Robbery at Holliday Creek (4)

Decision Time

Martin Tarbutton smiled, and when he did the lines in his face snapped to life like breaking glass and deepened the greater his grin.  “Let your mother feed you first.  She’s been worrying over four months about your eating. By the looks of it she had reason.” 

     Mattie Tarbutton was a tall woman; taller than Martin, which didn’t seem to matter much to either of them. Standing at the stove she looked over her shoulder at the mention of her name. “Take a seat, son. It isn’t special, but there’s plenty of it.”

     He could smell the bacon and suddenly he was hungry.  “Bacon, fried eggs and biscuits sure beats another plate of cow camp stew.”  He pulled his chair over to the table and sat down in front of four basted eggs. “Thanks, Ma. You’re the best.” He saw her eyes moisten before she quickly turned away

.

     Mattie finished piling food on the table with two cups of hot coffee. “Come over here and have a cup, Marty.”  

     The old man laid down his work and moved to the table. As he pulled up his chair, he saw the jar of blueberry jam sitting by a stack of biscuits. “Thought you said we were out of blueberry jam.”  

     “You and your boys went through that jam last summer like it was butter. This is the last batch I put up, and I saved it back for Teddy…” She corrected herself, “for Ted.” She smiled sweetly at her husband and then at her son, which she followed with a wink.

     Ted slid the biscuits over to Martin followed by the jam. Hesitantly, he said, “See you laid in some barbed wire…  That mean you’re leaning to more farming and less ranching?”

     Mattie, who had pulled up a chair, now studied her hands in her lap. Martin slowly helped himself to a biscuit. “A homestead isn’t really big enough for successful cattle raising without an open range. That seems to be ending as more homesteaders run fences to keep the range cattle out of their crops.”

     The two men were talking to each other eye to eye. Ted broke the stare and reached for the remaining bacon which he cleared onto his plate. 

   Martin pressed on, eager to build on the moment. “Homesteading is hard, son; but it’s good clean living. You’re your own man. You work hard; you raise a family; the harder you work the more you call your own…  Man can get by nicely farming out here.” 

     Ted was quiet, thinking over what the old man said. A response wasn’t at the tip of his tongue. No thoughts, much less words, came to mind; only feelings. 

 

     But the feelings were strong -- extra strong. Getting by wasn’t good enough for Ted Skillman.