Authors: Dorothy Garlock
“Suppose Steven was fillin’ yore ear,” Milo sneered.
“Steven ain’t wantin’ that engine, or the carriage or the donkey to be buggered up. It’s money outta his pocket too.”
“He ain’t got no say. He ain’t owner here.”
“He knows that if we don’t make it this year, we’re liable to be took over by the bank.”
“Shit. He says that ever’ year.”
“We got the means now to get the river clogged before Malone gets there. I ain’t havin’ ya a-fightin’ with the crew an’ gettin’
’em all riled up. Hear?”
“That’s all ya think ’bout—beatin’ that goddamn Malone.”
“Malone’d burn us to the ground if he got a chance.”
“Where ya been? Over spyin’ on ’em?”
“What if I have?”
“All night an’ all day? Must a been a lot goin’ on.”
Louis grunted, sat down on the bunk and unlaced his shoes. His eyes caught the edge of something under the bunk. He pulled
out a shirt, stiff with dried blood.
“What’s this?”
“Gimme that.” Milo yanked the shirt out of Louis’s hand, lifted the lid on the stove and dropped it inside.
“Why’d ya do that for?”
“It ain’t no good no more.”
“That was blood on that shirt.”
“Yeah. I beat the shit outta a smart-ass peeler and he bled all over me.”
“Yeah?” Louis looked down at his brother’s bent head. His faint smile was as cold as his eyes.
The honeysuckle and bridal wreath, once black and brittle from winter’s freeze, were green again. The tops of the Ponderosa
pines surrounding the homestead swayed in a light, warm wind. A robin was building a nest in a sheltered place beneath the
eave of the outhouse, and sparrows, busy searching for nesting material, flitted from ground to branch with beaks stuffed
with dry grass, bits of string and horsehair.
It was Sunday. James and Ben had come down the night before and both agreed that this was as good a time as any to make the
trip to the Malones’.
Odette and Jeanmarie sat in the back of the wagon, Dory on the seat beside Wiley. Even though Dory was apprehensive about
visiting Marie Malone, she was excited to be leaving the homestead for the first time in months.
The wagon, with Ben and James following, rolled down the timbered hillside and on toward the green sward. The heat from the
sun was cupped in the sheltered valley, and the fragrant blooms of spring were everywhere. Flocks of robins rose as the wagon
approached. Birds were a source of delight for Dory. She watched the flocks gather to migrate in the fall and looked forward
to their return every spring.
“You’ve never said what you think about us making this trip, Wiley.” Dory smiled at the old man, who sat with one foot on
the guard rail, his battered old hat square on his head.
“Don’t see that it could hurt none.” He leaned over the side of the wagon and let loose a stream of tobacco juice into the
fresh green grass.
“You don’t think Chip will… try anything?”
“Chip ain’t no fool. Dory. The only claim he’s got that the young’un’s Mick’s is the red hair.” He looked at her, his leathery
old face creased with a frown. “Spite of all ya hear, I ain’t ever knowed of Chip bein’ underhanded. He’s ornery an’ schemes
ta best Callahan Lumber, but ya ain’t ort ta hold that agin him, considerin’ what Louis does.”
“He flat scares me. I don’t think I could ever like him because of the way he treated Mick.”
“Likin’ an’ toleratin’ ain’t the same. Jist tolerate an’ ya’ll get by without causin’ a ruckus.”
When Jeanmarie became restless, James took her to ride in front of him on the horse. Her clear, childish laughter rang out.
Her chatter was continuous. She was having the time of her life and Dory was glad that her daughter was enjoying herself.
She could count on one hand the number of times the child had gone visiting.
The time went quickly. It was well past mid-morning when they approached the Malone ranch. The buildings were set in a valley
surrounded by flat grassland where cattle grazed. The house and outbuildings gleamed white in the bright sunlight. Mick had
told her about his home, but Dory had not imagined that it was so grand, so well tended. The main part of the house was square
and two-storied. A wing out one side had a slanting roof that covered a small porch. The wagon track branched, one lane going
around the house to the barn, the other going to the front of the house.
As they approached the fork in the track, it occurred to Dory that this was where her mother had spent her girlhood. She had
left this place to marry her father and live in what she had later described as a two-room log cabin. She had never returned,
not even for a visit. She had left too much bitterness behind.
The door opened and Chip Malone stepped out. His red hair, dulled with gray, was thick and curly. He wore a dark flannel shirt.
Wide, white suspenders held up his duck britches. This was his domain. He owned everything in sight and the large logging
operation in the mountains beyond.
An icy hand clutched Dory’s heart, and a knot of apprehension twisted her stomach when she realized he was looking directly
at her. She didn’t know why she knew that. The distance between them was too great for her to see anything but a clean-shaven
face. It made her want to grab her daughter and hold her close to her side. She looked over her shoulder for reassurance that
James and Ben were still there. They had moved up close to the back of the wagon. Dory’s eyes caught Ben’s. He nodded, acknowledging
her anxiety.
Wiley stopped the team in front of the door. Dismounting, Ben and James tied their horses to the end of the wagon. Dory’s
heart was beating like that of a trapped rabbit, but her face showed none of what she was feeling about coming to this place
she had heard so much about but had never seen. It did nothing for her nervousness when Chip came around to the side of the
wagon to help her down. He extended his hand. She hesitantly put hers in it.
“Thank you for coming, Dory. It’ll mean a lot to Marie.”
Dory said nothing. As soon as her feet were on firm ground, she pulled her hand from his. Ben lifted Odette down and James
took Jeanmarie. From her position on James’s arm, Jeanmarie looked at the man and smiled.
“My name’s Jeanmarie. What’s your name?”
For the space of a few heartbeats, Chip was unable to respond. Then he said, “My name is Chip.”
“She’ll talk your arm off,” James said. “Howdy Chip. This is Ben Waller.”
Chip extended his hand and Ben shook it.
“—And his daughter, Odette.”
“Welcome to our home, ma’am.”
Odette didn’t know what he said, but she smiled and nodded.
“How’er you doin’, Wiley? You old coot, I think you’re going to live forever.”
“I aim to, Chip. Jist to spite ya.”
“Take the wagon and horses on around to the back. One of the men will take care of them. Come on back to the house and we’ll
have dinner.”
“Thank ’ee kindly. I’ll do that.”
Dory was surprised at the welcome. She had expected hostility. It’s what she would have felt if the situation had been reversed.
“Come on in,” Chip said, leading the way to the door. “Marie knows you’re here. I got a look at you through the glass when
you came down onto the flatland.” He held open the door.
Dory walked in, followed by Odette, then James carrying Jeanmarie. Chip and Ben came last. They were in a wide hallway that
divided the house. An open stairway was at the end. Chip closed the door and waited while Dory took off her bonnet and then
Jeanmarie’s. James set the child on the floor and took off her coat. Unaware that she was the focus of the strange man’s attention,
Jeanmarie reached out to touch an embossed red rose on the wallpaper. She tilted her head and smiled at him.
“Pretty.”
Bewildered by the look of pain and regret on Chip Malone’s face, Dory quickly looked at Ben. His calm face and steady gray
eyes looking back at her were reassuring. Then Chip was moving down the hallway.
“James, if you and Waller will wait for me here”—he opened the door to a room that looked like a small parlor— “I’ll take
the ladies up to see Marie. I know she’s anxious.”
Holding firmly to Jeanmarie’s hand and beckoning to Odette, Dory followed Chip Malone up the stairs. He led them down the
upper hallway to an open door.
“Marie, look who came to see you.”
Another person was in the room, but Dory had eyes only for the woman on the bed who lay propped up with pillows. The soft
brown hair Dory remembered was almost completely gray, and the fine-featured face so like Mick’s was creased with wrinkles.
Marie Malone looked twenty years older than when Dory had last seen her six months earlier. She hoped and prayed that the
shock she felt was not reflected on her face.
“Hello, Mrs. Malone.” Pulling Jeanmarie along with her, Dory went to the end of the bed, aware that Chip lingered in the doorway.
“Hello. I’m so glad you could come.” She paused for a moment to catch her breath. “Chip, is Consuela preparing dinner for
our guests?”
“She started as soon as I saw them coming.”
Dory was relieved when she heard his footsteps going back down the hallway.
“Come closer so I can see you,” Marie said in her breathless voice. “My, my, Jeanmarie, you’re getting to be a big girl.”
“I’m almost four.” The child went around to the side of the bed and held up four fingers.
“Almost four? And you can count, too.”
“Mrs. Malone, this is Odette Waller.” Dory took Odette’s hand and pulled her up beside her. “She’s been staying with us. Her
father is working here for a while.”
“Chip told me about the… the donkey engine.” She paused to get her breath again. Then to Odette, “I’m glad you came.”
“Odette hasn’t been able to hear for quite some time. She reads lips after she gets used to a person. She’s been reading to
Jeanmarie out of the books you gave her even though she can’t hear her own voice.” Dory turned so Odette could read her lips.
“Mrs. Malone gave Jeanmarie the books.”
“Baby loves the books,” Odette said and smiled.
“Odette is very stingy with words… sometimes,” Dory said. She turned to Odette and smiled. “I told her you are sometimes stingy
with your words.”
“You’re teasing me now.”
Marie saw that the girl’s magnificent blue eyes were looking at Dory with affection. She was a pretty girl, somehow fragile
looking, while Dory was a beautiful woman. If only Mick had lived, she would have been so good for him.
“I’m glad you have… company. I’ve wondered how… you’ve stood it up there alone.”
The other person in the room had placed a chair beside the bed. She was a small, plump woman with shiny black hair that hung
in a braid down her back. She wore a loose-fitting dress and moccasins.
“Another chair, Rita, please. For Odette.”
After they were seated, Jeanmarie attempted to climb on the bed. Dory lifted her onto her lap.
“You better sit here, punkin.”
“Let her on the bed. Please. I’ve so little time with her. I want to… feast my eyes on her.” After a pause, she said, “Rita,
will you get the box?”
Dory lifted Jeanmarie to sit beside Marie on the bed. The child looked at her mother with bewilderment.
“This lady is your grandmother. Remember the story Odette read to you about grandmothers? She wants you to sit beside her.
You’ll be still, won’t you, honey?”
“That red hair, so like Mick’s and curly like yours, Dory.” Marie gasped for air. “Eyes are blue like Mick’s and… Chip’s.”
Rita returned with a box and placed it on the floor on the other side of the bed. “Isn’t… she pretty, Rita?”
“Si
, Maria. It is so.” Bright, expressive eyes moved from the woman on the bed to the child. “Chin like yours, I think.”
“My granddaughter,” Marie said, her eyes filling with tears. “A part of Mick. Thank you, Dory, for… bringing her.”
“There, there, Maria. This is happy time.” Rita bent over the bed and pressed a handkerchief into Marie’s hand, then took
a paper-wrapped package from the box and placed it on the bed beside her.
The tears miraculously vanished and Marie smiled. “I can’t waste time feeling sorry for myself. Jeanmarie, I won’t see you
on your birthday, so I’ll give you your present now.” She placed the package on the little girl’s lap.
Jeanmarie looked in bewilderment first at her mother, then at Odette, then down at the package, but made no attempt to open
it.
“She’s never had a wrapped present,” Dory explained. “She’s not sure what to do with it.”
“Open it for her, Dory.”
Dory folded back the paper, being careful not to tear it. “Oh, look, Jeanmarie. Your grandmother has given you a beautiful
doll.”
Jeanmarie looked at it for a moment, then a big smile covered her pixie face. “For me?” she asked as if she couldn’t believe
it.
The doll was like no doll Dory had ever seen. Its head was china with painted black hair, large blue eyes and red lips. The
body was soft kid and the lower arms and hands were of china, as were the feet. The doll wore a blue dress trimmed in white
tatted lace.
Jeanmarie was staring into the doll’s eyes as if fascinated.
“Look under her dress,” Marie urged. “Rita made… her dress and… her underdrawers.”
Peeking beneath the dress, Jeanmarie began to giggle. “Looky, Mama. Looky, Odette, drawers like mine.” She scrambled off the
bed, placed the doll in Odette’s lap, lifted the doll’s dress and then her own. “See. Odette?”
Odette laughed. “They are like yours.”
Jeanmarie attempted to lift Odette’s skirt. “You got underdrawers?”
Odette held her skirt down. “Of course. I’ll show you when we get home.”
Dory turned to Marie. “Jeanmarie is very aware that Odette can’t hear. Sometimes I’m amazed at how much she understands.”
“Mick was sensitive to other people’s disabilities too.”
Dory pulled her daughter close and whispered to her.
Jeanmarie looked at Marie. “Thank you for the doll.”
“You’re very welcome, child.”
After a pause, Dory whispered again.