Trying hard not to look smug, Frank stood back as the earpiece passed from person to person. Tina refused to believe it, saying this was one of his tricks. The twins and Noah were dumbstruck. Edna June listened for a moment and then clapped her hands in delight and started to giggle.
MJ was the last. When they were all finished, Frank took everything back and sat the radio on the piano. “I’ll accept your apologies right after we finish eating.” Laughing, he scooped up a large portion of mashed potatoes and shoved them into his mouth.
9:55 p.m.
As they finished their prayers and climbed into bed, Mitch moved closer to Edie and took her in his arms. She moved in against him, burying her face against his chest. He waited a moment and then softly asked, “Did I hear you sniffling a little during prayer?”
She slowly nodded.
“And why was that?”
“Can’t you see it?” she asked in a husky whisper.
“See what?” Mitch said.
“We’ve lost him.”
Mitch reared back. “Lost who?”
“Frank.”
“What?”
“Can’t you see? When Mitch Jr. went to Logan to the Utah State Agricultural College, he was gone for four years. But we always knew he was coming back to us. Ranching has been in his blood since he first toddled around after you.” She raised her head. “But Frank’s not a rancher. You know that, don’t you?”
Mitch hesitated but eventually nodded. “Yes.”
“What do they call someone who studies physics?”
“A physicist. You think that’s what he wants to do?”
“Didn’t you watch his eyes?” Edie sniffed and buried her head against him. “We don’t have a lot of need for physicists here in Monticello.”
After a long moment, Mitch sighed. “Salt Lake’s not going to be big enough for him either,” he finally said, and he bent down and kissed the top of her head. “This boy’s got wings, and he’s gonna fly.”
April 4, 1920, 5:50 a.m.—Barn, EDW Ranch
“Mornin’, Dad.”
Mitch turned and looked down from the loft toward the main door. Frank appeared out of the darkness. Mitch leaned on his pitchfork as he watched him. “You’re up early.”
“This is when I typically do most of my studying. I like the mornings. Comes from growing up on a ranch, I guess.”
“Is anyone else up?”
“Mom, of course. And I thought I heard Rena talking. Need some help?”
“Actually,” Mitch said, pointing to Frank’s left, “I was just going to feed the horses before we have breakfast and start getting ready for church. There’s a pitchfork behind you. I’ll pitch some hay down if you want to put it in their mangers.”
“Sure.” Frank was wearing a light jacket, so he removed it, retrieved the pitchfork, and stepped back out of the way. “Ready when you are.”
They worked steadily for about ten minutes, not speaking much. Finally, Frank looked up. “That does it. What next?”
Mitch came down the ladder. “Let’s sit for a spell.”
Frank retrieved his jacket and put it on again. “Still pretty chilly in the mornings here.”
“Yep. Seven thousand feet in elevation does that for you. Days are getting warmer, though. I think spring is on its way.”
“We had snow in Provo the day before I left. This feels good.”
Mitch, who was only in shirt sleeves, nodded.
After a moment of silence, Frank said, “Dad, can I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Sure.” He motioned to a low bench against the back wall, and they moved over and sat down. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well, first off, how are things here?”
Mitch gave him a quizzical look. “By ‘here’ do you mean Monticello in general or the ranch in particular?”
“Both, I guess. But mostly the ranch.”
“They’re good. It’s been a good year for farmers and ranchers.”
“Really? Even after the war?”
“To be honest, part of it is because of the war. We sold a lot of cows to the army. Your mother and I were able to pay off our debts and put a healthy chunk in the bank for a rainy day.” Mitch looked at his son more closely. “What’s with the sudden interest in the ranch?”
He shrugged and looked away. “Just wondering.”
“Frank,” Mitch said, nudging him with his elbow. “Just come out with it.”
There was a sheepish smile. “That obvious?”
“Yep.”
“Well, uh . . . I’d rather you not tell Mom about this yet, okay?”
Mitch shook his head slowly. “That’s not how your mother and I work.”
“I know, but. . . .” Then he shrugged, took a deep breath, and plunged. “Mr. Kittle called me up on Thursday at the end of class.”
“Mr. Kittle is your science teacher?”
“Yeah.” There was a fleeting smile. “He knew I was coming home, so he pulled me aside and we talked. He suggested that I share our conversation with you.”
“But not with Mom?”
“No, that was my idea. I just. . . . Anyway, he said he wanted to talk about my education.”
“All right.”
“He wants to put me on an accelerated schedule. Start having me take some math and science classes up on the hill and—”
“You mean at the university?”
“Yes. He’s worked it out so that I can finish my high school diploma by this Christmas.”
“Wow!”
“Yes, I’m really excited about it.” He was staring at his hands now.
“Would you start at the university full time in January, then?”
“Yes. I’ll maybe even start taking a class or two up there this fall.”
“And that troubles you?”
“Well, there are two problems with it. First, if I do the accelerated track, then I can’t continue to work part time. I’ll have a pretty heavy class load. And then I’ll have to pay extra rent for the summer.”
“I think we can handle those extra costs. What else?”
“Uh. . . .” There was a long exhale and then a deep breath. “It means I won’t be here this summer to help on the ranch. In fact, I may only be able to come for a few days in either June or August.”
“I understand. And is that what you were afraid to tell your mother?”
“I . . . I know she’ll be disappointed.”
“Well, maybe we’ll just have to come to you. Mom and I plan to go up and see the Reissners sometime this summer to make plans for our trip to Oberammergau next year. Maybe we can bring the kids up with us. Stay with your aunt Martha and uncle Robert in Bountiful. Make a real vacation of it. Martha says they have an amusement park called Lagoon not far from their house.”
“Oh, yeah,” Frank said excitedly. “Some of my friends have been there. Maybe I can take a day off and join you.”
“We’d love that. Frank, what I’m saying to you is, this is a unique opportunity you’re being offered, and it’s right that you take it. So we’ll work everything else out, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad. Now for my last question, and this is an easy one. At least easy for me. Actually,” Frank said, “it’s a project I have to do for my Utah history class.”
“History?” Mitch scoffed again. “I don’t know much history.”
“Oh, yes you do. You and Mom are part of the history of San Juan County.”
That took Mitch aback. “Hmm.”
“Have you ever heard of the Poke and Posey War of 1915?”
Mitch was briefly startled, but then he laughed. “Is that what they’re calling it in school? We just call it the Bluff War. But heard of it? Yeah, I was part of it.”
“That’s what I thought. I remember you and Mom
talking about it. When I told my teacher that you were living down here for that, she got real excited and said it would be a perfect project for me. Would you let me write an account of your experiences?”
“I. . . .” Mitch pulled at his chin. “Sure, why not?”
“Great! But Dad, I want to write it mostly in your own words, so you have to talk real slow. Okay?”
6:35 p.m.
To provide a “desk” for Frank, they had moved the kitchen table out to the living room and brought two chairs with it. The adults were seated around the room. Frank and his father sat across the table from each other. Tina had taken the grandchildren and the twins out to the barn to play games.
Frank double checked that all of his pencils were sharpened, straightened his stack of paper for the third or fourth time, took a quick breath, and looked up at his father. “All right. I’m ready whenever you are, Dad.”
Mitch sat back, half closing his eyes. “All right, for us—your mother and me—things first began early in November, about five and a half years ago.”
“So. . . .” Frank calculated quickly. “About November 1914?”
“Yes.”
Frank wrote quickly across the top of the first sheet.
“Remember that at that point, I had only been back from my mission for about two months and the world was at war in Europe. Anyway, your mother and I had taken the buggy into town to get some things from the mercantile store and. . . .”
November 19, 1914, 10:25 a.m.—Second South Street, Monticello
Edie reached out a laid a hand on Mitch’s arm as the buckboard rolled down the road toward town. “What are you thinking?”
Mitch looked up in surprise. “Oh, I dunno.”
“Yes, you do. You seemed so far away just then. Where were you?”
“Back in Germany, I guess.”
“You were far away.” She hesitated. “Do you miss it terribly?”
“Oh, yeah. In a lot of ways. It was wonderful being there as a missionary, and the Saints were incredible. But while I was there, I missed you and the kids much more than I miss Germany now.”
Edie laughed softly. “Okay, I like that answer.”
“I want to go back someday, after the war is over. Take you and the kids.”
“Do you think the war will last very long? Some newspapers are saying it will be over in a year or less.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. The German Army is one of the world’s most powerful military machines, as we are already seeing just three months into the war. But when you consider the combined might of Russia, France, Great Britain, and the other Allied Powers, as they call themselves, they’re pretty formidable too.”
“Will America get into it?” Edie was staring at her hands. “Is Mitch Jr. going to get called up?”
“Dunno,” Mitch said after a second. “There’s a lot of people who say that it isn’t our war and that we should stay out of it.”
“I know you miss it, but having you back these last two months has been wonderful for us.”
“Well, dear, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now. By the time this war is over, I’m betting I’ll be too old to be called back as a missionary.”
“I’ll try to pretend that makes me sad,” Edie said, moving over and leaning her head against her husband’s shoulder.
10:28 a.m.—Blue Mountain Mercantile and Feed, Monticello
As Mitch pulled the buckboard up in front of store he turned to look at Edie. “Wanna come in?”
“How long will you be?”
“Uh . . . it could be a while. Ten minutes or longer.”
“Then I’ll come in. It’s getting cold out here.”
As they pushed the door open and went inside, a figure up near the front of the store turned to see who was coming in. One hand swept off the large Mexican sombrero he wore and the other started waving back and forth. “Señor Mitch! Buenos días, señor.”
Momentarily startled, Mitch peered at the man and then strode forward, extending his hand. “Juan? Juan Chacón?”
“Sí, señor. It is I. But . . . I heard that you were gone far away, for two or maybe three years.”
“Ah, yes. I was. I went to Germany as a missionary for my church. But when the Great War broke out in August, I had to come home again. I just got back a couple of months ago.” Mitch motioned with his hand. “Edie, come meet my friend.”
As she came up, Juan bowed low. “Juan,” Mitch said, “this is mi esposa, Señora Westland. Edie, this is Juan Chacón. He runs sheep out east around Montezuma Canyon.”
Juan bowed again. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, señora. A great pleasure.”
Edie inclined her head. “El honor es mío.”
A huge smile split the brown face, revealing even, white teeth. “You speak Spanish, señora?” he asked, clearly delighted.
She laughed. “Muy, muy poco. Only a very little, I’m afraid. But I am honored to meet you.” And she was. He was short, barely an inch or two taller than she was, with deep brown skin and nearly black eyes. She guessed he was twenty-three or so. But his smile was like a beam of sunlight. He had one of those faces that you just instantly liked.
“But what are you doing here, amigo?” Mitch asked. “I heard that the new sheepherder from New Mexico had arrived and that you were on your way back to your family in New Mexico.”
“Sí, sí. I am going home. I come to get supplies for my trip.”
“Oh?” That seemed a little odd. Juan herded a flock of about four thousand sheep out east of Blanding, but he often ranged as far east as Colorado, which put him closer to Cortez and other Colorado towns than Blanding or Monticello. “So,” Mitch asked casually, “where are you camped now?”
“On the east side of Montezuma Creek, near the mouth of Yellow Jacket Canyon. You know of that?”
“Yes. That’s quite a ways from here.”
At that, a shadow crossed Juan’s face. “Sí, Señor Mitch.”
Mitch gave him a long, searching look. “Is everything all right, Juan?”
Momentary fear flickered in Juan’s eyes as he swung around and looked toward the door. “Ah,” he said, lowering his voice, “no, things are not so good for me.”
“What’s the matter, Juan?” Edie asked.
Juan looked around the store and then motioned for Mitch and Edie to follow him to one corner of it. “Do you know an Indian they call Tse-ne-gat?” he asked.
Mitch rocked back. “I sure do. He’s the son of a Paiute chieftain named Poke, who’s a renegade if there ever was one. And mean, too. Word here is that Poke has been joined by his brother-in-law, Posey, a Ute who has his own small band of followers.”
“I remember Posey,” Edie said. “He’s been around quite a while, right?”
“Yeah. He’s probably in his fifties. His band has a bad reputation too. They are hated and feared not just by the whites but by their own people too. But Tse-ne-gat is the worst. He’s meaner that a rattlesnake with a belly ache.”
Edie touched Mitch’s arm. “Isn’t Tse-ne-gat the one who . . . ?” Her voice trailed off.
He nodded grimly. “He’s the one who whipped his young wife to death with a braided rope a year or so ago. And it was Poke’s band, including Tse-ne-gat, who tried to burn down Albert Lyman’s store in Blanding not long ago.” He turned back to Juan. “He’s a troublemaker, Juan. One mean hombre. You stay clear away from him.”
“Sí,” Juan said glumly. “That is why I come here for supplies. So he won’t see me.”
Mitch’s head came up. “Is he after you?”
“Sí, Señor Mitch.” Then, seeing the look on Edie’s face, he hurriedly added, “He’s not coming here, señora. Last I saw him was in Yellow Jacket.”
That was a surprise. Yellow Jacket was on the Ute Mountain Indian Reservation, at least seventy-five miles away
.
“Why is he after you?” Edie asked.
Juan lowered his voice even more. “Four days ago, I go to Yellow-Jacket. Meet el jefe, big boss, owner of sheep ranch. He bring Diego, the new herder, with him.”
“Yellow Jacket is on the Ute reservation, right?” Mitch noted.
“Sí. I did not see Tse-ne-gat at first, but he must have heard that el jefe had paid me my wages. I am done for this season. I go home to my family now. That night, Tse-ne-gat come to our camp outside of town. He says he wants to play cards with me.”
“Of course,” Mitch snorted in disgust, turning to Edie. “That’s his gambit. He finds out who has money, then demands that they play poker with him. People are afraid to refuse him for fear that Poke’s band will come after them. There aren’t many brave enough to risk that.”
Juan was nodding vigorously as Mitch spoke. “Somehow Tse-ne-gat knew that I was paid for last nine months. El jefe paid me mucho dinero, about one hundred dollars.”
“And Tse-ne-gat demanded that you play cards with him?” Edie said.
“Sí, señora,” Juan said to Edie. “But I tell him no. I tell him I have wife and little boy at home. I have parents who are old and I need to care for them. I need every dollar.”
“So he threatened you?” Mitch asked.
“Sí. He was very angry. But he was afraid to do anything because there were two of us and because we were in town with other people around. But he says he will come later.”
“And he will,” Mitch said. “It was wise of you to come here for supplies. When do you plan to go back?”
“Tonight. I will get my things back at camp and leave. I will ride all night until I am far away.”
“Good. You have to be really careful, Juan. He’ll have that high-powered rifle with him, I’m sure. And he’s not above shooting a man in the back.”
“I have a rifle too.” Juan’s jaw set. “And I will use it if I have to.”
“You should be able to reach the San Juan River by morning. Once you cross the river, you’re in Navajo country. He won’t follow you after that. The Navajo and the Utes are enemies.”