Durango (22 page)

He paused and turned. What about it? he said, now warily.

What about it is, as I understand it, that outfit invested heavily in your bank's stock and together you proposed a resource development fund to the Southern Utes that would have, had they agreed to it, turned over about ninety percent of any profits they received to you and that investment fund. And further, what about it is that the money the two tribal council members were alleged to have received from Mr. Sheridan actually came from you and Nature's Capital.

He came back into her office and said, Where did you get all this? This is confidential business information, and you or somebody has stolen private documents.

Mrs. Farnsworth said, I don't believe I claimed to have any documents. Though, as a matter of fact, I do. Not one of them is stolen. You've made a lot of people angry over the years, Mr. Chandler. Not just people in Durango, though God knows there were plenty of them. But other places as well. Some of those people, yes, with the help of your new friend Patrick Carroll, are now eager to settle scores. Mr. Carroll has enough information to write a fair-sized book on Russell Chandler, Nature's Capital, bribe offers, slander against Daniel Sheridan and, by the way, your wife—former wife—and the list of offenses gets pretty long.

He glared at her and threw up his hands. You dirty bitch, he muttered.

She smiled at him. Oh, Mr. Chandler. And here I thought you were a gentleman.

What next? he asked.

Here is my idea for what next, she said. Right next door is a stenographer. I thought about asking Patrick Carroll but didn't want you to be arrested for assault also. Anyway, you have a couple of hours before the next plane to Denver. So, why not just toddle next door and tell your story to the stenographer, every bit of it. And keep in mind, if you deviate one iota from the information contained in the documents we have with your name all over them, I promise you, you will see your false statement and those documents in the
Durango Herald
the next day, even if I have to put out a special edition. I suspect they also might be of interest to the
Kansas City Star
and, who knows, even the US Attorney in one of several states. The stenographer also happens to be a notary public. So, when you're finished with your story, she'll ask you to sign the paper, raise your hand, and swear it's the truth.

What's going to happen then? he asked. What do you intend to do with my statement?

I haven't decided, she said. My instincts are to put it in a safety deposit box and keep it as some kind of insurance against whatever further damage you try to do to friends of mine around here. On the other hand, you told some lies in this town, not only about Mr. Sheridan, but even about your own wife. I like them both, and that makes me kind of angry. Mr. Sheridan chose to remove himself from public service because of you and your treachery. It was a loss to this community and this state. He could have done some good. We'll never know now, will we? You can't go back and fix that up, even if you were man enough. And you're clearly not. So, I don't know.

She hesitated, then continued. Until a few days ago, I'd probably have been satisfied just to have your statement in that box as insurance against further treachery. But I got a lecture recently from an honest and idealistic young man, one of the few left. He told me my business was not just to report the news and let the chips fall where they may. He told me that lies are cancers…to people and to nations. He told me newspapers weren't worth anything unless they revealed lies and liars and prevented them from becoming cancers.

I'll have to think about it. But in the meantime, Mr. Chandler, you are a liar, and Durango is better off without you.

She saw him clench his fist, and she smiled and said, Mr. Chandler, remember I'm just an elderly lady.

44.

She tethered her glossy filly on a long rope that would let her graze almost at will in the tall wild grass, then started to unpack her easel and paints. She hesitated and thought better of it.

Caroline took down the rolled blanket from behind the saddle and spread it in a shady spot at the edge of the grass. Sheridan may have his hidden lake, she thought, but I have this peaceful meadow almost always to myself. It was now mid-September and the golden aspen leaves were turning brown and falling. What a shame, she thought, that they couldn't stay shimmering gold year-round.

She drank cold white wine from the half-liter cooler and knew that the glorious summer days would soon give way to the winter. Already the nights were cool enough for blankets at her place near 8,000 feet. September had become her favorite month of the year for its fading splendor, fall hues, and the closing down of nature for its winter sleep.

Daniel Sheridan was never far from her mind. Throughout the day, she found herself wondering, without prompting, where he was and what he was doing. He would be looking after his cattle, checking for hoof and mouth, putting in hay for the winter, making sure the spring calves weren't taking too long to wean. He took his cattle ranching seriously, as he did much else. But not always. She thought of his dreaded water finortens and laughed out loud.

Sometimes he seemed like a boy to her, obvious and transparent, easy to read and understand. At other times, though, he was self-contained, almost remote. She never knew where he was during those times, what he was thinking, what caused his mind, maybe even his heart, to move away somewhere. She did not know where. She could not decide whether she would like him to be always one predictable thing or whether his facets and shades in fact made him more intriguing.

Her mind drifted back to the time when she first arrived in Durango and began to move about, to socialize, and to look for ways to take part in the community. She shook her head remembering Sheridan the county commissioner, the man who some thought might be, ought to be, governor. He was at ease on his feet and in managing the commission. He was confident without being, as some men are, self-promoting and aggressive. She marveled then and now at how he projected strength without making the least effort to do so. It was simply who he was.

Caroline on occasion wondered whether she was in love with him, and on this occasion she did so. She supposed she was. Though after her disastrous misjudgment of Russell Chandler, she was never quite sure how much to trust her own emotions. Live and learn. Given a chance, over time, would I learn that I had misjudged Sheridan also? she pondered. How can we ever know? She supposed she would like to have the chance to find out.

She consciously avoided thoughts of marriage. What complications it held. She could not see them living together constantly. What if we were to get married? she thought. He would keep his place, and I would keep mine. We would have separate bedrooms, she thought, but when together we would always sleep in the same bed. She loved the feel of that strong arm around her when she was awakened in the night.

But she knew he would always want the freedom to slip away, to go to his hidden lake, to camp out by himself, to feel the wilderness, to confront the cougar. Alright, she thought to herself, I can handle that. It is who he is.

His reliance on the Ute holy man thrilled her in a way. It showed a spiritual side few men she knew had ever revealed. Whatever it was, it was a lot more profound than church every Sunday. And it wasn't about life hereafter. It was about life here and now, a life inseparable from the natural world. That was it, she thought. That is what makes Daniel Sheridan unlike others she had known. He relies on that holy man to help keep him connected to what he knows to be real.

She simply could not see Sheridan in a city or driving a big car or buying expensive clothes. She knew for a fact that he had one worn western sport jacket, with leather patched elbows, and an equally worn pair of slacks he wore with it. That was it. She had never seen him in a white shirt or suit. A long way from Wall Street, she thought. But a good long way.

Most of her life had been spent planning ahead, making budgets, calculating interest rates on savings and the growth of stocks, thinking about next year. She suddenly realized she had done none of that since Russell left. And since her friendship with Sheridan, she realized she was adopting his outlook and his life values. Worse things, she knew, could have happened to her.

Durango was Caroline's home. She never intended to leave it. And she assumed Sheridan would always be there.

45.

They sat on her porch at sunset. She knew the evening was going to be different when he set a bottle of tequila on the small table between them. This is to get your way of thinking together with my way of thinking, he said with a laugh.

It burned her throat and she suppressed a cough. He laughed again. Get used to it, he said. Can't drink the Jameson all the time.

And why exactly should I get used to it? she asked. Is this a signal you've switched drinks and therefore I have to as well, after I've taken all these years to get used to Irish?

No, he said, this tequila merely signals that I've got a plan.

How much of this stuff do I have to drink before I know what it is?

Ha, he snorted. Another sip or two will just about get you in the mood. Here's my idea. When the snow gets deep, say just after Christmas, let's go down to Mexico. One of those places with warm sands and blue water. He leaned back in his chair and said, What do you think?

Come to think of it, I've never been to Mexico, she said lightheartedly. It would be an adventure.

Alright, he said smacking his hand on the table, that's it then. I'll get Harv Waldron's son to look in on the cattle and take care of Toby and Red. January the big snows will set in here and while all our friends and neighbors are freezing their butts, we'll be down south drinking this stuff—he gestured at the tequila—getting sunburned on the beach, and eating the best enchiladas in the world. How about it?

Well, sure, she said. Why not? But are you certain you want to do something really crazy like leave Durango, leave Colorado, go to a foreign country? She said “foreign” in a way that made it sound like Mars.

Look here, missy, he said, you may think I'm nothing but a broken-down old cowpoke. But a while back, in my youth, I was in the Marines and I saw a good bit of the world. I've been around. I can handle myself. You may have to help me count the change down there, but I can take care of most of the rest of it. So, what do you say?

I say yes, she answered. You planning to stay a month or two, or what exactly did you have in mind?

Nothing like that, he said. I figure a week or so is about all I can be gone. He took a swallow of tequila. But you never know. We could get down there and a great blizzard could hit this place. Close the airport and we might even have to stay a few extra days till they got things dug out up here.

Well, that answers one question, she said. We'll fly down and back. I was afraid you might propose horseback all the way.

Ha, he laughed. That would be something, wouldn't it? Just like the old days. Too far for Red, though. He's a trail horse, not a highway horse.

Let's see, she said counting on her fingers. January gives me about four months to get into shape to wear the swimsuit that I haven't worn for about five years.

Sheridan waved his hand, enjoying the thought. I wouldn't worry about a thing like that if I were you. I plan on finding a little private beach of our own and just go kinda natural. That'd be okay, wouldn't it? Besides, I haven't owned a bathing suit for longer than I can remember.

If you don't mind, I'm going to start out with my swimsuit, at least until I get used to going without it.

Why, missy, as I recall, I saw most of what there was to see up there at my lake a couple of weeks ago. Is there something else you've got to hide?

Don't be cute, she smacked his arm. It's just a woman's instinctive modesty. You men ought to take it up some day.

Oh, I'm about the most modest man you ever met, Sheridan said. And I've got a lot to be modest about.

I think it will be grand, she said and leaned in to kiss him. Let's go. Can't wait until January. The sun about then will feel really good. But you do have to promise me one thing.

What's that? he asked.

No finortens.

Oh, yes ma'am, he said, laughing. No finortens. But…they do have some sharks.

46.

Frances Farnsworth took several days to decide whether to tell Caroline about her former husband's confrontational visit. In the end she knew she had no choice. It was a small town, and even airport and taxi people, besides those at the
Herald,
might spread the word. Caroline would be upset not to know. And Sheridan ought to be there as well. His life had been even more dislodged by Russell Chandler's manipulations. She sighed and thought, That complete nightmare of a human being was still capable of further mischief, sworn statement or not.

Daniel and Caroline came for drinks the next Friday evening. There has been some activity around here in the past few days that affects you both, Frances began. She then recounted in considerable detail Russell Chandler's assault on her office and the Patrick Carroll revelations that led up to it. Then she waited.

Sheridan looked out her large east window in silence. Caroline said, That bastard. That loathsome bastard.

Sheridan remained silent, though his face was clouded.

Frances gestured toward two file folders on the reading table next to her chair. I have a set of documents for you both if you'd like them. It is Patrick Carroll's complete story, starting fifteen years ago and working up to today. And a copy of Mr. Chandler's statement he left with us.

Sheridan shook his head in the negative. Frances handed Caroline a folder and said, He hedged a good deal in his statement, but I must say he was much more candid than I expected. I surely must have put the fear of God in him.