Neal
Torrey
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CHAPTER ONE
rom under a Stetson hat tilted over alert blue eyes, a young man watched the earth below as it slid beneath the wing of a jetliner. Early this morning he had been gazing at magnificent mountain ranges, but now he saw a rolling landscape broken up by developments, streets and superhighways. He felt as though he was moving not only through space, but through time as well; from a ranch in the high lonesome at sunrise, to an early sunset as he approached the nation’s capital. He felt good. Three weeks of hunting and hard ranch work had toughened him up and awakened his body. He was ready and anxious to get back to his office and launch into another year’s work. If he could have foreseen the danger and pain that awaited him, he would not have been so eager. He stretched, trying to get some relief from the airline seat, which did not seem to fit his large frame. An older woman beside him patted his arm. “I’m sorry if I woke you; I was trying to put the magazine away.” “No,” he responded with good humor, “I was just daydreaming. It’s been a long day, and I needed to stretch my legs.” “Where are you traveling from?” “ “I’m Edith Perry. I could tell you were a westerner by your clothes.” “Well, actually, Ma’am, I work in “Yes, Yes! I know just what you mean. I have this old pair of fuzzy house-slippers, and while they are really disreputable now, I can hardly wait until I can put them on!” He nodded with understanding. For her part, Edith Perry was fascinated by this
handsome young man who looked like he should be a movie star. “It must
be so exciting, living and working in Vern chuckled at that. “Nothing that exciting, I assure you! I work in the Department of Commerce, doing research in business activity and economic trends. It sounds dull, but it is actually quite interesting.” “You mean you’re one of those forecasters who come up with what the economy will be like next year?” He smiled. It was always this way when he tried to explain what his work was about. “Not exactly. You see, my function is more like being an analyst. I work in the Productivity, Technology and Innovation section. I look into new businesses that are succeeding, as well as older ones that show an upturn, and try to figure out what techniques and new equipment are helping them to get ahead. Then, based on my findings, I pass along that information to help other, similar businesses to grow. I also do some predictions on what effect this new growth will have on the economy.” He thought he had outlined his job pretty well, but her next question caught him off guard. “And, how old are you, Mr. Hasty?” “I’m thirty-two.” Encouraged, she went right on, “And, are you married?” “No, I’m not. Why do you ask?” he said, although he already knew. “Well, I have this lovely young niece, Betty Ann,
and she doesn’t get the chance to meet any nice young men in her job at
the Treasury. You see, most of the executives are older, married men. I do
worry about her living alone in He tightened his stomach muscles, trying not to laugh at her obvious matchmaking efforts. “I’m sure she’s a very nice girl, and it’s just a matter of time until some young man discovers her.” Edith Perry had been rapidly plumbing the depths of her large purse and now triumphantly brought out a packet of photographs. “Here she is. Isn’t she lovely?” He dutifully studied the face of a young girl, who was indeed lovely, in what was obviously her college graduation picture. She looked young and vulnerable, and he seriously doubted that she wasn’t meeting any young men. He was saved from further matchmaking efforts when the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, giving them the gate number at which they would deplane. He had retrieved his bag and was headed into the main concourse, when suddenly, something bumped against his knees. He looked down from his six feet, three inch height to see a small boy staring up at him with wide eyes. “Are you a COWBOY?” The small voice was filled with awe. He smiled down at the boy, “Well, not really. You see. We don’t raise cows on our ranch, that is, except for a couple of beeves to eat. We raise horses, and we …” The boy had turned away. “I thought you were a cowboy,” he mumbled sadly as he went back to his waiting mother. Well, you’d
better get back into your city duds, Bub, because you sure ain’t no
cowboy! Shaking his head, he went over to a vacant phone stall and punched in a familiar number. “Falls Church Christian Church,” a pleasant voice answered. “Hi, Susan. It’s Vern.” “Vern! Are you here, in town?” “Well, almost. I’m at The phone clicked, and in a moment a booming voice came on the line. “So, you’re back! I thought you’d decided to stay out there in the Wild West. Where are you?” “I’m at Ronald Reagan. Can you pick me up?” He could hear Morrie’s chair squeak as he turned, “Susan, can you pick up Vern for me? He’s at the airport.” A hearty chuckle. “Yeah, Vern, grab a cup of coffee, and Susan will be there in about an hour. Stop by the office, okay? It’s great to have you back! Bye!” Vern suspected that Morrie, an inveterate matchmaker,
was trying to marry off his church secretary and had chosen him to be the
patsy. He also had the feeling that, while Susan James was probably not a
party to Morrie’s matchmaking, she didn’t seem to object to it,
either. Still, Susan was a sweet girl, very nice-looking in a wholesome
sort of way, and he found himself looking forward to her company on the
drive back to After about an hour, he saw Morrie’s big Buick station wagon in the line of cars approaching the pickup area. Grabbing his bag, he jogged down to where Susan was, and tossing his bag in the back seat, he hopped in beside her. As they were pulling away, Susan kept looking at him, which made him slightly nervous. “Watch the traffic! What are you looking at?” “You. You’re so tan and thin—fit-looking!” “Thin? I’m still more than 200 pounds!” She stole another look at him. “Did you go on a fitness binge or something?” “No, not really. It’s just that there’s a lot of hard work to ranch life, and if you enjoy working, you can have a lot of fun out there! Besides, we did some hard tramping up and down mountains, looking for elk.” “Well,” she gave him another appraising glance, “you do look very fit, but I still think you’re too skinny.” At Vern’s request, Susan pulled off Highway 66 in Susan had real fun shopping with him, offering lots of advice on the evils of salt-laden TV dinners and microwave entrees. As they shopped, she filled Vern in on what had taken place at church during his absence and asked about what he had done out West. Susan obviously enjoyed shopping, searching to find the perfect fruits and vegetables for him. It seemed that every time she looked away, he had stuffed something else into the cart. The heavily-laden cart was soon transformed into numerous bags, in exchange for a staggering three-figure amount from his checkbook. Susan was shocked by the total. “You know, Vern, you could get by so much cheaper if you would just make up a shopping list first!” “Well, I was out of everything, so I just bought some of everything!” “You,” she wailed in mock despair, “are hopeless!” At the parsonage, he began to lift the garage door to retrieve his car, a sleek, red 1971 Corvette Stingray, but then he remembered he had left the keys with Morrie. While Susan opened up the station wagon, he trotted next door to the church. He found Dr. Maurice Slaughter at his desk, working on his Sunday night sermon. Resting his hand lightly on Morrie’s big shoulder, he said, “I didn’t find any tickets on the windshield. Didn’t you drive my car while I was gone?” Morrie spun his chair around. “Vern! Hey, it’s good to have you back!” Vern tried to give as good as he got in the bear hug embrace that followed, but Morrie had a good sixty pounds on him. “You’ve lost weight, Vern. Didn’t your mother feed you out there?” Vern ran his hands down his ribs, not so much feeling for fat as making sure his ribs weren’t broken. “Mom is an excellent cook, but we do a lot of riding at the ranch, and it tends to slim you down.” Morrie was suddenly serious. “You know, I’ve done a lot of thinking about that. Do you suppose that riding has anything to do with the body types you see out West? You know. The tall, slim, lean look of so many cowboys and ranchers? Did you ever notice that, jumping back and forth as you do from East to West?” “As a matter of fact, I have. But I think it has more to do with other factors, like diet and the body’s response to occupational stresses. The cowboy does a lot with his arms when he is on horseback, like opening gates and swinging ropes. He also has a lot of turning and twisting in the saddle, which tends to get rid of his stomach roll and the weight carried around the hips. For example, anyone could tell just by looking at you that your father was a blacksmith.” “Really?” Vern moved out of reach before he responded. “Yeah, either that or a Sumo wrestler! Can I have my car keys? Susan is waiting to help transfer the groceries to my car.” Now it was Morrie’s turn to tease. “Oh, are the two of you grocery shopping together now?” Vern accepted the keys Morrie pulled from his desk drawer. “Morrie,” he grinned, “I never imagined that Cupid came in a size Extra-Extra Large. You’re as bad as a woman on the plane who was trying to fix me up with her niece.” Morrie took on a pious air. “How is the church ever going to grow, if you don’t get married and start being fruitful?” “Thanks for keeping my car for me, Morrie. I’ll see you in church.” Morrie’s voice followed him out the door. “You’d better!” Susan had pulled the sacks out onto the tailgate and stood waiting patiently. He backed the Corvette alongside, and he and Susan began carefully stowing them in his small trunk, with the overflow going in the passenger seat and the floorboards. As he straightened, she was standing very close to him. She wrapped him in a hug. “Welcome home, Cowboy.” He was suddenly aware of how soft she was, and of her delicate perfume. He thought about the small boy at the airport and decided it felt pretty nice to be a cowboy. He would have to tell her that story sometime. After three weeks of driving the ranch vehicles, the Corvette seemed so wonderfully nimble and responsive that he had to make a conscious effort not to drive too fast. As he pulled onto U.S. 29 and the traffic engulfed him, he was struck once again by the phenomenon of big city pressure. Those around him drove like people possessed, darting from lane to lane, running up behind to camp on his bumper and then zooming past at speeds far in excess of the legal limit. The bigger the city, the more intense the pressure and the worse the drivers became. Vern had first noticed it on trips to Soon the red Corvette was pulling into the courtyard
of his townhouse. Pointing his opener control at the garage door, he
entered his own private sanctuary from the pressure cooker that is D.C.
His place was uniquely his, the only unit in the entire complex that had a
real, operable fireplace. In spite of the hassle of securing wood,
stacking it in the garage, hauling off the ashes and maintaining the
chimney, he found the warmth and friendliness of a fireplace was worth it
all. It also provided a strong link with home, where almost every ranch
house had a fireplace. The crackle of a campfire or logs burning in the
fireplace were an integral part of his memories of the West. His townhouse
strongly resembled the home he had left in After the clean air of the high country, his place
seemed stuffy and stale, so he opened several windows to air things out,
despite the fact that it was already Fall and the nights were growing
chilly. After carrying in the groceries and unpacking, he phoned in an
order from his favorite pizza place. Even though he had plenty of food in
the house now, he didn’t feel like cooking tonight. Later, in front of a
glowing fire, he reflected on the past three weeks. He felt not the least
bit guilty about taking all three weeks of his vacation at once. Now that
he had ten years in the department, he was entitled to three weeks, and he
took them, despite the mild objections of Sidney Stokes, the Section Head.
Three weeks gave him time to get in some serious elk and deer hunting, and
to help Dad catch up on the ranch work. Best of all, it gave him time to
let the relentless wind of the high country blow away some of the stink of
Despite the silver in his hair and the deep creases in his face, Virgil Hasty looked as straight and strong as ever. His eyes could still make out animals on a mountainside a couple of miles away. Martha, Vern’s mother, seemed to have slowed a bit, though. She now allowed some of the ranch hands to ride part of the rough off the younger horses. She said, by way of explanation, “The ground is getting harder than it used to be.” She was still a strikingly handsome woman, and even the fan of fine wrinkles beside her eyes did not detract from her beauty. Her hair was a little too true to its original red-gold color, and Vern suspected she was using a color rinse on it now. She still presented the paradox of being so very feminine and genteel that it was hard to imagine her doing ranch work. Yet, on horseback, she was as good a hand as any man. Better than some. Vern loved his job, yet he hated to think that it
would be a whole year before he could spend any amount of time at the
ranch. Back in Looking back, it seemed that once he had seen At the As he stared into the dying fire, Vern was relaxed and contented, but maybe feeling just a little bit lonely from being by himself again. Unknown to him, that loneliness would be a big factor in the immediate future, as his beautifully balanced life was about to suddenly fly apart.
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