by R. C. Ryan
“And now turn to page four thirty-four, and we’ll all sing ‘Shall We Gather at the River,’ which is the second song on Granny’s list,” the lady at the front of the church said, “and let’s raise our voices so that if there’s truly holes in the floor of heaven, Granny can hear us singing this morning.”
If folks had been standing outside the building that morning, they might have seen the roof raising a little. Shiloh wondered when it came her time to gather where the angels’ feet had trodden, like the song said, what her story would be. Would her obituary read like Granny’s and say that she’d never married, that she’d only left behind a weird dog and cat? She thought about Blister and Callie and was reminded of that passage about the lion lying down with the lamb.
Or would the preacher say that she left behind several children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren? As she sang, she pictured four or five little Waylons running around the yard with lassos trying to rope a calf.
“And now for Granny’s last request,” the lady said. “Let’s turn to page two thirty-one and sing, ‘O Love That Will Not Let Me Go,’ and she said that we’re supposed to pay attention to the words, because she is giving back the life that she owes.”
Shiloh thought about those lyrics, all right, but not for spiritual reasons. Her thoughts went to Ezra. He’d given her life, and then thrown her away. She didn’t owe him a damned thing, and yet here she was, fighting tooth, nail, hair, and eyeball for his ranch. She loved living in the canyon. She’d learned to love her sisters, but it would serve Ezra right if she and Bonnie both left the ranch before the year was up. It would go to Rusty then and maybe he’d change the name to something other than Malloy Ranch. Then all vestiges of Ezra would truly be gone, and the canyon—not to mention the whole world—would be a better place.
Not as long as you, Bonnie, and Abby Joy are alive. The pesky voice in her head decided to pop up just as the song ended.
Yes, but his ranch would probably have a new name, Shiloh argued. The three of us will have his DNA, and so will any children that we bear, but his precious ranch, the only thing that really mattered to him, would be forgotten. That seems like poetic justice to me.
She was still struggling with those thoughts when they filed outside and headed toward the tiny cemetery just behind the church. When they arrived at the grave site, Waylon leaned one of his crutches against a tree and held on to Shiloh’s hand. Several people, including Bonnie, gave her either strange smiles or go-to-hell looks when they noticed.
Granny’s great-nephew and a few other relatives sat in the chairs facing the casket. A floral arrangement sat on a wire tripod at the end of the casket with a ribbon that said AUNT MARY on it. That alone seemed strange, since no one in the canyon had called her anything but Granny Denison—adults and children alike.
The preacher stood at one end of the casket and opened an envelope. “This is a letter from Granny, and when she made the arrangements for her funeral, this was to be read at the cemetery. Afterward, we’re all to go to the fellowship hall for a potluck lunch. I was told not to break the seal on this until right now, so that’s what I’m doing. Now I’ll read it:
“‘My dear friends who have gathered around to see me ushered out of this world and into the next. If you are hearing the preacher read this then I’m dead, and this is the end of the services. I have one bit of advice for you all. Live your life the way you want to live it, not the way someone else wants you to. Now, the preacher is going to play my last song, and then all y’all are going to go to the fellowship hall for a potluck dinner. My famous sweet potato casserole won’t be there. One of you younger girls will be responsible for bringing it to the next funeral. It’s just not a real church social without it. Goodbye, and I’ve loved living among y’all.’
“It’s signed ‘Granny Denison.’” The preacher folded the letter and nodded toward the funeral director. He pressed a button on a machine and Jamey Johnson’s deep voice sang “Lead Me Home.”
When the song ended, there wasn’t a dry eye in the whole place. Even her relatives whom no one in the canyon even knew. Waylon pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Shiloh. She dried her eyes, but before she could hand it back, Bonnie reached for it.
The crowd began to head toward the church, the sound of their whispers like bees buzzing overhead. Shiloh wondered if they were remembering good times they’d had with Granny or if they were talking about the weather or food. Bonnie gave her back the hankie, and Shiloh tucked it inside Waylon’s jacket pocket. He dropped her hand and resituated the crutches under his arms. Bonnie raised an eyebrow, and then whispered, “Looks like I might be winning the bet.”
“Don’t spend the money before you get it,” Shiloh said out of the corner of her mouth. “I’ll be home at bedtime if the doctor releases Waylon to drive.”
“Did I hear my name?” Waylon asked.
“I was telling Bonnie that we have a two o’clock appointment in Amarillo so we’ll have to leave right after we eat,” Shiloh replied.
“And run back by the house on the way to let Blister outside for a little bit. Can’t expect an old dog like him to stay in all day and not have an accident,” Waylon told her.
Shiloh heard someone sobbing behind her and expected to see some of Granny Denison’s relatives hanging back to pay last respects. She was surprised to see that it was Sally Mae, another elderly lady from the church, who usually sat on the same pew beside Granny—third one from the front, first two seats near the center aisle.
“Give me a minute,” Shiloh said softly as she turned around and went back to the grave site. She sat down beside Sally Mae and draped an arm around her shoulders. They sat like that for several minutes before the silver-haired woman spoke.
“She’s been my best friend since before either of us can remember. Without her, I’d never have lived through raisin’ my three boys, grievin’ when my husband passed away, or the hard times that came with just livin’. She’s more like kin than my own sister. It’s like losin’ part of my heart.” The elderly woman turned and sobbed into Shiloh’s shoulder.
Shiloh hugged Sally Mae and patted her back. “Shhh…” She tried to soothe her. “Just remember the good times, and let that bring you peace.” She looked over the top of Sally Mae’s head to see Bonnie and Abby Joy walking toward the church, and a tear formed in the corner of her eye, then found its way down her cheek. Lord, she’d be a worse mess than Sally Mae if one of those two died suddenly. Then she glanced over to see Waylon waiting beside a tree, and another tear started down her cheek.
He could have died in that wreck if she and Bonnie hadn’t been at the cemetery. The thought sent cold chills racing down her backbone.
Sally Mae finally took a step back, pulled a wad of tissues from her sweater pocket, and dried her eyes. “She would rather I rejoiced that she’s in heaven, than weeping like this. It’s selfish of me, but I can’t help it.”
“I understand.” Shiloh wiped her own tears with the back of her hand.
“Ezra was an idiot for sending you girls away,” Sally Mae said. “I told him so, but I didn’t realize just how right I was until y’all came back to run the ranch. Now, I’m going to the dinner, and I’m going to try real hard not to cry anymore. Waylon is waiting for you. Y’all make a sweet little couple.” She stiffened her backbone and walked away. “Just don’t waste a bunch of time on things. Life, as we see today, is short.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Shiloh managed a weak smile.
* * *
“We’ll see you in the fellowship hall,” Rusty told Waylon as he and Bonnie walked past him.
Waylon nodded and sat down on a bench in front of a tombstone with Wesley and Sarah Banks’s names on it. Pink, red, and yellow tulips bloomed in front of the gray granite stone. Wesley and Sarah had both died in 1922, almost a hundred years ago, but someone had seen fit to plant flowers for them. Waylon wondered where he’d be buried and whose name would be on the stone with his. A broad sm
ile covered his face when he realized that the names Wesley and Sarah were an awful lot like Waylon and Shiloh. Could that be one of those omens that his sister Emmylou talked about all the time?
His phone rang, and he worked it up out of his hip pocket. “Hello, Mama, I was just thinking about Emmylou and her omens,” he said.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the car wreck?” she asked, bluntly.
“I didn’t want you to worry. How’d you find out?”
“Cash called Jackson Bailey to congratulate him on his new baby girls, and Jackson told him all about it, and that you’ve got a woman living with you. Emmylou wants to know when the wedding is.” His mother, Amanda’s, voice went from serious to teasing.
“You tell Emmylou that she’s older than me, and I wouldn’t ever want to get ahead of her or any of my sisters, when it comes to matrimony,” he answered.
“Hey, ain’t a one of you can fuss too much about that. Patsy was only seven when I had Cash, and he was the sixth one. So tell me about this woman who’s moved in with you,” Amanda said.
Waylon rolled his eyes toward the dead branches of a nearby pecan tree. “She’s my neighbor. Remember me talking about Ezra Malloy? She’s the middle daughter, Shiloh, that I told you about.” He went on to give his mother more details about the wreck, but he didn’t tell her that he and Shiloh had been sleeping together all week. Amanda Stephens would never believe that they’d shared a bed without having sex.
“She’s a good woman and a good neighbor to take care of you and your ranch like that, but I’m still pissed at you for not calling. Either of your brothers or any one of your sisters would have been glad to come help with things,” Amanda told him. “Or for that matter, your dad and I could’ve left the bunch of them to take care of things here, and we would’ve come over there.”
“No need, Mama,” Waylon said. “I go to the doctor this afternoon. I’m sure he’ll release me. Shiloh will go home, and I’ll be back in my old routine.”
“She might not be the one, but I’m gettin’ tired of waiting on grandchildren.” Amanda sighed. “You could start a rush to the altar for me.”
“Talk to my sisters,” he chuckled. “Tell them that you hear their biological clocks tickin’ so loud that you can’t sleep at night.”
“They don’t listen any better than you do,” Amanda said. “Call me tonight with news about what the doctor says.”
“Yes, ma’am, and I’ll tell you all about Blister and Callie when I do,” he said.
“Are you sure that wreck didn’t rattle your brain? Who in the hell are Blister and Callie?” she asked.
“Blister is my new dog. Callie is my new cat. I’ll send pictures of them, and then we’ll talk,” he told her as he ended the call and returned his focus to Shiloh.
Sally Mae stood up and, with the help of a cane, made her way across the grass toward the church. She didn’t even glance toward Waylon when she passed him, but just kept her eyes on the ground. A minute or two after that, Shiloh stood up and made her way toward Waylon. She’d worn a little black dress that morning that skimmed her knees, a pair of black cowboy boots, and a black coat that was belted at the waist. Her dark hair flowed down over her shoulders in big curls, and even from a distance he could see the sadness in her blue eyes.
“Poor Sally Mae.” She sat down beside him. “I can’t even imagine how lost she’s going to be without Granny Denison. I’ve only known Bonnie and Abby Joy a few months, and I’d be devastated if I lost either of them. She and Granny weren’t related by blood, but they’d been best friends most of their lives.”
“I figured you’d help her get back to the church.” Waylon liked the way her body molded to his on the narrow concrete bench.
“I offered, but she didn’t want me to.” Shiloh leaned her head on his shoulder. “She said that she needed to go alone for closure. If that was Bonnie or Abby Joy, or even worse, my mama, I’d want someone beside me all the time.”
“Each person grieves differently.” Waylon remembered going into the woods behind the old farmhouse where he’d been raised after his granddad died. He’d screamed and shook his fist at the sky, but then he had been just a kid, and his grandfather was the first loved person he’d lost.
“I suppose they do.” Shiloh nodded.
“Shall we go have some potluck dinner?” he asked.
“Yes.” She got to her feet. “It almost seems wrong to be eating and visiting, doesn’t it?”
“There’s comfort in food and friends at times like this.” He got his crutches tucked under his arms and walked beside her.
When they entered the room, Rusty and Bonnie were just inside the door with Loretta and Jackson Bailey on their right, and Abby Joy and Cooper on their left.
Abby Joy and Bonnie each had one of Loretta and Jackson’s twin daughters in their arms. Both of the sisters took a few steps toward Shiloh. She held out her arms and Bonnie shared, but Abby Joy seemed to hold her bundle a little tighter. Waylon wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she and Cooper didn’t announce that they were having a baby before the year was out.
“Look at her, Waylon. She’s only a week old and she’s so alert.” Shiloh held out the dark-haired baby girl for him to see.
“I thought the twins might have red hair,” he said.
“This one does.” Abby Joy took a step forward. “Martina looks like Jackson, and Jennifer is the image of Loretta.”
“I like their names,” Shiloh said.
“Had to keep it country.” Loretta smiled.
If he and Shiloh ever had kids, Waylon wondered, would she want to keep the tradition of naming children after country music singers? His granddad had loved Patsy Cline, so his folks let him name their first daughter Patsy Ann. They’d planned on calling her Annie, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Then the next one had come along, and another one, and they had just kept naming them all after singers, much like Loretta’s family had done.
Whoa, cowboy! Jerk those reins up real tight! the voice in his head yelled at him. You haven’t even proposed and you’re already naming babies?
He turned his attention to Shiloh, who was handing the baby over to Jackson. She’d been so good to go back and comfort Sally Mae, and now she was planting a sweet kiss on little Martina’s forehead. He remembered an old adage his granddad used to say.
“Your daddy knew that Amanda would be a good woman to ride the river with,” Granddad said. “Your grandma never thought she was good enough for her precious son, but he was her only child, so probably no one would ever be good enough for him in her eyes.”
“Ride the river?” Waylon had asked.
“The river is the journey of your life. You find a good woman to ride the river with, and the journey will be right nice. Just be real sure that you’re listenin’ to your heart and not your head when you make your choice. Sometimes you might get them confused,” Granddad had said.
Shiloh laid a hand on his arm and jerked him out of the past and back to the present. “Ready to get in line for food.”
“I sure am,” he said. “You looked pretty good holding that baby.”
“I love babies and kids. I just hope I don’t have to pay for my raisin’ when my kids get to be teenagers,” she told him.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he agreed.
“Excuse me.” A man wearing creased jeans and a western shirt stepped through the crowd. “I’m Dillon McRay, Miz Denison’s lawyer. I’d like to meet with you for just a few minutes in the sanctuary. I promise it will only take a few minutes, and then y’all can come on back in here and have some dinner. The line will probably be pretty well done by then.”
“Y’all as in…?” Waylon asked.
“You and Shiloh Malloy,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Waylon said, “but may I ask what is the nature of this?”
“I understand that one or both of you have adopted Miz Denison’s dog and cats. Is that right?” Dillon asked.
Waylon nodded. “That’s right
. We’ve got Blister and Callie and the kittens. It didn’t take us long to get attached to them.”
“Then I need to see y’all. Her nephew and his family are already in the sanctuary, so if you’ll follow me.” He led the way across the fellowship hall, through a door that led straight into the sanctuary and up to the front pew.
Waylon laid his crutches out on the pew and sat down beside Shiloh.
Dillon chose to sit on the altar, where his black leather briefcase waited. He opened it and removed several papers. “This is very short and won’t take long. I won’t take time to read Miz Denison’s will, but I have a copy for Waylon and one for Carl. This is what it says. Carl, you and your family inherit the house and everything in it, but you cannot sell it. If you don’t want to possess it and the ten acres that goes with it, then you can take whatever you want from it, but again, you can’t sell it, and when you are dead whoever inherits it can’t sell it either. I’m supposed to ask you what you plan to do with the dog and cats at this point.”
“I figured she’d do something like this,” Carl, a tall, lanky man with thick glasses, said. “She was a cantankerous old girl and never forgave any of her brothers for moving away from the canyon. I don’t want the house or anything in it if I can’t sell it.”
His wife held up a hand. “And we damn sure don’t want those animals, so I guess we drove all the way up here from Sweetwater for nothing.”
“I guess maybe you did,” Dillon said. “Since you’ve stated your desires”—he held up a minirecorder—“and I have it right here, then you are free to go.”
“Let’s just go back to her house, get our things, and leave,” Carl’s wife said. “I never have liked potluck dinners. We can stop at that little café in Silverton. They made a pretty good chicken fried steak last time we ate there.”