“Hey, thought I would find you here with the ancient horse!” Granger laughed as he came behind Sophia. His fingers tightly latched onto her shoulder. Sophia felt a chill and shuddered at his touch. She ducked down and pulled away from him.
He released her, “Sophia, this has been hard for you. We all know how difficult this is for you and Carol, but you have to let go of what happened to Papa. I am the Papa of the family now.”
Granger moved to stand behind her and started rubbing Sophia’s back. His velvet voice purred out of his white smile, “This is hard to understand, sure, but this wasn’t anyone’s fault. Papa was suffering, lying there. He was dying day by day, night by night, not able to speak. Dad was dead anyway, he just needed to let go.” Granger’s voice became softer, trying to sound soothing, “It’s all right if you want to blame someone. You can blame me if this makes you feel better? I don’t mind. I’m your older brother and it is my duty to take care of you and Mom.”
His gloved hand dragged across the top of the stable door. “Yuck, this place is filthy.”
Sophia smirked, “Granger, it’s a barn not an operating room. Why don’t you leave since you aren’t welcome and I don’t like or want your company?”
He grabbed her upper left arm in a death grip, “Sophia, I’m not the enemy. Understand I care for you and want the best for you and for Mom. But if you need to blame me, like Carol did then go ahead. I will never turn away from you.”
Sophia tugged her arm free from him. Her arm throbbed. Granger stroked his moustache as he spoke to her over his shoulder, “You know, Sophia, we have a history together which gives us an affinity. You and I have a certain awareness of what goes on in this family. Papa may be dead, but you and I still have a true bond.” Sophia rubbed her bruised arm through her heavy jacket. She heard him greet someone as he stepped out of the barn door.
“Granger, been in to check on the animals, have you?”
Sophia could hear Granger chuckle, “Yeah, you said it not me. I better get back to the house now, back to the grieving widow.”
Dr. Milligan called out into the dark cavernous barn, “Sophia, are you in here? I’m going and wanted to share something with you.” He reached to the right and flipped on the light switch. Sophia counted as she had done since she was a young girl. Slowly one by one the florescent barn lights flickered to illuminate. Her father once had told her of a little man who ran from the light switch on the wall, up the wire then to each florescent fixture, lighting them as he ran. When the last ceiling light lit up, Sophia turned to Dr. Milligan. “Hi, thank you for coming, Dr. Milligan. If no one else appreciated your presence I did. This must appear strange to you what with the family, the police or sheriffs, and the whole emotional upheaval. But I’m not ready to point blame at my family for my father’s death.”
“I’ve done this for many years, Sophia, it is important to assist in the grieving process. I am a geriatric doctor after all.” Dr. Milligan leaned against Geordie’s stall gate to watch him lick his grain bucket. “This fellow here doesn’t look so hot. Has he been updated by a vet?”
Sophia frowned, “No, and he has dried blood on his rectum. He doesn’t appear to want to eat his alfalfa and it’s the good stuff like chocolate.”
“I’m not a vet, but his eyes are glazed as well. Perhaps you should mention this to your mother.” Dr. Milligan moved to sit on a bale of alfalfa. “There is one thing that I feel you should be aware of, Sophia. This is for your own safety and is probably none of my business. I bring this up more for my peace of mind than possibly for yours. I want you to be careful now that your father has passed.”
He pulled off his leather gloves and folded them on his lap. Smiling, he studied Sophia, “Carol and I both took an immediate liking to you. Your care of your father appeared to be genuine. At least I believed this to be true?” He lowered his chin to stare at her.
Sophia pulled a stem of alfalfa from her mitten, “Yes, I truly loved my father. We may not have always been friends, but I loved him very much. My care for him was genuine.”
Dr. Milligan nodded, “I believe you. There is something you may know about since you are an ethnology professor. Are you aware of the internecine family? Do you know what this term means?”
“Yes, of course.” Sophia proudly smiled, “Internecine occurs frequently in history. This happened more in royal families than in any other for they had the means and the motive to interact in such a manner. Internecine refers to a disjointed family fighting for power of land, wealth or the throne. This causes slaughter among one another for each person of the family is equally deadly and powerful.”
Dr. Milligan laughed as he clapped his hands, “Yes, you’ve got it, by golly she’s got it! Remember the Henrys of Olde England and how they betrayed and backstabbed each other for the sole purpose of taking control. Remember internecine, Sophia, with this group of people you call family.” He jabbed his thumb toward the house. Shaking his head as he chortled, he backed out of the barn bowing to her. “Madam, I leave you to the piranha of life.”
4
Calavera, New Mexico
Thursday, January, 1988
Sophia pushed through the groups of neighbors on her mother’s back porch. Now and then someone put their hand on her arm or her shoulder to say, “Sorry, Sophia, we are so sorry.” Sophia smiled and bent her head determined to get into the house and warm her hands. Sophia noticed her mother sitting in the living room. Beside her on the wooden stool was a sheriff with a clipboard.
Margaret enjoyed her poise as a self righteous woman with a fragile build. The sitting room was neat and cleanly kept. All perfect in dignity for a householder of Margaret’s age and means. Margaret’s late father’s large, dark landscape oil paintings were carefully placed on the widest area of walls. The predominant color in each of her father’s paintings was a pale blue. This had brought many a comment from viewers who knew Margaret’s father to be a dam builder during the WPA.
A twelve foot by twelve foot Peruvian tapestry similar in style to a Matisse painting hung over the expensive leather couch. The horizontal striped bright colors of the hanging tapestry brought life to the otherwise sedate furniture. Like the rest of the house, the clean walls were white, which in many places had chipped or worn off to reveal a fawn colored brick underneath. The room smelled heavily of lemon furniture polish. Margaret perched on a worn leather armchair in the corner of the room. She leaned forward, listening to the sheriff who was beside her.
When Margaret noticed Sophia entering the sitting room she excused herself. Hurrying to Sophia, she whispered, “This man is interrogating each one of us! I don’t like this at all. He took Granger into your father’s den to speak with him. I couldn’t hear anything they said. What if I say the wrong thing?” Margaret kept glancing back at the sheriff as she spoke.
Sophia took her mother’s hand, “Mom, if you tell the truth you don’t have to worry. It’s when people lie they get into trouble. Tell the man the truth about last night.”
“Sophia, your hands are freezing. Did you feed Geordie?” Margaret lifted to her toes to peer over Sophia’s shoulder.
“Yes, I did. He needs the vet to come give him a check up. Something’s off with his eating and his health appears to have deteriorated.” As Sophia spoke her mother began to cry. “Mom, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Margaret pulled a cotton handkerchief from the sleeve of her sweater, “Oh, Sophia, I miss your father. I wish he hadn’t gotten ill and left us alone to fight for our own. I don’t want to talk to the sheriff right now. Do you think I could speak with him tomorrow? Would you ask him for me, please?”
Sophia shook her head, “Mom, this is their procedure. He wants to ask you questions while everything is fresh in your mind. Do you want him to talk to me first?”
“Oh, Sophia, you are a dear, yes,