by Jerri George
Candace ended their discussion and went to the bunkhouse where the ranch hands and stable mates once lived. With staff recently curtailed, she expected it to be empty. The bunkhouse featured clapboard siding fashioned with high windows and makeshift shutters. Although the surroundings were simple, the beds had down comforters and each unit was equipped with a large screen TV. Personal touches were added by the workers, and over the years each dorm room had become homey. Maybe the dogs had spent the night there.
Fragile sunlight streamed over the terrain and between the other buildings. Candace called and whistled repeatedly, disturbing the horses in the stables. She heard them whinny and snort as she passed by. It was dry, and sand flew freely. A couple of the men who still worked the ranch during the day began arriving. One rushed over and grabbed her arms with both hands.
“Miss Candace, I just heard Mr. Dan was rushed to the hospital. What happened?” Riley towered over her as he’d done since she was a girl. He was in his 40’s now but looked quite a bit older. His wide brimmed Stetson overshadowed her like an umbrella and covered a full head of chestnut hair that curled out from the inner edge, softening his creased and weathered face. She searched his anxious eyes, trying to find words to tell him the boss he revered had been struck down.
After filling him in on the details and answering his questions, she put him on the hunt for Merlin and Lancelot. “I know we’re shorthanded, Riley, but please ask the men to comb over every inch of the place. I haven’t slept, and I don’t expect I will, but I really need to get back to the house and try to get Jesse to rest.”
“Jesse’s okay then?”
“She’s fine. She was with her son in El Paso. Uncle was here alone.”
“Damn it, Candace!” he grabbed his hat off his head and struck his thigh with the rim. Surprise and frustration obviously getting the better of him, he shook his head. “I tried to tell him it wasn’t safe to be here without at least one of us.”
“I know Riley, I know. Me too. It won’t happen again. He’ll have someone here from now on after he comes home.” She looked down at the toes of Riley’s well-worn boots so he couldn’t see the pain in her face as she wondered if he would even be able to come home.
“Well, you get yourself some rest, Miss, and tell Jesse not to worry ‘bout lunch. We’ll be fine with snacks from the fridge. I’ll get the guys going,” he said.
“Thanks.” She walked back toward the house feeling completely spent. A shower would feel great right now.
Candace could hear Jesse in the den exercising her crisis defense mechanism. Jesse dealt with adversity by creating clean and orderly surroundings. Right now, she’d leave her alone as there was no use trying to stop her. Candace made her way down the tiled hallway. Large pictures of Native Americans and buffalo on the plains accented by pinpoint gallery lights hung on each side. The door to the room she’d had as a child stood open. Crisp white curtains blew in the gentle morning breeze. An eyelet comforter covered the bed accented by pillows in rich garden colors. Antique furnishings were sparse: a dresser, blanket, chest, and a single bowl-and-pitcher washstand stood in the corner. Relieved to be surrounded by good memories, she shed her clothes and stepped into a nice hot shower in the adjoining bath.
The unforgettable smell of freshly washed linens and sweet pine filled the room when the steam permeated the logs. The waterfall showerhead spilled a steady sheet of water through her hair. The warmth cradled her shoulders like a grandmother’s shawl. She felt a sudden release of emotion and sobbed into her hands and let it all go—the phone call, the seemingly endless drive, the darkness, Uncle’s nearly lifeless body, the blood, the sirens, the silence, the hospital, the fear, Lancelot and Merlin.
She had only cried like this one other time.
News of her parent’s death had roared through the neighboring towns of North Miami and Little River like the freight trains that rumbled along the southern Florida railway tracks. The loss thread its way through Cynthia and Brad’s friends, business associates, and employees as deliberately as the hundreds of sewing machine needles thrashed daily through material at their manufacturing company. All of the equipment was still as it would unfortunately remain. The rumors rustled through Candace’s school too, on sheets of lined and folded notebook paper, passed and then discarded. Candace actually saw one of the notes, written by a classmate speculating about how she must feel. Feel? Were they kidding? She felt nothing.
Over the course of the next few days, she’d learn about traditional funeral pomp and ceremony. It was preceded by food deliveries of all kinds and baskets of fruits and flowers. These feeble attempts to convey condolences fell short of their goal. Instead, their home reeked like a combination delicatessen, Italian restaurant, and flower shop.
Uncle Dan had taken care of all the arrangements and whisked her parents from Denver by private jet as soon as the authorities released the bodies. Matching ivory caskets with brass handles were offloaded by a food service lift and spirited away under the cover of darkness. There would be time for goodbyes later in the week she was told, but that night she could only observe at a proper distance; wrapped snugly in her mother’s old bathrobe, holding a ratty overstuffed version of Winnie the Pooh, she had let the tears flow.
“Candace. Miss Candace. You come right away? The men, they’ve found the dogs.” Jesse was banging on the bathroom door shouting. “Is bad, is bad.”
“What? My god, I’ll be right there.” She twisted the valve, shoved the curtain back and grabbed a towel in one brisk move. It was plush, soft, and welcome, but the feeling was temporary. Wrapping herself in a handy Indian-blanket robe, she ran after Jesse barefoot on the earth like she did as a child.
Merlin and Lancelot were in the arms of Riley and one of the younger, newer hands. They were being carried like one ushers a bride over the threshold, but a bride that had one too many drinks–heads bobbing and legs dangling. The men were hurrying toward one of the pickup trucks.
“Are they dead?” Candace almost screamed the words.
“No Miss, they’re unconscious though. We’ve called the vet but we’re meeting him. No telling what’s wrong with them. Could be a snake or some kind of poison, maybe. We thought it best not to wait.”
“Right, definitely.” She reached them just in time to run her hand gently over Lance’s large sleek head. Foam was spewing from his mouth. His stiff spindly legs intertwined with Merlin’s as they lay in the charcoal-gray vinyl-lined bed.
“You have to be okay, boys. You just have to be.” Wiping an escaping tear from her cheek, she backed away and stood with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
“Want to come?” Riley looked at her standing barefoot in the robe. She followed his gaze.
“No, you go. I’ll be right here, waiting for your call.” The truck kicked up a swirl of dirt - as the ambulance had just hours ago.
This was no accident.
Chapter 8
Lancelot was returned to the Double K around noon, alone. He was revived and his stomach had been pumped but Merlin, still unconscious, was kept at the animal hospital for more treatment. The initial diagnosis was poisoning.
The vet called Candace as soon as the results of his examination were clear and questioned her as to Dan's possible use of any drugs or the chances of the ranch hands making anything available to the animals either by accident or on purpose. He informed her that he would need to report the evidence of the ingested drugs to animal control for the authorities to further investigate. She told him what had happened the night before and of her suspicions that an intruder meant her uncle harm, it seemed logical to her that someone drugged or sedated his dogs in the process. The vet cautioned her not to jump to conclusions as this could be an unfortunate coincidence.
Lance napped in bed beside Candace, who finally rested. Even Jesse went to sleep after a phone call to the hospital confirmed her boss was stable, resting peacefully with no change in his condition. She and Candace were cleared to visit him that
evening. Jesse retreated to her studio apartment off the kitchen, and Candace sprawled across her bed wondering how everything could feel so normal yet be so distorted. Sleep, although limited, came rather quickly.
The piercing ring of the house phone woke Candace at dusk with the veterinarian telling her Merlin had passed away from cardiac arrest. Was it true or a dream she was having? As he droned on in a subdued tone with details of the pet’s demise and arrangements for his return to the ranch, Candace was forced to accept the nightmare was real. She hugged Lancelot tightly by the neck and cried into his short, sleek fur.
The pair had been inseparable, and Uncle Dan spent as much time as possible exercising and training them. How was she going to tell him? Whoever did this was just sick. Candace forced herself to her feet, pulled on a pair of jeans, cowboy boots and a white button-up shirt. Brushing her hair into its simple bob, a touch of foundation and a smudge of peach lipstick was fuss enough for tonight. As she stepped back for a final look, something in her reflection caught her eye. It was her necklace. The single gold-plated aspen leaf, found in her father’s coat pocket when his body was recovered, along with a gold pendant of two interlinked initial K’s. A gift from Uncle Dan the first Christmas they spent at the ranch without her parents. That was the year they changed the name of the ranch to the Double K.
She liked what she saw and gave herself a quick nod. Life’s circumstances may not have been of her choosing but they gave her a reason to adapt and evolve to the point she was as comfortable in these surroundings as she was in Miami Beach or Manhattan, and that’s all because of Uncle Dan. No matter what, she would find out what happened, and he would come home! The image she left behind in the mirror tonight was one of a woman who had grown, developed and matured whether she was ready or not. A twinge of doubt tightened her stomach muscles.
She threw a change of clothes and some toiletries into an overnight bag so that she could stay at the hospital. Jesse would be going home after visiting hours, but Candace had been away from him long enough. Maybe her being there will make a difference. The sound of her voice, the touch of her hand might just cause him to wake, she told herself.
Before leaving the ranch that evening, Jesse insisted they both grab a tuna sandwich, which evolved quickly into a tuna melt and fresh fruit salad, since Candace had not eaten. Each taking their turn hugging Lance’s neck, they double-checked the windows and doors to be safe, a feeling so foreign in this place of tranquility. Riley had offered to stay in the bunkhouse for a few nights until Dan and some sense of normalcy returned, or they didn’t need him anymore. Candace could never imagine not needing Riley around and told him so. They had been family for as long as she could remember.
She couldn’t recall ever seeing Jesse cry like she did when they entered the ICU. Jesse stood next to Uncle Dan, his aura devoid of laughter or warmth, and she simply lost it. When she pulled herself together enough to speak, she asked about the tubes and machines and what each of them did.
Candace said softly and steered her from the room, “Oh, Jesse, I never could have seen my parents like this. In a way, I’m glad they died instantly.”
Insisting on buying Jesse a cup of coffee before she headed home, they continued to reminisce. It would be over an hour drive to reach the tiny house where she raised her only son as a single mother. Living just a few doors down from her sister all these years made it possible for Jesse to exist in her double role of mother to Pedro, and the Kane family Wonder Woman with an apron instead of a cape.
Jesse’s sacrifice, splitting her time and heart between them, started early on. First with impromptu family get togethers in Key West and at the ranch. Uncle Dan and Candace even taught Jesse to ski in Breckenridge. Although her son and husband were invited to join them on numerous occasions, her husband’s pride stood in the way of what he called charity. When Candace was vacationing during summers as a young child, Jesse would spend many a rainy afternoon in one of the kitchens, teaching Candace cooking techniques and about the fascinating world of baking. It seemed only fitting that Jesse was the one to accompany Candace back to her empty shell of a house the day of her parent’s funeral. The young orphan hadn’t been there since the day the limo came to whisk her off to the Keys. The day before the awful truth was revealed. The funeral was held nearby, and she had wanted to take something of her parents with her.
Uncle Dan had met them at the door and said, “CJ, I know this will be hard.”
She remembered being grateful that he didn’t call her by her given name Candace Jo or worse yet, Candy. She detested that nickname ever since the kids at school grew old enough to taunt, “Candy Kane, Candy Kane, how’s Santa?”
She had answered his concern. “I’m okay.”
“Well, sure you are. You’re from hardy Kane stock,” he said biting his lower lip, his eyes glossy. For as long as she knew them, both her father and uncle had been stoic, bordering on distant, something her mother blamed on their Bostonian roots.
Once upstairs, Candace had beelined to her own bedroom. Jesse wasn’t far behind. It was different–sparse and empty–though all her belongings and furniture were there. She was told Uncle scheduled movers to pack their personal things and the house would soon be shown by realtors and eventually sold.
“Who will buy it? Where will I go…?” Her words trailed off and with them Candace bolted to her feet. She ran toward the master suite, landing sprawled across her parent's raised four-poster bed which smelled of her mother's L’air de Temps perfume. The entire room was layered with peach silk and ivory lace with touches of forest green in the delicately flowered wallpaper and tapestry chair. It was all so much like her mother–absolutely beautiful but solid and strong like the honey pine furniture. Yep, she was both, as people kept telling her.
Jesse had sat down next to Candace on the silk duvet and gently rubbed her forearm. “I wish, oh my Ka-liiinda, I wish to say something, anything that would make you feel good again.” Although her English stumbled, Candace could tell she meant every word.
Candace’s sobbing ebbed as the words of kindness poured over her. “I have nobody, Jesse.” She looked at her with desperation through falling tears. “Do you think he'd let me live with him?”
“I canno’ imagine him saying no.” She hugged Candace tightly.
But how could Jesse have a clue as to what he thought? Mom and Dad often commented that Uncle was kind of a playboy. He hired Jesse, then ten years and several women, hundreds of dinners and dozens of parties later, he possessed five–no six cars, three houses and a jet. How could she be certain what he would do?
“Let us finish up here and go, yes?” Jesse said reaching for the tissues on the nightstand. “It is in the past, Candacita. You will see that the future will be better, bueno.”
Candace nodded, blowing her nose, then wriggled free to wander around the room preoccupied and still sniffling. She found a ring from her mother’s velvet lined jewelry box–a rather small one, with a single ruby in the center. It had been a gift from Candace for Mother's Day that previous May, bought with babysitting money that took her three months to save.
Before leaving the closet, she stopped at the built-in dresser below the rack of her Dad’s neckties. Pulling a drawer open, she chose her favorite pair of his cufflinks. They were gold with a large initial “K” engraved in each. Handed down to him from the grandfather she had never met, they were given to her dad, not Uncle Dan, because her grandmother thought the youngest would be comforted by a tangible, lifelong memento of his father. Candace had realized how her father must have felt. She slid them into her pocket.
“I love you Jesse,” Candace whispered as the two embraced, neither one wanting to release the other.
“Ser fuerte mi amor, be strong my love,” she said. “This too shall pass.”
Jesse had promised to always be there for her. Candace’s mother had made the same commitment, and even Dawn had solemnly sworn to be by her side on occasions when reassurance was necessary. No one cou
ld ever really keep that promise but Jesse had come damn close.
Now, completely alone, sitting on a doctor’s adjustable metal stool beside her uncle’s hospital bed, Candace was chilled to the bone. This sterile environment wasn't just antiseptic; it was kept at about 68 degrees making a blanket and sweater necessary. The bed was ineffectual at containing his large frame; unable to find enough of an edge to prop herself and be near enough to feel close, she held his hand.
“Uncle, do you remember the months after Mom and Dad died?” Candace spoke with a quiet but hopeful tone, willing Dan to wake up and answer.
“They died in January but by the end of April, you had me seeing a top doc in clinical psychology at the University of Miami. Even though clients hounded you and work piled up, you stayed with me in Florida because the doctor said dealing with delayed grief was serious business.” Candace held his hand tightly afraid to let go for a second. “That's what I'm going to do now, Uncle. It's you and me all the way. Do you hear me? You just have to get better. How did you even know back then that I really wasn't okay, that I was reeling from denial and running away from their death?”
The pump of the respirator gasped in an eerie way as if he'd almost said something, causing Candace to jump nervously. She quieted her voice. “I would curl up in bed, not sleep or eat and could barely have a conversation with anyone.” Her tear fell on his hand. “Do you remember how tough it was for me to accept help? I wanted no part of it, but you insisted. At one point, I remember you threatened to resort to legal action and confine me in an institution.”
There was still no comment from the man who knew everything about her life.
“Remember Uncle? Remember?” She did and always would.