Generations in Agony...Texas: Chapter Four

4) At Mildred’s diner…

Carla Speck sipped her iced tea and looked at the plate of lunch in front of her: a half-eaten club sandwich stared back at her. The heat of Agony, now reaching 106 according to the big thermometer just outside the diner’s front door, reminded her that she was not in Chicago anymore.

Although her late husband Carl had talked at length about the town he grew up in, there was no way she could have been prepared for this hellish climate. Her 1956 Chevy Nomad had no air conditioning, and driving it was like sitting inside an oven. Yet, walking offered little better choice, even though Thurmond’s office was just a couple of buildings down the uneven sidewalk.

“More iced tea, ma’am?” The young waitress stood with an iced pitcher poised over Carla’s glass. She nodded and the girl added two inches to the half full container.

“Thank you, Nora.”

“Just holler if y’all need anything.”

Carla smiled, more at the girl’s use of y’all when only she occupied the booth. “I suppose you can bring the check when you have a moment.”

The girl reached in her pocket and pulled out the green and white paper, setting it face-down on the table. “Y’all aren’t from around here, are you?”

“No…” Carla said not offering any more information.

“I didn’t think so.” The girl said in a heavily accented voice. “Me neither. I’m from Oklahoma. My daddy just got-on over at the Oil Patch. But, you talk like you’re from off up north somewheres.”

Carla smiled gently and nodded, but again, did not respond. She was a little swimmy-headed, the half sandwich she had eaten felt like a brick. Even with the cold air blasting down from the diner’s ceiling, she remained stifled.

Grabbing her purse and the check, she set a quarter on the table and left the booth walking over to the register where a sour-looking Mildred Lutz sat on her stool reading a magazine. Carla set the check down, which Mildred retrieved without glancing up.

“How was your lunch?” Mildred said.

“Fine, thank you.”

Carla’s accent brought Mildred’s eyes up over her glasses. She smiled. “You enjoying working at Doc’s?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Gettin’ to know many folks around town yet?”

“Some…”

“I’m a regular with Thurmond. You’ll see me from time to time.”

Carla wasn’t sure what to say. She handed over two dollars.

“You’re name’s Carla?” Mildred said.

“That’s right. Carla Speck.”

“I’m Mildred. Sure was sorry to hear about Carl Jr.”

“Thank you, Mildred. We’re doing our best to move on with life.”

“Your boy’s working for Caleb now?”

“That’s right.”

“Good-lookin’ strap of a boy.”

“He’s a handful.”

“He’s got good manners.” Mildred handed back forty-two cents in change. “Most boys in this town could learn a thing or two about manners. It says a lot about parents: how their young’uns act in public. You should be proud.”

“I am, and thank you, Mildred.”

“Come back and see us…” Mildred’s eyes glanced out to the street. “There comes your father-n-law.”

Carla turned and watched as an old cowboy slowly walked a beautiful horse down the street. The figure he struck made her heart thump. If my husband had lived to such an age, this is what he would look like, Carla thought. She wondered if she should just step out there and introduce herself, but the things Carl had told her about this man kept her planted where she stood.

“Mean ole cuss.” Mildred said. When Carla looked at her uncertain, Mildred blanched. “Sorry, honey. I know he’s kin, but…”

“It’s okay,” Carla said. “Carl Jr. never spoke well of him either.”

“Well…he sure ain’t the friendliest feller around these parts. He’s got a reputation,” Mildred added, then her face drooped, “like the rest of us, I guess.”

Carla turned and watched her father-n-law as he kept riding. Some patrons of the diner held up coffee mugs or waved at him. Some murmurs of recognition spilled around the front tables. The old rider glanced at the diner window once, but seemed to ignore the attention.

“You ain’t met him yet?”

“No.”

Mildred made a disgusted sigh. “Well that’s Carlton Speck to a tee. He’s the only man I know of who’d ignore his own family. Been that way ever since…”

Carla looked back at Mildred expectantly.

“…well, since the nineteen twenties—so I hear.”

“Why would that be?” Carla said, not sure exactly why she was asking such a thing of a woman she had only just met.

Mildred looked hard at Carla. “You never heard about what happened?”

Carla’s blank look answered for her.

“Carl Speck’s a killer, honey. Last gunfight in this town happened way back then. He was in it.”

“Good god.”

“Don’t think god’s got much to do with Carl Speck either.” Mildred said as she shut the cash drawer.
*

Cleopatra had long since gotten over the bothersome noise and scurry of what little traffic puttered through Agony. Carl rode her past the church and down the pitiful business-lined center of town. Looking left and right he saw that not much had changed in town, even since he was a youngster; the asphalt, that he could recall being spread for the first time when he was a teenager, the steamy smell of tar all new and fresh and modern, had grown pocked and cracked; the surface blanched gray with age. Cleopatra nimbly stepped around the hazards.

For a moment, Carl thought about pulling up in front of Mildred’s diner, but the crowds already inside forced him to move on. He did not want conversation. Questions about what he had been up to since the last time he had strolled in held no appeal, for the moment at least. The short conversation with Morgansen had been the most he had spoken to anyone in months.

Some familiar faces peered out at him from inside the air-conditioned eatery, a couple of coffee cups were held up and some nods and waves towards him he ignored, as usual. At the Bank of Agony, he turned his horse left and walked a hundred feet to the end of the pavement and the always-open gate of Onyx ranch. Once back on the dirt Cleopatra quivered.

“Okay, sweetheart.” Carl told her. “Giddy-up then.”

Cleopatra had the easiest lope he ever rode. Her gate made it effortless to sit the saddle. The hot wind ruffled her mane and brushed Carl’s old face as they covered the last few miles to head quarters.

A couple of cowboys he had never seen before leaned against the corral fence rails and looked up as Carl approached. They did not wave at him, nor did Carl do much more than glance back. Lots of hands had come and gone over the years he had worked this ranch; Carl knew few of them personally.

Even after the big rains six weeks ago everything was dry; the much-used center of the compound remained barren and dusty and sun-baked. The barn had a new roof, Carl noticed, and here and there new rails had been placed along the fences. There was a new, out-of-place-looking TV aerial on top of the bunkhouse, from which he saw Lupe Aguilar coming off the porch.

The little man stood waiting, his hand up blocking the sun, his smile wide and genuine. No one had ever figured out if he was Yaqui Indian or Mexican or both. Cleopatra strolled right up and nudged him hello.

“Lupe.” Carl muttered as he swung off the saddle.

“Buenos dios, senior Carl.”

“Onyx around?”

“Si,” Lupe spoke without taking his eyes or hands off of Cleopatra’s neck. He pushed a palm full of sweet grain up to her waiting lips. “He is in la Casa Grande.”

“Speck you can take care of my girl here, whilst I go over?”

“Si, is bueno.”

“Gracias, Lupe. I’ll be back shortly. Might need a ride back to town.”

“I take you in d’jeep.” Of course, ‘jeep’ sounded like zheep, coming from Lupe.
Carl nodded and pulled his saddlebags off as he turned toward the house.

The Onyx “Big House” had been erected in 1897, after a flash prairie fire had consumed the old place. Although it now had stood for over seventy years, the family had kept it in top condition, adding on here and there, putting in modern conveniences as they came along. Carl had no idea how many rooms the place held, and did not care, really. The only room he had ever set foot in was the company offices that stuck out of the far left wing of the house, on the southwest side, closest to the bunkhouse.

Kick Onyx’ Pick up was parked along side of his Cadillac convertible. Company policy remained open-door, since before Carl started working here. He had been the employee of four generations of Onyx, and he still had not decided if he cared much for Kick.

Carl remembered clearly when Kick was just a sprout; always nagging the hands about this or that, demanding that he be allowed to do what ever he wanted, when he wanted. He had grown up fine, Carl figured, and assumed the controls without much fuss. Still, the image of that spoiled kid still stuck in Carl’s mind when he had to talk to the grown up Kick in fancy boots and an always-clean Stetson hat.

“Hey, Carl!” Kick stood up and brushed sandwich crumbs off his pants before he held out a hand to shake.

“Kick.” Carl shook hands and then removed his hat before he sat down.

“How’s the north range lookin’, Pard?”

“Bout the same. Six hunnerd head’ll be ready for grain-feed next month.”
Kick took a seat and pointed to a chair on the opposite side of the desk as he put his boots up and stuck his hands behind his head.
Carl sat ramrod straight, as he normally did when indoors. A roof—anything fancier than a range-shack—over his head was a foreign country, as far as he was concerned.

“How you doin’?” Kick said.

“Fine… truck’s down. Had to drop it off at Morgansen’s on the way in.”

“Time you got you a new one, ain’t it?” Kick grinned, knowing Carl’s nature. “You’ve ‘bout wore that ole Chevy out.”

Carl’s face remained a blank. “She’s still got a few more years. New trucks cost more than I care to part with.”

“Hell fire, Carl… you ain’t spent a dime in ten years, that I know of. Agnes tells me you ain’t collected your pay in months. I bet you got greenbacks in your pockets crumbling apart cause they’ve been in there since Roosevelt was in office.”

Carl did not reply. He knew Kick was only baiting him, again.
Kick’s smile faded. “You heard any of the news lately?”

“Nope. I just come back in, Kick. I don’t particularly care about news. I don’t have much to do with it.”

“Well… You might be surprised.”

“How’s that?”

“Lot’s happened since you rode out last winter. How long you been out there? Since Christmas, what’nt it?”

Carl nodded. “I reckon it was about then.”
“Well… you heard my Oleandra’s run off to Cognito to have a baby?”

“Nope, hadn’t heard that.”

“Course, we don’t know who, exactly the father is… Could be Milo’s boy Billy, but she says it could be Angus Stump’s boy Amos.” Kick shook his head. “It’s a different world now-a-days.”

Carl said nothing to all this.

“You gone by to see your daughter-n-law and grandson yet?”

Carl’s face went chalk white. “What’s that?”

Kick realized he had inadvertently stumbled into an awkward situation. Still, he figured it best to attempt to explain. “Carl Jr’s wife and son. They come down to live in Nellie’s ole place once your boy died.”
Carl’s face sagged. He looked away and stared at a potted palm in the corner of the room. “I’ll be. I hadn’t heard.”

“You mean, you didn’t know about Carl Jr.?”

The old cowboy said nothing. It was answer enough.

“I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you, Carl. Damn shame. Motorcycle accident’s what I heard.”

Carl shifted in his chair and rubbed the inside rim of his hat. His gaze went to the floor as he tried to process what he was hearing. “I’ll be damned.”

“Carl Jr. was a fine ball-player. His boy favors him a lot, most folks think. That daughter-n-law of yours is sure a handsome woman too. She’s a Yankee from Chicago, but nice enough. Works over at the Doc’s now.”

“Never met them.”

“Dang, Carl. You ought to drop by and see ‘em.”
Carl looked out the window. He knew Kick was only saying what anyone would, but Carl had come into his way of doing things over a long time. He was just not keen on a change of routine if it could be helped. As far as family was concerned, he still did not know what to suppose about the woman and boy he had only just heard about. It was going to take time to think it all out. And, he needed to get back out on the range where thinking could go about its way without all the chatter and confusion of other people.

“I reckon I’ll drove them head over toward plot thirty six. You going to have trucks in or should I take them up to the rail head?”

“Business as usual, huh, Carl?”

Carl nodded.

“Dang if you ain’t one of the old-timers. I never saw a feller in a single western movie act as original as you, Carl. You still live the cowboy life and don’t have a care for this century. You do need a hair cut though.”

“I had planned to get me one whilst I’m in town. I reckon that little gal can cut it just fine. She done okay the last time.”

“CiCi is the only hair cut in town.” Carl said. “You hear about her boy Jesus?”

Carl’s eyes flashed over to Kick, then back out the window. “You mean ole Emilio’s grandson? He didn’t last long, did he?”

“No, hell, he quit after a few weeks. What’nt cut out for cowboyin’ like you and his granddaddy. I guess Emilio was the last real pardner you ranged with, huh?”

Carl nodded again. “He had to retire after he broke his back. Shame.”

“Yup, he’s gone back Indian, they tell me. Still collects his retirement though.” Kick said. “It was Jesus that all the fuss was over few weeks back. Back when all the rain came and flooded everything. Your grandson was involved with that too.”

“We lost a few head in the storm.” Carl said, rather matter of fact. He was hoping Kick would stop talking about the boy until he had worked out what to think about it all.

“Yeah, that was about as big a fuss as we’ve had in years around here—I tell you what. Mulligan hung Jesus, see? Your grandson Charlie saved him and they hid up—

“Kick,” Carl held up his hand. “Just tell me if you want them head on trucks or on the train, okay.”

Kick sat with his mouth open, unused to abrupt interruptions from employees. Still, this was Carl Speck, and he knew better than to push it. After all, the man was one of the last real cowboys that lived the old code. At one time, Kick looked up to this man, and did all he could to stay around him. Even John Wayne paled when Kick compared the movie star to the real man in the saddle. And, Carl had killed. There were many still living in Agony that had witnessed the last gunfight in Agony and Carl Speck’s part in it.

And, Carl was just an odd duck.

He never said much, and kept what he did say strictly to whatever business he had to take care of. Getting inside Carl Speck long enough to discuss anything else was next to impossible. “I reckon we’ll send them beeves by train this time, Carl.” Kick sighed. “Them fellers up in Schwertner quoted me a good price on graining, so I’ll ship ‘em up there.”

“It’s a good herd,” Carl said. He stood and stuck his hat back on his head. “Gonna bring a fine price.”
*