Flying Clean

Flying Clean Chapter 13 (Final)

Chapter 13

We stayed in the area, though we never spent another night in Monterey. I knew that if Slip had known Uncle Herbert, then his ranch must not be far away. I inquired in every town we came to, using his real last name now, and finally scored a hit. About three weeks after escaping Slip, and several miles away, we came into a town called Cordova- what is today known as Rancho Cordova.

Herbert Massey was a well-known name in Cordova- there was even a road named after him in the outskirts of town. We had found this out from a barber that we had passed as he stood outside his shop, head cocked to one side as he tried to see if his new sign was level. I had helped him straighten it, pain in my back barking balefully at me, before popping the question at him.

"Sure I know Herb!" he said, cheerfully. "A friend of yours? Or kin?"

"I just want to work at his ranch," I said.

"I see," the barber had said, rubbing his chin in thought. "I don't know if he'll want you and your friends, but you can try anyhow. He's north of town about five miles. On Hardy road."

I didn't miss the fact that the road and I shared the same name and I knew it was no coincidence. The Herbert Massey who ran a ranch, who had somehow known Slip, was my Uncle Herbert from my daydreams and my parents' letters. I didn't reveal my fears to the Desmonds, but I thought that perhaps Uncle Herbert would be an awful man like Slip. I didn't want to spoil their excitement as we crossed out of Cordova, happily bouncing along the road in search of Uncle Herbert's ranch.

We were a half mile down Hardy Road when we came in view of the ranch; there was no doubt in my mind that it was Uncle Herbert's. In the paddock, I could see a half dozen ranch hands taming horses. Through the open stable doors, I could see three more mucking stalls- and stalls there were! At least thirty of them, and the pasture behind them showcased enough horses to fill each one. There was a huge henhouse where a young man gathered eggs and a pig pasture where swine ran over each other to get to the trough, where another man was piling slop. This was the busiest, most fruitful ranch I had ever seen and I believed at once all of my parent's stories about Uncle Herbert's wealthy and successful ranch.

We left the road and ascended the drive, seeing four automobiles parked in a wide garage. We passed beneath the gazes of many workers as we walked, awed by how many men and women were under the employ of Uncle Herbert. As we neared the house, I recognized a particular pair of eyes watching us, noting their familiar shape. The man was about ten years older than my mother would have been, dressed in clothes too fine to work in, but it looked like he worked in them anyway. There was no doubt that this man was my mother's brother, Herbert.

He watched speculatively, saying nothing, as the four of us appeared before him, as if coming in the presence of a great king we had envisioned our entire lives. I wished him a good afternoon and he politely wished one on me.

"What is it you want?" he asked openly.

"To meet you," I said, my heart racing painfully behind my ribs. "My name is Derrick Hardy." It was the first time I had said my name aloud since kidnapping the Desmonds and it made me jump a little. No one else was around to hear the confession and Uncle Herbert just watched me, no suspicion on his face.

"The one from the newspapers," he said. It wasn't a question.

I felt a sinking despair in my belly, but I nodded anyway. Uncle Herbert glanced at the three remaining Desmonds, the same ones who were reportedly dead.

He nodded. "I'm sure you have your reasons," he said. "Dave and Maggie didn't raise any criminal." He waved a hand at us. "I was going in for some lemonade. Join me, won't you?"