Read Montana for Free Online Page B

destructive and therefore chose to believe whatever the kids told them. Facing the truth was far too painful—and would demand action.
    The true test, according to the pamphlet she’d read, was knowing your children’s friends. One look at the type of friends your son or daughter associated with was usually enough.
    Until last fall Tom’s friends had been good kids, from good homes, who made good grades. She felt relatively reassured until he started hanging around with Eddie Ries. Even then it was difficult to gauge the truth.
    According to Mr. Boone, the school principal, Tom’s friendship with Eddie had been a recent development. Molly hoped that was true.
    â€œWill Gramps teach me to ride?” Clay asked, straining forward in his seat.
    â€œProbably not,” Molly said with a renewed sense of sadness. “Remember, he isn’t well. I don’t think he rides anymore.”
    â€œThis is gonna be a bust,” Clay said, slumping against the window.
    Molly shook her head in wonder. “What in heaven’s name is the matter with you two?”
    â€œWe don’t have any friends in Montana,” Tom said sulkily.
    â€œYou’ll make new ones.” That was one thing she could say about her boys. Not more than a week after moving into the apartment they’d met every kid within a five-block radius. Neither Tom nor Clay had any problem forming new friendships. The ranch kids would be eager to learn what they could about the big city, and before long Tom and Clay would be heroes.
    â€œLet me tell you about the ranch,” she tried again.
    â€œYeah!” Clay said eagerly.
    â€œI’m not interested,” Tom muttered.
    One yes. One no. “What’s it to be?” she asked cheerfully. “Do I get the deciding vote?”
    â€œNo fair!” Tom cried.
    â€œPlug your ears,” Clay said, snickering.
    Tom grumbled and looked away, wearing the mask of a tormented martyr. He had brooding down to an art form, one he practiced often. Molly couldn’t remember her own adolescence being nearly this traumatic, and Tom was only fourteen. She hated to think of all the high-scale drama the coming years held in store.
    â€œOriginally the Broken Arrow was over 15,000 acres,” Molly began. She said this with pride, knowing how difficult it had been for Gramps to sell off portions of his land. All that remained of the original homestead was 2,500 acres.
    â€œHow come the ranch is named the Broken Arrow?” Clay asked.
    â€œBecause they found a broken arrow on it, stupid.”
    â€œTom!”
    â€œWell, it’s true, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes, but it wasn’t a stupid question. If I remember correctly, Tom, you asked me the same one.”
    â€œYeah, but that was when I was a little kid.”
    â€œAbout Clay’s age, as I recall.” She recalled no such thing, but it served him right for belittling his younger brother.
    â€œWhat about his foreman?” Clay asked next.
    Gramps’s foreman. Molly had nothing to tell. All she knew about him was his name and the fact that he was apparently devoted to Gramps. Devoted enough to make sure she knew of Gramps’s ill health.
    She’d reviewed their short conversation a number of times in the two weeks since his phone call, afraid she might have missed something important. She wondered if there’d been something else he’d wanted to tell her, a hidden message beneath his words. She’d sensed his urgency, accepted the gravity of the situation. Yet when she’d phoned Gramps the next night, he’d sounded quite healthy. He’d been thrilled with her news, and she’d hung up equally excited.
    Molly’s thoughts turned from Sam Dakota to employment possibilities. Eventually she’d need to find a job in Sweetgrass. While there might not be much demand for a translator, she wondered if the high school needed a French or German teacher. If all else