Jake pulled the car into the yard around the Parker house, passing by a dilapidated shed and a windrow of tall pines. A few chickens took briefly to the air to avoid the Dodge and a couple pigs grunted their complaints as they too were distracted from their morning's foraging. Py looked around at the Parker homestead, taking note of the way everything appeared weathered and gray. A picket fence surrounding the farmhouse was in massive disrepair, with slats hanging loose or, in some cases, missing altogether. Tumbleweeds piled high against the broken rails of an old corral. A windmill, rusted and sagging, complained in strained metallic tones as it reacted listlessly to a mild and uneven breeze, barely generating enough juice to pull water from the aquifer.
"Well, this is home," Joanne said, with a cheerfulness that seemed misplaced. Jake brought the car to a stop outside the picket fence. "Come on in, Py. I'll show you your room."
The interior of the house bore a striking resemblance to the deterioration outside. Paint chipped off the walls and trim in places. The furniture was faded and threadbare and the rugs were in similar condition. Among the despair, however, there was evidence of a woman's touch. Lace curtains covered the windows, and among the dulled appointments were occasional splashes of color, mostly in the form of modest virtu: tiny boxes, vases, ceramics and decanters. And everything was clean, or as clean as it could be given the old house's propensity for dispensing light clouds of dust each time the walls were jarred by heavy footsteps or the opening of a door. "Here it is," Joanne said, showing Py the bedroom just off the living area. "Why don't you put your things in here."
As Py walked into the little room he was struck by its accommodating nature. There were hand-crafted furniture pieces, simple but nice, that gave the impression they had crossed an ocean. The walls held pictures in oval frames, the curtains were flounced, and the warped and water-stained hardwood floor was mostly covered by a heavy-weave circular rug. It was all in earthy colors, except for a dainty cut-glass chandelier that hung from the center of the ten foot ceiling. It looked every bit of an old woman's snug room. "This is great," Py said, gently placing his suitcase on the bed. He pushed on the mattress and listened to the squeak of the bedsprings beneath. "It sags a little in the middle," Joanne warned, "but it isn't too bad. It was my Grandmother's bed. I've always slept real well on it." She walked over to a window, pulled up the shade and pushed up the bottom pane. "Maybe we can air it out a little for you." "This'll be fine," Py said appreciatively. "This'll just be great."
Joanne smiled. "Come on. 1'11 take you out back and introduce you to my dad."
Joanne, Jake and Py walked through the kitchen and out through the old screen door that opened to the backyard. Large elms shaded the area, blocking the sun and depriving the grass of needed light, causing the lawn to grow in uneven patches. Here again the surrounding picket was weathered and sagging, missing altogether at the far back where Py could see a little utility shed, and a decrepit old hay wagon with flat tires. There were a couple round corn cribs with conical tops about fifty yards from the back of the house and next to those, lying beneath an ancient elm, was a battered aluminum water tank.
"Dad's out in the tank," Joanne said, matter of fact. She noticed Py's questioning look. "He comes out here every day to cool off. It's kind of like his swimming pool," she explained.
Joanne's father called out a greeting as the trio approached. "Hey honey! I was wondering where you were this morning. Who you got there?"
"Hi Dad," Joanne said, as she reached the tank. She bent over and kissed her father on the head. "I've got someone I want you to meet." She turned around and smiled at Py. "This is Py Mulvane. He's a friend of Jake's. Py, this is my father, Pete Parker."
Old Pete, sitting in the tank, water up to his chest, reached out to shake Py's hand. He was wearing his union suit, which was now soaking wet and hanging loose from the weight of the water. "Pete Parker," he said, smiling broadly. "Glad to meet ya." He nodded at Jake. "Jake -how you doin' this morning?"
"Doin' fine," Jake said, smiling back. "Daddy, Py is going to be staying with us for awhile," Joanne said. "He needs a place real bad, and he could help out with chores. I thought we could put him up in Grandma's room. That's okay, isn't it?" Pete was wearing a week-old growth of whiskers that seemed to reach to meet his long, straggling eyebrows. The bushiness seemed to have captured his sparkling blue eyes, crooked-toothed smile and round, reddish cheeks. For a moment he looked at Py,
studying him as might an inquisitive otter. "You do any carpentry?" he asked. "A little," Py said. "I guess you can paint?" Pete asked, as if anyone could, and Py shook his head,
signaling he was able. "You know anything about cattle?" "A little," Py said. "He's a good hand, Pete," Jake interjected. "He'll give you a good day's work." Pete grinned. "I'll take you on recommendation." "Thank you, sir," Py said sincerely. "You sure got a nice place here."
"Thanks," Pete said, standing up in the tank, water cascading from his bagging suit. "Not much left of it now, but it's home. Been a lot better since Joanny come back from out west."
"Are you getting out, Dad?" Joanne asked. "Hold on a second and I'll get you a towel to dry off with," and she hurried back to the house. "Thanks, honey," Pete hollered, stepping out onto dry land. He pushed his long, straggly gray hair back off his forehead then looked up at the noon day sun. "Whew! It's gonna be blisterin' today," he said to Jake. "Did you two get us some grub? I'm hungry as a newborn on a teat."
"We sure did," Jake said. "Joanny did the shopping. I'm not sure what it is, but she got a pretty good sack of somethin'."
"Good," Pete said. "And she got you all set up with a room?" he asked Py, who said, "Yes sir, she sure did." "Well let's go in and get some vittles."
"You want another egg, Dad? There's a little more bacon, too," Joanne said, to which Pete replied, "No thanks, honey. I'm well satisfied." "How about you, Py?" Joanne asked. "Did you get enough?"
"No thank you, ma'am. I'm fine," Py said. "Thank you, it was great." Py seemed overwhelmed by the generosity. "I don't know how I'll ever pay you back for takin' me in like this, and feeding me."
Joanne patted him on the shoulder. "We're glad to be able to help you out," she said. "I'm sure you'd do the same for us."
"Hell, Py, gettin' a hand like you for the price of a breakfast-why that's a bargain!" Jake said. "Seems to me that you're doin7 us the favor." He looked at Joanne and winked. "Wouldn't you say, Joanny?" "Yes I would," she said, returning Jake's smile. "I'd say so," she said, smiling.
Pete was still in his underwear, mostly dried by now by the heat coming off the stove and through the back door. He wiped his face and tossed the napkin onto his empty plate, then turned his attention to Py. "So Joanne tells me you been working for Frank Walker," he said.
Py nodded and glanced over at Jake. "Yes sir, that's where I met up with Jake. We was workin' hay for him."
"It didn't work out too well," Jake said. "Old man Walker is trying to hold Py responsible for an accident." He then went on to detail Walker's threat to press charges against Py for what happened to Walt.
Pete listened with interest, glancing occasionally at Py to see how he was taking Jake's recounting of events. After he'd heard the entire story he shook his head. "Frank Walker's gotten to be a bitter man," he said. "He wasn't always that way. He was a war hero, you know. He come back from the first big one with a bunch of medals. Hell, I think he even got one from the President his self -Wilson I believe it was. He parlayed that into quite a career, became a big man around here. Hell, I've known him for fifty years and he's always been all puffed up about himself, but it's only been in the last few years that he got mean -since his son died." Py looked surprised. "I didn't know he had a son," he said. "Oh yeah, a boy named Frank Junior. He was a nice kid, too, more like his mother than his old man. Frank's wife's been dead for years. Anyway, Frank always pushed that boy real hard. Pushed him into the army. Of course, the war took all the young ones anyway, so he probably would've ended up there one way or another. But, you know, Frank wanted him to be an officer, so he pushed him to go to West Point, got a Senator to sponsor him and the whole bit. Frank Junior didn't want to go -he weren't no soldier. Not really. He got himself killed over in France and old Frank took it real hard. I doubt he'd admit it, but I think he blames himself. He's got a chip on his shoulder and acts like he hates everybody, including me."
"You had trouble with Frank Walker?" Py asked.
"Anybody whose got something Frank Walker wants has trouble with him," Pete said.
Joanne, who had been listening to the conversation while standing at the kitchen sink, doing dishes, turned around and looked at Py. "Dad's land runs right alongside Frank Walker's -and for the last few years Walker's been trying to buy it."
"Best grazing land in the county," Pete said proudly. "Six quarters of grass, green and pretty. Water on it, too. Nice, gentle canyons with trees for shelter."
"That's your pasture land? East of Walker Ranch?" Py asked.
"You bet," Pete said. "All the way south to the county road and back north to eleven, and from here over one mile west."
"To the field road, you mean?" There was a field road between dividing the properties that Py had traveled many times over the past year. "I didn't realize that was your land there," he said.
"It sure is," Pete said. "It's all we got left of the ranch we used to have, but it's prime. I'll be dead in the ground before Frank Walker gets a hold of it." Pete leaned back in his chair and looked confidently about. "I don't expect that to happen anytime soon, 'cause I got somethin' to keep the flies away."
Py looked puzzled. "What do ya mean?"
"Let me get a pair of pants on and I'll show ya what I mean," Pete said.
END OF CHAPTER FOUR