Some time later, the sun was high in the sky and Callie was wishing she had stormed first in the direction of her room to pick up her knapsack with all her things.
Now that her trip had proven to be a complete waste, he might as well have started heading for Butte and the train back west. Instead, she was marching along a dusty track without destination or reason, or indeed water.
She stopped to wipe the sweat from her forehead with a grubby hand. She was glad to be wearing the light navy dress, even if it was feeling a little sorry for itself on a second day’s wear. Despite its general reception in Montana, the idea of hiking in this heat in a long calico skirt didn’t bear thinking about.
What on earth was she going to do? She had her ticket back to California, but then what? Start thinking up some new picture ideas and a new set of schemes for sneaking onto studio lots? Try her luck in New York? Universal and Famous Players still had story departments there, though Lillian had warned it was next to impossible to get a decent job in Manhattan unless your father went to college with somebody else's father.
Perhaps it was time to give it all up and learn how to type. Hildy worked briefly as a secretary to a doctor in Pasadena who specialised in the newest natural cures, such as herbs and walking briskly. She would put a word in for Callie. Callie could settle down with a modest salary, even more modest hopes and live a quiet life entirely lacking in creativity. Perhaps she had been wrong to ever dream of more.
Of course Everett wanted to write the picture himself. Of course she had travelled all the way here, succeeded in tracking the mysterious author down, only to fail to obtain the right to make the picture. Everett would get to Hollywood, somehow or other. One of the studios would take him on to write the script, then a beleaguered a participating writer would be despatched to fix it into something workable for the screen on the hop. It would probably be Callie, she thought with a sudden laugh.
She had another option, she thought with a hot flash of guilt as she remembered Fred's words the morning she left. She wouldn't have to worry about how far her own funds would stretch if she accepted him. Fred was a good man. She believed he meant it when he promised he wouldn't stop her from writing altogether.
But he could. He could change his mind one day, decide that he wanted his wife to tend his home first and foremost, and there would be nothing she could do about it. She wouldn't have any further say.
Even in this modern age, a woman might have a great deal more independence than previous generations, but when all was said and done a wife was every bit as dependent on her husband as her mother was, and her mother before that. Sooner or later she would become dependent on Fred. She would be forced to ask him for a few dollars for food or a dress or a tram into the city to meet Hildy for lunch.
She couldn't do it. She wouldn’t. Callie had lived almost her entire childhood dependent on charity from others, and she would starve before she relied on another person to feed her.
It took her a few moments to realise that she was staring directly at the very rock that had drawn her on a fool’s errand to Chastity, Montana.
It was smaller than she expected, barely ten or twelve feet tall, but distinctive all the same. It did look like a butler proffering a tray, she thought sourly. Well wasn’t that just the cat’s pyjamas? Damn Butler Ranch and the man who had dreamed it up, she thought. She wished she'd never read the blasted story. With a surge of fury, Callie dashed forward and kicked the damn thing.
'Oww —'
‘Oh — oh please don’t!’
Callie whirled around to find a young woman running towards her. She wore a gingham prairie dress and long starched apron, her hair in a Victorian twist.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It’s just —‘ the young woman drew near and Callie watched as she took in Callie’s short hair and dress. Shock flashed in her eyes, but she said nothing. ‘You’ll think me ridiculous.’
‘You just caught me kicking a rock, I don’t think I have the right to call another ridiculous.’
The young woman laughed. ‘Perhaps we’re both ridiculous. It’s just that this rock — I’ve lived in the farmhouse just through the trees my entire life, and I’m —‘ she chuckled again. ‘I’m very fond of this rock.’
‘Then my apologies,’ Callie smiled. ‘I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on your precious rock.’
‘You’re laughing at me.’
‘Not at all. It’s just that this rock is rather important to me too, and it’s let me down.’ Callie sighed.
The woman blinked at her in surprise. ‘How can that be when I don’t know you? I know everybody for at least ten miles all around, and we don’t get many visitors. In fact, you’re the first stranger I’ve ever met in my life.’
‘Well I’m glad to meet you,’ Callie said. ‘And I am sorry for kicking your rock.' Callie suddenly wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. 'I read about the rock in a story and I came here to — well, it doesn’t matter. Perhaps I just came here to meet the rock.’
‘You read about it in a story? What story?’ asked the woman sharply.
‘It’s quite a wonderful story,’ Callie said with a sad smile. However disappointed she was, however much she disliked its writer, she couldn’t deny that. ‘About a city slicker who comes home to Montana to —‘
‘Take over his cousin’s ranch?’ The woman’s voice was icy. She stared at Callie with an expression of horror. ‘How dare you? What right did you have to read it? Where did you find it?’
‘Find what? What are you talking about?’
‘Did you break into my house? Well I’ll tell you right now, you’re lucky my husband didn’t shoot you on the spot. Everett!’ she hollered, and her voice echoed in the empty prairie. ‘He’ll shoot you!’
‘I’m not so sure he will,’ said Callie slowly. She shook her head as the truth dawned on her. ‘You’re Everett’s wife? And you — you wrote Montana Dreams?'
'I never gave it a title.'
'Of course he thought up that title.' Callie shook her head with a dry chuckle. 'It’s the weakest part. You didn’t give him permission to submit it for publication, I take it?’
‘Of course not. He would never do such a —‘ The woman cut herself off with a frustrated sigh. Clearly, she knew her husband better than she liked to admit. ‘How could he?’
Callie reached out and squeezed the woman’s hand with a sympathetic smile. ‘Perhaps we could start again?’ she suggested. ‘I’m Callie O'Keefe.’
'Prudence Williams.'