In Open Spaces (10 page)

I cut between the flock and the fence, telling them how stupid they were, but mostly hoping I wouldn’t find any corpses crushed by the cluster. The sheep milled away from the fence, their thick woolly coats
dirty gray up to the snow on their backs. They moved along the fence line like a low fog bank. Thankfully, none had been trampled.

About halfway to the river, a young lamb on the opposite side broke away from the flock. She scampered unprovoked toward the middle of the pasture, her rear hooves pounding the powdery snow. I was pinned against the fence, so I couldn’t make a move to go after her. But I assumed she would stop and wander back to the flock anyway. However, Nate started after her, and instead of turning her back, he scared her further away. I whistled for Nate, but six more ewes followed the lamb, and this got Nate excited. He chased after them. I swore, nudging Ahab through the flock. Then I took off after the lead.

Ahab snorted, trying to catch his breath as we cut through the icy air. We overtook the six, who turned back as soon as we passed them. Nate cut back to herd them toward the flock. I hoped the lead would follow, but she was too far ahead to notice. As we closed in on her, Ahab picked up speed. Within ten yards of the ewe, I shouted, and a rush of cold air filled my chest. I coughed and pounded my ribs, trying to relieve the burning in my lungs.

Ahab overtook the ewe, but the minute he did, she skidded to a stop. She circled behind us, then took off in the same direction. I gritted my teeth, prodding Ahab’s flanks, although he’d already jumped ahead. “Get back here,” I shouted.

But the ewe raced on, unaffected by the cold. Ahab grunted with every stride as the freezing air stung his lungs. It took another thirty yards to catch her again. I tried approaching from the opposite side. But the second we drew even, her head dropped, and her front legs stiffened. She cut behind Ahab, and bolted ahead again before I could even tug at the reins.

The ewe emitted a confused, gurgling “Baaaah” as she rushed by our left side. Ahab shook his head, as if he took the utterance personally I swore, because I did take it personally. Then I raked my boots along Ahab’s ribs.

We went through the same routine twice more, with both sheep
and horse slowing a little each time. Usually, I would not have bothered with this chase. Deep down, I knew it was a waste of time. With so much around me feeling so much out of my control, I was determined to prove I had control over this one small situation. But this determination weakened as my face became more numb. I wiped snow from my eyes and couldn’t even feel my glove move across my skin.

The fourth time the ewe circled behind us, I reined Ahab in sharply and shouted, “All right, run away, you bastard. And don’t come back.” I felt like a fool yelling at an animal out in the middle of nowhere. But the anger burned like a chunk of coal in my chest as I turned Ahab around. And then I heard laughter.

Next to the flock, Bob stood in the wagon, buckled over and pointing. As I approached, his laugh echoed past me, and my ears warmed. But when I looked up, I realized he wasn’t pointing at me, but behind me.

“Blake, you got yourself a friend,” he shouted.

“Quiet, Bob,” Dad told him.

I didn’t even have to look. I realized from Bob’s laughter that she was following me back to the flock. “You stupid goddam sheep,” I muttered. I wheeled Ahab around and chased the ewe for a few strides. Then I stopped, turned around, and continued my humiliating return to the flock, with the ewe trotting along behind me.

I buried my shovel deep into the pile of corn and flung the feed out over the sheep’s backs.

“Blake!” Dad scolded.

I ignored him, filling my shovel again. I sniffed and heaved the second shovelful out over the flock, dotting their snow-covered backs with yellow pellets.

“Son, you’re not going to do much good taking it out on those poor animals.”

“They don’t know the difference.”

“Well, they don’t give a damn about your problems, either. But we don’t need them digging in the snow for every kernel of that feed. It’s going to freeze their noses up and keep ’em hungry besides.”

I buried my shovel one more time and cocked my arms.

“Blake!” Dad warned.

I swung the shovel, and just as the corn flew out in a yellow arch above the sheep, Dad grabbed the shovel, shouting, “Stop it now. Goddamit!”

The shovel jerked from my grasp, and because I was already off balance from the motion, I nearly fell. I caught myself by propping my hand against the side of the wagon. Dad glared at me, and I met his gaze head-on. We stared each other down for thirty seconds, and the anger swelled a little more in my chest as each second passed. Dad shook his head.

Bob, who was sitting in the driver’s seat, clapped a glove to his mouth, trying to muffle a laugh. “Little Bo Peep,” he muttered.

I went for him, and the next thing I knew, a gloved hand smacked me across the cheek. I froze. I couldn’t move. My cheek stung, and I wanted like hell to hold my hand to it. My father had never hit me before. My jaw stiffened. I heard Bob sniffle behind me.

“I’m sorry, son. But goddamit…” Dad stood there looking at me, but he finally turned his back, unable to continue. “Goddamit…” he repeated.

“Your turn.” Bob lay sprawled on the floor, an old coffee can full of marbles in front of him.

I lowered The Red Badge of Courage from my face, still angry from that morning. “You think I can’t keep track of a two-man rotation? I know it’s my turn.” My jaw was sore, stiff, my pride still bruised. Dad had not mentioned the incident again.

“Boys!” Dad was planted at the window, looking toward Alzada.

I stood and laid my book down, then bundled up, donning my
wool coat and cap, and my gloves. I grabbed our two largest wooden milk buckets and stepped outside. The snow had stopped for the moment, but it had snowed off and on all day, and would likely start again. Our pastures glistened with white, and the clouds mirrored the downy blanket they had created.

I took a deep breath, smelling nothing but the sweet scent of clean, cold air. But I was in no mood to appreciate it. I tromped into the yard, set the buckets down, and scooped snow into them. Once they were full, I straightened my back and turned an eye toward the road. I saw no sign of anyone, so I hauled the buckets inside, setting them with a clump next to the wood stove.

Dad paced, making a strained attempt to not look out the window. Finally, he gave up pretending and parked in front of the frosted pane.

He had reason for concern. In that previous brutal winter, several people had frozen to death in the county. In the worst of conditions, the trip from Alzada took a couple of hours. Mom had planned to stay until noon. It was now four o’clock.

Because Dad and I had not exchanged a word since that morning, I didn’t let it show, but I was just as concerned as he was. I scooped snow from the buckets into two large pots on the stove. Then I added wood to the fire, bent my head over the pot, and watched as the cast iron warmed. The snow turned a dull silver around the edges before dissolving.

“Here comes somebody!” Dad shouted, half standing. His body coiled, as if he was going to run right out the door. But he didn’t move. He studied the horizon. “There’s two horses,” he announced.

“Two?” I couldn’t maintain my indifference at the prospect of Mom returning. I moved to the window.

“Yeah.” Dad took a step, and I thought he’d really leave this time. But he stayed at the window, rubbing his neck. “Gary must have decided to ride along with them to make sure they got back all right.”

“Probably,” I agreed. Bob joined us at the window. “Does that look like Gary?”

Hard to tell,” Dad said. “They’re not close enough.” The snow started drifting across the window again.

Dad rushed over and grabbed his coat, with Bob right on his heels. “You comin’, Blake?”

“Nah, I’ll wait.” Although I was happy Mom was back, I didn’t see much point in rushing out into the cold just to say hello a half minute sooner. I pulled my gloves on and emptied the pots of boiling water into our big metal tub. Then I dumped snow into the pots, which hissed on the stove.

Outside, moments later, there was a hell of a chatter, then feet stomping, and a round of laughter. A rush of cold air hit me as the door flew open. Dad burst in.

“Look who’s here!” Dad’s cheeks were as red as a bad sunburn. He stepped to one side.

“Jack?” I stood transfixed. Jack stood proud and tall in an olive-green uniform, his cheeks flushed, his nose running. As much as I hated my brother, I didn’t realize how deep it was rooted until I saw him standing there in our doorway. I turned back to my pot of water to hide my face. Nevertheless, the sight of my older brother also sent a strange thrill through me. The mixture of these emotions left me paralyzed.

“That’s a hell of a welcome,” Jack said. “Come on, little brother.” I heard his footsteps moving toward me. “I been out there protecting you from all those enemies.” Jack’s jovial, lighthearted tone was completely new, unfamiliar, and hard to gauge. “Come on, Blake. Didn’t you miss me?”

I shrugged.

“Ah, don’t worry, Jack. Blake’s had a bad day,” Dad said. “Come on, Blake. Don’t spoil a good thing here.”

I kept my back to the whole scene, feeling betrayed by my father. Mom and Muriel came in, stomping the snow from their boots. They made a beeline for the wood stove. I moved out of their way, and Jack joined them. They all warmed their hands.

I was overwhelmed by the power of my anger. For the past year, every blister, every pulled muscle, and every bruise I’d sustained in my work on the ranch had been magnified by the knowledge that Jack’s absence was partly to blame. My tongue was lodged hard against my teeth. I felt as if I would be better off leaving the house.

Jack’s olive-green overcoat stretched to his knees. His earlobes were shiny red beneath his watch cap, and the uniform made him look taller, although we still stood eye-to-eye. His left arm was in a sling.

“What happened, son?” Dad asked.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Jack said, lifting the arm slightly. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh, sure, sure.” Dad nodded.

I felt dizzy. We had just endured the most horrendous year and a half of our lives, a year and a half of lost livestock, frayed nerves, strained backs, and constant worry, and here stood the cause of much of it, receiving a hero’s welcome. I thought of how often I had tempered my desire to lash out at my father, and that while I had quietly devoted my life to this place, my brother had betrayed us all, and now he was the savior.

“Who’s ready for a bath?” Dad asked as he dumped the last two pots of boiling water into the tub.

“You must be reading my mind,” Jack said, laughing.

“Muriel, you go after Jack,” Mom said. “Then I believe I’ll have to take a turn. That hot water would feel awful good about now.”

Jack pulled the old cotton curtain around the tub, and his clothes dropped to the floor. I resented even this, his gall of climbing into the bath, as it had always been traditional in our family that the kids went first. Not only was he not paying for his betrayal, but he was asking for special treatment, and getting it. Dad fired question after question at Jack, as we listened to the water splashing, and as Jack answered them in his new character—this confident, joking manner—the laughter filled the room, pushing me further into the corner.

Steam rose above the curtain. Mom and Muriel shed their coats, and huddled closer to the fire as Bob tromped outside and filled the wood buckets again, then emptied them into the pots. Mom took a couple of bricks from the top of the wood stove and laid them on the floor. She took off her boots and laid her stockinged feet on the bricks, lifting a toe that stuck through a hole in her sock. “Mmmm,” she sighed.

Jack stayed in the bath forever, and the banter continued.

“So was there a good turnout?” Dad asked Mom.

“There sure was.” Mom rubbed her hands together. “Especially considering this storm.”

“I even got a chance to vote,” Jack shouted above the sloshing water.

“Who’d you vote for?” Bob asked.

“I’ll tell you one thing, I sure didn’t vote for that Socialist Rankin.”

I looked at Mom, who idolized Jeanette Rankin, the first woman ever elected to Congress. But the mood could not be spoiled by anything.

“That woman voted against the war, can you believe that?” Jack shouted. “Of all the crazy things that happen in Washington, that’s got to rank right up there with the craziest. She was the only one.”

Mom shook her head again, but she had a slight smile on her face.

“Anyway, enough about politics,” Jack continued. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Mom. I know she’s your hero.”

“Yes,” Dad agreed. “Yeah. Let’s talk about something else.”

“All right…well, since you opened the door there,” Jack said. “How much land we got now? You guys buy any more land?”

The question seemed odd, and out of place, but the pause that it brought was only brief, as it seemed that everyone was willing to overlook everything on this day.

“Yeah, actually,” Dad said. “Yeah. We did get some more land.”

“The reason I’m asking,” Jack said, “is that I got an announcement.” He paused, amid a flurry of splashing water.

“Well, don’t keep us hanging here. What is it?” Dad scooted to the front of his chair, like an anxious kid.

“You’re gonna marry that gal, aren’t you?” Bob squealed.

Jack laughed loud and long. “You got it, Bob. You’re right. She’ll be here in a few weeks.”

“That’s great!” Dad exclaimed. Muriel started jumping up and down. And Mom was beaming, her face flushed.

But I didn’t really hear the part about the wife so much. I was more focused on the part about “a few weeks.” Up to that point, I assumed that Jack was just home for a visit, on leave.

“Are you staying?” I asked. “Are you planning to stay?”

“Hell, yeah,” Jack said. “I’m done. I’m home.”

I turned to Dad. “Are you going to let him stay here?”

There was a short pause as my father frowned at me, and everyone else stopped what they were doing.