Song of the Road (14 page)

During high school she had been excluded by her classmates from private parties and sleepovers. It had hurt, but she had endured and earned the highest grades in her class. But even that had not won her election as class president. At the time she was terribly disappointed. Now, as she looked back on it, she wondered if perhaps she hadn’t benefited from the snobbery of her classmates. It had made her self-reliant and more able to take care of herself.

The last time she had seen her daddy was after she had married Bobby.

“Go, honey. Go and make a good life for yourself with Bobby.”

“But I’ll worry about you —”

“Pshaw! I’ll be just fine.” He put fifty dollars in her hand. She knew it was all he could spare.

“Daddy, I don’t need this. Bobby and I will get jobs.” “Take it. I have to be sure you’ll be all right. Now, go tell your mama good-bye.”

Remembering, tears rolled from Mary Lee’s eyes and soaked the pillow. That was the last time she had seen her daddy.

The air was cool and pleasant, with a smell of pines and wood smoke from the fire, where a steer was being prepared to feed the workers who could come in for the annual Fourth of July feed. Ocie Clawson sat on his porch, his eyes on a scene he had viewed all his life and had never grown tired of.

When he was a boy, the mountains seemed a hundred miles away and a hundred miles high. When he grew older, he had ridden to the top in less than a hour and discovered they were merely foothills. Once lightning had started a fire that had burned a patch of trees, and the brown spot left on the side of the “mountain” changed the scene. It had been a source of dismay to him until the following spring, when the green grasses and purple and yellow flowers had sprouted up to cover it.

The mountain was his. This place was his home. He had fought to keep every square foot of it, as had his father and grandfather before him. The grandfather who had built this house was fond of saying that when he first came to this country, he’d had to comb Apaches and Mexican renegades out of his beard. Ocie, his father and his son were all born in the same bed in the big room upstairs.

Temple Clawson had still been alive when Ocie brought his bride home to the Circle C. Edith had not liked her father-in-law. He was too crude for her taste, but she was impressed with the big ranch and the big house. After growing up as the daughter of a bank clerk who had scarcely been able to support his family, Edith had enjoyed having two servants to do her bidding: a cook and a young Mexican girl who did the housework. She was especially hard on young and pretty Juanita, who went about her work quietly taking Edith’s verbal abuse stoically.

When it became obvious that Juanita was pregnant and unmarried, Edith was enraged. She summoned up every dirty, backbreaking job she could find for the girl to do. Juanita did them all without complaint.

One day, angry over a trifle, she called the girl a slut and slapped her, not knowing that her husband and her father-inlaw were nearby. Ocie had been embarrassed, but Temple Clawson was infuriated.

“We do not treat those who serve us in that manner. Don’t ever strike that girl or any other woman working in this house again, missy, or, married to my son or not, you will be out of here.”

From that day on Edith had been careful to chastise Juanita when she was sure the men were out of the house, but her hatred for the girl grew, as did her suspicion that the child she carried was Ocie’s.

One day Juanita disappeared from the house. An older woman came to take her place. After that, neither Ocie nor his father mentioned the girl’s name.

A year went by, and Edith bitterly discovered that she was pregnant. She had allowed her husband to visit her room only once a month to fulfill her wifely duties, as her mother before her had done. She hated the act of copulation. She hated every day that she was pregnant, and vowed that it would never happen again.

Edith discovered that Juanita and her son lived in a small house not more than half a mile away. They never came near the ranch house, but Edith was sure that her husband kept his whore there to humiliate her. For several years she was obsessed with trying to catch Ocie with Juanita. She never did, and soon discovered another way to punish him: She completely took over the raising of their son and taught him disrespect and total contempt for his father.

Temple Clawson spent more time in the homes of his Mexican workers than he did in the house, where Edith ruled supreme. Bobby was fourteen and a dire disappointment to his grandfather when Temple died suddenly. He was mourned by everyone on the ranch except Edith and Bobby.

Now, sitting here on the porch with his feet on the railing, Ocie wondered how he had arrived at this time of his life so fast. Edith had sickened and died two years after Temple. By then, due to her influence, Ocie and his son had been at loggerheads.

Bobby loathed working on the ranch and always had excuses for getting out of work. His passion was gambling. He was so good with cards that the ranch hands refused to play with him. Bobby was also an accomplished liar and had stirred up fights among the cowboys. One of Bobby’s lies had sparked a fight that had left one man permanently injured.

Ocie had never even come close to remarrying. Once burned, twice shy. Marriage to Edith had left him badly disillusioned. He’d not make the same mistake twice. There were a couple of women he used to relieve his sexual tension during the few peaceful years since Bobby left home. He paid them well, and they understood that sex was all he wanted from them.

But now, although he was only sixty years old, he had begun to wonder who would take over this place when he was gone. Certainly not Lon Delano, who was fond of calling himself a cousin, even though he was the grandson of Ocie’s mother’s sister. Lon was all right in his place, a hard worker who handled the men with a strong hand; but given free rein, he would run this place into the ground within a few years’ time.

Ocie’s thoughts went back to the girl at the motor court. She had grit. He grinned, thinking how she had gotten her back up and yelled at him, calling him a “coldhearted old toad.” Bobby had really sold her a bill of goods. He hoped to God that her grit was passed on to Bobby’s kid.

If the boy turned out to be a mewling calf like Bobby, by God, he’d leave the property to the government and let Roosevelt turn it into a CCC camp. He had hoped to pass this ranch down to a Clawson with enough guts to hold on to it and see to it that Clawsons would be here for another hundred years.

Lon Delano pulled up and stopped at the big red gas barrel beside the barn, intending to put gas in the tank of his car. When he spotted Ocie coming out the back door, he sat in the car and waited. It irked him that Ocie lived in that big house all alone while he had to be content with a room built onto the bunkhouse. After all, he was family. It would lift his prestige with the hands if he lived in the house. He had mentioned it once to Ocie. All he got in return was a cold stare.

“Need anything from town, Ocie?” Lon called as his boss approached.

“Ain’t Dolly Finley a mite used up for you?” Ocie ignored Lon’s question and came right out with what was on his mind.

“What makes ya say that?” Lon was instantly alert. “Heard ya was rubbin’ her ass on the dance floor the other night.”

“Then you heard wrong. I danced with her. What’s a man to do when a lady asks him to dance?” Lon was containing his temper.

Ocie snorted. “Dolly ain’t no lady. She’s an old drunk! And if she was a lady, I can’t see her draggin’ you around by the balls.” His shaggy brows drew together, and he stabbed his foreman with ice cold eyes. “Screw around with Dolly all ya want, but stay away from the motor court. I ain’t wantin’ nothin’ to happen to that girl of hers. Hear?”

“What’s so special ’bout her?” Lon asked, although he knew it was the kid she was carrying.

“She’s goin’ to birth a Clawson; that’s what’s special!” Ocie bellowed.

“Ha! Ya believe that?”

“I’ve no reason not to.”

“I’d not take her word for it. She’s got a kid in her belly and come back here thinkin’ ya’d think it was Bobby’s.”

“Keep yore mouth shut. I don’t want to hear of such talk bein’ spread around.”

“Hell, Ocie, we both know that the only way Bobby could get it up was to draw four aces or a full house.”

“Are ya sayin’ he was queer?” Ocie asked, tight-lipped.

“No, I ain’t sayin’ that. I’m sayin’ he wasn’t usually . . . hot for women,” Lon stammered.

“Yo’re sayin’ he warn’t a man ’cause he didn’t rut with ever’ ready bitch that crossed his path?”

“I ain’t sayin’ that either.”

“Frank Pierce is out talkin’ nasty about the girl. Put a stop to it, or it’ll go hard with both of ya. She’s to be left alone.”

“Ain’t you forgettin’ ’bout Jake Ramero stayin’ right under her nose?” Lon sneered. “He’s a cattle rustler, for God’s sake. Prison made an animal out of him. He’d screw the Virgin Mary if he got a chance. I had to talk Frank outta filin’ charges against him after Jake roughed him up.”

“I heard he roughed Frank up ’cause he shoved Mary Lee. If she had lost that kid, I’d have done more than rough him up. I’d have shoved a hot poker up
his
ass. Tell him to keep his hands off her.”

“You’d better be tellin’ Ramero. He’s a troublemaker.”

“Says who? The charge of rustlin’ my cattle was pretty thin. I went along with it ’cause you and two others swore you saw him brandin’ the cattle.”

“Goddamn! Are ya backtrackin’ on that jailbird?”

“I ain’t backtrackin’ on anythin’. I’m sayin’ he done a good turn puttin’ Pierce down when he was messin’ with my daughter-in-law and I ain’t forgettin’ it. Leave him alone.” Ocie turned and went back into the house.

Being careful not to stir up a dust cloud in the ranch yard, which was one of Ocie’s pet peeves, Lon drove away from the ranch house. As soon as he was half a mile down the road toward town, he slammed on the brakes, came to a stop and pounded his fists against the steering wheel.

“Damn her to hell!” he yelled.

He’d be damned if he’d let the kid of that wimpy, spoiled mama’s boy have what he’d worked for, put up with Ocie’s insults for, and what should be his.

By God, he didn’t want to have to do away with Ocie, but he would before he’d let the ranch slip away from him. If Ocie died without a will, he, as next of kin, distant as it was, would inherit — that is, if that shitty girl hadn’t given birth yet and Ramero was back in the hoosegow where he couldn’t cause trouble. He’d work on that, but how in hell was he going to find out if Ocie had made a will?

Lon drove into town and began looking for Frank. He found him in Pedro’s, a hole-in-the-wall on a back street. Lon stood in the doorway until he caught his eye, and jerked his head. Minutes later Frank joined him in the alley behind the barbershop. He looked anxious.

“What’s up?”

“I thought you were goin’ to see to it that Ramero broke his parole and was sent back to the slammer. You haven’t done doodle-dee shit.”

“I told Pleggenkuhle about him attackin’ me.”

“Yeah, and it’s all over that the reason he slammed into ya was because you shoved a pregnant woman. Ain’t ya got no more sense than that?”

“You a-wantin’ her to have that kid?”

“No, you dumb-ass, but you don’t try to rid her of it in front of folks.”

“Ramero wasn’t there when I pushed her.”

“Never mind that now. You rile up that bastard until he does somethin’ to be sent up for.”

“Like him bustin’ my head, I suppose,” Frank said sarcastically.

“If ya have to. Ya’ll get paid plenty. How’re ya comin’ with Dolly?”

“I ain’t knowin’ how much longer I can stomach that old drunk.”

“Yo’re screwin’ her, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah. She’s so damn skinny it’s like pokin’ it in a knot-hole.”

“Keep her on the string. Keep yore eyes open and work on gettin’ rid of Ramero. If the girl has that kid, there’ll be no chance of me gettin the Circle C, and there’ll be no job for you.”

“I’m short of money . . .”

“Here’s a couple dollars. It’s all I’ve got on me.”

“Hell —”

“Take it or leave it,” Lon said impatiently.

Frank snatched the bills from his hand and walked back down the alley toward Pedro’s.

Chapter 10

W
ITHIN AN HOUR AFTER THEY MET,
Trudy and Eli were laughing and talking as if they had known each other forever. At first, Eli was a little put out, thinking that Trudy was there to take his place; but she soon won him over with her teasing requests for him to do this or that because he was tall and she was just a short stack.

“It’s not fair that you got them nice long arms and legs and can reach everythin’,” Trudy fussed while climbing up onto a chair to reach the windowpane she was washing.

She had arrived at seven, and by midmorning the kitchen cabinet, the work counter and sink had been scrubbed, as well as the stove and icebox. She had suggested that the table and chairs be moved nearer to the back door so that the guests didn’t have to cross the kitchen to get to the table. The window curtains were drying on the line. Now all that was left to do was wash the windows and scrub the floor.