Farnham's Freehold

  Hugh was startled. “Yes.”

  “A pro-rata share, you said. Ammo, tools, and so forth.”

  “Better than that; we’re a going concern. Duke, you are leaving?”

  “Yes—but not just myself. Mother wants to. She’s the one who’s dead set on it. I’ve got reasons, but Mother’s wishes are the deciding factor.”

  “Mmm—Let’s talk about your reasons. Are you dissatisfied with the way I’m running things? I will gladly step aside. I feel sure that I can get Joe and Barbara to go along, so that you will have unanimous support.” He sighed. “I am anxious to turn over the burden.”

  Duke shook his head. “That’s not it, Dad. I don’t want to be boss and you’ve done a good job. Oh, I won’t say I liked the high-handed way you started in. But results count and you got results. I’d rather not discuss my reasons except to say that they don’t have to do with you—and wouldn’t be enough to make me leave if Mother weren’t hipped on it. She wants to leave. She’s going to leave. I can’t let her leave alone.”

  “Can you tell me why Grace wants to leave?”

  Duke hesitated. “Dad, I don’t see that it matters; she’s made up her mind. I pointed out that I couldn’t make things as safe for her—nor as comfortable—as it is here. But she’s adamant.”

  Hugh pondered it. “Duke, if that’s how your mother feels, I won’t try to persuade her; I’ve long since lost my influence over her. But I have two ideas. You may find one of them practical.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Hear me. You know we have copper tubing; we used some in the kitchen. We have everything for a still; I stocked the items to build one if a war came along—not just for us but because liquor is money in any primitive society.

  “I haven’t built it for reasons we both know. But I could and I know how to make liquor.” He smiled slightly. “Not book knowledge. While I was in the South Pacific, I bossed a still, with the shut-eye connivance of my C.O. I learned how to turn corn or potatoes or most anything into vodka, or fruit into brandy. Duke, your mother might be happy if she had liquor.”

  “She would drink herself to death!”

  “Duke, Duke! If she is happy doing it, who are we to stop her? What does she have to live for? She loved television, she enjoyed parties, she could spend a happy day at the hairdresser’s, followed by a movie, then drinks with one of her friends. That was her life, Duke. Now where is it? Gone, gone! There is just this we can give her to make up for what she has lost. Who are you to decide that you mother must not drink herself to death?”

  “Dad, that’s not the situation!”

  “So?”

  “You know I don’t—didn’t—approve of Mother’s excessive drinking. But I might go along with letting her drink all she wants now. If you build that still, we might be customers. But we would still leave. Because that won’t solve Mother’s problem.”

  “Well, Duke, that leaves only my other idea. I’ll get out instead. Only—” Hugh frowned. “Duke, tell her that I will leave as soon as Barbara has her baby. I can’t walk out on my patient. You can give Grace my assur—”

  “Dad, that won’t solve a thing!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, Christ, I might as well spill it. It’s Barbara. She’s—Well, hell, Mother is nuts on the subject. Can’t stand her. Ever since Karen died. She said to me, ‘Duke, that woman is not going to have her child in my home! Her bastard. I won’t have it. You tell your father that he has got to get her out of here.’ That’s what she said, Dad.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “Yeah. I tried to reason with her. I told her that Barbara couldn’t leave. I gave her both barrels, Dad; I said there wasn’t a chance that you would ever force Barbara to leave. But as for making her leave now, or even letting her, you would no more do it than you would have driven Karen out. I told her that I wouldn’t, either, and that Joe and I would fight you to stop it, stipulating that you were crazy enough to try. Which you aren’t, of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That did it. She believes me when I lay it on the line. So she decided to leave. I can’t stall her any longer. She’s leaving. I’m going with her, to take care of her.”

  His father rubbed his temples. “I guess there is no situation so bad but what it can get worse. Duke, even with you, she hasn’t anywhere to go.”

  “Not quite, Dad.”

  “Eh?”

  “I can swing it, with your help. Do you remember that cave up Collins Canyon, the one they tried to make a tourist attraction? It’s still there. Or its twin, I mean. I was hunting up that way that first week. The canyon looked so familiar that I climbed up and looked for the cave. Found it. And Dad, it’s habitable and defensible.”

  “The door? The mouth?”

  “No problem. If you can spare that steel plate that blocked off the tunnel.”

  “Certainly.”

  “The cave has a vent, higher up. No smoke problem. It has a spring that hasn’t failed all this dry weather. Dad, it’s as comfortable as the shelter; all it needs is outfitting.”

  “I capitulate. You can take almost anything now. Beds, of course. Utensils. Your pick of the canned goods. Matches, ammunition, guns. Make a list, I’ll help you move.”

  Duke colored under his tan. “Dad, a few things are up there already.”

  “So? Did you think I would be pinchpenny?”

  “Uh… I don’t mean the past few days. I moved some things up the first days we were here. You see…well, you and I had that row—and then you made me rationing officer. That gave me the idea, and for a week or more I always left here loaded, leaving when no one was watching.”

  “Stealing.”

  “I didn’t figure it so. I never took as much as one-sixth of anything…and just stuff I would have to have in a pinch. Matches. Ammo. That rifle you couldn’t find. One blanket. A knife. A little food. Some candles. You see…well, look at it from my side. There was always the chance that I would get you sore and either have to fight—one of us killed is the way you put it—or run and not be able to stop for anything. I decided not to fight. So I made preparations. But I didn’t steal it; you said I could have it. Say the word and I’ll fetch it all back.”

  Hugh Farnham peeled a callus, then looked up. “One man’s stealing is another man’s survival, I suppose. Just one thing—Duke, in that food you took: Were there any cans of milk?”

  “Not one. Dad, don’t you think, if there had been, I would have beaten all records getting up there and back when Karen died?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry I asked.”

  “I was sorry I hadn’t snitched a few cans; then they wouldn’t have been used up.”

  “The baby didn’t last out the milk we had, Duke. All right, it calls for quick surgery—but don’t forget that you can come back, any time. Duke, women sometimes get unreasonable at about your mother’s age…then get over it and are nice old ladies. Maybe we’ll have the family together again. I hope we’ll see you occasionally. You’re welcome to all the vegetables you can eat, of course.”

  “I was going to mention that. I can’t farm up there. Suppose I still hunt for all of us…and when I bring in a load of meat I take away a load of green stuff?”

  His father smiled. “We have reinstituted commerce. And we can supply you with pottery and there’s no need to do your own tanning. Duke, I suggest you sort out what you want, and tomorrow you and I and Joe will start packing it to your cave. Be lavish. Just one thing—”

  “What?”

  “The books are mine! Anything you want to look up, you’ll have to come here. This is not a circulating library.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I mean it. You can have my razor, you can have my best knife. But snitch one book and I’ll skin you alive and bind that book in human skin. There are limits. All right, I’ll tell Joe, and get Barbara out of the house and we’ll stay away until dark. Good luck, and tell Grace no hard feelings. There are, but tell her that. But I??
?m not too groused. It takes two to create a heaven…but hell can be accomplished by one. I can’t say that I’ve been happy lately and Grace may be smarter than we think.”

  “That’s a polite way of telling us to go to hell, Dad.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Whatever you mean, the same to you. It was no accident that I moved away from home as soon as I could.”

  “Touché! Well, get on with it.” His father turned and walked away.

  Joe made no comment. He simply said that he had better get on with the irrigating. Barbara said nothing until they were alone.

  Hugh took a picnic lunch—chunks of corn pone, some strings of jerky, two tomatoes, plus a canteen of water. He fetched a rifle and a blanket. They went up the hill above the grave and picked the shade of a detached tree. Hugh noticed fresh flowers on the grave and wondered if Barbara had been trudging up there. The climb was difficult for her; they had taken it very slowly. Or had Grace been doing it? It seemed still less likely. Then he thought of the obvious: Joe.

  Once Barbara had her heavy body comfortable, on her back with knees up, Hugh said, “Well?”

  She was silent a long time. “Hugh, I’m dreadfully sorry. It’s my fault. Isn’t it?”

  “Your fault? Because a woman sick in her mind fixes on you to hate? You told me once not to blame myself for another person’s defect. You should take your own advice.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant, Hugh. I mean: losing your son. Grace could not leave if Duke did not. Did he say anything? About me?”

  “Nothing but this ridiculous set that Grace has taken. What should he have said?”

  “I wonder if I am free to say? In any case I am going to. Hugh, after Karen died, Duke asked me to marry him. I refused. He was hurt. And surprised. You see—You knew about Karen and Joe?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know whether Karen had told you. When she decided to marry Joe, I made up my mind that I would have to marry Duke. Karen took it for granted and I admitted that I intended to. She may have told Duke. In any case, he expected me to say Yes. I said No. And he was hurt. I’m sorry, Hugh. If you want me to, I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Hold on! I think you made a mistake. But I won’t have you correcting it to please me. What do you want to do? Do you plan to marry Joe, now?”

  “Joe? I never planned to marry Joe. Although I would marry him as readily as Duke. Hugh, I want to do what I always want to do. Whatever you want.” She turned on her side and faced him. “You know that. If you want me to marry Joe, I will. If you want me to marry Duke, I will. You say it, I’ll do it.”

  “Barbara, Barbara!”

  “I mean it, Hugh. Or anything more, or anything less. You’re my boss. Not just some, but all. Haven’t I done so, all the time we’ve been together? I play by the book.”

  “Stop talking nonsense.”

  “If it’s nonsense, it’s true nonsense.”

  “As may be. I want you to marry whom you want to marry.”

  “That’s the one thing I can’t do. You are already married.”

  “Oh?”

  “Are you surprised? No, I’ve surprised you only by saying it—when we’ve kept silent so long. That’s how it is and that’s how it’s always been. Since I can’t marry you, I’ll marry whom you say. Or never marry.”

  “Barbara, will you marry me?”

  “What did you say?”

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. She kissed him back, lips open, full surrender.

  Presently he straightened up. “Would you like some corn pone?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I thought we might have some to celebrate. It calls for champagne. But corn pone is what we have.”

  “Oh. Then I’ll have a nibble. And a sip of water. Hugh, Hugh my beloved, what are you going to do about Grace?”

  “Nothing. She’s divorcing me. In fact she divorced me more than a month ago, the day—the day we buried Karen. That she is still here is just housing shortage. It doesn’t take a judge to grant a divorce here, any more than it will take a license for me to marry you.”

  Barbara spread her hands over her swollen belly. “I have my marriage license, right here!” Her voice was light and happy.

  “The child is mine?”

  She looked at him. “Look over to the east.”

  “At what?”

  “Do you see Three Wise Men approaching?”

  “Oh. Idiot!”

  “It is yours, my beloved. A thing a woman can never prove but can be utterly sure of.”

  He kissed her again. When he stopped she caressed his cheek. “I’d like corn pone now, lots of it. I’m hungry. I feel very full of life and anxious to live.”

  “Yes! Tomorrow our honeymoon starts.”

  “Today. It has started, Hugh. I’m going to enter it in our journal. Darling, may I sleep on the roof tonight? I can manage the ladder.”

  “You want to sleep with me? Lecherous little girl!”

  “That wasn’t what I meant. I’m not lecherous now, my hormones are all keyed against it. No passion, dear. Just love. I won’t be any good for a honeymoon. Oh, I’ll happily sleep with you; you could have slept with me all these months. No, dear, I meant that I don’t want to sleep in the same room with Grace. I’m afraid of her—afraid for the baby at least. Perhaps that’s silly.”

  “No, it’s not. It may not be necessary but it’s a precaution we’ll take. Barbara, what do you think of Grace?”

  “Must I say?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t like her. That’s apart from being afraid of her; I didn’t like her long before I became uneasy about her. I don’t like the way she treats me, I don’t like the way she treats Joseph, I didn’t like the way she treated Karen, I have always resented the way she treats you—and had to pretend not to see it—and I despise what she has done to Duke.”

  “I don’t like her, either—not for years. I’m glad she’s leaving. Barbara, I would be glad even if you were not here.”

  “Hugh, I’m relieved to hear that. You know I’m divorced.”

  “Yes.”

  “When my marriage broke up I swore a solemn oath that I would never break up anyone else’s marriage. I’ve felt guilty ever since the night of the attack.”

  He shook his head. “Forget it. The marriage was already long dead. All that was left were duties and obligations. Mine, for she didn’t feel any. Beloved, had my marriage been a reality, you could have come into my arms that night, and cuddle and comfort would have been all. As it was, we were dying—so we thought—and I was at least as hungry for love as you were. I was parched for love—you gave me yourself.”

  “Beloved, I will never let you be parched again.”

  About nine the next morning, they all were outside where chattels for the new household were piled.

  Hugh looked over his ex-wife’s selections with wry amusement. Grace had taken literally the invitation to “take almost anything”; she had gutted the place—the best blankets, almost all utensils including the teakettle and the one skillet, three of four foam-rubber mattresses, nearly all the remaining canned goods, all the sugar, the lion’s share of other irreplaceables, all the plastic dishes.

  Hugh made only one objection: salt. When he noted that Grace had grabbed all the salt he insisted on a division. Duke agreed and asked if there was anything else Hugh objected to?

  Hugh shook his head. Barbara would not mind making-do. “Better is a dinner of herbs where love is—”

  Duke had shown restraint, taking one shovel, one ax, a hammer, less than half the nails, and no tool not stocked in duplicate. Instead, Duke remarked that he might want to borrow tools someday. Hugh agreed and offered his services on any two-man job. Duke thanked him. Both men found the situation embarrassing, both covered it by being unusually polite.

  A delay in starting was caused by the steel plate for the cave door. Its weigh
t was not too great for a man as husky as Duke, but it was awkward. A pack had to be devised, rugged enough for the trek, comfortable in padding and straps, and so rigged that Duke could fire a rifle.

  This resulted in sacrificing the one intact bear hide, the covering of the bed Karen had died in. Hugh minded only the loss of time. It would take six trips by three men to move the plunder Grace had picked; Duke thought that two trips a day would be maximum. If they did not start soon, only one trip could be made that day.

  At last they got it on Duke’s back with a fur pad protecting his spine. “Feels right,” Duke decided. “Let’s get packs on you two and get going.”

  “In a jiffy,” Hugh agreed and bent over to pick up his load.

  “My God!”

  “Trouble, Duke?”

  “Look!”

  A shape had appeared over the eastern rise. It slanted through the air on a course that would have missed them, but, as it neared the point of closest approach, it stopped dead, turned and headed for them.

  It passed majestically overhead. Hugh was unable to guess its size at first; there was nothing to which to relate it—a dark shape proportioned like a domino tile. But as it passed about five hundred feet up, it seemed to him that it was around a hundred feet wide and three times that in length. He could make out no features. It moved swiftly but made no noise.

  It swept past, turned, circled—stopped, turned again and came toward them at lower altitude.

  Hugh found that he had an arm around Barbara. When the object had appeared, she had been some distance away, putting clothes to soak in the outside tub. Now she was circled by his left arm and he could feel her trembling.

  “Hugh, what is it?”

  “People.”

  The thing hovered above their flag. Now they could see people; heads showed above its sides.

  A corner detached itself, splitting off sharply. It dove, stopped by the peak of the flagpole. Hugh saw that it was a car about nine feet long and three wide, with one passenger. No details could he see, no clue to motive power; the car enclosed the man’s lower body; his trunk projected above.

  The man removed the flag, rejoined the main craft. His vehicle blended back in.