The next morning, on the way to the Vaqueros y Hombres de Montana Parade in Skeleton Ridge, Arizona, a wolf’s face made into a cap flopped atop Grandpa Drummond’s head. It rode along in the SUV with its eyeless sockets, which were long slits that turned up at the corners, peeking over the snowy field of Drummond’s shoulder-length white hair, while its folded ears waited patiently for the rustle of a rabbit to perk them up. The broad, gray-tipped tail which had been sewn freakishly to the back of the face, swished to and fro whenever Grandpa Drummond checked his mirrors, and the flattened grin on the wolf face made it seem to delight in the drive through town and Grandpa Drummond’s conversation with his daughter and granddaughter.
Drummond accelerated onto the highway. He squinted at the bumper-to-bumper Saturday traffic that was heading places from the suburban two-story ranch-style homes that had recently crowded a floodplain between the edge of the city and the backside of the mountains to the north. What would they think, those preoccupied drivers, if they happened to glance out their side windows and saw in the car beside them a large bearded man, decked out in fringed deerskin, his suit of suede decorated like a Pawnee Indian? Would they imagine he was a kook? Or, with the Skeleton Ridge parade less than two hours away, would some of them recognize a mountain man when they saw him?
Drummond surveyed the purple desert mountains they motored past and felt another surge of pride at his appearance. He looked forward to the parade and was happy with the effect of the new wolf pelt and his authentic-looking deerskin coat, which he had labored over since July. The addition of some patches of embroidery and paraphernalia on his belt had improved his outfit. But all his plans of impressing his family with the spectacle of the parade had been spoilt. Drummond had not wondered aloud why his daughter and son-in-law had flown all the way to Mazatlan when he had been planning to take them to the parade, but he had certainly wanted to. Of course, he had shown the whole costume to them before they left, but nothing could match the satisfaction he would have felt if all his family had been there standing at the curb to see him. His compensation was that Stephanie, who had been left behind, could be in the parade with him and Helen, too, wearing a modification of his prior year’s costume.
“Are you ready to be in a parade, my little Stephanie?” asked Grandpa Drummond, chucking his granddaughter’s chin as she sat in the front passenger seat. “I’m so excited to take both you girls with me,” he said, glancing in the rear view mirror at Helen who sat in the back seat in her suede fringed outfit. “You do look authentic! A real frontier character,” he said with pride.
“With a lot of safety pins,” added Helen. Her expression was less sour than the day before, and the distracted, vacant look was gone. Strangely enough, she had slept well the night before, after Stephanie had read her that gory terror tale about the bloody stagecoach. She had also liked what Stephanie said about her doing the things she talked about, painting, when she painted and not sitting in front of the canvas worrying. It was great advice if she could just keep that simple idea in her head.
“This piece of buffalo on my back is hot!” said Stephanie, throwing a small, strapped piece of buffalo fur that granny had given her on the floor in front of her. “Where’s the part where its head was? I can’t even see that part. What good is this thing?”
“Are you going to like this parade, little Stephanie?” Drummond asked, ignoring her complaints and leaning toward her. “Am I going to see my littliest, ittliest snickerdoodliest girl being a star of the parade? You’d like that wouldn’t you, Stephanie?”
Stephanie’s eyes opened wide. “Yeah, sure.” She was surprised that Grandpa Drummond wanted her to be a star of the parade. She would have to think of some exciting things to do in order to be considered a star.
Grandpa Drummond exited the freeway and headed their car to the little town at the base of Skeleton Mountain. They were beginning to climb into the gray mountains. Scrub oaks appeared on the hillsides and large cottonwoods in the dry washes.
What Grandpa Drummond talked about then was how much he liked the mountain man group, with the exception of a certain gentleman.
“Now, girls, as much as I like being in this club there’s a situation I want to warn you about before we get to the parade,” said Drummond. “There’s an elderly gentleman who’s in the group and he’s a real pain. I mean he’s an absolute jerk. This guy’s such an incredible grouch! His name is Mr. Thom. We’re bound to run into him, because he’s never missed an outing yet. Unfortunately.”
“Okay,” said Stephanie.
“I’m sure you aren’t going to like the man,” continued her grandfather, “because he takes the fun out of the club. He’s too serious, and he’s obsessed with details. He’s a stickler for authenticity. He doesn’t want any kids in the parades and no women. Really the man is a kook, a cootie-ridden curmudgeon,” said Drummond, getting more worked up. “If there is a way to ruin an activity he finds it.”
Other members of the mountain men club, Grandpa Drummond explained as they crossed a bridge, had invited women and children to dress up and march with them, dressing up in buckskins, that is, not worrying about cotton skirts and girly things. Knowing that it wasn’t too authentic to have them along, Drummond said, Mr. Thom was bound to make them feel uncomfortable. In fact, Grandpa Drummond said Mr. Thom made everyone feel uncomfortable at almost every meeting.
“Oh no,” said Helen, looking sadly out the window at the passing saguaros. She didn't want to have to deal with an unpleasant person when she was feeling so vulnerable.
“Well, I’ll get rid of him,” promised Grandpa Drummond, “but you let me handle him, okay?”
“Sure,” said Stephanie brightly.
Grandpa Drummond explained that they would know Mr. Thom by his hooded black eyes that seemed to hate everyone they saw, a red face, and large ears. They would have to be careful to watch out for him, even avoid him if possible, though the damned man always seemed to find Drummond.
Stephanie took note of all this. It was clear that besides being the star of the parade, and cheering up her aunt, she had another assignment, which was to look out for a red-faced, evil-eyed, large-eared gentleman. And bug him.
Chapter Ten