This is Chapter 6 in a series of ten stories.
Best friends Abigail De Kalb and Eileen Parker headed off to TCU together in the fall of 1958. At the end of their sophomore year at TCU Eileen Parker had been called home under unusual circumstances involving her father. Abigail went on to graduate, but not before taking up with a guy she’d met from Oregon. He seemed to be everything that a young girl from Texas looking for adventure could hope to find.
Back home in Fort Stockton Eileen eventually got on with the Stockton Telegram-Dispatch in the office and then as a reporter. Her gift for writing served her well, something Perry Silverman, owner of the STD noticed almost immediately. Eileen and her mother developed an odd relationship that folks seemed to initially question and then just accept.
Charlie, the old hand that helped out at the ranch full time eventually retired, becoming too stiff and twisted with physical issues to really be able to do the job. Not long after, Duke ran into Dusty, whose place Charlie had taken, at the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store. “I got a spot for you out on the ranch, if you have a notion.”
Dusty looked at him crossways. “You done fired me once, not sure that’s anything I want a repeat performance of.”
“That had nothing to do with you. I was afraid you and Abigail would be too much of a temptation for each other. Saved all three of us the potential for grief when I suggested you’d do well to seek employment elsewhere.” Duke had always assumed Dusty understood the reason behind the change in employment status, but then remembered the boy’s strong suits. Subtlety was not one of them. He started a week later and eventually moved into the area of the stables that had been built for tack and supplies. Duke had sweetened the deal with room and board so he didn’t have to go looking for a hand he didn’t know.
Abigail graduated from TCU with some type of degree in humanities that Duke figured probably wasn’t worth the vast sum he’d spent, but if it made her happy, so be it. What followed, that she also claimed would make her happy, was for Duke to walk his baby girl down the aisle of Almost United Methodist Church so she could wed the ne’er- do-well from Oregon. “I love him, Daddy. And he makes me happy.”
Of course, Duke knew better. He knew it was a folly just based on the handful of times he’d met the kid. But he couldn’t say ‘No’ and he remembered being younger and dumber than his daughter when a similar choice was made between himself and Abigail’s mother. Though tragic, it turned out in the end. Perhaps this would, too.
Arrangements were made for what would be the wedding of the 1963 season in Fort Stockton, an affair more elaborate and more expensive than the graduation party had been. Eileen Parker covered the nuptials of her old friend for her new employer. A crew of dozens worked at the ranch for weeks preparing for the ceremony. As much money was spent on the affair as the four year degree Abigail had attained at Texas Christian University.
After the party the two departed for a honeymoon in Hawaii and then set up a domicile in Los Angeles, so Abigail’s new husband would be closer to “his art”. They divorced within a year. Rather than return to Fort Stockton, Abigail went back to Fort Worth and the circle of college friends, most of which were still there. “I need the stimulation of a big city, Daddy,” she told him. She also needed quite a bit of cash to set up residence until she could get a job.
At the wedding Eileen Parker had cornered the father of the bride after a few flutes of French champagne. “I still want that interview. You have stories I want to know,” she told him. The way she looked at him made him feel uncomfortable, and it took a lot for something to make the war veteran feel uncomfortable.
He’d hoped that would be the end of it. When she showed up on an early Friday evening made up like she was going on an expensive date and in a dress she’d chosen for its ability to be easily removed, he wasn’t surprised. He showed her to the patio out back and had Miss Bella bring fresh lemonade to them. He felt that might be safer than hosting her indoors. Glancing towards the driveway, he found irony in the Buick woody she drove that was the same vintage as the one he’d purchased when Abigail – and Eileen – were both little girls.
When she bent down to retrieve her notepad and pen, it was obvious she’d chosen not to include upper undergarments when dressing. It was a choice she made sure Duke had noted before she sat back up. Indeed, he had taken full measure of her firm, ample breasts as they swung unhindered, the dark peaks of which were home to erect points that seemed to be calling out for attention.
Eileen probably thought that her outfit and unannounced entry would be all that Duke De Kalb would need to assume the real reason for her drive out to the ranch. “Now let’s get down to business. I’d like you to share some of your memories from the war, particularly what it was like to take the life of another human.”
“Eileen,” Duke started. “I would like to accommodate your interest. I appreciate you driving all the way out to visit. However, whatever stories there may be in my past, particularly as it relates to the service to my country, are just that. My past. It would serve no interest to you or your readers to attempt to dredge them up now in order to sell papers.”
Eileen set down the pen and pushed away the pad. “Then perhaps there might be something else you would like to share.” She was not a girl used to taking ‘No’ for an answer, much like Duke’s own daughter.
Duke took a long sip of lemonade, the glass sweaty and cold from the condensation. “You know I was shot down in 1940 over Europe. I spent months in hospitals over there, and here when I returned, right?”
Eileen thought he’d had a change of heart and was going to open up about the war, after all. “Of course. That’s why I’m here.”
Duke chuckled. “Of course.” He took another sip and put the glass back down on the patio table. “The extent of those injuries do not allow me to share anything else, particularly those things that you may be interested in. Despite the beauty you possess and the obvious assets on display.”
That had never occurred to Eileen. She made small talk, somewhat embarrassed, but more disappointed. The two of them talked about Abigail and her failed marriage, the mismatch the couple had been from the beginning. She mentioned a book she was about to begin researching about murders across the south. “Perry is allowing me to take a sabbatical to work on it,” she said. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Soon thereafter the sun had almost completely set and she gathered it was time to leave. Pleasantries were said and hugs were exchanged. Duke walked her out to her car and closed the door once she was inside the cabin. “Tell your mother I send my best regards,” he said. He started to ask her about her father, but then thought better of it.
Eileen started the Fireball 8 and headed down the long driveway towards the farm to market road as Duke walked back to the front door of the house. His back was towards her as she turned left, towards the barn, rather than right, towards the road.
The next morning Duke rose early. He had an appointment at Tumbleweed Chrysler-Plymouth-Dodge. He’d gotten into the habit of trading cars every two years and had spread his business around town. The 1964 models had just come out. The Lincolns looked too much like they had the three years previous. Same was true for the Cadillacs. He’d never had an Imperial, and with a brand new body style, thought this might be the time to try one on for size.
He expected to see Dusty up early and working on the fence lines they’d talked about replacing. It wasn’t like the kid to sleep in. But he didn’t want to be late for his appointment at Tumbleweed, and was sure the kid would be working hard by the time he got home.
That ended up being four hours later, just after lunch. He pulled up to the house in a 1964 Imperial Crown Convertible powered by a 413 cubic inch V8 paired with a three-speed automatic transmission. The car featured red leather upholstery, air conditioning, a power-retractable white soft top, dual side mirrors, stainless-steel body trim, power steering, power brakes, a Carter four-barrel carburetor, and a dual exhaust system.
The cabin featured individual “executive aircraft type” front seats, probably the feature that sold him on it, and a bench rear seat trimmed in red leather with matching dash pads, door panels, carpeting, and parade boot. Appointments included removable front-seat headrests, seat-back storage pockets, a reclining front passenger seat, air conditioning, power windows, a transistorized push-button AM/FM radio, and a rear-seat speaker as well as bright trim, lap belts, front and rear center armrests, and door armrests with hidden storage compartments. Power accessories including the front-seat adjusters, radio antenna, and door locks would all be inoperative as soon as the warranty expired. But by then, Duke would have traded it in anyway.
It was obvious the fence lines hadn’t been touched. Dusty was nowhere to be found. Driving the new Imperial around to the backside of the barn, Duke noted Dusty’s pickup was parked just where it had been the day before, the last time he’d seen it.
Duke parked the Imperial next to the entrance to the studio apartment in the stables and walked in. The door wasn’t locked. It never was. He called out a few times, but didn’t get a reply. He figured Dusty must have walked out to one of the pastures, but pushed open the door to his bedroom to have a look, just in case.
When they made eye contact, it was hard to tell just which of the two of them was the most embarrassed. Duke, standing in the doorway past noon on a Saturday morning that was rapidly turning into a Saturday afternoon? Or Dusty, naked and tied to the red oak headboard of his bed with thick leather straps taken from the tack room at some point.
“It’s a long story,” Dusty said, not even glancing towards his employer.
Duke was tempted to pull up a chair and put his boots up on the bed and say, “I got nothin’ but time.” But instead, he took a pocket knife from his jeans, cut the leather straps that bound Dusty to the bed, turned and walked back out to his new car.
Neither of them ever mentioned it again.
2 responses to “A FATHER’S LOVE, Chapter 6”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time” has put me into a couple bad spots.
Not quite like Dusty, though!
Eileen. Reminds me of my ex-wife. Except for those good looks.