Gordon Ryan - State of Rebellion

“No. I’m sorry to say he’s been a perfect gentleman. I’m Nicole Bentley, and I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Rumsey,” Nicole said, reaching to shake his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Lies, all lies, I can assure you.”

“But it was very good, Mr. Rumsey, really.”

“Like I said, young lady: lies. And call me Jack, if you please. Mr. Rumsey is for old men. So, Daniel, me lad, what brings you to the valley other than the fragrance of love in the air?”

“Don’t skip any opportunity, do you, Jack?”

“Not if I can help it-not at my age, anyway.”

“Well,” Nicole interrupted, “Dan’s been touting the merits of Rumsey Valley during the Almond Festival and the beauty of the blossoms. I thought I’d come up from the Bay Area and take him up on the offer to see it for myself. With a local guide, of course.”

“Better watch him closely, Nicole. Many a young lass has been swept away by the fragrance of the blossoms, said yes to a proposal-decent or otherwise-and found herself married before she realized what hit her, all because these orchards were in full bloom.”

“Grandma included, eh, Granddad?” Dan quipped.

“That, my young grandson, is, as they say, another story for another time.”

“Actually, I was just about to tell Nicole a story of my own, and I’m glad you arrived to participate.”

“Well, don’t just stand there with your tongue in your mouth, lad. Let’s hear it.”

The three of them sat down on the bluff, Nicole seated between the two men.

“To cut to the heart of the matter, which, as I can tell you, Nicole, is not Jack’s style, I’ve decided to resign as county administrator and run for Arnold Fister’s state assembly seat in the Eighth District. Nicole, in case you didn’t know, Supervisor Fister has represented Yolo County in the California legislature for the past fifteen years. He died in late December after a long battle with cancer. They’ve set a special election in April to replace him. Jack, I registered to run a couple of weeks ago.”

Jack smiled and glanced at his grandson, who was watching for his reaction. “It’s about time you tried to make something of yourself,” he said, teasing. “Fister’s death was not unexpected, and we’ll miss him. But if you can fill his shoes, Dan, you’ll be doing all right.”

Dan turned his gaze to Nicole. “How do you feel about politicians?” Dan asked.

Without speaking, she replied by leaning close and applying a quick kiss and a hug.

“‘Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,’ or Sacramento, as the case may be. I think that’s wonderful, Dan. How can I help?”

Jack leaned past Nicole to shake Dan’s hand. “From that silly grin on his face, lass, I’d say you already have. Indeed, you already have.

“Well, I’ll be off, kids,” Jack said, various joints in his body creaking as he stood. “Nice to have met you, Nicole. In spite of my misgivings about your choice of companions, you could be in worse company,” he said.

“You’re right there, Jack,” Dan rejoined. “She could have met you, fifty or sixty years ago.”

“Only Ellen had that privilege, my boy. Enjoy the festival this evening, and I’ll catch up with you later. By the way, Dan,” Jack said, pausing as he turned to leave, “do you have an organization yet?”

“Rick Jordan is helping, but I’ve only got five weeks to campaign. Only one other person, Sally Hemmit, has filed, as a Democrat.”

“Well, count on your old granddad to tell some stories, if necessary.”

“Only if you clean ’em up, Jack. Got to protect my image, you know.”

“Humph,” Jack snorted as he made his way through the bushes again, stopping briefly and turning back. “Have you spoken to Matilda Westegaard?”

“Ms. Westegaard? The high school English teacher? What does she have to do with Yolo County politics?” Dan queried, a quizzical look on his face.

Jack laughed heartily. “In spite of all that high falutin’ education, you’ve still got a lot to learn, young Rawlings. For the past thirty years or so, no one has been elected to city, county, or state office from the Eighth District without tacit approval from our self-appointed county matriarch. Certainly not without at least seeking it. Best you pay the old gal a visit,” Jack said, leaving Dan surprised at the revelation of how large a part someone he had admired-a retired Woodland High School teacher-played in local politics.

After Jack was gone, Dan and Nicole climbed down the bluff and walked along the riverbank, stopping occasionally as Dan revealed memories and scenes from his childhood. Later, while they were returning to the orchard and making their way to the car, Nicole opened the election issue again.

“You know this decision to run will place you at the forefront of the secession issue. You’ll have to publicly declare your position.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s why I’ve decided to do it. My county position has been fulfilling, but the vacillation by the board has caused the entire staff some difficulty. I think this idea has been in the back of my head for some time, but truth be known, the royalty advance from Voices in My Blood has probably given me some options that wouldn’t have been available for a long time, if ever. I’ve been given choices, and it seems I’ve chosen to follow some of my forebears.”

“I admire your decision, Dan, but it’s a tough time to jump in. The usual issues-budget, welfare, unemployment-are going to take a backseat this time. Based upon the recent election, the state is quite in favor of secession. If you oppose it, you might lose.”

“I know, and the damned Shasta Brigade has got people so riled up, it’s hard for them to say where they stand for fear of being harassed. Still, I have other options if this doesn’t work out.”

Dan pulled the Blazer out onto Highway 16 and headed back for the evening’s festivities in Esparto. About ten miles down the road, a black pickup with overhead spotlights passed in the opposite direction, and, to Dan’s surprise, made a quick U-turn that Dan spotted in his rear view mirror. Slowing, Dan continued to watch as the pickup raced to catch up with the Blazer, eventually pulling in front of them and slowing until both vehicles pulled over to the side of the road. Despite the incident several months ago when Dan had been forced to engage in a shoot-out with the attempted kidnapping, he did not reach for his weapon in the glove box, preferring not to display concern with Nicole present.

Roger Dahlgren, Woodland city manager, got out of the passenger side as they came to a stop. The man behind the wheel also got out to stand by his truck, a lump of chewing tobacco filling his cheek. Dan stayed behind the wheel of his Blazer as Roger approached his window. Nicole kept her eyes on the men and her hand on her purse, situated on the console between the bucket seats in the Blazer.

“Nice day for a drive, Dan. Out to see the almond blossoms?”

“Only a tour of the valley. What brings you out this far from town?”

“Oh, just a few of the guys up in the hills for the weekend.” He eyed Nicole, who held his gaze. “Charlie Paulson tells me you and he had a chat a few weeks ago.”

“I see Charlie all the time, Rog. He’s on the board, or had you forgotten?”

Roger smiled and looked back toward his truck. “Nah. I don’t forget too much. You should listen to Charlie, though. His voice on the board carries a lot of weight, and the city council is unanimous in their support for secession. True Californian’s are behind it also, as demonstrated in November. You’d be wise to step up to the plate and publicly declare your support-especially if you intend to enter the political arena.”