Salt of the Earth

By Travis Gibson

In this sequel to the novel, Southern Gospel, the residents of Truman County are forced to deal with the fallout from a sensational murder. The fact that the victim is one of the most prominent citizens of the county is shocking enough but when an arrest is made for the crime, its an even bigger surprise. As is to be expected, speculation abounds concerning motive and method. A wide variety of the county population, ranging from teenagers to senior citizens, becomes involved in the investigation and subsequent trial which is not a typical one even by Truman County standards. Against this background, Old Man Teke Thomas and Vern L. Upshaw two well-known Truman County men - are forced to deal with problems of their own, problems that in their own way will have great effects on the general welfare of Truman County. And, as was shown in Southern Gospel, Old Man Teke and Vern L. have their own unique approaches to the solutions of those problems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 24, 2006
• ISBN: 9781477177921

Travis Gibson

Travis Gibson is a native Texan.. He is the author of five other novels.

Book preview

Salt of the Earth

Travis Gibson

Copyright © 2006 by Travis Gibson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

PART ONE JUNE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

PART TWO JULY

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

PART THREE AUGUST

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

PART FOUR SEPTEMBER

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

AFTERWORD

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

For

Marc and Amy

Other books by Travis Gibson

Southern Gospel

Pearline’s Pretty Good Year

PROLOGUE

One evening toward the middle of September, Red Schofield stepped out onto the porch of the caretaker’s house as the sound of the lightning flash faded away toward the stand of pine trees behind the cemetery. He shook his head and tried to focus on his watch. Seven p.m. and already nearly pitch dark. He must have been asleep a lot longer than he had thought. Walking to the edge of the porch, he looked to the north, watching the dark band of clouds moving slowly in his direction. Damn, J.W., he said to the Rottweiler crouched at his feet. Gonna be quite a blow, looks like. The dog made a sound—part growl, part whimper—and moved closer to Red. Never did like that stuff, did you? All that noise, all those bright lights. Big old dog like you ought not to be such a sissy. Well, you better get ready, dog. This one’s gonna be loud and messy.

Red turned and walked slowly back to the door of the little house, favoring his left leg, the dog at his heels. As he reached inside the door to grab a slicker hanging on a nail, a sharp pain surged through his left shoulder. Damn arthritis. Damn weather. Damn job. It’s always bad,J.W., he said looking down at the dog who was beginning to tremble slightly, but this kinda crap makes it a hell of a lot worse. The pain lingered and Red, forgetting about the slicker, walked back into the house and over to the little nightstand beside his bed where he had been sleeping when the lightning began. He picked up a bottle on the table and looked at it. It was about a quarter full. Damn, he said, last one, too.

Sitting on the bed, he took a big swallow from the bottle and looked out the window one more time at the clouds that were now much darker and moving much faster. He knew he ought to put on his slicker, get an umbrella and go lock the gates of the cemetery. It was his job as supervisor of the cemetery to make sure the gates were locked and the grounds secure at nightfall. Supervisor, he sneered. Hell, just a fancy name for jerk, for a flunky. I shouldn’t be here, anyway. Ought to be up in the fancy offices at the funeral home. My funeral home. Whose name’s on the sign anyway? He took another swallow from the bottle. What my uncle intended anyway. Wanted me to be the manager, just like him. Would be, too, if it hadn’t been for this arthritis crap. If I just felt better. But, no, those big wig bastards just used that as an excuse. Said I was a cripple. Bastards just wanted to get rid of me. sent me out here, tried to forget about me. Pretend I don’t exist. Poor old crippled Red. Toss him a bone! Well, just let those big wig bastards come out here tonight. Let the lightning fry their butts. Red Schofield’s not going out in this crap. He’s not a complete fool. Anyway, he said reaching for the bottle, none of those fool teenagers are gonna be joyriding through the damn cemetery in this mess. He drained the bottle, swallowed a couple of pills he had found in the drawer of the nightstand, and tossed the bottle at the dog. Get your sorry old self on over there and guard the door, you big sissy. Keep them buggers out, you hear? Lying back on the bed, Red put the blanket over his head—and then the pillow also—to muffle the sound of the thunder. In minutes he was again sound asleep.

The dog moved away from the door slightly and waited until the regular breathing of his master indicated that he was sleeping deeply. Then he crawled as close to the bed as he could and stuck his head under it. In a few minutes he was also asleep, though, not as soundly as Red. The lightning and thunder kept waking him and once, during a lull in the noise, he heard another sound, different from the rest. He pulled his head from under the bed, got up and trotted to the door intending to go outside and check out the noise. But then the rain began, huge drops at first and then a heavy pelting curtain. The dog retreated to the spot beside the bed. Whatever the noise was, it would have to wait until morning.

* * *

The sunlight streaming through the bare window beside Red’s bed woke him at 8 a.m. He coughed, turned over and reached for the bottle. Damn, he said, dog must have knocked it off. He searched the top of the nightstand for cigarettes and matches and, two smokes later, got unsteadily out of bed. Where is that dog, anyway? he said, heating water for instant coffee.

When the coffee was ready, Red took his mug and made his way outside just as the dog came bounding onto the porch barking loudly. Whoa, dog. Settle down. Cut out that crap now. Way too early for all that stuff. The dog continued to bark, running up and down the steps.

OK, then, you idiot. Let’s go see what’s got you so riled this morning. He stretched painfully and attempted to get his legs to cooperate in negotiating the steps.

As Red walked down the lane, following the excited dog toward the cemetery, he looked up at the clear, blue sky. The storm from the night before had moved through quite fast, dumping a great deal of water and downing a considerable number of limbs, but there seemed to be no real damage. And the day promised to be beautiful. Typical Truman County weather.

The dog was out of Red’s sight but he could hear him barking in the older part of the graveyard. Damn dog must have a coon treed over there, he said as he entered a section of the cemetery where the plots were much larger and better tended and the markers considerably more ornate. He rounded a turn in the gravel path, topped a small rise and saw the dog. J.W. had stopped barking. He was sitting on his haunches and staring intently at something in front of him.

Red had left his glasses back at the house so he couldn’t tell exactly what the dog was staring at but it appeared to be an object on one of the graves. Probably a big limb something blown there by the wind.

What you got there, you big idiot? Red asked as he came up even with the dog. Got you one of them storm buggers? Then he stopped short when he saw for himself the object of the dog’s attention. My, my, my, he said. Now how about that, J.W.? Just look at what the storm blew in. Man, who’d ever thought this would happen? Well, dog, we best get ourselves on back up to the house and get presentable. Looks like we gonna have ourselves some company. Probably even get our pictures in the paper. Think so? And he turned and started back up the path.

The dog continued to stare at what lay on the grave, a low, almost soundless whimper escaping from his throat.

PART ONE

JUNE

ONE

The day Old Man Teke Thomas found the body was the worst day of his life. At least it was the worst day in the last twenty or so years. And it wasn’t, as he would later tell his friend, Vern L. Upshaw, because of the weather. Nor was it because it happened to be his seventy-fifth birthday, either.

Old Man Teke was the first to admit he was a weather person. He always had been. He got it from his grandmother, he always figured. Weather just affected him. Affected his moods. Sunshine, clouds, rain, and drought—they all found a reflection in Old Man’s disposition. At some point it had become a family joke. The kids would make a big production when they were little of racing to the back door each morning and checking the weather. Then, at breakfast table, they would all have a grand time speculating about the kind of day their Paw would have. Old Man Teke would always go along with the fun. He would grouse and grump and tell the kids they didn’t know nothing from a hill of beans. He’d claim that he’d be the best daddy in the world—the best they’d ever have anyway, he’d grin—in spite of what the weather was and the only thing that ever got him out of sorts was a bunch of uppity kids who sat around the table being disrespectful to their elders and who were going to miss the school bus if they didn’t get up and get cracking with their chores. When this script was played out each morning, the kids would leave the table squealing and laughing and Old Man would sit and finish his second cup of coffee and he would steal a sheepish glance at his wife. She knew it was true, and so did he. In spite of how much he kidded with the children, it was the gospel truth. He’d always been too close to the land, he’d supposed, always depended too much on the land. Crops, cows, and cash—they were all at the mercy of what Old Man Teke called the most fickle of all of Mother Nature’s children—the weather. So, yes, he’d admit to being a weather person. He just wished Vern L. Upshaw had never found out about it. Vern L. was his best friend but it sometimes seemed he just had too much ammunition when it came to giving Old Man Teke a hard time.

But the weather wasn’t the problem that day. In fact, it was just the opposite. And that was one of the few things he could put on the balance side of the ledger for that day. It had indeed been a gorgeous day for that time of the year. The weather in Truman County could sometimes have already turned hot and dry by the second week in June, but a little cool front had moved through the county the night before and just the right amount of rain had fallen to settle the dust and drop the temperature just enough. The day had dawned bright and clear and when Old Man Teke first looked out the back window he thought that the day would just probably be a perfect one. But, of course, that was before he looked through the window the second time and saw his hired hand, Gomez, running break—neck up the path from the highway and toward the kitchen door.

As to the day being the seventy-fifth anniversary of the date of his birth, Old Man Teke made very sure that he later emphasized to Vern L. Upshaw the fact that nothing about that coincidence contributed in the least to making the day the absolute calamity it had been.

No, in fact Old Man Teke liked birthdays, especially his own. His wife, Miss Ima Grace, had a way of making real events out of birthdays and when Old Man Teke’s special day rolled around each year, she pulled out all the stops. And that one had been no exception. There had been a huge birthday lunch, all of Old Man’s favorite dishes. And there were quite a few of those. There had been a cake with seventy-five candles on it—the grandchildren had counted them to make sure—and there were presents, of course. Not that Old Man Teke put much stock in presents, but there had been a few things he had been hinting about for the past few months and evidently Miss Ima Grace had been listening. All things considered—except of course for the way Lloyd’s wife, Rue Anne, had acted—everything had gone quite well. Old Man Teke thought it was one of the best birthday parties Miss Ima Grace had ever thrown. And he made sure he told her so, too. Several times. He had learned a long time ago that, though Miss Ima Grace was unselfish and generous almost to a fault, it was a very important thing to exhibit the proper amount of appreciation. Being appropriately appreciative had gotten Old Man Teke through a lot of tough spots in a long married life and he wasn’t about to forget that even though he was seventy-five years old.

So it wasn’t the birthday. And it wasn’t his age, either. It was a fact that he was seventy-five, but he certainly wasn’t old. At least he didn’t feel old. Looking old, now that was something else. But Old Man Teke guessed he had always looked old, even as a little child. All of the grownups must have thought so, too because he’d gotten his nickname long before his tenth birthday. In fact, he clearly remembered the night when, sitting around a campfire after a long day of hunting, his old granddaddy had squinted through the smoke at him as he lay on a blanket exhausted from the day’s excitement and had drawled to the other men, Why just look at that little ol’ Teke a’layin’ over yonder on that blanket. Looks just like a little old man, don’t he? Yep, that’s what he is—Old Man Teke. And of course the name had stuck. From that time on that’s what he was called by family and friends alike. It got to the point where most people had forgotten he had another name. Old Man Teke forgot most of the time, too. Anyway, he felt that he still had a fairly long way to go as far as years were concerned. His daddy and his old granddaddy had both lived well into their nineties, so Old Man felt he had a few more summers and winters yet to go.

It wasn’t the birthday party and it wasn’t his age that had Old Man Teke so out of sorts as he walked along the creek bank late that afternoon. It was the things that had happened earlier in the day—what Gomez told him when he came flying up the path to the back door that morning and what Lloyd had informed him of later as they had walked back after taking care of that mess on the highway. And then, of course, the way Rue Anne had behaved at the party. All those things contributed to the way Old Man felt, to the black mood that had developed. But the thing that got to him the most, he supposed, was what he had been told just about an hour before he found himself walking along the creek bank. It was that little piece of information that had been the last straw; that put him in such a state that he had missed his footing and had slipped and fallen headfirst into the creek, landing squarely on top of the body thatwas floating face down next to the bank.

* * *

Senor Old Man! Senor Old Man! Gomez had been yelling as he barreled up the path toward the kitchen door that morning. Senor Old Man, come quick! Please, come look!

Now what in hell and tarnation has got into that Mexican? Old Man Teke said as he looked out the kitchen window. Then he quickly turned around to make certain he was by himself in the kitchen.

Miss Ima Grace didn’t allow any swearing. None at all. Old Man Teke wasn’t exactly sure that his wife had ever really heard any swearing, or if she would recognize the real thing if she did hear it, but he didn’t dare take any chances. Among the many things Old Man had learned early in his marriage was to curb any inclination to use anything resembling strong language. Sometimes, though, as in the case of the scene that confronted him so early that morning, it was difficult to bridle that instinct. But he was safe, Miss Ima Grace was nowhere to be seen. So he turned his attention back to the rapidly approaching hired hand.

Senor Old Man! Gomez shouted again. You got to come quick. It’s the cow!

Gomez had worked for Old Man Teke for nearly fifteen years, ever since Old Man had fallen off a tractor during hay season one year and had broken an arm. Miss Ima Grace had put her foot down and demanded that he hire some help. It’s just too much work, Old Man, she had said. Ever since the boys have been gone you’ve tried to do all of this by yourself, and it’s too much. Now, either you’re going to find somebody to help you—and I mean fulltime—or we’re going to see about getting rid of this place and moving into town. I’m not ready yet to be a widow. Old Man Teke had thought of all kinds of arguments at the time—the main ones being that the accident had just been a freak thing and that he was perfectly capable of handling the farm work and especially that if indeed they did sell the farm as Miss Ima Grace threatened, just how in thunder would they live seeing as how it would take most of any profit they would make in selling the place just to pay off the mortgage. Valid arguments, Old Man knew, but he also knew when to challenge his wife’s resolve and when not to. So, a week later he talked to Vern L. Upshaw who told him to go into town and ask a couple of fellows at the feed store about where he could find a dependable hand. The upshot was that he had hired Gomez. Adopted Gomez was more like it, Old Man often thought, because a week after Gomez was hired, Miss Ima Grace decided that it was simply foolish for Old Man to have to drive back and forth to town each day to provide transportation for the hired hand. After all, she had said, we’ve got that perfectly nice little house over by the north pasture that really needs to be lived in. So Gomez and his wife, Elena, and their four children had moved into the little house. Elena worked in town keeping house for Eunice Gray, the banker’s wife, but transportation for her was no problem. Eunice Gray was so desperate to keep Elena’s services that she sent her limo to pick Elena up and return her each day, an act that contributed greatly to Eunice’s already considerable reputation in the town for being uppity.

In the entire fifteen years Gomez had worked for him, Old Man Teke had never once regretted the decision to take on a hired hand. Gomez worked from sunup to sunset and never complained about a single thing. He was dependable and loyal and he didn’t steal. Old Man just couldn’t think of better qualities than those. There were times when he almost admitted to Miss Ima Grace that she had been right in forcing the issue on hiring some help, but so far he had been able to resist the temptation. But in those fifteen years Old Man Teke had never seen Gomez move as quickly as he did when running up the path that morning.

What on earth’s the matter, Gomez? Old Man asked, stepping out on the back porch and making sure the door didn’t slam and disturb Miss Ima Grace. She might be saying her prayers or something. Though if the noise Gomez had made caterwauling up the path hadn’t disturbed her, Old Man wasn’t sure what could.

It’s the cow, Senor Old Man! She’s dead bad, Gomez panted as he came to a stop by the porch steps.

What cow are you talkin’ about Gomez?

The new one, Senor Old Man. The one we bought last month. The one who keeps getting out of the fence,

You mean that blamed heifer got out again? After we fixed that fence again yesterday?

That is true, Senor Old Man.

"And what did you say—you were pantin’ so I couldn’t rightly hear you—did you say she was dead?

That is true also, Senor, Gomez said shaking his head. She’s lying up beside the highway.

Double damnation! said Old Man Teke. Then he quickly looked over his shoulder. He hadn’t realized how close he was standing to the open bedroom window. Well, maybe Miss Ima Grace hadn’t heard him. He looked at his watch. Maybe she was in the bathroom. Among the many fine traits the woman possessed was the fact that she was extremely regular.

Well, come on, Gomez, Old Man said walking toward his old pickup. Let’s get on up to the highway and see the damage.

Senor Old Man, it’s not a pretty sight, Gomez said jumping up into the bed of the truck.

For Golly’s Sake, Gomez, said Old Man starting the pickup, get up here in the cab.

For fifteen years Gomez had always ridden in the bed of the truck, regardless of the weather, unless Old Man had specifically asked him to get in the cab. Danged nuisance, Old Man would think every time it happened. I got more on my mind than having to worry about minding my manners with the hired help. And sometimes, if the weather wasn’t too bad and they didn’t have too far to go, he’d just let Gomez ride in the bed of the truck. Just to teach him a lesson, Old Man would say to himself. But there were times when Old Man didn’t know whether Gomez was just being overly respectful or whether he was playing some sort of game—kind of fooling with the old man.

But that time Gomez didn’t hesitate, he climbed right into the cab—Old Man could tell that the poor fellow was all shook up over the discovery—and they started driving the three hundred yards of the path to the highway.

By thunder, Gomez, said Old Man as he slowed down to dodge a pothole that was full of water from the shower the night before, you know that blasted cow cost me a dang fortune at the auction, don’t you?

Yes, I know that is the truth, Senor Old Man.

Yep, I paid a premium price for that devil. She was from good stock and was already bred, too. So we really lost two of ‘em, didn’t we?

Yes, indeed we did. And she was such a pretty cow, too.

Pretty, but stubborn. Or determined, or somethin’. I can’t for the life of me figure out how she kept gettin’ out of that pen. And not only that, she had to figure out some way to get through that other fence in order to get out on the highway. How’d she do that, Gomez?

I’m sure I don’t know, Senor, and that’s the truth.

You mean to tell me that cow was smarter than both of us? Old Man Teke asked watching Gomez’s expression in the mirror.

I don’t know. Sometimes cows is pretty smart.

Well, I don’t know either. But I do know one thing. We—you and me—have got to be a little more careful about our fences and pens. The last time this happened to me was twenty-five years ago. Big old bull—prize animal—got out and up onto the highway and got broadsided in wide open daylight by this little old lady drivin’ a Ford sedan. Old thing was nearly ninety years old. The woman, not the bull, Gomez. Had no business driving a car at all. I believe she was blind as a bat not to have seen somethin’ as big as that old bull standin’ in the middle of the highway. But it didn’t make no difference, she got banged up pretty bad and I got sued, Gomez. And I’ll tell you it like to have wiped me out financially. Lucky I didn’t have a lien on the place at the time, so I was able to get a mortgage on it. Wasn’t quite enough to pay off the damage but, fortunately, Vern L. Upshaw loaned me ten thousand dollars at hardly no interest at all, so I was able to pay the old woman. But I’ll tell you, Gomez, we had some mighty lean years around here until I was able to pay off that mortgage and that loan. You believe that?

I am sure it is the truth, Senor Old Man.

Well sure it is or I wouldn’t have told you about it. But the point is, Gomez, that I sure hope this ain’t the same kind of thing because there ain’t no way under heaven—or hell, either, for that matter—that I would ever be able to go through that again. Well, here we are, Old Man said driving the truck across the cattle guard and easing toward the right on the shoulder of the highway. Boy, ain’t that a mess.

They got out of the truck and looked at the cow lying about halfway on the shoulder of the road and partly in the ditch.

Whew, said Old Man, that’s some mess ain’t it, Gomez? Sure don’t look like no little old Ford car did this, does it?

No, Senor Old Man. It was a big truck.

That’s right. Must have been one of them eighteen wheelers that comes barreling through here at all hours going like bats out of hell on the way to the city. Dang, I’ll be glad when they finally get that interstate finished and they get all them big rigs off this road. Tell you what, Gomez, that big old truck must have clipped this old cow and knocked her clean over here into the ditch. Almost can’t see her from the highway now can you?

No, Senor Old Man. When I come out here to get your morning paper, I almost didn’t see the cow myself.

Well, I’ll tell you, Gomez, either that truck driver didn’t see that cow and didn’t realize what had happened or he was just in too big a hurry to get to the city with his load. Or maybe he didn’t have no insurance and thought we would sue him. Guess we’ll never know. But what I do know, Gomez is that I lost myself a prime cow and her calf and a pretty piece of pocket change. And on top of it all we got ourselves quite a bit of work to do before my big birthday party, don’t we?

All of that is true, Senor Old Man.

Well, we can’t stand here lettin’ the mornin’ get away. Let’s get on back up to the house and see what Miss Ima Grace’s got for breakfast. Then I got to make some phone calls and get us some help.

So they got in the pickup and drove back up to the house where Miss Ima Grace did indeed have a good breakfast waiting. But Old Man Teke didn’t enjoy the pancakes and the sausages as he normally would have.

He’d just lost some money on a sizeable investment and, birthday or no birthday, he had a funny little suspicion that the day might have somemore little surprises in store for him.

* * *

It had been quite clear to Old Man Teke that he and Gomez would need some help disposing of the cow. First, they needed some more manpower, so he called his boy, Lloyd, to come over. Lloyd and his family were coming to the birthday lunch anyway, so he might as well leave his place over on the other side of Three-Mile Hill and come on early. Billy Kyle, Old Man Teke’s grandson, had already left for his job at the feed store in town, Lloyd said, so he wouldn’t be able to help them. That disappointed Old Man. Even if it was an unpleasant set of circumstances, he still was grateful for every opportunity to spend time with Billy Kyle. It seemed like lately that their time together had been less and less and the visits had been farther and farther apart. There was a time when the little old fellow had always been underfoot, always helping Old Man with some chore or another just like his other grandson, Jay Bob, had done before he had grown up and joined the army. Now … Well, it was normal, Old Man thought, the boy was almost grown, he had other things on his mind. Couldn’t expect him just to hang around some old farm with his old grandpaw all the time. Still … But Old Man had other things to think about. Had to get that cow taken care of before the morning got too hot. He had another call to make.

Bert, Old Man said into the telephone receiver after the manager of Vern L. Upshaw’s plumbing shop had answered. Bert, this is Teke Thomas, let me speak to the boss.

He ain’t here, Mr. Thomas, Bert answered.

He ain’t there? But, Bert, this is Saturday mornin’, ain’t it? Vern L.’s always in the shop on Saturday mornin’. Most of the week he’s out with all his other business but he’s always there on Saturday mornin’.

I know he usually is, Mr. Thomas, but this morning he ain’t here. Told me yesterday he wouldn’t be here today, had something he was going to do. Him and Mrs.Upshaw.

Now what in bla… , Old Man Teke started to say and then he caught a glimpse over his shoulder of Miss Ima Grace washing the breakfast dishes at the sink. Well, Bert, this is just highly unusual. Did he say what he was going to be doing today? Do you know where I can reach him? I need to ask him a real big favor.

Well, Mr. Thomas, Bert paused for a second. I’m gonna tell you where he is since you and him is such big friends and all. But you sure can’t tell him I told you where he’s at. OK?

Oh, all right, Bert, I won’t tell him you told me. Now, where is he? I’m really in a hurry to talk to him.

Well, Mr. Thomas, you ain’t gonna be able to talk to him. And you sure as shooting ain’t gonna believe where he is. Mr. Thomas, Mr. Vern L. is on his way to the opry.

To the what? Bert, we got a bad connection here. You didn’t say ‘opry,’ did you?

That’s exactly what I said, Mr. Thomas. Mr. Vern L. and Mrs. Upshaw are right now on their way down to the city to spend the day and go to the Grand Opry. Came by about an hour ago to check on things. Boy, was he all dressed up for a Saturday morning.

But, Bert, you’ve got to be mistaken. The Grand Ole Opry ain’t in the city, it’s in Nashville, Tennessee, and as far as I know they don’t have a travelin’ show.

Now I know where the Grand Ole Opry is, Mr. Thomas. But this ain’t that. It’s the Grand Opry down in the city. The real fancy one where people get all duded up to go and hear all them fat people sing in foreign languages and stuff. Can you believe it? Can’t you just picture Mr. Vern L. there? I asked Mr. Vern L. what kind of show him and Mrs. Upshaw was going to see and he didn’t rightly know but he thought it was something about some barber or other. And I said to him, ‘Well, boss, you’re just wasting your time and money ‘cause you go to Pop’s Barber Shop ever two weeks as it is. And they always got some kind of show going on there. And he sorta looked at me funny, but I think he kind of liked what I said. You know, Mr. Thomas, sometimes you can hoorah the boss and sometimes you can’t.

Yes, Bert, I know that all right but I tell you what, I would have been a whole lot more inclined to believe it if you had told me that Vern L. was out on the lake bass fishin’ with the Pope than for you to tell me that he’s goin’ to the opry. Boy! That just beats all! Can’t wait to see how all this came about. But, listen, Bert, I’m in a pickle. I got a dead cow out here—hit by a truck—and I need a backhoe to dig a pit to bury her. Can you send somebody out pretty quick?

Sorry to hear that, Mr. Thomas. Losing cows like that is expensive, ain’t it? Let’s see. Yeah, Thomas Jackson’s in the back. He ain’t doing no big jobs this morning ‘cause Willie’s off with his bum leg. He’ll be loaded up and out your way real soon.

Obliged, Bert, Old Man Teke said as he hung up the phone.

The opry! he said to himself as he took the last sip of coffee from the cup that Miss Ima Grace was waiting to wash. Now that just beats all! Well, I knew this day had some surprises planned but there was no way I could have been ready for Vern L. Upshaw goin’ to the opry. No, sir.

Old Man, said Miss Ima Grace from the sink where she was washing his coffee cup, you shouldn’t mumble to youself like that. People hearing you will think that you’re eighty-five instead of seventy-five.

You know you’re right, Miss Ima Grace, Old Man said. That is somethin’ I need to work on. Yes, sir. When he was out the back door and about fifty feet from the porch, he added, That and about a hundredother things you’ve put on the list this month. But he said it very quietly.

* * *

After they had finished burying the cow, they walked along the fence line until they found the spot where the cow had gotten out. It was an old gate that Old Man should have taken out years before but hadn’t. He thought that he and Gomez had wired it up pretty good but, evidently, they hadn’t. How in the world that cow figured out how to get out there, I’ll never know, Old Man said after they wired the gate closed again. And it was while they were walking back to the house that Lloyd gave Old Man Teke his second shock of the day. Lloyd had suggested that they walk, so Old Man had left Gomez with Thomas Jackson to finish cleaning up and bring the truck back to the house. They’d get the tractor that had been used to drag the cow to the pit in the back pasture some time later in the day.

Beautiful day, ain’t it, Lloyd? Old Man said.

Sure is, Dad. We probably won’t have many more this cool from now on. Begins to get pretty hot around the first of July. Thought it might rain more than it did though.

Sixteenth of an inch. Just like I told your momma it would. I knew we wouldn’t get much out of it even though it looked like the makin’s of a big enough storm. But we’ve had a lot of rain durin’ the winter and the spring, so I’m hopin’ for a bumper crop of hay. You know, Lloyd, we’ve always been lucky here—us Thomases—I mean. My granddaddy, my daddy and now me. Three generations of Thomases have farmed this place. We’ve had the farm for nearly a hundred years now and it’s always been productive. Now, certainly, there were some lean years—quite a few of ‘em in fact—but us Thomases never went hungry. The farm always supported us and at times that took a lot of supportin’. There was always a passel of us. That’s what seems so funny about the place now, I think. There’s so few of us here. Well, there’s hardly any of us Thomases here. The Mexicans don’t really count. They’re good people but they ain’t family. Look over yonder by the pond, Lloyd, just the other side of them two heifers. See them deer? Now, ain’t that a pretty sight? Always did love to see them deer feedin’ with the cows. Lots of fellows around here don’t like to have deer in their pastures but it never bothered me none. Like to have them about. Let’s stop here a minute and watch ‘em.

They stood in the shade of a little oak tree for a few minutes and watched the deer grazing with the cattle. Old Man Teke had quit hunting deer when he had gotten old enough to tell his daddy that he didn’t see much sport or sense in hunting when they raised enough beef and pork on the farm to take care of their needs. The old man hadn’t liked what the boy had said but he never insisted that he join in the family hunts after that. And Old Man hadn’t taught his boys to hunt either. I ain’t mad at ‘em, he would tell the boys. They would go out into the woods and track deer and watch them but they never took guns—a fact that the boys made sure they never mentioned at the barber shop, the feed store or Truman County High School.

Well, we better move on. Your momma’s gonna be waitin’ for us up at the house. But, back to what I was sayin’ while ago. This old place is still in good shape and still real productive. Just needs people on it. I suspect it won’t be too many years now—though I wouldn’t say this to your momma—that I’m gonna have to hang it up and quit messin’ with all of this. Trouble like that cow this mornin’, I just don’t take as easy as I used to. So, I imagine it won’t be too long till you’ll want to be thinkin’ about movin’ your family over here. You know, me and Miss Ima Grace could probably keep on livin’ in the old house and we could build you a new one. Lord knows we’ve got the land. And I’m sure Rue Anne would like somethin’ a little more modern. The place you got could be leased out. Yep, it’ll be nice to have this farm filled up with Thomases again.

Well, Dad, that’s something I have to talk to you about. We—that is, Rue Anne and I—have been thinking that we might do something different.

What you mean, ‘somethin’ different’?

Well, we might not want to move over to the farm. We may want to move but it might be to someplace else. Away from Truman County.

Old Man Teke stopped and turned around to look at his son.

Lloyd, what are you gettin’ at? Why on earth would you be thinkin’ about leavin’ Truman County? Just where in the world would you be thinkin’ about goin’?

Lloyd hesitated. He had known it would be extremely difficult to break the news to his father. But he felt—and Rue Anne had helped to convince him—that he could do it, that he had to do it. But now that the time had arrived, he realized it was going to be much harder than he had anticipated. He found it hard to look directly at his father. It seemed that every word he was saying was attacking the old man, assaulting him in ways Lloyd could only suspect.

Well, Dad, the city.

The what? Old Man Teke had never felt more like swearing in his life, but Miss Ima Grace had convinced him years ago that it would be entirely wrong to cuss in front of the boys. I’ve made a pretty good gentleman out of you, she always said, but how can we expect the boys to grow up to be gentlemen also if their father doesn’t set the example? So his boys had never heard him swear, though there had been times when he felt that, in spite of all of Miss Ima Grace’s admonitions, a good old ‘goddamn’ would sure help the situation. And this was one of them. But he held back. Lloyd, I’ve always had great respect for your reasonin’ abilities. I know you’re a whole heck of a lot smarter than the old man who’s standin’ here in front of you. But, son, I’ve got to ask you, have you taken complete leave of your senses?

No, Dad, I don’t think so. At least, I hope I haven’t. But I guess we’ll see later. You see, Dad, we—Rue Anne and I—we think that we need to make a change. We feel there are some opportunities we need to look at. And we feel that there are more of those opportunities outside of Truman County.

What kind of opportunities are you talkin’ about?

Well, different kinds, but mainly financial ones. It takes a lot of money to provide for a family these days, to provide the kind of education kids need.

You’ve got a good job down at the mill. I always thought, though I didn’t rightly know exactly how much, that you made a pretty decent livin’.

Dad, I’ve been at that mill over twenty years and, even though it’s been a good job, I’ve gone as far as I can go there. The Gray family owns the whole thing, lock, stock and barrel. And only Grays are going to have any of the management positions. I can stay at that mill for the next twenty years and I will not have advanced any farther than where I am now.

That may be true, boy. But you’ve got security. That means a lot these days. You know them Republicans is still in office.

Dad, at this point in my life I have to think about some things other than just security. What good is it going to do me if I have a job but not enough money to send Billy Kyle to the kind of school he needs to go to? And to educate the girls. You know, we missed the boat on Jay Bob. He came out of Truman County High School without any real preparation for anything except the army. And even if he had been qualified we couldn’t have afforded to send him to a college.

Why, there’s a perfectly good college right here in Truman County.

Dad, it’s a junior college.

Well, it was good enough for you and your sister.

Maybe so, at the time. But all we took were the vocational courses. This is a different world, Dad. Kids need all the preparation they can get. And giving them the competitive edge these days costs money. More money than I’ll ever make at the mill.

But, boy, what in the ever-lovin’ world would you do in the city? There ain’t no saw mills down there. Least-ways none that I know of.

I wouldn’t work at a saw mill, Dad. I’m thinking of going into business. With … well, with Butler.

Old Man Teke had been chewing on a stalk of grass as they neared the house. At Lloyd’s last words he violently spat the grass out of his mouth and turned to face his son once more. Butler? Goin’ into business with Butler? I’m sorry to have to say this, boy, but I think I’m gonna have to take back what I said earlier about you havin’ good sense.

Now, Dad, I know you don’t have a real high opinion of Butler, but I don’t think you’ve ever really been fair in your judgment of him.

I ain’t had to be fair—or judge, either, as far as that’s concerned. All I’ve had to do is sit back and watch.

"I admit that Butler wasn’t very successful when he lived here in Truman County but when he moved down to the city he got it all together. He’s doing very well now, and he’s offered me an opportunity that I really don’t think I should turn down. And, Dad, if the truth’s really known, isn’t most of your objection to Butler based on the fact that he’s Rue Anne’s brother?

Well, I ain’t gonna lie to you, boy, you know I ain’t never had a high opinion of Rue Anne’s family. All them Watkinses is sorry—’cept for poor old Miss Deelie, of course. But it’s more than that. Just what kind of business is Butler into down in the city anyway?

Dad, as much as you might not want to admit it, Butler is a very smart man. In school he was a real math whiz. He might have been short on some other qualities, but nobody could fault him for brains. When he moved on to the city, he took some computer courses at the college down there and then he got a job selling and servicing computer equipment. Now he thinks he wants to open his own business. He wants to sell hardware but he also wants to service the equipment and develop programs.

A hardware store in the city! Them folks don’t have no real need for hardware. Anyways most of them would buy that stuff at Wal-Mart or them other discount stores. And, also, I don’t think Butler would know a shovel from a chain saw anyway. Them Watkinses never was much for manual labor.

Dad, not that kind of hardware. Computer hardware.

What in the world is that?

Essentially it’s all the machinery that’s involved in computers as opposed to software, which is the computer programs, basically.

’Course I don’t know nothin’ about computers except for the fact that everybody seems to blame everythin’ that goes wrong these days on ‘em. If they’re so all-fired great, why do they make so many mistakes? But that’s beside the point. Just what would you be doin’ with Butler?

The same thing he’s doing. Selling and servicing. I’ve taken all the computer courses offered here at the junior college so I feel I have almost as good a background as Butler.

When did you take any computer courses?

At night for the last two years, Dad.

I sure didn’t know nothin’ about that. Why didn’t you ever tell me that?

It just never came up, Dad. And besides—I don’t know—I just sorta didn’t know what I was ever going to be able to do with it anyway. So I just didn’t talk about it.

But, Lloyd, I’ve got to ask you just one more thing. How in the world could you stand workin’ for Butler?

That’s another point, Dad. I won’t exactly be working for Butler, I’ll be working with him. We’re going to be partners in the business. I’ll be investing in it.

Where are you goin’ to get the money to invest?

I have some money, Dad. Rue Anne and I have been able to save a little along. And I think we have a buyer for the place.

The place? What do you mean? You ain’t taken complete leave of your senses, have you?

Dad, we don’t farm the place. I don’t have time. If we sell it at a good price we’ll have enough to invest in the business and to find a house in the city, too.

Boy, you can’t sell that farm. That was your momma’s daddy’s place. Miss Ima Grace will never stand for it.

Momma deeded the farm to me at the same time she gave Grandmaw’s old house in town to Gracie. Right after Teke, Jr., died. And there were no strings attached. I’m sure she wants me to do what I think is best with the place.

And who’s this buyer you think you got lined up?

Rue Anne’s Uncle Dewey.

Dewey Watkins? Now what on earth would Dewey Watkins want with that farm and, more important, just where in tarnation would old Dewey ever come up with the money to buy it? Why, he’s just like the rest of ‘em, never had a pot to … You sure you ain’t gettin’ taken by him, boy?

Uncle Dewey has already given us the earnest money and Mr. Gray at the bank says there’ll be no problem with a loan. The fact that Uncle Dewey is a County Commissioner helped a lot.

Yeah, and the sun’s probably goin’ to come up in the West tomorrow mornin’, too. Lord, what is this world comin’ to when the likes of Dewey Watkins can get loaned enough money to buy a place like that? And him bein’ a County Commissioner don’t mean nothin’. Them people who put him in office will let him stay there just as long as he says ‘Yes, sir,’ and does exactly what he’s told to do. And Old Gray’s probably just hopin’ he’ll default on the loan and the bank’ll get it. That’s a prime piece of land. But, tell me this, boy, what happens if your big city plans go bust? What if it don’t work out and you have to move back here? Where’ll you live then? If you keep the place you’ll at least have a home to fall back on.

Dad, I am going to do my level best to make sure that the business succeeds so we won’t have to face what you just described. But, if it doesn’t work out, we can do what you talked about earlier. We can just pack up and move back to Truman County and build us a house here on the farm. That is, if you’ll still have us.

"Of course. You’ll always be welcome here, Lloyd. It’s your home. But why put yourself and them kids through all this? Especially Billy

Kyle. He’s just got one more year of high school. Wouldn’t it be better for him to finish here?"

Rue Anne and I feel that, with Billy’s good grades, all he needs is to be able to graduate from a larger high school—one with a better academic record than Truman County High—and he’ll be in a better position to get accepted at one of the good colleges. Why, he might even get a scholarship. As I said earlier, we didn’t do it right where Jay Bob was concerned.

Old Man Teke thought for a minute—and he almost caught himself, almost listened to his better judgment—and then he said, This ain’t you at all is it, Lloyd?

What do you mean, Dad?

"I mean that all of this is her. Rue Anne. She’s always had them big ideas. Just like all them Watkinses. She’s never been satisfied with what you’ve been able to provide. And now she’s talked you into this fool notion. Sell your farm for a song to that sorry Dewey. Move to the city. Put all your money into some fool scheme of Butler’s. Boy, don’t let that woman talk you into makin’ a mistake you’ll regret the rest of your life. It’ll wipe you