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

out.”
    â€œPop. Listen to yourself.”
    My grandfather’s boot heels thunked on the porch planks. “Your mother and I thought we’d have more to show than the one grandchild. Nothing against Davy. But Christ—just the one? From both of you?”
    â€œYou know what she went through with David. After that we decided—”
    â€œâ€”and white,” Grandfather interrupted. “We want them white.”
    The silence was so sudden and complete I thought at first that they saw me and that was why they quit talking. But I didn’t move; if I did they’d see me for sure.
    My father said something I barely heard: “What do you mean by that?”
    Grandfather laughed a deep, breathy cuh-cuh-cuh that sounded like half cough and half laugh. “Come on, Wesley. Come on, boy. You know Frank’s always been partial to red
meat. He couldn’t have been any older than Davy when Bud caught him down in the stable with that little Indian girl. Bud said to me, ‘Mr. Hayden, you better have a talk with that boy. He had that little squaw down on her hands and knees. He’s been learnin’ from watching the dogs and the horses and the bulls.’ I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t some young ones out on the reservation who look a lot like your brother.”
    One of them approached the screen door, and I quickly slipped away from my hiding post and into the living room. I picked up the first thing at hand—a cigarette lighter that looked like a derringer—and began to squeeze the trigger over and over, each time scraping the flint and throwing up a small, pungent flame. I tried to make my concentration on the lighter seem so total that no one would suspect me of eavesdropping.
    It was my father coming through the door, and as he did he said over his shoulder to Grandfather, “I suspect you might be right on that.” To me he said, “Put that down, David. It’s not a toy.”
    It was the second time I had heard my grandfather say something about my uncle and Indian girls. . . .

    Neither my father nor my uncle married women from Bentrock, or from Montana, for that matter. (That was probably another reason for people to resent the Haydens. I could imagine someone from town saying, “Weren’t any of the local girls good enough for the Hayden boys?”) My mother, as I
mentioned, was from North Dakota, and Gloria was from Minnesota. My father met my mother while he was in law school, and Frank met Gloria while he was in medical school at the University of Minnesota. My parents were married soon after they met; Frank and Gloria, however, had an on-again, off-again romance for years.
    They were finally married in Minneapolis, Gloria’s home-town. This was during the war, and Frank was home on leave. The wedding took place right after Christmas, and it was a small, quiet affair, with only a few friends and family in attendance. Grandfather paid for all of us to travel by train to the wedding and to stay in a hotel in Minneapolis. It was the first time I was on a train and the first time I stayed in a hotel.
    The night before the wedding my father, Grandfather, Uncle Frank, an old college friend of his, and two of Gloria’s brothers went out together for Frank’s bachelor party.
    They didn’t return to the hotel until quite late. I was already asleep, but I woke up when my father came in. He was drunk—which made another first for me. I had never seen my father take more than one drink. I lay quietly in bed while my mother helped my father undress. She also tried to keep him quiet, but it was no use; he was too drunk and too excited to keep his voice low.
    â€œYou should have seen it, Gail,” he said. “By God, it was something. This Minneapolis big shot, this city boy, wouldn’t let up. Kept saying to Pop, ‘Mighty fine boots. Mighty fine. Just hope you’re not tracking in any cow shit with