Hester down

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.
Nathaniel Hawthorne

I am deathly afraid to make that period of my life come to life by any other means than this particular way, a distant view, intentionally lacking any journalistic props or dramatic conventions I would or I could try. So I do this, and I will not apologize until I am old and worn down and have no one left to blame or to hurt. Here goes.

Years before the escapade in New York, Johnnie and her mother, stepfather, and older stepsister moved to a northern Nevada cattle ranch where the scripts originating in Texas took hold and trapped Johnnie in family dynamics from which she would eventually become desperate to break. Ron and Mary Zapulco were married in Texas, and within the first year of marriage liquidated their separate properties and took a sizable nest egg to Nevada. The girls, Natalie, twenty, Ron's daughter from a previous marriage, and Johnnie, eleven, Mary's daughter, got along fine for as much as they had to considering the difference in age. However, Natalie was Ron's prized daughter and Mary totally indulged her and her father, while she ignored, actually neglected, her own daughter. Not only did Johnnie disappoint because she was a girl, but also she was in the way of two adults playing themselves in some kind of co-dependent drama. So to cope, Johnnie sequestered herself during those years often experienced by many teenagers as troublesome. Growing up in Nevada would eventually have mixed to negative reviews. However, grow up she did so that by the time she was fourteen, Johnnie could have turned heads walking down and up a New York runway--not because of anything she wore. That arguably would come later. She was tall with a noticeably shapely figure with tomboyish short black hair. Yet because of locations psychological and physical, there was no talent scout or mentor to discover and nurture her.

Ron began to take notice in ways that made Johnnie uncomfortable. She had no words to describe the uneasy feelings she got when Ron teased her, or stared at her as she moved about the family house, despite her don't-look-at-me, I'm-not-here demeanor.

Johnnie took to jeans and cowboy shirts and horses naturally; and to avoid any unwanted appreciation as well as the neglectful, not even neutral atmosphere, she hung out at the barn and the bunk house as well as in distant corners of that undulating space that rippled out in all directions from the cattle spread in northwestern Nevada.

Jess was the only year-round ranch hand the Zapulcos had. He lived on the property, in the bunk house. In his mid-forties, Jess was a clean and wiry kind of cowboy who ate simply and just enough. He'd never get fat. He didn't drink or smoke. And he had few words to say even when someone threw a question his way. He kept to business and himself, relying on seasons of experience on ranches out West. With the Zapulcos he was a sturdy and dependable addition who got routine and necessary work done steadily and in a way that he'd not have to repeat  tasks again for lack of care the first time round. He cooked his own food and kept himself, the kitchen and bunkhouse tidy in winter. In summer, he'd ask the temporary hands to do their fair share, and he relaxed or compromised his standards when not living there by himself. It was hard to tell. He was so silent.

Johnnie and he were friendly and acknowledged each other and respected each other's private spaces. Jess had the kitchen, dining table and his room. Johnnie occupied a corner by the fireplace in the shared living, or great, room. Interchange was always short, polite, seldom intimate. Sometimes Johnnie stared into space or the flickering fire,  or she cried silently. The few times Jess noticed, he would ask if she was okay. After nodding she was, or a whispered thanks, Jess and she spent time together in the bunkhouse together alone. Johnnie would thumb through magazines or write in her diary. Jess played solitaire or drew Western scenes, cowboys, roundups and such.

The bunk house was a one storey log structure with its great room at the center with kitchen, eating area, fireplace, a couch, two easy chairs and a glass-topped wagon wheel coffee table. There was also a TV in one corner that sat there mostly gathering dust. There were five bedrooms each with one or two single beds and common toilets and showers behind the kitchen. Depending upon how many cowhands there were at any given time, each had a private or semi-private room as well as a place to eat and congregate. The bunk house faced south and had an arbor for some scraggly plants that were supposed to climb and leaf out in the spring, give shade in the summer and die back and let the sun in winters. There wasn't enough water or attention to effect this amenity and so some time ago someone placed corrugated tin to cover the wood framework, and it often rattled in the dry and pungent sage wind that often blew in northwestern Nevada.

When Johnnie wanted to be alone, there were always expansive spaces outside, and inside the main house she had either her room at the end of the hall at the end of the one level ranch house, or she had the bunk house and its great room. She liked to escape to the bunk house and camp in one of the easy chairs. Sit and think. Or there were old newspapers, mail order catalogs for western wear, a few pulp novels and some men's magazines that needed review and organizing. She would leaf through all of these, especially when a new one showed up, just to pass the time and see what was what. She liked to see the western wear and what men found sexy. Both interests could not be satisfied with the few magazines and catalogs that found themselves in a stack under the TV stand. Winters in the great room, a fire often needed tending, and she pushed and poked the logs and embers around to make sure everything burned thoroughly. She had a need to tidy things and have them just so, and in this too there was little to occupy her. She would answer questions if asked, but mostly she listened to cowboy talk, which wasn't about much. TV was sometimes a diversion in the summertime, but she wasn't into it. Summer evenings were cool and to be outside till late to drink in the night air and listen to the desert silence somehow helped her fit the pieces of a complex yet confined world into some order. Winters sometimes she brought her homework to the great room and worked on it. Often she had her diary with her, and she recorded what she thought and heard exactly as it was in her mind and heart and in the airwaves. She was particularly good at recording verbatim and thereby get rid of what her family had talked about that day.

She busied herself when she wasn't in school, taking it as her duty to help or perform ranch chores that Jess, part-time help and seasonal cowboys were paid for. She got along well with the "silent bunch," she called them, perhaps because she was silent herself during a reticent, self-conscious period. Also, opening her mouth or trying to participate as a fourth with an insular threesome at home never  succeeded; she just didn't belong and she felt it. Although Natalie took her side or stood up for her when things sometimes got a little tense, particularly after Ron serially drunk straight whisky shots and the barbecue fire jumped to life for the last time in the evening with the addition of paper plates and pieces of beef fat. Johnnie dutifully and without being asked to do so, cleared things away. Then she disappeared, saying if asked that she was going out "to check on things." Did the barn cats have water? Did they need food? She attended the ones that nature was taking slowly back to herself, and she buried them in a private ceremony out behind the rock outcropping south of the main house. One could see her walk there shovel in hand to perform the act of kindness and respect, if they had but looked in that direction or for her. Her family didn't. They were about other things Johnnie didn't know or care about.

Summers were different. There was work on everyone's agenda, including Johnnie's. Although not required or expected, she was one of the bunch but occupied herself with mostly her own chores. She joined others as she saw the need or opportunity. Of course she had her horse, Hester. Someone had to drive bales of hay to different feed locations, check on the windmill pump and scattered troughs. Hauling manure? she always left this job till the last to see if someone else would do it. And there were the summer greenhorns.

Summers brought one or two boys from Reno or other places to the ranch for work experience. Natalie took the lead mostly in teaching the boys, but she wasn't hands on. She talked about what to do, but she left the silent bunch to show the greenhorns how to do whatever it was, usually a key task or two for that day. The next day or week would bring something different, something new. Part of paid work at the ranch was to teach others how things were done and no one minded. The boys were usually sixteen or seventeen. Some came back for a second summer before getting their own ranch jobs, or moving on to demands less physical.

The summer Johnnie was fourteen, Buddy came for the summer. He was sixteen. He was talkative and needed a lot of attention before or if he did any work. Sometimes Johnnie got stuck with him and had to listen to a lot of stuff before she could go about her business, which Buddy often made his business, or he wanted to watch while she busied herself. The only way she could get away from him was to disappear in the Ford pickup. She said she had to practice driving alone for her driver's permit, and off she would go down the dirt entry road to the ranch, three miles one way. It was "too dangerous" for Buddy if she couldn't control the truck for some reason.

"But how about you go into some loose sand or a ditch?"

"I'll come back and you can help me get out."

Buddy would wait for Johnnie to return, but the six mile round trip was often prolonged when Johnnie parked the truck and hiked up a small bluff to sit with the petroglyphs till she thought Buddy had given up waiting for her, or she had collected herself enough to return. Inner turmoil and struggles that come with growing up were best handled in solitude. It was Johnnie's way. She wasn't interested in teaching Buddy anything.

Johnnie didn't take to Buddy's hanging about probably because he wouldn't stop talking or asking questions. Or maybe they just didn't have anything in common. After the first month of the summer season, Buddy proved that he would not work out, and his family was asked if they could come pick him up. He didn't want to leave and didn't easily accept why his term had been cut short. No one replaced him that summer. Johnnie curiously missed him for a few days after he had gone, but then forgot about him. Silence was better than being followed by a puppy.

Johnnie turned fifteen that next summer and a boy of fourteen arrived with suitcase and a box of books. His name was James Weatherall. James was good at ranch work; he learned what he was supposed to do quickly and quickly did it. Often he took on extra things, little things that needed doing and no one complained. Johnnie was impressed. He was able to occupy himself productively just as she had learned to do. In reply to a question about his initiative, he replied, "I just would rather get it done than be told to do it." He was not loquacious but what he said carried some weight, at least with Johnnie. Johnnie began to ask him other questions and she got more than she thought she would. James was a reader. When the middle of the day was too hot to work, he would retreat to the bunk house. And evenings? He worked till the chow bell rang. He kept to himself after dinner. The silent bunch could see him afternoons in the shade under one of the few trees out back of the bunkhouse, or in the evenings in his room with the light on till late.

Sometimes James and Johnnie would hang out together, and James would go off on some subject Johnnie knew nothing about. If school didn't cover it, usually Johnnie didn't know about it. So talks with James was like having a private tutor, and once a subject took hold, it was she who did the talking, mostly questions which led to more and more things to know about. James liked his role of young expert and he liked Johnnie because of the look wonder in her eyes. He liked having her as an audience. She needed him even though she was older, and he liked being needed, or he liked her. They got along and the silent bunch noticed but mostly ignored the youngsters. Her family ignored her still. For her long hours away from the main house, they knew or thought they knew where she was and what she was doing. "Down with Jess probably." For her part, Johnnie, enjoyed freedom from unwanted comments from her stepfather, which sounded or felt like he was jealous, or wanted something unspecified from her. She didn't like it, although that _it_ had no name.

On more than one occasion that year, her stepfather would slap her on the rear as she walked by after getting up from the dinner table. It didn't hurt but only shocked. Mary frowned and Johnnie took it without comment. Several times he put his arm around her waist and drew her in close, his hand touching the bottom of her breast. Johnnie thought this was creepy, crossing a line, something about personal space and this is my body not yours. Don't touch. She'd break away as Ron said something like, "Don't be like that." She was fine with being like that.

James came from a wealthy Sacramento family. He went to a private high school, and studied, he called it, during his free time, always in preparation for the next school year, or some future time when he would be tested for what? life's challenges? a quiz-crazy instructor? a question he could not answer? Who knew? His mother seemed to be the loving but driving force behind this, but he took to new knowledge willingly and seriously. He was prepared for any invitation to show what he knew.

So summer work at the ranch came easy for James and he did a good job and created spaces for himself for his private studies. But when Johnnie joined him and occupied the other arm chair in the living area and began asking questions, James would redden before answering; and if he couldn't immediately answer, he'd disappear into his room. He would answer her questions, at first cautiously and eventually loquaciously. He had to warm up where she was concerned, especially at first. She asked, he thought, interesting questions, because they were questions he was asking himself. Sometimes he found he was working out the answers as he talked, and this felt like something he was born for. He felt good about himself and his ability to give information and share what he knew. But again, he had to warm up sometimes.

"What are you reading?"

"A treatise on truth."

"Treatise?"

"Like a long composition."

"Oh."

After a long silence, Johnnie asked the follow-up. "What of it? Isn't it pretty clear what truth is and what a lie is?"

"It's more complicated than that."

Johnnie felt out of her depth, but the territory seemed without any threat or complication. She wanted a simple, straight answer even if  a long one.

"Try me."

"Well, I'm not sure where to begin, perhaps with science and intuition. Are you familiar with the Great Books?"

"No. Tell me."

"I have this project. It's like there are only three things we, I mean people, are interested in. Truth, beauty and goodness. We seek truth, like scientists. We seek beauty, like in art. And we seek goodness. Religion and right and wrong and all of that."

"That's an oversimplification. What about horses and work and," she hesitated, "girls?"

"I mean these three include all of that. Horses. I think of truth and beauty and goodness. But I'm only working on truth right now. I will get to the other two when I am ready."

"How does a dumb horse have anything to do with truth?"

"It's like this, and you know horses. They do what they do. Hester, for example. If you watch them and really study them, they tell you, I mean show you, what they are. And when you get that knowledge and it proves invariable, like there is no exception to what you know all about them, that is truth. When someone tells you they can play the piano, well, you know that's not true. It's not in their nature. It's not even anything they can do. So you have truth or knowledge about horses."

"So truth is like something you are certain about. Truth is knowledge."

"Yes, but . . . "

"Yea, some people are certain about stuff but it doesn't make it true."

And so they continued by taking up science proper, like with water when it freezes, or gut feelings, including veterinary science and what intuition was, until the one stopped asking questions or the other got to the end of his studies on a particular subject.

That summer Johnnie not only discovered someone almost her age she could have a safe conversation with, but she also discovered books. She borrowed two Great Books that James brought but was not reading at the moment, and they discussed things other than work or horses. They didn't talk about parents or siblings or anything personal. Neither wanted to, or dared.

One could say that by the end of that summer, James and Johnnie were friends, platonic-like. When he left, Johnnie missed being able to ask questions and their talks on subjects not from school, from someone she trusted who could bone up on something and have something to say about it. She wanted to be someone who had something to say. She didn't dare test that at home or with the silent bunch. But a world of book learning and having an active, internal conversation with something written, well, she had a new way of sequestering herself. Her diary thus took on a different flavor when she got back to writing after James left that September. There were more words and more topics to exploit and explore.

***

By the time Johnnie was having her New York adventures, her memory of her teens was a blank, something like a deep dark hole she would not step into for fear of feeling. She remembered bits and pieces, but most of the rest she repressed. Certain events would come to mind as she thought about those years. Buddy, James, the silent bunch. Jess and evenings by the fire in the bunk house. The barn cats, how they multiplied. Open range roundups. Feeding stock from the back of the muddy Ford Ranger in the fenced pasture. Pasture, hah! dirt patch.

Her days must have been filled with experiences and people and going to town and friends and stuff. School, chores, sleep, homework, television, her diary, horses, driving the pickup for practice, driving it to and from school when she got her special license at fifteen, books, James . . . and the blame.

***

The following summer saw a changed James. For one, he brought magazines. The second thing was all too obvious to Johnnie.

"You grew up."

"Me? Same old me."

"Not what I see."

"What do you see?"

"Handsome cowboy."

Johnnie smiled, turned and walked back to her house to get some lunch saying over her shoulder, "Later." A feeling of power and sense of confidence came over James as he lugged his duffle bag and cowboy boots to the bunk house to settle in for the summer.

But the confidence he felt did not express itself where Johnnie was concerned. Warming to her seemed threatening somehow. He remembered the previous summer and he dismissed those times immediately. His shyness then was different this summer. Johnnie too had changed. She was like a cover girl on Seventeen magazine. Young, pretty, clean, fresh.

James had girls and women on his mind. He didn't need Johnnie. He had women he could have, sexy women who undressed and posed for him and him alone. They couldn't talk, which was good. Women less complicated than a real person. He had a trove of photos--in those magazines.

"What are you working on this summer. I mean studying."

"What do you mean?"

James had to be reminded of his lofty studies of the previous summer. Once Johnnie had reminded him of them he brushed it off saying that if anything, he was working on beauty. He wasn't sure what goodness was, and there were so many different standards and truths. He was after just simple, straightforward beauty, and he knew it when he saw it.

"When you see it? But aren't there things that are beautiful that you can't see? Like music, for example."

"You're right there," he mused.

"And the taste of great steak from the barbeque. Nevada fed beef."

"I suppose."

Johnnie was ready to resume the dialogues similar to those they had had the previous summer, but James wouldn't take the bait. He was somewhere else. Where? Johnnie tried a number of times, but he became reclusive, ashamedly shy, withdrawn. Was he sullen? Was there something she had done? He disappeared sometimes without saying where he was going or what he was doing.

"Jess, where are those dirty magazines that used to be here?"

"James got 'em, I guess."

"Did the new one come in?"

"What are you looking at that stuff? It's for men, maybe boys."

"Education."

"Education for what?"

"Has he got them in his room?"

"Don't know."

The next time James came in, Johnnie asked him where the girlie magazines were.

"What?"

"Jess says you got 'em. Maybe in your room."

"Oh, those. What do you want those for?"

"Never you mind. Put 'em back so everyone can read them."

"Put 'em back, will you?"

"After I finish reading."

"Never knew a cowboy who read a one," suggested Jess that evening after chores.

Johnnie found this issue tangential and not entirely important. What she objected to was more about things being in their place rather than what it was. Orderliness somehow was her mission this summer where the great room was concerned. Cowhands needed looking after. All winter the room had been hers, mostly. She looked around to straighten up as James sauntered down the hall to his bedroom. A few minutes later she knocked and opened his door.

"Could you let a guy say come in before barging in here?"

"I could but I didn't. Besides, I'm standing in the hall."

"I might be naked or something."

"Wouldn't bother me. What about those magazines?"

"I told ya."

"Told me what?"

"When I'm finished."

"When's that going to be?"

"Maybe never. Could you please. I have something to do."

Johnnie's vigor waned and she left without closing the door and exited the bunkhouse. James threw the bolt on the door and listened to see if she had really gone. No one seemed to be about and so he proceeded to dig under his mattress and bring out the latest Playboy. He opened the magazine and thumbed through quickly and found the spreads on the latest bunnies. The one in lingerie aroused him the most and he relieved the pressure building in his underwear with quick and vigorous strokes while looking at the photos. The bunny was tall with long dark hair. His fantasy was that she was his, like Johnnie, and he was mastering her with the inescapable power of his masculine self. Only after having ejaculated into a clean sock did the need to possess her subside. And who her was by that point was conflated. He knew the buildup and urge would come again soon, and then he would have to find another few moments for secret pleasures and fantasy. And another sock.

By July of that summer not only did James show his maturing self and changes in free time pursuits, so did Johnnie. She had made a friend at school during the winter, and Alice visited the ranch for two and three days at a time from her home near Nixon. Both Johnnie and Alice attended the tiny school in Wadsworth. It was a long commute for both of them, and attendance at school took motivation and effort. The previous year Johnnie could drive to school by herself. Her license would not allow her a passenger. This year it would be different, and Alice would catch a ride on Johnnie's way to and from the ranch. Living in semi-remote parts of Nevada had its advantages and some clear disadvantages for school-aged kids. Spending time with friends from school was one of the advantages, if it could be arranged. Alice was part Paiute and her family allowed her to visit friends in town as well as Johnnie who lived east of Pyramid Lake, that is if Johnnie picked her up on her way home in the truck. Alice was vivacious and outgoing and for Johnnie, she was welcome company.

Alice took an interest in James and drew him into messing around with she and Johnnie. There wasn't much to mess around about except riding out looking for camels, burros or mustangs and feeding the penned stock near the ranch house. There was no work that Johnnie had to do, and so when Alice visited, the girls hung about, chatted endlessly, watched television in the bunk house, made popcorn in the kitchen and giggled over nothings while doing anything. They cooked up a scheme to get Alice with James. Alice would flirt with him. What she might do with him once she had lured him was a mystery, but it was fun to plot and imagine how to rope him. The only problem was Alice wouldn't flirt unless Johnnie was present egging her on.

One hot afternoon, Alice and James found themselves in the barn and Alice tried some of the tricks she had been planning to pull to get some attention. The interplay didn't last long, for a conversation began and took a half hour to conclude. James had found a confidante.

"He's not interested in me. He's goo-goo over you. Didn't you know?"

"You didn't try hard enough."

"I couldn't. He just started in on whether I thought you liked him. Did he have a chance with you. Would you drive to town sometime and go to the movies together. Stuff like that."

"I don't think so. He has his girlfriends."

"What girlfriends?"

"He has these magazines. He brought them with him. "

So Johnnie confided her suspicions to Alice's surprise and curiosity about James the closet pervert.

"You really think so?"

"I'm sure as sure can be. I even went in his room when he was out saddling up for a ride."

"But what if you?"

"I can't compete with those girls in the magazines."

"I don't see why not. Ride him cowgirl."

After Alice had returned home, Johnnie's curiosity got the better of her, but it took something, she didn't know what, to take any initiative to validate Alice's news much less act on it. That something unexpectedly came when out of the blue, James asked, "You getting together with Alice again soon?"

"Sure. I was thinking of going into town with her and . . . "

"Saturday is my first day off in a month and I've nothing to do around here."

"You could come with us."

"That'd be good. You don't mind?" He said it as if he truly considered whether to join them.

"Not a bit. Wadsworth is pretty small. Be nice to show off some with our friends, though."

"Is there a movie theater? Something to do?"

"No. No time for that. Not much to do but visit."

"Oh."

"Don't worry. We'll hang out. You can meet some new people. If it gets boring we'll get into some trouble. Better than . . . "

"Your parents don't mind?"

"No worry about them. They don't care. Mom's at home, probably. . . ." She didn't finish the sentence and James felt it best not to pry.

"Ron and Natalie are checking out some property in California. Natalie wants her own ranch. I don't know when they'll be back. Not today for sure. And I don't care."

That seemed to end the conversation for now except Johnnie said she was glad James would be coming with her.

Nixon was a wide spot in the road and Alice was waiting at the four-way as usual. She didn't realize there would be company and that the plan was to go into Wadsworth. However, she was on her break. She was volunteering at the Pyramid Lake Visitors' Center and had forgotten to tell Johnnie when she dropped her off after Alice's previous visit to the ranch. They never used the phone. Party lines. She said she was sorry, but couldn't join them. The volunteer job might turn into a part-time position, and she wanted that badly, not just for her but her family. There weren't many reservation jobs that came along.

"Besides," she said lifting one eyebrow, "you two have things to talk about."

The drive after Nixon was a silent one, both Johnnie and James unsure of what to say. Although both were glad of this opportunity to be together, this summer was different and both realized it by this point. The  platonics of the previous year seemed to have run their course, and James was more private, with tectonic plates under tension ready break loose. Warming him up to a conversation seemed daunting to Johnnie. She felt he was hiding and covering up something, something more than the magazines he stashed away in his room. His next move was not just ill defined in his own mind, but the one preoccupation was never far from his thoughts. Whatever Johnnie did, now driving silently to pick up Alice, was infinitely arousing. Cutoff jean shorts and loose white blouse didn't help. Suppressing the feelings and urges James had was like trying to tame what? Who knows? It, whatever _it_ was, was powerful.

As for Johnnie, she wanted their relationship like it was before but she had tried and had almost given up. She figured she would just take the bull by the proverbial, and address James's interest in girls. Up front. Directly. What could she lose? He wasn't cooperating as before, time to take a new approach, the direct one. Perhaps in doing so she might find out if what Alice had said about his interest in her was true or not. What is truth? She didn't know but wanted to find out. Girlie magazines was not a foreign subject in that male environment she had escaped to in the bunk house. And she had some of her own hormones asserting themselves.

"Nevada has legal prostitution, you know."

"Huh?"

"Nevada. Prostitution is legal here."

"Yea, I know. "

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, what do you think about that?"

This was a round about way of playing to both the past and the subject of her interest. Johnnie thought herself very clever.

"I think. I think." He paused. "Why are we talking about this?"

"Subject to talk about. You know, Wadsworth had one of the first legal brothels in the state, way back when."

"How do you know that?"

"History, my dear Sherlock. History."

"What history?"

"Nevada history. We have a local historical society also, you know. Even out here in the sticks, although you'd be hard pressed to find a stick round here."

After more silence, Johnnie tried again. "Well, what do you think?"

"I think it's fine, I guess."

"Fine like it's OK or something?"

"Fine, yes, like it's Ok. For some people."

"And the girls?"

"What about 'em? Why are we talking about this?"

"OK, you start. Ask me a question. Anything."

"It's difficult. It's hard to talk to you."

"Me? What about you?"

Thus began a series of misunderstandings. James was flustering, Johnnie asserting, but not vice versa. They danced around each other like this till they could see Wadsworth up ahead. Johnnie broke the  spell and let her attempts to communicate something, she didn't know what, go. "Big city up ahead," which opened a space for what they would do next.

"Yep," said James as he wondered where this day would lead him. He was having his doubts, and Johnnie's ability to take care of herself with talk cautioned him, in fact told him he was up against forces he could not manage, at least not well. He had no experience. Should he have stayed back at the ranch and  worked? There were fence repairs still. He could have taken a day off another time.

"Where do your friends hang out?" There doesn't seem to be much of town for anyone to hang out in.

"They don't."

"I thought you said . . . "

"I did, but that was just to get you to go with us. Now it's just me. Everyone hangs out in Fernley, and I'm not allowed to drive there this  summer."

"But don't you go to school in Fernley?"

"I do now, but my step dad doesn't want me loitering, whatever that is. We can go back to the lake. We could take a look around. Ever been there?"

"What else?"

"Drive on to Fernley. It's not far."

"But you're not supposed . . . "

"Let's get into a little trouble, if you're up for it."

"Drive on, Johnnie." Although he uttered this haltingly, he surprised himself by taking this step into a more familiar space. It was the first time this summer that James had called Johnnie by her first name and it felt good to both of them. Was he warming up? Johnnie hoped and thought so. She could press on with this mote of support and act a little naughty. Almost a conspiracy. James was pleased with himself. He felt that masculine mastery again as well as the feelings of arousal it always seemed to attend it. The mastery was foremost, but the excitement simmered almost subliminally.

Johnnie generally moved about more confidently and more productively. She was coming into her own with horses, cows and ranch work. Her pleasure seemed to be living the life as one of the silent bunch, her quiet or intimidated ways fit right in with being just another hand at work. Leading was not her inclination, not at school and certainly not anywhere near home or ranch. However, today was different. She felt power in age and maturity. After all she was sixteen and James was only fifteen. She was the driver and could handle both car and conversation, while James was mastered by forces seemingly untameable. Being away from home for him put him naturally into new circumstances where he wasn't entirely sure of how to act much less proceed. Where Johnnie was more mature and knew her corner of the territory, she could feel in charge. Johnnie could feel that something interesting and dangerous might happen today; James hoped that something exciting and moderating would. They were both not disappointed.

The drive to Fernley and what they might do or discover that day was but a short distance. Johnnie pulled into a parking space in front of Dollar Bill's Diner on Main. It was eleven thirty and a Saturday morning. She said she'd be right back as she exited the truck. She stepped into the lonely phone booth at the end of the building and made a call. Soon she returned to the truck and came to the passenger side.

"So?" said James.

"A friend of mine will be here in a while. We can go in and eat or have something to drink."

"Okay." James got out of the truck and followed Johnnie into the diner. The air conditioning welcomed them, although the temperature was not so much cold as cooler than outside. They sat at the counter, and Johnnie swiveled her stool to face James.

"What'll ya have. You got money, right?"

"I have money. Are we eating or what?"

"Your choice."

"You have money don't you?" James was not sure of the rules. Their ride to Fernley from the ranch plus Johnnie's confidence and independence helped him realize he was dealing with a person not some object or image. She talked back, just like last summer.

"Of course. But you could treat me. "

"I can. I mean, I'd like to. What do you want?"

Johnnie picked up a menu and chose a burger and strawberry shake. When the waitress came and stood on the other side of the counter and asked, he ordered for Johnnie and said he'd have the same except a chocolate shake.

"That was nice. Thanks," said Johnnie, referring to the fact that James had not only offered to pay but also ordered.

Even ground seemed to spread out before them, and they thought they were making progress in being with each other. They both sat silently for a few moments. Someone played two of the three slot machines by the front door. Other patrons were few. The place felt like an oasis. It was a world away.

"When's your friend coming."

"Soon. You'll like him."

James was not sure, so he asked, "Who is he?"

"Oh, we go to school together. He was my lab partner last year, school year, in the spring. We get along. Big, dark, handsome. Plays on the football team."

He had no more questions. Their orders came with milkshakes first. They ate, Johnnie enthusiastically and James slowly with care. Was he nervous, or was this what he was like at home, Johnnie wondered. Just as they finished their meal, a big, dark, handsome young man entered the diner.

"James, Elk," Johnnie said.

"Elk?" James questioned.

"That's his name," explained Johnnie.

James stuck out his hand and Elk looked at it then took hold, squeezed and shook. James winced.

Johnnie did all the talking and Elk listened and nodded now and then. James silently watched and listened. At the end of one three-minute story Johnnie thought Elk should know about, he said he had to go; and after Johnnie said she understood, he looked at James with an impassive look, nodded and left the diner.

"Nice guy," Johnnie said.

"Seems so." Then he added, "What's next?"

Johnnie said she didn't know. Elk would have but he didn't say. They could kill some time at the park. Not much went on during hot summer days in Fernley anyway, or at any other time of year. Movie theater in Fallon, but that's only open tonight. Not feasible.

"What do people do here?"

"Not much. There are local businesses and some talk of warehouses or something coming. Some Nevada law. Taxes maybe. I don't understand that stuff."

James paid the bill at the cash register and Johnnie said thanks as James held the door open for her. She said thanks again referring to this gesture and smiled at him as they walked to the truck. James beamed inside.

James settled in to following Johnnie and gave up any idea of meeting her friends or doing anything in Fernley. The object seemed to be just being together off the ranch. They drove past the park and both said that it was not very interesting. Johnnie drove back to Wadsworth and found the cemetery. She parked the truck and they got out, looked at tombstones and found a trail to follow along the Truckee River. They walked till the river forked and rejoined again into one channel revealing next a pool deep enough swim in. They sat on the bank and took off their shoes. James caught the smell of Johnnie's soap or shampoo. It wasn't perfume, was it? Intoxicating. Johnnie waded in, turned and started splashing water at James who didn't move but protested. He warned her to stop or he would. . . .

"What. What'll ya do?" taunted Johnnie.

She splashed him again and he tore off his shirt and leaped up and pushed her into the pool of cool water. She was soaked and she looked down at herself, her clothes clinging tightly to her thin frame. She regained her fight, and with the agility of a cat soaked her foe before he could escape to higher ground.

The water fight was soon over, and James laughed and taunted while  Johnnie just stood there in the stream smiling and looking at herself, then at the handsome boy on the bank, then back again to her clothes clinging to her skin. He was muscular with a bare, white chest. Johnnie approved adding, "Look at what you have done," with a look that said she was amused and not angry.

"I did you a favor. It's hot."

They both sat on the bank with their feet in the cool water again. First Johnnie laid back and closed her eyes to the sky and soaked in the heat. "I need to dry off." Then she fell silent. James lay back and did the same. A quarter of an hour passed, and after each had brushed the sand and dirt from the other's back, they pressed on another mile or two in the same direction, crossed the river and returned by way of Bridge Street to the cemetery.

Johnnie drove back towards the ranch and stopped in Nixon. They stopped at the visitors center and talked with Alice. She invited them to stay for a neighborhood gathering featuring fry bread and beer. There would be other classmates there and James could meet real Americans. They could have a look at the exhibits at the Museum and Visitor Center, and if time permitted, which it did, they could have a look at the lake just up the road on 446. Maybe they'd see some pelicans in flight. Johnnie and James followed Alice's suggestions and ended up at Alice's house, a small box of a home with the Nevada desert as its backyard. There the gathering took place with lots of fry bread to go around, but Johnnie and James talked mostly with each other and didn't mix. In fact, there weren't that many to mix with. The gathering included several families with varieties of kin. Elk was there, and as Alice and Johnnie walked off and whispered to each other, Alice passed something to her friend, which Johnnie tucked into the back patch pocket of her shorts, Elk and James acknowledged each other over a cola and beer, James' and Elk's respectively. Elk seemed older to James. Perhaps it was the stately way he carried himself. James felt awkward, not knowing how Elk was related to Johnnie. What kind of friend was he? James was literally out of his element, in a foreign country. Their conversation revolved at first around football. Elk was a lineman. James played in the backfield. Before walking off to greet someone else, Elk said, "Don't hurt her." James sensed he meant it in a most serious way. But how could he hurt Johnnie?

Alice and Johnnie, after giggling and bending over in laughter that prevented further words about something Alice had said, broke off their private conversation and Johnnie rejoined James.

"Had about enough of that?" Johnnie asked referring to the fry bread.

"No, but if you want to go . . . "

"I'm ready. Okay with you?"

"Sure"

By this point at the end of the day and satiated with greasy dough and sweet soft drinks, both Johnnie and James felt closer, and that if there was some interest or attraction, they were finally absorbed in each other's company. They redrew the personal boundary around the two of them at the gathering, and before saying good bye to Alice and others, Johnnie asked the question the answer to which she wanted in words she could hear before that day ended.

"Do you like me?"

"Yes, a lot."

"How much?"

"A lot I said. Really a lot."

"I like you too. I am glad for today."

"Me too."

And that was it. Silence the rest of the way home, and then James went to the bunkhouse and his room and Johnnie to the barn for a last minute check on her horse. She hoped one of the hands had seen to water and feed, which she usually had tended to by this time of night.

James immediately got ready for bed and slipped between the sheets and retrieved one of his precious magazines. It had been a sensual day, one filled with images of Johnnie driving the truck in short shorts, Johnnie drenched in the river her clothes clinging to her, fry bread dripping with oil, and mutual admission of like. Associations briefly reinforced his sense of arousal. Elk, rut, mating . . . expansive, power, inevitability . . . release. As he was turning the pages to one of his favorite nymphs, he heard someone and Johnnie talking down the hall in the great room. He heard the words _Hester_ and _down_ but couldn't make out more. He slowed his breathing as if secreting himself from discovery and quietly turned out the light beside his bed. He caught part of a hurried conversation.

". . . growing up."

"Yes, but I'm not sure I can do it," said Johnnie.

"I'll be with you. I'll help." The other person was Jess.

". . . The best thing?"

"The only choice," said Jess.

James heard the door to the bunkhouse slam shut. They had gone out. Within the next minutes--it must have been two or three--he heard the report of a gun shot. It was followed a few seconds later by second. Then silence. James froze in bed, his hand in his pants and the magazine on his chest. He didn't know what to think or do. He decided it must have been something about an animal. Cat? Chasing off something? He didn't know and was afraid to leave his room and go out into the night to find out. Guns scared him. He shoved the magazine under his mattress and lay there on his back with his hands at his sides for several hours. He listened carefully. He heard nothing and finally went to sleep. He knew he'd find out what happened, if anything, in the light of day.

The following morning Johnnie had disappeared, and the rifle over the fireplace, which James thought was merely ornamental, was missing. By evening James had the story. Hester, Johnnie's horse, had to be put down because of a broken leg. She had kicked through one wooden wall in her stall and had gotten that leg stuck in the hole. She struggled and the result sealed her fate.

Johnnie was missing the next several days. Finally she showed up at the bunkhouse and took her place before the fireplace in her armchair. She sat there and stared and sometimes cried silently. There was no fire in that fireplace during the summer, and there was no fire in Johnnie. Jess would bring her tea or ask if he could get her something to eat, but Johnnie quietly refused all offers. James approached her and each time she waved him off. After sitting for a few hours on two separate days, she disappeared presumably to the main house and her room.

A week passed and Johnnie resumed her chores and came and went from the bunkhouse as before. She acknowledged James when she saw him but didn't pause for conversation. She only stated, "I had to put my horse down. It was the humane thing to do." This was new territory for James. He didn't know how to navigate this territory and went back to his earlier reclusive ways.

A week to the day of their excursion to Nixon and beyond, and in the early evening after dinner, Johnnie knocked and entered James' room. She startled him. He was lying on the bed with his head propped up. He was reading one of his magazines.

"Are you avoiding me?" Johnnie said accusingly.

"No. No. Not at all."

Johnnie took three steps toward James and grabbed the magazine from him.

"Hey, what's with that? That's mine. "

"I need something to read and you're hogging all the literature."

At that James stood up and Johnnie bolted from the room with the magazine. James was right behind her. Johnnie leaped over the couch in the great room and turned round to face him, holding the magazine behind her back with both hands. James stopped in front of her, just out of reach.

"Gimme that, Johnnie."

"Come and get it, Jamesie."

James acted so quickly that Johnnie had no time to turn and escape. James grabbed Johnnie and held her in a bear hug, Johnnie's hands pinned behind her still holding the magazine. Both had shocked looks on their faces as they quickly realized each face found another an inch away.

"Now whaterya gonna do?" sassed Johnnie.

James didn't answer and the awkwardness of it began to release its grip. As she gained enough to move her arms a bit, Johnnie poked her head forward and planted a kiss. She aimed at his mouth but missed and  only caught part of it. James let go and stepped back. He couldn't believe what had happened and Johnnie just stood there waiting for what would happen next.

"Now I'm going to get you."

Johnnie threw the magazine onto the couch. "There's your damn magazine. You won't catch me."

No words followed but the chase was out the bunkhouse door. They raced one after the other. Johnnie was fast but the one who had had practiced his quick sprints caught her before she had put twenty feet between herself and the bunkhouse door. This time James came from behind and as he tackled her about her waist they spun around and went down, Johnnie on top of James, her back to him. She struggled for a minute and then whispered.

"Brute. Stop it. Someone will see us."

"So what?"

"So . . just so." He held her fast, and as she stopped struggling for fear the scuffle would be discovered, James kissed her on the back of the neck. She relaxed."

"Do that again."

He relaxed his arms, kissed her ear then let her go.

They both got up and dusted themselves off as they looked around to see if someone had seen them. It was just dark and Jess and the summer help were all on the other side of the bunkhouse sitting around the barbeque talking in low tones. Lights from the main house suggested that the rhythms of life there proceeded as usual. Ron and Natalie had returned from their California trip, and Natalie had turned right around and returned to California by way of Reno and the family lawyer. Johnnie's mother was no doubt absorbed in quenching her thirst. The cocktail hour for her often lasted from before dinner, through it and ended at bedtime. That time would be soon.

Johnnie led again as she took his hand. "You don't need those calendar girls. You've got me."

All of this can be seen throughout history as girls get together with boys and boys get together with girls. Avoid, attract, then back and forth and forth and back which leads to a kind play, then foreplay and sex play--it has been seen before. This case was without much difference. However, each time it happens it is special to those who have it happen, or make it happen. Intensity, excitement, anticipation, serendipity . . . it is all of a piece and always special.

"What's that mean?"

"Something nice. Something naughty. We'll see."

Johnnie stepped forward, turned and kissed James square on the mouth this time. James responded by putting his arms around her and kissed her back, too hard. It was his first time kissing a girl and it happened so wonderfully fast that later that night he didn't believe it had happened. He wondered about how rough or gentle he should be. There would be a next time. He hoped. Would they could go all the way? Johnnie went to bed in her own room, door firmly closed to her family, her losses, and her secret hopes, open to that formula she needed for such a long time. An ounce of kindness, an ounce of affection. She dreamed of being held in body and esteem. James was a good catch. She felt sure she had caught him, for herself. Or had he caught her with her help? It didn't matter.

Summer romances have to get down to business. They last only so long. James and Johnnie wasted no time. Adventurous, needy and unsupervised as they were, within two days they had made love, James in white socks and Johnnie in white bra. By the third try, each graced the other naked except for condoms supplied--just in case--by Alice; in addition, Johnnie would have no more of the missionary style. Once James had entered her, she held him and rolled on top and straddled him trapping him. James did not resist for this way he looked at her face, her long hair, her breasts, her flat tummy. She pleasured him, or he pleasured himself. What was the difference? Nothing. It was so  intense on the fifth lesson of life, he came inside her three times before his penis finally became flaccid. Johnnie delighted in their play always insisting that they french kiss before and embrace each other afterwards in whatever positions they found themselves when sated.

During the course of that first week, two condoms broke and worried both of them, of course Johnnie more so. She insisted she wanted indefinite independence. A child would not be welcome. James neither protested nor assisted in being aware of or responsible about consequences. Birth control was Johnnie's job as was the lead in the relationship. Somehow she always had a condom ready, just in case. And they both knew what to do with it. Teenagers find out about these things in spite of adults and their squeamishness in having that dreaded, from both sides, talk. After two weeks, Johnnie got her period and that was that until Jess said to Johnnie after she had left James's room one afternoon, "Watch yourself. Don't get hurt."

Catching opportunities for lovemaking was a challenge. During the day the bunkhouse was almost always empty. Jess and the hired hands were out working, and schedules could pretty much be predicted. One catch, however, was James. He was there to learn and work. It was perhaps his unexplained absences and long breaks from chores and daily jobs that finally raised suspicions. As for Johnnie, her comings and goings at the main house were ignored except for that extra shower or two she began taking each day. Ron, who worked in his den at the other end of the sprawling residence began to notice a new routine and wondered what was up. To hide what was going on, Johnnie let her mother know she was having a particularly heavy period and needed frequent bathing, or her hair needed washing. It was so greasy. Mary dismissed Ron's questions with, "It's just girl stuff . . . you know, her age." Ron said nothing, but to be sure that his money was being well spent on hired help and other ranch expenses, he walked about and asked questions more than usual. His pattern was not to enter the bunkhouse. He considered it a  private living space for the help. But about three weeks into his stepchild's affair, he stopped by, found Jess in the kitchen and they had a chat.

By the middle of August, the teenagers were well versed in different ways of making love--they both had read and viewed those magazines James had brought. They were as textbooks for insatiably curious students that had no sex education classes at home or school. The two were focused on experimenting and practicing whenever they could. Sometimes James said he was sore and said he couldn't. Johnnie expressed sympathy in such a way that any soreness was soon forgotten and they were at it again. This too may have had something to do with what happened next. The silent bunch knew the two couldn't be apart for long, and it appeared that "live and let live" or "they're just kids, gotta live when yer young," would ensure secrecy where secrecy was warranted. But no.

And to transform ecstasies and careless living into the very worst, albeit most appalling nightmare--yes, Mrs. Weatherall entered James's room without an appointment about four in the afternoon on about August eighteenth. She had driven all the way from Sacramento to the ranch and was there to save her innocent not from himself but from "that whore of a daughter you have under your roof." Insult to injury, James and Johnnie were in bed at the time. Johnnie was on top. Imagine. No, don't.

The results were minimally these. James packed and was in the family car back to Sacramento within a half hour. The parting words to Ron and Mary was that Mrs. W. would bring charges, sue . . . do something to right a grave wrong. They would be hearing from her lawyer. Jess left that evening with no explanation and no comment. A peek in his room showed no personal belongings. On the nineteenth Lawton became resident wrangler. He was the most experienced cowboy and the most responsible. Ron blew a gasket and moved quickly to the wet bar in the family room. He started as soon as Mrs. W. had left. Mary dutifully became additionally sedated and tisk-tisked her daughter and then went silent. Ron's gasket still leaking fuel as he drank, yelled to Johnnie who was in the bathroom down the hall next to her bedroom. She was to join her sister permanently as soon as the purchase of Natalie's equestrian center in California closed escrow. Johnnie would not be driving off to Nixon or anywhere else from now on and forever, and she would not finish school in Fernley. "Got that you little slut?"

The thing to imagine, or know, is that this summary dismissal and sentence to some rural hole in California was not an end but a beginning for Johnnie. So it was, in hindsight, not a bad thing. Johnnie escaped with her independence, as it turned out, and the first lessons of carnal knowledge. She had before her the possibility of at least sisterly care and affection. She was headed into the unknown, but her stepsister and she, she believed, could work through whatever it may be that would stood in the way of a home and a fresh start. They could make it on their own away from parents. Natalie by this point was ready for a business challenge. She was in her mid twenties. That her stepsister had gotten caught where Natalie hadn't when she played around with boys in her teens, this was a stone in a foundation for the future. What was bad was an effect. Oh, to be sure there were many that could have been identified at the time, but this came into relief clearly--though it would take several years for full definition. Younger men and older men are not to be believed or trusted. The young ones will not, cannot support you in the ways you need. Older ones were just heartless pricks. Snitches and pricks.

Johnnie, now wary of any boy her age or man who came near her, was not yet open for one who was kind and could support, even mentor her in some way, not in matters of the body but about how to get along amicably and grow and maybe, just maybe, strike out on one's own. Just  knowing that there was a loved one in your corner would make all the difference. For now, that someone could be, would be Natalie. Who might she meet in her new school, in college, at work who could in time provide a pillar? help her on her way? She didn't know. Time enough to sort it out in some backwater place in California. Plus she had to lick her wounds before healing fully.