Death on the High Lonesome (17 page)

“
Muy bien,
muy bien
, Ernesto.”

The flash of white in the boy's dark face told Virgil all he needed to know. Marian had quickly scratched out a map for Virgil, telling him that the route back to the ranch would be much easier. A pair of pines identified as the Twin Sisters marked the entrance to an arroyo that led off the top of the plateau to the flatland. It had been the way cattle had been driven off the mesa for over a hundred years. According to the map, the Sisters were within two miles of the cabin. Glancing once more at the
cabin, Virgil spurred Jack forward. There was a definite change in the weather. Morning chills were lasting longer and coming earlier. He knew it wouldn't be long before that morning flurry would become something more in this high country. It was the cycle of seasons reflecting the cycle of life. The year was winding down. Virgil rarely reflected on where he was in that arc before, but this had been a significant year of change for him. He had found a daughter he never knew he had, brushed death a couple of times, been renewed in the arms of a woman who might be lost. Through it all the common thread that was his anchor was his ability to roll with the punches life had thrown at him. After all, he had long since learned, life doesn't go in a straight line.

S
am Harris was waiting outside the hospital with one of the ER interns when Charlie Thompson was brought to them. He had known Charlie all his life. When he was young, he had looked at Charlie and Virgil's father as relics of another age. A time when life was more one-dimensional. Good and evil, not so much gray. But then as he matured he came to the realization that the gray was always there. He could only wonder what could be the story behind Charlie being shot and left for dead while his wife lay downstairs in the morgue of the hospital. Marian was first out of the helicopter. Then the two EMTs took Charlie out. Sam gave him a quick check, then ushered them into the hospital.

Two hours later, Dr. Sam Harris stepped out of surgery, still in his scrubs, and found Marian Thompson waiting for him.

“Breathe easier. Your father is going to walk out of this hospital in a week or two. The scalp wound was easy, the fragment inside a little tricky. It would have been a lot worse, but I think
he was hit by a ricochet, which is why there was no exit wound. The bullet had lost a lot of its velocity. He lost his spleen, has four fractured ribs, which near as I can tell were fractured once or twice before, lost a lot of blood, but all of that will heal. He won't be conscious for a while. Those rib fractures are going to remind him of his rodeo days every time he breathes, but other than pain meds, there's not much we can do for broken ribs. Fortunately, they were lower ribs so there was no lung puncture. But don't be surprised when he wakes up if he has no memory of how he got here or what happened to him. That knock on the head might have stalled his short-term memory for a while. It'll come back to him. Rest and more rest, that's what he needs. He's tough as rawhide, but I'm glad Virgil found him when he did and he had that boy looking after him. Don't think he would have lasted another day. After you look in on him, you ought to get back to the ranch and get some rest yourself.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Sam Harris started to walk away, then stopped. “I'm real sorry about your mom. But I'd hold off as long as I could, telling Charlie. They were joined at the hip a long time. He's going to take it hard.”

Marian nodded in response. Then she walked to her father's room to sit with him for a little while. He was pretty much in a drug-induced coma. After a little while sitting there in the quiet, her eyelids started to feel heavy. She left the hospital a little before midnight. A cold breeze was waiting for her when she stepped into the parking lot. Manuel was waiting there. She had called him when she first got to the hospital to update him. It was his suggestion that he come to get her when she was ready to leave the hospital, otherwise she would have no way of getting back to High Lonesome ranch.

“How is Señor Charlie?”

“He seems to be resting comfortably, but he's in and out of consciousness. I don't know if he realizes what happened to him, where he is, or even if I was there.”

“He is a strong man,” Manuel said.

“Yes, I know, but he's not a young man anymore. I just wish I could have been there more for him and Mom.”

“You are here now. That is good.”

Marian laid her head back against the headrest as she listened to the rhythm of the tires on the pavement. They drove through town without seeing another car or any evidence of life. She fought to stay awake. By the time they turned onto the ranch road, she had almost lost the fight, but the first few ruts jarred her back to wakefulness. Manuel drove her right up to the walkway, then hopped out of the truck while the engine was still running. By the time she opened the door he was standing there waiting. She swung her legs around, readily taking his extended hand for support.

“Thank you, Manuel.”

“
De nada.
A night's sleep, you will feel better.”

“
Sí
,” Marian said as she let go of his hand. “Tomorrow will be a better day.” He smiled, then went around to the driver's side, got in, then drove away. She stood looking at the darkened house, feeling for just an instant like the little girl she used to be.

*   *   *

Sunlight was streaming through the windows of her bedroom when she awoke. She glanced at the clock on the night table, blinked, then looked again. She couldn't believe she had slept for almost twelve hours. It took her more than a few moments to shake off the coma she had been in since her head had first hit
the pillow. At last she dragged herself to the bathroom. By the time she had washed off the last three days, she was beginning to think she was fit for company. The emptiness in the pit of her stomach was a reminder that she really had little or nothing to eat during the last twenty-four hours, so she went downstairs. As she expected, the pantry and refrigerator were stocked full. Her mother had lived a hardscrabble existence before she met her father. Fallout from that life was that there was always enough food on hand to feed a small army. Marian's mother had told her that there were many nights when she had gone to bed hungry. Marian ate way more than a normal-sized breakfast. She was sitting over a second cup of coffee when she saw a car pull up to the fence outside that marked the perimeter of her mother's garden. Even from a distance, she recognized the two men who got out of the car. Taking her cup she went out onto the front porch. She was sitting in her mother's chair when they reached her.

“Hello, Marian.”

“Hello, Calvin, Vernon. I had wondered whether or not you were coming when I didn't get a response from either one of you. But then, what's it been, eight, ten years?”

“Yeah, well, we just kind of hooked up with one another and decided to come ahead, been busy.” Marian didn't acknowledge the comment. “So, what are the arrangements?” Calvin asked.

“That's still to be worked out. Mom is down at Simpson's. She was just brought over yesterday, far as I know.”

Vernon, who had been standing on the path, stepped up alongside of Calvin.

“Don't understand . . .” He started to frame a question, but Calvin interrupted.

“We thought we'd be too late to see Mom. It's been what? Five, six days.”

“Well, it took so long because as it turns out Mom didn't die a natural death.”

“What? You didn't say. I mean in your message.”

“I didn't know. It was a surprise to me, too.”

“So you're saying, what?”

“I'm not saying. The coroner, the evidence, is saying Mom was murdered.”

The two men looked at each other before Calvin spoke.

“That's crazy. Mom and Dad were old. These backwoods medical people are probably just covering up for the fact that they can't come up with a real medical explanation.”

“Obviously, you haven't been to Hayward Memorial. It's a long way from backwoods, Calvin. But then you haven't been around to visit or look in on Mom and Dad. But what about you, Vernon? I understand you stopped by a couple of times. Was that just to visit or maybe you wanted something.”

“What do you mean?” Vernon blinked his eyes in rapid succession.

“Still got that nervous habit, Vernon. Did I hit a nerve? I know you sure didn't stop by to help Dad on the ranch. So my other thought is, maybe you wanted something. Maybe money. Wouldn't that be about right?” Vernon stepped back. “What about you, Cal? What do you want? Since you thought Mom was buried already, you must have returned for some other reason. What do you want?”

Calvin glared at Marian. “Pretty full of yourself, aren't you, Marian? I didn't notice you hanging around here after you graduated from college.”

“That's because Dad thought his boys were going to stay on, run this place with him. I never got that invitation.”

“Yeah, well, I guess with him gone, that's as good an excuse as any.”

“Well. With luck we might all get a second chance with Dad.”

“How's that?” Calvin asked.

“Well, I mean, when he gets out of the hospital. The doctor suggested I wait before telling him about Mom.”

Vernon stepped back alongside Calvin again. “Did you say he was in the hospital? I mean, now?”

“I thought you knew. I thought you both knew. Virgil Dalton, the sheriff, and I found him up on that plateau. You know, the High Lonesome country, as he always called it. The name of the ranch. He'd been shot. A helicopter brought him out. He's in Hayward Memorial right now. Going to be there for a couple of weeks, but they say he's going to walk out. You know, Dad is tough.”

Once again, Calvin and Vernon looked at each other.

“Always was, always was,” Cal said. “Is he conscious? I mean, should we go see him?”

“No,” Marian said. “The doctor said he'll be in the twilight zone for a while. Probably doesn't even know what happened. He wouldn't even know if you were there, so you might as well hold off for a few days. Guess we'll have to bury Mom without him.”

“Oh, yeah, guess we'd better,” Calvin said. “Vernon, maybe we could stop at Simpson's, check on the arrangements. Give Marian a break. Sounds like she has had a rough couple of days.”

Vernon didn't react to Cal's suggestion.

“Vernon . . .” Calvin said in a louder voice.

“Oh, okay, whatever you think, Cal.”

“Boys, I'm sorry. Maybe I was a little harsh a few minutes ago.”

“It's okay, Marian.” Cal gestured with his hand. “Guess we all got a bit of a shock.”

“Where are you staying? There's plenty of room in the house.”

“No, we already took a place. A cabin on the other side of the river by a roadhouse called the Branding Iron. We're fine. Don't worry about us, we'll make out. By the way, is the sheriff in town? Maybe we should stop by and thank him.”

“No. He's still up in the high country. I expect he'll be coming down much later today or first thing tomorrow. He had to bring Pop's gear down and the horses. He insisted I go with Dad in the helicopter. I'm sure he'd like to meet you. He was asking about you. I'll tell him what you said when he gets here.”

“That'll be fine. Okay, Vernon, we better get going, take care of business. See you soon, Marian.” Calvin turned, then stepped off the porch. “C'mon, Vernon.”

Vernon followed him to the car. Marian watched them. Deep in conversation, they never looked back. When they were out of sight, she set her empty coffee cup on the table next to her mother's rocker. She had a strange feeling, like an actor missing a cue. She lingered, looking out on the scene from the front porch that she had known all of her life, but which in a strange way she felt like she had never really seen until now. In a sense it had taken her absence to appreciate how much this place meant to her. Since her husband's death and her children going off to college, she had been at sixes and sevens. There was no sense of direction, only the nagging feeling that for the last two years she had been basically treading water. Only now, brought back to the place of her youth, did she find a kind of peace. She didn't fully understand why this was, especially when the instrument for her return was the death of her mother. But she felt good in this place for the first time in a long time, in a way, looking at her past through new eyes.

The landscape before her was timeless. The path bisecting
her mother's gardens held only the barest hint of the vibrant beauty they had displayed throughout the last months of her life. She noted the horse trough along with the two hitching posts beyond the white picket fence that her mother had insisted on, though her father thought it clashed with the Southwestern homestead. Beyond the area that had been pounded into hardpan by horse's hooves and truck tires over decades, she saw the string of corrals, which fronted the huge barns that now showed age and neglect from lack of use. All of it framing a view into her past that had somehow renewed itself in her. She saw a shadowy figure against one of the barn walls, then saw it disappear through an opened door. Finally, she stood up, took a couple of deep breaths of the chilled morning air, stepped off the porch, and started walking to the barns to see if she could be of any help to Manuel.