Four

The lazy evening breeze drifted across the dirt yard in front of the Cobalt bunk house, tugging softly at the sporadic sprouts of weeds dotting the bare earth. The sun had cast a purplish color across the ranch in its scenic state of sundown, spreading great shadows like pools of black water onto the ground. The low sounds of men talking and laughing inside the bunk houses drifted weakly through the windows of the buildings, barely breaching the serene silence of the outdoors. The groaning sound of the Cobalt's blue door being opened was the first thing that really broke the stillness, followed by footsteps on the wooden porch, then the creak of the old stilted chairs that decorated it, and finally the voices of two men.

"An' that's how I come to work on this ranch… because of my ma." Walt's distinctively upbeat tone filled the evening air. "'Cause if we wasn't so poor, you can bet I'd be doin' tons of other things with my time."

"Like what?" George's voice asked, earnestly.

"Like… travelin', maybe. I don't know… but it wouldn't have nothin' to do with workin' on some other man's ranch." Walt hesitated, then began again, "A man's gotta have his own life at some time, ya know? One where he does things on his own agenda."

"I know."

"Well, I wanna do something special. My whole family's been a load of farmin' idiots. I love 'em and all, but their so damn… afraid of tryin' new things. And I'm sick of it. I wanna be the one who breaks the old Foreman fam'ly tradition. I wanna make somethin' of myself." Walt reached over his head and toggled the small electric porch light, throwing a pale yellow light over George and himself. He set his arm back down on his lap slowly, looking at George's feebly lit face searchingly, then opened his own mouth to speak again. "I can tell you're a nice fella George. I could tell from the moment you stepped in that door you wasn't one of them nasty guys like Kelly."

George gazed off into the distance at the big, fordidden house on the hill, his expression unreadable.

"And I don't want you to take this the wrong way, George." Walt continued. "But I just can't figure you out. You're so quiet. All you talk about is the here and now…" Walt broke off, shaking his head. "You know, I really don't have a single solid clue what you're about. And here I am tellin' you everything from the day I was born to this very moment, and you ain't told me one Goddamn shadow of a fact about yourself."

A few seconds of silence passed between the two, then George slowly opened his mouth to answer. "Things… they're complicated." The words came out of his mouth bit by bit, sounding forced. "And you're right, I ain't been sayin' much about me… There ain't much to say, that's all. I had a life before I worked here, but there's nothin' to share about it."

Walt eyed the other man skeptically, but kept his mouth shut. From the look in his eyes, it was apparent he didn't believe what George had said for one second, but wasn't going to make a fuss of it. They sat once again in silence for a few minutes, then the loud sound of barking filled the air, and a large shepherd dog bounded out of the bushes across the way. He looked around the yard, sniffing the air with his black nose, then turned his head to look at the men. He paused, and cocked his head to one side as he took them in.

Walt smiled. "Hey there, boy!" he called out, leaning forward in his chair. The animal yapped back, and began to wag its tail back and forth excitedly.

Without warning, the wind suddenly picked up, blowing the hat off of George's head and onto the dirt path, landing directly in front of the large dog. George stood up with a shout just as the dog snipped the hat up into his mouth, then raced off gleefully with his new toy. George ran down the steps of the porch and after the dog, the loud laughter of Walt following him as he chased the animal.

Soon his pursuit of the creature had led him further and further from the bunk house, and it wasn't long before the good-natured laughs of his friend had died out as the distance between them grew. Nonetheless, the dog raced on, and George, not ready to give up on his hat just yet, swiftly followed.

The dog led him across the small field behind the bunk house, and then out towards the small woods that served to fence in the property on the one side. Without hesitation, the animal flew into the dark growth, leaving George on the outskirts of the woodland. He pause briefly, then too threw himself in, not yet ready to give up the fight for his hat.

The forest was dark, and smelt of dirt and foliage. Though George could not see the dog or his hat in the dimness, he could hear the crush of the leaves under the dogs paws as he ran ahead, and that was all he needed. He pounded after the animal and deeper into the woods, all along the obscurity of his surroundings becoming more shadowy by the minute.

Then suddenly, the woods ended, and George burst into a clearing. Once again, the sky above was visible, and the stars could be seen twinkling in the purplish twilight. George blinked, and slowly turned his head to take in the new place. The ground was relatively flat and devoid of trees, all except for one large oak, which sat positioned in the middle of the land. The oak was growing off from a huge slab of granite, its roots wrapped in a strangling grip around the rock. The tree's branches looked like they could have touched the very stars above.

George noticed his hat, sitting upside-down near the tree. A smile crossed his face, and he quickly stepped up to claim the item.

"Evenin'."

George started, his eyes darting around, trying to locate the owner of the voice. His grip on his hat tightened, and he licked his lips nervously.

"Up here," the voice called again. George backed up, his eyes cast to the branches of the great oak above, until he saw her. Grace sat with both legs hung over one side of a fat branch, her fingers curled around the handle of an unlit lantern.

"What're you doing out so late?" In the darkness, it was hard to make out her expression.

George hesitated. "My hat."

"Oh." She paused for a moment. "I guess you're probably thinking that maybe I shouldn't be asking you that when I'm the one sitting in the tree by myself, am I right?"

George was quiet, so she continued.

"I saw that dog come by with your hat. He dropped it on the ground, then ran off. I'm glad you found it, I was wondering who that mutt stole it off."

"The breeze knocked it off my head, and he grabbed it and I chased him in here." George said, setting the hat back on his head as he turned away from the oak. "I better get back before they start wonderin' where I am."

"You haven't got anything to light your way. Here," she spoke in rushed voice from behind him, almost as though she didn't want him to leave. "I got a lantern. Why don't you wait a few minutes so we can walk back together?"

George didn't want to, but he agreed anyway. "Alright."

"Thanks." She said softly, and he could hear the sound of her movement in the leaves above. "Sometimes I just like to come out here and sit, you know? Nobody comes out here but me. And now you."

George had no intention of ever coming back, but he didn't say so. Instead, he let her go on.

"My mother used to climb this tree. She climbed a lot of trees, my dad says, but this one was her favorite. God, he'd have a fit if he knew I came up here." George could hear her laugh high up in the tree even from his place on the ground. "He hates it when I do stuff like this. Says it's dangerous. He just doesn't like it because mamma used to do it. He can't stand it when I do things she used to do. He doesn't like to be reminded of her. It's a damn good thing I don't look like her, or he'd probably refuse to even see me."

George stood silently with his back turned to the tree, listening. "He never says anything, but I think he misses her. Really misses her. And he relives her memory every day. You've seen that house on the hill. We all lived there when she was alive, but after she was gone my dad had the new one built. He never tore down the old one though. I think he's holding onto it like he holds onto the memories. Like if he has it torn down, a part of her will have been torn down too. He tortures himself, I think. He hasn't accepted that she's gone."

Her voice stopped. George fingered the pockets of his jeans in the strained quiet, waiting. Finally, Grace spoke again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be saying this stuff to you. We hardly know each other. But…" she paused. "Sometimes it's nice to get stuff out, you know? I never told anyone here that before. I told my friends back in Chicago… Never anyone here."

George could hear her moving in the tree, the rattle of the leaves as she climbed down, the thump of her feet on the ground behind him, then the feel of her fingers on his sleeve. He turned his head to look at her as she lit the lantern, and suddenly the dark shadow of her body became a living person. Her eyes shone in the lamp light as she looked towards him.

"Thanks, George." She smiled gently. "You're a good listener."

He nodded, and with that, they started the walk back to the ranch.