by K. N. Casper
“Things went fine for a couple of years,” she continued. “Like I said, old Zeb knew his stuff. Trouble is, the drought hit and they found themselves overextended. The bank refused them any more credit.”
She leaned closer, as if anyone else were around. “Mind you, I don’t know if it’s true, but they say Clint Gallagher blocked them loans.”
“The state senator?”
“Can’t prove it, of course, and wouldn’t dare print a word of it, but that’s what some folks say. Anyway, KC Enterprises went bottom up two years ago. You would’ve expected the place to go on the auction block again, but Miranda convinced the city council to foreclose for taxes and take it over.”
“And that’s the land being given away now,” Kayla concluded.
“Yep. Old Clint wasn’t too happy about it, I can tell you. Probably figured he had a right to pick the spread up for a song and back taxes and add it to his empire.”
“So what happened to Ethan’s father?”
“Lost the Broken Spoke when KC Enterprises went bust. By then his wife and daughter had passed on. His oldest son, Jud, had moved off to greener pastures years before. Zeb and Ethan leased a dinky little place on the edge of town. Ethan worked real hard to make a go of it, buying and selling horses, training them. But it was all too much for Zeb. He started drinking pretty heavy. Last year he committed suicide. Shot himself. Ethan’s the one that found him.”
Losing a loved one was hard enough. Finding him dead had to be even worse. But suicide! Survivors were inevitably plagued by self-doubt, forever wondering what they should have done to prevent it.
“Ethan wanted his daddy to be buried on the ranch with his other kin, but the family no longer had legal claim to the land, so his request was denied. I reckon that’s why he chose that particular parcel to buy. He grew up in that house, you know. A lot of memories on that land, and of course the graveyard where his ma and sister are buried.”
“It’s a sad story,” Kayla said.
Millicent nodded. “I hope laying his daddy to rest there will bring them both some peace.”
* * *
ETHAN’S NIGHT WAS filled with memories, mostly sad. Even the few that were happy were clouded by melancholy foreshadowing.
If only I’d been able to get you to hang on a little while longer, Dad. Ethan lay in the shadowy darkness of his old room. I’ve gotten our house back and at least a little of the land. The stable’s doing real well now, too, making a decent profit, even after I gave Carter and Luella a pay raise. They’re happy to be home, too.
Now, with the Broken Spoke homeplace back, he had the facilities to board a dozen horses in addition to his own. In fact he had a waiting list of people who wanted to keep their horses there. He was starting to turn a nice profit buying and selling horses, too. In another year or so he figured he’d be able to build another barn, one that was bigger and better.
He rose as dawn was coloring the sky pink and found Luella already sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee clasped between her work-worn hands. More unusual was Carter being there, as well. The old man took his noon and evening meals with them, but he tended to keep to himself in the morning. Ethan doubted they’d slept much the night before, either.
Today would be as difficult for these two people as it would be for him. He poured himself a cup of the hot, bitter brew and joined them.
“Crew’ll be here at ten to dig the grave,” he announced. “Casket at two.”
A small grunt from Carter was the only response.
After a few minutes, Luella asked, “You let Jud know?”
Ethan had thought about contacting his brother, but Jud hadn’t come home after their father died last year, so this second burial wouldn’t mean anything to him, either.
To be fair, Jud had been in the hospital in Austin recovering from an injury when he got the word of their father’s death, but he could have come home later. Ethan tried not to resent his brother for staying away. Maybe he was even grateful he hadn’t shown up. He didn’t need to see the accusation in his brother’s eyes to feel another stab of guilt.
“No,” he said.
Neither made any comment.
“There was a notice in the Herald,” Luella said a few minutes later. “People will want to pay their respects.”
Ethan shook his head. “I wish Millie would mind her own business.”
Carter grunted. “Her old man would go broke if she did. Only reason anybody reads that rag is for the gossip. The CIA could take pointers from her on confidential sources.”
It was a long speech and one with a rare note of humor for Carter. In spite of himself, Ethan laughed.
The next hours were filled with routine chores, which should have made the time fly by, but it didn’t. It dragged.
He and Carter fed and watered the horses, then put them out to graze. Ethan mucked out stalls, spread the manure in a pasture where it would fertilize and soften the footing. He replaced fluorescent tubes in the overhead lights in several of the stalls and repaired a worn hinge that would soon need replacing, then he worked with a green three-year-old for nearly an hour.
Finally the workmen arrived. Ethan led them to the spot, a narrow space beside his mother, Valerie, and sister, Angela, one row forward of his grandparents and great-grandparents. He’d straightened up the tombstones when he’d reclaimed the land—a mere forty acres out of the thousand-plus they’d once owned. A pittance by Texas standards, but it would have to be enough. At least he’d gotten the barns and house—what had once been home. The rest was just land, or so he tried to tell himself. This was where his family had lived, and for over a hundred years, thrived.
The operator of the backhoe was an expert. He carved out a neat rectangular hole without disturbing anything around it. They inserted the concrete liner that the law now required, then the machinery was pulled discreetly out of sight. Ethan had already purchased a new headstone, one that matched the style of the others. Tradition.
There wouldn’t be any more Ritters, not from him and, as far as he could tell, not from his brother. His sister had never even gone to a dance or had a date, much less kissed a boy behind the barn....
After supervising the grave digging, Ethan wandered over to the bunkhouse. He’d offered Carter one of the bedrooms in the big house, but the lifelong bachelor preferred his privacy. He’d selected the foreman’s room in the empty dormitory, across from the plain, utilitarian kitchen the hired help had used in the days when they had a full crew on the place. He kept soda and beer in an ancient refrigerator out here, along with a few snacks.
The old ranch hand was sitting at the scrubbed wood table, a half-empty bottle of bourbon in front of him, a couple of fingers of it in a jelly glass.
“Early start?” Ethan asked.
Carter wasn’t much of a drinker, and if Ethan hadn’t known the bottle was nearly half-gone to begin with, he might have been worried.
Carter grunted but didn’t make a move to touch the whiskey.
Ethan wasn’t much of a drinker, either, but there were times when it seemed appropriate. He grabbed another jelly glass off a shelf and splashed a half ounce of the amber liquid into it.
Carter picked up his drink. “Welcome home, Zeb.” He tossed it off, slammed down the glass and stomped through the screen door, letting it bang behind him.
Ethan took a deep breath. “Yeah, welcome home, Dad.”
He coughed after downing the shot, washed both glasses, put the bottle away, then filled a taller glass with orange juice to get the taste of death out of his mouth.
CHAPTER FOUR
BY ANNOUNCING THE TIME of Zeb Ritter’s interment at the Broken Spoke in the Herald, Millie Niebauer had essentially invited people to attend. Kayla wanted to pay her respects, as well, but that presented a dilemma. Taking Megan wasn’t a problem, but Kayla hadn’t canceled Heather and Brad’s school bus drop-off. Not knowing the reason Ethan had called off the riding class, she’d figured the three kids could pass the t
ime together playing at Stony Hill. That Heather and Brad would welcome the break from their large foster family.
But she couldn’t very well leave them home alone while she went over to the Broken Spoke. It seemed cruel to take Heather to a burial so soon after her own parents had died.
“Leave them all here with me,” her father had suggested at lunchtime when she brought up the subject. “There’s plenty around here to keep them interested.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not. You know how I love to show off.”
Kayla had to smile. He did have something of the pedant in him, but he was also a good teacher. The plan fell apart, however, the moment the kids got off the bus.
“Mommy, why aren’t we having a riding lesson with Ethan today?”
“He’s busy with other things, honey. Grandpa’s hoping the three of you can give him a hand in the vineyard. Bet you never planted grapevines,” she said to Brad.
“Aren’t you going to be here?” Megan asked.
“In a little while. I have to run over to Ethan’s for a few minutes, then I’ll be right back.”
“Why are you going over there if Ethan is busy, Mommy?”
She should have said she had an errand to do in town, but Kayla didn’t like lying to her daughter, even for her own good. Besides, in her experience lies backfired and made matters worse. Equivocating rarely got her anywhere, either, not with her precocious daughter. The children gazed at her, clearly expecting a better explanation than the one she’d just fumbled. She had no choice but to explain.
“Ethan’s father died last year. He was buried in the cemetery on the other side of town. You remember, we saw it when we were driving to San Antonio to see the Alamo.”
“That’s where Davy Crockett was killed,” Megan stated.
“Yes, it is. Well, there’s also a cemetery on the Broken Spoke, and Ethan is having his father buried there today.”
“They dug him up?” Brad asked with the fascination boys seem to have with the macabre.
Kayla shook her head and wished she’d prepared a convincing lie beforehand. “They’re moving the casket, the box he’s in.”
“They won’t open it, will they?” Heather asked.
“No, no. All anyone will see is the casket.”
“Can we go, too?” Megan asked.
“I won’t be long and Grandpa—”
“I want to go,” Megan insisted.
“It wouldn’t be polite to leave your friends here.”
“I’d like to go, too,” Brad announced. “I’ve never seen a casket, ’cept in movies.”
Kayla glanced at Heather, trying to gauge her reaction.
“I’ll go,” the girl said.
Kayla shook her head. “It’ll be better if you all stay here. I won’t be long, then we can play some games, and I’ll fix a special supper. Do you like fried chicken? I’ve got a really good recipe. Megan will tell you how good it is.”
“People came to see my mommy’s and daddy’s caskets,” Heather said. “I didn’t know all of them. The people I did know told me they were sorry.”
A lump formed in Kayla’s throat. “You can tell Ethan you’re sorry when you see him next time,” she said, amazed the words didn’t come out strangled.
“I’d like to tell him today. I don’t mind seeing a casket.”
This wasn’t turning out the way Kayla had anticipated or wanted.
“Are you sure?” She hoped the girl would change her mind. “You really don’t have to. It’s all right to offer your condolences on Friday when you have your riding lesson.”
“Ethan’s my friend,” Heather replied with more determination than Kayla would have expected.
Boyd came to the rescue. “Why don’t we all go, then we can come back here and play dominoes. Have either of you ever played Mexican Train?”
And so the five of them piled into Kayla’s Toyota. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. Would attending this burial further traumatize the girl? On the other hand, children were more resilient than adults often gave them credit for, and Heather seemed to understand what was going on.
“If we get a chance to talk to Ethan—” she turned onto the ranch road “—all you have to say is ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ or ‘I’m sorry about your father.’ We’ll stay only long enough to let him know we’re his friends. Okay?”
She heard a muted chorus of okays from the backseat.
Kayla was surprised at the number of vehicles parked around the arena. Noah’s maroon pickup was among them.
They didn’t have any trouble finding the gravesite. It was on the hill behind the house, past a grove of oak trees.
She recognized some of the people gathered there. The town’s mayor. Tall and statuesque, Miranda seemed to be perpetually on the move. Even now, as she spoke quietly to Noah, she seemed ready to bolt.
Millicent Niebauer was there, of course, taking it all in.
Frances Haase, the town librarian, was almost as tall as Miranda, but narrow and angular in build. Kayla knew the fiftyish woman was on the town council and the Home Free land giveaway board.
She was surprised to see Arlen Enfield here. He’d been the mayor before Miranda, and from what Kayla had heard, he’d been a strong opponent of the Home Free program. On the one occasion Kayla had chanced to meet him in town, he’d come across as polite, sophisticated and charming—the consummate politician.
Beside him was Wade Montgomery, the local sheriff. He was standing with an older man—based on their looks, it must be a relative. His father, probably. Kayla searched for a name. Jock. He’d been one of the partners with Zeb in KC Enterprises.
Less than a minute after they found places on the periphery of the small group, Noah Kelley took a position at the head of the shiny mahogany casket suspended over the open grave.
Ethan stood on one side of it with Carter Dunlap and Luella Hernandez.
“Thank you all for coming,” Noah said, “to pay our last respects to Zeb Ritter, a member of our community.”
Ten minutes later the service was over. Those in attendance came around the head of the grave to shake Ethan’s hand and offer their condolences. Megan followed her grandfather, the other children behind her.
“I’m sorry about your father,” she said, just as she’d been instructed. Kayla felt relief until the girl added, “How come he died? Was he sick? My Grandma Price got sick and died, too.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ethan sent Kayla a sharp glance.
“So did your daddy get sick, too?” Megan persisted.
“Megan, move on, please,” Kayla said quietly but forcefully, “so Heather and Brad can offer their condolences.”
Not nearly as chatty as Megan, Heather stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m sorry about your daddy, but he’s in heaven now with mine.”
Kayla watched the muscles in Ethan’s jaw tighten before he said, “Yes, he is.”
Brad simply shook his hand and mumbled, “Sorry.”
Finally, it was Kayla’s turn. She held out her hands to him, as well. “I’m very sorry.”
He only glared at her. “Why did you bring them here? This is no place—”
“They insisted.”
“You should have said no.”
“The children have offered to show me around,” her father told Ethan. “Is that all right?”
“What? Oh, sure. Luella has cake and cookies at the house when you’re finished.”
Boyd smiled. “Terrific cookies, too, from what I hear. We won’t be long,” he added to Kayla.
Ethan returned his attention to Kayla, then abruptly looked past her. “Wait here.”
Bewildered by the virtual order, she started to reply but he was already rushing off.
* * *
“NOAH,” ETHAN CALLED OUT. “Hold up.”
The minister turned and waited.
“Thank you for coming.” He slowed, stopped, not sure how to go on. This was the first tim
e he’d ever seen the man in ministerial garb. “Why did you...come today?”
“Because it was the right thing to do, and maybe because I wanted you to know I’m not my father.”
Ethan let out a pent-up breath. “I guess you aren’t. I owe you an apology. I painted you with the same brush.”
Noah nodded sympathetically. “In your place I probably would have, too. You didn’t really know me back in high school, but Jud can tell you Dad and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.”
“I appreciate your coming today, but you may be in trouble with the elders when they find out you gave a Christian burial to a suicide after your father refused to.”
“Last time I checked, we were supposed to pray for the sinner, not the saint. Your father was a good man, Ethan. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Unexpectedly touched, Ethan offered his hand. This time when they shook the clasp was sincere and hearty. “Won’t you come back to the house and have some of Luella’s baking?”
Noah looked toward the house and the people spilling out onto the front porch with paper plates in their hands. “Wish I could. She still make those pecan cookies?”
Ethan grinned. “Yep, and they’re good as ever.”
“Maybe next time.” Noah sounded regretful. “But I really have to go. An appointment in town.”
They walked to Noah’s pickup.
“Have you made any decision about the special-needs kids?”
Ethan nodded. “I’ve been doing research online. It’s a big job, a lot more complicated than just putting them on horses and leading them around in circles. I’m willing to do my part, but I can’t do it all myself. I’d like Kayla to help.”
“Have you spoken to her about it yet?”
“No, but I’m about to.”
“If you need any more volunteers, let me know.”
They reached the Chevy. Noah pulled off his clerical garb and tossed it onto the passenger seat, climbed inside and twisted the key in the steering column.