CHAPTER 59
Evander
“Thank you, Mrs. Travis,” I say.
She’s escorting us down a long upstairs hallway. I realize I’ve never set foot in this house. The closest I ever got was the front porch on the night of Phoebe’s scraped knee.
“Please call us Izzy and Gil. We don’t stand on pretense around here. And let yourselves out when you leave, since I’ll be busy in the kitchen.”
“Of course,” Dad says. “Thank you, Izzy.”
She opens the door to an old-fashioned bedroom and ushers us inside, shutting the door behind us.
The wallpaper is dotted with tiny yellow flowers and green leaves. The old wood floors are polished and covered with a braided rug. The room is stuffed with antique oak furniture, including a nicely carved bed with a high headboard.
Gil Travis is propped up against a stack of pillows. Clear, plastic tubing runs from a home oxygen tank to his nose, and a bedside table is crowded with a variety of prescription bottles and medical accessories.
It’s shocking to see how small Gil appears, framed by that tall headboard. He’s always been as big and broad as Dad, and I have to hide my surprise at how much he’s wasted away.
Dad swallows hard and politely approaches Gil. They shake hands. I reintroduce myself and shake his hand as well, and Dad and I sit in two straight-backed wooden chairs that have been pulled near the bed.
Dad wasn’t kidding when he said that Izzy was more than happy to accommodate our request. Not only has she set out chairs, but she’s also cleared the house of interruptions.
I didn’t see Phoebe or any of her brothers when we arrived, so Izzy must have come up with a way to keep them busy during our short visit.
I half listen to Dad and Gil make ranching small talk. They discuss the storm, and the number of head lost and the damage to outbuildings.
“At least our kids are safe. That’s what matters,” my dad says.
Gil looks my way for the first time. He narrows his gaze at me, like he’s unsure what he’s looking at. I should have shaved.
“I understand I’m in your debt,” he says.
“No sir. No debt.”
He nods. There’s nothing friendly about Phoebe’s dad, but I don’t know if it’s the illness or his customary reserved personality. I’ve barely spoken to the man, and the last time had to be when I was in high school.
“All right,” he says. “Then you have my deepest gratitude, Evander. When I thought she…” Gil’s gaze moves to the window and the snowy landscape. A moment later, he looks to me again. “Phoebe is precious.”
“Yes sir, she most certainly is.”
Gil moves his attention to my dad. He frowns, like he’s not entirely sure why we’re here. That’s when it occurs to me that Izzy told him we were coming, but not why.
Dad clears his throat. “Gil, we won’t take up too much of your time. We know it’s Christmas Eve. But I encouraged Evander to come see you and, well, it’s time for the madness to end, for the sake of our children and their children.”
Gil nods and a half smile appears on his ashen face. It’s interesting how he immediately knew what Dad was talking about. No additional warmup or rehashing was needed. With that simple lead in, they were ready to deal with the business at hand.
It’s disturbing to think of how much time these men have wasted on this perceived slight. It’s unfortunate that a small piece of yellowed paper scrawled with ink and rotting away in a safe could cause such pervasive hard feelings.
Bad blood, Dad called it.
But I suppose if everyone got along and believed in shared property, I’d be out of work along with every other attorney on the planet.
Dad turns to look at me. He nods. That’s my cue.
I hold out the bright blue legal-sized file folder to Gil. He takes it and opens it. He stares.
“On top, you’ll find the original 1919 deed for ten thousand acres of your far west pasture, which was given to Angus MacLaine to pay off a gambling debt.”
Gil’s head jerks up. He stares at me and then Dad. The hiss of the continuous-flow oxygen machine is the only sound in the room.
I continue. “That is yours to keep in your possession, as proof that the MacLaines no longer lay claim to the land. In addition, you’ll find a signed and notarized quitclaim deed to the property, as described in county recorder’s office records by folio and parcel numbers.
In addition, we have acknowledged, in writing, that should the results of a new land survey change the property lines, we will work with you to create a more accurate legal description of the land transferred. ”
Gil says nothing. He closes the file folder and drops it to his lap.
I glance quickly at Dad, who’s already told me he doesn’t know what to expect from Gil. I’m thinking I should press ahead with the other topics at hand when Phoebe’s father finally speaks.
“Thank you. This means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
“It’s time, my old friend,” Dad says.
“Now…” Gil studies me. “You’re in love with Phoebe.”
I nearly choke. Since I don’t know anything about him, I’m not sure if this is the conversation style of a man with little time to waste or if it’s how he’s always engaged in chit-chat. I figure the only way forward here is to play it straight. And brief.
“Yes sir. I’ve come to ask your permission to get to know Phoebe, with the intent to one day marry her.”
“When?”
“Uh…”
“Her mother will want Phoebe to have a real wedding. We’ve always dreamed of that for her. I won’t be here for it, no doubt.”
I swallow hard.
“Phoebe is the type of woman who should be married and appreciated and loved before she gives herself to a man. I didn’t like that Rick fellow. He was a pompous ass. He assumed that his fancy doctor degree entitled him to her affections, which is complete horseshit.”
I dare look at Dad out of the corner of my eye.
“I understand, sir,” I say.
“Marry her and make her happy. She’s loved you since she was twelve. I thought it would blow over, but it never did.”
“No sir, it hasn’t blown over.”
“Her brothers will try to steamroll you if you give them an inch, so don’t. That’s my fault. I’ll tell them to back off and let Phoebe make her own decisions.”
“That sounds good, sir. I have your permission, then?”
“You’re an attorney, correct? And you’ll be making a good living going forward?”
“Absolutely. And I plan to continue ranching, sir.” If he doesn’t know that we’ve struck it rich with StellaR Tech, there’s no point in mentioning it.
“You have my permission. What else?”
Dad holds out the stack of invitations. “My second-eldest son, Finlay, is getting married in two days. These are invitations to everyone in your family, requesting that you join us for the wedding celebration. You would do us a great honor if you’d join us.”
Gil accepts the envelopes and stares down at them for a long moment, saying nothing. When he looks up, I see tears in his eyes.
“We’ll be there.”
We thank Gil for his time, slip out the bedroom, go down the hall and down the stairs, and let ourselves out.
Dad and I don’t speak until we’re pulling out from the ranch lane and are on the state highway.
“Has he always been like that?”
“Yep,” Dad says.
“Does it feel good to put an end to the hard feelings after all this time?”
“It does,” he says. “How’s it feel to have permission to court Phoebe?”
“I never used that word, Dad. I never would. In my mind, ‘court’ is a place where I go to argue or plead.”
“Good. You’re all set for marriage, then.”