Part 43 (1/2)
”So what now?”
”We're backing away. This guy's a leaking gasoline truck, and when everything blows we don't want to be in league with him. We can cover the story afterwards, and then who can blame us?” With a few quick keystrokes and moves of the mouse, Nancy erased the headline from the front page of Tuesday's issue.
”Are you going to tell Travis Jordan what we know?”
”I'm sure it would be of interest to him, but-” Nancy stopped short, her brow crinkling.
”What?”
”The Harmons in Missoula . . .”
”Yeah?”
”Have they ever seen a picture of Brandon Nichols?”
SAt.u.r.dAY MORNING, when I dialed the Macon ranch, Mrs. Macon didn't answer her own telephone. A machine did.
”h.e.l.lo, you've reached the Ranch of the New Dawn. If you know your party's extension, you may dial it now. Otherwise, remain on the line and an operator will a.s.sist you. Another gathering of the human family will begin at 2 P.M. today, Sat.u.r.day. See you there.”
I remained on the line and got the operator. ”h.e.l.lo, Ranch of the New Dawn.”
”h.e.l.lo. This is Travis Jordan and I'd like to speak with Mrs. Macon.” I didn't really have anything to say to her. I just wanted to find out if she could talk on her own telephone.
”Mrs. Macon is unavailable. Would you like to talk to her a.s.sistant?”
Mrs. Macon has an a.s.sistant? ”Okay. Sure.”
Hold music started playing. I about fell over.
”h.e.l.lo, this is Gildy. How can I help you?”
”Gildy? Gildy Holliday?” Judy Holliday's granddaughter who used to wait on me at Judy's!
”Oh, is this Travis?”
”What are you doing up there?”
”Taking care of Mrs. Macon. You know, cooking, cleaning, answering the phone, helping her get around.”
”Since when?”
”Two weeks ago. I'm lovin' it. It's a nice house to work in and the money's good.”
”So how is the widow?”
She sighed. ”Not very good. Sometimes she's there and sometimes she isn't-if you know what I mean.”
That answer I was not expecting. ”Are we talking about Ethyl Macon?”
”Yes.”
”Who used to be married to Cephus Macon?”
”Sure.”
”The lady who owns the ranch?”
”Well, the corporation owns it now, but she still lives here. It's a good thing because the stroke really put her down.”
Was I on the right planet? ”What stroke?”
”Haven't you heard? She had a stroke two weeks ago.”
I had to recover from that blow before I could ask the next question. ”What corporation?”
”Well, New Dawn. Brandon Nichols and the widow signed a deal before her stroke.”
I was stunned. ”Things happen fast up there.”
She laughed. ”You ought to see it.”
”I'm planning on coming to the gathering this afternoon.”
”Just pardon the mess. We're building, you know.”
”HEY, KYLE. Want to go to a meeting?”
”You read my mind.”
I picked him up and we headed for the ranch. ”You don't have to say or do anything,” I told him. ”I just need you praying. This one's going to be tense.”
THEY WERE BUILDING, all right, although at this point the new rest room and shower facility was still more mud and mess than building. The concrete slab was poured, the rough-in plumbing sticking up through it. Open ditches for sewer lines and drainage were all around it-barricaded for safety. A sign posted in front showed the architect's drawing of what it would look like. It was going to be nice, the envy of any national park.
Just in time too. We'd driven by George Harding's place on the way and quickly estimated a minimum of a hundred trailers and RVs parked in his still-developing RV park. As we came up the hill to the ranch and into the parking area, we estimated another hundred up there, not counting all the cars.
And now there were two circus tents side by side, joined like Siamese twins with the middle wall removed and the stage centered between them. Brandon Nichols-for that was his name for these folks-would now be performing in the round for a crowd approaching six hundred. Ushers with red s.h.i.+rts and walkie-talkies directed the flow of people coming in. A six-piece band-two guitars, ba.s.s, drums, keyboard, and a female vocalist-were performing feel-good songs like ”Everything Is Beautiful,” ”Don't Worry, Be Happy,” and ”What a Wonderful World.” Matt Kiley was serving as head usher now. We avoided him, finding two seats halfway back and in the middle. From there, we could see a roped-off corridor from the stage to a tent door that led to Mrs. Macon's house. That had to be where Elvis-excuse me, Nichols-would make his big entrance. By two o'clock, almost all the folding and plastic chairs were taken and the two tents were filled with the excited, preshow murmuring of the crowd.
I also heard babies and kids, lots of them, and noted that a good number were loose, running up and down the aisles, chasing and hollering, falling and crying. Apparently, the New Dawn Corporation hadn't yet thought about childcare, and many parents had chosen not to be responsible for their children. I smiled. I couldn't help it.
It was two o'clock and folks were still trickling in, still talking among themselves as they looked for seats. I kept on smiling.
The drummer in the band let out a drum roll.
”And now, ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters,” announced the pretty, female vocalist, ”please welcome our Messenger of the New Dawn, Brandon Nichols!”
The band started a peppy tune, the crowd rose to its feet applauding and cheering, and in came Nichols, decked out in white tunic and glittering gold jewelry, and sporting a brand-new wavy permanent. He waved and smiled as he ascended the stage, then held both hands high over his head like a fighter entering the ring. The applause went on for a good, long minute.
”So where's Sally Fordyce?” Kyle asked me.
Nichols was onstage alone, without Sally Fordyce in a biblical robe, or the Virgin Mary Donovan. The size of the crowd could have explained why we didn't see Dee Baylor or Adrian Folsom, but perhaps they weren't here, either. I recognized some of Armond Harrison's women sitting toward the front, but apart from them, this was a crowd of strangers.