Jacqueline Bacon slid onto a barstool at Hoppy Daze, Horner Springs' newest artisanal brewery. She looked down at her very slightly worn jeans and deliberately scuffed ropers. Then gazing around the room at the collection of cowboys, students, late season fly anglers, locals and dogs that inhabited the place, she decided that she didn't look too out of place. Now, if she could just manage to keep the Boston out of her speech she might not be immediately marked as a newcomer.
"Hi," the solid-looking man behind the bar greeted her from underneath an impressive handlebar mustache, "I don't recognize you. Visiting?"
Well, so much for not being marked as a newcomer! "No," Jackie chuckled, "I'm the architect responsible for turning the Bar Noon into an environmental science field station for the college. It will probably take several years so I'm a new resident—at least for now."
"Aha! You're just what I need, an outside opinion. Give this a try," the man handed her a pint glass with a good head on it, "It's my latest recipe, a chokecherry lager."
Jacqueline blinked and then shrugged as she sipped the odd sounding concoction. "Gee, this is good. Chokecherries?"
The big man grinned. "Yep, all local ingredients. Water from the Springs, barley and hops from the valley, chokecherries from along the creeks and venture capital from Jay Horner. And labor from me, of course. I'm Cal Hoff, brewmaster, CEO and head barman." He held out a big, friendly hand.
"Well, hello Cal," she replied as her own hand disappeared into his mitt, "I'm Jacqueline Bacon."
Cal had a warm, firm handshake and a cheerful manner that made him attractive, Jackie thought. Her next thought was that she'd never been eaten by a man with a mustache that big. What would it be like? Interesting . . .
"So how did you get into craft brewing?" she asked.
"It was a long, convoluted path," Cal answered with a laugh, "I enlisted in the Army at seventeen to become a helicopter mechanic. Over the six year hitch I earned an AA in aeronautical engineering and applied for Warrant Officer flight school. I got in and became a helicopter pilot. By the time I had enough time in to retire I was a CW3 and had to decide whether to stay in for thirty or retire. I came home here and talked to the guys at the flying service over at Horner Field and they offered me a job on the spot. So I took my VA benefits and bought a house and started flying choppers and joined the home brew club. That's where I met Jay. He and I are both big homebrew fans and mine was so good that he offered to help me start this place. So I used my GI Bill and some of his cash and here I am, a retired Warrant, part-time helicopter pilot and fulltime barkeep."
Jacqueline shook her head in wonder. "Well, it sounds like you don't have much time to be bored."
"That's true," Cal allowed, "but it does cut into what ought to be my social life. I kind of have to sit here and hope that nice ladies come to me. And now and then, one does."
Jackie burst into giggles. "Well, I've heard some pickup lines in my time but that may be the most creative, yet. I think I'll just stick around for another pint or so, since you're being so entertaining. I suppose that since you allow dogs in here there's nothing to eat?"
Cal reached behind the counter and pulled up a folder with a selection of business cards in it.
"Nope," he answered, "but all these neighboring businesses deliver so you just choose one and let them bring it here to you." He leaned close to whisper, "Personally, I'd go for Otto's Wursthaus. His Thüringer bratwurst is the best I've ever had and I ate a lot of it in Germany. And don't forget to have him bring in his onion/garlic sauerkraut to put over it. Good eats? Man!"
*****
Even with industrial strength mufflers, the big compressors driving the earth tampers at the Heityme Center were noisy. Jacqueline stood well away from them as she looked over the plans for the big stables Laurie and Michelle had decided to share.
"This is an interesting technique," Anderson Standing Elk, the general contractor, commented, "Pouring concrete or blowing gunite or shotcrete we understand but hammering a cement/soil into a form is a new one on us."
Jacqueline nodded. "Rammed earth is actually a very old way of building. The Chinese began using it over seven thousand years ago and it's been used all over the world. Traditionally it's been held in low esteem by designers and builders who don't understand just how to do it. There's been this feeling that it isn't earthquake safe and that the walls erode in the rain. But sufficient rebar in the wall and enough Portland cement in the mix solves both those problems. It's also really inexpensive. You just use the soil off the building site and mix in some quarry fines and some cement and start thumping. Your crew caught on really quick, Andy. I can see why Jay recommended you."
"That part about low cost caught the attention of the elders. Housing at the Reservation has always been substandard, mostly because there has never been enough money to improve it. How much would it cost to have you design a number of homes that could be put up quickly and under budget?"
"Andy," Jacqueline replied sadly, "my family has so much money it would immoral for me to charge you anything. I only charge big bucks to those who have them. For the tribe? Pro bono, Andy. How many plans do you want and how big should these homes be?"
Anderson looked startled. "Your family is rich? Then why are you working?"
"My family's wealth borders on the obscene, man. I'm an architect because if I wasn't doing something useful I'd be a worthless society butterfly. Most of the rest are obsessed with horses. I like horses, too, but like my cousin Justin, I want to give back to the world for how much I've gotten. Tell me, would the elders be interested in a casino? I understand they're all the rage among the First Nations."
Anderson sighed. "The elders would love a casino. Unfortunately, there's the problem of access. We don't have a big interstate running by the Res so attracting anyone to the casino would be a problem."
"And the tribe can't afford a piece of property in Horner Springs? Hmmm, you know I think there may be a way around that. Let me call my grandmother and get back to you."
*****
Hester Heityme-Bacon read the email from Jacqueline and scowled. After drumming her fingers on the desk for a while, she opened the Google Earth application and zeroed in on the Horner Springs Indian Reservation. What she saw deepened that scowl into the black frown that three generations of her descendants and their relations had come to dread. If Grandmother ain't happy, ain't
nobody
gonna be happy, ran the saying in the family and right now Grandmother was decidedly
not
happy.
Rising from her desk, she strode out into the main living areas in the 'cottage' that had been summer home to the Heitymes since the 1870's. Approaching her youngest son, she held out the laptop with its image of squalor.
"Theodore," she growled, "the family needs to talk. Get your siblings and cousins on conference call at once. We have a
duty
!"
*****
Laurie came home from the store to find Justin and Michi sitting in the front room looking pale and shocked, cell phones silent on their laps.
