“Proud? I don’t think I’m anywhere near that.”
“Yessir. You must be particularly happy how things turned out.”
“Most everyone is, I guess.”
“You bet. Though now it’s all said and done, there’s a feeling around.”
“A feeling?”
The printer rubbed his chin.
“Yeah, I can’t quite put my finger on it. And not that everyone thinks like me, but. . .this town, you know, it won’t ever be the same now. So much progress, change, and all at once? I have to wonder it won’t be quite all what we wanted as much as we thought we did.”
“Things change, you can’t stop that.”
“No you sure can’t.”
They stood shoulder pressing shoulder as the make shift dance floor continued to fill. Evan and Ruth swung past. Evan, though disheveled, looked good, dancing with Ruth; to Joe, it seemed a kind of warmth had come into his face. He glowed, and Ruth did too, when he drew her close and kissed her.
Jack Loomis blushed, smiling at them. He leaned into Joe.
“Been years since she’s smiled that way.”
But Joe hadn’t heard, spotting his quarry standing off by the back door.
“Hey there, Joe.” Norman said as Joe approached. “I hear you’re leaving us tomorrow.”
“Could be.”
“Could be?”
“I don’t know. Can I talk to you about that? About the Sweetgrass Moraine site, I mean. In particular.”
“Free country, you can talk about anything you want. But I don’t know what I could tell you. I’m sure as heck no construction engineer like you.”
“Never mind that. You’re plenty professional enough, at least for me to bounce some notions in my head off you.”
“Notions about what?”
Joe, about to begin, then saw Evan break away from Ruth Loomis and come straight for him, clearly distressed.
JOE RUNNING OUT before Evan could finish, splashing up First Street, a channel of water up to his ankles, oblivious to the dark storefronts teeming with people taking shelter from rain as it changed to a light snow. The swirling, fine grained micro-flakes amplified the light beaming out from the Mint enough for Joe to see Wade sitting at the foot of the town’s eponymous bronze Major Thomas F. Meagher standing high in his saddle, waving his saber, or so it seemed, the statue still slightly swaying from the impact of the jeep that Wade had only just crashed into its base.
He’d got out, and now at Joe’s approach, stood, stumbling and swaggering erratically.
“Wade!”
Joe’s cry more of a whisper, as though keeping a secret from the shadowy orange halo of faces here and there lit by a cigarette puff. Wade cocked his jaw, his eyes searching wildly. He couldn’t see.
“Wade?”
“I’m not talking to you. In case you didn’t notice.”
Joe reaching him, bounced up against the reek of alcohol. Wine. Frances’s wine.
“Wade, it’s Joe. C’mon. Let’s get you inside.”
“No you don’t. Don’t get me anything but out of my way.”
Joe took his arm, gently.
“Here, let’s go.”
Wade shook him off. “I am going. Going going gone.”
“Wade, settle down. I’m going to help you. Now just. . .”
“You?” Wade squinted, his eyeballs rolling. “You aren’t even there.”
He looked sidelong in the direction of the voice he was hearing, then suddenly swung his fist. Not expecting it, Joe took the punch full in the mouth, and stepped back, more in surprise than from the blow. The momentum of the swing, however, spun Wade completely around and he fell to the ground, landing sitting up.
Joe felt his lip, moist with blood.
“Wade,” Joe said, mad and more than a little scared. “You had an accident. We got to let somebody have a look. Come on now.”
“Quit calling me Wade. It’s Mister now. Mister Wade. Besides, I’m not talking to you.”
He weaved away toward the glitter of light emanating from the Mint. Not seeing the steps, he stumbled and fell flat, but Joe caught his fall. Marly already there to help, she and Joe grappled Wade into the lobby, where he abruptly threw up all over himself.
“God somebody stinks,” he said, and passed out.
They laid him on the sofa, dimmed the lights. Marly found a quilt while Joe wiped vomit from his face. They listened to him breathe. Watched his eyes move under his eyelids. Watched them flutter open.
“What?” Wade asked, smiling sickishly.
Marly sat, putting his head on her lap. She put her hand on his forehead.
“How you feelin, sweetheart?”
“Frances.”
“Frances?”
Wade’s eyes fluttered shut.
“Wade? What about Frances?”
He rolled his head, stupidly. “She’s gone, but she’s fine there.”
“Gone? Gone where, Wade?”
“Hunting birds.”
“Birds?”
“Partridges. In pear trees.” He grinned and winced simultaneously. “Christmas lights. And firecrackers.”
He continued, incoherently, then passed out again.
“Marly, we have to get him down to a doctor. He could have cracked his skull. He could have. . .”
“Joe, the way he smells, all he has to worry about is a wicked hangover. We can see if Edna at the clinic can. . .”
“No; no way. This is more than just him drinkin too much. Something’s wrong.”
“Oh so you’re an expert doctor now too?”
“I’m not an expert anything. Just do this, just. . .get Evan, anybody. Drive him down to Billings, find the best doctor. Tell em about the headaches he’s been having. Whatever it takes.”
“Joe, if it’s so bad as that, you need to take him yourself. Just ‘cause you’re leavin tomorrow, you can’t. . .”
“Never mind. I’m not leaving tomorrow.”
“But. . .I thought you. . .”
“Please Marly, not now. Something’s happened to Frances, I don’t know what, but I need to get up there.”
Wade’s eyes rapidly clicking under his eyelids.
“This needs somebody I can trust. And I trust you more than I trust myself.”
Marly looked up, studied Joe’s face, then stood.
“All right then go on an take Anne’s pickup; she leaves the keys in it. I’ll get her an Evan to help with Wade. Just. . .just go on, Joe.”
Joe ran out, found the pickup, spun up the street out of town. The snow changed back to rain, and that rain was pouring heavily again.
JOE GLANCED DOWN; the dashboard’s cold glow, the orange dial of Anne’s speedometer jittering at its limit. Then up and ahead, in the weak headlights piercing the black rain, a blinded jackrabbit streaked in front and stopped. Joe swerved but not in time.
“Damn you,” he swore at the lifeless animal in the rear view.
Where the graveled road ended it become mud; he fought the steering wheel to keep the pickup on the road. Finally reaching the Meeks ranch, he caromed right up in front of the porch. The house was eerily and entirely dark. The dogs sauntered out, curious, quiet. Deer stood motionless in the orchard, eyeing him, the snow iridescent on their silky hides.
But no Frances.
A gunshot.
Muffled, and far-off, but Joe knew the sound at once, not percussive like the blast of a rifle, but the whomp and pingless decay of a shotgun. He was back racing up the road before it died out.
He knew it was Frances, but not where, exactly, to find her, only that the gunshot had come from up into Sweetgrass Moraine. And he also knew he could follow the snow-muddied ruts, which could only have been left by Wade driving the jeep to town. They led up a steep logging road to a small meadow flat, and there, a confusion of tracks. Where they must have first come, then turned around. Joe stopped and jumped out. When his eyes adjusted, in the direction of a weak trickling sound—a small spring— he saw a dark sh
ape that looked out of place.
He ran.
She was leaned up against a rock outcrop, wearing only a black sweater over her old woolen dress, and jeans underneath. Her bare hands lay loosely in her lap. Joe knelt, throwing his skimpy jacket around her.
“What the hell are you doing?” he said, just to say anything, in fear that she might not answer.
“Ah just never mind all that.”
She spoke without movement. He pressed his palm to her cheek, cold, and still, as ice. Sitting so near the spring, ground water had frozen the back of her legs; he couldn’t get his hands under to lift her.
Fumbling for a grip, he felt instead a glass jar, laying by her feet. Half full of wine. He poured some onto his fingers and wet her lips, then again more, into his cupped palm, which she managed to sip from, spit out, sip a little more.
He nursed her in this way, whisking the slushy drool of wine from her old chin, until she raised her eyes.
“What the hell, all this damn snow? Does make things look nice, though, don’t it?”
Her head drooped back down again. The wine jar now empty, he filled it with spring water and poured it onto the frozen mud encasing her legs, softening it enough to work it loose.
“I didn’t come up to just sit and do nothin, you know.”
“Yeah I know, course not. You’re gonna be alright now.”
“I only had the one shell. Figured that’s all I needed.”
Joe took her hands in his, massaging them briskly.
“Can you feel this?”
“Not hardly.”
“Are your fingers numb? Frances?”
“Don’t matter; those ol claws, what’s left of em, I can afford to lose a few more. You know it got so chilly I couldn’t barely pull the trigger as it was.”
Little by little, scraping rapidly, keeping her talking, he got her free.
“That Wade. Where’s he at, anyway? Wish I could of had a boy like that. One of my own, I mean.”
“Hang in there, Frances.” Joe hurrying; her breath was weakening, issuing only now and then from her nostrils in a faint dusty sparkle. “For once I prefer you talking.”
“But no, instead, all I ever thought about, how I just had to have that ranch. Had to have it more’n anything else on earth, and for what? For this? That’s what I just come to realize, Joe. An that all up and changed my mind. You know? Hell, there’s a thing or two I could still do.”
“That’s right, Frances. Let me just get you. . .”
“After that, well God knows how long I must of been here till I seen your headlights way down at the place. My one worry was if you didn’t hear the shotgun fire. I wouldn’t of had another shell, an no way to put myself out of my misery.”
“You did fine, Frances. Here, we about got you free.”
Both arms under her, lifting, she was so light he felt she might fly up out of his arms.
“Bout time, too. Joe, I got to get on with things. Figure why not live it up while I still can. An it’s all right now, you go on ahead an put me in one of those homes. They say there’s dancing there. You know I never danced?”
“You will, Frances, every night. Just save your breath now. Save it for all that dancin, okay?”
“Dancin. Ha. You know, when I was a girl, there was a time or two when I’d think someday I’d meet a boy. I’d’ve like to’ve been kissed, Joe. Just once. So maybe find me a place where men ain’t too old and sour to kiss.”
“I will, Frances, lots of them.”
“But if them sons of bitches don’t keep their hands off me, I’ll smack em. They’ll learn, quick; they won’t ever. . .”
Her breath failed, she couldn’t finish. Joe running now, to the pickup, Frances lighter and lighter with each step.
“Frances? Hang in there. Almost there.”
“You come by, Joe. And that Wade too. He’ll make all them other old biddies turn green. He’d do that for me; I know he would.”
“Sure he’ll do that.”
Joe could barely hear her now. He hoisted her, muscling open the door, laying her as carefully as possible on the passenger seat. She was nearly weightless.
“He likes me, Joe. I know he does.”
“I know, Frances. He does. A lot.”
“Probly the only one ever did.”
“Just hush up now; don’t talk. Save your strength. We’ll get it all figured out soon enough.”
“At least someone liked me. It’s more’n I could say before. Thing’s’re lookin up already, ain’t they?”
She began to slump sideways; Joe let her ease down onto her side. He set her head in his lap as he jumped behind the wheel. As he turned on the pickup and put it in gear, he looked down. She was smiling. Eyes bright. Lips slightly parted. And then, in her face, the dark blending out the age, feathering out the shadow of her leathered skin, he could see her, Frances, young again.
How she was.
How she died.
HERE, IN THE long shade of the dolomite monolith that crowned the landslide, above him, the summit of Mount Contact blazed the blue sky, around him, golden green coins of aspen leaves flickering. All over, everywhere Joe Meeks looked, lay the sun-soaked Independence Basin. Frances’s two dogs, or rather, Wade’s two dogs, the black with his head on Joe’s foot, the tawny golden anointing surrounding stones with his precious urine. They heard it although Joe didn’t, both dogs instantly on alert, noses forward, tails rigid. In minutes, in the direction of their point, a lanky man came picking his way up the talus rubble.
On reaching the shade, he leaned against the large cool rock, catching his breath. He did not offer nor receive a greeting, though it had been days since they’d seen one another.
“What brings you up?”
“Oh, a few things, I guess,” Harlo said. “To say so long, for starters.”
“No need. I’m not leaving.”
“Maybe you ain’t. But I am.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah I am. An also I wanted to see Independence one more time before I do. Closest thing to a home I got left. . .not countin the big house. Which I don’t plan to ever return to.”
“There’s a good plan.”
Joe rose to his feet. A spurt of breeze rustled the aspens, making children’s whispers of the air.
“Sorry that foreman job for InterPacific didn’t work out.”
“Why’re you sorry?”
“Well, it weren’t for me and my big mouth. . .anyway, I’m sorry about it all. It would’ve been a good fit for you.”
“Hell,” Harlo said, blue eyes dancing, “that’s one other thing I come up for. To thank you for that good word you put in for me with that Mr. Harada fella.”
Joe looked at him, puzzled. Harlo grinned.
“You ain’t heard, seems like.”
“Heard what?”
“Well, turns out that InterPacific outfit had its eye on a coupla backup places for their operation, case things didn’t work out. Soon as all this trouble with the Sweetgrass Moraine fault lines, they pulled out an closed on this other place. It’s over a ways west a here. I tell you, Joe, them Japanese are some crafty wheeler-dealers. Don’t miss a beat.”
“What’s that got to do with you?”
“Oh well so now they figure to still make use a me; I train em in ranchin and they learn me to raise beef Japanese style. Kobe it’s called, I believe. Somethin like that.”
Joe laughed.
“Damn, Harlo. Now I really do feel sorry for you.”
“Hey, it’s a job ain’t it?”
“That’s what I mean. Now you’re going to have work for a living.”
“Oh no sirree. I never said that, did I? See, the way I see it is, soon’s I get the hang of it, my job’s goin to be to get other folks to do the work. I’ll be whatcha call a manager.”
He eased his long limbs down, sitting alongside Joe.
“Anyways. Figured I’d find you here, since I knew you was back from the hospital, and no one’d seen you aro
und town.”
Joe nodded. “Guess I don’t feel too welcome there, being the one that put the stop to things. Lot of people were pretty eager for that deal to go through.”
“Aw well, ain’t too many of em’ll care that much after while. HRC figures to salvage the Bitterroot site, an if they go like sixty buildin it, which you know they’re hot to do, to keep that Arapahoe company int’rested, well then, I guess everyone’ll come out okay in the end.”
Joe leaned back his head, studying the high scudding clouds.
“Not like if I hadn’t kept quiet.”
“So what, that ain’t your problem. It was a poor enough site for a dam to begin with, what I hear. You responsible for Mother Nature too?”
Harlo picked at the dirt in his nails.
“Hell of a thing, how you could know about that goddamn fault. Even that bald-headed four-eyed surveyor didn’t know nothin about it.”
“People get in just too big a hurry to bother lookin into things for a better way.”
“Aw, bullshit to that. With all that was ridin on that dam? Na, them people knew. They had to know, whether they was sayin so or not. We both of us know it wouldn’t be the first time somethin like that ever happened.”
Butter shifted from Joe, who’d stopped rubbing his belly, to Harlo, who absently pushed him aside, so he returned to Joe, for continued attention.
“Maybe you’re right,” Joe said. “Still, a lot of land is going to get flooded that wouldn’t’ve been. Includin yours.”
“You mean ours?”
“Yeah. Ours.”
“Hell, Joe, you know better’n anyone, that ranch was never ever goin to do any one of us any good. An somewhere, every one of us knew it, and always did.”
He turned a sidelong long look over Joe.
“Besides which, I don’t get the idea you’re too all broke up about it anyhow.”
Joe shaking his head, suppressing a slight but merry grin.
“Not that it matters none, but, well, you did what you had to do, Joe.”
Joe nodded.
“Same thing Norman told me. . .the surveyor Anne worked for? He said how there was no other choice, how that kind of information, that I knew, it had to get public.”
Harlo nodded. “Yeah, an let the rest of em sort it out.”
Butter back at him again, Harlo tossed a nearby branch for him to chase and leave him be.
“So what’s happenin with The Wade?”
“Still under observation. But looks like he’s going to be fine.”
“Had some kind of bad concussion or somethin?”