4: 4
Before I could get a word out.
Wilfred strode over and snatched the phone straight out of my hand.
When he saw the name I'd saved my father under, he let out a contemptuous little laugh and hit speaker.
"Everybody listen up. Let's hear what tune her broke daddy's got for us."
He leaned in close to the phone, pitching his voice loud.
"Uncle, your daughter doesn't know her place, won't take correction. We're just teaching her how to be a good wife."
"So don't you worry your head about it. Come New Year's, I'll let her give you a call."
"I, Wilfred Swanson, will have her broken in nice and obedient."
The line went silent all at once.
I knew that silence. It was what my father did right before he lost his temper.
Wilfred thought he'd scared him into it, and his grin only turned smugger.
"Uncle, don't say I didn't warn you. Brooklyn's whole rotten streak has a lot to do with how she was raised."
"But it's fine. Give me a few days and I'll have it fixed. No need to thank me."
My father's voice came through the phone again.
The urgency was gone. In its place was a cold that crawled up the back of your neck for no reason you could name.
"Boy. Lay one more hand on her and see what happens. My car's already at the edge of your village."
Wilfred blinked, then burst out laughing.
"Ha! Uncle, you really know how to put on a show. What'd you ride in on? A three-wheeler? A little electric scooter?"
The yard erupted in laughter.
"Bet he came on a tractor."
"Broke as a joke and still trying to talk tough. I'm dying here."
His father chimed in from the side, all snide.
"A family that poor, so broke they were too embarrassed to even ask for a bride price. What kind of car could they possibly have?"
Wilfred killed the smile and gave a cold snort.
"A little nothing household like yours, and you think landing a rising talent like me isn't already reaching way above your station?"
"Uncle, don't say I didn't warn you. This is Swanson Hollow. My turf."
"Your daughter sets the rules straight today, or she doesn't walk out that gate."
He turned a slow circle with the phone in hand, winking at the crowd of gawking relatives.
They caught his meaning and jumped right in.
A shrill-voiced aunt crowded up to the phone.
"In-law, don't blame us for being blunt. Your girl's got no sense at all. She needs a good hand on her."
A man's grating, cracked voice came right after.
"Tell that old man, if she doesn't behave, we'll strip your daughter bare and string her up in the tree today for everyone to see."
The others whooped it up.
"Now that's a good plan. Let us all get an eyeful, see what this city woman's really made of."
Wilfred nodded, satisfied, and brought the phone back to his mouth.
"Hear that, Uncle? These rules get set today whether she likes it or not!"
"You could show up in person and it still wouldn't matter. What's a laid-off factory worker going to do? Call the cops?"
"Let me tell you, the nearest station's twelve miles from here. By the time they roll in, I'll have finished setting her straight long ago."
He shrugged at the relatives around him.
"That paycheck of yours couldn't even cover a lawyer, could it? If I were you, I'd wise up and just—"
Halfway through, his voice cut off dead.
Because the ground under his feet had started to shake.
At first it was just a faint tremor, like heavy trucks passing somewhere far off.
But the shaking grew, heavier and faster.
The cured bacon strung up in the yard swung back and forth, and a washbasin in the corner clattered to the ground.
Everyone stopped laughing and talking, staring blankly toward the outside.
The roar of dozens of engines gunning their throttles at once rolled in from the edge of the village.
The phone in Wilfred's hand was still on speaker.
And the engine roar coming through that phone matched the roar beyond the yard wall exactly.
The hand gripping the phone began to tremble.
A wall of yellow dust surged in over the yard wall.
Through the gap in the gate, I saw a motorcade with no end in sight.
Dozens of heavy trucks led the way, and behind them, a black Rolls-Royce.
The convoy crushed over the village's rutted dirt road and braked to a stop right outside the Swanson yard.
Then countless security men in black suits poured out of the vehicles.
A dark mass of them filled the whole road outside the gate.
In the middle of the crowd, the rear door of the Rolls-Royce was pushed open from the inside.
A broad-shouldered middle-aged man climbed out, swept a cold glance over the yard, and spoke slowly.
"I hear setting rules is all the rage around here. How about... we hear the Henson family's rules too?"
