Dandelion Iron Book One (16 page)

I went to stop them, I swear I did, but then I found myself on my knees. Everything I’d eaten came barfing out of me like a fountain.

Suffice to say, if our mama hadn’t already passed on, her funeral party surely would’ve killed her dead.

(ii)

I don’t remember getting from the parlor to the bathroom upstairs, but suddenly, I was there, leaning over the toilet. Someone was holding my hair back while I dry heaved into the bowl.

Nice to have indoor plumbing. Nice that it had nothing to do with electricity.

I glanced over my shoulder and died of embarrassment.

“Sorry, Pilate.” My stomach cramped and I made horrible, puking noises right in front of a priest. Well, as much of a priest as Pilate was. I wanted to hate him for what he did with Betsy McNamara and for what he’d said at Mama’s funeral, but I couldn’t.

I coughed and spit. “Is this why you don’t drink, Pilate?”

“No, I never minded getting sick. You took it as a place to stop, and that’s a good sign. Me? Puking was merely a caesura before more drinking. When I drink, I drink until I’ve burned down the barn, shot the dog, and flushed the family Bible down the toilet. Or was it burn the barn, flush the dog, and shoot up the Bible? I can never remember. That’s the problem with blackout drinking. You lose your priorities.”

“Is that why you stopped?” I chanced a look back at him.

Pilate closed his eyes. “I hit bottom. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Slumped next to the bathtub, I put my cheek on the cold porcelain. Who knew a bathroom floor could be so comfortable? Then all the shame came flooding in. “Don’t look at me. I’ve disgraced Mama, and I know Sharlotte will never forgive me.”

Pilate sat down and before I knew it, my head was on his chest, and he was holding me close, petting my hair, real gentle. His arms felt so strong around me, like my father’s had before the cancer took him. Now both him and Mama were gone. I was an orphan, like in Dickens.

I cried for a little bit ’cause unlike my sisters, I couldn’t stop crying. Girly ’strogen. But then I thought of Sketchy and what she said. What was girly ’strogen about showing emotion? Better than being soulless like Wren.

When I found a break in my weeping, I peeked at Pilate. “That damn Wren. This is all her fault. Excuse my language.”

“Poor Wren. Her worst fears always seem to come true.”

I remembered how afraid she had been of coming home, but I still didn’t understand how Pilate could pity her. She had caused all the trouble, bringing in booze, getting me drunk, and then starting a fight with Sharlotte in front of the whole town. “Wren should’ve just left. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Wren can’t help herself. She tries, but she can’t go anywhere without bringing her own chaos with her. That’s why she was afraid to come home. That and the memories. It seems even if we can be saints to everyone else, we save our worst sins for our family.”

Had Wren really been afraid of causing chaos? I didn’t know. I thought about a story Mama told about Wren. Since Mama was always so busy with ranching, she put Sharlotte in charge of Wren’s and my hygiene—bathing, hair-combing, teeth-brushing, that kind of thing. Wren must’ve been around eight years old, and she liked her hair princess-long, but didn’t like anyone combing it. Sharlotte had to wrestle her down to brush out the tangles, and Wren would shriek and shriek.

After one such episode, Wren took Sharlotte’s Betty knife out of her room, went into the bathroom, and used it to cut off all her hair. Down to the scalp. Mama said blood and hair covered the bathroom, and there was Wren, grinning, bald and bleeding. She’d rather scalp herself than let Sharlotte comb out her tangles.

I’d never be able to figure Wren out, so I decided I’d work on the Sharlotte puzzle for a while. “Pilate, is Sharlotte serious? Is she gonna try to take our headcount west?”

“Yeah, I guess she is. I talked with your mom about her finances a year ago. She was hawking everything, borrowing money, maybe paying too much for your schooling ’cause she was so certain the electricity would come back to the Juniper, and soon. You know how she could get.”

Mama had dreams of power coming back on in Denver. She took them as prophetic—the lights of skyscrapers flickering on, powered by electricity. She wanted her family ready for such a miracle, which is why she sent me to Cleveland. People thought she was crazy. She hadn’t cared.

Pilate continued. “So the situation was bad even before Dob Howerter started fixing prices, and then things got worse. She needed a way to beat Howerter, but at the time, she didn’t see a way out. Well, she found one. Your Mom started writing letters to some woman, Mandi Petersen, a vice president at Sysco Foods who handles high-end Las Vegas and Reno restaurants. Both those women came up with a story because Ms. Petersen knew, like your mom did, Juniper steak is just dead cow-muscle, but the story behind it? Priceless. I guess you know how popular that Juniper family drama is,
Lonesome Moon
?”

“
Lonely Moon
,” I corrected him.

“Yes, that’s the one. Your mom and Ms. Petersen came up with a story to match it. A cattle drive across the Juniper. A fortune in dollars waiting on the other side of hell.”

I did the math real quick, and the money made me dizzy. If we could get two dollars and seventy-eight cents per half-kilo and the average weight of any given beefsteak was six hundred kilograms, sell three thousand cows and that would be around ten million dollars.

“What about driving the cattle down south to where we could take a train through Texas on to Arizona?” I asked.

“Not as good a story,” Pilate said. “And Howerter has contacts in the Union Pacific. I can guarantee you he’d make it difficult. No, the deal was to drive the beef to Nevada.”

“How do you know so much?” I asked.

“Your mother hired me on for security before she passed. Me and Petal. So I got all the details, and I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how your mother was.”

I took in a big, shuddery breath. “We gotta stop this. Sharlotte can’t do it. Mama could’ve, maybe, but even then, driving our headcount west is just plain crazy no matter how much money we’d make.”

Pilate’s chest moved under my head as he spoke. “Sharlotte’s going to do it, and Wren is going to help me run security, which should scare us—”

I cut him off. “What do you mean Wren is going?” I moved back to look at him. “Wren doesn’t care about saving the ranch. I figured she’d run back to Amarillo the first chance she got.”

Pilate’s lips curved into a smile. “Wren loves you and Sharlotte, though it kills her and she can’t figure out how to show it. She told me tonight she wanted to see this through, and you know Wren, any chance she has for a fight she’ll take. Petal and I will be there to make sure your sister doesn’t kill everyone we meet. And we’ll hire some more hands and more guns. You met Sketchy, Tech, and Peeperz. With a zeppelin, we’ll be able to scout ahead and get re-supplied if we need it. We’ll just hope for the best.”

“Why would you risk your life for us, Pilate?”

“With your mother gone, you Weller girls definitely need adult supervision.” He smirked, but his face turned serious, spoiling the joke. “Besides, Sharlotte is going to need all the help she can get.”

“Not from me,” I whispered. “I can’t go. I shouldn’t go.”

“Really?” Pilate asked.

That made me mad. “What the heck, Pilate? Shouldn’t you be sayin’ I’m too young and this is too dangerous?”

Pilate’s face turned serious. “You don’t get to be young, Cavatica. You reloaded for your mother when Queenie attacked, however questionable that parenting decision might’ve been. Regardless, no child could’ve done that. You were born forty years old and battle weary already. You’re a Weller, like it or not. Would you really stay behind while the rest of your family goes off?”

“Yes!” My head was spinning, but I reckoned I was done throwing up. I had puked up everything but my toenails, and they were pretty well connected.

“Surprising.” I felt Pilate sigh. “I thought for sure you’d be dying to come along. Well, that was a poor choice of words.”

I sorted through my options, and none of them were good. I couldn’t go back to school, since we were out of money. My Territory ID was back in Cleveland. No way to get it. Applying for a new one could take months or never. Which meant the United States was beyond my reach. Besides, after Wren’s gunplay, I was prolly a wanted woman.

If I stayed in the Juniper I’d have to find work, which meant I’d end up either working for Howerter or Mavis. With my name, I could get on, but then I’d be living in barracks with other hands, starting at the very bottom of the rung.

Could I stay in Burlington? I couldn’t really imagine it, not with my whole family taking off. If I didn’t go, they’d have to hire another hand to replace me. I was free labor.

No good choice remained for me.

Still, I wanted to argue. “If I went, what can I do? I can’t shoot anyone, not face to face. I proved that when our zeppelin got attacked. And yeah, I can run cattle, but it’s been a long time, and I’d be real green at it.”

Pilate touched my face. “Cavatica, the truth is, we don’t know what your story is going to be. And if I know one thing for sure, anyone can be a warrior. The Sino taught me that. As for running cattle, it’s like riding a bicycle, only a lot more smelly.”

“I can’t go.” I repeated. “I just can’t. You understand, right?”

He smiled sadly. “I understand. But do you know what kind of life you are choosing?”

“What kind?”

“A lonely one. Sometimes safety is a lie. And sometimes the only real heroes are the unexpected ones.”

It was my turn to sigh.

Pilate helped me to my room where he tucked me into bed fully clothed. He joked, “If you sleep in your clothes, well then, you know you’ve been to a party.”

In my bed, in my room, I watched the light and shadows mix across the familiar corners and edges of my nightstand, my dresser, the walls, the wainscoting. “Pilate, if y’all go and make it, we’ll have enough money to send me back to school. Sharlotte can stay on the ranch, and Wren can go back to Amarillo. You guys don’t need me.”

“You’re probably right.” Now he was just being nice so I would go to sleep.

“Do you think you have a chance to make it that far, Pilate? All the way to Nevada?”

The answer was plain on his face. No, they wouldn’t make it. And I’d be alone.

But Pilate lied to me, kind of. “If we make it through and sell them beefsteaks, what a story it will be. A ten million-dollar story to be exact. And if we all die, well, then we can work for your mother up in heaven. I’m sure she’ll have started her own business.”

He went to leave, but I was feeling young and scared. “Pilate, can you wait ’til I’m asleep?”

“Sure, Cavatica, sure thing.” He took a seat in the rocking chair by the window, looking out. The moonlight showed his wrinkles. His smirky, smart-aleck smile was all gone. Only the troubled and weary was left—sad, like he had been with Betsy. I had the idea that even though he joked about it, sleeping around hurt him somehow.

“Halfway,” I whispered. “Really, if you could make it halfway, get through Denver, you should be able to make it all the way.”

“We can’t go through Denver,” Pilate said. “No way that can be done. We were going to cut up north at the very edge of it, but you shouldn’t worry about all that.”

I drifted off, looking at that sad face, safe in my house, warm in my bed, comfortable with my thick mattress and pillow.

I’d made up my mind. I would stay on at the ranch, take care of it while they were gone. I could make money by fixing things for our neighbors, since I’d always been good at steam engine repairs.

I’d let Wren and Pilate have their gunfights, and Sharlotte could order around all her employees, and I’d stay in the house, sleep in my bed, and let them all be heroes.

(iii)

The next day, we went into town to hear Pilate preach again at Mass, first Sunday of Lent. Most of the town Catholics were hung over from the night before ’cause of our party. I know I was. But we soldiered through.

We got home, but I didn’t want to really be with anyone. I hadn’t told Sharlotte I wasn’t going, and I knew it would be a fight even though I was so young.

I saddled up Bob D, who’d only been a foal when I’d left for the Academy. Now he was a full-grown stallion, a gorgeous pinto tobiano, white with brown like spilled paint all across him, even his nose. He’d remained uncut, but he was still mellow and eerie smart. Like he could see right through me and into my heart.

Right then, though, he’d have to squint ’cause my heart was a shadowy place full of doubt.

Being home, going to Mass in Burlington, suddenly I was a young girl again, small under a wide blue sky. Yet having an animal under me, I found myself feeling powerful, his muscles like my muscles, his body like my own, my boots hooked in the stirrups, a saddle creaking, and the reins in my leather-gloved hands. The smell of the horse, while not exactly pleasant, was powerful and right, somehow. Horses should smell like horses.

I galloped that wonderful stallion off to the edge of our property. It wasn’t marked with fences, just a gully we called the south ditch. There I reined Bob D around to look at the blue house rising up from a plain of yellow. An easy wind mussed the winter grasses. Sometimes even in February, we’d have nice breezes, simmered warm by a gentle sun. That Sunday was such a day.

My friend Anju would be taking communion in Cleveland. Billy Finn would be with her. They’d be singing hymns. Becca would be off somewhere nursing her broken nose.

Becca had called me names, made fun of me for growing up Juniper, and yet I’d always been proud of my heritage. My mama had literally bled for our home. She’d fought for it, over and over. And finally she’d died there, buried not thirty meters from the front door.

I rode the perimeter of our property, scaring up cows that watched me carefully, chewing their cud, spit drooling from their working jaws.

Their eyes sized up me and Bob D. It was like they were asking me,
Are you really going to stay? Are you really going to abandon your family?