was driven home again and again. Nothing is permanent. Dave full of hope, not unlike Virgil twenty some odd years before. Virgil left behind after Rusty, now Rosie after Dave, each with a shattered dream.
Virgil threw open the door. As if on cue, a huge wind gust blew through the shuttered windows of the old building as though the opened door created a vacuum. Dust infused with miscellaneous debris, pieces of chaff along with age-old memories, flew into Virgil’s face. He couldn’t escape the symbolism as he brushed the debris out of his eyes and off of his clothes. He stepped inside the cabin. The wind was still coming through the windows, whistling around the eaves, tugging at any looseness it could find in the old structure. Virgil set his saddlebags on the homemade table that
stood crookedly against the wall, then he went over to the old bed in the corner, stripping off a blanket that pretty much fell apart in his hands. He tightened the cord frame after he took what served as a bedboard off, then set it back down on the cord webbing. He threw the tattered, faded blanket that had been on top near the fireplace, then threw his bedroll on the top of the board that covered the webbing. The last thing he did was empty his saddlebags of the foodstuffs Clara had packed for him.
He grabbed another apple, biting into it as he stepped back outside. Light was fading fast, so after tossing the apple core into Jack, he quickly started to gather deadfall for the fireplace. By the time he had a pile stacked, waiting by the fireplace, the cabin was darker within than it was outside. He quickly built a fire, happy to see the ancient chimney drawing as well as it ever did. One more time he went outside while the fire started to work. In the last of the light he led Jack into the old barn, bedding him down in the first stall. He gave him some of the grain ration he had brought, spilling some of it into an old bucket. Then he got another bucket, filling it with sweet water from the old hand pump that had been outside the barn for as long as he could remember. After Jack was settled he took some random pieces of plywood sheeting he had found in the barn and headed back to the cabin. He spent most of the next hour patching areas of the windows that had been broken with the wood. When he was done he stepped back to evaluate his work. There was more wood than glass in the windows. They definitely were not airtight, but the wind that blew through was more of a whisper than a howl.