"He was always there whenever you were in trouble.
He might have hollered but he never turned you down."
"He married my girl away from me," I said bitterly.
"Maybe it was for your own good.
Maybe it was because he knew she never really was for you."
I let that one go. "Why are you telling me this now?" I asked.
I couldn't read those Indian eyes of his.
"Because your father asked me once to look after you.
I made one mistake already.
I seen how smart you was in business, I figured you to be growed up. But you wasn't.
An' I wouldn' like to fail a man like your father twice."
We sat there in silence for a few minutes, then Martha came out with my tea.
She told Nevada to spit out the chaw and stop dirtying up the porch.
He looked at me almost shyly, got up and went down to get rid of the chaw behind the bushes.
We heard a car turn up our road as he came back to the porch.
"I wonder who that is?" Martha asked.
"Maybe it's the doctor," I said.
Old Doc Hanley was supposed to come out and check me over once a week.
By that time, the car was in the driveway and I knew who it was.
I got to my feet, leaning on my cane, as Monica and Jo-Ann approached us.
"Hello," I called.
They'd come back to California to close up their apartment, Monica explained, and since she wanted to talk to me about Amos, they'd stopped off in Reno on their way back to New York.
Their train wasn't due to leave until seven o'clock.
I saw Martha glance meaningfully at Nevada when she heard that.
Nevada got to his feet and looked at Jo-Ann.
"I've got a gentle bay horse out in the corral that's just dyin' for some young lady like you to ride her."
Jo-Ann looked up at him worshipfully. You could tell she'd been to the movies from the way she looked at him. He was a real live hero. "I don't know," she said doubtfully. "I’ve never really ridden a horse before."
"I can teach you.
It's easy, easier than fallin' off a log."
"But she's not dressed for riding," Monica said. She wasn't.
Not in that pretty flowered dress that made her look so much like her mother.
Martha spoke up quickly. "I got a pair of dungarees that shrunk down to half my size. They'll fit her."
I don't know whose dungarees they were but one thing was for sure. They'd never been Martha's.
Not the way they clung to Jo-Ann's fourteen-year-old hips, tight and flat with just the suggestion of the curves to come.
Jo-Ann's dark hair was pulled back straight from her head in a pony tail and there was something curiously familiar about the way she looked.
I couldn't quite figure out what it was.
I watched her run out the door after Nevada and turned to Monica.
She was smiling at me. I returned her smile. "She's growing up," I said. "She's going to be a pretty girl."
"One day they're children, the next they're young ladies. They grow up too fast."
I nodded.
We were alone now and an awkward silence came down between us. I reached for a cigarette and looked at her.
"I want to tell you about Amos."
It was near six o'clock when I finished telling her about what happened.
There were no tears in her eyes, though her face was sad and thoughtful.
"I can't cry for him, Jonas," she said, looking at me. "Because I've already cried too many times because of him.
Do you understand?" I nodded. "He did so many things that were wrong all his life.
I’m glad that at last he did one thing right."
"He did a very brave thing. I always thought he hated me."
"He did," she said quickly. "He saw in you everything that he wasn't. Quick, successful, rich.
He hated your guts.