Let Him Go: A Novel by Larry Watson Page A

from a horse, broke his back, and was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his days. An uncle froze to death when he was caught in a blizzard on the way back from town. Her father was bitten by a rattlesnake and almost died. Yes, a hard life, and not for everyone. Blanche’s brothers andsisters lit out as soon as they could and never looked back. Only Blanche stayed, and now her children are the fourth generation of Gannons and Weboys born and living on Montana soil. When she says she hopes to count Jimmy Blackledge as a transplanted fifth, Margaret grows pale but holds her tongue. But who knows, Blanche continues, what Donnie and Lorna aim to do—you can’t plan young people’s lives for them, can you? But Blanche won’t be surprised if they decide to stay in Montana. When she first met Henry Weboy—she was working at a dry-goods store in Gladstone at the time—he couldn’t stop talking about heading for California, but Blanche figured she had more than a little to do with his decision to stay. And now Henry is buried in the same country cemetery as her folks and his.
    While Blanche talks, Bill Weboy clarifies the relationship between himself and his sister-in-law. That might not be his intention, but the way he stretches out his arm along her chairback and rubs her shoulder first and then her neck and proceeds to graze his finger inside her collar and along her clavicle—all done so familiarly that Blanche neither leans into nor shrinks away from his touch—makes clear that she is to him more than just the woman who married his brother. Margaret Blackledge gives her undivided attention to Blanche Weboy, but George tightly interlocks his fingers on the tabletop and, throughout the chronicle of the Weboy clan, stares down into the dark structure his hands have created.
    Blanche stubs out her cigarette and with one long swallow finishes her drink. Bill Weboy touches the corner of her lips as if he’s blotting wine.
    But you came here to eat, Blanche says, not to hear me yak. Bill, why don’t you go call the boys in for supper.
    Aye, aye, cap’n, he says, stands, and leaves to carry out her bidding.
    To the Blackledges Blanche says, But I suppose you could tell a story not a hell of a lot different from mine. You got a ranch over in North Dakota, I understand?
    Not anymore, Margaret says. We sold a few years back and moved into town.
    Sure, sure. I knew that. Of course. Well, look around here. I’ve sold off all the livestock. We can do better selling car parts and scrap metal than running cattle or horses.
    Back in the thirties, George says, we gathered up bones out on the prairie and sold them.
    Anything to make a buck back then. Right?
    Almost, replies George.
    Blanche leans toward Margaret and whispers, How long have you had the palsy?
    You can say it out loud, says Margaret. She puts her hand on George’s arm. He knows about my condition. And it’s not palsy. It’s—oh hell, doctors don’t know what it is.
    Well, you know what, honey? You’re too damn young to be trembling like that.
    It seems to bother other people more than it does me. I can still thread a needle.
    Bill Weboy returns to the kitchen. Trailing behind him are two somber, hulking young men in oil-spotted and grease-streaked clothing.
    There they are, says Blanche Weboy. Meet the boys. The tall one’s Elton and the other’s Marvin. Marvin’s older by ten months, which should tell you something about my ex-husband. Say hello to our guests.
    They each say hello in curiously soft, high-pitched voices.
    That’s about the most you’ll hear out of them all evening, Bill Weboy says. They’re the strong, silent type.
    Have we got any beer? Elton asks.
    You know we do, his mother answers. But first you go wash up and change out of those clothes. I don’t want our company to be sitting down to eat and smelling motor oil instead of my cooking.
    The young men tramp out of the kitchen. Their distinguishing feature, aside from their bulk, is