Title: Wait For Me
Rating: PG, I guess.
Summary: "What John doesn't know will not cause him any grief."
Disclaimer: All characters mentioned (and those who are not) belong to Annie Proulx.
A/N: This is the first of three chapters.
Chapter 1
The wind didn't howl over this part of Lightning Flats. It keened, a sad, lonely sound that perfectly suited the isolated ranch and its inhabitants. Looking at the house, its faded woodwork damn near falling off in places, Ennis couldn't help but feel that something was looming over him, frowning in disapproval like his daddy used to do when Ennis had done something wrong. He shivered, his shoulders hunching as he strode up to the sagging porch. Disapproval be damned; he'd come here with a purpose, and he didn't plan on leaving till he'd fulfilled it.
The front door opened before he could knock. Mrs. Twist, as faded as her home but with more strength than she let the world see, welcomed Ennis inside with a soft smile. "You'll have some coffee?"
"Thank 'e, ma'am. That'd be nice." Ennis took off his hat, hung it on the nail by the door. He pulled out a chair, the feet sliding smoothly across the floor. Staring self-consciously at the table, he said, "I 'ppreciate you havin' me here. I don't mean to trouble you."
"It's no trouble, Mr. Del Mar." She went into the tiny kitchen and began making the coffee. "John has gone into town," she added calmly, and he nodded, hearing what she didn't say. That John Twist, having spoken with Ennis once, saw no need to repeat the experience. She returned to the table and sat across from him, waiting patiently for him to speak.
Ennis cleared his throat. "I'd wanted t' do this sooner, but I had work . . . couldn't git away . . . " He sighed, looked her in the eye. "I'd like to . . . to visit Jack's grave," he said, voice sandpaper rough. "Say g'bye, and all." He broke her gaze, his eyes filling with tears though he clenched his jaw and tried to force them away. He pressed a thumb to the corner of each eye, his face burning with embarrassment. He heard Mrs. Twist get up and walk into the kitchen; by the time she returned with their coffee he'd scrubbed his tears away.
She placed a mug in front of him. Its' insides were stained tan from years of use. "Thank 'e." He took hold of the handle, but didn't drink; instead he ran one chapped finger along the curve of the ceramic, back and forth, back and forth . . . Mrs. Twist took her seat, folded her hands together on the table. "I admit I got to wonderin', sometimes, if you were real," she said quietly, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Jack, he always did like to tell tales. He'd see a picture somewhere and next thing I knew he'd be spinnin' some story about what he'd done there, an' the folks he'd met. Boy never was content with Lightning Flats; said it got lonely." She sipped her coffee, looked past Ennis to the window and the fields beyond. "Like you heard, his daddy got to thinkin' that Jack considered himself too good for here, too special, but I never did believe that. Way I saw it, Jack was just too big for this little ranch. And there was nothin' wrong with that."
Ennis took a drink of coffee, forcing it down past the lump in his throat. "Reckon Jack was too big fer just 'bout anywhere, ma'am." He folded his hands around the mug, stared at his wavering reflection. "'Cept mebbe Brokeback." He felt the prickling of tears again and sat back. "Shit. Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, it's just . . . well, we was real good friends." A gust of wind rattled the window panes. Outside, something clattered against the porch railing.
"You'll excuse me for a moment," Mrs. Twist said kindly. Ennis, still staring into his mug, nodded. He listened as she left the dining room, the clicking of her shoes against the floor changing to hollow thumps as she climbed the stairs. Minutes eased by, and the coffee was cool by the time Mrs. Twist returned, a small metal box in her hands. She came around to stand by Ennis, offered him the box. Trembling, he took it. The box was dark gray, not too heavy, with a small clasp on one side.
"I would appreciate it, Mr. Del Mar, if you would take Jack's ashes to Brokeback Mountain." Her voice shook, and her eyes were bright, but she was smiling.
Ennis cleared his throat a few times before he answered. "I thought you meant to bury him here. In th' family plot."
"What John doesn't know will not cause him any grief. I see no shame in carrying out my boy's last wish." She returned to her chair. "You'll tell me about Brokeback Mountain?"
Ennis let out a shaky breath and gently placed the box on the table. Inside, a gaping wound caused by a father's refusal to accept his son began to close. "Yes, ma'am. I surely will."