The Fence My Father Built (6 page)

He shook his head and chuckled softly. “If I had any brains I’d pack up and leave. Yep, I never would have pictured myself with the world's dumbest birds, but here I am.”

“I know what you mean—not picturing yourself here.” My thoughts swirled with cheap paneling and Lutie's yarn basket. I vowed to keep my mouth shut. I could tell I was entertaining this guy, and it irritated me.

“A friend in Portland, Dennis, told me about another professor he knew who bought the place. The guy had read that emu ranching would make him a millionaire in a year. What a laugh.” Rubin shook his head.

“It didn’t?”

“Let's just say the poor man had a better chance playing the lottery.” He shook his head. “Professors are smart, but some of them don’t have much common sense.”

“What made you want to get involved?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking a personal question … so much for vows. I turned one shoulder into the wind, which was gusting now and revving up the way it did everyday.

“At the time I had a pretty solid practice. But after my divorce turned ugly, I needed to start over somewhere else. I bailed out Denny's friend.”

“Dennis must be a really good friend.”

“He is. Best archaeologist around. But he got hired at Portland State so he had to pass up the offer. Besides, my exwife kept leaning on me to patch things up. Murkee looked like a good place to hide.”

This time I laughed. “I know what you mean about your ex. Mine drives me crazy too.” I wanted to know more about his friend. “Archaeologist, eh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real archaeologist, except on TV.”

“Denny Moses is one of a kind. He's a Ph.D.
and
the most famous member of the Warm Springs Confederated Tribes.”
Rubin gripped the top of the gas company sign. His fingers resembled a surgeon's, even if they were veterinary surgeon's hands. “Sun's going to get hot today.” He grinned again.

I looked at my watch; it was nearly six-thirty. “I’d better be getting back. The kids will worry. Nice meeting you, Doctor.”

The handshake was one moment longer than necessary, which I imagined to be intentional on his part. I withdrew my hand.

“Out here I’m just Rubin, or Doc, if you like. Say hey to Tiny and Lutie for me,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He turned back toward where he’d first appeared, and I watched him until he was gone. He had a purposeful walk, as if he knew where he was headed.

He seemed anything but a real cowboy. I walked home thinking about Linc Jackson, Rubin Jonto, and John Wayne. If this was the West, it was starting off wild.

“M
other, where
were
you?” Nova stood at the trailer door as I wound my way past Tiny's old tan pickup, parked in the yard with the rest of the junk. Nova didn’t call me Mother often, and I sighed. What could have gone wrong in less than an hour?

My daughter didn’t wait to hear where I’d been. “I’m like totally dirty, and Tru's been in the bathroom for hours. He's hogged all the hot water, if there ever was any,” she said, sticking out her lower lip. “This place stinks. I’m leaving the first chance I get.” She glared, but I wondered if her threat was just for show.

I pursed my lips and didn’t buy it. “Last time I gave you a driving lesson you couldn’t get the van out of first gear.
How far do you think you’ll get? I’ll speak to your brother.” I brushed past her and headed toward the bathroom.

“I’ll do it,” she said. “Watch me.” She plopped down, dressed only in an extra large T-shirt and panties, and glowered at me from the living room sofa. The shirt, one of Chaz's with Grateful Dead dancing bears parading across its front, was so worn it was nearly transparent. I thought I should probably address the subject of modesty after I noticed Lutie's raised eyebrows. I told myself Nova wouldn’t really take the van and run off.

“Truman, you almost done?” I rapped lightly on the door. It seemed that just yesterday I was still helping him out of the tub, wrapping him up in a towel, laying out his clean clothes. Now I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my son naked.

Moments later the door opened and a trail of steam leaked out. “I’ve only been in here ten minutes, Mom, I swear.” He slid on his glasses. “She's such a pain in the—”

“Watch your mouth,” I cut in, “even if it's true.”

“
Neck
, Mom, I was going to say
neck
.”

“Right.”

Uncle Tiny poked his head around the corner. “Hungry? I’m baking scones, with plum jelly,” he said. Suddenly, I felt starved.

“Somebody help me up,” Lutie called from the recliner. “Footrest's stuck.”

Nova sighed loudly, helped her aunt, then dashed toward the bathroom. Tru squeezed past me through the narrow hall and sat down at the dinette table. The kitchen sink was tidy and clean. Aunt Lutie had washed the mountain of dirty dishes from the night before.

A sweet aroma wafted through the trailer, so tempting that even Nova might have a hard time resisting. Tiny brought in
a platter of his biscuits. “Careful, they’re still hot,” Tiny said, sliding them onto small plates. He set out a jar of the plum jelly and a tub of margarine, along with a pitcher of orange juice. In his chef's apron he looked as huge as a mainsail. Lutie pulled up a chair, and Tiny ate leaning against the counter.

“Yum,” Tru said, crumbs falling from his mouth.

“Yes, they’re delicious,” I agreed, adding, “Is there coffee? I could make it myself.”

“Sorry,” Lutie said. “We only drink tea. Herbal tea. Tiny can pick you up some coffee next time he heads into town, can’t you Tiny?” I plunged a tea ball into my cup of steaming water, yanking it up and down like a poor soul on a dunking stool.

“Yes, I can see that I’ll need to make you a list. And while I think of it, I’ve got some ideas for sprucing things up,” I said. “We could do a lot with the place.” I poured myself a cup of orange juice, too, trying not to grimace at the lumpy feel of the pulp. My head, screaming for caffeine, pulsed like a neon sign.

“What do you mean, spruce things up?” Tiny asked. His voice sounded defensive and Lutie was eyeing me. “I know it's not a mansion,” he said, waving a spatula expansively. “But it's not done yet. I got a guy in Murkee going to bring down a whole truckload of siding for the sun porch.” He folded his arms across his apron.

“I always wanted a sun porch,” Lutie said, looking over at Tiny.

“But what about building codes? Permits? If we’re going to stay here, the kids really need their own rooms.”

“Now you sound like city folk,” Lutie said, snorting. “They’re mostly the reason why Joseph is dead.”

“Why
did
Grandpa die?” Tru asked, reaching for another scone.

“I’ll tell you why your granddad died,” Tiny said. “He was sick, all right; but I think he just got tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of guarding the ruins.”

“Ruins?” Tru said.

Lutie gestured in the general direction of the creek. “Artifacts from the creek bank. It's a sacred place for our people.”

Tru wiped his mouth without any prompting and pushed back his chair. “What people?”

Tiny answered. “Native people. Your grandpa and Aunt Lutie here are half Nez Perce. Your granddad was named after their famous chief.”

Tru looked incredulous. “You mean I’m partly Indian?”

“A part of you, anyways,” Tiny said. “You can be proud.”

“Joe always said if we’re not careful our heritage will be gone forever,” Lutie said and nodded at her husband.

Tru glanced over at me. “Mom, can you learn calf roping even if you’re an Indian instead of a cowboy?”

“Of course you can. We don’t even know if Mr. Jackson was serious about teaching you to rope.”

“He was too! I know it!” Tru was getting anxious, I could tell. “He said he would. I believe him, Mom. Don’t you?”

I sat for a few moments, not knowing the best thing to say. “I don’t know what to believe yet,” I finally said. I picked up crumbs with my forefinger, squishing them like ants. I ate the crumbs one by one and smiled bravely. Before I could explain myself, the pigs squealed outside, and Tiny rushed to see why. Truman jumped up to follow him and I was left with Lutie and the sounds of the water pipes rattling shut.

“O
h God, no, come quick!” Tiny's yell had that edge to it that gives you goose bumps—the kind you know instantly is not about some minor inconvenience. Lutie must have known it too. We stared at each other for about two seconds before we jumped up and ran outside. Tiny held in his arms the pig that had caused all the trouble, the one he called Jim.

Sobbing, he cradled the pig like a child. Jim jerked and trembled, his head hung back, exposing a wound in the underside of his piggy neck. “He's bleeding bad,” Tiny said, “he just walked up and fell over.” He laid the animal on the ground and knelt beside him, stroking the pig's snout.

Tru's eyes were enormous, and he breathed hard. “I heard shots,” he said, nearly yelling as if he was afraid no one would hear him. “It sounded like a gun, Mom, just like on TV.
Pop, pop
. Like that.”

Some people are efficient and level-headed in emergencies. They’re the type who will put their hands inside a man's throat that's been slit open by a chain saw, to keep him from bleeding to death until the paramedics arrive. The whole time they calmly tell the victim everything will be all right. Uncle
Tiny fell into a different category. He looked too scared to move, a wax figure of himself. Truman sat next to him and quietly patted his uncle's shoulders now and then.

Lutie wasn’t so paralyzed. She ran inside and brought out clean towels, as well as a confused Nova still wearing a towel turban. My aunt applied pressure to the bleeding, which was getting worse.

“Somebody call 911,” Nova said and clasped her hand across her nose and mouth. She sat on the edge of one of the tire planters.

“Who would do this?” I was stunned. There was no telephone here, a fact that made me feel stranded.

“I’ll tell you who,” Lutie said, pressing the bloody towel harder. “Linc Jackson, that's who. He's threatened us before. Stood right under the bedroom window while my brother's in there dying. Yelled his fool head off about water.”

Tiny sighed. “Well, you wouldn’t open the door so what was Linc supposed to do?”

Lutie glared at her husband. “I wasn’t about to let him in,” she said. Lutie's face flushed, even beneath her deep tan.

For a second or two I was hypnotized by the situation, fascinated by the deep red shade of swine blood, which I’d never seen before. I wasn’t tempted to stick my hand on a hog's neck, but I did remember the neighbor I’d met just an hour before.

“I’ll go get the vet,” I said. I started for the van, and then stopped. “This way?” I was getting things mixed up in my mind, and my mental road map suddenly looked upside down.

“No, that's the other side of the creek,” Lutie answered.

“Rubin's the vet, right?” The towels were turning crimson now and Lutie's hands were soaked with blood. She gave me a how-do-you-know-him look.

“We met when I was out walking.” I reached inside the screen door to grab my keys to the van. “Only I’m not sure exactly where he lives.”

“Quicker to get him by following the slough,” Lutie said, pointing with her free hand. “Just do something quick, honey. I’m praying for a miracle. Maybe Truman here will fetch him.”

Tru stood up, poised to run. I shoved the keys into my pocket and said, “Come on.” We jogged off in search of Rubin's place; my son mercifully slowed down to accommodate his mother. A couple of minutes later, we reached the top of a small rise. Below, two houses stood opposite each other.

The one on the right was a ranch-style, with a wraparound porch and some corrals to the side. The other home was a log A-frame, the kind people build themselves from kits. It, too, had corrals and a barn, and it was hard to tell who would live where.

“Lutie said follow the slough,” I said, panting. Power walking wasn’t anything like running.

“Let's go that way,” Tru said, not even breathing hard. He may have been a nerdy kid, but his nine-year-old lungs were in great shape. He pointed to the larger of the two houses, the one that probably looked the most familiar to him.

“I don’t know,” I said, resting my hands on my knees to get a few extra breaths in. “The vet guy I met didn’t sound much like a rancher.” I drew in a few more breaths and puffed them out.

A glint of sunlight from a distant peak hurt my eyes. I shielded them with my hand, stared into the brightness too long, and then snapped back to reality. Tru shouted, “Hurry up, Mom.” The pig, Muri, I reminded myself. Forget the scenery and get help for the pig.

“There's nobody here,” Tru said. He’d already raced to the door of the log house and back to me. “I rang the bell, and I pounded on the door. I yelled real loud but nobody came.”

His cheeks were flushed and beads of sweat rolled off his nose. He pushed up his glasses for the umpteenth time. I really should get him one of those safety straps, but wouldn’t Nova have fun with that?

“Emus, Tru. The vet said he's got emus.” The insides of my thighs stung, where they’d rubbed together. My temper, too, was beginning to chafe. This many things were not supposed to go wrong in two days. If Jim died it would be my fault.

If my son hadn’t been standing there I would have asked the sky what was going on, but I kept it in, not wanting to bruise any spiritual leanings the boy might have.

“I’ll go, Mom. Stay here.”

I let him go, as if I could have kept up anyway. I sank down in a patch of bunch grass that I first carefully inspected for anything that moved and rested my arms across my bent knees. I’d sat on the ground in the middle of nowhere twice in one day—a first. And before noon.

I waited for Tru to return, alternately worrying about my son and Tiny and poor, injured Jim. As ugly as the pig was, black with coarse hairs sprouting here and there, he did have something of a personality. For my uncle, that pig may as well have been the king.

Maybe you did need some kind of savior out here, something to hang onto when God wasn’t listening. In the last few months I’d developed this irreverent attitude that perhaps the good Lord was getting on in age and needed a Miracle Ear in order to hear the pleas of this world. I would never say that in front of the kids, though.