Perma red, p.19
Perma Red, page 19
She had not seen Jules Bart since the day her sister died, since the night she had gone home with him. She had followed him down a dark hall. She had seen the glint of his spurs hanging neatly on the wall. Cowboy hats and silk scarves hung from dusty antlers above his bed. A spiderweb laced the top of his window but his house was neat and orderly. She noticed small details of lace on the nightstand and dresser, the signs of a woman who had lived there long ago. She looked at the bubbled glass–covered photographs of a thin man with a handlebar mustache, an unsmiling young woman in a severe black dress. Yellowed newspaper clippings curled back from the walls, pictures of Jules smiling too wide under World Champion headline titles, and she had wondered what the point of it all was. Jules Bart champion rodeo roper. Her sister sleeping in the dark room of Ferron’s Funeral Home. His house had been so dark that night she had been aware of little else but him. She had leaned into Jules Bart, closed her eyes to his room, because he smelled sweet as juniper.
His house was quiet and still. The door was open and she pressed her face to the dusty screen. All the windows were open, too, and a shrill wind battered the window shades. “Hello,” she called. “Is anybody home?” There was no answer. She opened the screen door and stepped inside. She noticed one clean plate, a single fork in the drain rack. On the kitchen table she saw an ashtray filled with cigarette butts. Ashes spilled over on a fan of bills. A cup sat on the table, half-filled with black coffee. A sack of empty bourbon bottles leaned against a chair. She stepped closer, saw the red stamps on each one. PAST DUE. UNPAID. FINAL NOTICE. On the corner of the table were more bills, a stack of them left unopened. She took a hard swallow. “Jules,” she called, her voice soft. She was going to leave the fry bread on his counter but she looked past the kitchen toward the hallway. She believed he was in the far field mending fence, or herding cattle up to his winter fields. His house seemed empty to Louise as if he had been gone a long time.
She knew she should leave. She felt she was violating something beyond just his privacy; she was learning something about herself. She wanted to see the room he slept in again, the room she had slept in with him. She had a desire to see all the things he possessed, the life he led alone. She walked down the dim hall aware of the faint sour smell of mice. She stopped for a moment to listen and heard the sound of someone sleeping, the slow, even breath of Jules. It was early afternoon, too late to be sleeping, much too late for a rancher to be in bed. Her heart quickened and she had an urge to leave again, but she was drawn to him because he was unaware of her presence. She was hidden from him, a snake in the grass coming closer. She peered into the bedroom.
She saw Jules on the bed, sprawled on his back. He was in a deep sleep, his eyes half-open, dreaming. Naked and uncovered. Even though she had slept beside him she had not seen his naked body until now. He had pulled the shade down in a room already dark before he had undressed, and she had felt disappointment. She had seen him shirtless across the pasture at twilight but she had never really seen him unclothed up close. The night her sister died he had crushed her with the weight of his body, his insistence, but he had not let her touch him. He had pressed his palms to her shoulders to keep her at a distance, even as she felt the heat of his legs against hers. The sharp edge of his lower rib cage had been hard against her own, unyielding, almost painful. She had had to push him away to catch her breath and she realized he had been inside of her and she had not even felt his heart beating. When he was finished he had gripped the covers to his armpits before he lit a cigarette. He had fallen asleep that night so soundly he seemed to be sleeping alone.
Now she looked at him, shaken by what she saw. His legs were long and beautiful but his torso was badly scarred. She had seen the faces of many rodeo cowboys, the small, white lines that split the bridges of their noses or creased their lips, the knots of flesh at the base of their hands that had once been their thumbs. Cowboys’ scars were supposed to be sexy, the mark of toughness, but seeing Jules’s old injuries, knowing he had hidden them from her, made Louise aware he had not healed from them, might never heal. She had heard a broken rib cage, if left untended, could carve through a man’s middle and eventually tighten around his torso like a bucking horse cinch. She saw that Jules Bart carried that scar and more. She could see the broken line of his bottom rib, the suckhole scar as big as her fist where a bull horn must have pierced his stomach. He had been wounded. She knew now that Jules had kept himself alone and hidden for many reasons, a man who drank to forget and be forgotten. A man who was not connected to the world that had used him up. Jules Bart had never sought her out. He had only wished to be left alone.
He closed his hand and jerked in his sleep. He startled her and she felt suddenly ashamed. He was not the man she had imagined him to be, neither sure of himself nor at ease in the world. Jules Bart, a man without family, looked to be losing his ranch. She turned back toward the hall. She didn’t want him to catch her. She walked quickly away from the sight of him and then she was running. The door slammed shut behind her.
The storm was closing in, growing darker. She wanted to run from herself. She took off for the hills. She bounded over weeds and tall grass. She dropped the sack of fry bread but didn’t stop to retrieve it. She looked behind her, hoping Jules was not watching her from his window. She decided to head for the trees where she could not be easily spotted. For now she was only interested in putting distance between herself and Jules Bart. She kept her eyes on the far hills.
She was running so fast she caught her foot under a rock, maybe a fallen branch, and she was flying. She was falling. She saw wet grass come up at her face, heard the grinding thud of her bones. For a moment she lay still in the cold grass, listening to her hard breath. Her knees were hot. She could feel the little stinging rocks buried in her palms, the deep throbbing pulse of her heart, and she felt foolish. She had gotten what she deserved, seen something she was not supposed to see. She had also shirked her obligations. She felt her sides heaving. She looked at her aching hands. She had taken a hard fall.
There was a weakening sweetness in the air that made her want to inhale deeply. She saw a large rock and made her way to it. She needed to calm down. The wind shifted and the smell turned suddenly ripe. She sniffed the air but the breeze had already turned from her. Her back was stiff. She sat down on the rough rock and looked at her bleeding knees. The storm was whipping the bramble. It was still raining. She brushed the wet hair back from her face. The fall had made her feel like laughing or crying, and she thought if she started either she would never stop. She tried to gulp air, catch her breath. Her toes were rain soaked too. She busied herself with untying her shoes, but as she bent over she spotted something in the grass. Her heart shot to her throat. She looked again.
Something lay still in the grass. She hoped it was a dead deer, hoped it was anything other than what it was. She saw a woman. She saw Hemaucus Three Dresses in the grass, her eyes clouded and wide-open, unblinking in the falling rain. Her arms stretched back above her head, her black hair caught in the weeds. Louise stood up. She could see the dirt under Hemaucus’s nails. She was dead. Louise felt the muscles in her back curl up to her neck. She knew someone had put her there. Her legs were tired from running, but she ran.
When she got to the highway she kept running. She heard a car coming up from behind her and she wanted to hide in the ditch. Blood itched in her tight fingers.
The car pulled off on the shoulder behind Louise. She turned to see Harvey Stoner looking at her from the open window of his big car. She couldn’t remember when she had been so happy to see anyone.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he told her, licking his lips. As she approached him his expression changed. “Hey,” he said, “are you OK? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She wanted to tell him she was not OK, there was a dead woman on the hill and she had recently lost her sister but she felt too weary. She got into his car without an invitation.
“There’s a dead woman up on the hill,” she said, “right up there.”
Harvey looked at her as if he could not comprehend what she was telling him. He looked at her strangely. As he was getting out of the car she was locking the doors. When he came back down the hill, his face was gray. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. He paused and spoke softly, “I heard about your sister. I’m sorry.”
Louise reached for the pack of cigarettes on his dash.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. He traced her breastbone with light fingers.
“Shouldn’t we call someone?” she said. He pulled away from her and slammed the keys in the ignition. Her hair was running water. He grabbed his leather coat from the backseat and tossed it to her. “Try not to get that wet,” he said. She pulled the coat up to her throat, shivering. Hemaucus Three Dresses was open-mouthed under the cold silver sky.
Before she could stop him Harvey turned into the lane going up to Jules Bart’s house. “Guy here has a phone,” Harvey said, but he noticed she leaned her elbow up on the door to shield her eyes. “What’s wrong?” he said, reaching for her. “What’s going on here?”
“I don’t think we should be up here,” she said, but Harvey cocked his head to her. He knew when she was trying to hide something. “What were you doing up here?” he asked. She had nothing to tell him. She pulled Harvey’s coat tighter around her.
“Something’s up,” Harvey said.
They pulled up in front of Jules Bart’s house and Harvey honked his horn. They waited a moment. Harvey was just about to open his door when Jules Bart stepped outside. He was tucking his shirt in his jeans but when he saw Louise he stopped still and adjusted his cowboy hat. Louise had to turn her face from him, unsure if Jules was aware of her recent visit. Harvey rolled down his window. “Can we use your phone?”
“Is there a problem?” Jules asked.
“I suppose you could say that,” Harvey said. Jules Bart rubbed his eyes and glanced at Louise but did not acknowledge her.
“A girl’s been found up on the hill,” Harvey said. “We need to call someone.”
Jules nodded his head and Harvey Stoner walked into the house alone.
Jules walked up to her side of the car. He kicked at the mud. “Rain’s stopped,” he said. She looked at his face but he did not give her any sign to indicate he knew what she had done. Louise looked at his boots, wanting to say something, but Stoner leaned out the door then and called to her.
She assumed Harvey would call the state police. She was surprised to hear Charlie’s voice on the line. “What’s going on?” Charlie said, and the sound of his familiar voice brought back the tight feeling in her chest. She swallowed, not wanting to cry. “What are you doing with that guy?” He began to scold her about Harvey Stoner but she did not listen. She waited until he was finished and then she told him the bad news.
“Hemaucus is dead,” she said, and she told him where he would find the body.
“Louise,” he said, “you didn’t find her, did you?” Before Charlie could apologize she hung up on him. She couldn’t bear his kindness now. It had begun to rain again. A hard rain. She saw rain pouring from the bill of Jules’s cowboy hat. She got back into Stoner’s car and watched Jules in the side mirror as they left him.
She was relieved when they reached the highway again. Harvey stopped his car and turned to her. “What’re your plans?” Harvey asked. He shifted in his seat and rubbed the length of his legs. “We could go to my house,” he said. He slipped his hand beneath her armpit and tried to pull her to him, his thumb ticked at her nipple. She could see a blue crack of sky over the faded hills. He leaned across the seat and kissed her ear. “I’ve been missing you,” he whispered. She felt the warm lick of his tongue and she brushed her cheek to her shoulder, trying to wipe him off. Harvey leaned even closer to her. His voice was sharp. “I need to see more you,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s been a hard time.”
He gripped her thigh and she crossed her arms over her chest. She had wanted just to go home but she knew Harvey would not accept that excuse. “I need to go to Baptiste’s place,” she said and closed her eyes.
“You’re not getting back with that guy, are you?” he asked. She knew then he had not heard the news of her husband, had not heard Baptiste had to leave the reservation. She figured Harvey Stoner probably didn’t listen to all the gossip of Perma. Harvey was thinking Baptiste was still around.
“I’m going to go for a ride,” she said.
“I’ll bet,” Harvey winked at her.
“A horseback ride,” she said and pulled back from the steam of his breath.
He drove fast toward Dirty Swallow’s house, dipping potholes, tapping the steering wheel with his ruby ring. He was reckless. She felt the shifting weight of his car as he wheeled the corners. He was angry with her. She felt the sudden need to make amends. She didn’t want to lose Harvey Stoner’s attention. He was the only person who could get her off the reservation. She folded his coat in her lap and stroked the sleeves. “I love his horse,” she said. “It’s the reason I’ve stayed with him.”
“His horse,” he snorted. Harvey Stoner was ugly when he was jealous.
Louise didn’t reply. She did want to see Baptiste’s horse, hoped in some way she would feel close to Baptiste too. It occurred to Louise that Baptiste was the only man who seemed honest to her. He didn’t have any secrets. He didn’t hide anything from her. Harvey stopped the car short and she lurched forward.
“You’ll be sorry,” he said.
She gripped the door handle. “What did you say?”
“I said, you’ll be sorry,” Harvey Stoner said again, swatting the keys in the ignition. She felt the threat of his words even when he finished the line, “… you didn’t come with me.”
The engine ticked. Stoner pressed his open palms into the seat. The heater struggled and wheezed. She tapped her fingers on his flat hand to get his attention. His face was tight lined, his lips white edged and dry. Harvey Stoner was a man used to getting his own way. He was not looking in her direction, too much set on gaining her full attention. He had seen Hemaucus Three Dresses dead in the field and he was still only concerned with getting his own way.
“Honey, if it’s a horse you want, I can get you a damned horse,” he said, and then he looked at her hard, as if he was willing her to choose him. And she knew Harvey Stoner could buy her a hundred horses. He believed he could replace anything, and that everything was replaceable.
She got out of Stoner’s car and he turned away from her, but he had stayed, stayed long enough to see Champagne running the fields toward her. She was happy to be free of everything for a while. She didn’t care if Dirty Swallow found her there. She lifted her arms to Champagne and nuzzled his neck. Champagne rubbed his throat on her back and she buried her face in his soft coat. When she looked up again she saw that Harvey Stoner was still watching her. It frightened her a little. He was a man who demanded too much. She was suddenly aware that he was capable of taking away the things that she loved in order to secure what he wanted. Her instincts told her she was revealing too much of herself to Harvey Stoner. She stepped back from Champagne and sat down in the tall grass. When Harvey Stoner finally left, she talked to Champagne and realized she wished she were talking to Baptiste. She tried to shake the image of Hemaucus Three Dresses dead in the tall grass. She remembered the day she had seen Hemaucus walking with Baptiste, Hemaucus alive and smiling. She thought of Jules Bart, plagued with debt, desperate, and hiding. She was beginning to understand many things she had not known before.
Charlie Kicking Woman
RESERVATION DEATH
I had failed to gather all the information I needed from Louise in order to do my job. I didn’t respond to the call like an officer, because I’d been too busy giving Louise advice about Harvey Stoner. I couldn’t get the grinding voice of Stoner out of my head, the image of Stoner beside Louise in her time of trouble. They were together again. I imagined Stoner comforting Louise, stroking her hair, cooing to her. I wanted to find the two of them more than I had wanted to find the body of Hemaucus Three Dresses.
Dispatch wasn’t able to get ahold of Railer right away. He’d been called to an accident scene outside of Polson. By the time Railer arrived in Perma dusk was settling. I had searched the bottom land first. I wanted to narrow the area, make Railer believe I was on top of things. Railer found me at the base of the hill, searching, wandering. “What are we looking at?” he asked. I explained to him that I’d gotten a call, possible murder. I pointed out the area I had already covered, a pitiful patch of ground. Darkness traced the edge of the fields. The clouds had lifted but sunlight was only a thin line at the top of the hills, fading.
“Where did Mr. Stoner say the body was exactly?” Railer looked at me intently.
“Here,” I said, sweeping my arm. “Here someplace.”
“Right,” Railer said. “Great.” He headed up the hill. I grabbed my flashlight from the car and followed him. I was worried the coyotes would find the body of Hemaucus before we got to her, and it would be my fault. I scanned the fields, walking quickly. I could see Railer on the far side of the field. I could see him kicking at tufts of grass. Now and then he would stop, place his hands on his hips, and shake his head. I tried to stay focused. I looked the ground over carefully for any sign, a dip in the grass, a telltale trail. I was finding only rocks. I was aware my eyes had adjusted to the encroaching dark but now the night was swallowing the fields. I could see the narrow path of Railer’s flashlight, and sometimes not even that. I jogged from one end of the field to the other, plotting my own grid. It seemed hopeless. Railer had come up behind me and when he gripped my shoulder he startled me. “Easy,” he said. He took his hat off and slapped his leg. “We’re not doing a lick of good out here,” he said. “We won’t be finding that girl tonight.” He flashed his light on a small patch of grass. “We’ll try again at daybreak,” he said. “We might even have to call in Harvey Stoner.” I tried not to grimace. I followed Railer back to the road, still searching the ground, circling my flashlight toward rocks and small bushes. I was unwilling to admit Railer was right: we wouldn’t be finding Hemaucus tonight. I rubbed my eyes, already weary. My stomach was churning. By morning the crows would gather. I had failed.
