The Banker, page 7
“The equipment at the volunteer station here is one truck and one old pumper truck. Usually Marilee would be at the station coordinating everything. But when she got there, they didn’t have anyone who could drive the pumper truck. The man who usually would broke his ankle yesterday. Marilee can drive it — it’s been a while, but it’s like the old wheat truck she used to drive. You’ve seen her, she can drive truck. So she took it out. Three-hour round trip.”
“Damn it!” Trent said. “That woman doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose.”
Jacob Blessing looked at him. He looked angry.
“That is one of the finest women — finest people — I have ever known,” he said levelly. “She’s smart, and she cares. And you threw her away in a hissy fit. If I didn’t need every man I can find, I’d have left you standing in that parking lot down there, twiddling your thumbs.”
Jacob paused and slowed down a bit. “You don’t get what she’s about, at all, do you? She didn’t make the decision to come back to the ranch lightly, Mr. Williams. She had a very good life carved out. A highly regarded professor making a name for herself doing ground-breaking research on the effects of climate change on agriculture. She was teaching classes, and doing who knows what else.
“And on weekends? She’d come out here and help Max ranch. She’s got a gift for horses, and understood livestock better than he did. So when Max died, she could have just let the ranch go up for sale. Who knows? Maybe someone could have bought it. Someone like the man Benjamin Crane introduced you to last summer, maybe. But ranches stay on the market for a while. And she knew ranches like this one — family-run, family-owned places — are the bulwark between us and the disaster that climate change is bringing.
“And it’s coming faster than anyone expected, and she knew that better than anyone. Dr. Marilee Dupont knew. She’s been researching and writing about it for a decade now. And she knew the Palouse needed Dupont Ranch to be a healthy, diversified family ranch. And so she derailed a promising academic career and came home to ranch. Fought her family to do it, too.”
“How do you know all this?” Trent asked quietly.
“I wasn’t always an irrigation man, Mr. Williams, any more than Marilee is always a rancher. And during the winters there’s plenty of time for talking — around Sunday dinner at my home, around Saturday lunch out here.”
He drove around a slow-moving herd of about thirty cows headed toward lower elevation.
“Do you know what a ghost ranch is?”
“Like a ghost town?”
Jacob nodded. “You see remnants of old homesteads if you ride or drive out in the back hills. A house that’s barely standing. A broken windmill, or sometimes just a corner post of a fence with some barbed wire. Marilee knows we can’t lose too many more ranches. Commercial ranches care about profit, about 3rd Q profit and loss, about economies of scale — you bankers like them. They think like you do. But when — when, not if — the climate changes they’ll leave. Cut their losses. The people who will hold are people like those folks down at the ranch who just evacuated everything they could save and came to Dupont Ranch. Because they know that as long as their breath in that woman’s body, she’ll stand. And they’ll stand with her because they know that.
“No one had to tell them to come here. Oh, the phone tree got started almost immediately — my wife is running a big part of it out of our house. But they all know. All the struggling homesteaders, all the generational farms like this one, the well-to-do and the barely holding on, they knew to come here.”
Jacob stopped talking to regain his composure.
“And you walked away from her because she wouldn’t follow you back to some bank job in the big city. The coming times won’t need another banker focused on the financials for the quarter, Mr. Williams. They need Marilee Dupont — both the rancher and the professor. The micro and the macro.”
Trent wondered what Jacob Blessing’s background had been before he came back to his home community and learned to irrigate fields. Maybe someday, he’d forgive him enough to tell him.
“So she took the pumper truck out,” Trent said when it looked like Jacob had said all he was going to.
“She took the pumper truck out,” he agreed. “And I just hope to God she was headed back down the plateau before the wind shifted. We’ve got people who can take the next load of water out now. And NWCG says they’ll get planes headed up from La Grande. But the wind shifted, and the fire is aimed right at the ranch.”
“From La Grande?” he said startled. That was five hours away. Closer by plane, he supposed.
“The distance isn’t the problem,” Jacob Blessing said. “It’s how thinly they’re spread. There’s that big fire in southern Oregon that’s been pulling a lot of resources. And there’s a dozen other fires. The Pacific Northwest is going up in flames. Too hot, too dry, too little water. No one is listening to the science or to the people on the ground. They’re too busy playing with the politics of it all.”
No argument there, Trent thought. He watched out the window as Jacob drove. Saw the fringe of green along the edge of the hills that rose above the hay pasture. Marilee had wanted to put a stock pond there, water as backup, water in case of fire. The bank had denied her the loan last spring — his mistake. And they’d just had to deny her again because headquarters declared a moratorium on loans at the branch.
Jacob glanced his way, saw what he was looking at. “Yes,” he said. “We may need that water before we’re through. But we don’t have it. So we do what we can with what we’ve got.”
He laughed a bit, and he sounded genuinely amused. “And what we seem to have is hordes of college students, many of them ROTC, that Marilee’s friends rounded up. And your daughter’s soccer team. Even a theater cast.”
When Trent raised his eyebrows at that, Jacob shrugged. “They’re mostly helping at the house, so that’s fine. But they came. And the biggest boon is one of them — a guy who used to be a Marine. Come meet him.”
He pulled up next to a couple of trucks, and a bunch of young men — college kids, Trent guessed.
“Water,” he called out to a young man who looked vaguely familiar. Something about him said military — must be the Marine. “Jake Abbott, Trent Williams.”
The college guys — and women too, he noticed — pulled water jugs out of the back. They were clearing brush by hand, Trent thought appalled. A tractor was working to the south of them. “Jugs go back in the back,” Jacob warned. “We’ve still got electricity so we can refill them.”
Jesus, Trent thought. Was the power grid in jeopardy? He guessed it was.
Jacob pulled out a map from behind the front seat of the truck. “Best I could find,” he said. “But here’s what we’ve got going.” He walked Jake Abbott through the area. Trent listened.
“OK,” Jake said after he’d absorbed it. “We’re going to need a crew out here, and one here. I can take a crew to the northern spot, but it would be good if you’ve got someone who knows the land. I’ve ridden out here once or twice, but that’s it. And we need another crew to the south.”
Jacob considered the issue. “Mark’s my son,” he said in a low voice. “But he’s 18. He’s got the knowledge, but these college students will run right over him, sure they’re right and he’s wrong. I can handle this group. You take a team north.”
Jake grinned briefly at that. “Not sure how long my leg is going to hold up,” he admitted just as quietly. “I may end up giving directions hanging on to the back of the tractor.”
War wounds, Trent thought. This was the winner of the playwright competition, then. Gail’s student.
Trent considered the issue. He knew what the problem was. Jacob and Jake could take a crew. But who did they pair with Jacob’s son who would have the clout to keep the college boys from running over the top of him?
He sighed. “Pair me with Mark,” he said. “They won’t run over me.”
Jacob glanced at him and frowned. Jake shrugged.
“Mark!” his father called. A young man who looked a lot like Jacob detached himself from a group that was still clearing sagebrush.
“I was going to have you run water and supplies,” Jacob said to Trent. “But you’re right. We can turn that over to some of these guys. Mark, you remember Trent Williams? You’re his brainy advisor. He’s crew boss. Think you two can take a crew south?” He showed him on the map.
“We get a tractor?” Mark asked, tracing the ridge with his finger. “And do we need to herd cattle out of there?”
“The cattle will head out when the smoke chases them out. Smarter than humans that way,” his father answered. “If you see the herd head to the barn, you all fall in line and go too, you hear me?”
Mark nodded, still studying the map. “OK,” he said. “Come on, Mr. Williams, I’ll introduce you to the guys. They’re ROTC, most of them, so they listen to Jake there just fine. But me? Not so much.”
“What do you want them to do?” Trent asked. “And call me Trent, OK?”
Mark explained the tractors and the harrows they were pulling. The ROTC cadets needed to hitch a ride or follow behind.
“All right!” Trent said with authority. “Listen up. We’re being deployed south. Those two tractors? They’re going where we’re going. You can hitch a ride or you can fall in. But move it out.”
They stopped arguing. One of them tossed an empty water bottle on the ground as he walked toward the tractor.
“Pick it up,” Trent ordered. “Empty bottles go in the back of the truck. They’ll be refilled at the farm. No bottles? No water.”
The guy sheepishly picked up the water bottle. Others finished their water and sandwiches. They headed out behind the two tractors.
“Guess he’ll do,” Jacob said to the young Marine. Jake laughed.
“OK, I’m going to do what he just did, but head north. And I’m riding on the tractor,” he said ruefully.
“I’ll send a couple of guys back to the ranch for more water and food,” Jacob agreed. “And then you had better take the next truck in and get a breather. I’ll tell them to bring out someone to relieve you.”
“Sorry, man,” Jake mumbled.
“Don’t be,” Jacob Blessing said. “Better you know your limits than we carry you out of here on a stretcher.” He looked at the younger man. “Be my guess it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Unfortunately, no,” Jake said. He grabbed a pack of water bottles from the back, and he limped over to a group of guys who were finishing up their sandwiches.
Jacob shook his head briefly. Probably should send him down now, he thought. But he needed his abilities to organize them and get them working.
“All right, listen up,” he called to the remaining group, smiling briefly as he realized he used the same words and tone that Trent Williams had used. Probably shouldn’t have said all that, he thought without much remorse. But Trent Williams was a damn fool — not a word he could use out loud, but he figured God would forgive him. Probably God would agree even.
It was 6 p.m.
Chapter 10
Marilee ached everywhere. Seventy miles might not sound like much — Spokane was 70 miles north of Pullman and they’d go up there for a Saturday of shopping and dinner out — but this wasn’t on a highway. Before they neared the fire perimeter, it had become a dirt road, and one that hadn’t been maintained in this century.
Maybe ever, Marilee thought. She’d expected it to take an hour and a half in, and that had been stupid. Two hours, she’d thought when they hit the dirt road.
It was two and a half hours before Carl pulled the main rig over and she parked behind him.
“Needs new shocks,” David Ram said. It was the first thing he’d said since they left the station. Not that she would have been able to hear him over the noisy old beast.
“And new brakes,” she agreed. “And by the time I get it home? It will need a new clutch.”
“I heard that about you,” he said, grinning.
“You see enough to drive it?” she asked.
He nodded. “It’s got that weird double clutch thing going, without all the bells and whistles that make the new trucks easier to drive.”
“They’re easier to drive, and with air-conditioning,” Marilee muttered.
Damn it was hot out here. She’d been on a fire line before — running water and sandwiches to the firefighters. But the heat and the smoke got to her fast. She took a deep breath and crawled out of the truck.
“Well, you’re still in one piece,” Carl observed. “Need to put shocks on the upgrade list, it looked like.”
“Need to put a new pumper truck on the upgrade list,” Marilee said. “I’ve been preaching that for a decade now.”
The men grinned. They’d be glad to if someone would pay for it. Maybe a grant would come through. If someone had time to write one. Marilee sighed. She knew who that would have to be. Maybe this winter.
She arched her back to stretch it out. Could use a better seat in that thing too, she thought ruefully. She saw David’s eyes narrow as he saw her stretch.
“What the hell, Marilee?” he said quietly. “Why didn’t you say something? You shouldn’t be up here!”
She raised an eyebrow in surprise. She didn’t think she’d ever heard a German Baptist swear before. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “And I won’t be here long.”
David Ram rummaged around in his backpack and found a bandana. “Wet this down and wear it across your mouth and nose,” he ordered. “You need to keep the smoke out of your system. And you make sure you find a driver for the next trip. Smoke inhalation is no joke. Especially....” He trailed off and gestured toward her body.
Oh. She nodded. She hadn’t really thought about that, and she should have. She crawled back into the truck with water and the bandana and prepared to wait. Again not unlike driving wheat truck. She’d wait until the water was gone, and Carl told her to head back down. And she’d wait inside the truck in spite of the stifling heat.
She patted the steering wheel. “You did good, babe,” she told it. “You ignore our teasing. You made it out here, and those fancy new rigs would never have made that last hairpin turn.”
She hadn’t been sure she could make it either. But if Carl could? Be damned if she wouldn’t.
She sighed, and leaned back and closed her eyes. Hurry up and wait.
She got out when the men brought back their first injury. He’d gotten cut off, and had to make a run for safety. Some burns and smoke.
“I’m just grateful to God,” the man said. “It could have been worse. Ten minutes? And it would have been a lot worse.”
Marilee found the burn salve and made him drink some water. Carl looked him over. “Can you stay? Or go? Be honest here, Mac,” he asked.
Mac scowled. “I’m good. Still got leather on my boots,” he cracked. Carl snorted.
“Rest a bit, and I’ll put you back out.”
Marilee hadn’t counted on how long it would take before the pumper truck was empty either. They were making it last, she thought as she looked at the efficient HQ Carl had set up now. But she was tired. She hadn’t allowed for that either.
Getting tired was such a novel experience, she thought ruefully. Oh she’d worked herself to exhaustion before. Sixteen-hour days in a saddle during round up? Yeah, that would do it. She’d worked sun-up to sun-down and gone to bed exhausted any number of times. Driving wheat truck just months ago, for instance.
But being tired for no real reason? No that was new. Of course, there was a reason, she thought. She was pregnant, and baby needed her energy to grow.
Carl tapped on the window, and she startled out of the half-doze she’d fallen into. She started to roll it down, but it seemed stuck. She sighed and got out.
“OK,” he said. “Get out of here. I wish I could send someone with you, but I need every man I’ve got. In the future, when people do a search for wildfire on the Internet, this one is going to pop up as the prime example. Too much dry grass, sage and trees right there. Like building a camp fire — couldn’t do it better if we tried. So be careful. I’m not sure we even know where the perimeter of this thing is.”
She nodded. “I’m out of here, then,” she said. “But you aren’t going to see this truck again for another four hours, if you’re lucky.”
“By then we’ll have the planes in,” Carl said with a worried glance to the sky. “I hope.”
She patted his arm. “You take care,” she said seriously. “Take care of yourself and your men.”
He grinned at her. “You just take care of that clutch,” he teased. “Don’t wear it out on the first trip.”
She laughed and climbed back in the truck. “Here we go, babe,” she muttered and carefully backed it out. Three-point turn, she chanted to herself. She would be damned if she ended up jockeying it around while men watched.
Marilee took it slow going down the dirt road. About ten miles down, she realized she was running into smoke. With a sinking feeling of dread, she looked at her phone. No bars, of course. She hadn’t really expected them. Five miles later she had to brake hard to avoid a herd of elk fleeing downhill. She swallowed hard.
She was inching down the road now. The smoke was dense. The elk weren’t the only animals that darted into her path as they fled the fire. Fire that was coming after her.
She heard the braying of cattle, and she stopped. A wild eyed mama cow barreled in front of her and headed down the road. She was followed by her calf, and a half-dozen other pairs. Marilee couldn’t see the brands, didn’t know who they belonged to. Could be hers. Probably weren’t. She didn’t think they were on Dupont land. She hoped not. She wanted the fire to go in some other direction.
She slowly moved behind the cows, herding them. They settled into a trot, comforted by the truck, she guessed. Better than the panic fleeing they’d been doing. She was now going 5 miles an hour. But she couldn’t leave them.
She was never going to live this down. Herding cows with the pumper truck, trying to outrun the fire. She groaned.
