Gritty Times in Wyoming Pt. 02

"Oh."

"In the meantime I'll be doing a quick rejig of my rejected novel."

Her mom said in surprise, "But you and I agreed with the rejection decision?"

"True mom but Reflection Publications knows bad books by popular authors still sell."

"Ah keep product in front of consumers irrespective of quality," Ralph grinned. "Rather like the supermarket eh?"

CHAPTER 3

Ralph was out on the front porch when he squinted and drawled, "Someone's coming."

"God to think you and I once had eyesight like that," Fergie said to Glenys who was preparing the roast.

"Yes."

"Jesus."

"What's it son," Fergie groaned, getting out of his chair with his beer. They'd been stringing a new fence that day.

"The boy's running down the dirt road to the vehicle like an idiot. There's snow on the side of the road and he's not wearing a jacket."

"Why's he running?"

"He's gone loco. Now he's waving like mad."

"It will be her. She's coming back to us."

"Who you mean Skye?"

"Yes Skye unless there's some other woman you've had hidden away and never told us about."

"What other woman?"

"God I'm looking forward to having intelligent conversation again."

"Oh yes, I can see the red car. If you are so eager about intelligent conversation then why aren't you jumping up and down in excitement?"

"It could be that I know she'll soon be here whether or not I run about like a headless chicken."

"That's true."

Skye's heart missed a beat when she saw Ryan running at her, waving like crazy. She accelerated forward and stopped well short of him and jumped out and ran towards him and they slowed and collided, laughing and hugging and kissing madly.

"You mom will see us."

"So what. I'm twenty-two Skye and with a babe like you on my patch I should be having sex with you. That's what guys do."

"Yeah right and we will get around to it buddy. Just allow me to work on your mom a bit. Don't say anything to your parents about this and we won't sneak out to do it. I promise you I'll set it up."

The greetings between Skye and Ryan's parents were equally robust and for the second time since she'd known her Skye had seen Glenys bawl.

"You usually only bawl at funerals when other women set your off Glenys." "Shut up Ferguson."

"Right I'll get drinks."

When they were seated Skye told them what was happening in her writing life but made no mention of huge book sales and money. The Hobbs' would find it impossible to believe people in places such as Hong Kong and China would know of Skye Brock.

"Well your whereabouts should remained unknown because almost everyone in Wyoming doesn't know you," Glenys said.

"Yes and that's the whole point of me telling you this. Mention will be made of my on TV tonight because TV reporters will be angry I've run out on them. I don't wish anyone to know. I wish to stay here unrecognized to get on with my work uninterrupted."

"Fair enough," Glenys said. "But your identify is safe in here so you can remove your hat and sunglasses."

"Oh," Skye giggled and at that the family looked so pleased to have her back and to hear that familiar giggle again.

Glenys then took over. "Fergie you call those neighbors on our east and south boundaries who know Skye has been staying with us and I'll call the other neighbors. Note who you call for out check list and tell them to keep their mouths closed because I say so. We don't want nosy reporters round here pestering us and scaring our livestock."

She called Myra Williams first and ended by saying, "Would you call all these people I name as well Myra to reinforce what Fergie or I have told them. If Skye is discovered she will be hounded out of here and we'll probably never see her again."

"Yes I agreed, Myra said. "I often read about this sort of thing happening and until now always thought it was bulldust."

At 5:00 they began to arrive.

The neighbors that is. They brought drinks both hard and soft and their contributions to the table.

There was no invitation to come but out there that's what neighbors do. They arrived to show their support for the Hobbs and their special guest.

Everyone crowded around the two TV sets at news time.

The screen lit up with the news channel logo and behind that was a photo of Skye and one of the newsreaders said, "Tonight heading our news bulletin is Chicago's reluctant millionaire who's gone into hiding. Who is Skye Brock, where is Skye Brock and what is it about her writing that has set readers in the Far East afire? We understand foreign journalists are heading for Chicago to get this fascinating story. But first the headlines..."

"I'll wring the neck of anyone I find giving out the whereabouts of our Skye," boomed the voice of Fergie through both rooms.

The clapping and cheering was almost deafening.

As the story on TV unfolded it was clear that the news team had found out very little about Skye beyond what was written on the dust jacket of her books.

The chairman of Reflection Publications Arnold Ascot said, "We are Skye's publisher but we have absolutely no idea where she is and I must admit going into hiding to escape all this attention is what Skye's creation Carey Green would advise."

"Sir exactly what is it about this Carey Green?"

"Well none of us here, including her editors have a clue and I certainly thought this Carey girl was the weakest piece of nothing as a heroine that I've ever come across since reading that first book for the first time last night because that book reputedly started this phenomenon. And you might know that Skye was a volunteer in the Coastguard for several months to research background for her second book and after its publication the Coastguard has been swamped by applications from young females wanting to join up fulltime or become Coastwatch volunteers. The Coastguard is trying to track down Skye. It wants her approval to name its big new vessel being built for Lake Michigan duties Miss Carey Green."

The male of the news reading duo said, "Well this is what happened when we visited Skye Brock's parents in a very exclusive apartment block in Downtown Chicago."

"Good morning ma'am, are you Skye Brock's mother?"

"Yes now run away."

Mrs Brock slammed the door leaving the reporter staring into the camera looking dazed.

"I think I got the message," said the female journalist.

She gathered herself and held up her mike and said, "This is where sensational new author Skye Brock was raised by Dr and Mrs Brock. It seems Skye had a normal childhood but initially she was very clingy to her doll named Daisy. We have consulted a leading female psychologist Patsy Wong about the relationship between Skye and Daisy. Here is what Ms Wong told us."

The camera showed an earnest looking reporter speaking to the inscrutable psychologist.

"Single children in a family often grow up speaking to themselves a great deal. The probable situation here is Skye may have done most of that talking to Daisy and Skye believed Daisy, a doll possibly made in China, spoke back to her. My inquiries indicated for many years Skye was exceptionally attached to her doll. Without personally assessing Skye and Daisy I am unable to comment further."

"Why would you consult Daisy the doll Ms Wong?"

"To hear her side of the story possibly. Who knows? Would you please leave now."

"Well, well," said the reporter addressing the camera. "It is my guess that Skye and Daisy are holed up somewhere in teeming New York. They could head to Chinatown where Daisy would feel more comfortable in a new city. I now hand you back to the news desk."

"Thank you Beverly Cash," said the female newsreader. "There's food for thought in that report. My pick of the perfect place to hide out would be camping out in the wilderness of New Mexico. That would be a great place for Skye to be writing her next eagerly awaited book. I must attempt reading her first book again. I kept falling asleep by chapter 2 or 3 both times I tried reading it."

"Boo!" shouted the people watching TV in the family room with Skye.

The newsreader redeemed herself. "But I must say my two young teens are claiming they'll die unless I buy them Carey Green iridescent green T-shirts. If you ask me I think this craze will dwarf what happened when my mother was a teen and Rock 'n' roll hit America and addicted the young. We now take a brief break."

Glenys came into that room and said, "Oh Skye I saw your mother briefly. She is so beautiful."

"Thank you but rest easy Glenys. Much of that is expensive make-up and hideously expensive surgery. You ought to know beauty is where real beauty dwells, in the soul as yours does."

Glenys looked rather pleased at that response and the women around them beamed at Skye.

Skye called to Fergie through the doorway. "Fergie could you call for silence. I wish to say a few words to everyone."

The two rooms hushes before got his mouth properly open.

"Guys thanks for arriving here to support the Hobbs family for what they are attempting to do for me. You are watching how this thing has escalated. It is becoming insane."

A woman called, "Does Daisy really speak to you?"

"No and never has. I used to pretend she did but that stopped years and years ago apart from when I come in I look at her on my bed and say, "How did your day go staring at the ceiling today Daisy, nice changes of shadows? If I had a couple of drinks before coming home I might be naughty and say, 'Did you score any sex today Daisy?' But really that's a bit on the nose because you see Daisy lost a leg when I was about to turn seven and I invalided her to my bed permanently. She never gets out to congregate with other dolls."

"Omigod," bleated Jill Cassidy and began crying and another woman in the next room joined her and many other women looked uncomfortable. The men looked at the floor or the ceiling.

Myra Williams said, "Glenys these TV folk have really nothing to tell us and will only compile crap until they get hold of Skye and the longest media concentration can last on anything is forty-eight hours. But the magazine writers will continue to chase after the elusive Skye. What say you turn off TV and get everyone seated in the one room with drinks and then Skye can tells us stories about Daisy?"

"Darn good idea," Glenys said, revving up. Some of you men get the drinks and everyone into the family room. Fergie get the boys up from the bunkhouse. We want them on this and need their silence. Ryan get the youngsters help you find more seating. Oh bring in the picnic tables and chairs but wipe the snow of them first."

The ranch hands, Andy, Zac and Stewart looked over-awed at being invited to this assembly and their nervousness intensified when Fergie said, "Now you guys sit with me where it's safe otherwise some of these women here could attempt to invite you out to the store room."

Skye said, "I apologize for not being a great storyteller like Fergie, but there you go."

Within minutes she held her audience spellbound.

"I admit having a special relationship with my doll Daisy that lasted until I was almost thirteen I guess. Because of that I never was lonely. In fact I wouldn't care if kids didn't arrive to play or invite me to their homes because I had Daisy."

"I had a confusion of thoughts, I believe, when I was young and what school didn't sort out, Daisy did. I would talk to her about a problem and talk to myself with my idea of her reply and I got many things sorted, more or less, in this manner. In the process of learning to read I read to Daisy and she'd help me with difficult words and we had no idea if we were correct or not but I was soon being awarded stars for my progress with reading. Mom always said school improved my diction. Well in my view, having Daisy did that for me. I could read to Daisy until I fell a sleep and she was always waiting for me to wake up and resume reading to her. I thought she'd lose interest if I didn't read to her in my very best manner."

"Well probably lots of kids, mostly girls, talk to their dolls or pets. What was different was went I began writing stories I would ask Daisy what should I write about. Daisy would look dumb and refuse to answer and so I'd make some suggestions and she'd nod when one appealed. We became very good at that system."

"Six weeks before I turned seven a dog got hold of Daisy, a Fox Terrier. Mom, Daisy and I were in the park. I put up a terrific fight to get Daisy back and nobody noticed because I didn't scream or shout because I knew Daisy would be terrified enough. When I got back to mom with poor Daisy covered in dog slobber and some dogteeth punctures in her body I noticed Daisy's left leg was missing. I asked mom to look after Daisy and I went after that dog but it was nowhere to be found. Mom being mom didn't even notice Daisy had a missing leg although she was holding the doll. I decided to avoid fuss and say nothing."

"Two weeks later I saw the dog and grabbed it and was beating it with a stick and had blood from dog bites on my hand and arm holding it from running over me and the dog was making a racket and I was yelling 'You little shit you tell me where you put that leg."

"The dog owner, a man, pulled us apart and yelled to mom to get me away from attacking his dog. Mom raced up and she and the man almost came to blows because mom claimed I'd only been trying to defend myself against his vicious hound. I didn't own up because that vicious little shit had attacked Daisy and probably had buried her leg somewhere. For a almost a year I had this desire to strangle all Fox Terriers but if you've every tried to catch a Fox Terrier that doesn't want to be caught then you know I would have failed in that mission."

"And so how is it I can remember such detail so far back? Because I began my first Daisy's Diary that night and a synopsis of most stories I made up for Daisy are in her diaries. That was twenty-three years ago and I still write stories for Daisy that I'm incorporating into my novels. There are now twenty-three Daisy Diaries."

"As a young teenager I didn't talk to Daisy much beyond greetings but most nights I wrote things for her to bring into her mind during the day to have something to think about. When I no longer believed Daisy had ever winked or blinked or nodded her head at me or could bring into mind things I'd written for in the closed diary beside her, I still kept on writing for her because I was determined to become a writer."

"Well that's story one. The other story will begin after I have a drink."

"To the Spirit of Daisy," Skye said, proposing a toast and almost everyone in the room responded.

"I believe for some of you folk who know about this inexplicable and sudden rise of my popularity in China, this last story might allow you to see a connection between me and China, although it can only be tenuous. I believe in the connection, hugely so. I can't explain it but am sufficiently knowledgeable to know it is not necessary to have it explained. It exists and so let it be."

"I was ten when mom happened to mention one day that Daisy had been made in China. According to my notes we were watching a program about doll making. I'd not known about Daisy's origins. I checked her out but could find no markings and thought that damn dog. I bet the label was attached to the bottom of her missing left leg."

"About four years later I began reading about dolls in China, particularly doll making, and learned many interesting things although nothing about Daisy's origins of course. Different companies produced different styles of dolls but with thousands and thousands of doll makers plus a few million amateur makers, it would be an impossibility to track down Daisy's maker. Having that damn label could have been the key only I could never recall seeing a label on that left leg. I think by the time I turned three I would have been on to such things."

"From dolls I went into reading about how children lived in China, what they ate, what they were taught at school, how they worshipped and other things."

"When still fourteen I wrote a story for a competition about a part European child growing up in a village in northern China. Her mom was English, daughter of missionaries, and her father was Chinese and quite wealthy. He'd been a doll maker, as had his father and several generations before him. His wife explained to him how he could make much more money and that was to have other people idle at home to make dolls for him. Once passing their output as being good enough for commercial sale he'd pay the makers and then have other people go around selling them, often members of the doll makers' families, and they would earn sales commission."

"I won that competition and was told my story was incredible for someone of my age. There was some doubt that it was all my own work but within two minutes I had satisfied the doubters by answering their questions about Chinese Dynasties and I uttered some phrases in Putonghua, telling them that was the official language of China. I then began to print my name in Chinese script and the convener of the judging panel, laughing, told me I had been more than convincing. When I went to collect my winning entry at the end of the exhibition and Chinese woman smiled and said she'd pay me $50 for my story. I said no that I wanted to keep it. She said could she photocopy it and I said yes. She returned with the papers and handed me the original and I said if she wanted to have my story printed in China and I sign her copy of my story."

"That made her very excited when I worked hard to write my name in my version of Chinese script that I had been practicing and then signed my name under that. She said she would get someone to send me a copy of the published story but I never received it. End of story? Perhaps. I now think that same Chinese woman is a literary agent and unknown to me purchased the rights to have my first book published in China. My first novel contains many references to Carey Green having a doll named Daisy, a doll given to her paternal grandmother by a very, very old Chinese woman unable to speak a word of English and that in accepting the doll Carey's grandmother had looked up to thank the woman but she'd disappeared. I don't really know why I wrote that in the book because it appeared to have not relevance to the story except to state in a roundabout way that Carey possessed a very old doll. And then I had to ask myself after publication why on earth had I stated that Carey could speak Putonghua, the official language of China, when nowhere during the story did Carey speak it or was described as thinking in that language?"

"I scared myself when I thought of something my own paternal grandmother sometimes said to me when I was around five and would jumped into her bed at dawn, knowing she'd be the only one awake then. She'd say there was a reason for everything. Well perhaps gran and Daisy are responsible for my books selling in the Far East. I wonder? That's all folk. Thanks for listening."

She was warmly applauded.

"Thanks and oh, before I forget. The novel I'll write set on this ranch and more or less in this setting will have characters based on you people and incidents you have related to me but they will be mixed up and reworked so few people are likely to recognized themselves. At the request of my publisher, just received, the name of the heroine will be Carey Green. So people in the Far East will probably learn with great interest about ranch life in this district. Some place names I won't change because I do require it to be regarded by Wyomingites as authentic Wyoming. I hope to write hard to make you all proud of my literary contribution to Wyoming but hey, I'm getting ahead of myself, I haven't written a single word of the novel."

Myra Williams asked, "What will you call your novel darling?"