MAX SCHOTT

[U.S.A.]

MAX SCHOTT (born 1935) has written some of the most splendid short fiction in American literature. His novels include Murphy’s Romance (1980) and Ben (1990). He was a rodeo cowboy and horse trainer before he became a teacher of literature and writing at the University of California, Santa Barbara. “The Old Flame” was published first as “Murphy Jones: Pearblossom, California” (in Ascent magazine and then in The Best American Short Stories, 1978), and with its new title in his collection Up Where I Used to Live (1978). He has been married to his wife, Elaine Schott, since 1972.

The Old Flame (1978)

SHE’D BEEN IN low spirits and I gave her a lot of advice on how to raise them. Didn’t help, but she got better. No reason why she shouldn’t—nothing wrong with her but some broken ribs, and they’d healed. I remember thinking at the time that she wouldn’t learn a damn thing from the accident, and that that was a pity. I couldn’t decide whether I thought a harder knock would have done her any more good. The one she got seemed hard enough when it happened.

Just when she’d started feeling fairly good again, a man came along who she hadn’t seen for years.

Nice-looking fellow, even yet. Lives way off in some little Nevada town she exiled him to, years back. Had to come this way on business—that’s what he said in the note he wrote her.

When Margaret told me Toni’d got the letter, I said: “Did she mention the man’s name?”

“Wendell,” Margaret said.

“Wendell?—isn’t he the one she bought that old Desert Lass mare from about a century ago?”

“Same one,” Margaret said. “She had a romance with him just after her marriage broke up.”

“So she tells me one thing and you another.”

“Well, they’re both true.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. Lots of buckets dipped in the well since then; wonder she even remembers him.”

“It would be a wonder if she didn’t. She wants us to have him over here to supper so that she won’t have to spend an evening alone with him unless she decides to.”

“Doesn’t want to see him?”

“She wants to,” Margaret said, “if she could do it without his seeing her. She’s afraid he’ll be struck by the change.”

“He’ll lie if he is,” I said. “He won’t turn and run.”

Toni came over that night and sat down at the kitchen table with Margaret and me. More color in her cheeks than I’d seen in months and I told her so.

“Old friend of yours coming to town I hear?” She nodded. “How long’s it been?”

“Eighteen years,” she said, and blushed.

“That’s a while. He’ll be pleased to see how you’ve turned out.”

“Thanks. He probably won’t recognize me.”

“I hope he’s done as well. Have you heard from him over the years?”

“Not for a long time.”

“You’re full of curiosity then, I’ll bet—only natural.”

“A little,” she said. She looked down and rubbed the rim of her cup with her thumb and looked up at Margaret. Seemed I was preventing a conversation, so before long I excused myself and carried my coffee into the front room and started looking over my daybook from the auction yard.

I could hear them jabbering but I couldn’t make out the words. “Shut that door,” I hollered. Someone shut it, and I opened the heater vent beside my chair and heard every word.

“ ‘I don’t want to see you any more,’ I was going to tell him,” Toni said.

“Over already,” I said to myself. “Damn, they work fast!” But it turned out they were talking about a man named Ben and hadn’t even arrived at Wendell yet. One thing on her mind and she’ll talk about another.

“So after that I couldn’t go up to Ben’s stables any more and ride his horses. And after about a month of stewing I decided to buy a horse of my own. That’s when I met Wendell. I bought Lass from him and took a few horse-training lessons, and I had a real wild affair with him—the first one like that I ever had where there wasn’t a lot of dawdling around. A good thing there wasn’t because the whole thing only lasted two weeks. He decided to go back to his wife, not because of me but because of the judge. When I met him they were separated, and he said they were going to get a divorce. But when the judge told him how much he’d have to pay, he decided to go back.”

“Oh Toni, you don’t believe that do you? Still?” I heard Margaret say.

“Well, not that that’s why he went back, but I believe the judge had a lot to do with the timing. If the hearing hadn’t been right then, he wouldn’t have gone back right then. Maybe we’d have run through each other, or who knows what might have happened, I don’t know. We were both only twenty-two. Anyway, the way it was it was cut off.”

“What attracted you so about him?”

“Well, he was big and tall and strong and handsome—and I’d been sitting in my house for a month. It was lust at first sight.”

“At first sight?” Margaret said.

“Well, if it wasn’t I wanted it to be. I wanted to have an adventure.”

“I don’t know about that man Wendell,” I said to Margaret later. “Going back to your wife just to keep out of jail—that’s a new one.”

“That’s not all of it,” Margaret said.

“I’ll bet it isn’t,” I said, “but it’s all I heard because someone closed that heater vent in the kitchen.”

“I know they did,” she said. “But I’ll tell you some of it. His wife wouldn’t let him in the house because he’d been with Toni—and he asked Toni to call her and plead his case for him—can you imagine!”

“Did she turn him down?”

“Yes, but it seems to have been just because she didn’t know what to say. He took advantage of all her good feelings. He told her she was too big a temptation for him to resist. So she located him a job and loaned him the money to move. I said to Toni that he sounded a little sneaky to me. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“Did he pay back the money?”

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe he’s all right. He was no more than a kid himself.”

When he came to town Toni called me up to say so. I stopped by her barn to meet him, and I don’t know if it’s to my credit, but the man did make a good first impression on me.

I found them out in the pasture looking at Desert Lass, who had her head down grazing. Wendell was curly-headed and dark-complected. “That’s the kind women like all right,” I said to myself.

Toni introduced us, and I stood and helped them look at the old mare.

“You know her from way back,” I said.

“I’d never have recognized her,” he said.

“A colt or two and they get a little dough-bellied,” I said.

“Last thing a man would think of when he thought of her was belly,” Wendell said. “Moved like a cat.”

“A streamlined one will end up more womb-sprung than one who’s on the big-bellied side to begin with,” I said.

“Stands to reason,” he said; “not much room in there for a colt.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Colt has to bang out a nest for himself and the next one will stretch it on out some more.”

“Must be so,” he said, “from the looks of her.”

“Agreeable fellow,” I said to myself; “man you can talk to.”

“How many’s she had, Toni?” he said.

“Six,” Toni said.

“My wife had seven, but one died.” Toni just looked at him.

“That’s too bad,” I said. “Where is it you’re from, exactly?”

“Gerlach,” he said. “Nevada.”

“I know the town but I can’t place it. Where is that near?”

“Not too near anywhere,” he said. “Seventy miles from Fernley.”

“Fernley: I’ve been through there for sure. Fair-sized place, is it?”

“Fernley? About five hundred in the summer. Right on the paved road, sixty miles west of Fallon.”

“Fallon: I know that place for a fact. Ate supper there and lost a game of blackjack. Hundred miles east of Reno?”

“That’s right. You’re up that way again, stop by. All good roads. Dirt from Fernley to Gerlach, but it’s good ground and you don’t even know you’re in a car.”

“I will,” I said. “Train horses up there, do you?”

“Those boys up there don’t care if their horses go crooked or in a straight line, and if they don’t I don’t.”

“I don’t blame you a bit,” I said.

“I watch over some cattle for a man. Eight hundred mother cows.”

“That’s a lot. Have some men working under you?”

“No sir,” he said. “No help but two dogs.”

“Don’t see how you do it,” I said.

“I can press my wife into service if I have to,” he said.

“Press her into service?” Toni said.

“If I have to,” he said.

“Been there long?” I said.

“Gerlach? Ever since I left Los Angeles.”

“You don’t strike me like a Los Angeles man.”

“How old’s old Lass there, Toni?” he said.

“Twenty-three.”

“Five when I left. Maybe I’ve changed some.”

“Must be quite a change,” I said, “to go away off to a place like Gerlach from the city.”

“I don’t live right in downtown Gerlach,” he said. “About thirty-five miles out.”

“How’d you happen to locate there?”

“This old girl right here saw an ad: ‘Cowboy wanted: High desert; School bus service, house, meat and milk furnished (they meant a milk cow); Two hundred dollars a month; Northern Nevada; Apply box xxx Western Livestock Journal.’ Remember that?”

“I remember,” Toni said. “He wasn’t a city person to start with, Murphy. He was pretty much like he is now, come to think of it.”

“I believe it,” I said, “but they say a person can get spoiled fast, living in town, young country boy especially. Milking that same old cow day in and day out by lantern light might look a little humdrum after your city.”

“Jan milks,” he said. “My wife.”

“How’s she getting along?” Toni said.

“Just right,” he said. “Looks good, feels good—for a woman who’s shelled out kids like she has and been alive as long, she gets by all right; that’s what everyone says that sees her. I don’t pay a whole lot of attention myself.”

“That’s too bad,” Toni said. “I’m glad she’s well.”

“She does all right,” Wendell said. “But you, now, you never settled. I thought you might. Once in a while I’d catch a thought floating through that you’d married and settled down—but you never.” He turned to me. “Don’t you think people ought to settle down, time they’re our age? I understand you’re a married man.”

“Darned right,” I said. “I’ve been telling her so for years. Just like talking to a log.”

“It takes one to know one, Murphy—a log I mean,” and Toni gave me a little push on the shoulder.

“I hadn’t seen her for a long time, but she looks fine,” he said. “First thing I said to myself when I saw her: ‘She looks fine!’ Don’t you!” And he put his hand on her shoulder and shook her, and I saw her stiffen.

“Yep, I’d have known her on the street anywhere,” he said, and put his hand back by his side.

Wendell went downtown to get a room for the night.

When I came home from the auction yard Toni and Margaret were busy talking in the kitchen. Usually if they’re like that and I come in, they’ll look at me and start to wink and whistle. But this time soon as Toni saw me she said: “I’m sorry, Murphy, if I’d known what he was like I’d never have imposed him on you and Margaret—or on myself.”

“What’s he like?” I said. “Seems to be a nice enough fellow from what I saw.”

“Uk,” she said.

“Oh, you exaggerate—unless he’s done something?”

“He hasn’t done anything,” Toni said.

“He’s a good guy,” I said to Margaret. “Takes care of eight hundred cows almost by himself.”

“He must be all right then,” Margaret said.

“Lives up not too far from where I used to,” I said.

“He’s a jerk, Murphy. He has eight hundred and one cows.”

“Eight hundred and a wife and two dogs,” I said, “but the cows aren’t his, they belong to his boss. Didn’t I hear you say he’s just like he always was?”

“He sort of is,” she said. “It’s hard to explain.”

“And you used to like him. Have you changed so much?”

“I don’t think so. I hope not. He used to be very good-looking, I know I’m not wrong about that.”

“Good-looking man right today,” I said. “You know, I believe she’s still carrying a torch.”

“Yeah, fat chance,” Toni said. “People don’t get stupider, do they? I must have had rocks in my head. Poor Jan!”

“My, my, and I have to feed him supper,” Margaret said.

“Oh, he’s just an ordinary fellow,” I said. “Hasn’t as much respect for the sex as Toni would like—but I blame his wife for that.”

“What’s she supposed to do—punch him in the eye?” Toni said.

He knocked on the door.

“Shall I let him in?” Margaret said.

“Do we have to?” Toni said. “Let’s not!” Then darned if she didn’t clap her hand over her mouth and start to have a fit of schoolgirl giggling.

“Too bad we don’t have any arsenic,” Margaret said.

“Phaa!” I whispered. “Now you two behave yourself! Where do you think you’re going?” I said to Toni.

“The bathroom.”

“Act your age, you!”

“Really, Murphy, I have to stop laughing. I’ll be back.”

“You’re as bad as she is,” I said to Margaret. “Get out of the way. I’ll let him in. Go cook.”

I opened the door. He’d shaved and had his hat in his hands. “Poor guy,” I thought. “Come in, come in,” I said. “Good to see you so soon again.” I shook hands with him. “Come into the kitchen and meet my wife.”

“Hello,” he said to Margaret. “Smells good. Toni here yet?”

“In the bathroom doing some last-minute landscaping,” I said.

“Is she?” he said. “Suits me the way she is. Older than she used to be, but looks fine.”

“You bet,” I said. “She’ll probably ruin it.”

I took him into the front room, and pretty soon she came out, which I was glad to see, and offered him and me some of my whiskey. I’m famous for not being much of a drinker, but I took a drink.

He took one too, and his flowed straight to his extremities, if I’m not mistaken. Toni was in and out of the kitchen setting the table, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He kept trying to get her to look at him, and she kept trying not to—and I believe she had more success.

When she was in the kitchen I said to him: “I looked at a map a while ago, Wendell, and you know, it wouldn’t be a hundred miles from where you live over to where I used to live—if there was a way to get there.”

“Where you from?” he said.

“Little town of Wagontire over in Oregon,” I said. “Sixty miles north of Likely.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Can’t place it. Good smell coming out of there.”

“I’ll show you on the map,” I said. So I brought out a map, though I had a little trouble getting him to look at it. Toni came out of the kitchen and looked over my shoulder.

“Wendell and I were almost neighbors,” I said. “Only a hundred miles from my place to his—no roads though—lava rock so thick you can’t even ride a horse across. But it’s the same country. My old neighbor Sterling Green, he had cattle on both sides.” He sat up at the name. “Know him?”

“Know him?—damn him! I work for him.”

“Hah!—you see! Margaret, come in here! You women uht—’scuse me” (“attack the man,” I started to say) “—and the man works for my neighbor! Here!” And I put out my hand so he had to shake it again.

“Get Murphy another drink,” Margaret said.

“Don’t pay them any mind, Wendell,” I said. “No wonder you take care of eight hundred cows with just a wife and a pair of dogs. He’s the shortest-handedest man in the world, that Sterling, damned if he’s not!”

Toni went back in the kitchen with Margaret, and I told Wendell a story or two about Sterling. No one could fault me for not being able to talk to a stranger. He didn’t have to say a word or even listen.

“That’s turned into quite a looking woman, that Toni,” he said. “Different from what she was, but they say we most of us change a little. Took me a while to get used to it, but she looks better every time she lifts a leg. It’s a wonder no one ever married her.”

“She says you’re just like you used to be,” I said.

“I’ve had people tell me I haven’t changed. One other old girl told me I didn’t look a day older than I did twenty years ago. I told her she didn’t either, but I lied to her face.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said.

“I never pay them much mind,” he said, “but if Toni says I haven’t changed, that’s good, the way I see it, because she liked me the way I was, and so to reason it on out, that means there’s hope.”

“Just between you and me, Wendell,” I said, “there’s no hope. If I understood you correctly, there’s not a hope in the world in that direction. For many another man and boy, maybe, but not for you and me.”

He’d been watching the kitchen door in case she ran by, but he turned and looked at me as if I’d said something in Greek.

We sat down to eat. Toni told us where to sit, and she put herself across at an angle from Wendell, which with only four of us was as far away as she could get. Still it was close as he’d got so far, so he proceeded to try to talk to her.

“How’s business, Toni?” he said. “How’re the ponies treating you?”

“Fine,” she said.

“You say you had some kind of accident?”

“I’m almost all right now,” she said.

“What happened?”

“A horse fell on me.”

“Now what’d you go and let him do that for?” Wendell said, and laughed, big old horse laugh.

“By God she’s right,” I said to myself. “The man is dense, and so was I not to see it.”

“I shouldn’t have,” she said.

“I’ll say you shouldn’t have. I never taught you to do like that, did I?”

“No,” she said. Never cracked a smile. That chilled him a little, but he didn’t give it up.

“Training those horses is no business for a woman. Don’t see why you don’t settle down and keep house.”

“She has more than that to keep her from settling down, Wendell. She has oats to sow, so we’d better let her be. Pass Wendell those peas, speaking of oats.”

Margaret and Toni both looked at me, and I was a little surprised myself, when I’d heard what I said. But it didn’t phase Wendell.

“What kind of horse fell on you?—just to make conversation,” he said.

“A quarter-horse stallion, four-year-old,” she said.

“Conversation?” I said to myself. “If you want conversation so bad, I can give it to you.” “Shouldn’t have been left a stallion but he was,” I said. “Man that owns him drove all the way to Texas to buy him, but he’s a billy goat just the same. I wouldn’t breed a mare of mine to him, I’ll tell you that, Wendell!”

Wendell turned and nodded at me. Thought he could get around me with a nod. “Never crossed my mind,” he said. “How’d he happen to fall over on you?” he said to Toni. “Slip?”

“No,” she said, “he—”

“Slip ha!” I said (why should I let her trouble herself to talk?). “He didn’t slip, Wendell. I was right there and can vouch for it, you bet he didn’t slip!”

“He’s really drunk!” Margaret said.

“Phaa—keep quiet,” I said. “Pass that meat over to where Wendell can reach it.”

“What’d he do?” Wendell said—to me this time—but I wouldn’t even look at him.

“Toni,” I said, “if you’d shown him that stick before you got on him that day—you know the day I mean—I believe he’d never have done it to you.”

“I wish you’d said so at the time.”

“I wish it too, sweetheart.”

“What stick’s that?” Wendell said.

“Wendell,” I said, “you ask about that stick, and I’ll tell you: it was a green stick, you see, cut from a bush. About yay long.” I held up my hands. “At first it was green, but then the sap dried out of it and it shrank about two inches and turned kind of gray—but it was the same stick and the horse knew it.

“Well, when this horse was first brought to her he had no manners at all. Every time he saw something alive he’d try to fornicate with it: he’d get up and walk around on his hind legs and beller—you know how they do, Wendell—and his old neck would swell up like a bullfrog’s.” Wendell reached up and rubbed his neck, which had swollen and turned pretty red. “That’s right,” I said. “The horse’s manners were right out of Texas. The owner calls him Golden Son of Yellow Moon or something like that, but Toni and I, we always just called him Tex. (Wendell, you just reach over and help yourself.)

“So the first day, soon as he started in to rear and squeal she stepped off and kicked him in the belly a couple of times and cut that stick from a bush. After that whenever he’d begin to titillate himself she’d pound him on top of the neck, right behind his ears: whack-whack-whack. ‘Cut it out, Tex,’ she’d say—way you taught her years back, no doubt.”

“Darned right,” Wendell said.

“Darned right,” I said. “That first day it didn’t keep him from carrying on, but by the next day he was sore, and by the time two weeks went by she had his attention, and if his mind happened to start to wander she’d just whisper ‘Hey now, Tex’ in one of his ears. Or if he was sorely tried—say if a mare walked by winking—you know how they’ll do, Wendell—with her tail in the air and maybe pissing a little—why Toni’d just hold the stick up where he could see it with his big right eye.”

“Murphy—eat your supper,” Margaret said.

“I don’t mind,” Toni said.

“This will interest Wendell,” I said. “She’d hold it up where he could see it and he’d subdue his old gonads.

“She rode him about six weeks—that was last winter. Then they took him home to breed a few mares with and didn’t bring him back till August. And before she got on him that first time again, she found that same little old stick thrown back in a corner of the tack room. Turned gray, but that horse recognized it, you bet he did, been better if he hadn’t. But at first she didn’t show it to him, just clambered up in the saddle with the stick stuck in her belt, that’s the pity of it. Because if he’d had a chance to carry that stick along in his mind’s eye, there’d never have been any trouble, that’s what I think—maybe a little pawing and squealing, but no trouble.

“He had a good picture of that stick registered in his brain and he hadn’t forgotten what it was used for—but the memory had slipped way back down into his subconscious—that’s the way I see it. Wasn’t the smartest horse in the world anyway, and darned foolish at times—led astray by his feelings like more beasts than one since the world began—”

“Eat,” Margaret said.

“But I’d hesitate to say to a man that he was outright stupid—just thickheaded. Well, we rode along—came to where there were some mares loose in a field. He looked over the fence at them and must have gone to thinking about the good old days back home, tossed his head and puffed his neck up and nickered at those mares. Rattled your jaw, didn’t it Toni?”

“I don’t remember.”

“That’s right: I forgot, she doesn’t remember a thing. Anyhow, it had slipped Tex’s mind that there’s a time and place for everything and that there’s such a thing in the world as a stick. And to jog his memory she said, ‘Tex, cut it out,’ took the stick out from her belt, and held it up as of old. He saw it, and it all came back to him, too much all of a sudden, and he threw himself over backwards—landed flat bang on his right side and right on top of her. Darned if I ever saw anything quite like it, Wendell. Looked like he’d been electrocuted.”

“And you don’t remember a thing?” Wendell said.

“No,” she said. “I woke up in the hospital.”

“That was unforgiving ground, too—sand, but packed down. When Tex got up and ran off she never wiggled. Scared me.”

“Aw,” Wendell said, “I hate to think of you lying there like that.” And he laid his big right arm out on the table like a ham. I don’t know if he expected her to reach across and take his hand in hers or butter it or what. “Sorry I ever got you started training those horses,” he said. “A woman like you doesn’t need to be in a business like that. If I didn’t live so far away I’d see to it that you weren’t.”

“I hope you’re drunk, too,” Margaret said.

“Good thing you live so far away,” Toni said. “Just how would you go about seeing to it?” And she laid down her fork and looked him right in the eye.

“Ha! Watch out, Wendell, you hound!” I said to myself. “Wendell—” I said.

“I don’t know how,” Wendell said, “but I’d stop you training those horses, because it’s only right.”

“Wendell, my friend,” I said, “I don’t know how it is in Nevada, but in Pearblossom the cats scratch. If you antagonize them, I mean. Otherwise they won’t, I think. So you’ll have to bark up another tree, if you can find any.”

“I’ll make some coffee,” Margaret said.

Toni covered her mouth with her napkin.

“I didn’t catch all that,” Wendell said. “I haven’t seen six trees since I left home, but if I said something you folks took offense at, I take it back.”

“No, no—no offense, old buddy,” I said. I picked his hand up and shook it. “Toni,” I said, “Wendell here said he was sorry to think of you lying stretched out like that, and I really thought you were dead for a minute or two there, and it didn’t make me feel so very good, I don’t know if I ever told you.”

She reached across and ruffled my bit of hair.

As soon after supper as she could get away with it—in fact a little sooner—she stood up, looking shamefaced: she was going to leave him with us if she could.

“You going?” Wendell said. (Dumb as he was, he was the first to see it.)

“I’m sorry to run out on you-all,” she said. “I’ll see you before you leave tomorrow, Wendell. Thank you,” she said to us. “I’ll do you a favor sometime,” and she gave me and Margaret a smile, friendly but not cheerful.

“I’ll give you a ride,” Wendell said.

“Thanks, my car’s here.”

“No need at all for you to run off, Wendell,” I said. “It’s early. Sit right down there and I’ll fix you what you’ve never had.”

“Murphy, it’s been good talking to you,” he said. “You too, Mrs. Jones. Thanks for the supper.”

“Goodbye,” Margaret said.

“You’re welcome, Wendell,” I said, “but I wish you’d stay a few minutes longer.”

“Can’t,” he said. “Where’s my hat?”

“Nice to run into a fellow from up there,” I said. “You take care of that good wife of yours. Tell Sterling you saw me, and if he doesn’t say anything too bad about me give him my best regards. When you planning to go back?”

He winked at me. “I’m supposed to head on back tomorrow, but with luck I might stay around a day or two and see the sights.”

Toni was behind him with her hand on the doorknob. She shook her head no and made a face.

“Well, then, with luck we’ll see you again,” I said. “But you never know about that luck stuff: sometimes a man will bow his head and pray for luck and just wind up with a stiff neck.” I rubbed my neck, since he seemed to understand sign language best. Then I shook his hand, I hope for the last time.

I saw them out, and when I went into the front room again, Margaret was sitting over by the window, half in the dark, holding a magazine. “Better turn on the light if you want to read,” I said.

“Shh,” she said.

I walked over and looked out the window. Toni and Wendell were standing by Toni’s car. Toni had her hand on the door handle, and he was standing pretty close to her. “Shouldn’t eavesdrop,” I said to Margaret.

“No,” she said. Wendell went to put his arms around Toni, and Toni backed against her car. “Ouch,” she said.

“Those ribs,” I whispered.

“You may have to go out and pour water on him,” Margaret said.

“Goodnight,” Toni said, “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow before you leave.”

“I feel like that horse that fell on you,” he said.

“You sure do,” she said. “Look: I don’t want to. Can’t you understand?”

“Don’t want to what?” he said.

“I don’t want to do anything but go home and go to bed—all by myself.”

“Oh. Why don’t you want to?”

“I just don’t want to.”

“No one will ever know, Toni,” he said and pressed himself toward her.

“Will he hurt her?” Margaret said.

“No—he just hasn’t got the message yet,” I said.

“My God! Not yet!?” she said.

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s just between me and you,” Wendell said.

“But I don’t want to,” Toni said.

“Oh . . . you just don’t want to?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He backed up a step and she started to open the car door.

“Toni,” he said, “I just want to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you.”

“That’s nice of you,” she said. “I won’t either.”

“You were with Shirley.”

“I remember.”

“And when the two of you came walking up to the barn where I was working I said to myself: ‘Now there’s two plums,’ and I said to you: ‘Anything I can do for you girls?’ and you said you were looking for a horse to buy.”

“I remember,” Toni said. “And I asked you if you happened to know Ben Webber. You were both in the same business, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

“I don’t remember that,” he said. “I remember I said, ‘Now you girls aren’t really looking for a horse, are you? I’ll bet you’re just out joyriding around.’ And you said, ‘A little of both.’ Or maybe Shirley said that. But I know for sure you were the one that couldn’t stand still. You kept wiggling, I remember it because I remember saying to myself, ‘Now this one’s more of a plum than the other one.’ It had to have been you because of what happened after. Because it happened with you, or I wouldn’t be here now. And we had a good time, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” she said.

“But now you say you don’t want to, without even a reason.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Maybe it’s because of that judge?”

“No, I’ve no hard feelings.”

“That judge was enough to chill a man’s ardor. I asked him, ‘What if I can’t pay that much?’ ‘Then bring your toothbrush next time,’ he said. I’ll never forget it. But we had a good time right up to then. When I left I at least had a reason.” He put his hand on her shoulder and put his face up close to hers; he didn’t seem to want to kiss her but to look in her eyes.

She didn’t move a muscle, and he must have read an answer there. (I believe he was a sort of a veterinary psychologist at heart.)

“Then I won’t wrestle you for it,” he said.

“No, I knew you wouldn’t if you ever really understood.”

And she said goodnight, got in her car, and drove away.

“What an ordeal!” Margaret said. “I was wrong about his being sneaky.”