Before Honor, page 10
“I know I wrote you about having the phone cut off,” the rancher said.
Mary did not hear him, or chose not to hear him. “...I was worried sick that something had happened to you, that you had an accident or a heart attack and were lying dead out in the barn or here on the kitchen floor.”
With patience, Wayford tried again. “Mary, as you can see, I’m fit as a fiddle. If something had happened to me, you know Paul Moody would have gotten—”
“Neither Frank nor I slept a wink last night, we were worrying so about you. It’s not right the way you’ve treated us. You can’t cut yourself off from your family. You—”
“Mary, hush!” He employed a stern parental tone in his voice that he had not used since his daughter was in her teens. “Hush, take a deep breath, and listen for a minute.”
The rancher pulled a chair beside her and reached out to gently enclose one of her hands in his. “Mary, I’m not dead on the floor, sick in the hospital, or stoved up in some canyon after an accident. You’ve let your mind run wild and worked yourself into a tizzy. I’m sorry you went and worried yourself over me, but it’s not my doing. I know I wrote you and Frank about having the phone disconnected.”
“I got your letters,” Mary answered with accusation glaring in her dark eyes. “You never mentioned the phone being turned off. Or the butane. Why were you trying to hide them from me?”
Wayford sucked down a breath and gradually released it. Mary made this difficult. He had not seen her so fit to be tied since he had grounded her a month for staying out late with Howie Bass her junior year in high school.
“If I did forget, and I ain’t sayin’ I did, it wasn’t because I was trying to hide something. It’s because the phone and the stove just ain’t that important to me. I can’t even say it’s an inconvenience not having them.” His voice grew softer as he attempted to quell her concern the way he had once soothed away the pain when she skinned a knee.
“Daddy, you didn’t turn off the phone and start using that old museum piece of a stove because you wanted to.” She calmed, but the undercurrent of accusation ran in her tone. “You’ve got money problems. And they have to be bad for you to start turning off your utilities. Are you going to turn off the electricity next and start burning candles for light?”
Wayford leaned back in the chair and studied his daughter for a few moments. When he’d seen the van pulling up, this had been the farthest thing from his mind. Now he saw there was no way of getting around it.
“Mary, Frank, I’ve never tried to keep it from you that these aren’t the best of times for me.” He waved his son-in-law to the table. “You know Lizzie’s medical bills took about everything we had.”
“We offered to help with that, Clint,” Frank said as he settled beside his wife. “We knew how hard Elizabeth’s death hit you.”
Wayford could only hope neither Frank nor Mary ever discovered the pain of losing the other. The hard had nothing to do with medical bills.
“I know. I thank you for the offer,” the rancher f said. “But the bills were my concern. You and Mary have two concerns of your own playing out there in the hayloft. You take care of them. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
Frank pursed his lips and nodded as though he understood what Wayford had said.
Mary was another matter. “But the phone and the stove, Daddy.”
Wayford squeezed his daughter’s hand and smiled. “Your momma and me saw some pretty hard times when we were first trying to make a go of it. About the time you came into this world, we had to have the telephone company cut off the phone so we could make ends meet. That’s all I’m doing now.”
He tilted his head to the wood-burning monster across the room. “As for the stove, it served my grandma and grandpa well, and it’s doing the same for me. It cooks my food and keeps the house warm enough. Hell, I haven’t had a sniffle all winter. You can’t ask for better than that.”
He noticed the column of steam that poured from the coffeepot’s spout. He rose and walked to the stove, used a dish cloth to lift the hot pot, and filled the waiting mugs.
“The one thing that ol’ stove can’t do is make my cookin’ better.” He smiled while he sank back to the chair. “Milk’s in the icebox, if you need something to cut the taste.”
Neither Frank nor Mary spoke while they sipped at the hot brew. Frank got the milk and added a dollop to their mugs, as well as a teaspoon of sugar from the bowl at the center of the table.
“Daddy,” Mary finally said, “I want you to sit there and listen to me without trying to break in until I’ve had my say.”
Wayford did not like the sudden somberness of her tone, but he nodded. “I’m listening.”
Mary glanced at her husband, whose expression signaled her to continue. “Frank and I have been talking about something for about a year now. This morning as we drove down, we decided it was time to stop talking and let you know what we think.” She paused for a deep breath and abruptly said, “We want you to come and live with us in Lubbock.”
“What?” Wayford sat straight, his mind reeling. “You want what?”
“You said you would listen to me,” Mary demanded as though she had carefully prepared a presentation that could not tolerate interruption. “That’s what we want, and we think it’s time for you to listen to us.”
“Mary, you’re talkin’ silly.” Wayford found it difficult to believe that he heard his daughter correctly. “I can’t up and go to live in Lubbock. I’ve got the ranch.”
Mary released her husband’s hand and laid a palm across her father’s forearm. “Daddy, now it’s your turn to hush and listen. Be honest with yourself. There isn’t anything left for you here. This ranch hasn’t been anything but a millstone around your neck since Momma died. You’re about to go down for the third time, and you’re too blind to see it.”
The rancher eased his arm away from her fingers. This was his daughter speaking; yet she could not be saying the words he heard. Didn’t she know what the Wide W meant, had meant to generation after generation of Wayfords?
“Daddy, don’t go and close off your mind,” Mary -pleaded. “Listen to what I have to say. It’ll make sense, if you’ll listen. You’ll see this is the right thing to do.” The rancher gazed across the room, staring at the wall, but seeing nothing. He listened, unable to accept that his own daughter could even suggest what she proposed.
“Frank’s got a surprise, Daddy,” Mary continued. “Listen to what he’s got to say.”
Frank cleared his throat. “This has taken six months to come about, but Saturday they made it official. It’s the reason Mary tried to call last night. She wanted to share the good news with you.”
The wall did not dissolve and offer Wayford an easy exit from the room no matter how hard he stared at it.
“I’m no longer working for TI,” Frank said. “I’m the manager of Matsumoki-Lubbock. They’ve just opened a new facility for research and development on the Levelland Highway. They intend to produce a new generation computer that will cut into the Cray market. This is a major opportunity for me, Clint. It means a relatively secure future. But immediately, it means twenty thousand dollars more a year.”
Wayford wished himself elsewhere. It was Sunday, a day of rest. A man did not need his own family plaguing his mind with matters they should have more sense than to bring up in the first place. He strained to hear Frank’s and Elizabeth’s laughter as they romped in the barn’s hay. His imagination failed him.
“Daddy, there will be no money problems if you move in with us.” Mary’s voice brought Wayford back to the situation at hand. “We’re your family, Daddy. You took care of me. Now, it’s my turn to—”
“Take care of me?” The rancher barely held his mounting anger in check. “Young lady, I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve managed to do that since I was old enough to climb atop a horse, thank you very much!”
Mary sighed and gazed at her father. Wayford saw the love and concern in her eyes. Couldn’t she see the hurt in his?
“This place hasn’t made a dime since Momma died, and you know that, Daddy.” She refused to let the matter drop. “Maybe if you were just old enough to get on a horse, you might have a chance of making the Wide W work, but you’re not that young anymore. Daddy, you’re sixty-five years old. Most men these days retire at sixty-five.”
“I’m not most men. I’m Clinton Wayford,” he replied with a disgusted snort.
“You’ve got two grandchildren who are going to be grown with families of their own before you know it. And you’ll never have gotten to know them.”
The rancher winced inwardly. His daughter had found the vulnerable spot and struck below the belt. Spending time with his grandchildren, watching them grow, was something he wanted with all his heart and soul.
Frank cleared his throat again. “If you think living with us would be too much like charity, it won’t be. We’ll invest what you get for selling this place, or put it in the bank. You’ll have money of your own. We just want you to move in with us so we’ll be there to care for you.”
“Listen to Frank, Daddy,” Mary picked up when her husband stopped. “We’re your family. We want what’s best for you. We love you.”
“You love me so damn much you want to kill me.” They had the chance to say their piece. Now it was his turn. “Why don’t you go in there and get my old forty-five out of the bedroom stand, put it up to the side of my head, and pull the trigger? That would be a mite kinder than what you want.”
Mary shook her head in exasperation. “Daddy, you’re exaggerating. Nobody’s talking about killing you.”
“You’re not? What the hell do you think taking me away from this ranch would be? I’ll tell you what it would be—a poison and none too slow a poison either. Each day I would grow a little weaker until I dropped and died. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. I’d be neatly put away in the ground.”
“You didn’t listen to a word we said,” Mary protested.
Wayford pointed a finger at his daughter. “I heard every sound you uttered. What’s wrong here is that you and Frank are blind. Baby, this ranch is my life. Working it is the only thing that kept me going after Lizzie died. Keeping it going is all I have now. Take it away and you take away the only life I’ve ever known. This is where I was born and raised. This is where your mother and I managed to raise a family of our own. And it’s here I plan to stay until the day the good Lord calls me to join Lizzie. There’s nothing left to say on the subject.”
“Stubborn.” Mary’s lips drew into a tight thin line again. “You’re just being stubborn.”
The rancher shoved away from the table. “I said there’s nothing left to discuss. We’ve talked it out, and I’ve settled it.”
“Nothing’s settled,” Mary went on like a dog chewing an old bone. “There’s more we need to talk about.”
“Not with me there’s not,” Wayford answered curtly. “I’ve listened to all the foolishness I’m going to listen to. Now, I’m going to take my coffee into the living room yonder and sit myself in an easy chair. If you and Frank would like to join me and talk about something else, then I’ll be happy for the company. If not, then you’re wasting my time and yours.”
Without waiting for a reply, he did exactly as he said. He walked from the kitchen, down the narrow hall, and into the living room. There he settled into a reclining lounger. The coffee he sipped seemed twice as bitter as usual. He had forgotten the sugar.
“It’s not over. I don’t care what he says, Frank.” He heard Mary talking with her husband. “This ranch will kill him. We have to convince him to come live with us.”
You’ll have an easier time teaching pigs to fly, he thought. How could she have thought he would yank up the stakes of a lifetime and go traipsing off to Lubbock!
“Mary, Clint’s a good man.” Frank’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “But he can be stubborn as an old jackass. We aren’t going to accomplish anything here today. Let it be for now. We’ll talk with him later. Things will get worse. He’ll listen to reason then.”
Jackass, Wayford snorted into the coffee cup. What in hell did Frank know about a jackass? He was Dallas bred and raised. He’d never seen a jackass in his life until Mary brought him home to meet her parents.
The rancher turned off Mary and Frank and their whispered voices. Lubbock? No man in his right mind would pick Lubbock to live in, not if he had a choice. The winters were twice as cold there, and the flat land made the plains of the Bend look like a roller coaster. Lubbock? He snorted again.
And Matsumoki-Lubbock? Wayford had held his tongue when Frank mentioned his new employer. The rancher’s father had fought and helped win a war against Japan. He would turn over in his grave if he knew his granddaughter’s husband was working for a Japanese company.
Wayford tried to keep an open mind about Japanese interests in this country. However, he could not shake the feeling that Japan’s government attempted to conquer in the economic arena a nation it could not bring to its knees with guns and bombs. He had read about the ranches Japanese companies bought in the Western states; they wanted to raise their own beef to circumvent paying the high price of beef imported from the United States. Tariffs were jacked up artificially high by a Japanese government that sought to block foreign products from reaching their country’s markets.
Automobile trade with Japan made headlines, but the same thing was happening—had happened for years—with agricultural products. And agriculture remained America’s largest business. That fact appeared destined to be overlooked by the news media until there was no food for American tables.
The start of an engine drew him from his thoughts. He cocked his head. It was the van. He discerned his grandchildren’s voices over the rumble of the motor, but could not make out what they said.
He gripped the arms of the chair to stand, then sank deeply back into the cushions. Stubborn, he might be, but he was also right. It was Mary’s place to send the children in to say their good-byes. She should—
The van’s engine gunned for an instant then dropped to a steady purr. Rubber crunched over rock and dirt as he listened to the van back up, turn, and pull away. A minute passed and the engine’s sound was but a memory.
Wayford closed his eyes, shutting out the sudden vast immensity of the empty ranch house. His mind
skirted back and forth to avoid the welling sensation of abandonment that ached in his chest—and failed. In her own way, he was certain that Mary meant to do right. Yet he felt betrayed by his only living flesh and blood.
Did his own daughter know so little of her father? Did she really believe he would walk away from all that was his, from his life?
He did not like the answers that wedged into his mind. The ranch had never held Mary. It was merely a place to come for a visit. Her life lay north in Lubbock, mingled with the computer industry.
Still, she should know him better than she did. This land was more than a spread to which he had given his life; it was a legacy handed down to him by generations of Wayfords. Once he had hoped to pass that legacy to a son; now he held it in trust for his grandchildren.
He leaned his head back to ease the tension cording his neck. Maybe he nursed an old man’s delusion. What did young Frank and little Elizabeth know of ranch life? Urbanized Lubbock, except for their visits with their grandfather, was what they knew. If they ever did get out into the countryside, what they saw was farms growing cotton and sorghum, not cattle and horses.
He held close to the dream of passing the ranch into his grandchildren’s hands; after all, both Frank and Elizabeth were just children. Time might draw one of them, perhaps both, close to this land.
Opening his eyes, he stared about him. Through the windows, he saw the long shadows of late afternoon. Pushing from the chair, the rancher walked back into the kitchen. Self-pity did not get the chores done. It would be well after dark before he finished the day’s work.
Hat and coat taken from where they hung on the wall, he pulled on his boots outside. He stopped abruptly after three strides. A young Mexican, short for his eighteen years, stood in the open barn door.
“Señor Clint,” Miguel Ramos greeted the rancher.
Wayford eased back the brim of his hat, stared at the boy, and finally shook his head. “Son, you’re the last person in the world I ever expected to see again.”
“I did not know where else to go,” the young man said. “I could not find work.” Miguel’s gaze rolled to the ground with shame. “Or even a ride north.”
“I told you before that this was the wrong place to come looking for work.” Wayford guessed at what churned in the Mexican’s mind. “I ain’t got a thin dime to spare.”
The young man nervously licked at his lips. “But you need someone strong and willing to work."
A humorless chuckle pushed from Wayford’s throat. “I ain’t denying that. But the straight of the matter is that I’m broke, son. I ain’t got spit to pay. There’s no job for you here."
“You have this barn for me to sleep in." Miguel waved an arm to the open structure. “And you have food. I would work for that until I find a job."
The mention of food caught the rancher’s attention. He realized why the Mexican returned. Miguel had not eaten since he’d left the Wide W two days ago. Wayford rubbed a hand over his chin. The idea skirting the edge of his thoughts had trouble written all over it, if Immigration got wind of his keeping the boy. The federal boys would accuse him of exploiting a poor downtrodden illegal alien since he paid the boy no wages. Hell, if the newspapers ever found out, they would probably tag it slavery.
On the other hand, he could not run the Mexican off. It was obvious the boy had no idea what he was doing in this country. In five days, the only food his stomach had known had come from Wayford’s table. Left to his own means, Miguel Ramos was likely to starve to death or get himself shot while trying to steal some food from a grocery store. That was if he did not freeze to death first sleeping out in the open.
“All right,” Wayford finally acquiesced, against all common sense. “You can stay. I’ll give you a place to sleep and three squares a day until you can find a job or a way to get yourself north—or decide to head back home. But get this straight in your mind, you don’t work for me. I ain’t goin’ to complain if you want to help out with the chores, but I’m not hirin’ you on as a hand. You understand that?”
