Polecat Epoch

By Julie Jeffries

Christie Martin's hope for a decent existence is as frozen as the ground that keeps her from enjoying the luxury of running water. Life begins to heat up when a surprise visit by two old friends from California initiates a week of events that put Christie, and her guests, in mortal danger. A horseback ride leads to a grizzly discovery that sparks a week of life threatening situations. As a result, a special bond forms between Christie and her friends. The consistent and unexplained absences of Christie's husband, Greg, puts their relationship under scrutiny and forces a telling examination of its value. Polecat Epoch captures the feel of a small Wyoming town and the hearts and minds of the poeple who reside there. Outsiders, like Christie and her husband, must embrace its code to remain a part of the community. In a few short weeks, the decision is made for both of them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Jeffries
• Release date: Apr 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452408279

Julie Jeffries

The Bronx was her birthplace but her heart was meant for California. Julie Jeffries made many moves in her life. Miami, FL, saw her through high school and her introduction to acting and professional dance. Manhattan was a revisit to her birth state where she pursued a singing career. Los Angeles led to Wyoming where she absorbed the background for her new novel Polecat Epoch. Sun Valley, Idaho made snow fun. A 36 day sail trip to Hawaii made her a confirmed landlubber. And presently, San Diego is the city where she flourishes. Julie has performed in little theatre, managed and performed in a successful country music band, written songs, earned an Associates in Arts degree from San Diego Mesa College and a Bachelor of Theatre Arts degree from UCSD, where she completed a screen play among other writing works. Polecat Epoch is Julie Jeffries' first novel and she has plans for several more.

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Polecat Epoch

By Julie Jeffries

Published by Julie Jeffries at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Julie Jeffries

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Definitions

Early April

Week One - Thursday: Despair

Friday: Glimmer

Saturday: Gossip

Sunday: Preparation

Monday: Surprise

Tuesday: Bones

Wednesday: Brownies

Week Two - Thursday: Arsenic

Friday: Escape

Saturday: Retaliation

Sunday: Revenge

Monday: Declaration

Tuesday: Research

Wednesday: Action

Week Three: Thursday - Success

Friday: Avalanche

Saturday: Reckoning

Two Weeks Later - Saturday: Auction

Sunday: Hope

About Julie Jeffries

Definitions

epoch: A moment in time chosen as the origin of a particular era. Wikepedia

Polecat Bench: A Pleistocene river terrace sculpted by the Shoshone River over a period of millions of years between Clarks Fork and Bighorn basins, covering 28,000 acres north of Powell, Wyoming.

Polecat Junction: A spot off the road between Powell and Deaver, Wyoming.

Once in awhile a series of indiscriminate choices become a tornado of failure and misery. Christie Martin=s life was the embodiment of this downward spiral of poor judgement. Polecat Junction was the impregnable wall of fortitude which forced an end to denial and self pity, suffocating the breeding grounds of apathy and promoting an upward draft to success and happiness.

Polecat Epoch is a work of fiction.

Early April

She could hear the sounds of metal against metal and the creaking of the long dead shock absorbers each time the once green pick up turned off the highway onto the dirt road to the Martin ranch. The truck bed lurched with every bump and dip, swaying erratically with the weight of a loaded water tank that stood higher than the top of the cab’s roof, and causing its precious contents to slosh over onto the sides. The rig seemed to lose more water than it hauled, but at ten dollars per delivery, it was a bargain. And when that old truck transferred what was left of its load from its tank to the cistern, the Martin household was given a one week reprieve from going completely dry.

Week One - Thursday: Despair

The cistern was low, Two more days. I guess we’ll make it to Saturday. Christie Martin hated having to depend on the cistern, but she shoved that anxiety down with the rest of them, like running out of money and food, or having enough feed for the stock. The house was plumbed, but after the worst winter in 30 years, the spring thaw laid bare pipes that were never buried deep enough to begin with. A gaping channel from the cistern to the house left cracked PVC pipes in full view. Christie had to cross it to get to the hand pump on the other side of the cistern. Four two-by-eight wood planks planted over it made an almost solid bridge across the ditch. Last month she spotted the boards on the highway to Powell quick enough to avoid running over them. Christie found some of her best materials as a result of carelessly secured loads being carted to or from Powell. Those came in handy, Christie noted as she filled two buckets.

To add to the hardship of Christie’s existence, a root from the heavy limbed maple tree blocked the main pipe from the toilet to the septic tank. No running water and no indoor toilet. Not the way a girl born in the Big Apple ever expected to live. There was an outhouse and it was functional, a mixed blessing considering the weather in Wyoming. She headed back to the house with the brimming buckets.

Up we go, Christie’s neck muscles tightened as she navigated, twisting her upper body sideways through the narrow doorway, up three steep steps to the kitchen with a bucket in each hand. One, two, three, we’re in.

The first bucket splashed water as she abruptly lowered it to the floor. Her left arm wasn’t as strong as her right. Damn, I gotta be more careful. She carefully lowered the second bucket with both hands. She was building her biceps, but at a hundred and five pounds soaking wet, there wasn’t that much muscle to build. Christie wiped the floor and two-handed the buckets against the kitchen wall out of the way.

Christie had a gas stove. The gas came from a free flow gas hookup from a well on the property. It heated the house and cooked her food. If she could figure out a way to fill the hot water tank, she wouldn’t have to boil water for a bath; the tub drain still worked. She had a system, one pot with boiling hot water, one with cold, a large bowl for mixing, and a smaller bowl for pouring. Mix and pour, not too much at a time. What I'd give for a hot shower, she addressed the dogs while she stood naked in the bathtub pouring water over her head.

Pistol and Haddie were litter mates, male and female, more Yellow Lab than anything else. Neutered and spayed as pups, and never apart, they were inseparable soul mates. They had become Christie’s entourage. She couldn't have survived without them. Her husband loved the dogs too. He liked having reasons for Christie to stay on the ranch while he went off on his business trips. Trips he was somehow able to afford.

Greg Martin was off in sunny, mild, Southern California where people didn't have to cover their bodies from head to toe just to use the crapper. Where even poor people could take a hot shower in the morning. Business trip, my ass. Christie often discussed her suspicions about Greg's business affairs with her four footed friends. They understood.

She had a lot of doubts about Greg in general. She used to work full time before they bought their eighty acres in Polecat Junction. Life never failed to become more miserable for Christie. Somehow she tenaciously progressed from bad to worse with every rash decision she made.

They used to live on a leased ranch in Casper. A beauty. Had a horse boarding operation there. She worked in town. Greg was always busy in town, doing business. Amazing how he was able to avoid doing any work on the ranch until Christie got home from her full-time job. The weekends seemed to be an endless procession of two men chores that Christie could and most often did handle easily by herself. That's what led to this mess.

When they made the move, she announced to Greg that she would not be getting another job until he got one. Apparently he never heard her say this, because he suggested, weekly, that she should apply for full-time work. She reiterated her stand, weekly, You get a job, then I'll get a job. Greg would look at her as if she were speaking in tongues.

Greg was a good businessman when it came to talking people into things they didn't want to do, like lending a stranger money and wondering if they’d ever see it, or the guy walking away with it, again. That's how the down payment was made on the ranch. That's also how he convinced Carrie Conner, the man who owned the feed store in Powell, to sell on contract with 5% down and no payments for six months. Greg was a real closer. He had a way of convincing people to overlook their serious doubts. A true artist. He talked and talked and talked until his victim was writhing in agony saying, Yes, yes, where do I sign? Christie knew this about him.

When they first got together he talked a lot. He put her under a spell somehow, like a vampire placing his victim in a catatonic state before extracting his pint of blood. Smooth. But the ranch deal was a doozy. Christie signed the papers in a trance-like state, but after realization hit, she made the ultimatum. So here they were. Or here she was, taking care of everything. Again. The only difference was she didn't have a full time job or a paycheck, which meant half the time there was no money for food, or wine, or tampons.

Eighty acres doesn’t make a big ranch. In their case, more a small farm serviced by an irrigation ditch. The county had a great system. Lots of sugar beets and alfalfa were brought to fruition by the contents of that ditch. Greg made a deal with Ralph, their neighbor across the road, to plant and harvest 40 acres of alfalfa. Greg would get half the crop, fully baled and stacked in the lean-to Christie built when they first moved up.

Ralph would not have to furnish the alfalfa seed. Greg already had Carrie Conner of Conner’s Feed and Seed, and prominent Powell land owner, on the hook for the ranch so what’s a little seed to a guy who owns a feed store. Ralph did the planting with Christie's help. That was part of the deal. Greg and Christie would assist Ralph. As it happened, when it came time to cut and bale the alfalfa, Greg bailed out on the work feigning an injury, leaving Christie and Ralph to do the hauling and stacking. But Ralph was wiser than he let on. A little extra work was a good investment, especially when the paycheck was half the yield of a 40 acre planting of alfalfa, with no outlay of money on his part. Except for poor Carrie Conner who'd never see a dime of the seed money, the deal on the alfalfa was one of the only fair cons that Greg ever made.

*****

Ralph was a neat old farmer who hailed from Kansas. His wife Bee Bee, Betsy really, their last name was Baybrook, was perfect. She cooked, she canned, she cleaned, she read the Bible, and she prayed for her family. They were the incarnation of a 50s tableau of an American farm family minus the kids.

Ralph seemed to like Christie enough. He talked to her about his trucking days. Now, I bet I covered more ‘torritary’, one of Ralph’s favorite words, than a hundred of those young buck semi wranglers on the road with me. Never once did I take a pill to keep these eyes glued to the highway. I could drive fourteen hours straight on one thermos of hot coffee.

Ralph was proud of his accident free record in ten years of driving. Bee Bee, on the other hand, was more realistic. Ralph, you’re just lucky you didn’t get yourself killed out there.

His faithful wife hated being alone at the farm. She prayed a lot for him. Ralph ultimately resigned himself to taking care of things at home. He wasn't all that young. He'd served in Viet Nam. Flying cargo. He earned a masters in math education along the way, and taught high school math a few years in Powell when he quit trucking. He missed being on the road. Farming, being a one man operation of sorts, gave him back the freedom he temporarily lost. Bee Bee took a job at the County Irrigation District offices. She worked her way up to a good position. Probably made a lot more than Ralph did from his farming. Neither of them had a problem with that. Ralph loved his farm, and Bee Bee loved having Ralph home nights.

*****

Christie had to pick Greg up in the morning. Billings was the closest major airport. Not a bad drive. The hard part was figuring out how to fill the pick up tank. She’d have to dig into the grocery money she had stashed. That was Greg's way of squeezing Christie into a corner. He figured if he pushed hard enough, she’d go to work and solve the cash flow problem.

The thought crossed her mind once in awhile, No way. I’m not financing his schemes any more. He can get his lazy ass to work for a change.

This outburst came just before she tripped on the edge of the boards walking to the water pump. She almost fell in the ditch. Christie caught herself and got out of her head in time to safely complete the evening chores.

Christie’s stubbornness was more powerful than any sort of maneuvering her mate could manifest to make her take a job. This was bad news for Greg, who was totally unaware that it was too late. Christie was the one backing him against the wall. What’s a few hungry days to a woman with a purpose.

What made Christie's days a little brighter and what she was looking forward to most was a visit in the works by Paula and Crank, the wild hippy friends that Greg was doing business with in California. Sylmar was a long way from Polecat Junction, she hadn't seen them in a long time. Christie met Crank when he owned a print shop. He was a retired graphic artist. An auto accident left his back in bad shape. With the settlement, he bought a house in the valley close to his business. The print shop sold, and graphic arts once again became his source of income.

Paula came along after the print shop was history. She was also a graphic artist, that’s how they met. Sculpture was her passion. They were free birds. They talked about ‘free love’ and three-way sex and swapping partners. Christie was usually drunk when the topic came up and didn’t think one way or another about it. Uninhibited discussion flowed as much as the wine, and fun was had by all. She felt liberated and untroubled in their company. Conversation was a rare commodity at the ranch, unless talking to oneself counts. There was little conversing with Greg. He did all the talking. But happy times were on their way to Polecat. Crank and Paula were coming to visit.

Friday: Glimmer

Greg was in rare form, like springtime in the Rockies. He looked like a new man, and that made Christie suspicious. She knew he wouldn't get any money from Crank. As much a free bird as Crank was, his financial personality was more like Scrooge McDuck. Crank was as tight as a seized tractor bolt.

Greg talked all the way back from Billings. Three Guys from Italy has the best fettuccini alfredo in Los Angeles, Greg reported, making Christie’s mouth water. It’s as good as any you’ll get in Manhattan. And I know, I’ve eaten at all the best blah blah blah. . . . He ran on about restaurants for a good part of the drive back to Polecat. How nice of him to share. Too bad he didn't bring back some doggy bags.

With nightfall came a full moon which seemed to bring out his amorous side. He brought out a bottle of expensive Chardonnay which made Christie angrier with every swallow. She was jealous. Mainly of the fact that he was free to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and with whomever he wanted and could get his hands on the money to finance it all.

Let’s go upstairs, I missed you, it’s been so long, Greg said as he gazed in Christie’s eyes and gently pulled her toward the kitchen and the stairs.

I’ve got my period, Christie lied.

The bedroom was upstairs where there was no heat. One gas heater in the place, on the wall in the main room downstairs, heated the first floor. With two single pane windows and an unsealed door that went outside to nowhere, the bedroom was airy in the summer and freezing in the winter. Open the door and whoops, no stairs, no balcony, just a shear drop to the ground.

The two-story part of the house was originally an old train depot that was hauled onto the property. Nobody bothered to paint over the graffiti on the second floor interior wall, including the new owners. It was cold and depressing.

Greg must have a guilty conscience. He hadn't made sexual overtures for at least six months. That part of the marriage was already dead. He didn't bathe as often as Christie either. That was a turn-off. Christie opted for her sleeping bag in the living room in front of the heater.

Saturday: Gossip

Early Saturday morning, the Smiley boys were right on schedule. The truck rattled and sloshed down the dirt road onto the property. Elijah had on brand new overalls. His son, Elijah Jr., or Junior as his dad called him, was wearing brand new jeans. Junior was in his 40s, still living at home with his mom and dad.

Junior’ll be taking over pretty soon, I’m learnin’ him the route. Elijah’s words were earnest and humble. Junior was respectful and serious about the whole internship.

Here’s your bill for today. We’ll be raising our rate by two dollars next month, if that’s all right? Junior handed Christie a piece of scratch paper with a number on it.

Sleeping Beauty wasn't up yet, so Christie paid him out of the grocery money, leaving her practically flat broke. Junior wrote out a receipt and then he filled the cistern. The receipt was written on a note pad from the company they bought the tank from. It had the same slogan on the bottom as the tank, Tanks for Your Business.

Christie fed and watered the horses. Two in the barn and one in the pasture. Red didn't like to be inside. There was a lean-to where he stood for shelter in the worst weather. The last time they stalled him he kicked a hole in the wall and almost injured Dandy.

Dividend Dandy was a stallion, a beautiful black and white paint who loved to run. He had the sweetest disposition. It wasn't that Red didn't like him. He just didn't like being cooped up.

Red was an old workhorse, part Percheron. He inherited the long tufts of hair around his feet and chin and the large bone structure, but not the gray or black color of the breed. He was red, hairy, bony, skinny, at least 20 years old and as reliable as death and taxes. He had the jerkiest trot of any horse ever born.

Thunder Cloud was number three. He was in the stall next to Dandy. They got along beautifully. Thunder Cloud was a gelding, no threat to Dandy, not that he would mind sharing, he was that kind of horse. Thunder Cloud was a purebred Arabian. His misfortune was a piebald face and a big patch of white on his belly. He was bred from two chestnuts. He had their color but in the Arabian world, white patches were a no-no. That cost him his studhood.

*****

Watering the horses was tricky. Last winter, Christie got water from an Artesian watering station and filled a small portable tank in the back of the pickup. She drove around and filled the watering troughs directly from the truck. For the whole month of January she had to use a portable propane torch to unfreeze the tap each time she filled a different water tank. It was at least 20 below every day.

The few times that Greg went out for water, he didn't get back before dark and the horses were stuck with frozen water in their tanks. Christie had to warm water in the house and break up the ice so they could drink. It was easier to do the job herself.

With the thaw, the ground was too mushy for the truck. Christie set up a trough directly below the hand pump at the cistern. She used a hose to siphon the water to each of the water tanks. It worked all right, but it took a little time and a lot of pumping.

*****

Once a week Christie brought seven bales of alfalfa from the stack up to the barn. The horses ate almost a bale a day between them. The oats were in the tack room right next to the stalls. Feeding made the days bearable. She knew it had to be done early and the mere physical activity helped her get through the day. The effort was certainly appreciated by the horses.

A little grass was beginning to show in the pasture. Not enough to sustain a horse but enough to keep it from being so muddy. Red liked to roll around on his back and nap on his side. Sometimes Christie wondered if he was dead, laying there in the middle of the field not twitching a muscle. She routinely put Thunder Cloud and Dividend Dandy in the pasture after Red finished eating.

Christie went back inside to get the pails so she could take a bath. Greg was still sleeping. Pistol and Haddie were hungry. She scooped up some dry food for them after she cleaned up. They always helped her feed. They loved the horses. Sometimes when all three were in the pasture, Pistol and Haddie would bark and start chasing them. All of them would run together until Red got tired. There was no getting him to go when he'd had enough. He was like a mule that way. Dandy and Thunder Cloud would stop and stomp around and then chase the dogs out of the pasture back toward the house. On this sunny, cloudless day, Christie would definitely pasture them.

Greg got up and put on clean jeans. That in itself was amazing. He didn't bathe of course. That would have been too much work. As he descended the stairs, Greg fished a small bundle of bills out of his back pocket and counted out ten twenty-dollar bills, one for almost every step, "Here’s two