Chapter 53
Late in the afternoon the next day, when Conn turned the gelding onto the lane and rode up to Cole and Mary’s homestead, he saw no sign of Mary or her brothers.
The dog came trotting out from the corral, behind the fence of which a few mules stared at Conn.
The dog limped along, wagging its tail. One of its front legs was missing, replaced by a bandage that told Conn Mary had been taking good care of the cur.
“Good dog,” Conn said, petting the mountain cur. “Where’s Mary at, boy?”
The dog just blinked up at him, tongue lolling.
Conn called for Mary.
There was no response.
Had she finally given in and gone back to the family farm?
He knew that would be the best thing for her, but he felt a twinge of disappointment. After having so little time to speak with her in Leadville, he had been looking forward to seeing her.
Then he realized she hadn’t abandoned the homestead. She wouldn’t have left the dog and mules, not to mention the tents and tools and stacks of fresh lumber.
No, she and her brothers had stepped out, that was all. They’d be back, probably soon.
Whatever the case, their delay was a blessing, he realized.
Because he had unfinished business back beneath that cottonwood.
He’d never said goodbye to his brother. Not really. He’d put it off, knowing he couldn’t afford to face his emotions when there had been so much to do.
But all that was behind him now. It was finally time to say goodbye.
He climbed down from the gelding.
The dog leaned into him.
Conn patted its head and told it again that it was a good dog, then walked back to where his brother lay. The dog hobbled after him.
Conn’s heart thumped heavily as he remembered that terrible night, remembered riding in here and discovering Cole and cutting him down and laying him to rest.
Now, he stood, looking down at his brother’s grave, and the lump rose in his throat again, thicker than ever.
The dog finally caught up with him and once more leaned against his leg.
“I did it, Cole,” Conn said aloud, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears. “I killed them. I killed them all. With help from Mary and a man named Sheffield and a U.S. Marshal and this dog. I came back to let you know, Cole. I wanted you to know that I kept my promise. They’re all dead.”
But you’re still dead, too, he thought, and suddenly, he felt emptier than he had ever felt in his life, emptier than he had even known a man could feel, like the hollowed-out husk of nothing at all.
Killing those men had been the right thing to do, but it hadn’t fixed things. His brother was still dead, and Conn was still empty inside, empty as a ghost.
That’s when the dam broke.
That’s when he finally surrendered the reins, handing them from his mind to his heart. Grief rushed in on a flood of sorrow.
“Oh, Cole,” he cried. “Cole, Cole, Cole!”
He hadn’t cried for twenty years, not since he was a boy and realized men weren’t made to whimper.
But he cried now. There was no holding back, no attempt at restraint. He sobbed and fell to the ground and kneeled there with his head on the grave and wept for his dear, lost brother.
He wept for the past, for all that had been, and the many mistakes he had made; he wept for Cole and Mary and all that had happened to them; and he wept for the future, all the shattered dreams that would never come to fruition, theirs and his alike.
He had shown up too late.
Too late to apologize to Cole. Too late to explain he had changed. Too late to defend his brother and start a new life side by side.
It was all gone, all lost. His brother, his dreams, his hope.
It was all dead and buried now.
Sometime later, a soft voice called, “Conn?” and he felt a hand touch his back gently.
He rose and dusted himself off and wiped his tears, embarrassed and bewildered.
How long had he been here, crying his heart out?
A long time, he realized. The sun was setting behind the mountains. Its last rays illuminated Mary’s golden hair, making it glow like an angel’s halo.
The dog stood beside her, and Conn realized the animal had been here the whole time, watching over him.
She stared at Conn with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be okay.” Looking past her, he saw two young men back by the tents, staring in this direction but keeping their distance.
“My brothers,” Mary explained. “I told them to wait. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you when you arrived. We were in town, buying…” She trailed off and grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry, Conn. I know you loved him. I’m so sorry.”
He nodded and gave her hand a squeeze. “We’re all sorry. It’s all we can be now.”
He released her hand.
Neither of them spoke for a time.
Finally, Mary pointed to the dog. “I named him Chief.”
Conn chuckled.
“What?”
“Chief,” he said, petting the dog again. “That’s what my name means in Irish.”
“Oh, I’d always thought it was short for Connor.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s just Conn.”
“Well, it’s a good name for him, then,” she said, “because having him here was kind of like having you watching over me. When those men attacked…”
“I sure am glad Chief came through for you. But it sounds like you came through, too, Mary. Those boys had no idea what they were getting themselves into.”
They were quiet again for another long moment.
The sun continued its descent, dimming the world around them.
Then Mary said, “You’ll ride on now?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I told you I would help you rebuild.”
“You don’t have to stay, Conn. It wasn’t fair of me to ask.”
“I’ll stay.”
“I have my brothers.”
“You need to at least get the house up before the snow flies,” Conn said, but then he realized that maybe she didn’t want him here.
Maybe she was trying politely to get rid of him. Maybe she understood what kind of man he was. Maybe she even understood better than he did what kind of man he was.
Women could be like that. Intuitive. Men had to see it, had to live it, and still took their sweet time figuring things out. Sometimes, they never did.
He said, “I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.”
“Of course I want you to stay,” she said quickly. “Conn, please don’t think that I don’t want you here. Of course, I want you here. We could use the help, and well, it would be nice having you here. I would like to get to know you.”
“I’ll stay, then.”
“Good. It will be a comfort. Sometimes, looking at you, it’s almost like Cole is still here, still alive.”
“I’m not him, Mary.”
“I know. I know you’re not. That’s not what I’m saying. But it’s a comfort. Like some part of Cole lives on. You look so much alike. Especially because of the scar. It’s uncanny.”
She reached up and brushed a finger over the scar that ran the length of his face.
Then, suddenly, she jerked her hand away with a gasp. “I’m sorry, Conn.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
She was silent for a moment, embarrassed. Then, clearly trying not to reveal the awkwardness she felt, she said, “Will you tell me the story now? The story of how you got the scar? I’ve thought and thought, but I couldn’t guess how you would get the exact same scar.”
“You know what happened to Cole,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. He could barely see her now with darkness coming on. “The hatchet bounced off the tree and cut him. Then you carried him home. Ran the whole way. Cole said it was awful far.”
Conn nodded. “Well, we were just kids. And Cole got real upset about the scar it was gonna leave. I guess you could say he fixated on it. He was upset that it was going to mess up his face.”
“I’m surprised to hear that. Cole was never vain.”
“It wasn’t vanity, Mary. See, Cole and I were very close. I know I went astray. I wish I hadn’t. But I did. I was riding back here to apologize to him and…”
He trailed off. Somehow, his mouth had ridden off course. He didn’t know what he was saying, but he knew he was doing a bad job of it. He wouldn’t load Mary down with his troubles.
“Yes?” she said in a coaxing voice.
“Anyway, when we were kids, we were as close as brothers could be. He wasn’t really Cole, and I wasn’t really Conn. Not then. We were Cole and Conn.”
She nodded, her face masked in shadow.
“Cole wasn’t worried about being ugly,” he said. “He was worried about being alone.”
“Alone?”
He nodded even though she probably couldn’t see him in the gloom.
“He was worried that we wouldn’t look the same anymore.
He was worried folks wouldn’t even know we were twins.
I guess maybe in his child’s mind, he even worried that we wouldn’t even really be twins anymore, that his terrible wound and the scar would change us. ”
It all came back to Conn then. He remembered how inconsolable Cole had been, remembered how his brother had cried and cried for what seemed an eternity, insisting that everything was changed forever, not wanting to be the ugly brother.
Again, not out of vanity but because he still wanted to be the same between him and his twin.
“So that night, I went out to the barn, and I took a knife and cut myself deep, giving myself the same exact scar to make Cole feel better.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did. That’s how much I loved Cole, Mary. I wanted to make him feel better, and I needed him to understand nothing could ever keep us apart. He would never be alone. I would always be his twin no matter what.”
“Oh Cole,” she said, and stepped forward, crying again, and wrapped her arms around him.
He put his arms around her, and standing there, holding her in the darkness, he made his brother a new promise.
I won’t forsake Mary, he vowed. I will protect her and provide for her, brother, and God Willing, she will still make a life here on this ground.
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Thank you for reading Conn.