The Widows of Wichita County Read online

  "Thank you for coming." Her voice sounded hoarse. "We've seen very little change in him, but he's still alive, thanks mostly to Nurse Landry. She came in from Dallas by car when the storm delayed the helicopter. When she learned he wouldn't be moved, I talked her into staying a few days. She got us tons of equipment and special private duty nurses coming in for twelve-hour shifts. She may look all starch and proper, but she's an angel for sure."

  Helena hugged Crystal for a long while without saying a word.

  Anna could do nothing but stare at the glimpses of Shelby through a break in the curtain. Tubes came out of him in several places. The exposed skin was the red of a horrible sunburn. Some places looked black beneath the light covering of cotton and others as white as ash. A thick tube ran out his mouth past lips swollen several times their normal size.

  "I can't leave him," Crystal moaned as she noticed Anna watching through the tiny slice of light. "The hospital lets me sleep out here since this is a makeshift ICU room. As long as I stay out of their way while they check on him, I can remain."

  Helena moved closer and whispered, "He's so swollen. I can't even tell it's Shelby. His eyes look completely shut."

  "W-will he live?" Anna asked, as gently as she could.

  Crystal nodded. "Nurse Landry says as long as there's a heartbeat, there's hope. There may be damage to his spine. but right now he has more serious problems to worry about. The doctor thinks he may have had his back turned to the explosion. But the fire burned both sides."

  "One of the workers from the rig stopped by yesterday. He'd been burned on his face and hands trying to help after the explosion. He said Jimmy ordered all the field workers to take a break. They had headed for the cooler of beer in Shelby's trunk when the accident happened."

  "Of the five men left on the platform, Shelby's the only one who survived, but there could have been more killed if the workers had been close by."

  She lifted her head forcing words out. "He's been resting quietly since they degloved him. They must have finally given him enough drugs to let him sleep."

  "He was wearing gloves?" Anna asked a moment before the horror of what Crystal meant sank into her mind. They had removed dead skin as completely as if they pulled ofl a glove.

  Panic climbed up Anna's spine. None of this was real. Not the fire she had watched in the distance. Not the hospital wait. Not the funeral. It was only part of a play she had been acting in for years. She knew all the parts: act happy, act interested, act as if you are loved. But the man dying only a few feet away made everything real. She spent a lifetime not feeling and suddenly, with this stranger, she knew his pain. She smelled it in the air, heard it in the drone of the machines, saw it in the agonizing way he fought not to move as he breathed.

  Anna concentrated on Crystal, staring at the young woman's shaking hands, memorizing every detail as only an artist would. Slowly, like water trickling through her body,

  She forced the horror of the fire and Shelby's burns to the side and once more stepped onto her own private little stage. The whispers of the pain that circled in the corners of her mind threatened to come forward and haunt any peace proclaimed. The thoughtful scenes she painted in her imagination grew cloudy.

  Crystal took a long breath. "I have to be here when he comes to. 'Course, he can't talk with that ventilator down his throat, but I figure he'll know I'm close."

  "I understand," Helena whispered. "You do what you think is right, child. Don't let anyone push you around, even this nurse."

  Crystal smiled. "Thanks. I needed someone to say that. But Nurse Landry has been great. She's about the only one who seems to know I'm here. The others just walk around me."

  While they watched, Shelby's fingers twitched, as if feeling along the bed for something.

  Crystal grabbed her scrubs. In seconds, she had put on all the gear and rushed to his side. "What is it, honey?" she whispered close to his ear.

  His bandaged fingers found her hand and closed around it slightly.

  "I'm right here." Tears filled her eyes. "I'm right here."

  She looked back at Helena and Anna. "He likes to hold my hand when the pain's bad. It calms him if I talk to him. Funny, before the accident, I don't remember him ever more than half listening to anything I had to say, but now he seems to want me to talk."

  Helena glanced around the private room with eyes as sharp as a health inspector. "You'll need a more comfortable chair. If the hospital doesn't have one, I'll send one out."

  Crystal's eyes widened. "Thanks," she mumbled. "Will they allow that?"

  "Of course they will. You can't be expected to sit in this all day." Helena touched the broken-down recliner Crystal had been using as a bed, then looked back at her. "I'll call my hairdresser and have her come by later this afternoon She can wash and curl your hair in the hallway if nowhere else is available. And give you a manicure, too, while you're close enough to listen for Shelby."

  Tears rolled down Crystal's face and soaked into the cotton mask she wore. To many women, Helena's offer would have seemed frivolous, but Anna saw that Helena offered Crystal a gift she would treasure.

  Anna knew to follow suit. "I-if you like, as soon as the special clothes are not needed, I could stop by your house and pick out a few outfits for you."

  Crystal broke into a full scale cry. "Oh," she wailed. "Would you?" She hid her face in gratitude. "Colorful clothes and a real nightgown. Tasteful, of course."

  "O-of course." Anna doubted Crystal owned anything that could be worn at the hospital. "I-if I can not find your gowns, I will buy one for you, if you will allow me."

  "Nothing low cut," Crystal added. "And only shoes with soles that don't make noise."

  Anna smiled. "I will bring several outfits and a selection of night wear. As soon as you are able, they will be waiting for you."

  "Wonderful." Crystal wiped her face as she moved away from Shelby's bed. The nurse carefully elevated his arms.

  "I probably sound selfish, but you're the first people to visit me and not just Shelby. I can't tell you how good it is to see you."

  "I'll be back tomorrow," Helena announced as she straightened formally. "In fact, I'll be back every day until that husband of yours wakes up and realizes what a jewel of a wife he has."

  Crystal stood a little taller. "No one's ever called me a jewel before."

  "Well, it's about time someone did," Helena said matter of factly.

  Anna guessed Helena was a woman who made up her mind about who was friend or foe within minutes of meeting someone. For some reason, Helena decided she cared about Crystal. And for Helena, that was like signing on to a campaign.

  After Helena made a few phone calls and had a short visit in the hallway with one of the nurses, the women said goodbye. Anna did not need to hear the words or even understand the language. She knew by the nurse's movements things would be easier for Crystal from this point on, or Helena Whitworth would see that heads rolled.

  When oil rigs first spread across the land, labor was hard to find. Many of the farm boys were pulled from the cotton patch to work in what they called the "oil patch."

  October 14

  5:30 p.m.

  Randell House Restaurant

  Helena and Anna stopped off downtown at the Randell House for a late lunch. Neither wanted to end their time together.

  Back in Italy, Anna would have left the funeral of a loved one to go home to a house full of company. Here, there was no one. She longed for relatives to cook for and clean up after. Somehow, keeping busy seemed a kinder way.

  The two women walked into the empty restaurant arm in arm like old friends.

  Davis once told Anna that during the 1890s the Randell House had been a huge home. The town had grown up around it. At some point, the house lost its first floor to commerce. Now, it stood like an architectural mutant with a top floor restaurant of old grace and charm and a main floor filled with offices and bank tellers. The Victorian decor had been further humiliated by the joining of a
parking garage at the back.

  As they sat at the table surrounded by dark mahogany and leaded glass, Anna saw nothing but the beauty that had somehow survived a hundred years.

  Anna found Helena surprisingly easy to talk to. An unconditional acceptance between them crossed the barrier of age and made friendship possible.

  From the second-floor windows, they watched shadows grow long across Main Street, elevating the town from dilapidated neglect into classic mystery. Helena ordered a thick cup of coffee and asked to see the dessert menu. Although neither woman commented, both realized that, for once in their lives, no one waited for them to come home.

  Half an hour later, Anna sipped her coffee and watched Zack Larson walk into the restaurant. He looked as out of place among the ferns and bookshelves as a bull in a deli. His usual work shirt and jeans were gone and his old Stetson had been replaced by one without a sweat stain.

  "That your neighbor?" Helena asked as she sampled her coconut pie and tried to peek through the foliage.

  "H-he was at the funeral." She guessed Helena knew why Zack Larson was, but she continued anyway, "He has the p-place to the north of us." She only remembered speaking to the man a few times when Carlo or Davis could not be bothered to deliver a message. Larson had not been friendly. Once, she told him what she thought of the horrible barbed wire that fenced his cattle in, and once she had complained about the cattle trucks using the back road between their property lines. The constant roll of dirt had dusted her sunroom windows on the north side for two weeks.

  "He hasn't been home to change out of that ghastly suit," Helena added. "Must have had business in town after the funeral. Word is his ranch is struggling, but then what ranch hasn't at some point? I would like to see him prosper enough to buy new clothes and maybe get a decent haircut. I hate to see a nice-looking man ugly himself up. I swear he wore that suit to his wedding."

  "He is married?" Anna lowered her voice even though Zack Larson could not have overheard them.

  "About eight years ago." Helena usually limited her gossip to the facts and comments about clothes. "His wife left him before the first year was out. He's kept pretty much to himself since then, not that he was particularly friendly before. He must be real tired of his own cooking to stop in here."

  The waiter directed Zack to the table behind Anna. Even though plants separated them, Anna heard him ask the waiter if the place served beer.

  "I got a headache the size of Oklahoma," he mumbled bumping both the table and chair as he tried to fold his six foot frame.

  Anna turned back to Helena, Zack Larson forgotten. She watched Helena order another slice of pie. "You are very hungry?"

  Helena laughed. "J.D. swears I can put away more than a field hand. I guess I just enjoy eating. Good food, good company." Helena raised her thin shoulders. "Well, that's not altogether true, though I've enjoyed your company. I eat just as much when I'm home alone. Give me a good movie and I'll finish off a bag of Oreos along with the popcorn."

  "I-I do not mind eating alone," Anna admitted, as she wondered what Oreos were. After meeting Helena, she guessed they must be something fancy ordered in only the best shops. "Davis was gone most of the time, anyway. It is nice to eat in silence watching the day come to an end."

  "I know," Helena answered. "With my two daughters setting up camp at my place this week, I long to be alone. They're masters at making trivial conversation. We've had entire meals with nothing talked about but a thirty-minute TV program from the night before. We could have all watched the rerun in less time." Helena waved at the waiter and pointed at her coffee cup. "Now, my grandchildren are a little better. If we ever get their volume controls fixed, I might listen to them."

  Anna laughed. "Y-you know what I miss most?"

  "What?" Helena leaned forward.

  "I-I miss something I never have had, really. But at least when Davis was alive, there was a chance of it."

  "Oh? What's that?" Helena thanked the waiter with a nod as he delivered her pie.

  "I miss…" Anna sighed. "I miss those huge warm, all encompassing hugs men sometimes give women. I would like to disappear into a man's arms and forget about everything but being safe. It is a fantasy I know must only exist in the movies."

  "I know what you mean. My J.D. gives me those hugs. He has since we were in our twenties. I remember the first one when Paula and Patricia's father died in Viet Nam. i was a young mother with two little girls to raise and no skills. I thought it was the end of the world."

  Helena smiled, looking more into the past than out the windows as the town lights flickered on. "J.D. was back in the States for training of some kind. He'd already been to Viet Nam once. He came home for a short visit. The minute he saw me, he hugged me like he would never let go and told me everything was going to be all right."

  "Did you love him, then?"

  Helena shook her head. "Not the way you think. Though I've loved him all our lives, folks don't marry their first cousins. So, I thought the love was more brotherly than anything. I'm a few years older than him. We were great friends as children, our mothers being sisters and all. When he came back years later for the funeral of my second husband, we figured we'd wasted enough time with the brotherly love. We expected all kinds of trouble after we got back from tying the knot in Mexico, but most people thought since he'd been gone for years; he wasn't really a close relative anymore."

  Anna laughed again as they stood to leave. Helena had managed to give Anna a quiet sense of peace in their hours together. As they passed Zack Larson's table, Anna noticed he had tossed down a few bills and walked out behind them, leaving his drink untouched.

  At the elevator, Helena said goodbye to Anna with a motherly kiss on the cheek, while Zack politely held the door.

  When Anna entered the elevator alone, she tried not to look at him. She wanted the feeling of peace to last just a little longer before the world stepped in.

  "Garage?" he said.

  "Pardon?" Anna glanced his direction, but Zack stared straight ahead as if looking at another in the elevator was strictly forbidden.

  "Are you heading to the garage?" His voice sounded rusty as if he talked little.

  It was a dumb question, she thought. Everyone who ate at the restaurant parked in the garage in the basement. Except maybe a few folks like Helena Whitworth who had bankfront parking. The first floor housed the bank and a few lawyers' offices that were long since closed for the night.

  "Yes, please," she answered formally. "Th-the garage."

  "You make it sound like some place I'd like to visit." He smiled, but still didn't look at her.

  As the old elevator jerked in movement, they both swayed and waited.

  "Mrs. Montano," Zack said. "I'm sorry to hear about your loss. Davis was a hardworking man and a good neighbor."

  "Th-thank you," she answered, staring at the seam in the silver door.

  Zack closed his eyes and continued, "I overheard what you said a few minutes ago in the restaurant. I want you to know if you ever need that hug, I'll leave my porch light on." Words tumbled out of his mouth as if he had no control over them. "I imagine you can see it from your place, 'cause I can see your lights from mine. No strings, no questions, just a hug if you need it."

  The elevator tapped bottom, and the doors slid open. He waited for her to exit first.

  Anna reacted without thinking. She took a step forward, then swung back suddenly and slapped Zack Larson hard across the face.

  She walked away, shaking with anger knowing he had listened in on her conversation with Helena.

  Just as the elevator closed with him still inside, she heard him mumble, "Or…maybe not."

  In the 1920s wagons carrying nitro to oil sites would occasionally blow up while crossing railroad tracks or deeply rutted dirt roads. The railroads were not happy, nor were the widows of the drivers.

  October 18

  Meredith Allen curled into the shadows of her living room and watched as Sheriff Granger Farrington cli
mbed out of his patrol car. He tossed his hat on the seat and headed toward her door. She glanced at the clock glowing from her VCR beneath the TV. Nine o'clock. Probably time for his final rounds, she decided. How did she get on his list? It must read something like "lock up office, check on fights at bars, drop in on pathetic widows."

  Everyone in town knew his routine. Since being elected sheriff, he started each day at his office by seven and ended every shift by driving through town just after dark. On weekends he was on call, but most folks knew they could find him at his office on Saturday mornings and checking out the bars around midnight without taking the time to order a drink. Sunday was slow and he was a little harder to locate.

  Meredith always thought he deserved his Sundays alone. Surely one of his deputies could handle things. But, in a small town you are what you do. Not just during work hours, but all the time. She had seen the town pharmacist cornered at church about a prescription and heard last week the home economics teacher was called at midnight because the Methodist Women's League had a canning problem.

  The only unlisted number in town was the home phone of Hank Wilson, the TV repair shop owner. He figured in his line of work other folks' emergencies were never his. Rumor had it that the unlisted number made some people so mad they would buy another set rather than give Hank their business.

  Just guessing, she would say Granger Farrington loved what he did. The paper had reported he worked ten years on the Houston Police Department and three with the highway patrol before running uncontested for sheriff. Most folks fell he had done a great job for the past four years.

  Once, when Meredith had borrowed his copier at the courthouse, she noticed his rules posted on a wall beside his desk.

  Farrington's rules

  One: Know what's going on in town.

  Two: Be professional.

  Three: Never get involved personally.

  As far as Meredith knew, he had followed every rule to the letter. He never dated any women in Clifton Creek, nor made drinking-buddy friendships with anyone in town. Some said he limited his friendships and his women to Sundays in Wichita Falls.