West Texas winds buffeted the plane as it approached over the prairie. Its wings waggled like a wounded duck. The fuselage dipped, leveled, and then dropped toward the runway. Will’s stomach churned, and he grabbed his seat to hold on. He felt like Pecos Bill riding a Texas twister.
Until now the ride had been smooth and pleasant. Will had watched the scenery as it changed from a checkerboard of greens, browns, and yellows in Wisconsin and Iowa, to a tan canvas in West Texas that stretched to the Guadalupe Range, and he’d been spellbound. There were scenes below like he’d only seen in pictures—winding rivers that appeared to rest motionless between their banks, villages with buildings that were no bigger than the snow-covered houses he’d placed under his tinseled tree each Christmas, and cars that seemed to stand still on long ribbons of highway. Now, here in West Texas, he could see the broad prairie dotted with objects that looked like black specks on a tan polka dot dress. As the plane dropped lower, he could see arms slowly moving up and down, and knew these were the oil wells that Gusta had talked about. He’d never imagined there could be so many.
The wings waggled again, and then the plane settled onto the macadam runway.
Will unhitched his seatbelt, pushed forward the seat in front of him, and stepped from the plane. He wasn’t sure that his wobbly legs would hold him, so he grabbed the hand grip for support.
Once on the runway, he saw Gusta and a big man running toward them. “Thank heaven you made it,” Gusta said. “For a moment there I thought I was going to lose my cheese.”
Gusta hugged her uncle and turned to her companion who had held back. “This is Chester, our ranch foreman.”
Will could see that Chester—dressed in a Stetson hat, Big Daddy Joe Justin boots, an unbleached osnaburg shirt, and Levis—was a working cowboy. Although Jonathon was six foot and athletic, Chester dwarfed him. Will thought about Gusta’s letter, about how Chester would give those communists the boot. Looking at this hulk of a man, Will could see why they might not want to visit Texas.
“Mr. O’Shaughnessy, Gusta says you need some help with that cheese.”
Chester grabbed the wheel of Swiss that Jonathon pulled from the back compartment and lifted the two hundred pounds to his shoulder as effortlessly as Will hoisted his saddle each morning. “Here,” he reached out his free hand, “let me grab that smaller one, too. No sense takin’ extra steps.”
He strolled toward a pickup that was parked alongside the runway and eased the treasure into its cargo box.
Gusta, Will, Jonathon, and Brayton removed the rest of the cheese.
“I didn’t know you’d be bringing all this,” Gusta said. “But I think I can use it. No telling how much we’ll give away at the dance. I promised we’d have fresh Wisconsin cheese to go with their wine.” She grabbed Will’s arm. “You brought your cheesemaker’s outfit, didn’t you, Uncle Will?”
“I’ll look like I just stepped out of the factory.”
“For a minute or two at landing, I was afraid we’d underestimated our weight,” Brayton said. “I didn’t anticipate this wind.”
Gusta sidled up to Jonathon. “So you’re Jonathon Hays? Catherine has written so much about you that it seems I almost know you.”
Jonathon took Gusta’s hand. “And I’ve heard lots about you, too, Gusta.”
“I bet you have.”
“Just what do you have in mind?” Jonathon said. “Why’d you want all this cheese now?”
“I think it’ll sell like candy down here. And I want to introduce it this weekend. With Uncle Will’s help, we’ll do well.” Gusta covered the cheese with a sheet of canvas which she weighted down with two-by-sixes. She turned to her uncle. “Poor Aunt Mary, I doubt she’ll ever recover from my visit. I suppose she thinks she failed her long-dead brother, but she influenced me more than she’ll ever know.”
“She misses you, Gusta. We all do.”
“What’s your plan?” Jonathon said.
“I’ll tell you when we get home. We’ve gotta get dry ice on this cheese. Chester bought slabs on the way here.”
“Is there a motel nearby? Brayton’s flying to Corpus Christi tomorrow. He’ll be back Sunday.”
“If these winds don’t blow me into Mexico,” Brayton said.
“Just down the road a bit,” Gusta said. “They pick up and deliver, too. Cater to air travelers.” She waved him to the truck. “They say it’s the wave of the future.”
“They’re right about that,” Brayton said. “I appreciate the lift.”
“You’ll have to ride in the back,” Gusta said. “Will, you ride up front with Chester.” She grabbed Jonathon’s hand. “I’ll ride back here with Jonathon.”
Jonathon slipped out of Gusta’s grasp and hopped into the cargo box alongside his pilot, making sure there was no room left. “I need to make plans with Brayton. Besides, you wouldn’t think me so ungracious as to make a lady ride the boards.” He nodded at Will. “There’s space enough up there, isn’t there, Will?”
Will heaved a sigh of relief. “Gusta, we need to talk about this plan of yours,” he said as he grabbed Gusta’s arm and pulled her into the cab. She hadn’t changed, not one bit.
Gusta shouted back to Jonathon as she scrunched next to Will, “I’d be surprised if Catherine said I was a lady. I’m sure she has her doubts.”
* * *
They dropped off Brayton at the motel. An hour later Chester drove up a long, dusty driveway and slid to a stop in front of a large, rambling, country craftsman-style house. Its front patio area and its covered entry with two doors, one leading to a screened-in porch—the other into the big house, looked inviting to Will.
Jonathon coughed and spit grit while he jumped from the back of the truck.
“I’ll help unload and ice down this cheese,” Chester said, “then I’m going to the bunkhouse. Need my sleep tonight.” He winked at Gusta. “Because tomorrow night we’ll howl at the moon.”
“Go on, Chester,” Gusta said, “get your beauty rest. I’m sure Jonathon will help us with the ice.” She touched Jonathon’s arm and, in a purring voice, said, “Won’t you, Jonathon?” Gusta turned to Will. “Chester rides in the rodeo tomorrow.”
Jonathon continued to wheeze while he brushed dust off his shoes and trousers. He spit out a mouthful of Texas dirt. “I’ll help in a minute, soon as I catch my breath.”
“He’d like to draw Satan, the buckingest horse in Texas. Be a sure winner if he can hold that saddle. No one’s stayed on him all year, have they, Chester?”
“Not this year—or ever.” Chester hopped into his cab, and then he looked back at Gusta and Jonathon. “No hanky-panky now, you two.”
“Get on with you,” Gusta said as she waved him away.
Gusta turned to Jonathon. “He thinks he’s got a lasso on me, but no one’ll rope me anytime soon.” She threw a stick after the departing truck. “Let’s get this cheese on the porch and wrapped in ice. This Texas heat’ll turn it to mush.”
“Some like it soft,” Will said. “It’s more pungent that way.”
“We’ll hold some out for Saturday. I’ll ice the rest. I won’t need most of it until next weekend.”
Will started, “How’s that—”
“Let’s get this done,” Gusta said. She handed gloves to Will and Jonathon. “You’ll need these to handle the dry ice. It can give a wicked burn.”
Gusta laid a tightly woven blanket over a wedge of brick cheese and then covered it with a slab of dry ice. Vapor floated around the cheese. “Put the cheddar on those grapefruit crates.” She pointed to the other side of the porch. “I’ll introduce you to Mother and Aunt Marguerite as soon as we get this cheese iced down.” Gusta covered the cheddar with blankets and ice. “You may not understand her. She’s Hungarian, and her English isn’t too good.”
Will and Jonathon carried the Swiss wedge to a large board that Gusta placed in the center of the porch. “Help me unfold this blanket, Uncle Will. Do we have enough ice?”
Jonathon layered the remaining slabs of dry ice on the Swiss cheese, careful not to touch them to any bare skin. A fog spread across the room. “These slabs should last a long time,” he said. “Cover them with additional blankets and the cold will settle around the cheese. You shouldn’t need more before next weekend.”
Gusta turned when footsteps came from inside the house. “Oh, Mother, where’s Aunt Marguerite? I wanted to introduce her to Uncle Will and Catherine’s friend.” She grabbed Jonathon’s hand and pulled him forward. “Jonathon, this is my mother, Allie Tregonning.”
Allie nodded at Jonathon and hugged Will. “It’s been too long, Will. I do appreciate what you and Mary did for my young lady here.” She grabbed Gusta’s arm. “She grew up a bit in that year.” Allie hesitated. “I think.”
“Grew up?” Gusta exclaimed. “I wasn’t an inch taller or a pound heavier than when I’d left Texas—well, maybe a pound.”
“You know what I mean,” Allie said.
Will doubted if Gusta would ever change. But he’d never tell Mary that he kinda liked her spunk and sauciness.
“Marguerite went to her room,” Allie said. “She received a letter from her son today. He had to sneak it out through Austria. He’s still in trouble with the authorities, and afraid they’ll pick him up for sedition. He says the Russian influence is stifling. Marguerite’s beside herself, she’s so worried. Lots of people have disappeared and not been heard from again. Hungary’s a terrible place these days.”
“Can I help get the food ready?” Gusta said.
“You can help Angelina get supper on the table. Tell her to bring ours to Marguerite’s room. I’m sure she’ll feel more like socializing in the morning.”
Gusta took Jonathon’s hand and led him toward the sitting room. “Come along, Uncle Will. Now’s a good time to tell you about my plan. Selling Wisconsin cheese will be a pretty ambitious undertaking.”
“How’ll you market it?” Jonathon said.
“That’s why I needed it now, this weekend. I know it must have been a terrible burden on so short notice, but—”
“Lucky that I know a pilot.”
“This weekend there’s a rodeo and dance. You’ll get to see firsthand how Texans love your cheese. It’s too bad you can’t stay on because next weekend there’s a food convention over in Harvin. All the vendors will be there. I rented a table and plan to give out cheese samples, introduce Texans to Wisconsin cheese. I just know they’ll love it.”
“Brayton has to get back,” Jonathon said.
“This is only a start, Uncle Will. With your help, we’ll both make a ton of money.”
“I hope you’re right, Gusta.”
“How can we possibly fail?” Gusta grabbed his arm, pulled him close, and hugged so tight that Will turned red. “Why, you and lil’ ol’ me will make a strappin’ good team now, won’t we?”
The same old Gusta, Will thought.
“I’m sure I can convince lots of West Texas store keepers to sell Wisconsin cheese. And with you buying up there, we’ll do really well.” Gusta stared out the window into the West Texas darkness. “I’m looking to buy a cold storage building. I’ll need lots of money to help Aunt Marguerite.”
Later that night, Will settled into a soft feather tick bed with his head full of contrary thoughts. Gusta’s excitement was contagious. Could he do it this time? Once more, Grandpa Duffy’s admonition came to mind. But he didn’t feel so antagonistic anymore. Will smiled to himself. You can’t say that I’m not persistent, you old curmudgeon.
* * *
The bull took flight and when, stiff legged, he returned to the ground, the rider collapsed over his shoulder like a flimsy feed sack. A quick spin introduced the bull’s nose to his tail, and a return in the opposite direction introduced the rider to the ground.
Eureka the clown grabbed the bull’s tail and twisted hard. As the bull spun off the downed rider, he threw the clown through the air, then with the agility of a cat, Eureka landed running, the bull close behind. Scooter, Eureka’s partner, ran at the bull and distracted him for a moment, enough time for Eureka to jump into a barrel, not to emerge until his enclosure had been battered, gored, and left for dead by the enraged animal.
“And I thought Wisconsin bulls were mean,” Will exclaimed.
“These animals are bred for chaos,” Gusta said. “Three quarters of a ton of ill temper.”
“You couldn’t pay me enough money to play hide and seek with that beast,” Jonathon said.
“They don’t do it for the money. They only get ten or twenty dollars a night. If they weren’t rodeo clowns, I think they’d be stunt men, cycle jumpers, or some other dangerous and exciting occupation. They’re a different breed.”
“I can see they’re good athletes,” Will said.
“Have to be or they won’t last long,” Gusta said. “Still, they spend as much time in the hospital as out. Bronc riding is about to start. I wonder what horse Chester’s drawn.”
“Is bronc busting as dangerous as bull riding?” Will said.
“Some say worse. Broncos are leaner and quicker, a more agile animal.”
“Is Satan that bad?”
“He sure is. No one’s ridden him to the horn. Eight seconds, is all, but it’s an eternity when you’re jolted, twisted, and flung in every direction. There’s six riders today, so there’s one in six chances for Chester to draw Satan.”
“I bet he’s nervous as a mouse running from a kitten,” Will said.
“You can’t be scared, but it’s a bit unsettling. You’re confident in your abilities or you shouldn’t be out there. And you can win if you draw the best horse, but you know the odds are against you when you get Satan.”
After a rip-roaring ride during which his mount pitched like a small craft on a violent sea, the first rider made the horn and jumped into the clown’s arms as his horse, now free of the cinch, spun away. The second and third riders didn’t make the eight seconds. Still no Satan or Chester.
“Maybe he’ll draw Satan, after all,” Jonathon said.
“I hope not,” Gusta said, “I’ve got a bad feeling.”
The fourth rider’s hat showed above the chute, and a loud squeal emerged from the enclosure. A head popped up, and hooves banged against boards. “That’s Woody,” Gusta said, “and he’s on Satan.”
The horse screamed and reared. This time a tormented cry came from the chute, and attendants reached down from all sides to grab a cringing Woody off the angry beast. “It must be his leg,” Gusta said. “They’re always vulnerable in the chute.”
A few minutes passed. Satan remained in place. Then a black Stetson emerged from behind, and a Big Daddy Joe Justin boot swung over the sideboard. “They’re going to let Chester ride Satan. He could have passed on it. I don’t feel good about this,” Gusta said as she folded her hands in front of her mouth.
Satan broke from the chute with four feet off the ground and landed stiff legged. Chester sagged and then bounced high, the cinch taut within his clenched fist.
A spin right, then left, and the enraged animal erupted once more before he reacquainted his feet with the ground.
Chester lurched sideways but regained his balance, his gloved fingers welded to the rig.
Satan spun once, twice, and leapt for the heavens.
“How can he possibly stay on?” Will said.
“He’s a fine rider,” Gusta gasped through her fingers, “I think he’ll do it.”
Another spin, and the horn punctuated the screams and cheers from the crowd. But it wasn’t over yet.
“His glove’s wedged under the cinch,” Gusta said. “He’s having trouble. He can’t get off.”
And Satan didn’t believe it was over. He spun and doubled up, his hind hooves intersecting his front ones as he tried every move in his repertoire to dislodge the thorn that dangled sideways off his back. In those few seconds, the horse twisted, spun, and jumped, all to no avail.
Chester, although half off the horse, couldn’t get free.
Eureka ran alongside the enraged animal, and, after jumping astride, he reached around Chester and grabbed the cinch release, which loosened the entangled glove so that Chester could yank his fingers free. They tumbled to the ground together. Then one last spin and kick caught Chester in the midsection, and he collapsed on the ground while Satan surged away, victory his.
Chester lay still on the dirt.
Doctors raced from behind the chute.
* * *
They walked down the hospital corridor toward the intensive care unit. After an hour of sitting in the waiting room with no word, Gusta looked drained.
“Does he have family near?” Jonathon said.
“I’ll call them when we know more, but they live in San Antonio, too far to get here fast.”
The doctor met them at the door. “You can go in now, Miss Gusta. He’s sedated, so don’t stay long. He’s pretty sore, but he’ll be okay. Three busted ribs, and several cuts and contusions. We bound him up. That’s about all we can do. It’ll take time.”
“Hello, Gusta,” Chester whispered. “Didn’t think I’d ever get off.”
“You did it this time. You rode Satan. You won.”
“Yeah. Guess I did. It sure do hurt. I don’t feel like a winner.” He winced as he adjusted his pillow. “Sorry ’bout tonight, Gusta. Guess we’ll not be howlin’ at the moon, after all.”
“Oh, don’t you fret about that, Chester. I’m sure Uncle Will and Jonathon will take your place. Just this once, mind you. You’ll be back on your feet in no time. Don’t you worry, Chester, they’ll take fine care of me.” She turned toward Jonathon. “Now, won’t you, Jonathon?”
Jonathon flashed a weak smile.
Chester looked worried.
Will worried, too.
* * *
Before they’d left the rodeo for the hospital, Gusta had given cheese samples to Eureka, Scooter, and the rodeo crew. “I’ve asked Eureka to stand for pictures that I can use in my advertising, maybe use on my packaging. He’s a celebrity around here, but he hasn’t agreed to an endorsement yet.”
“Do you think he will?”
“He sure liked your cheese.”
That night, when they got to the auditorium, Gusta, Jonathon, and Will set up the table, covered it with white butcher paper, and filled it with plates of cheese samples. Gusta pointed Will to the men’s room. “Go in there and get your cheesemaker outfit on, Uncle Will. They’ll think this cheese came straight from the factory.”
As Will pulled on the outfit, he was worried that he couldn’t answer all the questions. He even felt slightly angry with himself for being drawn into this charade. He’d never even helped make cheese before. He looked into the mirror and smiled. It was too late to back out, so he returned to the dance floor and approached Gusta and Jonathon who had just caught the band leader’s attention. Gusta introduced Jonathon to Bob Wills.
“Mr. Wills came all the way to Wisconsin to bring me back home.” Gusta said. He’s my favorite musician. I wouldn’t have missed this dance for anything. Don’t you just love his music?” She turned back to Will. “You remember him, don’t you Uncle Will?”
Will couldn’t wait to hear more from the Texas Playboys. His own fiddle playing had never sounded as good.
Gusta grabbed Jonathon’s arm and pulled him toward the dance floor, leaving Will alone. Dressed in a white shirt, white trousers, and a leather apron that covered him from his chin to his knees, Will circulated with plates of cheese and discussed each kind and the process for making it.
Dancers crowded around him. “Mr. O’Shaughnessy,” one lady said, “did you make all these cheeses yourself? I’ve never tasted anything so good,” she said as she fetched her third piece. She dribbled her drink across his apron as she gushed over him. Will could see that she liked the wine, too.
Will felt like a celebrity. He’d never had so many compliments on his own dairy products before, but he’d never met his customers face to face before either. This was kinda fun.
Except for the two dances that Gusta saved for her uncle, she and Jonathon danced every set. “Why, Mr. Hays, Catherine said you were good.” She clutched his arm tighter and stared into his eyes. “I never dreamed a Yankee could dance like this. You weren’t born south of the Mason Dixon, now were you?”
“Arthur Murray taught me all I know.”
“I doubt that Arthur Murray knew western swing, Mr. Hays. I think you have a talent. I’ll bet dancing’s not the only thing you do well.”
Will blushed. He hoped that Catherine wouldn’t get wind of this. But he felt better when he saw Jonathon frown and pull his arm away from Gusta’s grasp.
* * *
The bright southern moonlight illuminated them as they walked to Gusta’s car. “Why, I think Texas has put its best foot forward, Uncle Will. Just for your pleasure. Let’s drive around the reservoir so I can show you the sights on the way home. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jonathon?”
“That’s mighty kind of you, Miss Gusta,” Jonathon said, “but I’ll take a rain check this time. Braxton’s flying in at daybreak and it’s been a long day.” He winked at Will. “And besides, Chester’s not here to drive us in the morning, so I’ll have to rely on your generosity. I’m sorry that we’ll have to get you out so early, but I don’t think Will’s up for a walk back to the airport.”
Will didn’t mind being the excuse for early retirement. In fact, he was feeling better and better about this trip as time ticked down to his departure.