Old Enough | Chapter 4

Chapter 4
FAIRWELL WHITETAIL FARMS OPEN HOUSE
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The marshal crossed the highway and turned east onto Route ZZY. A turkey trotted ahead of them on the River side of the road and flew off into the brush. Neal watched in the driver's mirror. This is a good trick for when you can't see where you're going, which happens if you're stuck between tall people who take up all the room and keep you from looking out the window. The orange and black day lilies reminded him of Halloween, his least favorite holiday in the world. Aunt Ida says when she was a girl there were no day lilies in Salt Lick County. Mariah says Halloween or All Hallows Eve has been around longer than Christmas. Well, older isn't necessarily better. You can figure that out for yourself and you might have to if you're a kid because you will not hear grown-ups saying it a lot. No, you will not.

The marshal turned south on the paved driveway leading to the Fairwell mansion. The woods got thicker and took over and made it dark inside the van. Also, maybe crab isn't fish but you wouldn't get that answer right on a vocabulary test if you just went by smell. Leaning forward as best he could, Neal twisted his nose to the left for less of it. For sure the marshal wouldn't hurry. He never does with Neal's mother. He likes to string out time with her but not quiet time. He doesn't like to spend quiet time with anyone. Pretty soon he'll talk if no one else does because he'd rather have noise when people get together. He doesn't care how many people or what they talk about: love stuff, the economy, war, the River, crops, the weather.

"Must be 1,000 new shoots set out or that's my guess. Delaney must be doing the work under Tom's direction with the Easilys helping -- I for one am impressed."

The marshal shook his foxy head. "Well, aren't you all?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer or Neal would have given him one because when somebody praises your hero, you should show them you're glad and probably they'll do it again. "Planting trees is no picnic," the marshal went on. "Planting trees is hard work! Doesn't appear to be a single shoot that isn't professionally wrapped and looking chipper. Personally, I don't credence the so-called second sight any more than I believe the twin brother is a monster. Delaney had smart hunches about the River in '92. Heck, he's a smart boy. My point is he works hard too and that's good for everybody. Of course, I'm reminded of Bud Easily and Agent Edruns-Striker here. We're long on smart hardworking boys in these parts -- that certainly is clear."

Neal's mother put her head on the marshal's shoulder and he lifted her hand and kissed it. Neal looked away from the gushy stuff but he felt good. You want people to say cool things about your hero and if they say cool things about you too, it's double good. This is a fact. Too bad he had no white oak tree for an experiment. How do you wrap wire without hurting the tree? How long does it take if you wrap fast? How long does it take to wrap 1,000 trees? Also, how old is a tree when you take your cutters and snip off the wire? Stretching his neck and tugging on the punkus tie, he twisted ever more forward, leaning towards his mother and away from you know what. Aunt Ida had laid her bible on top of the box so she could twiddle. When she isn't working for her keep, she twiddles her thumbs. She can't help it. The marshal's legs jump up and down. He can't help it either. Mariah says their nerves travel far and deep in their unique systems for one short breather.

"And will we arrive before the new moon?" she asked. Okay, what was her problem? Maybe she didn't want to go to the Open House. Their mother can get you to do things you hate and really don't want to do. You can argue and explain your side all you like and she listens to what you have to say but her choice turns out to be your choice in the end. His sister sounded like maybe this had happened.

They pulled into the driveway and there was Lewis N. Clark's Caddy parked across the brick walk. "Oh, how I wish that man would finish his business and get on back to where he belongs," Aunt Ida said and twiddled faster. Neal's mother was surprised at her lack of charity. Mariah growled and said she shouldn't be, given the dissonance he causes. Their mother rubbed her neck, which nobody likes to see. Frowning, the marshal drove behind the mansion to stop beneath an elm tree.

They stayed in the van when they saw Ham running from Mrs. Carver. "Oh, dear," said Aunt Ida. Grown-ups worry about how to behave around Ham. He's different and then there's his name to get used to. Neal's middle name might be distant on his mother's side but he'd asked Aunt Ida and Ham is definitely named for the man in the museum picture who is about to cut open the dead man while the other men watch. Dr. Tempest M. C. K. Preacham was the great-great-grandfather of Ham and Delaney because he was their great-grandmother's father. Actually, he is even though he's dead now too. If you see a picture of him, you're supposed to say he is Mrs. Fairwell's father and he is the twins' great-great-grandfather. Weird! The marshal doesn't know where Delaney got his name. Anyhow, grown-ups worry too much about how to act with Ham. Ham's okay. Neal and Pete and Delaney always call him Ham not Preacham. This helps some. Even when your parents give you a scary, stupid name, there are ways to make up for it so you don't feel totally dumb.

The seatbelt cut into Neal while he wondered what would happen next. Then Ham quit running and Mrs. Carver caught up to him. She held onto his hands. Ham has giant hands with long fingers. Aunt Ida says the Lord intended him to play music. He cocked his head like he could hear something but lots of times Ham hears what no one else hears and sees what no one else sees and forgets to keep it to himself. You can get in big trouble talking about things only you see and hear. Ham shook his head and pulled away from Mrs. Carver. She kept following but didn't hurry. Ham waved his arms and ran for the barn door. His grandfather's Newfoundland dogs, Homer and Mick, stood in front of their houses just west of the barn. They greeted him and turned and walked on either side of him with big smiles on their big faces. Ham smiled too. So did Neal. It's easy to smile when happiness is real.

The marshal rolled down his window. "Anything we can do, Elizabeth?" he asked with his fox face all crinkly and friendly. Otherwise, nobody talked in the Odyssey but the open window helped for sure because maybe the engine was running and the air conditioner blowing but crab can win out every time over any old AC.

"No, you all go on up to the house. I expect Mr. Sykeston will be here soon. I need the moment and space. Been cooking too long for too many and don't mind flat out telling the truth to friends so there you are. Is that your deviled crab, Aunt Ida? Leave it in the kitchen. I'll be in directly to set it out. You all go on now. We'll be fine. Won't we, Preacham?" Mrs. Carver stood with her hands on her hips and looked off towards the River. Her face is dark and like the face on the Indian Head Penny that the US government stopped making in 1909 or maybe she looks more like Sacajawea with her baby on the gold dollar that the government wants to replace with presidents' pictures or so says Iris Kelly. Also, Iris says this should be against the law but Iris collects coins and you can bet she's in it for the money.

"My stars, would you look?" said Mrs. Carver pointing to her feet. She didn't have on walking shoes, just house slippers. "Preacham, you quit fooling around and come inside and sit yourself down and eat something. The sun is straight up and I have a world of things to tend to and no time to chase after you." Ham must have heard her about the sun. He craned his neck and stared right at it as if he didn't care that it could blind him. The dogs wagged their tails. The dogs did not stare at the sun because animals don't hurt themselves on purpose unless they're in a fight for territory or trying to escape from traps; traps for animals are like human jails.

"Mr. Sykeston will be upset with us. Stop staring at the sun and come in and eat before we tackle another of the good Lord's days. Well, and would you all look there?" This time when Ham looked at the River everyone in the van looked too. If someone asks you nicely to look and looking won't make you blind, you usually do.

"Fog soon." Mrs. Carver sounded like she knew and Neal wondered how she knew.

Now the River was up for the summer in a regular year. What else? Well, the River rises and falls with the seasons unless there's too much or too little rainfall which happens plenty. Probably things look totally different in a flood or drought. Neal hasn't been in either so he's not sure. Also, that's okay. Anyhow, during a flood he knows you don't have the time to stand around and watch the River. You're too busy moving yourself and your stuff to higher ground. In a drought you might need to drive to the city for water but in a flood you need to take care you don't drown.

Delaney, Nurse Comfort and a little man with a limp came from behind the mansion. The three of them headed for Ham and the dogs. Like Ham, Delaney wore bib overalls and no T-shirt. Didn't he have to dress for the occasion? Oh, well. The twins are supposed to be identical but Delaney works hard outdoors like Neal and Bud so he's bigger. Actually, you can grow big working hard indoors where your skin doesn't burn brown and your hair doesn't burn white. Delaney doesn't get butches. Bud and Ham do but Delaney doesn't -- no way. Neal won't some day.

"Should we offer assistance?" asked the marshal, his foxy face turning red.

"I think Elizabeth has plenty of assistance," Neal's mother answered.

"Crab ought to be served fresh and hot," said Aunt Ida, with bible and box to go.

"So that's Horace Sykeston IV," said Mariah; in a softer voice she said, "hello!"

Look out! Ham was in serious trouble. He bobbed his head and flapped his arms. Then he moved forward and backward and the dogs moved, too, with their long tongues dragging. Ham needed help so his legs would behave but dogs don't know how to give this kind of help. Well, maybe guide dogs for blind people do but Ham can see okay. He didn't need to know where not to walk. He needed to know how to move his legs right. Anyhow, the Newfies couldn't help. They could only hang with him. Finally Delaney and Mrs. Carver each took a hand and led Ham away. Nurse Comfort followed with Mr. Sykeston who Neal figured had to be the little man with the limp. In the van everyone stared after Ham and everyone felt sorry for him.

"Poor boy," said the marshal and started opening doors. He works hard on his manners. Aunt Ida and Neal's mother did what they were supposed to do but Mariah jumped out before he could around get to her. "Give it a rest, please," she said. "Hustle your buns," she told Neal when she was the whole reason he'd waited.

He unbuckled and climbed down and stuck out his tongue. He just hopes when he grows up he doesn't meet too many ladies or women or whatever with attitudes like his sister. If you're the guy, how can you know how to behave? What if they do want you to open the door? So far, it looks like some of them will and some of them won't. As Mr. Watch would say, "you're dinged if you do and dinged if you don't!"

His sister was off and running now. Without knocking, she chased all those people right into the mansion. There were kids in the back yard but she dragged Neal through the door so fast he couldn't see who they were. His mother, Aunt Ida and the marshal crowded in next and stood in a corner watching Ham like everyone in the kitchen except Mariah and Neal. Mariah was watching Mr. Sykeston and Neal was watching everyone. Ham sat at a desk made so he wouldn't hurt himself. He wasn't talking about what only he'd heard or seen. Maybe he was learning not to do this. Delaney, Mr. Sykeston and Nurse Comfort sat at a round table and watched him. Delaney ate cheesy grits non-stop but this didn't keep him from watching his twin. Wur! If people didn't always watch him, wouldn't Ham be much happier?

Mrs. Carver introduced Mr. Sykeston. He nodded but didn't speak. He just watched Ham. Too bad, Mariah! Mrs. Carver said company food was in the dining room but first go to the front porch and see Tom Jasper as he particularly wanted to talk to the marshal. She served Ham cheesy grits and fried ham and brought buttered toast covered with apple butter, Neal's favorite. She poured homemade tomato juice out of a crock into a large plastic cup. Then she cut Ham's meat and took away the knife and fork. But he had a soupspoon and his fingers. All this was okay and he said so, "that's okay and that's okay and that's okay and that's okay."

"I'm taking this to your great-grandmother," she said and left the kitchen with covered dishes, china, silverware, one glass and one red rose in a vase on a tray.

"Will she, please, will she?" Ham waited a long time for an answer before he asked again. Neal thought about his peanut butter and banana sandwich. He wished Ham would stop asking a question nobody was going to answer and they could get onto some food of their own. If you don't want people to stare at you, you shouldn't call attention to yourself. Too bad Ham didn't have this figured out yet -- oh, well!

Finally when Neal wanted to scream, Delaney turned in his chair. You can always tell a hero because he comes to the rescue. "Hey, Ham, later on you want to watch a movie with Horace and me? I've got to get back to the vet but after the party's over we can watch Multiplicity. Can't we?" Delaney was asking Mr. Sykeston.

"Certainly," the little man answered, " Multiplicity -- cinematic sensation!"

"What are you and the vet up to, Delaney?" Okay, the marshal didn't seem to take to Mr. Sykeston or maybe he just didn't know what to say to him. Hey, Neal didn't either. Of course, kids don't have to speak unless they're spoken to. This isn't always great but like any rule about behavior, there are times when it can help you.

"We have an order for three 4-year-old bucks from a customer in Pennsylvania, marshal. Now is the time of year to inoculate and detick and we need to fatten the boys up some before we ship them off. Whitetail farming for profit is still new in Missouri. The highest recorded B&C points are from Michigan and Wisconsin but Grandpa says that will change with global warming. He says the moneymaking operation will interest some of the guests today but I bet what will interest Neal is when the vet and I finish up, I'm going to do my best to coax the Old Man into the first pasture where folks can see him. You talk to Grandpa, marshal. He says of the six million Whitetail deer ranging Canada to Panama, the Old Man is an original."

Naturally Neal was way interested but Ham wasn't. "Will she, please, will she?" He asked his dumb question the minute Delaney stopped to breathe. He asked over and over and banged with his spoon on his table -- first on top, then underneath.

Delaney kept talking about the Old Man. Ham kept banging and repeating his question. Neal wished Mrs. Carver would return. She'd know what to do. Would they ever eat? Personally, he was plenty ready and he'd be fine with cheesy grits. Delaney wolfed down the rest of his, patted Ham on the shoulder and stood in the doorway. You could tell by how he stood there he wasn't through having his say.

"He's at least 13 years old. At rut he weighs a quarter of a ton. His rack has grown from six points ten years ago when Grandpa put the hole in his ear to 18 points counted last year. Grandpa says it's grandsons give him and the Old Man reason to get up in the morning. Doesn't he, Ham?" Delaney didn't wait for an answer. He left and went out back. To find your hero after you eat is possible; this is a true fact.

"Will she, please, will she?" To deal with Ham, Nurse Comfort got to her feet.

"The woman is a saint!"whispered Aunt Ida. Okay, this is one of those long stories you can't shorten up or you get confused. Nurse Comfort is the niece of Doc Oats and Miss Valjean whose baby sister married Leroy Comfort from Lexington. The Comforts settled out west, had one child and that was the last anybody saw of them. Right after Nurse Comfort graduated from nursing school, they died in a car wreck. That's how she got her white hair. She was driving and they were her passengers. Naturally she was in a bad state so Doc Oats and Miss Valjean thought she should live with them for a while. This was before the twins were born and Aunt Ida says Nurse Comfort was a Godsend to the Fairwell household when they arrived and to the community when she joined the First Free Church congregation. A registered practical nurse, she mostly takes care of Ham but is willing to travel to Long Holler and even across the River if needed. Neal sucked in deep as a loud rumble came from his stomach. Long stories make you hungrier. Nurse Comfort usually carries a pocketful of candy for kids, especially poor kids. He isn't poor but he was thinking about edging next to her to give her the idea. Look out! Unless you're really weird, you don't always do everything you've been thinking about.

For one thing, Mr. Sykeston was in his way. Look out again! Nurse Comfort must have been in Mr. Sykeston's way. While he didn't shove her into her seat he acted like she'd better remember who's boss or he might. He was shaped like a small bent cigar with smooth straight gray hair parted as if he'd used a ruler to draw the white line to right of center. His mustache was a perfect set of little gray brushes. He wore a khaki jumpsuit way nicer than any Mr. Watch owns. His short leg didn't seem to bother him as he crossed the kitchen. When he got to Ham, he circled him. Neal sure did wonder what he meant to do. You can be hungry and wonder too.

"Will she, please, will she?" Maybe Ham wanted to know if his great-grandmother would eat her breakfast. Why didn't Mr. Sykeston see what he wanted to know? Then maybe he could give Ham an answer to make him happy. Instead he touched Ham's plastic bowl. Wur! "No!" Ham shouted but forgot his question when Mr. Sykeston offered toast. That did it. Toast was enough. Wur -- totally weird stuff!

"Deliberate, confident. Good work, Ham!" Mr. Sykeston smiled. Aunt Ida and Neal's mother got busy with the crab. They still watched Ham. In the corner Mariah perched on a three-legged stool. She still watched Mr. Sykeston. Neal felt caught in some badsmelling watching where he was starving; he craved to run!

"Listen, agent," said the marshal. "Let's you and I go out the way we came in and around to the front to greet our host and get ourselves fed. We aren't needed here and for all I know, Tom may want me to park in front instead of behind the house."

"We should all go," said Neal's mother, "as Elizabeth requested; Mariah -- now!"

Shoot! His sister might need prodding. Neal was first through the door! Were there any kids? Who knows? Neal had to race to keep up with the marshal who almost ran he was so happy to be out of the kitchen. Well, who wasn't? You can be caught where you don't want to be. You're a brand new person when and if you break free.

They were halfway to the front of the mansion when the marshal turned loose of Neal and lit up. He cupped the coffin nail with both hands, took two quick drags, snuffed it with his thumb and finger, stuck it in his pants pocket, opened his mouth and sprayed, grabbed Neal and took off again. Neal's mother, sister and Aunt Ida were miles behind and couldn't see what he was doing but the marshal's nervous about smoking. He really shouldn't smoke. Oh, well. Crabs really shouldn't smell.

His boss slowed down some and Neal cased the vehicles: cars, pickups, vans, jeeps, cycles, mopeds, scooters with the other scooters looking clunky compared to Mr. Watch's fine machine. Preacher Jones and Ms. Wong left in their yellow VW bus. The mayor arrived in her white Chevy wagon. Next came the judge in his black Buick sedan. He refuses to ride in the wagon he bought her on their honeymoon because "Birdie Mae Pride. She's on your side!" is printed in big red letters on the doors, top and trunk lid. The mayor says she'll use this slogan the rest of her life, that it works for any time, body or thing. Pride Real Estate and her cell phone number are beneath the slogan in smaller red letters. The mayor says she'll get a paint job when the time comes. The marshal says that time won't come. He says the mayor won't quit tooting her own horn until somebody makes her. Meanwhile, she's hot to trot after Salt Lick County Superintendent, Jeff City, Washington DC, Rome in Italy, Jerusalem, wherever her poor husband's wherewithal takes her.

"Back here, agent." The marshal grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around the gnarly pear tree. "I didn't come here today to listen to Birdie Mae Pride. Not if I can help it," said the marshal; "steady, keep your head down, let her get inside."

Okay, Neal can obey an order. This is a true fact. While he and the marshal were hiding from the mayor he thought about what he wanted to do when his boss turned him loose. With Pete in St. Louis, it seemed simple. Eat and drink and find Delaney and stick close to him. Also, watch for Iris because no way would she miss the Fairwell Open House. Anyhow, he'd spotted her dad's hauling truck with the Co-Op logo. That's what you do whether you're a special agent or just a kid trying to get along. You keep your eyes and ears open for problems. Face it, problems show up plenty and you might as well try your very best to be ready for them.

"Son, I expect you to thank your host." Neal's mother gives orders and expects stuff. Sometimes she reads his mind. It isn't second sight but like it. Connections between kids and mothers can be to one side or the other or they can be opposite.

Mr. Jasper sat on the front porch. His cottony hair puffed around his head, across his face and under his chin. He wore a black suit and looked like a sick old crow with straggling feathers even though he smiled as he struggled up from the swing and came to meet them, leaning on Delaney. He must be proud of his grandson who intends to go to the University of Missouri College of Agriculture and come back home and run the deer farm and everything. Neal and Pete intend to work hard and get rich too but Delaney will boss the whole shebang, as Mr. Watch says. Too bad his grandfather won't be alive when this happens. Here's the thing. You aren't supposed to say that you know but everyone does know Mr. Jasper is dying.

"Ladies, you all go in the house where it's cool and help yourselves to food and drink and get sociable," he said. "I been waiting for a chance to take Will here on a tour. Boy, you can come along with us if you like." Neal expected Mariah to get all hot and bothered but she left with their mother and Aunt Ida who clapped her hands and whispered to Neal, "praise the Lord and count your blessings". Aunt Ida might talk about God a whole lot but she's worth listening to. She always says what she means and often knows how things are so a whole lot of what she says is true.

Mr. Jasper didn't just look like a sick old crow. He looked like a sick old crow-goat as he hobbled along with his arms and legs jiggling. His shoulders, elbows and knees poked bony knobs in his thin suit. His white and yellow head rolled and quivered and shook. He released Delaney and hooked the marshal by the arm. "By and by you and the boy can get fed and you need to visit Philomena, or she'll have my hide," he said. "But I want to show off my whole operation. Been hankering for a confab, Will. Mean to leave a clean record behind me when I tackle the final hill."

"Must be hard work sun up to sun down, Tom." The marshal sounded impressed. Well, sure. To run an operation is awesome and Mr. Jasper might look bad but you knew who was in charge. Until he died, he'd be the boss. Some men are like that. Ladies too, probably. Of course, Fairwell Whitetail Farms is Mr. Jasper's idea; he started it. So he ought to be the boss until he isn't alive any more or decides to quit.

"It's not so hard now that Horace is here," he said. "You remember Judge Sykeston, Will? Good people, the Sykestons, and my lucky day when his grandson decided to partner up with me. He's a plant chemist, Horace is. That's his degree. Thing is we can hoot and holler about formal education but what I care most about is the man's doing a world of good with both Ham and the Whitetails. Preacham is special, Will. Ain't telling you all what you all don't already know. I wish we'd had Horace when the boy was younger. Of course, we had Mary Comfort. Doc Oats suggested she remain after the twins' home delivery. Mary was a great help to Philomena with the babies. Before Ham's setback, we had hopes for his musical talents. We owe Mary for discovering those talents. Horace thinks we can manage without Mary. I think we need her. Extra help from a licensed nurse can't hurt, doesn't cost much. Anyhow," he said like he really wanted to have done with one thing and get on with another and Neal sure wished him luck with this operation, "when you're up at the house, you'll see what I mean. I'll show you around inside in a spell. Plenty of time for that after a farm tour and me telling what I have to tell."

The longer he talked, the slower he walked so they all walked slower. You do this with old people or you're rude. Also, when you're hungry, you mostly think of food.

"Bud told me he saw three healthy sets of triplets feeding near the southern park, Grandpa." Delaney looked at his grandfather as though something important needed doing and wasn't being done. He shifted from one long leg to the other one.

"And did you tell Horace?" Mr. Jasper stopped moving so they all stayed in place.

"I told him. Listen, Grandpa, it's not good for you to be walking in this heat. Why don't you wait on the porch in the shade? I'll give the marshal and Neal the grand tour and bring them back to you all when we're through. I know the business too."

"I know you do and I know I'm slow. Bear with me." Look out! Mr. Jasper was looking straight at Neal with watery red eyes. "Whitetail does -- they have a single fawn the first year and twins, triplets or quadruplets after that but triplets and quadruplets are rare, especially where both mother and young survive. Did you know that?" he asked. Neal shook his head. So did the marshal. Nobody besides Mr. Jasper said anything. Sometimes it's best to show no, or yes, without talking.

"I'll bet you all the ways to Sunday that Bud saw the Old Woman." Was it that Mr. Jasper couldn't be quiet or was it that he knew he'd be quiet for good soon so what the heck? "Hard for a doe to stay alive more than a couple of years and she must be going on five. The older does are, the stronger and smarter they are, the more and better young they bear and the better care they give their young. Listen close, Will," he said. "The bellyache is bad and I have last passage on my mind but I believe I'm almost home free. You know I got the diagnosis in January. Ever since I've been hustling to tie down loose ends. Drew up my will with Judge Pride. Made peace with my mother-in-law. In my pocket I'm carrying Harold Bell Wright's The Shepherd of the Hills. High time for me to call out the local law in the form of Milo Marshal Lightfoot to put final cards on the table for security after showdown. What more can a man do for his soul's comfort? I figure I'm as ready as I can be to go trotting off to territory." Mr. Jasper coughed. "Nosiree, I ain't afraid to trot off."

Delaney held him steady and draping a bony arm around his grandson's neck, he quit coughing and laughed. Mr. Jasper didn't click his heels but he acted like he might. It was like listening to a lesson in school and praying the teacher was right.

"It's a crying shame when a man has to lean on his grandson like you all see me doing and him only a boy but I tell you all true, this has to be done every time. Old men have to back down and hand off to young men. The grim reaper doesn't much worry me, Will. No, it's the dadblamed human danger that scares me worse still."

Okay, even when you're close to starving, certain things can get your attention. What danger did Mr. Jasper mean? What danger could be scarier than death? Maybe having to take another breath when you don't want to take another breath?

"I know," the old man went on to the marshal, "that you must be blame tired of hearing it from those who've had dealings with him but I got to join the crowd and caution you something fierce against this Lewis N. Clark fellah. The man has no mercy. He won't give up. He's like a badger after gophers, digging here, there, everywhere. Yesterday he chased me down about subleasing acreage and the Fairwell mansion to Kansas City TV people for what they call 'The Reap What You Sow Show'. They mean to have themselves a family contest with the winning family staying in the mansion and living off the land like was done in 1900. No electricity, cars or plumbing! Gaslights, coal oil lamps, wood burning stoves! Appears over in England somebody did this and made a passel. Clark wants me to see these people bad. Brought me some writing and pictures. Like to have made me sicker than I am. '1900 survival in the heartland with turkey jerky, biggest bugs and snakes, best corn and beans!' Fake swamp fever, too! Oh, Lewis N. Clark bears watching, Will; if he has his way, Fairwell Whitetail Farms will become a real people zoo."

"But Grandpa, the land is yours. Just keep saying no." Again Delaney looked around so Neal looked too but there was nothing to see. Also, if Lewis N. Clark was so bad, why did his mother stand up for the man? Also, please, when would he eat?

"Hear about the latest $4.5 million?" asked Mr. Jasper as Delaney shuffled his feet.

"Yes, sir," said Delaney. The marshal whistled twice and Neal's mouth dropped open. Mr. Clark had offered his mother $100,000 on the spot. Thousands are a lot but while millions aren't billions, gazillions or kajillions, millions are an awful lot.

"Set out in writing. Course, that's for cropland, hunting parks and pastures, house and farm buildings, Horace's acreage. No, sir, I said. When you come into yours, Delaney, yours and Preacham's, the property will be whole and not parceled."

Delaney stared at the ground. He turned his head and looked behind him. Manno! What did he expect to find? In the pasture north of the barn huddled Mr. Sykeston, Ham and the Newfies. What were they doing? Actually, who cared? Neal cared to eat and drink! If you're hungry and thirsty, food and drink are what you think.

"Horace collects," said Mr. Jasper. "He's been taking Ham with him when he scouts for plants. Gets the boy out. At first he complained about the dogs trampling his specimens but Ham loves those dogs so he gave in. He's a good man, Horace." Mr. Sykeston and Ham disappeared. Homer and Mick came over with their big wet tongues hanging down. They turned and walked on either side of Neal. The three of them slowly led the way to the barn leaving spit trails and tracks. Neal almost forgot food and drink as he stretched out his arms to scratch the shiny backs.

"Those are good dogs," Mr. Jasper said. You hear behind when you're ahead.

"Never met a dog who wasn't good with Neal." Okay, the marshal doesn't know about Johnny Miller's chow. Rover hides in the brush and charges when Neal is at the Miller trailer and doesn't bite but makes enough noise to give you an earache. No big; you don't have to tell your boss about a problem on the job that you make go away.

Carefully wrapping his grandfather's fingers around the rail so Mr. Jasper wouldn't fall, Delaney left to meet the vet. The vet's black apron pockets were rimmed with metal tool tops; for whatever he and Delaney had to do, the vet seemed totally set.

"Can't expect the boy to contemplate what my going will mean. As I recollect, the after effects can be a sight harder for a young man than the demise. Can't deny the reaper knows how to chew a man up and grind a man down. No skin off his red back how fast the last of life goes." Wur! If Neal moved behind the marshal, would that block Mr. Jasper? You can't put your hands over your ears but if he couldn't see food and drink he would 1000 times rather see Delaney than his grandfather.

It worked. Inside the pen the bucks tore back and forth under the wire mesh top. The white hearts of their rumps bumped up and down. Delaney worked. The Newfies barked. Mr. Jasper hushed the dogs with his hand, stepping in front of Neal. Then all Neal could see were two men leaning on the fence and staring without talking like men do. Even the biggest talkers look off in silence. Maybe just in Missouri. You decide for yourself; this is only fair. Neal hasn't been everywhere.

Mr. Jasper spoke first. Hey, this was no surprise since Mr. Jasper was for sure the biggest talker in the county. He talked more than the marshal, Mr. Watch and the mayor combined when they get to arguing over the pallid sturgeon and the levee.

"Those boys are getting shots and a tick cleanup," he said. "Customers expect this. Best time for the job is summer when the deer are fat and sassy. Can't bring them in during rut. In winter they lose weight so we lose money. That reminds me. Horace says sell the semen. Take His Honor No. 2, there, the one bouncing about like a turkey cock. Horace says we can clear $250 a straw ounce from him. Brand new industry. Course, takes a good vet to do it right and good vets aren't free."

The marshal was breathing funny. Neal might have to look up semen in the OED.

"Tom," said the marshal and stopped. First he stared at Neal and then the ground. "I don't know deer farming. Corn, beans and wheat are all I know and I've probably forgotten most of what I once learned about ordinary grain crops. But you don't have to know much to see how well you've done and I hear the hunting is tops."

"This vet's from across the River. Like I said, good vets don't come cheap but he's worth it. The investment in clean, healthy animals makes business sense. And Delaney is smack dab in the middle of it. If it has to do with deer, the boy wants to be part of it. He's a natural born deer farmer." Neal could see his hero again. Delaney was having nothing but fun. He must have found what had been missing for him. He flashed them a grin, cut off His Honor No. 2 like he was in a rodeo and maneuvered to the barn door. The vet followed. With the three of them inside and the door slammed shut, there was quiet except for the drumming hooves of the remaining two bucks as they took themselves as far from the door as they could go.

"Don't believe the boy could live without deer," said Mr. Jasper. "Must be in the blood. Feel the same way myself, always have. Listen, you all care to observe the procedures from the stalls?" he asked. "Won't come to any harm. Some fools don't take proper care but we do it according to the book at Fairwell Whitetail Farms."

"Think we'll pass," said the marshal, "pay our respects, eat hearty and visit some."

"Not everybody asked would come. There's folks ought to be here and aren't! I tried to get Red to show his sour old face and Raleigh but those two flat turned me down again. They do it every year to spite me. Don't know what's the matter with them boys. Saturday nights we used to hole up on old Man Culpepper's river barge, drink moonshine, roll the bones until dawn. 'What you all holding?' we'd ask and place, match or cover. Then we'd bet what we had -- winner take all, loser take none. We weren't afraid of the dark in those days. No, sir. Anyhow, Will, see young whippersnapper watches the ridge at sunset. The Old Man might be in the pasture where Delaney sets out treats for him. Of course, he might not. Like me, he's a mind of his own." This was the first time Neal had heard the word whippersnapper but he wasn't in a rush to look it up. Was Mr. Jasper actually going to let them go? He had a good idea of what whippersnapper meant anyhow, if you want to know.

Besides, really important stuff was piling up in his head. Even though it's hard to concentrate when you're dying of hunger and thirst, he had a fair list of what to tell Pete. He planned to skip Mr. Jasper's death talk because whenever he talks about death with anyone, even if it's Pete or his mother, it makes Neal cry. You're crazy to make yourself cry on purpose. He wondered what Pete would say about the hunger and thirst contest. To remember $4.5 million was easiest; of everything that had happened or been said so far, $4.5 million stood out big time from the rest.

"I wouldn't worry, Tom," said the marshal. "Raleigh's got his reasons and when's the last time Red attended a social event? I doubt you could pay Red to show up at a function with female guests or even one where most of the guests are human."

"He can change," said Mr. Jasper; "I been telling him that since Harry S Truman."

Hey, what are the Old Man's favorite treats? Neal was too shy to ask. Besides he didn't want to give Mr. Jasper anything more to talk about. He'd ask Delaney later and maybe some day he'd ask the marshal about rolling bones. Look out! Lewis N. Clark and his daughter were coming over. Trinity Clark wore a pink and white dress and carred a pink, what you call, parasol. Suddenly Delaney was back beside his grandfather. Wur! And behaving like a caught catfish with his mouth opening and eyes popping. It's hard when your hero behaves like a doofus. Delaney's only 14, one year ahead of Bud. Doesn't he know Trinity's too old for him, and too big? She's lots taller. Mariah calls her the mirror image of Jody Foster as Becky Thatcher in Disney's vintage Tom Sawyer plus give her ten years. So what? Oh, well. Didn't Neal himself look and act dumb over $4.5 million? Like his mother says, nobody's perfect. Even your hero can have a fit. You just have to deal with it.

"You all acquainted with Mr. Clark and his daughter?" asked Mr. Jasper just exactly as though he hadn't said totally terrible things about Mr. Clark only a minute ago. Sometimes grown-ups act one way and then another. You never know. Also, kids. Anyhow, usually Lewis N. Clark wears sunglasses with thick rims and you can't see the small "S" shaped scar between his eyes but today the sunglasses rested on top of his head. When he squeezed his eyes, the scar wrinkled. Wur! The day he first offered to buy her business and she said no he'd paid the Boonetown Florist to deliver roses to Neal's mother. Even though she keeps telling him she won't sell, he still bothers her. He takes up too much of her time. He snoops. He asks about food, drink, water, power, trash pick-up, movies, the lottery, about every little thing at the Travel Stop. Hey, Neal and the marshal and Mariah and Aunt Ida don't like him one bit but Neal and the marshal don't let on so Mr. Jasper isn't the only person down on Lewis N. Clark who doesn't say so to his face. Sometimes you behave how you feel. Sometimes you don't. Lewis N. Clark stuck out his hand. The marshal took it and shook it and smiled and said, "hoddo." Then he and Neal boogied leaving father and daughter with grandfather and grandson and good luck to Delaney, the only one Neal cared about. It was great to be with the marshal and no one else. You get tired of putting on an act. This is a true fact.

"Our business ain't near done, Will," Mr. Jasper called after them, "but we can finish up later. Meantime, you and the boy get yourselves some eats and wet your whistles. And say hello to Philomena, Will, or she'll be plenty peeved and I'll hear about it forever. She claims you all been avoiding her; that you all never visit her."

"Some things do remain the same," muttered the marshal, "and I don't mean you all. Making something of nothing is hard and poor Tom is dying but dying or not, I can't compliment him without looking like a fool! Don't know why. He deserves the praise. When we were boys, that problem bothered me. Truth is, agent, to me Tom Jasper always has been and remains one heckuva a dose, quite purely and simply!"

"What's semen?" The idea of looking up anything anywhere made Neal almost more tired than he was hungry. Also, some stuff you can wait to know. You don't have to race. Other stuff you want to know right now; well, you could see the marshal knew the answer by how he tugged his earring and tightened his fox face.

"Deer semen is the buck's contribution to fawn creation. Does that explanation satisfy you, agent? If not, ask your mother or sister as I'm in dangerous water when it comes to this sort of instruction." Hey, you have to try. Neal could look up semen later, maybe tomorrow. Actually, he was pretty sure what he would find. No big deal. You need fathers and mothers to make babies. This is a fact. Okay, you can clone but Mr. Jasper wasn't cloning. Well, maybe he was but what did cloning have to do with the sale of semen? Suddenly, when you don't know one thing, there are more and more things you don't know until it seems that nothing makes sense.

They climbed the steps to the front porch and went through the door. The hall was long, the ceiling high, the walls close. Flowers, vines and ribbons twisted over the wallpaper. Neal's dry mouth felt fuzzy. His empty stomach felt weird. He was hungry, thirsty, dizzy, scared. "When you and I were young," sang a deep voice from a room on the north. It had to be the Milo Melody Men. Were they going into this room? No, the marshal stopped by the staircase. He looked up the stairs and then at Neal. He bent down to give him a hug like he knew how Neal must feel.

"Don't be afraid," he said. Neal wasn't. He was fine now. Hugs do that. Also, he smelled sweet cakes, creamy cheese and saucy meat. Surely soon he would eat.

"Shivering in my boots, agent, that's what I was when I was your age! Oh, yes! Milo youngsters were scared to death of Philomena Fairwell then, too, and I was no exception. I climbed these stairs more times than I care to remember. Every week Ma Lightfoot would send me here to give thanks for my upkeep. Elizabeth Carver's mother or grandmother would let me in and tell me where to find Mrs. Fairwell. She might be anywhere but most often she'd be upstairs sewing. In those days needlework was important and she was famous for hers. Maybe she'd be in the kitchen canning or preserving or rolling out egg noodle dough which she cut so fine you'd have thought it was machine-work or punching up loaves of salt rising bread. Wherever she was she'd keep on with what she was doing, accept my thanks and tell me to march on home. A proud woman with ways of suggesting that hell and damnation are alive to cook you if you don't pay strict attention to what she has to say and go out and do what she tells you to do. What you call a dyed-in-the-wool matriarch, female family head or lifelong president. She's over 100, agent!"

"Awesome; marshal, I'm hungry."

"Oh, she'll see to it we're served with fine fare; that I guarantee."

They started upstairs and stopped when they met Nurse Comfort coming down. The tray that had held a rose now held dishes with untouched food and a full glass of orange juice. Okay, it is really awful to look and smell other people's leftovers when you're so hungry and thirsty you can hardly stand it but Neal did not cry. Are cheesy grits fine fare? Fare must mean food and not the cost to get somewhere.

"Go right in, marshal. She'll be glad. And how are you these days? Good, I hope. Here you go, friend Neal." She offered him a fat caramel. She looked smaller out of her uniform. Her dress was stiff and starchy but covered with yellow lilies and green leaves. With her body hiding in the folds of the pond, the candy in her hand took on the presence of a life raft. Neal removed the paper. He tasted the thick goodness before he popped it into his mouth and began to chew. You would not believe that caramel's goodness; it was hard to stop chewing and say thank you.

"Just back from honing your skills, Mary?" asked the marshal. Okay, is it against the law to ask for more than one caramel? That's a joke, of course, and some questions you ask and hope you make people laugh and some you don't; oh, well.

"Refresher courses over for another year, yes, and you know, when I got home I hardly recognized the place. Did you see the exterior? The stonework has been washed and the front steps repaired. The two front columns have been restored. We have a new roof, new sidewalks. We are all about improvements these days."

"Must be costing an arm and a leg," said the marshal like he quite frequently says.

"Ah, but we're in the chips. We're in the chips now, marshal, and business is good." Nurse Comfort's lips got tight. Her eyes shifted to the far left and back to the right.

Suddenly the marshal grabbed his hand and they were climbing and climbing. Neal wasn't surprised. When people shift their eyes back and forth, they want you out of the way so they can do their stuff. The marshal looked unhappy. Was he worried about Nurse Comfort? Neal couldn't see why. They hadn't kept her very long. Also, lots of ladies have white hair and she could dye hers even though this probably wouldn't make her prettier. But not all ladies are pretty and why should Nurse Comfort care when Aunt Ida says Mr. Jasper pays her well and everyone likes and respects her since there is no better nurse or organist in all of Salt Lick County?

Wur! Here he was diddling in his noggin about Nurse Comfort when he should have been counting. By the time he figured out what he should have been doing, they must have climbed 200 steps of the kind where you have to lift each leg way high. Finally they stood in a hall. The steps went on. Neal was glad he didn't have to. Also, you cannot survive on one caramel. This is a fact. You don't need to do an experiment or look it up. The marshal took his hand, headed for an open door and stopped. With his free hand he softly tapped the wall. Framed embroidery under glass covered the hall walls -- birds, bows and butterflies, big ones and small.

"Come closer and into the light, William Lightfoot," ordered the matriarch. She sat in a highback chair with curling arms in front of the west window. The sun shone in behind her and on the cool glass animal statues on the table next to her. The room's wallpaper of tiny faded roses was peppered with painted pictures and plates except for the east wall where thousands of books filled up a bookcase. "Who is the young gentleman?" she asked. "No, don't tell. There is no doubt in my mind. He is Jessie Edruns' grandson, the splitting image of his grandfather." Okay, maybe the matriarch couldn't see. Neal's grandfather Edruns had two blue eyes, didn't or hadn't he? Also, images can be mirror and spitting but what about splitting? Manno, you think you know one thing and that thing turns into a different thing.

"Good afternoon, ma'am." Aunt Ida says if you greet folks with good morning or good afternoon, they can't for the life of them conjure up anything nasty to say or do. He definitely did not want to hear or see anything nasty from the matriarch whose skin was wrinkled like a mummy. In fact, he firmly meant to be on his best behavior even if there was neither food nor drink in the room that he could see.

"Good afternoon, sir. Come closer. Come closer. I won't bite, you know."

Wur! She held out to him a piece of paper and he got near enough to read his full name printed in large letters and to see beneath the white lace cap on her little head. To the sides from her stringy ears dangled earrings, probably diamonds because rich people wear diamonds. She wheezed like she had chalk dust in her throat and couldn't swallow. The breath from her tiny mouth smelled rusty. Hey, when someone's older than 100, what do you expect? You may not be so hot and smell so good yourself then; you got it -- like his mother says, nobody's perfect.

"Some day you and I must discuss your middle name, Edruns," she said.

"Yes, ma'am;" with the marshal present maybe or actually Neal wasn't interested.

"As for you, William," she went on, "I am most pleased you have come to your senses and recognize the value of home. You were away a good long while. Sadly the Lightfoot property was forfeited for taxes. Where do you propose to situate?"

"Well, truth is, ma'am, the lodging at Juanita's Travel Stop is first rate."

"That sounds disturbingly temporary, William."

"Don't know, ma'am. It feels permanent." The marshal grinned at his agent.

"And you, young man, do you live with your Aunt Ida in Jessie's old house?"

"Yes, ma'am; me, my mother and sister;" even bread and water would be fine now.

"Sensible arrangement; and is it true Aunt Ida cooks for your mother's business?"

"Yes, ma'am;" the matriarch sure had her questions and he had one for her: if he dared to ask for a large bowl of cheesy grits and tall iced tea, would she say yes?

"Work is good for the soul," is what she said as she rang a glass bell on the table with the statues. She must have been able to tell his eyes weren't a bit like his grandfather's or anybody else's eyes because she could see him looking at the bell. "Belgian crystal," she said. "Sit on the floor next to me and you may examine it. It brought my father much joy. He directed considerable traffic with this pretty toy."

He sat at her small feet in their laced up black shoes and twisted the bell. In the window light the colors changed: yellow to green, red to blue. The shapes merged: stripes to bars to stars. He hated like crazy to surrender the bell when Mrs. Carver came but hey, she had a plate of angel food delight and lemonade on a tray just for him. She returned the bell to the table before seating him with his tray at a little desk near the bookcase where it was darker. Neal thanked her and drank. Next she walked over to the china cabinet in the corner and removed a bottle and two small glasses with silver around their rims. She poured something thick, dark brown and shiny into the glasses, replaced the bottle, shut the cabinet doors and delivered the glasses to the matriarch and the marshal. She fixed everything for everyone and no one talked except to say thank you. Neal couldn't have talked. His mouth was too full of delight. You would have said he was pigging and you would have been right.

"It's a fine party. Folks chatting, acting civil. Nobody arguing politics or religion. Children in back behaving themselves." Mrs. Carver looked at Neal. This made him feel funny in the stomach. Not hungry, not thirsty. No. This was different. He felt funny in the stomach like you feel when someone looks at you like you are in the wrong place so take care while you're there not to leave behind one single mark.

"Anybody else in particular you craving to see?" Mrs. Carver asked the matriarch.

"No, please, Elizabeth; no more." Mrs. Carver left the room and closed the door.

"I once thought I could manage without Elizabeth Carver," said the matriarch. "I was a fool. Of course, we grow even more dependent with age. I used to meet with the Easilys regularly. In spring we'd discuss crops, weather, the River. In fall we'd plan spring planting. Now I rely entirely on my son-in-law. Have you seen what he's doing with deer? The Township of Milo appears grateful as am I since it keeps him occupied although the business is dangerous and highly speculative, I fear."

The matriarch sipped her gross brown stuff and the marshal sipped his. He kept his head down and sort of mumbled. Later he'd tell Neal's mother he choked on the $100 bottle Amontillado sherry and he'd never developed a taste for sherry, good or bad. Neither the marshal nor the matriarch had angel food delight but Neal ate all of his. It was excellent! No lie! It tasted like warm marshmallow ice cream pie.

"And what, William, do you have to say to me about my great grandsons?"

"Delaney, seems a fine boy, ma'am; don't believe I've met the other one."

"Some are destined for difficulties. You must meet Preacham whose musical genius will resurface and shine even as his life journey remains troublesome and uphill."

"Sounds like Horace Sykeston is a big help with the boy's trouble and a lot more, too; Tom says he's smart with special knowledge and skills. Him settling here and partnering up with Tom is real fortunate. That sure is Tom's call, at any rate."

"Ah, yes, another of my son-in-law's ideas. With Elizabeth's help, I've been reviewing Mr. Sykeston's reading list for Preacham. While unfamiliar with A Confederacy of Dunces, I do know Macbeth and the anguished poetry of Edward Arlington Robinson. I find these odd choices for a young boy of Preacham's nature who reads only with assistance. It takes patience. Preacham has his own gift. Now, you must promise to visit often, both of you." She folded her little hands in her lap and closed her eyes. Then she leaned back and snored softly. Neal wanted to giggle but he didn't, for sure, because while her snores might make you want to laugh yourself crazy, he knew they were not, repeat not, supposed to be funny.

"Come on, agent, that's our cue. Better bring your plate and glass with you."

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