Slow down. I haven’t promised anything yet. You do owe me and the ranch something, you know.”
“Everything,” he said fervently. “Everything!”
“That’s right,” his father said, more grimly, “and don’t you forget it. First of all, you owe me an apology for not coming to me with this, first thing, instead of relying on a couple of women to do your work for you.” He paused and snorted. “That mousy little Tillson woman! She got you into this!”
“Don’t you hurt Miss Tillson!” Tay cried in sudden alarm. “Don’t you and your old school board do anything to Miss Tillson! She’s a fine lady! Don’t you hurt Miss Tillson!”
“I’m not going to ‘hurt Miss Tillson’!” his father said grumpily. “Probably wind up giving her a raise, when all is said and done, for helping my son discover what he really wants to do. That’s the tough kind of old son of a bitch I am. But that doesn’t make me any happier that you didn’t come to me first. Why didn’t you?”
“Well …” He paused and drew a deep breath, because he knew this would hurt, and probably terribly; but even at eighteen he realized that life does these things, inevitably. “Well, Dad—because I’m afraid of you. Anne and Carl are afraid of you, too. All of your kids are afraid of you. We love you, but we’re—we’re—just—afraid, I guess.”
Then there was a silence, a very long silence, during which he did not dare look at the massive figure looming beside him. Somehow it did not look quite so massive anymore; and when a strangled, savagely suppressed sound burst from it for a moment, he realized with a sort of horror that his father was actually crying. To his great relief it did not last more than a minute or two; after which the world was back in place.
“Well,” Frank Barbour said in a stifled voice, blowing his nose vigorously, “you know that isn’t what I ever intended.” His voice grew stronger and he kicked the earth with a sudden savagery. In some instinctive way his son knew it was far from the first time. “I’ve fought this earth all my life,” he said. “Sometimes it’s been easy, sometimes it’s been hard. Sometimes I’ve licked it, other times it’s licked me. But the war never stops. Nature never gives up. You have to keep after her all the time. Maybe that’s why some of us ranch types get a little tough, sometimes. Maybe that’s why we scare the people we love. Maybe that’s why”—his voice trembled again and threatened to stop, but after a moment he went on as calmly as ever—“maybe that’s why it’s not so easy to see a son of mine, my oldest son, on whom I have always set my hopes, decide he’s going to give up the battle and go somewhere else.”
“That isn’t fair,” Tay said, quietly and more maturely now, fortified by the knowledge that his father knew it wasn’t fair. “I’m not giving up the battle, and I’ll never be far away. You know that Carl and Anne both want to stay on the ranch, and when they get married, Carl will get a lot of help from Anne’s husband—”
“Johnny Gonzales!” his father said in a strangled tone. “At sixteen, she thinks she wants to marry Johnny Gonzales! That— ”
“Yes,” Tay said, without giving an inch. “And that’s great too. He’s a great guy and Carl and I want him in the family as much as she does. Things are changing, Dad. We need new blood in the family. And he loves the ranch as much as you and I do. After all, he’s grown up here almost as much as we have.”
“That’s the trouble,” his father growled. “If I’d only known what was going to happen—”
“You still would have hired Martin, because he’s the best foreman in the valley. And you still would have got his son along with him. And Anne would still have done what she’s going to do. So why make it tough for everybody?”
“Isn’t nature enough?” his father asked in a half-wry, half-bitter tone. “Do I have to fight my own
“Everything,” he said fervently. “Everything!”
“That’s right,” his father said, more grimly, “and don’t you forget it. First of all, you owe me an apology for not coming to me with this, first thing, instead of relying on a couple of women to do your work for you.” He paused and snorted. “That mousy little Tillson woman! She got you into this!”
“Don’t you hurt Miss Tillson!” Tay cried in sudden alarm. “Don’t you and your old school board do anything to Miss Tillson! She’s a fine lady! Don’t you hurt Miss Tillson!”
“I’m not going to ‘hurt Miss Tillson’!” his father said grumpily. “Probably wind up giving her a raise, when all is said and done, for helping my son discover what he really wants to do. That’s the tough kind of old son of a bitch I am. But that doesn’t make me any happier that you didn’t come to me first. Why didn’t you?”
“Well …” He paused and drew a deep breath, because he knew this would hurt, and probably terribly; but even at eighteen he realized that life does these things, inevitably. “Well, Dad—because I’m afraid of you. Anne and Carl are afraid of you, too. All of your kids are afraid of you. We love you, but we’re—we’re—just—afraid, I guess.”
Then there was a silence, a very long silence, during which he did not dare look at the massive figure looming beside him. Somehow it did not look quite so massive anymore; and when a strangled, savagely suppressed sound burst from it for a moment, he realized with a sort of horror that his father was actually crying. To his great relief it did not last more than a minute or two; after which the world was back in place.
“Well,” Frank Barbour said in a stifled voice, blowing his nose vigorously, “you know that isn’t what I ever intended.” His voice grew stronger and he kicked the earth with a sudden savagery. In some instinctive way his son knew it was far from the first time. “I’ve fought this earth all my life,” he said. “Sometimes it’s been easy, sometimes it’s been hard. Sometimes I’ve licked it, other times it’s licked me. But the war never stops. Nature never gives up. You have to keep after her all the time. Maybe that’s why some of us ranch types get a little tough, sometimes. Maybe that’s why we scare the people we love. Maybe that’s why”—his voice trembled again and threatened to stop, but after a moment he went on as calmly as ever—“maybe that’s why it’s not so easy to see a son of mine, my oldest son, on whom I have always set my hopes, decide he’s going to give up the battle and go somewhere else.”
“That isn’t fair,” Tay said, quietly and more maturely now, fortified by the knowledge that his father knew it wasn’t fair. “I’m not giving up the battle, and I’ll never be far away. You know that Carl and Anne both want to stay on the ranch, and when they get married, Carl will get a lot of help from Anne’s husband—”
“Johnny Gonzales!” his father said in a strangled tone. “At sixteen, she thinks she wants to marry Johnny Gonzales! That— ”
“Yes,” Tay said, without giving an inch. “And that’s great too. He’s a great guy and Carl and I want him in the family as much as she does. Things are changing, Dad. We need new blood in the family. And he loves the ranch as much as you and I do. After all, he’s grown up here almost as much as we have.”
“That’s the trouble,” his father growled. “If I’d only known what was going to happen—”
“You still would have hired Martin, because he’s the best foreman in the valley. And you still would have got his son along with him. And Anne would still have done what she’s going to do. So why make it tough for everybody?”
“Isn’t nature enough?” his father asked in a half-wry, half-bitter tone. “Do I have to fight my own
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