The Widows of Wichita County Read online

  "It's in a two-hour parking spot at the bank," he answered. "He must have ridden out to the Montano place with Shelby or Jimmy. I saw both Howards heading into the bank yesterday morning."

  She nodded. Everyone in town knew the sheriff observed folks passing on Main Street from his window with the same intensity that a sailor studies the sky.

  "Don't worry about Kevin's car," Farrington finally mumbled. "I'll see it doesn't get ticketed. You can deal with it after you've had some sleep."

  "Thank you." Meredith slowly closed the door, thinking maybe she could sell the car to help pay expenses.

  Kevin wouldn't want anyone to know money was tight. Over the years she had seen him insist on paying, or throw money into a pot even when he knew it would run them short for the month. Once he had given a hundred dollars to help send the extras on the basketball team to the state tournament. The boys made it to Austin, but Meredith and Kevin ate macaroni and cheese for three weeks. That was the year they were so broke they got religion. The Baptist church had a young couples' dinner every Wednesday. For all couples under thirty there was no charge, the church's way of helping young folks get started.

  She could continue to play the game alone. Meredith closed her eyes and reminded herself one more time to keep breathing.

  "Our money is nobody's business but ours." She could almost hear Kevin saying.

  "But mine," she corrected.

  October 12

  After midnight

  The Whitworth home-Pigeon Run

  Across town, money also pestered Helena Whitworth' mind. She wrote two checks to her daughters. Since she had got home from the hospital, they had worried about little else except the fact they had nothing black to wear to J.D.', funeral.

  Paula and Patricia were fraternal twins born to Helena when she was still in her teens. Paula was the brightest of the pair. If one can compare the brightness of flannel. She managed to fail two years of college before dropping out. Patricia quit her first semester because the books were too heavy to carry across campus.

  "You don't have to do this, Momma." Paula blew the ink dry on her check. "I could have charged what I needed at Sears. I know how important it is for you to have us dress properly and there is never anything in Helena's Choice in our size."

  Patricia fidgeted impatiently. "I'm sorry I have to run, but Bill's home waiting up. He says he can't sleep without me beside him in bed. You know how it is." She took her check then glanced up at her mother. "I'm sorry, Momma. I didn't think. I'll get someone to keep the baby tomorrow and come over and help you."

  "That won't be necessary." Helena tried, as always, to keep her words kind, not out of fondness, but out of selfpreservation. When the girls were upset, whining leaked into every word they communicated.

  "Oh, Momma, I don't mind coming to help." Patricia lifted the three-year-old she still called "the baby." He'd had a plug in his mouth so long Helena sometimes wondered if it were a birth defect.

  "You need to get rid of J.D.'s things, Momma, as soon us possible. It's not healthy to keep them around making you sad and all. Bill could probably wear some of those golf shirts on his Saturday runs. They're not real strict about the uniform then."

  "Harry is J.D.'s shoe size," Paula interrupted. "Don't go giving his shoes away until Harry tries them on. We'll be over first thing tomorrow, too."

  Helena closed her eyes, thinking of something J.D. used to say. "Even the bottom of the gene pool rises after a rain." It must have flooded the day she conceived. Though she loved her daughters dearly, they were a trial. Paula forever bossy, Patricia forever needy.

  Both always wanted to help her. They meant well, but Helena hated discussing decisions that were hers to make. J.D. understood that about her. She was a woman who knew her own mind and did not need to take a poll to determine her actions.

  "What are you going to do with all those hats he's got?" Patricia shook her head. "They're not even proper to give the Salvation Army-the ones he wore in the Marines. You know, the ones he always made us call `covers' instead of hats."

  Paula snorted a laugh. "Can't you just see the homeless wandering the streets wearing a colonel's hat? And the old things he wore to watch birds wouldn't be fit for fishing."

  Helena had had enough. She headed toward the door.

  Like puppies hearing the paper being rolled, both girl looked suddenly guilty. "We're sorry, Momma," they chimed. "We didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

  Both opened their arms to hug Helena, but then decided it would be safer to hug each other. Between ample bodies and ample breasts, they looked like huge Humpty Dumpty toys trying to dance but only succeeding in wobbling.

  "I'm really going to miss the old guy," Paula cried on her sister's shoulder. "He wasn't so bad once we got used to the sin of Momma marrying him."

  Paula never missed a chance to remind Helena that she and J.D. were first cousins. Everyone in town seemed to have forgotten except "One-track Paula."

  "I'll miss him, too," Patricia added, but from the confused expression in her eyes, she couldn't remember any sin. "Even if I didn't understand what he was talking about half the time. He was always naming some place I never heard of like it was important and I should drop everything and go home and look it up on a map."

  "Good night, girls." Helena held the door open as her offspring hurried out. They were her flesh and blood. The only part of her that would live on in this world. But they did not hold her heart. No one had until J.D.

  Both daughters stood on the front step when she spoke again. "No one…I repeat, no one, touches J.D.'s things."

  They looked at her as if they felt sorry for their mothers inability to face the facts.

  Helena tried to keep her anger in check. "If either of yew do, you will never be welcome in this house again."

  "Oh, Momma, you don't mean…"

  "I mean every word. J.D.'s things stay untouched." Helena closed the door, wishing she could talk to her daughters without getting angry.

  She walked slowly up the staircase to the bedroom that had been hers and J.D.'s for over ten years. His things surrounded her. Welcomed her. She closed her eyes and relaxed for the first time since the call from the hospital.

  His robe hung on the door, his reading glasses were on an open book, his running shoes lay between the chairs by the window. He couldn't be gone. She could still smell him near. Still feel the warmth of his gaze watching her. Sometimes when they were sitting side by side, paying no attention to one another as they read or watched the birds, Helena would match her breathing to his. If she were still enough she knew she could do that now.

  "Don't leave me, Cousin," she whispered across the shadows. "Don't leave me alone."

  Helena closed her eyes and forgot about all that happened. The nightmare of reality ended. Need brought in the dream.

  In the stillness of their room she heard him whisper, "I'm right here. Waiting. Come here, Hellie."

  Helena slipped beneath the covers and into the arms of the only man she ever loved. His chest was bare and hair tickled her nose as it always did. His arm was strong about her. The smell of his aftershave blended with his favorite brand of pipe tobacco.

  "Don't go just yet," she pleaded. "I couldn't bear it."

  She felt his gentle kiss on her forehead. "I'll be right here as long as you need me. Remember when I came back? I gave you that silver dollar your mother had given me to take to war for luck. I promised I'd never leave you alone. Let the storm come, Hellie, let it come. You'll always have my arms to protect you."

  There were folks who believed God put oil in Texas because it was the only place on earth where the rigs could be seen as an improvement on the landscape. On a windy day tumbleweeds would blow into the eaves of a rig making it look like a skeleton Christmas tree covered in huge, hideous ornaments.

  October 14

  Montano Ranch

  The next few days had passed in a haze for Anna Montano. The road to their ranch became a highway of cars and trucks
traveling back and forth from the site of the explosion. Most were on official business but a few were simply sightseers, wanting to get closer to the spot where four men had died.

  The sheriff stopped by saying he needed to talk with her, but Anna felt she had nothing to say. Carlo told her the explosion was just an accident and no matter what someone tried to make of it, that was all to be said.

  Anna asked Carlo if he would handle the sheriff and he agreed. She did not want to talk to anyone.

  The rig, now twisted and black, appeared to still smolder thanks to the clouds of dust from cars circling it. Anna swore the smell of the fire lingered, seeping into everything and everyone on the ranch. Or maybe the whiff of oil afire and men burned had stained her lungs, and she would forever taste the odor with each breath.

  Her brother Carlo made all the funeral plans. Davis had no relatives who sent flowers, but cards from the people of Clifton Creek filled the mailbox each morning. Businesses closed for the funerals and church bells from all denominations sounded during the processions to the town's only cemetery.

  As an outsider, Anna watched in amazement while a town grieved. She saw the first signs when she and Helena left the hospital the day of the accident. Randi stayed behind with Crystal for a few minutes and Meredith waited in the hospital hallway for the funeral home, but Helena and Anna walked out together. Men lined the sidewalk from the door to the parking lot. Oil field workers and cowhands stood silent. It did not matter that the rain pounded. As the women passed, the men removed their hats and stepped back into the muddy grass. No one said a word, but the respect they paid would linger forever in her mind.

  By dawn, business doors along Main wore wreaths of black. From the courthouse to the cafe, Carlo informed her, no one talked of anything except the accident. Anna may have lost a husband, but the town lost one of its wealthiest oilmen in Shelby Howard. Even if he lived, he would never make it back to running Howard Drilling. Everyone agreed over coffee that Jimmy Howard was probably the brains behind the old man's success over the past few years, but Shelby had been a wildcatter. Carlo quoted what he had heard, saying they did not make oilmen like that anymore.

  The folks relived all the highlights of Kevin Allen's football games and decided his years on the team were the best they had seen. J. D. Whitworth moved from retired soldier to town hero and several wondered why they had never recognized him as such. There was talk of putting up a memorial.

  And Davis Montano, Carlo would tell Anna over and over, was like a son to them all. Fifth generation in the town. And that is as deep as roots go in Clifton Creek. Not just four men died in that fire, Carlo would say, but a part of the town's heart burned that day as well.

  Anna rode the fringes of the ranch in the sunny mornings that followed, but the memory of steel-toed shoes and cowboy boots washed over with mud remained in her thoughts. She found it odd that she could not remember a single man's face.

  In the afternoons Anna escaped, as always, to her tiny studio that had once been a sunroom. There, amid neglected plants, she painted. She caught herself still hiding her work as if expecting Davis to stop by and criticize her at any moment. He hated the dark mood of her paintings. Now the mood seeped off the canvas and into her life.

  Shelby Howard's son, Trent, was among those who came to see the ruins of the rig. He stopped at the house to tell her how sorry he was about Davis. Carlo insisted she talk to the man. After all, Trent was Shelby's only son and the two families were forever connected by the tragedy.

  Trent opened the conversation by informing her that the explosion and fire were not related to anything Howard Drilling had done. He implied the sheriff suspected no foul play, but when she questioned him about the reasons for the fire, he did not seem to have enough information or knowledge to say more.

  Trent reminded Anna of a buzzard with his thin frame and long nose. She played a game she had found helpful around most American men. Anna acted as though she did not understand the language, so he had to spend most of his time talking to her brother. In truth, except for a slight stutter, Anna had spoken four languages fluently by the time she was eighteen, but by then she had discovered that most men were not worth talking to.

  The few men her father had allowed her to date while she was home on school vacations were usually the sons of old friends. They talked of horses and little else.

  Only two people called before Davis's funeral. Randi Howard, to say she would be leaving town sooner than expected. She planned to stay until all the husbands were buried, but she'd heard of a job offer in Memphis and did not want it to slip away.

  "Everyone knows Memphis is as good a place as Nashville to become a star." She laughed a little too loud. "I'll sing my way across the state."

  Anna agreed with her just to be kind.

  Randi had Jimmy cremated the morning after the accident. He wanted no service, and since he always talked of traveling someday, she put his ashes in the glove compartment of her Jeep and figured she would take him to Memphis with her.

  Anna promised to keep in touch, but she had a feeling she would never see Randi again. Randi was a cowgirl who had probably never ridden a horse, and Anna was a horsewoman who had never danced the two-step. A stranger might think them alike, but here in ranch country they were polar opposites.

  Helena Whitworth was another story. She called every morning. Anna attended J.D.'s graveside service at dawn two days after the accident. The ceremony carried full military honors. Half the town surrounded the tent staked over a grave where the dirt and the grass were the same color. Many cried, but Helena sat so still and silent she could have been one of the statues in the cemetery. Not a white hair out of place. Not the hint of a tear on her cheek.

  The next day, Helena returned the kindness by sitting behind Anna at Davis's funeral.

  It amazed Anna how many people came to Davis's service. In the five years she had been here, she had met very few who called him friend, yet the townspeople missed work to pay their respects.

  Flowers lined the small Catholic church, making the air musty and damp. The incense and candles reminded Anna of the smell of the fire. She fought not to gag as she waited for the service to be over.

  Carlo sat beside her, weeping openly during the entire funeral. She might have lost a husband, but he lost his brother-in-law, friend and boss. Being ten years older than she, Carlo slipped easily into the father role. Anna let him, glad to have someone take care of details.

  Though he saw no need to tell her of ranch business, he did mumble complaints about Trent Howard as they waited in the family room. Carlo said Trent didn't want to bother with a full investigation. Accidents were just a part of the oil business, he said.

  In Italian, Carlo ranted about how he would insist on the sheriff looking into every detail. After all he would not allow Davis's name to be smeared in any way. If the sheriff found someone responsible for the deaths, Carlo swore he would see that they paid even if he had to kill them himself.

  Anna was pleased when Helena lingered after the service, for she dreaded the ride back to the ranch with Carlo. Though the women were almost forty years apart in age, they bore their grief in the same way. Silent. Without tears.

  Anna had parked her car downtown in the bank's garage so after the graveside service, she rode with Helena to the hospital to visit Shelby. Carlo offered to go with them, but looked relieved when Helena stepped in and said she would look after Anna. He quickly backed away, mumbling about all the work that had to be done before dark. Funeral or not, he had a ranch to run.

  As they crossed the town, Helena talked of how nice Kevin Allen's funeral had been in the big, new Baptist church. Every student Meredith had ever taught must have been in attendance. The bank employees were all pallbearers. His old high school football team sat together.

  Anna barely remembered Kevin's funeral. She and Carlo had arrived a few minutes late because Carlo insisted on driving her. They sat at the back of the church, unable to hear. Anna was glad to kno
w the funeral was nicer from Helena's view near the front. She had a feeling doing everything right might be important to Meredith Allen.

  When they entered the hospital ten minutes later, Helena straightened her shoulders and walked right past the No Visitors sign. Anna followed, her head down.

  Two nurses watched from the desk, but did not say a word.

  A middle-aged woman in white met them at Shelby's door. Anna knew the moment she spoke that the woman was not from Clifton Creek. Though she had the same accent as Helena, the nurse did not know the town's great lady. No one, not even Anna, who kept to herself, could live in Clifton Creek and be unaware of Helena Whitworth.

  The nurse introduced herself as Marge Landry from Parkland's Burn Unit. She explained that they could stay only a moment and must not pass a curtain dividing the room unless they planned to put on masks and scrubs. Her disapproval was evident. "No one…no germs can be allowed in," she ended. "There should be a glass, not just this thin curtain."

  They walked silently into Shelby's room. Crystal slept in an old, armless recliner pulled close to a curtain blocking most of the area from view. Her hand held the cotton divider like a child holds a security blanket.

  The nurse cleared her throat, and Crystal jumped awake. "Any change?" she asked as she blinked sleep away.

  "No," Nurse Landry answered with a great deal more kindness than she had shown Helena and Anna. "You have company. I'll get back to the patient." She disappeared behind the curtain.

  Crystal stood, rubbing her eyes. "Shelby's been so quiet, I must have fallen asleep."

  Anna almost did not recognize Crystal. Her eyes were puffy and black-rimmed, her hair dull and dirty, her clothes wrinkled gray rags. It seemed impossible that a woman could change so drastically in four days. The day of the accident Crystal could have been a model for workout clothes in her brightly colored outfit. Now, the sweatshirt and baggy pants she wore looked as if they belonged to someone several sizes larger.