The Last Ride. Thomas Eidson
would if it made any sense,’ James said, then he squinted his eyes and stared hard at his older sister’s beautiful face.
‘What are you looking at?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ he said quickly, as though trying to hide a secret. A moment later, he sneaked another furtive peek at her.
Lily began to look uncomfortable. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, running her hand carefully over her soft cheeks.
James shook his head. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘James, tell me.’
‘No, really, it’s nothing. I’m not even certain.’
‘Certain about what?’ Lily asked, suddenly alarmed.
‘Really, I don’t think it’s anything.’
‘James Baldwin – tell me!’ Lily looked anxious.
‘Okay, but don’t get mad at me. It’s just in this light,’ he said, squinting again and studying her face from a couple of angles, ‘I can see your resemblance to grandfather.’
Lily leaped to her feet and stomped off toward the house, wrapping her long flowing dress tight around her legs. James was rolling in laughter on the ground.
‘Don’t tease Lily,’ Dot ordered. ‘And don’t joke about grandpa.’
Jones was sitting quietly at the dinner table, his attention focused on the plate before him. He had only pretended to eat out of politeness. Baldwin studied the distant, haunted look in his eyes, and knew with certainty the old fellow wouldn’t last much longer. He wondered what was going on in his ancient heart. Baldwin sensed he wasn’t prepared to go on living but still wasn’t quite ready to die, a clock winding down.
Jones wasn’t moving at all, just gazing at his plate. He appeared to have receded to some distant place inside his mind, escaping this world. Baldwin didn’t blame him. His world had disappeared. The rancher noticed that the little finger on one of the man’s huge hands was missing, and the hands themselves were badly scarred. They belonged to a man who had fought the earth and its inhabitants hand-to-hand. Who was this old bastard? And what had his life been like, this man who’d fathered the woman he loved? Somehow tragic. That much he knew.
There were stories here. Not pretty ones. Why had he left his wife and daughters? Was he simply crazy? Baldwin didn’t think so. He figured the old giant had known what he was doing, however strange it might seem to others.
Lily was in her mother’s chair at the end of the table, wearing a frilly high-collared dress, ignoring the old man, and pouting.
‘I’ll clear the dishes,’ James said.
‘Before you do, son,’ Jones said, breathing hard, and leaning down and picking up a gunny sack from the floor, ‘I have things.’
He’d seemingly come here with a list of items, and was hurriedly checking them off, as though he might not finish. Baldwin figured he was right – Jones didn’t have the time. It was a shame.
The old man reached inside the sack, pulling out a pillow-sized parcel covered in brightly colored parfleche. He looked at Lily and held the package out to her. Already uncomfortable, she stood as though she might turn and run.
‘My wife’s.’
‘Grandmother’s?’ Lily asked, her voice incredulous.
The old man’s skin shaded red. ‘Yopon’s,’ he said quietly.
‘No thanks.’ Lily said.
‘Lily, it’s a gift.’ Baldwin’s voice was low and measured.
Lily took the package, her hand shaking, glaring at it, as if even holding it was distasteful.
‘What did you get, Lil?’ Dot asked excitedly.
As Lily unwrapped the package Baldwin saw the blue blanket he’d seen in the barn, and something else. Lily’s mouth opened, and she tossed the bundle down in disgust. ‘What is that?’
‘An eagle’s claw. The blanket belonged to Yopon,’ he said solemnly.
‘Why would any woman want that rotting thing?’ Her face contorted in a grimace.
‘Lil—’
‘To give her strength,’ Jones interrupted, ‘and the ability to flee from danger.’ He studied Lily’s face for a moment. ‘You may need that some day.’
‘That’s absurd,’ Lily said, suddenly looking past them all. Baldwin turned, following her gaze, and saw Maggie in the doorway.
‘Stop telling these children your Indian lies.’
‘Margaret,’ Baldwin said.
She kept her eyes on the old man’s face. ‘Brake, don’t. I won’t have him filling the children’s heads with pagan beliefs, glorifying himself and the devil. He’s nothing more than a man who abandoned their mother and grandmother for an Indian squaw. Nothing more than that.’ She walked to the table and glared down at the old man. ‘Admit it. You’re a blasphemer – a bigamist who loved savages more than your own family.’
Samuel Jones stared blindly at his plate as if coldcocked.
‘Margaret, that’s enough.’
Jones held up his hand to silence Baldwin.
‘No it’s not,’ Maggie said. ‘But I won’t interrupt the rest of his great Indian foolery.’ She climbed the stairs and disappeared into their bedroom, and seconds later, they could hear her crying.
Lily’s eyes flashed. ‘Why don’t you just leave? You don’t belong here.’
‘Lily,’ Baldwin said. ‘You’re not your mother. I won’t have you talking like that in this house.’
Lily stalked swiftly away from the table and into her bedroom, slamming the door.
Baldwin fought the urge to go after her, then Mannito sighed loudly and said, ‘Ahhh, the señoritas, bonita creatures, yes? Beautiful, yes?’
The kindness broke the spell, and the little Mexican and James laughed awkwardly. The old man didn’t move. Baldwin helped him from the table. Dot watched him hobble toward the door, and wiped her sleeve across her eyes.
Jones started hacking badly when they stepped into the night air, the sound deep and watery. Baldwin set him in the rocker and moved to the railing. The night was cool and starry. A lone coyote was yipping close to the house. Baldwin stepped down the porch to get a better look. The yipping stopped.
Baldwin waited a second, then said, ‘Maggie was wrong to—’
‘Don’t.’ Jones looked at him sternly. ‘I don’t want to hear bad said about Margaret. She’s a fine girl. I’m proud of her. She had every right to say what she did.’
Baldwin just nodded.
When Mannito left the house, he paused by Jones and draped the blue blanket over his thin shoulders. ‘Good night, viejo,’ he said, using the Mexican word for old man.
Jones shrugged him off.
It was after midnight. The fog had come in one the place fast from the creek bottom. Rarely did that happen, but when it did, the air was like a silt-laden river. Mists to lose a soul or a mountain in.
Lily had slowly followed the path to the outhouse behind the infirmary, bringing a candle with her and one of her fashion magazines. The little shack smelled awful, reminding her of all she hated about the ranch. People in cities were using indoor necessaries. She had tried to convince her father to buy one, but he’d only laughed.
She stopped reading and peered at the walls around her. The inside seemed gloomier than usual, the rough weathered boards wavering eerily in the dim