Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
W ednesday had Hank driving the elder Nortons’ shabby surrey, with Mrs. Norton sitting next to him, out of town toward the Driscoll Ranch. He hadn’t driven a vehicle since he’d moved to Sweetwater Springs, and, at first, he stayed rigid in the seat.
But the gelding was a placid horse who trotted at a steady pace. Soon, Hank felt able to relax and enjoy the ride.
Although the drive was long, the time passed quickly because Mrs. Norton kept up a flow of conversation. Hank mostly listened as she described the people living in any home they passed and pointed out various flora and fauna—usually things he didn’t notice.
Somewhere along the drive, Hank realized, he hadn’t talked, or, at least listened, this much to a woman since his younger sister and grandmother died. Grief stabbed. He quickly pushed the sadness and guilt behind the door of his memory and slammed it shut. He reminded himself that the reason he and his older sister didn’t talk much about the past during his visits was because his nieces and nephews always clamored for his attention.
After a few hours, they passed underneath an arching wrought iron banner held up by two Corinthian pillars proclaiming DRISCOLL RANCH . Pretty fancy for a ranch entrance. He toyed with imagining something similar over the turnoff to his house and had to clench his jaw on a burst of laughter, lest Mrs. Norton think him crazed.
The horse and buggy splashed through a shallow creek. Mrs. Norton waved a hand in front of them. “God willing, about twenty minutes more.”
Not long after, a prosperous spread came in sight, the buildings growing larger the closer they came.
They crossed a dirt road, leading perpendicular to their current direction. Mrs. Norton pointed down the road and toward the right. “The Anderson Village lies that way. A quaint collection of Swedish houses. We don’t need to drive there. Word will get out about our visit, and everyone will converge on the main house.”
Two mongrel dogs ran up, barking and making the gelding’s ears flick, causing Hank to focus on driving, rather than his surroundings. But the horse was well experienced in new situations and didn’t attempt to shy away.
“Park there.” Mrs. Norton gestured to a flat spot near a large barn made of logs.
Hank navigated the horse to the area and pulled up, setting the brake, and tying off the reins. For a moment, he just sat and took in the sights.
Looking around the Driscoll Ranch, Hank couldn’t help a spurt of envy at the ranch house, large barn, rock pathways, and a walled orchard of some kind, all nestled in the big curve of a river. On this side of the river, pastures held horses and cattle. He thought he spied a distant field of alfalfa.
Like Hank’s home, the ranch house was made of sturdy logs with a porch across the front. But unlike his place, this one was three times as wide, and who-knew-how deep. The windows sported shutters with cut-out heart shapes, the blue color a grayer tint than the navy paint on the shutters of his home. A wide stone pathway led from the barn to the house.
Several outbuildings surrounded the house and barn. The rock wall sheltered an extensive orchard, which looked to contain several types of fruit trees. Farther away, he saw fields of crops and pastures with horses or cattle. Looking at the prosperous ranch made Hank’s heart sink, aware of how little he had to offer.
He couldn’t even say his view was better. He loved the look of Three-Bend Lake, the calm surface often mirroring the sky and the mountain, and the sight of the swans gliding over the water. But, here, the river making a U around the house and the distant view of the mountains held their own beauty.
His own small abode, of which he’d been so proud, seemed meager in comparison. And still will, even after I add the second room.
Mrs. Norton must have read his thoughts, for she gave him a reassuring pat on his leg. “Remember, the Driscolls own this ranch, not the Andersons.”
That reminder was only slightly reassuring. Despite Mrs. Norton’s optimism, Hank knew that a woman who resided on this ranch, even if she didn’t live in the big house, would be used to company and vast private surroundings.
A tall man followed the dogs in their direction, calling for them to quiet. He pulled off his Stetson to give Mrs. Norton a polite nod, exposing dark hair and blue eyes in a tanned face, before putting his hat back on. “Mrs. Norton, this is a pleasant surprise.” He extended a hand to help her out.
Hank scooped up the basket of cookies and stepped from the surrey. He walked around the back to nod at the ranch owner. “Hank Canfield,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand.
The man’s handshake was firm. “Cai Driscoll.” He didn’t smile. But he also didn’t seem displeased to have impromptu visitors.
Mrs. Norton patted Hank’s shoulder. “Mr. Canfield was kind enough to drive me out here, and rightly so. My arms would have given out long since.”
“Guests are always welcome.” Mr. Driscoll glanced at Hank. “Luckily for you, there will be fewer Anderson womenfolk to flock around a new man. As a group, they can be overwhelming. Several of their daughters are getting married in Concord, and their families caught the train two days past.”
Concord? In Massachusetts? Why so far away? “How did they end up in Concord?”
“We have a tradition of sending our girls off to a boarding school there, because my grandmother attended. The place is a fine institution of learning, and she loved her time there.”
“Ah.” Hank rubbed his chin, still not sure of sending daughters so far away.
The rancher let out a slow breath. “Although the sole exception was my sister, Aurelia, who lacked the sturdy good health of the Anderson girls. Even as her illness progressed, she wanted so desperately to go away to school with her friends but was too frail to do so. Then, of course, her friends would inevitably get married and remain in Concord with their husbands. So, she lost those important relationships. She used to complain that letters weren’t good enough.” He raised an elbow a few inches, exposing a black mourning armband.
“Used to,” Mrs. Norton echoed, touching the arm band, sympathy in her voice. “For Aurelia?”
The rancher’s expression grew bleak. “Just two weeks ago.”
“Oh, my dear Mr. Driscoll.” She rubbed his arm. “I’m so sorry you’ve lost your sweet sister. Aurelia was so young.”
“Seventeen, going on thirty-five.” Cai gave them a faint smile. “Or ten, depending on the day or the hour.” The man’s grief was tangible. He clenched his jaw, as if keeping in emotion.
Hank’s hands tightened on the basket handle, wishing himself anywhere but here.
Mrs. Norton let out a sad sigh. “We hadn’t heard, or Reverend Norton and I would have called upon you sooner.”
“We would have sent for Reverend Norton to perform the funeral. But there was that terrible rainstorm…”
“Still, Reverend Norton would have wanted to be here.” She lowered her arm. “Mr. Driscoll, I know my husband will feel the need to drive out for what spiritual comfort he can offer.”
“Call me Cai, please.” The man’s polite smile looked forced. “The Andersons and I would appreciate a pastoral visit from the reverend. Since Aurie’s death, seems like we’ve only put our heads down and focused on work.”
“Then Reverend Norton will certainly come. My son, Reverend Joshua, will as well.”
“I’m not alone,” Cai said hurriedly, as if trying to reassure her, instead of accepting the sympathy. “The Andersons have been there for me. They’re like family.”
“I’m sure they’ve been grieving, too. Mourning together can be a great comfort. Yet, for them, it’s not like losing the last of your blood family. You raised Aurelia from a young age.”
“I was fifteen. Mama died a few days after her birth.”
Mrs. Norton gave him a gentle smile of understanding. “Then, in many respects, Aurelia was your daughter.”
Cai sucked in a sharp breath and glanced upward, waving towards the sky. “All that blue up there is misleading. There’s a gray cloud of sadness settled over this ranch, particularly over me. I look up sometimes and I’m shocked to see clear sky.”
Her eyes shone with sympathy. “With some losses, it feels the very heavens should weep.”
With a bleak look on his face, Cai gestured to the orchard. “Aurie, loved the fruit trees, especially the cherries. I’ve kept myself busy making the walls higher.”
Hank listened, uncomfortable with the conversation, feeling so badly for the man, yet not knowing what to say. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to truly remember the pain and bewilderment he’d felt after the double shock of his younger sister’s death, and then of losing his grandmother within a few days. Truth be told, there few words of comfort, anyway.
Unlike Driscoll, Julianne’s death hadn’t left Hank entirely alone. He had his older sister, Macy, and his grandfather. But that harsh old man as practically his sole kin was almost worse. His grandfather had doted on his sweet, youngest granddaughter. Julianne had been able to soften his rigidity and could cajole smiles out of him. But then, Hank had come down with diphtheria and passed the disease to his sister and grandmother. His grandfather had never forgiven him.
Now, though, he realized, remembering Julianne seemed less painful than pushing her memory into the past. Perhaps, he’d been doing them both a disservice. How else is she to live on if not through me?
“My condolences.” Something about the sorrow in Cai’s eyes made Hank say more, words he hadn’t until today admitted to anyone. “I know what it’s like to lose a beloved younger sister.” He gave Cai a wry smile.
The tenseness in the man’s jaw relaxed a bit. “The hole Aurie’s left in the ranch is unbelievable.”
“There’s also a hole in your heart ,” Mrs. Norton gently pointed out. “Those never completely heal, although we find a way to patch over them.”
A lump tightened Hank’s throat. He’d not just patched over Julianne’s loss, he’d bricked over that hole.
In that moment, Hank knew even though he wouldn’t be leaving the Driscoll ranch with a potential wife, he wasn’t coming away empty-handed, or perhaps a better label would be empty-headed or even empty-hearted. For the first time in years, he felt his sister’s presence and allowed the memories to come.
On the way back to Sweetwater Springs, Hank and Mrs. Norton drove in silence. Although Cai and the remaining Andersons who hadn’t left for Concord, indeed, welcomed them, the rancher was correct about the cloud of grief hanging over the inhabitants. They tried, but their smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes.
Mrs. Norton was the first to speak. “One of the hardest parts of being a minister, or his wife, for that matter, is how helpless we are to truly console someone who is mourning a grievous loss. The knowledge of a heavenly reunion someday , while certainly reassuring, isn’t enough to stop the pain of the now .”
Hank let out a slow breath. “You’re surely right about that.”
“I’m sorry I wasted your time on this visit.”
Hank automatically shifted into gallantry. “Spending time with a lovely lady is never a waste.” Then, abruptly, he remembered with whom he was traveling. How inappropriate to speak thus to a minister’s wife.
If he hadn’t been holding the reins, Hank would have smacked his forehead. Heat prickled the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve learned a lot from our conversations.” He looked over to see if she seemed offended.
She sent him an understanding smile.
His shame eased, and he revealed more of his thoughts. “Truth be told, Cai’s loss made me think of my little sister, Julianne, in a way I haven’t in years. I was ten when she died.” Another glance at Mrs. Norton showed her watching him with an attentive expression. “The pain of remembering was too great.”
Then, it was as if a key turned in the lock holding back his memories, opening the door he’d shut so long ago. Hank began to talk about that dark time, sharing about losing the ray of sunshine he’d been blessed to call a sister and the grandmother he’d held so dear.
They were nearing town when Hank finally ran out of words. He couldn’t ever remember talking so much. He knew he should be embarrassed for hogging the conversation. Yet, somehow, he felt…. He couldn’t describe the feeling. Relieved? Lighter? Relaxed? He gave up searching for the right word and just accepted that something in his chest was no longer tight.
With the images of his sister crowding his mind, he sought for a way to honor her in the present and the future. There was a white, cloud-shaped boulder near a pine tree at the side of his house near the garden. He’d left it in place because he’d like the look of it. He could chisel his sister’s name across one side. Not her birth and death dates, though. That would be morbidly too much like a gravestone. Carve his grandmother’s name on the other side.
I could plant flowers around the boulder. Roses, perhaps. The very idea brought him comfort, and just maybe…belatedly…some healing.