Driftless (47 page)

“You don’t have any family at all?” asked Leona.

“Well, that’s not exactly true, but the only relation I know about isn’t worth a nickel and isn’t worth leaving a nickel to. My neighbors are my family, and these particular neighbors need your help.”

Tim Pikes looked at the newspaper clipping again. “Shotwell,” he said. Then he repeated the name, hoping to dislodge the appropriate memories. “I think I remember Shotwells. Yes. The parents, as I recall, were cruel to their children and worked them like animals—a predilection shared by many of the other local farmers.”

Leona smiled and touched July’s arm. “I’m afraid Tim hasn’t retired some of his earlier habits. Almost anything sets him off. His newspaper usually provides fuel for the rest of the morning. The whole planet, it seems, is simply one endless human rights violation waiting for a legal remedy.”

Undeterred, July continued. “I’ve thought about this a long time. These people need help. Their children, Seth and Grace, are about the age your children were when I first met you. They are in trouble and are likely to get into more. You need to do this for them, and for me.”

Leona put down her drink. “When government agencies become entangled in this kind of financial skulduggery—and one is clearly
involved here—it can go on for a long time. I’m afraid your neighbors would be better off with younger counsel.”

“I’ve thought about this a long time,” repeated July.

A man wearing a straw hat and carrying pruning shears walked in front of the porch and opened the screen door. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Pikes, but do you still want the dahlia bulbs put next to the roses?”

“Yes,” said Leona. “And bring the boat around to the dock. If it doesn’t rain, we want to go for a ride this afternoon.”

After the gardener closed the door and walked away, Tim turned to July. “I guess the most forthright answer is no. We’re retired. But give us all the information you have. We’ll make some calls and see what public resources are available. On that basis we can make recommendations. We’ll call you in a couple days.”

“I appreciate it,” said July. “And I guess this would be the time to mention that Grahm Shotwell is against anyone representing him.”

“Of course,” smiled Leona. “The first healthy reaction to overwhelming odds is to decide you don’t need help.”

“On top of that, I don’t want them to know I have anything to do with this.”

The old lawyer laughed, folded his glasses, and pushed them into his jacket pocket. “Of course not, July. Heaven forbid that anyone should know anything about you.”

“I just don’t want them to know I’m involved,” said July. “Like I said, my neighbors are my family, but many of them might not be too thrilled to learn that.”

“Foolishness,” said Leona. “You hide from people, July. It’s an irritating trait. I’m going to start lunch and we want you to stay.”

“I’m afraid I have too much to do today, but I’ll be back.”

When July came to the end of the driveway, he realized that talking with the Pikes about earlier times had temporarily interrupted his plans for the day. A somber mood had been building in him all morning and he could no longer ignore it.

Instead of returning to his farm, he turned left.

At the old mill he parked on the gravel shoulder and assembled
the fishing rod beneath the front seat, forcing the form- fitted male end into the female and twisting until the guide eyes lined up. There was a purple lead-head already on the end of the line and he located a bobber and put it in his pocket.

He climbed over the DO NOT TRESPASS sign on the gate and walked toward the stone building standing on the edge of the Heartland River. Inside, the massive grinding mill sat in the middle of an empty room, with bird nests in the rafters, that smelled of sun-warmed masonry. Pigeons flapped noisily through the open windows, raising dust. He went through the room and onto the wooden landing outside. At the south end, the waterwheel’s rotting oak slats disappeared into the river.

An old davenport with exposed springs leaned against the stone wall, carried in by other fishermen. July sat on it, looked out over the water, and smelled the oily, fecund odor of decomposing plants and algae.

The current ran in a unanimous direction near the middle. Leaves, small limbs, and clumps of moss floated along at a steady pace. A more democratic variety of currents, swirls, eddies, and back-drifts moved along the banks.

A blue heron flew downriver, its dinosaur head crooking over the water. As the thoughts July wanted to think rose slowly to the surface, he took the chain from around his neck and hung it on an overhead rafter beam. On the end of it dangled the silver ring his wife had made for him.

They were not even twenty years old then, still children—or at least it seemed like that now. Looking at the ring helped focus his attention, leading him into the place he needed to go.

He had loved her completely, without abandon, and after three thieves broke into their Iowa farmhouse one night and killed her, he had continued to love her. He had never gotten over her and he had never tried to get over her. She had introduced him to something that did not go away after she was gone.

And
that
he needed to think about.

He clipped the bobber over the monofilament and slid it five or
six feet above the jig, then lay the pole down. He could throw out the line if someone came along.

Where did the real value of life come from? As a child he believed it came from inside him, a by-product of the human machine. Some days seemed worth living and others did not, depending on how he felt, and how he felt depended on the machine inside him. He had been born as a living organism with the capacity to make certain chemicals, and when those chemicals were produced, his experiences had value.

As he grew older, his attitude changed. Things outside him became more important than his machinery’s chemical laboratory. Other people, his wife, gave value to his life. She was worthwhile, and if at that time he had been asked where his value came from, he would have pointed to her. The machinery inside him was useless in providing worthwhile feelings without her.

Then, several years after her death, he changed his mind again. He realized that beyond his sorrow, in front of his memories, the same value she had once provided for him was still available. It hadn’t gone away, even though she had. They had loved each other and that love was somehow still active. He could feel it, even though she was no longer there. Her influence had changed everything, permanently.

He had rediscovered their love in his neighbors. He felt it when he watched Leona and Tim Pikes struggle to earn law degrees after their failure on the farm. He felt it when Grahm walked toward the microphone at American Milk’s annual meeting. He felt it when Jacob pounded on his door in the middle of the night and wanted to talk about Winnie. He felt it when Winnie looked in the plastic bag and ran off to find mushrooms. He felt it when Gail wrote her first song and played it for him. He felt it when Wade said he wanted to move away from his parents’ farm to be closer to Olivia. He felt it now as he listened for over an hour to the sound of moving water, as mile after mile of liquid life flowed by the abandoned mill. He needed to feel it, because without it there was no value.

No, he hadn’t gotten over her. In all the ways that mattered he
was still married—happily married—though he could never explain this to anyone. No one would understand.

July took down the chain hanging from the rafter and put it around his neck. Carrying the rod and reel, he returned to the truck.

Along the road, he met another group of wild turkeys. They looked as though they could be the same ones he’d seen earlier, heading in the opposite direction.

LETTING GO

M
AXINE GOT UP AT 4:00 A.M. AND WALKED BEYOND THE BARN to the small lean-to her husband had built on the south side of the woodpile. A light rain during the night had moistened the ground, and the air smelled fresh. A fine mist hovered over the valley and the trunks of the trees were dripping wet. She found him sitting on the army cot, his rifle leaning beside him, in the ramshackle guardhouse he’d built several months ago.

“Thought I heard something,” he said, and inspected his watch with a flashlight. “You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Maxine and set out their breakfast: oatmeal with raisins; boiled eggs in the shell; toast with butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon; two six-ounce cans of tomato juice; and coffee. She arranged the meal on two folding trays next to the cot and sat in the lawn chair while they ate.

“Ever notice how food tastes different outdoors?” asked Rusty.

“It’s because of the smells,” said Maxine. “Most of taste comes from smell.”

“I was thinking we might want to build a cabin back here in the woods.”

“Why would we want to do that, Russell?”

“For when we felt like getting away.”

“Getting away from what?”

“The house and telephone.”

“We’d probably want a telephone inside the cabin.”

“Why?”

“In case someone called or you wanted to call someone. Oh yes, July Montgomery called last night.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to know if he could borrow your truck to pull a trailer somewhere.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said you’d never loaned your truck to anyone that I know of and he’d have to talk to you himself. And I also told him that I didn’t think your truck was big enough to pull a whole trailer. He said he’d call again.”

“How big is it?”

“I don’t remember. An average-sized one, I think.”

“My truck could pull that like nothing.”

A sound came from the direction of the barn and Rusty climbed to his feet and squinted through a space between several logs in the woodpile. He motioned for Maxine to come look.

In the dim morning light, a cougar walked along the roof of the barn, jumped into the nearby tree, and climbed to the ground. It walked forward several yards, turned around, and lay down.

Out of the ground-level door on the back of the barn walked another black cat, about a third smaller than the first. The older animal stood up and they circled each other twice, their tails moving back and forth. The adult ran down the valley. The cub followed, then stopped, turned, and looked directly at the makeshift guardhouse and Rusty and Maxine, and growled.

Then it ran after its mother.

“Beautiful,” said Maxine. “It makes your heart sing to see something like that.”

“They’re finally gone. Now I’ve got to get that upper window closed,” said Rusty.

“I doubt they’ll come back anyway, Russell. July was right—the cub was hurt and stayed in the mow until it got better. They won’t be back. You can move back into the house now. That hunter you saw will never find them. I mean if they’ve survived this long there’s a good chance—”

“My brother never would have let that son of a bitch shoot an animal on his property,” said Rusty. “He had a pet raccoon and used to worry over that animal like it was a person. That’s the way Carl was.”

“Are you going to talk to your niece now?”

“No. Right now I’m going to eat another boiled egg.”

LAWYERS

G
RACE SPOTTED THE GREEN CAR FIRST. SHE WATCHED IT MOVE into the farmyard, and a tall old woman climbed out. She seemed momentarily stunned by the heat of the afternoon and walked very, very slowly around to the other side and helped an old man out. He brushed the sleeves of his suit coat, buttoned the front, pulled a briefcase from the back seat, and looked at the weather vane on top of the barn. He moved even slower than the woman did. Grace did not recognize them and asked her brother if he did. Seth was busy nailing a wooden box to a tamarack.

“Never seen them,” Seth said. “Must not be from around here.”

“They’re here now,” said Grace, setting down the sack of squirrel bait. Together they ran into the house.

“Can we help you?” asked Grahm, meeting the two visitors in the yard.

“We’re looking for Grahm and Cora Shotwell,” the old man said, his gray hair parted as straight as a stretched string.

“I’m Grahm Shotwell. This is my wife, Cora.”

“Perhaps we could talk somewhere out of the sun,” he said.

“Who are you?” demanded Cora.

“The name is Pikes,” he said, handing her a business card from his inside coat pocket. “Tim Pikes. This is my wife, Leona. We’ve been retained to represent you in your dispute with American Milk Cooperative.”

“You’re lawyers,” said Grahm, as though naming a disease.

“We have much to discuss,” said Leona.

“You’re wasting your time here,” said Grahm. “We don’t need a lawyer.”

“As for the former, Leona and I are uniquely capable of determining
the value of our time. Regarding the latter, you are very much in need of a lawyer so perhaps we should get out of the heat.”

At the kitchen table, Tim Pikes took a handful of papers from his briefcase and explained, “First of all, Miss Gail Shotwell has asked me to convey an apology for her. The papers she earlier identified as missing and perhaps stolen were in the spare bedroom of her home where she had stored them but subsequently did not remember doing so. They were only recently discovered. She misspoke when several weeks ago she said to Cora that they were no longer in her possession and she regrets whatever confusion this may have caused. You will notice that I have taken the opportunity to look through them, and have brought copies of the most germane.”

“She was drinking again,” said Cora, frowning.

“That speculation is one of several which Miss Shotwell anticipated you might offer, and one she does not wish to dispute out of hand. However, it need not concern us now. I see you do not have air-conditioning and I wonder if I could have some bottled water.”