Lay down, Sally, and rest you in my arms …
Dad took Mama by the hand and led her down the street, bobbing his head in time to the beat.
Leni was left standing alone, a girl caught between two factions.
She felt the schism in town, the disagreement that could easily become a fight for the soul of what Kaneq should be.
This could get ugly.
Leni knew what her father had done and the vandalism revealed a new side to his rage. It terrified her that he had done such a public thing. Ever since Mr. Walker and Large Marge had first sent Dad to the pipeline for the winter, Dad had been on his guard. He never hit Mama in the face, or anywhere that a bruise could be seen. He worked hard—beyond hard—at controlling his temper. He walked a wide, respectful berth around Mr. Walker.
No more, it seemed.
Leni didn’t realize that Tom Walker had come up beside her until he spoke.
“You look scared,” Mr. Walker said.
“This thing between you and my dad could tear Kaneq apart,” she said. “You know that, right?”
“Trust me, Leni. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Leni looked up at Mr. Walker. “You’re wrong,” she said.
* * *
“YOU WORRY TOO MUCH,” Large Marge said to Leni the next day, when Leni showed up to work. For the past year, Leni had worked part-time at the General Store, stocking shelves, dusting supplies, ringing up sales on the antique cash register. She made enough money to keep herself well stocked with film and books. Dad had been against it, of course, but this one time, Mama had stood up to him, told him a seventeen-year-old girl needed an after-school job.
“That vandalism is a bad thing,” Leni said, staring through the window, down the street toward the ruined saloon.
“Aw. Men are stupid. You might as well learn that now. Look at bull moose. They ram into each other at full speed. Same with Dall sheep. This will be a lot of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
Leni didn’t agree. She saw what her father’s vandalism had done, the effects of it on the people around her. A few painted words had become bullets hurtled into the heart of a town. Although the party last night on Main Street had raged as it always did, clattering on until daylight began at last to dim, she had seen how the townspeople divided themselves into teams, one that believed in change and growth and another that didn’t. When the party had finally ended, everyone had gone their separate ways.
Separate. In a town that used to be about being together.
* * *
ON SUNDAY NIGHT, Leni and her parents went to the Harlan compound for a barbecue dinner. Afterward, as usual, they built a big bonfire in the mud and stood around it, talking and drinking as evening fell around them, turning the people into violet silhouettes.
From her place on Thelma’s porch, rereading Matthew’s latest letter by lantern light, Leni could see the adults gathered near the flames. A jug that looked from here like a black wasp moved from hand to hand. She heard the men’s voices above the snapping, hissing flames, a din of rising anger.
“… take over our town…”
“… arrogant prick, think he owns us…”
“… next he’ll want to bring in electricity and television … turn us into Las Vegas.”
Headlights speared through the darkness. Dogs went crazy in the yard, barked and howled as a big white truck rumbled through the mud, parked with a splash.
Mr. Walker got out of his expensive new truck, strode confidently toward the bonfire, calm as you please, as if he belonged here.
Uh-oh.
Leni folded up her letter, jammed it in her pocket, and stepped down into the mud.
Dad’s face was orange in the firelight. His topknot had fallen, now lay in a lump of hair behind his left ear. “Looks like someone is lost,” he said, his voice pulled out of shape by booze. “You don’t belong here, Walker.”
“Says the cheechako,” Mr. Walker said. His broad smile took some of the sting out of the insult. Or maybe it added to it; Leni wasn’t sure.