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Plain Language: A Novel - Softcover

Wright, Barbara

 
9780743230209: Plain Language: A Novel
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0743230205 ISBN 13: 9780743230209
Verlag: Touchstone, 2003

Inhaltsangabe

Virginia Mendenhall, a Quaker from North Carolina, is thirty-three years old when she travels to the arid plains of eastern Colorado in the mid-1930s to marry Alfred Bowen, ten years her senior. They have met only twice and have come to love each other through letters. Now, on an isolated ranch in the Dust Bowl, they must adjust to the harsh ranching life and the dangers of an untamed landscape, as well as the differences between them.
With an extended drought worsening the impact of the Depression in the West, neighbors turn against neighbors, and secrets from Alfred and Virginia's pasts come back to haunt them. But it is the arrival of Virginia's troubled brother on the ranch that sets off a chain of events with life-and-death consequences for them all.
Plain Language is a beautifully told tale of a man and woman fighting against tremendous odds for their land -- and their love.

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Barbara Wright, a novelist and screenwriter,
lives in Kansas City, Missouri.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

The buckskin gelding pawed the ground and tossed his head back. Alfred urged him on, but the horse moved in quick side steps without going forward. The horse had an Indian background and a stolid temperament. It was not his nature to be nervous. But something was upsetting him.

Alfred looked out over the windy plains of eastern Colorado. Broad hillsides sloped into grassy bottoms dotted with spiny yucca, prickly cactus, and thistle. The land was barren of trees, except for the occasional gnarled scrub cedar clinging to a rocky bluff, or the scraggly cottonwoods that congregated near the creek beds. He saw nothing amiss. Closer in, Alfred checked the ground. No rattlers, gopher holes, or other dangers a sharp horse like Sage might detect.

Alfred clenched his jaw and heard a familiar crunch. Grit. What he didn't breathe in through his nose, he took in through his mouth. Grains of sand lodged in the crevices of his teeth. It was a condition of working on the dry, brittle land.

Six months earlier, when Alfred had bought the ranch, no one had put a name to the long dry spell. He had been living in Mexico for eight years and had read about Roosevelt and the hard times across the country. People had put a name to that: the Depression. What were the odds that, hard on the heels of massive unemployment, would come the misery of drought -- for that was the word everyone now used: drought.

The wind picked up, and the air took on a bilious yellow cast. Alfred had grown up on a ranch in the Rocky Mountains and was not yet familiar with weather patterns on this terrain. He had not yet learned to read the currents and eddies of dust, the way an experienced canoeist could read a river, could tell by the roar of the water, the height of the spume, and the churn of the foam, the exact degree of danger the rapids held.

Overhead, ducks dragged their purple shadows along the backs of the grasses. Sage whinnied and shied back.

"Come on, pal. Help me out here."

Alfred was not in the habit of talking to his horses. Sure, a word or two -- "Good boy," "Giddy-up," that kind of thing. Yet here he was, speaking in full sentences.

He didn't have time for a balky mount. He was losing patience. He thrust his heels into the horse's side, and Sage moved reluctantly forward.

Alfred needed to get home and clean house to prepare for the arrival of his bride. At that very moment, Virginia Mendenhall was on the train from Mexico. She would arrive in Denver the next day and they would get married at the Quaker meetinghouse. It was impulsive to bring Virginia to this desolate land. They were both older and had worked at other jobs -- he as an organizer for the YMCA in Mexico, she for the American Friends Service Committee, a Quaker organization based in Philadelphia. She knew nothing about ranching but was game to try. Her enthusiasm reassured him, though he knew, deep down, that she had no idea what she was getting into. If he had been more prudent, he would have waited to see if he could make a success of ranching before bringing her out. But he was not prudent. He was in love, and love and prudence were not compatible. So he abandoned the sense of responsibility that throughout life had been both his curse and his blessing, and asked her to marry him.

Alfred heard a sound like a freight train and looked behind him. A massive cloud rolled toward him, muddy tan at the top, black at the base. Before he knew it, the cloud caught up with him. The wind hit like a tornado, blowing dirt so violently he could not see beyond the brim of his hat.

A dust storm. Sage had known, had tried to warn him. Perhaps it was the static in the air, or some high-pitched signal, some disturbance in the natural order of things that his horse could pick up, while Alfred, with all his reasoning and intelligence, could not.

The cloud guzzled up the light. He could not see beyond the back of Sage's head. All he knew was that home was east, directly into the wind, and miles away. He pulled his bandanna over his nose and turned the horse in that direction.

The wind came at them with unrelenting fury. It stirred up particles and hurled them through the air with such force that they scoured his face. Dirt crept down his pants, like insects. Tumbleweed spinning crown to head flew at him from out of the darkness, grazed his face, then moved on. Sticks, gravel, and flying debris pelted him full force. The wind pushed his hat further onto his head, as if a giant hand were pressing against it. His thoughts were not for himself but for Sage. It was cruel to have an animal out in this.

His best bet would be to go to the old sod house. It had been left there by the original settler who had proved up the claim. The roof was caved in and the windows gone, but it huddled against a rise and would offer some protection from the storm.

He turned Sage around. Now the wind flogged their backs as they made their way toward shelter.

Suddenly something spooked Sage -- a darting animal or some wind-borne debris. The horse reared up and pranced backward. Alfred heard a crackling sound, like a rifle shot. The weight of the horse fell from beneath him. He jumped clear as the horse crashed to the ground. Alfred got up, but Sage didn't. Sides heaving, the horse kicked his feet and strained his head upward, to no avail. Alfred knew from the terrible sounds of pain that the animal was in trouble. He circled Sage and approached from the back so he could check for damage without getting kicked. Blinded by the dust, he felt the animal's lower pastern for the bone between the hoof and the fetlock. All he could feel was gelatin.

He had to act quickly, before he lost courage. The saddle pitched and yawed as the horse flailed about. Alfred had trouble unstrapping the rifle. When he finally had it in his hand, he came around in front of the horse and aimed between the eyes, getting up close so that he would not miss. Sage tossed his head, caught the barrel of the rifle, and sent it flying. Alfred groped in the dust until he felt cold metal. The better target was behind the ear, he decided. He changed position. The horse's anguished neighs lacerated Alfred's insides. His hand shook. He concentrated on steadying his hand. He cocked the rifle. It didn't catch. He tried again. No use. The thing was jammed. The dust had clogged the mechanism.

Alfred's stomach turned nut hard. The wind cuffed his ears and numbed his face, but not his heart. Working the ranch alone, Alfred had done about everything a man could do. But this was one chore he had not counted on. He thought of every way to get out of doing it. Perhaps he could go get help. Perhaps the horse could be saved. But as the wind screamed and the dust built up, he knew what he had known in his gut from the beginning. He had no choice. He was wasting time, trying to save himself from the unpleasant chore, thinking about himself and not Sage.

He pointed the rifle into the air and tried again, just to make sure. Nothing happened. He took off his bandanna. Should he tie it over Sage's nose or eyes? Nose, he decided, so that for the last few moments, the horse could breathe dust-free. Even this close, Alfred could not see Sage's eyes. For that he was grateful. It was because of his liquid, intelligent eyes that Alfred had selected Sage from the many wild horses that the trader Caruthers had for sale. He felt the plush warmth of Sage's nose against his palm.

He got out his knife and crouched behind the horse's head. His lips burned, and his skin felt cracked and abraded, like old shoe leather. For his own safety he could delay no longer. Before putting on his gloves, he gave Sage one last pat. Each moment was another moment the horse was in pain. He held his breath, closed his eyes, and pulled the blade across the horse's throat. The...

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Verlag
Touchstone
Erscheinungsdatum
2003
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0743230205
ISBN 13 
9780743230209
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
348
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV, GPSR Europäische Union
info@simonandschuster.nl

Herculesplein 96
AA Utrecht
3584
Niederlande

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