Heart of a Shepherd (12 page)

I just shake my head. The fire sweeps on, a hundred yards away on either side, but we are standing in a golden patch of untouched prairie. The sheep are amazed to complete silence, and even Donner can see that none of them are going to wander off. He works his way to the middle of the flock, lies down, and falls asleep instantly

I make a count of the sheep, keeping track on one hand of the ones that have my tag. Grandpa and Ernesto are deep in conference about where to take them. Water is only a few miles away, but they'll have to walk through the night to find grass that's not burned. Grandpa is massaging his left shoulder as he talks, like he's pulled a muscle. I gather up the tools, oven-hot from the ground, and look at the sky. It's hard to tell the storm clouds from the smoke, but the growl of thunder has moved up into the Strawberries, and the smoke has more of a brown-orange cast in the direction I'm guessing is west. I picture the BLM map Grandpa keeps on the wall in the hallway. Eighteen miles to Burns, maybe twenty, and I bet it's after three o'clock. It'll be dark before we get there.

Poor Grandpa; he looks dog-tired. Soot sticks in all the wrinkles that fan out from his eyes, making him look at least ninety. He lifts up the horses’ hooves to check for splits and stones. Ernesto squats next to Donner, checking his feet for burns. I kneel and stroke the ashes out of his fur.

“Watch him,” Ernesto says to me quietly. He lifts an eyebrow in the direction of Grandpa. “He need your strength to come home.”

“Right.” I shake my head. Grandpa splits logs every day with an ax I can't even lift. He can wrestle a two-hundred-pound heifer to the ground. I can barely tip over a sheep with a running start.

“No.” Ernesto turns to me. He lifts up my chin. “Even the strong need help.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, but I see he's not satisfied, so I stand up and say, “I promise I'll watch over him like you watch over these sheep.” I hold out my hand to shake on the promise. He takes my hand in both of his and shakes my arm up and down like a pump handle.

“Sí,
now you're talking.
¡Fantástico!
You will be a shepherd to him.”

Grandpa is already in the saddle when we walk up. Ernesto gives me a leg up and hands the canteen back to Grandpa. Ginger starts off at a trot, but we are only
a quarter mile on our way when he drops her back to a walk. I pull Ike up next to him.

“That was really awesome with the fire, Grandpa. How did you know it would work?”

He just grunts. His left arm hangs limp on the saddle bow.

“Are you okay? Did you hurt your arm?”

He gives a “yes” grunt. “Sore. Hurts.”

“Do you want some aspirin for that, because I probably have some in the—”

“Already took.”

Pretty obvious he doesn't feel like chatting, so I drop back and watch him. The smoke thins to almost nothing as we move from scorched ground to dry sagebrush. The heavy clouds move north and the sun goes below them on the western horizon, blasting me full in the face. I tilt the brim of my hat and Grandpa drops his head low.

“Sing,” he says.

I know what he wants: the old hymns he sang growing up in the Quaker church. We all used to sing them together when I was little, before Mom left. Grandpa led us in two- and three-part harmonies, his own voice deep and true like a big church bell. He doesn't usually ask me to sing. My voice doesn't go as
high as it used to or as deep as it should for the men's part. I start off with “Simple Gifts,” and then I sing “For the Beauty of the Earth” and “Amazing Grace.” I'm about to start another when Grandpa falls forward in the saddle and slumps onto the ground.

“Grandpa!” I shout. I jump off Ike and hit my knees in the dirt beside him. Ginger dances away but then comes back and touches Grandpa's shoulder with her nose. She backs up and stands shoulder to shoulder with Ike, watching like people do when there is an accident on the highway.

As gently as I can, I roll Grandpa onto his back. He is groaning, with his right fist pressed over his heart. I search his body for blood or a sticking-out bone. Something I can fix. He grits his teeth together, groaning louder, and then gasps for breath.

“My heart,” he pants. “Crushing me.”

“No,” I whisper. I unbutton his shirt at the top and wipe his face with my bandana. I search the horizon for somebody, anybody. There is no one to call. No help to run for. Only me to watch him.

“I'm here, Grandpa,” I say, pulling off my shirt to pillow his head. “I'm right here.” I remember what Grandpa said at Christmastime about angels being all around us when we need them, and I stand my ground.
I set my hand on his chest, and he grabs it. I can feel pain go through his body in waves. He squeezes my hand so hard, I can hear my knuckles pop. His eyes are shut tight, and tears roll down his cheeks.

I should pray. I start the rosary, stroking tears off his face like Dad did for me when I was little and afraid of the dark. I am just getting in the rhythm of shifting from Hail Mary to Glory Be when I remember that Grandpa likes the silent kind of prayer.

I stop and draw a deep breath. “Come, Holy Spirit. We are listening.”

I take another deep breath, and Grandpa does too. I feel his muscles relax by inches.

“Listening, yes,” he whispers.

“Are you all right now?” I whisper back. “Are you getting better?”

He shakes his head a fraction of an inch. “It's too heavy. Too heavy to take where I'm going.”

He looks me in the eye and spreads my hand flat over his heart. I know exactly what he means, and even though I know I should fight it and tell him not to go and promise to save him, I just sit and hold his hand. His death comes to me like a true fact, like the last move in a chess game.

“I love you, Grandpa,” I whisper. “I won't forget all the stuff you taught me to do.”

“You are all good boys. Your dad, your brothers.” He lifts up a last smile. “Sons to ease an old man's heart. And you, Brother, trying so hard to fill your dad's place. You don't have to be like him. You have your own road to follow. You'll know when you're ready.” He coughs and closes his eyes. “You tell my bride, tell Miss Muriel Ann Casey—she is the most—”

And I wait for “beautiful,” but it never comes. In that moment I feel heat and light push out of his body It tingles up through my hand and makes my heart race. All the muscles on Grandpa's face go slack and, for a moment, I can see the young man he used to be. There is a glow around his body, and I feel hugged in by it.

And then it's gone, just like that, and I'm left with my hand over the shell of the body that used to be my grandpa.

I sit for what feels like hours. The sun dips lower and colors up the clouds gold and pink. My sweat dries to a salty crust, and the air gets cold enough to raise a shiver. I can't even believe what I'm feeling. Not angry; not even sad. Amazement, I guess. Honor at being a
part of this moment. It's not like losing Pippin or any other animal. Not like it at all. I wait and watch the stars come out—Sirius to the southeast, and the Summer Triangle: Deneb, Altair, and Vega.

I let go of his hand.

By and by Ike walks up. He comes slow, eyeing the body carefully. He sniffs and nudges it with his nose. He nips at the sleeve and then touches his tongue to the hand. At once he understands, and backs up a step.

It occurs to me why they always fade to black after someone dies in the movies. A dead person's body is a serious transportation problem. At least, it is out here. No ambulance; not even a car for miles.

“All right, God,” I say, and I am a little mad because He was here an hour ago and now, just when levitation would be really helpful, He's nowhere in sight.

“Look, I can't leave him,” I say. “There are scavengers out here, and bugs. How will I find him again? What will I say to Grandma if I don't bring him back? That's it. I'm staying until you find a way to get us both out of here, and if I starve to death, it's your fault.”

That's when the miracle happens.

Ike steps up for one last sniff, and then he just lies
right down beside Grandpa's body. Unbelievable! I stroke his shoulder and look him in the eye to make sure this means what I think it means. Ike looks straight back at me and I remember. Grandpa was there with Dad the night Ike was born. He raised him from a foal.

I lift Grandpa's body by the shoulders and drape him over the saddle. It takes a lot of pushing and pulling, but I get him stomach-down across Ike's back.

“Good boy” I say patting Ike's neck. “Up now.”

Ike lurches to his feet, and I have to grab Grandpa's body by the knees and give him a good shove to get him balanced.

“Well, all right then, God. Thanks!” I say, too amazed to put more flower on that prayer. I take the reins and walk over to Ginger. She's much shorter and easier to mount, and Ike likes to follow her around. This might actually work.

It's pitch-dark, but I can still pick out west from the stars. A mile or so on and I can see the lights of the fairgrounds about eight miles to the southwest. There is no moon, but I search out the constellations Dad taught me and tell their stories for company. I am maybe a mile out of town when the Herdsman finally
clears the horizon, and I think about why Dad and I chose this one, this shepherd of stars, to guide me.

And then, suddenly, I know, and it is exactly as Grandpa said. I've been on the right road the whole time. The secret of what I'm supposed to be is so last-chess-move perfect that I make up my mind not to tell anyone about it until Dad comes home.

A
UGUST

I'm not really one for making a flashy entrance. I like to slide in quietly and check things out first. But I bet people are out looking for Grandpa and me. Even though it's almost midnight, I don't think I have much chance of sneaking into the Burns fairgrounds quietly

What am I going to tell Grandma? How can I explain what happened? I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there. Grandpa was fine galloping the horses out to find Ernesto and the sheep. He was fine digging a fire line to save them. It wasn't until all the danger was done that his heart gave out.

Hunger and thirst and fatigue make my head swim. The smell of horse sweat and smoke hangs in the air around me. I turn onto the county road that leads to the fairgrounds. I'm not on it fifty yards when a patrol
car passes. It turns around and shines its headlights on me. An officer jumps out.

“Mr. Alderman? Brother? Is that you? Thank God!”

It's Deputy Himmel.

I still don't know what to say. Deputy Himmel runs up to the horses, lifts Grandpa's body by the shoulders to look at his face, and then lowers him gently back onto the saddle.

He turns to me and says, “Are you all right?” I nod, and he says, “Let's walk Mr. Alderman home.”

He drops back and walks beside the horse that's carrying the body, with a hand on Grandpa's shoulder like an honor guard. Tired as I am, I sit up straighter because even though Grandpa has been hours in heaven, his body deserves the respect.

Deputy Himmel must have radioed ahead. When we get to the entrance gate, Grandma is waiting for us, along with all the other families in the valley that evacuated there to escape the wildfire.

It's me Grandma comes to first. I slide down from the saddle and Grandma is right there, hugging me tight and saying “Thank God” over and over again, and I say, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Grandma. I just … and then he … and I didn't know what to do.”

“Don't be sorry,” she says, stroking the ashes out of my hair. “He wasn't alone; I didn't want him to be alone. And you're here. You're alive.”

She pulls back enough to look me in the face. “What would I tell your dad if I lost you?”

This I get.

“He found Ernesto and the sheep, and he saved them. He knew exactly what to do. And then, when it was all over …”

“His heart. I know.”

“He said … he just thinks … you're really, really beautiful, Grandma.”

And then she laughs and hugs me again, which is so like her, I feel a thousand pounds lighter.

The neighbors crowd in, kissing Grandma and shaking my hand. Grandma's best friend, Mary Gail, has her cell phone out seconds later and starts making arrangements to bring my brothers down from the mountains and get Pete home from Texas.

Paco and Rosita's whole family swarms us. If you are looking for loud lamenting, a Basque family is the way to go. Mr. Ugarte sobs openly, and all his brothers and sisters do the same. Rosita hugs me and gives me a kiss on the cheek, which isn't nearly as revolting as you might think, and Paco cries out loud, right in public—
brave as a lion. The girls from school slip in and take the horses off to the barns. I find an unlocked truck while everyone is still talking, curl up on the seat, and fall asleep in my boots.

Three days later, I'm sitting on the front porch, looking out over some other planet—a planet with no living plants and no Grandpa. Acres of river-bottom grass are nothing but a smudge of soot over bare dirt. The corral is outlined with the charred remains of the fence, and the horses stand inside purely out of habit. Frank is at the store with Mary Gail, getting what we need for the wake and funeral. Jim and John are fixing the pump. Grandma comes out to the porch with a damp dish towel and wipes the soot off the flag. She holds it out against the sky and gives it a critical look. It's only a little bit scorched on the bottom edge, and there are a few pinpricks of light that show through where sparks fell. It's like some extra stars have fallen in with the stripes. Grandma gives it a final shake and leaves it hanging in the still air.