“Nobody’s going to be forced to waste time building a wall while I’m mayor.”
“Then you should resign.”
“Not going to happen.”
“I’m not dropping it.”
“I’ll ban you from the city.”
I thought a moment before answering. “Good. Do that. The only way you’ll be able to keep me out is by building a wall.”
“Or by ordering you shot on sight.”
Darla and I spoke at once:
“You wouldn’t,” I said.
“If you shoot him, I will end you,” Darla said.
Mayor Petty glowered at us. “Don’t push me.”
“So Yellowstone is claiming another victim,” I said, “democracy in Warren.”
“We’ll hold proper elections when my term is up,” Mayor Petty said, “in two and a half years.”
The mention of elections sparked an idea. “So let the people—your constituents—decide. Hold a special vote on whether or not to build a wall.”
“And if I do?”
“We’ll go away. Win or lose, we’ll quit bothering you, quit trying to stir up public opinion.”
Mayor Petty was silent for a moment. A crafty look shadowed his eyes. “I’ll hold an election, all right. For mayor. You against me. You win, you run the show, build the wall, do whatever you damn well please. I win, you stay out on your uncle’s farm and out of my town.”
“I don’t want to be mayor,” I said. “I want a safe place we can move to, a walled town capable of defending itself.”
“You’re not so excited about wall building when you’re on the hot seat, huh? When you’re the one who’d have to implement your crack-brained plan.”
I thought for a moment. I didn’t want to be mayor, didn’t want to run Warren, didn’t want to do anything but create a safe space for Darla, me, and my family. I certainly wasn’t qualified to be mayor, but could I be any worse than Petty? I would at least consult Ben on military matters, Uncle Paul and Darla on engineering questions, and Dr. McCarthy on medical issues. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll do it.”
Mayor Petty smiled in a way that was more cruel than mirthful. “First Tuesday in January. Ten weeks from now. That suit?”
“Why not next Tuesday?” I said.
“’Cause that’s the way I want it. And I’m the mayor. Everyone who wants to vote’ll meet at St. Ann’s Church. Voting machines won’t work without electric, so we’ll use paper, pens, and an old-fashioned ballot box.”
“We’ll count the votes publicly,” Darla said, “immediately after voting closes. While everyone’s there watching. Won’t even need to lock the ballot box, that way.”
“Agreed.” Mayor Petty rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I’ll beat the pants off you. Wait. Don’t quote me on that. Don’t want anyone to get the idea I’m one of them pedophiles, do I?”
I couldn’t summon nearly as much enthusiasm as Mayor Petty. I shook his hand and left his office in a state of stunned disbelief.
After Mayor Petty agreed to the election, our daily routine didn’t change much. Darla and I worked on the farm every morning and biked to Warren every afternoon, to campaign instead of trying to convince people to protest. When they could spare the time—which was rarely—Uncle Paul, Alyssa, Max, Rebecca, and even Anna walked to Warren to help with the campaign. Mom came along occasionally, but she never campaigned. When I asked her what she did in town, she said she was “visiting” and evaded my questions about who she was visiting with. Ed worried that his past would be a liability and stayed behind on the farm. Ben had neither the skills nor inclination for politics.
Campaigning meant going door to door and talking with people, often while we helped them with their chores. There was no radio, no television, no flyers, and nobody had time to attend rallies, so the campaign had a decidedly low-tech feel. Darla kept meticulous notes on everyone we talked to. She said it wasn’t much different than keeping track of cows. She thought we’d win, but it would be close—within twenty votes.
After about five weeks of this, something changed. People stopped answering their doors when we approached. Several said they were too busy to talk. One guy, a Petty supporter, pointed a shotgun at us. I could understand being tired of talking to us—heck, I was tired of talking, myself—but the change came about almost overnight. Nobody would tell us why
I sought out Nylce Myers, who’d led a squad during the attack on Stockton. She was a huge supporter and one of the toughest women I had ever met other than Darla. Surely she would tell me what was going on.
“It’s nothing, Alex. The mayor’s people are spreading ugly rumors, that’s all. I’m sure it’s not true.”
“What’re they saying?” I asked.
“They claim Stockton attacked us because of you. They say you told them we had stockpiles of pork.”
“That’s…” my voice trailed off as I thought about it. What had I said on that icy road in front of Stockton last year? Before Darla and I started off to find my folks? I strained to remember. “Oh, f—”
“What is it?” Darla asked.
“I did tell them. When we were trying to buy medical care for Ed. The guy said he’d heard Warren had plenty of hogs, and I said yeah, thousands.”
“So you didn’t really tell them.”
“But I confirmed it.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I need to think about it.”
“You mind keeping this under wraps until he decides?” Darla asked Nylce.
“Sure, whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” I said and gave her a hug before leaving.
After dinner that night, I trudged out to the greenhouses to sit on the warm soil and think. It came down to this: what did I value more, my integrity or the town’s survival? Framed that way, it was easy. I’d choose lives over morals any day. But I couldn’t quit thinking about it—couldn’t come to terms with my decision to lie about what I’d said in Stockton.
I’d been out there a good long while when Mom entered the greenhouse. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re working too hard. You look like you’ve been beaten more than a threadbare rug.”
“Really, I’m okay. I’m thinking.”
“It’s Darla. She’s pushing you too hard.”
“She’s the one who keeps me sane, Mom.”
“Stay home tomorrow. Spend some time with Alyssa. Relax for once. We’ve hardly seen you all month.”
“I can’t. Maybe after the election.”
“Mayor Petty says Darla’s putting all this election nonsense in your head. You don’t have to do everything she tells you to, you know.”
“What’s with you and Darla anyway? Why don’t you ever talk to her? You talk about her enough.”
“I don’t—”
“You do! You complain about her to Uncle Paul, to Alyssa—even to Max! What’d she ever do to you?”
“Alex, I love you, and I only want what’s best for you.”
“Darla is what’s best for me.”
“You haven’t been the same since you met her.”
“I haven’t been the same since Yellowstone erupted.”
“That’s true. None of us have. But can’t you see? She’s just not right for you.”
“No. I can’t see that.” I noticed I had been scooping up handfuls of earth and clenching them in my fists. I forced myself to relax, the dirt flowing through my fingers. “Does this have anything to do with Dad?”
“What? No. How could you even say that?” Mom’s fists were clinched too.
“We all went to Iowa City. Darla came back. Dad didn’t.”
“It’s got nothing to do with that. She’s too controlling. Always bossing you around—never giving you any space to relax.”
“She’s a lot like you, Mom.”
“I’m nothing like—”