remembergoliad
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Post by remembergoliad on Feb 2, 2023 10:00:55 GMT -6
THIRTY FOUR
Feathering the gas gently, Phil adjusted the choke lever the rest of the way in, listening to the wheezing and sucking coming from under the hood of the old '72. It had only taken a few seconds to get the flatbed started, once he had remembered that the older 300 sixes had a manual choke. The truck had an original-style muffler on it, and was so quiet that it must be in excellent shape, because the only noise besides the timing gear rattle was the muted whistle of the air rushing past the butterfly in the bottom of the carb. It was a noise unique to the Ford straight six engines, and Phil smiled as he remembered his dad's old work truck hissing and whistling in the same manner.
Shoving the clutch in, he gentled the floor mount shifter to the left and up, rewarded with a smooth glide all the way up to the dashboard and into granny gear. Easing out on the clutch while alternating his vision between the two mirrors, he got the dually and its 35 foot gooseneck trailer rolling, and pulled up to the side of the house, very nearly where Bo had loaded his younger but much louder daily driver.
This time the load was going to be much different. While Bo loaded for a trip intending to bring people and belongings home, meaning he had to leave as much room as possible for his folks' possessions, Phil and the women were going to load with an eye towards possibly never coming back. What to take, what to leave? Food, clearly, must go--but how much, and at what expense of other goods. Looking critically at the trailer and truck, he judged that weight shouldn't be a problem, so long as the old power plant didn't give up. Curious, he walked around to the passenger's door and opened it, then reached into the glove box. Sure enough, a stack of weight tickets from various scrap yards. He grabbed these and headed inside to go over distances and terrain with Sandie.
"Sandie, got a sec?"
"Sure, so long as I can stay near the radio. What's up?"
"I don't know what towns are what around here, and what kind of geography is around 'em. I've got a stack of Bo's scale tickets from the truck, and I'm trying to decide what kind of load we can get onto this old truck."
Sandie nodded, understanding his goal. "Okay. Most of those tickets will be be to the Federated yard in Alice. That's about thirty miles from here, flat land. most of the way. A few up and down but not much. Oh... oh! Look for a group of really heavy tickets back in March. About one a day for a couple weeks. Those are from an old elevator he and Len took down up near Bigfoot. That'll give you an idea of what that old truck will do on a 80 mile run, with probably more load than we have now to put on it."
Phil shuffled through the yellow slips, focusing on a dozen that were folded together and held with a clothespin. "Must be these. Hmm.... tare 15,400.... 15,380.... 15,260.... 15,440... must be differences in the fuel he had."
"Yes, sounds right. He'd top off every couple loads, even though he could make five or six before needing to. Truck's got the main tank under the bed, and that L tank bolted to the front of the flatbed. Holds about 125 gallons, total. Probably close to full right now, because he always parked it full."
"Cool, that's good to know." Phil went back through the stack, and his jaw dropped. "What on earth? Gross 48,900? 42,540? FIFTY THOUSAND ONE HUNDRED?" He stared out the window, amazed and almost reverent. "What kind of monster IS that truck out there? Seventeen tons of scrap on a load? Holy moley!" Phil turned to Sandie, "Are these tickets for that truck? Or does he have an eighteen wheeler parked around here somewhere?"
"No, they're for that truck, Phil. He babies it when it's loaded like that, and it'll go forever for him. I don't know how he does it, but I've ridden with him and I have seen him climb back in the truck with almost four thousand cash dollars for a single load of scrap. Puts about a hundred fifty in the gas tank and the rest is gravy, as he says." Sandie continued, "I do know he doesn't get much over thirty miles an hour with that kind of load, and he's always watching a half mile or more out in front. Truck does bog down to about fifteen going up some of the mile-long uphills on 281, but it never has stopped going." She smiled at Phil, clearly proud of her husband's 'truck-whispering' knack.
"Well, Sandie, clearly we can load whatever we want on there. Compare these huge scrap loads to the kind of terrain we'll be in, going to this Bill's place?"
"About the same. And Brownie will do it, too. Bo took a couple of antique Deeres up to Bill's several years ago. Go look for that old spiral notebook in the glove box, his route will be written in there. Top of the page should say 'two 620's' or something like that." Sandie turned back to the radio and broadcast another call for the kids as Phil left in search of the spiral notebook.
***************
"Mom! I hear you! Can you hear me?"
Static, no response from the speaker. Renee tossed the mic down in disgust. "Damn it! She can't hear me, Buddy. Want to push on a few more miles and see if we can reach her, or just let it go til morning?"
"I'm kinda hungry, sis. She didn't sound panicked, wasn't yelling or anything, and I'm pretty sure she was still at home. You know a base station will reach out quite a bit further than a mobile mount. I think she's just being a worried mother hen and wanting a situation report or something. Probably misses Dad. I'm gonna start some food. Want some?"
Renee considered her brother's comments and nodded. "I sure hope you're right. Not much we can do about it tonight anyway. It'll be dark soon and no point in driving around with lights and drawing attention to ourselves. Mountain house, or home canned stuff?"
"Home can. If we wind up hoofing it for any reason, I'd rather carry dehydrated stuff. Besides, the pops can make some decent canned stew," he grinned as he watched his sister almost start to salivate.
***************
Bo, Polly and Annette were making good time. After skirting the county seat of Refugio, Bo swung off onto a little-used state highway that ran in a wide loop around the more populated areas of Goliad county, crossing the heavily traveled state highway 72 between Yorktown and Nordheim. Selecting a different channel on his CB, he keyed the mic and said one word: "Jimbo."
"YEAHHHHH" came the reverberating, linear-enhanced response.
"Got a sofa?"
"YEAHHHHH"
"See ya in a few." Bo rehung the mic, turned his head, and grinned at the two girls. "Now you see why I pushed til almost dark. Don't wanna rough it if we don't have to, we'll be doing plenty of that soon, I reckon."
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remembergoliad
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Post by remembergoliad on Feb 2, 2023 10:02:40 GMT -6
THIRTY-FIVE
Phil looked at the load and shook his head. Boy, if I got caught with a load like this up in Illinois, I’d be under the jail. Phil had found stacked by the tool shed a number of planks bolted together, and upon studying them for a while, determined that they were two foot tall sides which slipped into the stake holes on the gooseneck. Good thing about those sides is they hide most of what’s on the trailer from people seeing it, he thought, and shook his head at the antics he’d seen at home, during something as routine as a heavy snowstorm. Idiots will take whatever they can get hold of, whether they need it or not…whether they even know what it is or not! Glad the stuff is out of sight, for the most part.
He had spent the better part of the afternoon with a bigwheel dolly, moving everything he could think of and loading the trailer with the thought that they’d never be back, or that in their absence anything of value would be destroyed or taken.
The old Ford 9N sat centered on the trailer, with the dozen deep-cycle batteries set under its belly, keeping the heaviest items centered on the tandem axles. Lined up from the front of the trailer were the various planters and other attachments which Phil had moved onto the trailer by hooking them to the tractor’s hitch and then backing onto the trailer and disconnecting each. The final trip up onto the trailer had the tractor carrying the rotary shredder, or as known by a popular brand name, bush-hog, which was left attached. In front of the tractor, like a jigsaw puzzle, Phil had fit box after box supplied by Janie Beth and Sandie as they emptied the pantry and cupboards of the house. Sandie had cautioned Phil as he stacked things that a good number of the boxes contained glass Mason jars of canned goods.
“Be sure these go in front of the axles, Phil. Bo has always said that the softest ride on a loaded trailer is midway between the back axle of the truck and the front trailer axle, so stack the food there if possible. Oh, and put this one and the two Janie Beth are bringing out on the truck bed, under the dry shell. We can eat them as traveling food,” she suggested as Phil took the box labeled CKN QTR 11 10 off her lap and stuck it in the sleeper-size compartment between the cab and the gooseneck hitch.
Sandie wheeled around to go back inside and, smacking her armrest, continued the 180 into a 360. “Phil. Go inside the tool shed. Up on the top shelf is three half-inch square iron rods held together at one end with a loop of iron. Next to that are a few long S-hooks made of the same iron. In fact, look around and find anything you can see in there that is made of that same iron. And on the floor is an old metal toolbox full of jigs that Bo uses with the anvil and forge to bend things to shape. He’ll sure appreciate that. Some of it’s kinda heavy, might want to get your wife to grab the other end of some of it. That anvil is over a hundred and fifty pounds, for one thing.”
Phil grinned at her. “That tool box and the anvil’re already on the trailer. I slid ’em onto the bush-hog and tied it to the gearbox before I loaded the tractor. That flat table with a brake drum—that is a brake drum isn’t it?—and the blower are also on the trailer.”
“Good, because those are things he needs to make things. Kinda hard to start over, especially without electricity to run a welder,” replied Sandie.
“That’s what I figured. Also got all the tools and stuff off the wall and stacked them between the tractor implements up in front of the tractor. Gonna need help from one of you to get the long stock he has in inventory though; it’s not heavy but it is kinda awkward for one to carry efficiently.”
“Sure, I think I can do that. Find something to put on my left shoulder to pad it, like a towel or something, and if you can stack a half dozen or so on my shoulder, I can carry that end to the trailer,” she suggested, getting a nod from Phil.
Thirty minutes later, the steel rack was empty and, black from handling the fresh iron, Sandie and Phil stopped to share a glass of water which Janie Beth offered.
“Sorry,” she said to the two blacksmith’s helpers, “Only one glass. Didn’t think about it when I packed the stuff in the kitchen. Free refills, though.”
Sandie took a swallow of cool water and offered the quart mason jar to Phil, who took it gratefully and looked into it.
“Don’t worry, I don’t backwash…” grinned Sandie as Phil tipped the glass up and took a long drink. “…..much!” Sandie finished, cracking up as Phil did a spit-take and joined in the girls’ laughter.
After the laughter died down, Phil looked at his wife. “How much is left inside the house? Are we gonna get loaded this afternoon? And what are we gonna do about sleeping arrangements on the road and when we get wherever?”
Sandie piped up, “There’s blow-up mattresses in the stair closet, and plenty of blankets and sheets to make up each of us a bedroll. But I do have a request, if it’s not too much to ask….” She looked almost embarrassed to continue.
“What is it, Sandie?” asked Janie Beth.
“Well, I hate to ask, because it sounds like I’m wanting a luxury, but, well, I don’t do well on an air mattress, can’t roll myself around much and if it leaks down, I could have problems with skin breakdown and pressure sores, which adds more problems. Do you suppose we could take the twin mattress off the daybed in the living room, too?”
“Of course we can take it,” replied Phil. Got plenty of room, and it weighs almost nothing. Loading it, though—let’s answer my other question first. Are we going to be ready to go this afternoon, and are we going to leave when we’re ready to go or wait until morning?”
Janie Beth looked at the western sky and then back at the house, clearly in thought. “Yes, we’ll be loaded by dark. No, I suggest we wait until morning.”
Sandie nodded. “We don’t know precisely where Renee and Buddy are, and need to contact them before we are more than an hour gone, since even with this slow old overloaded truck it’s only about two hours to where I think they’re bedded down.”
With the plan of finishing the load, having dinner, and then spending a final night before leaving at dawn, the three got back to work.
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remembergoliad
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Post by remembergoliad on Feb 2, 2023 10:05:56 GMT -6
THIRTY SIX
“Okay, Mom, but I want us to be there first. Town’s on your side of the interstate, so if the overpass is clear we’ll check out town and call you back. Y’all wait down the road ‘til you hear from us.”
Sandie keyed the mic on the old CB in the truck, “Good plan. Loaded as we are, and with a rookie driver, it’s taken us almost two hours to get here from home. Figure another half hour before we’re close. We’ll stop at that cemetery on the rise just before town and hang out there for your call.”
She giggled at Phil’s indignant snort as he retorted, “Rookie driver, huh? First, we’re up around Bo’s biggest load, for weight. Second, this old crock is just about worn out! You women should consider yourselves lucky we’re still moving, thanks to my expert skills!”
Snorking out a laugh, Janie Beth piped up from the jump seat in the back, “How on earth did you get that last part out with a straight face?”
“How’d I get ANY of it out with a straight face, is more the question,” replied Phil. “This old thing might be slow, but it’s absolutely not worn out. That was, in all truth, a bad joke on my part. I keep forgetting it’s got a 300 instead of a V8, and that exact reason is why it seems worn out, but also is why it is still running forty years later. These straight sixes don’t have much pep, but they’ll pull China up through a water well, as Bo would say.
“I’m happy with 25 miles an hour, if it’ll get all this stuff where we’re going in one load,” he concluded.
“Just past this draw, pull over under that live oak. Cemetery’s on that rise, we’ll wait here for the kids’ call,” instructed Sandie. “Might as well grab a bite to eat or something to drink while we’re standing.”
Just then, the radio broke squelch. “Come on through town. Don’t stop. Blow the stop sign. There’s curious people around, but they don’t look dangerous.”
“K, kiddo,” was the terse reply from Sandie. She looked at Phil and said, “It’s a straight shot through town. One stop sign, no dips on this road, it’s the primary. Keep to the center of the road as you go past the driveway to the elevator; the edges are potholed up from grain trucks turning in and out.”
Following her and Renee’s instructions, Phil got the old truck up to about thirty and kept a steady pace through Edroy, past the elevator, through the four way stop, noticing the small congregation of people at the post office and county annex building where the commodity distributions took place, and then up and over the overpass crossing the interstate.
“Well, that was certainly a non-event,” he remarked as they descended the other side of the overpass. “Where are we going now?”
“Up ahead a few miles is a cotton gin. You can see it after we make this curve. Turn left there, that road goes up to West Sinton and we’ll pull off there at the elevator and grab a snack,” directed Sandie as she studied Bo’s hand-drawn map and directions from his last trip to Bill’s place. Keying the mic, she informed the kids of this plan, and got a positive reply from Buddy.
*********** “Dad gum washboard road,” swore Bo as he bounced to a stop with the clutch disengaged, wincing at the damage such a road does to a differential during acceleration or engine braking. The three of them coasted to a stop just below the crest of the rise before them.
“I’m gonna go peek at the headquarters before we go roaring in there like a bunch of fools. See who’s there and what kind of activity might be going on,” he told his sister and daughter. “Y’all wait here.”
He grabbed his .30-30 and left the truck, not-so-quietly idling on the shoulder, and walked up the rise until he could see roofs of barns, then angled over to the edge of the road to put the fence trash trees between him and the homeplace. Stealthily and smoothly moving forward, he studied the compound, a frown forming on his face.
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remembergoliad
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Post by remembergoliad on Feb 2, 2023 10:07:50 GMT -6
THIRTY SEVEN
Topping the rise allowed the distant sounds of complaining cattle to reach across the half mile of pasture. Studying the scene, Bo could see no signs of life--except bovine--anywhere near the barns or house; the few vehicles haphazardly parked were surrounded by weeds and clearly had not been moved in years.
Every other time he had come to the ranch, there was some sort of activity in sight, and the creepy sense of beholding a ghost town wouldn’t leave Bo’s mind. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone, where all the humans, chickens and goats had vanished but cows weren’t affected.
Bo nearly jumped out of his skin when his sister’s voice hit his ear from a foot away, “Ya think his hired hands took off for Mexico when they couldn’t use their Lone Star cards?” she asked, suppressing a giggle when her brother whirled around wide-eyed.
“Dang it, sis! I thought you were in the truck!” Bo was still coming down of his adrenaline rush from being surprised while already spooked by the scene in the valley. “But, yeah, that’s the only explanation… unless someone raided the place… but no, that doesn’t make sense, there’d be some sign of that, like a butchered calf or dead bodies or something.”
“One way to find out, bub. Let’s go on down there. Gate’s not visible from the house, let’s just go drive up and through the yard and don’t slow down ‘til we’re behind that concrete block milking shed. If nobody shoots at us, we’ll come through the milkshed on foot and watch the place.”
“Okay, you drive, I’ll ride in back. If we get shot at, I’ll bail where I can drop behind that water trough, give us a couple angles to shoot from between that cistern and the milkbarn.”
With that, Bo started the fifty-odd yard walk towards the gate that marked the end of the county road, while Polly crossed to the driver’s side of the pickup and climbed in, making her way just past the gate and stopping for Bo to hop in the back. Idling along in fourth until the house came into view, Polly went over the plan in her head and upon topping the ridge between the gate and the house, she shifted to third and floored it.
*******************
“Got a bit of a load there,” observed Buddy as he left the shade of the chinaberry tree to greet the trio pulling into the elevator parking area.
“Yeah, somebody stole—or ran off—the calves yesterday morning sometime, and Janie Beth and I were talking about how nobody knows how long your dad is gonna be, trying to get your grandparents, so we decided to become gypsies,” deadpanned Sandie over the bleating of goats and indignant cackling of chickens coming from the front of the gooseneck trailer. “Seriously, with only the two of them to watch the house, and we hadn’t heard from Lenny in a few days, and on top of that JB won’t answer the radio when I tried to call him several times, I decided we needed to be somewhere else besides out there surrounded by have-nots who would like nothing more than to have and turn us into the have-nots.”
“More like dead-nots,” commented Renee. “We kinda skimmed over the story of getting down here, but those FSAers play for keeps.”
“FSA? What’s an FSA?” asked Janie Beth.
“Oh. Sorry. That’s the army of moochers… the Free Shit Army. They’re the ones who are so full of self-righteous indignation that they’re ‘owed’ something and that somebody has to provide it, just because they need it,” replied Renee. “Saw a lot of that near the bigger cities on the way here. West Memphis is completely out of control, Tyler, Longview, Brenham—well, let’s just say I’m glad there’s loops around most of those mid-size east Texas towns.”
Sandie nodded. “Buddy, take the ramp and get my chair off the back of the trailer. I’ve gotta get out of this truck for a while. My butt needs a change of scenery. We’ve got a couple of mid-size towns to go through to get where we’re going, from here. Or, we can take one more—for y’all—night on the road and miss anything with a population over about three hundred. We could possibly make it in tonight, what time is it? About ten?
“Yeah, Bo’s notes said that from West Sinton it was another four hours with that hayrake, and so if we leave here within an hour, we can probably make it there in half again his time during normal times. Figure we could be there by six. Gives us an hour or two to watch the ranch, if we don’t see your dad’s truck when we’re driving up,” Sandie paused for breath, thereby giving the floor to Renee, who could out-talk a parrot, but sometimes not her step-mom.
“Okay, so let’s get some lunch going. It’s hot, and we’re stopped. If you and Janie can throw together some food, Buddy and I’ll rope off the goats and tie ‘em under that tree where we’re parked so they don’t overheat.”
Phil, listening in, piped up, “Might want to take the chickens over there too; they’re looking a bit worse for the wear. I can hand them down to you in the cage, Buddy.”
“Okay, Phil, just as soon as I help Sandie out of the truck,” which he accomplished in under a minute and then took the birdcage from the side of the truck bed where Phil had placed it.
After mounting the trailer and climbing up onto the horizontal top of the gooseneck hitch and untying the bird cage, Phil set them down on the flatbed to await Buddy’s availability and then took the birds’ place on the hitch, facing the highway with Bo’s .22 in his lap. “I’ll keep an eye on stuff while you do what you gotta do.”
Phil kept his head on a swivel, watching both directions on the paved state road, as well as the caliche county road that teed into the elevator site from the other side.
*******
Polly slewed the F250 around the back right corner of the barn and squeaked out a stifled scream as she fought the steering wheel in reaction to the extremely upset occupant of her planned parking spot.
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remembergoliad
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Post by remembergoliad on Feb 2, 2023 10:12:05 GMT -6
THIRTY EIGHT
The moving crew, as they began referring to themselves earlier in the day, was making good time despite the winding roads on the route outlined by Bo. They were on the last thirty miles, headed roughly northeast on a farm-to-market state road, and Phil commented to the women that he was glad he wasn’t headed into the setting sun as he shifted his head to dodge the fiery reflection from one or the other of the mirrors.
“Well, you’ll be headed straight into the sun for a couple miles when we get right up near the place, so be ready for it,” warned Sandie. “It’s been years since I was up here with Bo, but I do remember he had me helping him look for a left turn that didn’t have a “DEAD END” sign. It’s the only road to the left after the state highway intersection—actually, after now,” she finished as they blew through the landmark intersection at a breakneck speed of 33 miles per hour.
“Flash your lights at the kids. Might as well have them look for the road and wait at it, than slow down at each turnoff,” suggested Janie Beth. Upon hearing this suggestion, Phil reached down and pulled out the light switch and worked it a few times to get Renee’s attention. The signal worked, and Renee pulled the little car over and waited for the truck to come to a stop behind her.
Instructions given, the kids took off again with a purpose, and by the time the old truck topped the next rise they could see the little car parked off the pavement about three miles ahead.
Minutes passed and as Phil geared down to make the turn onto the rock-topped road, Buddy waved from the driver’s seat and resumed the lead, accelerating to check out the next intersection a mile ahead, the last one before the ranch gate.
*******
The old bull was ticked. The pink skinnies and the brown skinnies hadn’t been around to put out food in a couple days. He could smell it in the shed, he could see it through the barred, glassless window, but he couldn’t get at it. Of course, there was grass here and there and prickly pear he could eat, but he wasn’t quite that desperate yet to eat the thorny pads, not when he could see and smell the square bales in the back of the milkbarn.
Of course, about all a bull’s brain can handle is eating and lovemaking, and when he can’t get the eating done he gets in a surly mood.
He was in such a surly mood when he heard the rattly noise of one of those things that swallowed the pink skinnies from time to time, then barfed them out in another location. He also knew that these hard-shelled rattly animal carried food on its back ever so often and made the skinnies push them off its back on the ground. That rattly noise means FOOD. The old bull whirled around just as the rattly thing came around the end of the milkhouse, and his first thought was he didn’t see any food, so he charged the noisy animal, clearly scaring the pink skinnies it had eaten.
*******
Polly got the truck back under control and asked Annette quickly, “Is there anybody here but us?”
“I don’t think so,” replied the younger woman. “What’re we gonna do about this bull?”
Polly thought on that one, and judged that since nobody aggressive appeared to be in residence, their first priority had switched to placating the hungry bull. Continuing around the milkbarn, she slewed to a stop by the front walk-through door of the building and hopped out and gave the door a pull, with the welcome reaction of having the door swing open.
Cautiously, as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, she made her way to the back of the milkbarn and let herself into the back room, where the small stock of hay was kept to feed the cows as they gave up their milk.
After lugging a couple of bales out the back door, she broke a bale and grabbed a good size leaf off of it, and walked around the outside of the barn to get the bull’s attention.
“HEY” she hollered at the beast, who looked at the six-inch thick leaf of haybale in the pink skinny’s hands and dropped his assault on the too-narrow opening between the back bumper of the truck and the corner of the building. Polly retreated to the back corner, keeping the big guy’s attention, then pitched the little bit of hay at the ground and let herself back into the back of the barn, out of sight and, as it became apparent, out of mind when the bull spied the entire bale laying in wait for him.
Seeing the big brainless beast flash to contented munching, Polly exited the barn not ten feet from the bull and was rewarded with the critter completely ignoring her. Walking up the side of the building, she looked off at the treeline past the gate and broke into a jog towards Bo, who was peering intently off in the opposite direction of the gate. Sliding down a few feet from him, and keeping her eyes on the telltale dust cloud, she called out to her brother in a stage whisper, “Company’s coming!”
“No joke, Sis,” Bo replied without moving. “Keep still, looks like there’s several of them.” He caught Annette’s eye and motioned for her to stay put in the cab of the truck. Shaking her head, Annette pointed to herself and unobtrusively showed the 12 gauge she had lifted from the back seat, then pointed towards the doorway her aunt had entered just a few minutes previously. Reading her intent, Bo nodded and made a “shoo” motion with his hand, and Annette made a stealthy transit to the barn, where she was out of sight and had windows to look out through.
Polly thought about Bo’s comment and asked, “How do you know there’s several of them? What are you talking about?”
“In the brush, just past that water trough,” replied Bo.
“Crap. I’m talking about whatever’s making a dust cloud out on the road, and it’s coming this way,” Polly returned as the cloud shifted direction, indicating that whoever it was had made the turn towards the gate instead of towards town, close enough to hear the crunch of tires on gravel.
Just before reaching the rise where Polly and Bo had studied the home place before driving up to the gate, the crunching stopped and the dust began to dissipate. Realizing that whoever it was had stopped, the brother and sister kept their respective topics of interest, when they heard voices coming from beyond the gate, clearly discussing something about an approach to the ranch headquarters.
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remembergoliad
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Post by remembergoliad on Feb 2, 2023 10:14:36 GMT -6
THIRTY NINE
Buddy straightened up and turned to grin at the expectant faces surrounding the cab of the pickup. “It’s Dad and Polly,” he announced. “They’re down by the milkbarn, between it and the house. Renee, go ahead and pull up to the gate, Dad’s looking off to the west at something, and Polly will recognize that car of Annette’s faster than she would Dad’s old truck.”
“Okay. When I get the gate open, you go and hop on the bed of the truck, because I want to get closer and make sure they see us.”
Unlatching the gate, Renee left it open and drove on towards her aunt and dad, while Phil stopped just inside the gate for Buddy to secure it and then hop on the end of the trailer for the short ride to the house for a very welcome reunion.
Swapping stories about their respective trips, the family had moved to the shade of the huge pecan tree in the front yard of the house. Sandie was stretched out on her mattress, thoughtfully carried over by Buddy, and the others found stumps and ledges to perch on while they caught up from the past week of a very different world.
“So,” Sandie looked at her husband, “Did you ever make contact with your brother?”
“No, we’ve only been here a few hours. Figure I’ll give him a day or so to show up before I get too worried. Not much else to do except blindly head towards San Antonio, and that does not appeal to me one bit. I just hope he shows up by day after tomorrow. That’ll be a week since Dad’s note.”
“Fine, then I’ll just go back and camp in the bushes for a couple more days,” came a voice from the side of the garage as Lee Roy walked out into the shade of the pecan tree. “Don’t know how Mom and Dad will hold out with that, though. Dad’s already wore slap out from the last five miles.”
The whole family jumped and turned, relief evident on their faces. Polly ran to hug her baby brother as Bo looked past Lee Roy in the direction he came from, realizing that the movement he was watching earlier was likely his brother’s little group of four instead of just his imagination. “Where’s the rest of ‘em?” Bo asked as he scanned the brushy pasture.
Lee Roy replied, “Well, Dad found a tree stump and sat down to rest his bad hip, and that was all she wrote until he gets a few hours’ rest.”
Sandie turned to Phil, who along with Janie Beth was sitting there looking out of the loop. “Did you load my spare chair on the trailer?”
“Sure did. I think I can get to it by moving a few boxes and totes.” He rose and looked at his wife. “C’mon, Janie, let’s go get it.”
Relieved to have something to do, Janie Beth jumped up and walked over to the overloaded rig to help get the backup wheelchair unloaded.
Turning to Lee Roy, Sandie offered to him, “Get in my chair and take it to Pops. He can use it to get here, and for as long as he likes; I’ve got my spare stallion whistled up for when I need it,” she said with a grin.
Half an hour later, the tearful reunion was in full swing, with the eldest generation of the family being assaulted with hugs from kids and grandkids.
A few hours later, as the sun was falling behind the distant treeline, cleanup from a large and filling meal from the traveling food was under way. The cleanup didn’t really comprise much more than cleaning a single Dutch oven and a stirring spoon and a ladle, as Janie Beth had kept the location of the disposable bowls and plasticware in mind when she loaded the house not long ago.
The story of Bo’s and Polly’s travels told to this point, Pops asked, “Did y’all get the things out of the house of…um, of value?”
Bo scooted closer and lowered his voice in the calming evening breeze, “You mean the stuff in the hidey holes?” At his dad’s nod, he continued, “Yes, we did. I got the one you told me about, and Sis got the one Mom told her about. We reloaded your hiding spot with some things that you would need if you had returned home and we’d have missed each other here, but other than that there’s nothing there of any real value to someone trying to live.”
“You got those bags, right? And the firebox of papers and things?”
Bo nodded to both.
“Well, in the shelter where we were taken—I’ll tell you about that nightmare someday when we’re settled—anyway, in that same shelter was Bill and his wife. We visited some to pass the time, and he told me he and his whole family were going to come here when they started letting people out of the shelter. Actually they started letting people out three days ago, as more showed up. That’s how we got out when we did and got here when we did. Kinda tricky how we got out, but we did and that’s also a story for another day.
“But back to my real point, they—Bill and Mary—were waiting to see if the last of their five kids checked into the shelter before they took advantage of the opportunity to leave. Four of them were already there. I figure they’ll be here within two or three days, and there’s sixteen of them, counting grandkids and all. Not enough room in this house, besides it is theirs. I didn’t say anything about us using this as a remote meeting point, and I don’t think he’d mind, but no way can we impose upon them. We must be ready to leave and go somewhere else, I’d say, by tomorrow.”
The near-octogenarian took a breath and glanced at Bo. “Bring me that manila envelope that was in with the bags, would you please? It’s possibly an alternative I hadn’t given any thought to for close to fifty five years.”
Taking the retrieved bundle from Bo and untying the string closure on the ancient, brittle cover envelope, Pops dumped into his lap three sealed letter envelopes. Faintly visible was a postmark from Fredericksburg, Texas dated in 1958. The second sealed envelope had one word on its face, written in a neat, cursive hand: “Son”
A hush fell over the assembled family and friends as the patriarch read for the first time a letter penned by his father over half a century ago. Finishing the letter, he looked up and swept the crowd with his gaze. “I suspected this years ago, then put it out of my mind, simply because it served me no purpose or advantage, had no potential to me, until a few years ago. Bottom line is, we’ve got somewhere to go. And it’s a really good somewhere, from my childhood memories. It’s devoid of any conveniences such as shelter or utilities, but it’s a good somewhere and, as far as I know, it does have a well.
“Who’s got another couple days' travel or so in ‘em? And Bo, do those ancient smoke bombs of yours have a couple hundred miles left in 'em? We’re gonna need everything on that trailer.”
***************
END PART ONE
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Post by gipsy on Feb 2, 2023 11:00:55 GMT -6
And the saga goes on. Thanks
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r80rt
New Member
Posts: 19
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Post by r80rt on Feb 2, 2023 12:57:16 GMT -6
Good stuff!
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Post by kiwibutterfly on Feb 2, 2023 14:18:27 GMT -6
Thank you
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Post by 223shootersc on Feb 2, 2023 15:04:08 GMT -6
Thanks, can't wait for MOAR!
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Post by feralferret on Feb 2, 2023 16:56:05 GMT -6
Thanks! Looking forward to the next chapter.
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Post by rep1270 on Feb 27, 2023 10:22:35 GMT -6
I don't write much but the story is good and you should continue. Thanks for the story. Ralph
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