Mother's Wishes

Mothers Wishes

The iron horse rode the dusty cattle track up from Dayton, out towards the Sawmill Flats. Phelps watched it bounce along the track with its occupant’s a’ bouncing and hanging on for dear life. He spat over the neck of his horse and wondered why folk would give up their own two legs for a “contrapulation” like that kind of thing. He sat his saddle in his flannel clothes from back east and jeans and waited for the contraption to disappear over the ridge towards the house; then he turned Montana horse and headed up the trail with his hound dogging his heels. He would get there eventually.

The occupants of the motorized car were Bryson Phelps at the steering bar and Grayson Stewart, Dayton’s marshal beside him, with Mrs. Linda Phelps behind him in the bucket seat. It was Bryson’s first car and he was proud as anything to be showing the marshal how it beat traveling by horse.

“It’s like having your own rail car!” He shouted above the roar of the engine and the ruckus of the track. The marshal didn’t respond which no surprise was given the sick look of terror on his face. Instead he clung to his hat and the car door for dear life.

Linda smiled at her husband and then gagged as she remembered that opening her mouth was a good way to gain a throat full of road grit and dust. She gripped the seat and spat into her handkerchief as the car bounced its way on down towards the house. She was going to have to insist that her husband put a proper road in when they eventually moved there.

Out of the trees and green bladed hills the house appeared nestled between two hillocks and down among the pines. A Ranch house with adobe brick walls and wood posted porch.  As the car pulled towards the house, a pack of angry and howling dogs gave chase leaving the sheep to wander out from where they had just been herding them. They circled the vehicle as if hoping to herd it off to the barn, it pulled to a stop a few yards from the house. The dogs continued to circle as the dust settled, wary and suspicious but keeping their distance.

An Injun woman came out of the house; she was a dark beauty of middling height and long straight black hair. She wore plain brown woolens and a long skirt over moccasins. She shaded her eyes to watch the iron horse and its occupants arrange themselves and exit via the doors of the wagon. She gave a high pitched whistle at the dogs to clear them off, hoping they would return to the fields and their sheep. They did not budge but gave a wide berth to the newcomers.

 She shook her head at these white folks and their big village ways. Not for the first time, she paused to wonder what had possessed her to leave the tribe and follow Phelps back east across the Dakotas to this place so far from her lands.

Her small reminder of those reasons clutched at her skirt and peered out at the new strangers and the hulking metal beast. Daywolf looked at the monstrous thing, this horseless carriage in wide eyed fear as the white people came out from inside it wearing gray dresses and long coats and strange head-dresses that covered their eyes. He was a small boy, the product of the Cheyenne woman and her cowboy.

Now strangers had come here with marshal Stewart, she could not say what they would want but she could say that it was probably trouble. Stewart only came when there was a promise of trouble. She took her eyes away from the group dusting themselves off to look to the Winchester leaning in the corner by the door. She wished that Phelps would ride hard to return but it was not his way. He would come slowly and sure on that old mustang of his. He would handle it when he arrived.

Bryson looked at the woman on the porch as the boy peeped out from behind her skirts. He figured this must be the Indian woman that he had heard that his brother had taken up with but he hadn’t heard of a son. Where was his brother, he wondered as he took off his driving coat and then paused to take his wife’s as well. She smiled up at him and then bent to straighten her dress. He turned back to the house and began to approach, smiling.

“Better watch where you step.” The Indian said with a grimace.

            Bryson stopped, alarmed, he looked at her and then over at Stewart who had also stopped- he showed confusion but a smile also ghosted across his face. Bryson raised an eyebrow and Stewart looked down. Bryson looked down too. His shoe was inches from a pile of manure. He relaxed and skirted the obstruction.

            “Hello. My name is Bryson; I am Phelps’ younger brother from the city.”

He stuck out his hand. She looked at his hand as if it were some venomous snake and then back at him. She said nothing, nor did she take his hand, she just continued looking at him.

            “Molly.” Stewart said and tipped his hat. “We just came to see Phelps.”

            “He ‘aint here marshal.” The woman- Molly said. “And my name aint no Molly either.”

            “Now Molly, that is what the preacher man said it was so that you and Phelps could have a right Christian marriage- you gotta have a Christian name.” Stewart said this condescendingly as if he viewed her as a child. “Where is he anyway?”

            Molly made a face and pointed past them out towards the prairie at the silhouette of the lone rider approaching. Bryson turned to look and saw his brother come ambling over a small rise as he approached the house. The old cowboy was much the same as he had always been, not that Bryson had taken much time to stay in touch. Phelps rejected even letter writing and had never given over on the education that Bryson had gotten in the past. Bryson would not have even known of Ma’s passing had not Phelps considered that important enough to send a telegram.

            Bryson waited until his brother had pulled up his horse and hitched it to the rail, a sharp word from him and the dogs tucked their collective tails and scattered off to herd the sheep. Then as the cowboy turned back towards Bryson, he spoke up.

            “Hello Phelps. I-“

            “What you want Bryson?” Phelps answered as he walked onto the porch.

            “Can’t I just come to see you? You are my brother after all.” He moved to follow Phelps to the porch.

            Phelps turned and held up his hand to stop him. Linda had started too but then stopped, embarrassed, she blushed under the scrutinizing gaze.

            “Two years since Ma died and I haven’t seen you.” Phelps said.

            “I have written you several times.” Bryson said indignantly.

            “Sure, I got them and read them.” Phelps said as he sat down on the old rocker by the door, he reached up and took the Molly’s hand.

            “You never wrote anything back.” Bryson said looking around but seeing no other chairs.

            “Had nothing to say. Besides, you bring the marshal here- so that means that you want something lil’ brother.” Phelps said and then spat.

            “Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Linda spoke up hopefully.

            “No ma’am, I reckon your husband wants something- so he can come right out an’ say it. No offense to you.” Phelps said giving her a nod. Linda paled and began to back away from the porch until Bryson reached out and took her by the arm. She gave a nervous jump and came to stand beside him.

            “Alright, since you want to get to the point and to hell with civility then I will say my peace.” Bryson declared and Phelps nodded waiting for him to continue.

            “When Ma died, I figured you would need- we would both need time to mourn her rightly. But now that time has passed and I want my share of the inheritance.”

            Phelps cursed and stood up and walked down the porch to lean on the post and look his brother in the eye.

            “I take you mean to come and take this ranch from me?” Phelps crossed his arms.

            Bryson swallowed and for a moment said nothing.

            “Well not exactly, I figured we could split the lands and I could have the house and the tract down to the river and you could take the prairie and tracts up to the mountains.” Bryson smiled and spread his hands. “That gives you most of the good lands and leaves me with enough to live on.”

            “Hell Bryson, it’s all my land, Ma got you learned and me I got the ranch and the work.” Phelps said it with disbelief; once upon a time this was the boy who had ridden the range at his side.

            “So you are saying that you won’t honor Ma’s will?” Bryson said reaching into his wallet and extracting a piece of paper.

            “There’s no will Bryson, she couldn’t even write- so don’t go waving that paper at me. She done sold off you part of the land to pay for your learning.” Phelps said searching for a calm that was fast escaping him.

            “She- she wrote a will. I got it right here-“Bryson said waving the paper. “What you mean she sold the land?”

            “That piece of paper was written by pa before he died. Ma took your half of the land and sold it so you could go to school.”

            Bryson stopped waving the paper and looked at the paper in his hand. He took some deep breaths and then looked back at Phelps.

            “Well, how do I know you telling the truth?”

            “You will have to make that decision on your own lil’ brother, but I will tell you this- this is my and my woman’s land and it will be my son’s.” And with that his hand came to rest on the butt of his pistol at his waist.

            Bryson’s eyes grew wide and he looked from Phelps to the gun and back to Phelps. Then as if he had forgotten he glanced over at Stewart to see him holding his own hand above his pistol. He swallowed again longing for water and time. He felt a pain in his left arm and looked down to see Linda’s hands gripping his arm. He looked back to see the strained expression on her all too pale face. He turned back to his older brother and held up his hands.

            “You wouldn’t shoot your own flesh and blood?”

            “Get off my land, lil’ brother and we won’t find out.” Phelps said.

            “I will be back, Phelps, with a court order if its necessary.” Bryson said brandishing the will like a sword.

            “I will burn this house before I let you live in it.” Phelps replied.

            Bryson backed away and got into his car, then stopped and looked at his stricken wife. He cursed and got out and helped her back into the bucket seat. When he got back in Stewart was already there. He looked back at Phelps who stood on the porch with his Indian woman and that half-breed child of theirs.

            “It’s not over, I will get my share!” He called.

            “It’s over.” Phelps said. “You are no brother of mine.”

            With that Bryson turned his car away from the house and drove away as fast as it would go, hoping that the dust and wind would dry his tears.