Heart of the Prairie

I yanked the wheel sharply and then headed back towards Millersville. Once we were under way I turned to look at him. "When did it start?" I demanded. "When did you and she first . . ."

He looked at me as though I was an idiot. "Start? We'd always been in love, even in high school. Her and me were gonna get married after college, as soon as we had enough money to settle down. But then you came along and started panting after her. And her old man said she had to be nice to you for the sake of the town."

He stared at me defiantly. "She tried to refuse. She loved me, not you." Then his eyes lost their fire. "But she loved her old man too, and he kept after her, told her it was her duty, told her she had to do it if she loved him. She never could refuse Daddy," he said bitterly.

"But she wouldn't give me up neither," he said proudly. "So her Daddy worked it all out. I had to live in Arrowpoint, so nobody would ever see Bonnie and me together. But he gave me a job on his place, and every morning I'd drive to the ranch real early. She'd head out of town like she was going to her job in Arrowpoint. Then she'd circle around back to the ranch to be with me."

"But she did go to work in Arrowpoint," I protested. "I talked to her supervisor."

"Well of course she did," Holder replied in exasperation. "She had to make it look real. But she only worked there in the afternoons; she spent the mornings with me."

"I still don't understand. Why all the coming and going back and forth? Why didn't she just meet up with you in Arrowpoint?"

He shook his head in disgust. "Her Daddy said we couldn't be together where folks might see us and start to gossip. But I think he just wanted to have us out there under his thumb."

Then his face took on a look of disdain. "Her old man was a real hard-ass. Once Bonnie left for her job, he made me work like a dog on the ranch all afternoon. But when she was driving home to you at night in Millersville, I'd be driving back to Arrowpoint. We'd pass each other on the way and we'd always do the heart of the prairie thing to show we loved each other even when we were apart.

I glanced over at him again and saw anguish warp his youthful expression. "The night she . . . the night of the accident, her Daddy made me work late, doin' some stupid chores. I thought I'd pass her closer to Millersville, but she wasn't there."

He began to cry openly, the tears running down his cheeks like water over a spillway. "I came up on the accident just a mile or so this side of the river. At first I didn't know who it was, I just knew it was bad. But when I got close enough I recognized her Honda, or what was left of it. The front end was all stove in and she was pinned behind the wheel. Oh, God, Doc, her arm was gone and there was blood spewing everywhere! When I called her name she opened her eyes, looked at me and smiled. And then she died."

He broke down then and began to sob. And though I hated him as my rival for Bonnie, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. "I'll bet I'm the first person he's been able to tell his story to," I thought. "He's had to keep it inside him all this time, it's a wonder he could function at all."

"You were the one who put that cross up on the highway," I said. He was too emotional to answer, but I knew it had to be the truth. "That's why it said 'Bonnie Miller,' not 'Bonnie Robertson,'" I said, more to myself than to him.

After a while he regained a little of his composure, and he began talking again. It was almost as though he had to get it out. "I called 911, but I didn't stick around because I didn't want to screw things up for Bonnie." He looked up at me with haunted eyes. "When I walked back to my truck, Doc, oh, God, I found her arm." He began to sob again. After that, I couldn't get anything else out of him.

We pulled into Millersville and I drove directly to the courthouse on the square. After I parked my car, I went around, opened the door and gently motioned for him to come with me. He offered no resistance; I'm not sure at that point he even knew where he was.

The Council chamber door had a sign reading "In Session" on it, but I pushed it open anyway. Richard Miller looked up in surprise at my intrusion but quickly smiled at me. "Come in, Dr. Robertson. We were just discussing an important issue and we'd welcome your wise counsel."

"No," I said, "I have an important issue that I want to discuss with you -- all of you." With that I turned and motioned Holden Calloway to come in. Miller turned pale when Holden walked through the door, and I thought it was particularly telling that the others around the table gasped as well. "They all knew," I thought, "they were all in on it."

Miller was the first to recover. "Listen, Mark, I don't know what this boy has been telling you, but . . ."

"Don't bother to lie to me, Richard," I said harshly. "I know the story now, the whole story. You were desperate to get a new physician in Millersville, one who'd stay this time. You were so desperate that you were willing to pimp out your own daughter." I paused to look at the rest of them. "And any one of you would have done the same thing with your own daughters."

"That hardly seems fair," Miller shot back. "What father wouldn't want his daughter to be married to a fine doctor who's respected in the community and can offer her a comfortable lifestyle? I only wanted Bonnie's happiness."

"If you'd really been concerned with Bonnie's happiness, you'd have let her marry the man she truly loved," I said angrily, jerking my thumb at Holden. "But no, you tried to force her to leave him for me. And when she didn't want to give him up, you set Holden up on the side. You turned him into some sort of male mistress, and turned me into an unwitting cuckold -- and all of you knew it."

He held his hands up as if to calm me. "Mark, I know you're upset right now, but you've got to see it from a larger perspective. This town has over a century of history. We're trying to preserve the tradition of small-town America, a heritage to leave to the next generation . . ."

"Bullshit!" I interrupted him. "You weren't interested in tradition or heritage. All you cared about was preserving the value of your ranch." I turned to look at the other commissioners, pointing at them one by one. "And you were worried about the value of your car dealership. And you just wanted to keep the assets growing in your bank. And you were worried about sales in your store."

I shook my head. "None of you give a damn about your sons and daughters and their future. All you care about is your own net worth and how to keep it."

"But a town without a doctor is a town that's dying," Miller said weakly.

"You don't get it," I said harshly. "Your town is already dead. It's rotten to the core, just like the morals of its leaders. I can't wait to get out of here -- you all make me sick."

"You can't go," Miller gasped. "If you leave now, you'll owe the government a ton of money."

I sneered at him. "The money from that life insurance policy you bought for Bonnie ought to cover it," I told him. "And if there's any left over, Holden Calloway can have the rest. I don't want any of your blood money."

I left them seated at the table, silent and staring at each other. I went out to my car and checked the trunk to be sure my bags hadn't shifted and I hadn't forgotten anything important. Then I started toward Arrowpoint.

When I got to the site of the accident, I pulled over and got out to stand in front of the crude little cross one last time. I knew now Bonnie had never loved me, but I'd loved her and it takes a while to get over that. At the same time I hated her for cheating on me, but I pitied her for being forced to give up the one she'd truly loved.

It would take a long time for me to work through all those conflicting emotions. "Maybe I can find some help with that in Oklahoma City," I thought. I pointed my car in that direction and headed out on the long narrow highway running straight through the heart of the prairie.