Read Online Montana 1948 by Larry Watson - Free Book Online Page A

ranch owner best—white Western shirt and string tie, whipcord trousers, and the boots that were handmade in Texas. He was alone, and while we got out of the car he watched us as impassively as he would strangers.
He had his hands thrust in his back pockets, and his big belly stuck out like a stuffed sack of grain. His legs were spread wide, as if he were bracing himself. He wore his white hair longer than most men—over the tops of his ears, curling over his shirt collar, and with bushy sideburns almost to his jowls. As he stood there the wind lifted his hair and made his large head seem even larger.
    It was the first time I had seen Grandpa Hayden since I heard about Uncle Frank, and when I saw him towering there like a thundercloud I thought, he won’t let anything happen to his beloved son. He won’t. But what if it’s his other son who’s trying to do something....
    â€œCan I go down to the stable?” I asked.
    â€œYou certainly may not,” my mother said. “You come in first and greet your grandparents and find out how long until dinner.”
    My mother lifted a cake pan from the front seat. When he saw it, Grandpa Hayden said in his booming voice, “What have you got in there? Damn it, Enid said you didn’t have to bring a thing.”
    â€œHello, Julian,” my mother said as she stepped onto the porch. “I thought you liked chocolate cake.”
    Grandfather took the pan from her. “Don’t even take it in there. Hell, they don’t have to know about it. I’ll take care of it myself.”
    â€œWhat are you doing out here, Pop?” asked my father. “Acting as the official welcoming committee?”
    â€œCame out here to fart. I had sausage for breakfast, and
I’m not going to stay in the house any longer and squeeze ‘em in. Can’t do it.”
    My mother took the cake pan back and went into the house. She hated talk about bodily functions even more than she hated swearing. Both were specialties of my grandfather.
    My father took up a position at the porch rail next to Grandfather. “That wind’s something,” my father said.
    â€œIf you don’t like wind,” Grandfather replied, “you don’t like Montana. Because it blows here 360 days a year. Better get used to it.”
    That was another of my grandfather’s specialties—turning casual remarks so they became opportunities for him to pass on his judgments or browbeating opinions. I was about to go when my father turned around, stared at the house, and asked softly, “Pop, where’s Frank?”
    â€œHe’s in there poking and twisting your mother’s shoulders. Trying to figure out if she’s got bursitis. Hell, I know she’s got bursitis.”
    â€œCan I ask you something, Pop?”
    I had my hand on the handle of the screen door while my father watched me, waiting for me to go in before he continued. I went in the house but stayed right by the door so I could hear what my father said.
    â€œIt’s about Frank....”
    Yes, tell him, I thought. Tell Grandfather. Tell him, and he’ll take care of everything. He’ll grab Uncle Frank by the shoulders and shake him so hard his bones will clatter like castanets. He’ll shake him up and shout in Frank’s face that
he’d better straighten up and fly right or there’ll be hell to pay. And because it’s Grandfather, that will be the end of it. Frank would never touch a woman like that again. Tell him.
    My father cleared his throat. “About him and Gloria not having kids.... You’ve got to go easy on that, Pop. They want kids. They’re trying.”
    â€œYou know that, do you? Frank tell you that?”
    â€œNot right out, but—”
    â€œThey sure as hell look healthy. Glo might be tiny but she’s got enough tit for twins. What’s the problem? He’s a goddamn doctor. He ought to be able to figure it