Chapter 27
When George and James went off to look for her missing milk cow, Mary erected the tents she’d bought at the hardware store.
She put them up in the clearing not far from where the house had stood. She had considered hiding them back in the trees just in case those men came riding back here, but ultimately, she decided not to bother.
She had her brothers, the guns from Cole, and the dog, who had stayed with her instead of trotting off with the boys. Having the big mountain cur here made her feel safer.
“What do I call you, boy?” she asked the brindled dog.
He tilted his dark head, eyeing her with obvious curiosity.
She’d asked Mr. Purcell what the dog’s name was, and he’d informed her the dog didn’t have a name.
“Well, I guess I’ll figure out a name for you once I get to know you a little better. Sound good?”
The dog wagged his tail and followed her back to the cart, where she looked through her meager supplies.
Soon, she’d have to build a fire and get supper started. The boys would be hungry.
She was looking over the supplies, thinking about what she might fix, when her eyes fell on the gunbelt that Conn had taken off one of the killers, the one called Arthur.
When Marshal Andrews had surrendered the gunbelt to her, he’d told Mary that Arthur had been a known gunfighter. He explained that the man’s Colt had work done on it. The hammer was tall and straight. The trigger was light. Someone had removed the trigger guard all together.
Mary had grown up with firearms. Mostly, she’d shot rifles and shotguns, but Cole had taught her to use a revolver, too, so she pulled the modified Colt from its holster and examined it closely.
It had been cleaned and oiled. That was nice of the marshal.
She opened the cylinder and found it empty. Wanting to leave the belt’s ammo loops full, she went to the cart and dug around until she found the ammunition Conn had bought her.
She loaded the Colt, leaving one chamber empty, the way Cole had taught her. That was always a good idea for safety, and a very good idea with a gun like this with its missing guard, extended hammer, and light trigger.
She holstered the loaded weapon and wrapped the belt around her waist and cinched it tight, thankful this Arthur had been a thin man. The thing fit her just fine, riding her hips just above her dungarees.
Next, she grabbed the Parker. As Conn had requested, Purcell had attached a sling.
She used that now, slinging the scattergun over her shoulder. She’d loaded it before leaving town.
Now, armed to the teeth, she walked back over to her husband’s grave.
She stared at the crude marker she’d slapped together, a haphazard cross of warped and weathered boards, and shook her head.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
But then again, nothing could be enough.
Cole had been her whole life.
She told him that now, talking aloud to him as if he could hear her. She didn’t have the heart to use the past tense, however.
“You’re my life, Cole,” she told him. “What am I going to do without you?”
And just like that, despite all her attempts to control her emotions, she was crying again.
Which was okay, she supposed.
Because she was standing at the grave of her beloved husband, and the dirt was still fresh. What kind of woman wouldn’t cry at a moment like this?
So she cried.
She no longer tried to hold back.
She cried and then she sobbed and finally, her legs grew weak, and she went to her knees and put both her hands on Cole’s grave and cried some more.
After a moment, a furry head nuzzled in close and the dog licked her cheek as if he was trying to dry her tears.
“Thanks,” she said, pulling him close. “You’re a good dog.”
She sat back and put an arm around the dog, who licked under her chin, making her laugh through her tears.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she told the cur. “I mean, I know what I’m going to do—I’m going to rebuild—but I don’t know how I’m going to do it, even with the boys’ help. We don’t have the money or the materials. We need mules and a bigger wagon and more muscle.”
The dog leaned into her, panting. He didn’t seem too worried about what she was saying.
This made her laugh again. Because there was wisdom in the dog’s lack of concern.
Who better than she knew that life held no guarantees?
She and Cole had worked hard and saved and done their very best to make a happy life here… but where had that gotten them? If she was a different type of person, this might have killed her motivation, but Mary Sullivan was not an easily daunted woman.
Life tendered no guarantees, but she still believed in hard work. And she still saw value in it, still believed good things were possible.
Life had bucked her off. That was all. It had bucked her off, and now, she needed to climb back in the saddle.
She would have to work hard, and she had no idea how to make everything work out, but she reckoned maybe the dog was onto something with his lack of worry.
She needed to have faith in God. That and doing what she should do, when she should do it, whether she felt like it or not, would give her the best chances at a better life.
And even if she was in for more problems, even if everything she built came crashing back down again, at least she would know she had done her best.
Sometimes, in the wake of tragedy, that was enough. Especially when it was all you had.
Mary hugged the dog and stood and dusted herself off and went back to the wagon and decided to keep things simple. The boys weren’t hard to please. They would appreciate pork and beans.
She was just getting the fire started when George came riding back on the pony.
“Where’s James?” she asked.
George hooked a thumb over one shoulder. “He’s up the creek, trying to noodle a trout.”
She smiled. “Same old James.”
“Yup, same old James,” George said, climbing down from the pony. “But Mary, I’ve changed.”
She turned to him and saw determination in his eyes. As usual, she could see right through her little brother.
He wanted her to understand that he was a man now. Needed her to understand that.
And in ironically boyish fashion, he wasn’t willing to show her that. He needed to tell her.
Knowing all of this instantly, she showed kindness. “I know you’ve changed, George. It’s obvious. You’re not a boy anymore. You’re a man.”
His face lit up instantly—and childishly, she thought—and he nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right. I’m a man now.”
“Good,” she said, not wanting to belabor his announcement, “because I need a man’s help now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean here. I need help rebuilding.”
George frowned. “Mary, just come home with us.”
“No. I am going to rebuild.”
“Why? There’s nothing for you here. I’m sorry about what happened, but Cole’s gone, Mary. Everything you had here is gone.”
“You’re wrong, George. Cole might be gone, and our house might be gone, but the dream survives. And I’m going to see it through.”
“How?”
“I don’t know how, but I suspect it will involve a lot of work.”
George frowned again. “You’ve never had an ounce of quit in you, Mary, but if ever there was a time to take a break, it’s now. Come home with us. Come back and live with Pa and us. It’ll be like old times.”
She shook her head. “Nothing will ever be like old times again.”
He looked uncomfortable. “Well, maybe not. But maybe, someday…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe someday, things will change. Maybe you’ll meet somebody else.”
“Another man, you mean?”
“Right. Look, Mary. I thought the world of Cole. We all did. Even Pa. And you know Pa.”
She nodded. “Cole was a good man.”
“Right. But there are other good men in the world.”
“Perhaps. But mine lies yonder.”
“Look, all I’m saying is give it time. Come home with us. We’re your family.”
“I know you’re my family,” she said, “but that’s not my home anymore. This is my home. And I must rebuild. What I need is the help of a man. The help of you, George.”
Her brother’s eyes swelled a little. Her direct appeal for help was doubly powerful, because she had tied it to the question of his manhood, just as she suspected her father had known she would.
Because even though her request was sincere—she did need George’s help and James’s, too—she also knew what she was asking was in George’s best interest, as well.
What better way to cement his burgeoning manhood than to set his interests aside and help his sister rebuild her home?
She could tell he was thinking and suspected he might even be treading some of the same thoughts she’d just run across, but she could see he was struggling, too. He opened his mouth to speak then shut it again.
“I really need you,” she said, putting it as straight as she could.
George, bless his heart, cared. She could see that, could see that her direct appeal had struck him. But he still struggled. “But Pa…”
“Pa will be fine,” Mary said. “You already pulled in the harvest and put up the last of the hay.”
“Yeah, but he’s all alone.”
“All alone in a warm house with plenty to eat. If you want to help family, help me. I will be grateful forever.”
George frowned again. He looked at her then looked away, glancing back in the direction from which he’d ridden, back to where their little brother was trying to catch fish with his bare hands. “What about James?”
“I could use his help, too. I need as much help as I can get.”
“What do you plan to do?”
In fact, she knew exactly what she was going to do.
She was going to rebuild the house and somehow build the barn she and Cole had been planning.
She was going to stock up, ride out the winter, and plant again next spring.
She’d break more ground, too. Push things out.
And when she could, she would try to replace their stock.
But she didn’t say these things because again, this wasn’t just about rebuilding her life. It was also about helping her brother—and maybe both of her brothers—attain manhood. “I would like to talk to you about that. Where do you think we should start?”
George brightened at that. He stood a little taller and looked around. “I reckon you’ll need a house.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Where will you put it?” he asked and cast his gaze around the place.
She knew where to put the house: right where the old house had stood. Cole had chosen the best place on this amazing acreage.
And if George was half the man he aspired to be, he would see that, too.
But instead of discovering this truth, George pointed toward the lane. “Who’s that?”
Mary’s heart gave a little leap. Had the killers come back?
She turned, ready to take the shotgun off her shoulder, and saw two men. One drove a heavy wagon pulled by several mules. The other rode a horse and trailed another.
Mary didn’t recognize them, but they didn’t look like they meant trouble, especially when the man on the horse raised a hand and smiled and called out, “Afternoon, Mrs. Sullivan. All right if I come over and talk?”
“Who are you?”
“Dale Weatherly, ma’am. I work for Whip Bolan.”
Mary knew Bolan’s name. She remembered Cole meeting him and saying he was a Texan, a cattleman who cut a wide swath. But not a bad man. She remembered Cole saying Bolan seemed like a good man, even if he swaggered a little.
He had a place a few miles away.
“Yes, come over please, Mr. Weatherly,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Weatherly handed the reins of the extra horse to the wagon driver and rode forward. Drawing close, he took off his hat and nodded. “Ma’am, I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“My boss, Mr. Bolan, he was real sorry to hear about it, too.”
“Well, please give Mr. Bolan my thanks.”
“He says sorry he couldn’t make it here to talk to you himself, but he had to leave town on a train today. Heading to Denver.”
“That’s quite all right. I do appreciate his condolences.”
“Well, ma’am, Mr. Bolan sent more than sympathy. He told us to ride over with that wagon yonder and leave it and the mules if that would be helpful.”
She was so bowled over, it took her a second to speak. “Why?”
“Mr. Bolan was over to the hardware store this morning and heard about everything and how you was staying and rebuilding and all. And over at the livery, he heard about you buying the mule and cart. But he figured that wouldn’t be enough, so he’s lending you a wagon and some mules and us, too, ma’am, whenever you can use our help. ”
She could only blink at him, it was all so unexpected. Suddenly, she felt like crying again. But she mustn’t. No matter what, she mustn’t.
“No hurry, ma’am,” Weatherly said. “Just know that if you want our help, we are at your disposal. That’s what Mr. Bolan told me to say. We are at your disposal.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Weatherly. Thank you very much.”
She felt a surge of hope, and in her enthusiasm, she almost asked him to stay and help her get started right away, but then she caught sight of George’s face, which looked nervous and disappointed.
“That’s a very kind offer, and the use of Mr. Bolan’s mules and wagon would be most helpful. I am blessed to have my brothers with me. This is George. I know George can handle everything, especially with our brother James’s help.”
The man nodded at George. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” George said, returning the gesture and, she noted, standing a little straighter again.
“Well,” Weatherly said, “I’m glad to hear y’all have it covered, but the offer stands. Many hands make light work.”
“You’re right, of course, Mr. Weatherly. Many hands do make light work, and the snow could fly any day. My brothers and I will get started at once, but we might be in touch to take you up on your kind offer.”