Sarabeth's+Way+(Mr.+Fischer)

“This story goes way, way, way, way back, further than most can remember, and as to when or how it all really started, who’s to say? Some start it when the Lamberts first came across; others when they lost it all first in New York, then Cincinnati, and then Chicago, the last big city before they headed out to the territories. That’s what folks did back then when nothing was breaking for them and bill collectors were unforgiving and a foreign-sounding name—like Lambert—wasn’t all too welcome in some parts. Perhaps were more suspicious of strangers back then, I suppose.

Some might start the story when Ol’ Man Lambert signed up as a cowhand on The Grady ranch, never having had a day in his life filled with the bone-breaking hard work of raisin’ cattle and steer and all the other mess of livestock that Grady was known for in those days. Or maybe they’d start the story when Lambert met Sarabeth, that little ray of sunshine in his life, that prairie girl who took lowly Seth in, taught him the rudiments of English readin’, and set him on the path that would lead to owning his own piece of land, where he settled down to raise his quiet family, serving as a model for all the other Bohunks who were coming out to Sioux Falls in those days.

For me, though, this story really begins some years later. I know you hate sad things, but I gotta start with sadness and tears if I’m gonna tell this story right and so you’ll understand it why I’m telling it to you.

So here’s where it starts: Reynards’ Gulch, 1874, some time in the summer months, when the land was baked dry by the summer sun and the boys had nothing better to do than swat flies and butt heads with one another over any lame excuse they could come up with for a fight. You know how men can be…well, right. I guess you don’t, really. Anyway. Anyway. That’s where they discovered him: Reynards’ Gulch, near about July 24th, 1874. Seth Lambert, husband of Sarabeth, father of Larzo and Hart and little Jarvis (that’s right. You heard right. Jarvis), owner of a spit-sized plot of land barely large enough to turn around it, all 68 years old of him…or anyway, what we left of him. After the buzzards, well, you know. Sheriff found him almost 6 days since he’d disappeared; could only really recognize him from his shirt. Always did wear a red-and-black checked shirt, that man, they say. Sorry sight for a woman like Sarabeth to have to see; worse still for that Jarvis. It’s him I can imagine least, poor boy. Father found lying dead in the Gulch, no doubt it was murder, no doubt it was those Clampett boys edging in for water rights. No way to prove it, course. But everyone knew. Cowards shot him from behind; couldn’t even face him. Tied his arms and legs and dragged him to the silence of the far away. Way it worked back then, I suppose. Damn shame. You OK?

Good. I know. I needed you to know this so you’ll understand what comes later. I know how you’re feeling; I want you to know that. I’ll go on, OK?

Anyway, this is where I begin the story, when the sheriff’s men found Seth and brought him back to the house. God knows what for. Not much to be done with the body at that point, if you ask me. Maybe they were in on it to, though no one much liked the Clampetts back in those days, but you never know. Money has a way of making friends that good manners never can. What people talked about most, though, was not the remains of poor old Seth but the grim stare of Sarabeth when they first knocked on the door, like she knew already. Stone hard, that woman was. Stone hard. Not cold, mind you; hard. The boys—who were more than boys already—stood in the doorway behind her, looking out at what had become of their pa, and maybe a little scared. They knew things, these boys. Things that Seth had told them and never told Sarabeth, though I suspect that she knew all along, too. She put her arms on the door and held them back, shutting the door on the town members who had gathered. Closed the door for a good twenty minutes, making them all wait until she was ready to face them, now dressed in her widow’s weeds and having her family in their Sunday best. She pulled them together and then they marched out, single-file, to do what needed to be done, burying the body of their patriarch without the single sign of a tear. Some say it was downright unnatural, but that’s how they were and it was Sarabeth’s way. From then on, it would always be Sarabeth’s way. And this is what I want you to hear.

“Did the boys cry when they found out that their pa was dead?”

“Of course they did.”

“But you said they didn’t cry when they buried him.”

“That’s right, they didn’t. But behind closed doors, of course they cried. And at night, and at any other time when they felt they needed to.”

“And what about Sarabeth?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did she…you know…did she cry?”

“Of course she did, dear. Maybe even more than the others. Seth was her husband and her best friend. She was very sad, too.”

“Was the family OK? I mean, what would they do without their pa?”

“I’ll tell you more about them tomorrow, OK? Get some sleep now.”

“OK, mom. ‘night.”

“’Night. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Tonight I want to tell you about Brando.”

“Who’s Brando? Is he one of the boys?”

No, Brando wasn’t in the Lambert family. In fact, they’d never heard of him until he arrived in town a few weeks after Seth had been killed….”

“Murdered, mom. He was murdered.”

“Right, murdered. Brando wasn’t a Lambert, nor was he from Crossways, where the Lambert’s lived. In fact, no one was really sure where Brando was from.”

“What was he doing in Crossways, then?”

“Well, listen, and I’ll explain. No one knew much about Brando, and few even knew whether “Brando” was his first or last name. Most who lived in that part of the world had heard his name, sometimes through whispers and gossip, sometimes through tales that men told to other men when times were bad. Over time, hundreds of “Brando” stories were in circulation: stories about his battles with the Sioux and Cherokee, stories of him fighting with bears and jaguars, stories of him single-handedly defeating gangs of men, of him killing three men with one bullet, of him outrunning a raiding party and outsmarting the most conniving of businessmen in from San Francisco. Many of these Brando stories weren’t true; but some of them were, and for this reason everyone kept telling them and re-telling them. Few in Crossways had actually met or even seen Brando himself. Those who had claimed that he was a dark-skinned man, nearly burnt by the many long rides in the sun, with hair as black as coal and eyes as brown as coffee. But beyond that, folks would disagree. Tall? Short? Skinny? Muscled? Soft handed? Wide-eyed? Depended on who was telling the tale.”

“Do you think he looked at all like Jonathan?”

“What? Well, perhaps a little like Jonathan, but only different.”

“Do you like Jonathan?”

“Well…why are you asking this now? Jonathan is nice….don’t you think he’s nice? We like to spend time with him, don’t we?”

“I guess so….”

“Didn’t you two have a fun time last weekend? When he took you to the park?”

“I’m kinda old for the park, mom.”

“You seemed to have fun, if you ask me.”

“Well, sort of…He’s not really like….”

“I know. That’s not the point. I know he’s not like Dad. It’s just…well…he’s different, and we can like different, too, right?

“I guess. Keep telling the story, OK?”

“OK. So anyway, Brando was someone everyone talked about but few had ever met. When times were bad, people talked about Brando. Where there were troubles, people spoke of Brando. Brando was their hope when there seemed to be no hope left at all. Anyway, months before Brando came to town, people were already talking about him. Not right away after the murder, but not long after. When Seth was around, the Clampett boys held their peace. It was well known that the family was eyeing the Lambert’s sliver of land, mostly because it was a valuable piece of land. The land blocked access to the Caladogo River, the river whose floods brought fertile land and whose waters provided for the many horses and cattle in the area. Whoever controlled the Caladoga Gap (as it was called)—the place where the river curved and calmed enough to serve the farmer and the cattleman’s needs—controlled the best land for miles and miles around, and for fifty years, the rights belong to the Lamberts. The Clampetts had offered, year after year, more and more cash for the Lamberts’ land, but three generations of Lamberts refused to sell. How could they? It was where the family settled when they had nowhere else to settle; It was where Grandpa Lambert and Grandpa Jamison (Sarabeth’s father) were buried, and now were Seth Lambert was buried, too. If Larzo (now 22) and Hart (19) were stone-cold determined not to sell out to the Clampetts before, there was no way they would even consider selling out now. No way.

As you probably can imagine, the Clampetts weren’t all that good at taking “no” for an answer, especially old man Clampett, known as “Warren” to his friends and “war-head” to his enemies. Nor were his hot-head sons, Jake and Rockland (“rock-head,” to those who went to school with him). Theres was a world where money usually talks, and since they had lots of money, they were used to talking the loudest. And getting what they wanted, too. In fact, in the past fifteen years, they had bought out the grazing rights to nearly ever landowner in the region south of the Colodogo. Most say that these buy-outs weren’t all that honest, either. Nothing for certain, but lots of rumors.

“How could they get away with doing bad things? If what they were doing was wrong, why didn’t people stop them? People can’t get away with bad things, right Mom?”

“Well…sort of. I mean, no, they can’t. But sometimes they get away with them for a while, before the bad things catch up with them.”

“When are the bad things going to catch up with the people who killed dad?”

“That’s a hard question, a really hard question. A lot of people are wondering the same thing as you are; but a lot of people are also working hard to catch the bad people.”

“Do bad people always get caught?”

“Well, most of the time, yes, they do. But sometimes it takes time.”

“But it’s been a long time already, right? Almost ten years.”

“Yes. It has been a long time. Do you want me to continue with the story?”

“OK. Sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s OK. I know there’s a lot on your mind these days. Anyway, many suspected that the Clampetts were getting their way in town through dishonorable means. The Clampett boys weren’t much liked, and when they rode into town, most others walked in the other direction.

It was well know that the oldest Clampett boy, Jake, was much taken with the Lambert girl, Josephine, who was nearly 16 when her father was killed. Josephine was thought of by many as a desert rose, a beauty who had grown up where there was little of beauty around. She had long brown hair, like your aunt Jenny, and a smile that everyone admired. Many of the men in town treated her like a full-grown lady when they saw her walk by, stepping to one side, removing their hats, and offering her a formal greeting. Josephine didn’t have much time for the attention of boys back then. Helping her mother take care of the house and raise the three boys was enough to fill her day. But her shopping duties did take her to the county store now and then, and that was where Jake Clampett first laid eyes on her.

Like I was saying, Jake was sort of used to getting whatever he set his mind to, and when he took a shining to Josephine, it never even crossed his pea-brained mind that she might not find him as appealing as he found himself. Seems like that boy spent hours slicking back his hair and admiring himself in the mirror. Josephine hardly had time for such foolishness.

For weeks, Jake had tried to strike up a conversation. Not that he had anything much to say. Tried to talk to her about her family, about the farm, about the river, about the heat (in was high summer at this point), about her reading (Josephine was known to always have a book in her hands, sometimes two). But to each inquiry, Josephine remained silent. Stone silent. Pretty soon, the men in the store began to find all of this quite funny, barely hiding their laughter at another of Jake’s failed attempts. This got Jake’s temper up, of course, but Josephine paid him no notice, no matter how red his face turned in embarrassment. Jake knew he had to do something to salvage his reputation; he knew he had made a fool of himself in front of the other men, and this didn’t sit well with him. Like all the Clampett boys, he was not prepared to accept defeat lightly.

Are you getting tired? I hope this story isn’t upsetting you. Do you want to talk more about dad?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, not right now. I think maybe I want to go to bed now, mom.”

“It’s been a long week. Tomorrow is Friday, and then we’ll have the weekend.”

“Will Jonathan be coming over again?”

“Well…let’s play it by ear, OK? One day at a time. We can talk more tomorrow, OK?”

“OK. Night, mom.”

“Night.”

“Do you want to go back to the part about Jake and Josephine? That part seemed to bother you a bit. Should we skip ahead?” “No, that part’s fine. I just get…uncomfortable about that stuff sometimes.” “What ‘stuff’?” “You know, boy and girl stuff.” “Oh. Well, maybe we don’t need that to be a part of the story. All we really need to say is that Jake was interested in Josephine, and she had absolutely no interest in him. He took to hanging around her house during the evening, hoping she’d come out on the porch to enjoy the summer breeze, but since she knew he was out there waiting, she remained behind the closed door. Finally, Jake had had enough of this waiting game and decided to take some action. He built up his courage as all the Clampetts do: by having more than enough to drink at the Saloon so his fears wouldn’t get the better of him. He grabbed a handful of wild flowers from along the path and stumbled over to the Lambert’s once more, determined to see Josephine, no matter what.” “Was Josephine scared?” “Hardly. But here’s what happened: when Jake starting pounding on that door that would never be opened for him, Josephine’s mom, Sarabeth, decided that she’d had just about enough. Grabbing her gun, she went to the door to resolve matters. She wasn’t a woman to tolerate nonsense, and this was clearly nonsense. Jake was clearly startled by Sarabeth’s appearance, but only for a moment. “I’m here to see Josephine, not you,” he announced, trying to sound as courageous as he could. “You’d do best to be getting out of my way.” Now, understand: Sarabeth had been running the family on her own for many months now, and, truth be told, even when Seth was alive, she was the backbone of that family. She hated Jake both because he was a Clampett and because he was harassing her daughter; but he hated him even more now for trying to tell her what to do.” “You turn around now, Jake Clampett, and return to the safety of your nice little home up there while you’re still able to,” she retorted, slowly. “You best make your leave quickly, while you still can. I’ve had enough of this foolishness, and I’m not one to waste my time with fools.” Jake was not used to being spoken to in this way, certainly not by a woman, and he was drunk enough to still have an ounce of courage left in his gut. “Move back, woman,” he told her. “This is not your business.” Sarabeth was not one to waste words, but she did have an excess of bullets. As Jake discovered. The first winged his shoulder; the second grazed his forehead. “I think you’ve had enough for one night,” Sarabeth announced, before slamming the door in his face. Jake was first pale from shock, and then pale from the pain, and then pale from humiliation.” “Did Sarabeth get arrested for shooting Jake? You can’t just shoot people, mom, can you?” “Well, that was a different time, I suppose, and anyway, Jake wasn’t about to go running to the sheriff and complain of being attached by a woman. Surely he was smart enough—even for a Clampett—to know that the law would not be on his side. His wounds weren’t all that bad, or at least they weren’t nearly as bad as his humiliation. He cursed Sarabeth Lambert when he told the story to his brothers, as they bandaged up his wounds, but even in them Jake did not find much sympathy. Sarabeth knew that this would not be the end of Jake Clampett and his brothers, but she had other worries on her mind. Her husband, Seth, was a hard working man, but even with all of his hard work it was difficult to keep up with the land payments to the bank, even in the best of years. The price for selling cattle was ever-changing, and one bad year would put them at great risk for failure—and there had now been three bad years. The last several Spring’s had been mild, leaving the grasslands thin and withered, hardly ideal for fattening up the family’s herds. The price of an animal was set by the market, but it was also determined by an animal’s weight, and the Lambert’s last few herds had been light an sinewy, cutting into their value significantly. Seth Lambert had, for many years, been good about paying his bills, so, after his murder, the creditors were willing to be patient with Sarabeth. But a bank’s patience only lasts so long, and the end of that “so long” was approaching. The boys were doing all they could to pick up the slack, hiring themselves out as hands on neighboring ranches. But bad weather brings trouble to all ranchers, not just a few, so that extra work was hard to come by. The harvests were meager, so the need for harvesters was meager, too, and families needed to watch their own finances first before considering the needs of their neighbors. The year before, Sarabeth had been able to arrange for a loan from Bill McClatchy, a family friend and chief loan officer at Second Federal Bank. But she’s been unable to make payments on that loan for some months now, and soon (Bill explained) the bank would have to declare her in default. As much as he hated to do it, Bill would have to foreclose on the Lamberts since the bank was a business, too, and when loans weren’t repaid, the existence of the bank was put in jeopardy, too. The Lambert family cursed their luck but not Bill McClatchy, who had been able to bail them out of trouble many times before, when the family first arrived on the land and were desperate for any help they could get. Having to worry about holding on to the ranch, however, didn’t give Sarabeth much time to worry about whatever annoyances a pest like Jake Clampett might pose. She’s swatted him away, and she didn’t expect him to return. June 1st was set as the day when the bank would have to take action, McClatchy explained. He’s pleaded with the bank managers in New York for a few more months, but the managers had already granted the Lamberts a 6 month reprieve and were not interested in putting the bank at risk for the sake of good neighborliness. If Sarabeth wasn’t able to scrape together at least part of the loan payment due, the ranch would have to be put on the block, to be handed over to someone who could make the regular payments. Likely as not, that would be the Clampetts, who—by hook or by crook—had amassed most of the money to be had in this part of the prairie. “But isn’t it their home? They live there, right? Where would they live?” “Sometimes these things happen. I know it’s hard to understand, but sometimes people can’t pay their bills.” “But Seth was killed. How was the family supposed to get money? It wasn’t their fault. It’s not fair.” “Well, some would say that. Sometimes things are just not fair. But there you have it.” “That just seems mean.” “I know what you’re saying.” “Will we have to move out of our house?” “What do you mean? Why would we have to move?” “Well, without dad, maybe the bank will come take our house, too.” “Why would you think….? Oh, well, for us, things are different.” “Are there no banks and Clampetts anymore?” “(laughing) There are certainly plenty of banks, and plenty of people like the Clampetts. But I’ve got a good job that pays me plenty; you know that! We have no reason to worry.” “But isn’t that what Sarabeth thought, too?” “Hmmm…I guess so. But being a lawyer is different than running a ranch. Even when it doesn’t rain for a while, I’ve still got plenty of cases.” “Is this why you’re friends with Jonathan?” “Jonathan? What do you mean? What does this have to do with Jonathan?” “I mean, he’s got money and all, and maybe he could help us out if the bank tried to take our house.” “Hold on! No one is going to take our house, OK? And Jonathan comes over because he likes us. That’s it. He’s a friend. He’s my friend. Don’t you think he likes you, too?” “I guess. Maybe.” “Of course he does, OK? I kind of thought that you liked Jonathan, too. Was I wrong.” “I mean, I know you like him, so I like him, too.” “But do you like him?” “Well…I think so. I don’t really want to talk about it.” “You sure?” “I’m sure. I think I’m kinda tired, OK?” “(sighs) OK, tiger. We can talk more about Jonathan in the morning.” “Do we have to?” “We’ll see. Get some sleep.” “’Night, mom.” “Night.”


 * “Sure, I’d be glad to tell you a story tonight. Your mom usually does that, right, James?”**
 * “Do you know that one about the Clampetts and the Lamberts?”**
 * “Of course. That’s your mom’s favorite, isn’t it?”**
 * “I’m not sure. I sort of thought she was making it up?”**
 * “Making it up? Hardly. It’s one of the most famous stories of all time. Didn’t she tell you?”**
 * “I guess not.”**
 * “Do you miss your mom when she goes out like this?”**
 * “Sort of. Not really. I’m not sure.”**
 * “It’s OK. I felt the same way when I was your age.”**
 * “Is it OK if I can you Jonathan?”**
 * “What else would you call me?”**
 * “I don’t know. Maybe you want to be called something else.”**
 * “Listen, James. I know this is hard for you. I’ll never be your dad, no matter what, OK? You’ll never have to call me that. Your dad will always be your dad, got it.”**
 * “I guess.”**
 * “I mean it. I’m Jonathan to you. It’s that simple.”**
 * “Can you tell me the story now?”**
 * “With pleasure. Did your mom tell you the part about Brando yet?”**
 * “I think she mentioned him once, but I don’t think she told me much. Mostly about Sarabeth and stuff.”**
 * “Well, Brando is someone you need to know about if you’re going to understand the story. I’m sure she told you that Brando was a loner, a man who rode alone with only his thoughts and his dog and his gun. And I’m sure she told you that Brando was not like other men, and that the stories about Brando—some true, some not—were told all around the Coladogo plains.”**
 * “I sort of remember that.”**
 * “Well, most of those stories—even the most unbelievable ones—most of them were true. Brando was that kind of hero, though you’d never know it from the way he carried himself or the way he talked, when he talked at all. He wasn’t like those superheroes in the movies or those guys on TV, walking with a swagger and mouthing off about all that he had done. Nothing like that at all. Brando had no liking for the talk of others. It was almost like he didn’t want to be known for all that he had done, that he was embarrassed about it. He would never want to be known as a hero, in fact. Really, he didn’t even want to be known.”**
 * “How come?”**
 * “That’s an interesting question. Some heroes are like that, I guess: quiet in their own way, not interested in drawing attention to themselves. Anyway, should I tell you about when Brando came to Caladogo?”**
 * “OK. That sounds good.”**
 * “It was right around when Jake Clampett started hanging around Josephine like flies on a pie, doing all that he could to win that girl’s heart—not that he had a heart of his own, mind you. Your mom tell you about this?”**
 * “Brando was there then?”**
 * “Why, yes. Jake had been making a real pain of himself and Josephine was doing all that she could to shoo that pest away. Jake was drinking a lot in those days, and that didn’t make him any more attractive. As you probably know, word on the street was that the Clampetts had something to do with Old Seth Lambert’s murder, so that hardly played into Jake’s favor. Most people in town thought he was making a damn fool of himself, and what first started as laughing behind his back quickly turned to laughing right in his face, which certainly wasn’t none too pleasing to Jake. Even his brothers starting ribbing him after a while.**
 * “After a while, Jake had had about enough of this and decided that if he couldn’t have Josephine, he’d right as soon teach her a lesson about who he was and what the Clampetts could do in this town. Early one evening, he saw her walking home alone from town and decided it was time to have his way with her.”**
 * “What does ‘have his way’ mean?”**
 * “Oh, right. I forgot. Sorry. I guess I mean to say that he decided to kidnap her and teach her a lesson.”**
 * “A lesson about what?”**
 * “I don’t know…just a lesson, I guess. It wasn’t really a lesson. More like a threat. To show her that he wasn’t to be messed with and humiliated.”**
 * “Seems like that was all his own fault, wasn’t it.”**
 * “Sure, but Jake didn’t see it that way. He hated the fact that others thought he was making a fool of himself, so he decided to take it out on poor Josephine. He grabbed her up while she was walking home that evening and rode her over to Broadview Canyon, back aways on the far hills of the Clampett’s ranch. Jake was pretty drunk that night, and after Josephine had nearly scratched his eyes out, he wasn’t in the mood to be all that friendly to her. In fact, people who know say that he was pretty rough.”**
 * “What do you mean?”**
 * “You see, Jake had a short, wild temper, and he’s hit a woman just as well as he’d hit a man when he was in one of those moods. Most suspect that he was in one of those moods. Who knows what would have become of poor Josephine had Brando not come wandering by that evening. No one knows why he was around, but no one ever does. The man just was, and they were all thankful for that. Most of all Josephine Lambert. What all exactly went on in the canyon after Brando arrived, it’s hard to say. No one really knows but Josephine, and she wasn’t one to talk. Most that people know is that for the next several months, Jake was laid up with a bullet hole in his arm and a scar on his forehead that didn’t ever heal right. That boy laid low for a good long while after that, but word got out, and Jake avoided Josephine by a mile long after that.”**
 * “Brando? It was Brando?”**
 * “That’s what I said.”**
 * “But what about Sarabeth?”**
 * “Sarabeth?”**
 * “She was the one who shot Jake!”**
 * “No, it was Brando. Whatever made you think it was Sarabeth? How could it have been Sarabeth?”**
 * “But mom said it was Sarabeth!”**
 * “Sarabeth?”**
 * “Yes, Sarabeth! She got the rifle and chased him off. I thought you knew the story.”**
 * “Hmmmm…Sarabeth. That’s what your mom told you?”**
 * “Wasn’t it Sarabeth?”**
 * “I don’t know, James. That’s not the way I ever heard it told. Always been Brando, as long as I’ve heard it. Can’t imagine how it could have been that woman coming to the rescue, like Brando did. Your mom must have heard it different, I suppose.”**
 * “She said it was Sarabeth.”**
 * “I guess…maybe…maybe there are two ways that it’s told.”**
 * “But who was it? Brando or Sarabeth?”**
 * “Does it matter?”**
 * “Yes! It matters to me!”**
 * “I’ll have to talk with your mom about this. Maybe one of us got it wrong.”**
 * “It was Sarabeth. I KNOW it was Sarabeth.”**
 * “We can talk more tomorrow, OK? Maybe when your mother gets back….”**
 * “If you didn’t know the story, why did you try to tell it?”**
 * “I told it the best I could, James. Let’s call it a night, OK? We’ll figure this out in the morning.”**
 * “I wish you hadn’t said it was Brando.”**
 * “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s say it was Sarabeth. I’m sure it could be her. It was her. I’m sure you’re right.”**
 * “I’m right. That’s what mom said. It was Sarabeth. Not Brando.”**
 * “You win, little man. Get some sleep, OK?”**


 * “Hey there—didn’t expect you back so early.”**
 * “Yeah, well, I cut out before dessert. You know how those dinner meetings go. He asleep?”**
 * “Yup. About an hour ago. How was it?”**
 * “The meeting? Fine. Warren talked too much and everyone pretended that they were only cautiously optimistic about our financial position, and Larry bragged about his big win in the Laffler case. You know: same old same old. Overcooked chicken breast over some pasta, a few glasses of wine, way too many speeches, and enough PowerPoints to do me in. Things go OK here?”**
 * “Sure. I mean, I guess so.”**
 * “Something happen?”**
 * “No, I don’t think so. Well, maybe. I don’t know.”**
 * “Hmmmm….”**
 * “I’m not sure that James likes me, Meredith. I mean, I’m not his dad.”**
 * “I’m pretty sure that he knows that you’re not his dad, Jonathan. He knows that I’m not looking for someone to replace his dad. Did he say something?”**
 * “Not exactly…maybe I’m just making it up. It just that I always feel on edge with him, like I’m going to say something that will remind him and hurt him again. I never know where the land mines lie with him.”**
 * “It’s been 6 years already, Jonathan. He barely know Kevin before…before. Maybe you’re just being a little oversensitive.”**
 * “You’re probably right. I just wish….”**
 * “That’s what we all wish, dear. But this is the life we have, the hand we’ve been dealt. You knew what you were getting into.”**
 * “You’re right. As always.”**
 * “Glad you recognize that. Did something come up?”**
 * “I did like you told me, I told him that old story about the Lamberts and the Clampetts, you know, the one we used to make up together when we couldn’t fall asleep. I was telling him about Brando….”**
 * “Brando?”**
 * “You’ve told him about Brando, right?”**
 * “Of course I’ve told him about Brando.”**
 * “Something seemed to bother him about Brando.”**
 * “Really?”**
 * “I can’t really explain it. It just seemed to touch a nerve.”**
 * “Why did you bring up Brando? He’s not really a big part of the story. It’s not really a story about Brando, right?”**
 * “It’s a made up story, Meredith. I’m not really sure that it matters who’s in it and who’s not. You and I made it up together, remember? Just to help us fall asleep. I’m not sure I can even remember who did what or who killed whom and who saved the day this time or that time. Wasn’t that the fun of the story?”**
 * “It’s important. To me, it’s important, OK? If you’re going to tell the story, you need to tell it right?”**
 * “Right? I’m confused. It’s a made up story, isn’t it? It’s what we told each other after your husband died, to help you fall asleep….”**
 * “My husband didn’t die; he was murdered. By terrorists. Flying airplanes.”**
 * “Whoa…yikes! I’m sorry if I….”**
 * “It all matters, OK? The story, the characters, all that happened. It can’t be changed. Do you get that?”**
 * “Wait. What is this about? What are we talking about. Are we still talking about Brando? The made-up gun-slinger in the silly story we told to each other?”**
 * “Is that all it was to you? A silly story?”**
 * [Pause. Long pause.]**
 * “Are you OK?”**
 * “Of course I’m OK.”**
 * “You don’t seem OK.”**
 * “I’m OK.”**
 * [another pause]**
 * “Was I wrong about Josephine?”**
 * “What?”**
 * “Was I wrong that it was Brando who saved Josephine from being raped by Jake?”**
 * “You told him that she was raped? Did you say ‘raped?’”**
 * “Of course not, Meredith. Come on; give me a little credit here.”**
 * “Why would you think it was Brando?”**
 * “Wasn’t it?”**
 * “It was Sarabeth, and you know it was. Brando was out shooting Indians or herding cattle or whatever else men do where there are problems to be handled or families to protect or sons to look after.”**
 * “Sons? I thought we were talking about Josephine here. What does this have to do with sons?”**
 * “Sons, daughters, whatever. Don’t change the subject.”**
 * “What IS the subject?”**
 * “Sarabeth. She’s the subject. It’s her story. ‘Sarabeth’s way.’ That’s the name I gave it. Don’t you get it?”**
 * “I don’t think that I do.”**
 * “Yeah, I think you don’t. I really think you don’t get it at all.”**
 * “What’s that supposed to mean.”**
 * “Nothing. Everything.”**
 * “Well?”**
 * “I’m going to bed, OK. It’s been a long night. Thanks for watching James for me. I appreciate it.”**
 * “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”**
 * “Not tonight, OK? I…I…[pause]….”**
 * “I get it. Later.”**
 * [Apartment door closes.]**


 * “Any idea why your mom is so upset with me, James?”**
 * “Is she upset with you?”**
 * “Seems like it. Haven’t you noticed anything? Has she said anything to you?”**
 * “Nope.”**
 * “How are things going in school? Are you doing OK with that Mrs….Mrs….”**
 * “Fenstler. Mrs. Fenstler.”**
 * “Right. Mrs. Fenstler. How are things going with her?”**
 * “Fine.”**
 * “Oh.”**
 * Pause.**
 * “So, are you making friends at school these days?”**
 * “I guess. Sure.”**
 * “Everything’s OK with you and your mom, right?”**
 * “Guess so.”**
 * “She been telling you more of the story?”**
 * “What story?”**
 * “You know: her story and my story. The wild west story.”**
 * “You mean the Sarabeth story?”**
 * “Yeah, I guess that’s the one I mean. She been telling you that one?”**
 * “Some.”**
 * “Oh.”**
 * [silence]**


 * “After the bank gave them another six months, Sarabeth decided that it was time to make a change. She knew that things couldn’t go on as they had been, and she knew that there would be no way for the bank to continue on as they had, no matter how nice Mr. wanted to be to them, in deference to his long-term friendship with her deceased husband. She was a shrewd woman, and she saw the writing on the wall; she knew that small landowners like her had no future out in Caladoga Point, what with all the larger land owners buying up all the neighboring farms. She understood that small could never hold out against big, no matter how strong the spirit was. She wanted better times for her and her family. So it was time to make a move.”**
 * “Move? But how could they move? All of their friends were there!”**
 * “Who are you talking about, James?”**
 * “Well, what about the Thompson boys, and Sam Jackson, and that new guy in her life, Nate?”**
 * “New guy in her life? What do you mean?”**
 * “Come on, mom. I’m not a kid any more, you know. I know that when a guy is hanging around a lonely woman things happen. Don’t tell me Nate Hoffman wasn’t interested in her.”**
 * “James! What are you talking about?”**
 * “The way you told me that he was bringing her flowers and all, and saying nice things about her, and acting all shy when she’s around. I know what all that means, mom.”**
 * “You do, do you.”**
 * “I watch TV, you know. Any anyway, they are both soooo obvious.”**
 * “Both of them. You know, just because Nate might like Sarabeth doesn’t mean that Sarabeth automatically likes Nate Hoffman.”**
 * “But mom: she’s a widow. She’s alone, and she’s lonely some times. You said so yourself. She’s not going to live her life all by herself for the rest of her life, is she?”**
 * “And why not?”**
 * “People don’t do that.”**
 * “What people?”**
 * “All people.”**
 * “Really. When did you become such an expert on all people?”**
 * “Well, didn’t Sarabeth like Nate, too?”**
 * “Hmmmm…well, I guess in some ways, some people might say that she did. In some ways. She liked that he was nice to her and brought her flowers. Once, after a storm, Nate had come by and helped her rebuild the silo and fix the rails that had come loose. He was handy to have around during the harvest. But Sarabeth was a grown woman, James, not a young girl. She had larger things to concern her. She had responsibilities and things that mattered to her. Mattered a lot.”**
 * “More than love?”**
 * “Who said anything about love?”**
 * “Mom. I wasn’t born yesterday.”**
 * “When were you born, wise guy? You seem to know a lot about love these days.”**
 * “What’s that supposed to mean?”**
 * “Can I get on with my story?”**
 * “Sure, mom.”**
 * “So, once Sarabeth had made up her mind to leave, she had to tie up loose ends with the ranch. Her boys had long assumed that they would inherit the land in days to come, but now it was clear to them that this was not to be. Larzo and Hart—now both in their late 20s—had pretty much given up on cattle ranching and farming, having tired of the back-breaking work, the never-ending days, and the uncertainty year after year. Both had families of their own to support at this point, and both wanted the stability that ranch life could never provide. Larzo had been taken courses at night school and doing a bit of piece work for the bank. When Mr. _ heard that Sarabeth was setting to clear out, he took Larzo under his wing and trained him as an associate, a job he would gladly move into once the ranch was sold. Larzo wasn’t so sure how the sedentary life of a banker would suit him, but his wife—Laurel—assured him that he could—and would!—do it, and this was all that Larzo needed to end his uncertainties. Laurel was a strong woman, originally from back East, and determined to secure a future for her three children. She wasn’t about to allow Larzo to miss out on this opportunity to rise up in the world, and she put her foot down and ended all discussion when he stared to get cold feet.**
 * Hart was a different story. He had always been in love with the life of the ranch and had dreams of expanding the family territory and bringing fame and fortune to the family name. “Still trying to make your pappy proud, aren’t ya?” Sarabeth would tease him. She was right, of course. No one held onto their grudge against the Clampetts for longer than Hart did, and the idea that the Clampetts might one day soon be the owners of land that was rightfully his family’s own (as he saw it) would eat at him every waking moment. But, eventually, even Hart realized that it was futile to hold out against declining revenues—Larzo had shown him the ranch’s books—and he knew that his days at the family ranch were numbered. Shortly after his 21st birthday, he’d signed on with some government land speculators and was planning to head off to the Northwest Territories to try his fortunes there. With no family to hold him back—no wise wife to question his motivations—Hart planned to roll out of town once the Spring arrived. This all made it that much easier for Sarabeth to make her plans.”**
 * “And Nate? What about Nate?”**
 * “Let’s not talk about Nate tonight, James; OK?”**
 * “OK.”**
 * “Nate will be fine. He’s a man. He’ll move on.”**
 * “What does “move on” mean?”**
 * “You know: find another woman to be his wife, maybe someone more appropriate, in fact.”**
 * “But he loves her, mom.”**
 * “James, enough of this already. She’s a widow and ten years older than him. She can do fine on her own, thank you very much, and she hardly needs a man like Jonathan holding her back.”**
 * “Jonathan?”**
 * “What?”**
 * “You said ‘She hardly needs a man like Jonathan.”**
 * “No I didn’t, I said ‘Nate.’ I’m sure I said ‘Nate.’”**
 * “You didn’t, mom. You said ‘Jonathan.’ I heard you.”**
 * “James, you’re wrong, now get over it.”**
 * [silence]**
 * “I’m…sorry. It’s just…Oh, James. It’s so complicated.”**
 * “What is, mom?”**
 * “You’re 12, James. You don’t need to hear the woes of a 45-year-old woman. How ‘bout we call it a night?”**
 * “It’s still kinda early, isn’t it?”**
 * “I think I need a break right now. How about you be on your own for a while? I kind of need some time to myself, right now.”**
 * “Are you OK?”**
 * “I’m fine, James. I’m fine. I guess I’m just tired. Been working too much lately. Time for a vacation, don’t you think?”**
 * “What about school?”**
 * “Right. School. Well, maybe in June.”**
 * “I’d like that.”**
 * “Me, too. June it is. I’ll come in later to tuck you in, OK.”**
 * “Sure, mom. Get some rest.”**

“Jonathan, can you tell me more about Brando?” “What?” “You know, that guy from the story.” “I don’t think your mom wants me to talk with you about him any more.” “Why? It’s just a stupid story….” “Stupid?” “You know what I mean. It’s just made up. She told me so herself. Why can’t we talk about Brando?” “It’s kind of an important story for you mom, James, even if it is made up. Sometimes stories like that are important to grown ups, and sometimes they want them told in a certain way. Can you understand that?” “Not really.” “It was a story that she connects with the time when your dad…died. It’s kind of personal for her. Somehow she doesn’t want it to be told in a different way.” “Did you know my dad?” “A little; not too well, though. We worked in the same office.” “How come you got out then?” “Strangest thing. I was late getting to work that day. Doctor’s appointment, stuck in traffic, enjoying the nice weather. When I got to the building, the first crash had already happened so the area was blocked off. Couldn’t have gotten closer if I had wanted to. Lost nearly all of my close friends when the Towers collapsed.” “Was my dad one of your friends?” “We weren’t close friends, but we knew each other and worked together for a few months and spoke now and then. He was a great man, your father.” “How do you know?” “I’d heard a lot about him, even when I was first hired. A lot of people depended on him and looked up to him. He was the big money maker at the firm, what they called a ‘rain maker.” Knew how to work with clients and bring in new accounts. Even as a new hire, I could tell that everyone in the firm admired him.” “Did you admire him?” “I guess in a way I did. Though, as I said, I was just getting to know him.” “Do you think he died trying to help others…you know…get out.” “I’m sure he did. That was the kind of guy he was.” “I wish he had gotten out. I wish he had run out and saved himself before….” “I’m sure he would have if it had been possible. It all happened so fast. Do you think about your dad a lot?” “Maybe. I guess. I don’t remember all that much, but mom tells me about him.” [Silence] “Do you think he was like Brando?” “Hmmmmm…That’s an interesting idea, James. I never thought of that. In some ways the two are very different. Brando was more of the silent type, preferring to hang out by himself and ride alone through the wilderness. Your dad was always talking with others, on the phone, or in the hallway, at a meeting or after work. I never thought of him as the Brando type…but now that you mention it….” “Can you tell me a little more about Brando? I promise I won’t tell my mom.” “Well…