I never had much use for fairytales. They had little place in a world that seemed so cruel and full of sin. I always believed that if you acted justly, you would be rewarded in heaven. What then was the use of dreaming of happy endings here where as the psalmist says, The wicked prosper and the good suffer? When I wrote my little adventures with Rooster Cogburn and Mr. LeBoeuf, I was mostly thinking of my nieces and nephews. I never had time to marry and had no children of my own. But Victoria and Frank each had quite a good size brood and I was a proud aunt. I was especially fond of my eldest niece, Hannah. She was ten and loved to hear of how I avenged my father's death at 14. I think she imagined herself going on the journey. I did not intend to spare her any of the details, but perhaps in telling and retelling, I had made the edges softer, the fear smaller, the heartache lesser.

It was at Hannah's insistence that I decided to write down the story. The whole story, sparing no details and disguising no faults. Truth be told, I enjoyed being with Rooster and LeBoeuf again, even it was only for a while in my memories. Funny how all those years, all those retellings round the hearth fire and Rooster and Leboeuf stayed as crisp and clear as the first day I met them. That cowlick of Leboeuf's, the smell of Rooster's tobacco, the taste of corn dodgers. I could close my eyes and I was back on the trail with them. It took me many more years before I actually sent my story out to be published. I was afraid if everyone could read my story, then Rooster and Leboeuf would no longer be just mine. I couldn't bear the thought of losing them again.

I had lost so much on that trail. I lost my arm, sure- but it was more than that. I lost my childhood. As much as I wanted to believe at 14 that I was a woman and perfectly able to care for my family, I was so naïve. I thought that exacting justice would make my father proud, would right the wrong. But there is a price to pay for vengeance. I understand now why the Lord says that vengeance is His. Only He is big enough to carry the burden. I love my Presbyterian church and my bank, and I have made something of myself despite the disadvantages I faced being a woman and being a cripple in the eyes of society. But there is a loneliness I carry inside always. I killed a man. And it changed me.

Perhaps that is why my mind turned and turns year after year to LeBeouf. I was just a girl at the time. He was young himself, although he seemed old and worldly to me back then. So ridiculous in those spurs and that fancy coat. I was drawn to him, though I didn't understand it. I felt a kinship- nothing more, nothing less. I didn't know then how rare and valuable it was. I know he felt it too. That night when we talked as he was leaving- I tried to tell him. He left me anyway. Yet he came back and in my time of need, he was there. I wish I could have told him how grateful I was that he saved me. How his blue eyes and Sharps rifle were the most beautiful sight in the whole world that day in the Winding Stair Mountains.

Over the years I've imagined us meeting again. When I was younger, I hoped he would come find me and we would go on another adventure. As I grew into a woman, I hoped for an adventure that would include marriage. And now, in my old age, when the world is at war (again) and the end of all things seems near, what I want more than anything is to connect again to the one person that felt like home. That is why I wrote, at the end of my story, my desire to hear from him again. I thought Hannah and her children ought to know that their aunt did have a heart. It was not just my bank and my church that I loved. I sent my story out into the world and I waited. I hoped, but never truly expected to hear from him.

My little story sold very well. It was a time when cowboy stories were wildly popular on the radio and in film and in the new pulp magazines and I was surprised to find myself quite a celebrated author. Oh- it meant little to me, but my family made much of it. And I suppose my publisher must have seen an opportunity to expand sales when he serialized and sold my story to a little newspaper in San Antonio. I never thought my story would actually reach the one man I had dreamed of finding.

The letter arrived on a Tuesday morning. Oh I could tell you the very dress I was wearing, but I will not indulge in such silliness. I am an old woman now and far too mature to play those games.

It was sky blue with Battenburg lace at the collar and cuffs.

I did not recognize the address- 400 Avalon Ave, Valhalla Texas. I opened the letter and my heart stopped for a moment when I saw the name at the bottom. I was so accustomed to thinking of him solely by his surname that at first I did not comprehend. When understanding dawned on me, I had to laugh. I no longer wondered why he never mentioned his first name. I quickly read the letter.

My dear Miss Ross,

I read your story in the paper and I must say you grossly exaggerated Rooster Cogburn's abilities on the trail. He shot no more than 10 corn dodgers that day and furthermore, made campfires that were altogether too large for a party on the trail of an outlaw. Your rendering of my shot that killed Lucky Ned was accurate, although it is my opinion that you made me out to be more gravely injured than I was. It was only a small depression of the head. I wish for you to come and discuss these errors in person. I believe you will find that the Caledonia express from Little Rock goes directly to El Paso and leaves twice a day. I will visit the station every day for the following week. I have grown old and gray, but I am sure you will recognize me. I still have starch in me yet.

Yours,

Napoleon J. LaBoeuf.

I trust you will not think me a fool, but I confess I was considerably astir after reading his letter. I had scarcely finished when I heard a knock on the door. I answered it to find Hannah and her youngest son Reuben. I invited them in and when they were seated in the parlor, I went to the kitchen to fetch some lemonade. Reuben loves the way I make it- all sugar and just enough lemon to give it some bite. Hannah followed me into the kitchen. I didn't intend to tell her everything, but she said I was practically glowing and must have some good news to share. I had barely finished telling her when she pushed me up the stairs, took down my portmanteau and began haphazardly pulling clothes from the wardrobe and throwing them on top of the case.

"Hannah, whatever are you doing?"

"What am I doing? Aunt Mattie, I am packing. You must go to him immediately! This is what I've been waiting for for years!"

"What are you talking about?"

"All those times you told me the story, I always imagined it ending with LaBeouf returning and I don't know- bringing you your father's coin and sweeping you off your feet."

"You read altogether too many of those novels, my dear. LaBeouf was much older than I and had a job to finish. I never expected him to return."

"Well maybe you should read novels sometimes Aunt Mattie. If you did maybe you'd recognize you are clearly the heroine and he is the hero. Everyone knows that the hero gets the girl eventually!"

"Child, you will ruin my favorite muslin if you stuff it into the case in such a willy nilly fashion!"

I pushed Hannah out of the way and began to properly fold my dresses.

"Aunt Mattie, what will you say to him?"

I sat heavily on the bed. "I do not know. I never reckoned on seeing him again in the flesh. I've dreamed of this day so many times… I resigned myself to it remaining a dream…"

Hannah hugged me hard, squeezing the breath out of my lungs. "You just go to him and let him do the talking. After all, he left you in Little Rock and never wrote. It seems to me it's his turn to apologize."

"Oh child, you will learn that when you love someone, you lose all sense of tallying accounts. I love keeping accounts and I can tell you every penny that Mr. Jennings spent on his corn crop and every dollar that it brought in at market. But I can't tell you whose turn it is to be apologizing or who is in the black and who is in the red when it comes to LaBeouf and I. I just know that he wrote and I have to see him again."

"Oh Aunt Mattie… We have to get you to Little Rock." Hannah hugged me again and we stayed like that for a few moments, holding on to our shared story.

Then Hannah shut the portmanteau with a finality that brooked no argument and hauled it off the bed. I grabbed the other end and we managed to get it down the stairs. Reuben was considerably confused, having lost himself in a book when we failed to return with the lemonade.

"Where are we going Mother?"

"You are going to go straight home and tell your grandmother not to expect me til tomorrow. Aunt Mattie and I are going to take the car to Little Rock."

"I thought Father said you weren't supposed to drive the car further than the store and back." Reuben protested with all the righteousness of a child.

" And I thought I told you to go straight home. Now get going dear! What father doesn't know won't hurt him and Aunt Mattie has a beau to meet."

Reuben muttered his acquiescence and ran off down the road.

"Now Hannah, I don't want to cause trouble between you and your husband."

"I do! That man spent most of our savings on this automobile and then left me here with 4 children to care for while he jaunts around Europe having a grand old time fighting the war to end all wars(again)."

"Hannah. If you need a raise at work, I can figure something out."

"Aunt Mattie- what I need right now, more than anything, is to see you get your fairytale ending."

"Very well then. Onwards to Little Rock."

I never read fairytales. I've gathered enough from the stories I've heard to know the journey to Little Rock should be described in the most harrowing terms. The dragons we fought along the way, the witch who gave us false directions and the beggar who told us the true path to follow. The train should start to leave the station without me and I should have to run alongside, swinging up at the last minute to arrive breathless, finding my carriage seat and looking out the window to see the land passing by in one beautiful blur. Truth be told, I fought my dragons and found my path when I was a much younger woman and the sky as the train pulled out of the station was pitch black but for the stars.

I couldn't help but think as we raced across the flatlands- stars shining bright above of another flight, another time. An end, I was convinced. A beginning, I see now. The morning sun was just beginning to rise as we pulled in to El Paso. It could have been a ghost town, there was no signs of life. In the dim morning light, I alighted. A young man helped me with my case before leaving. I stood in the station looking round. There was no one. The cool crisp air smelled of early spring and coal. I pulled my coat closer around me and hurried toward the entrance of the station. I stepped into the waiting area and there I saw him. It had to be him. He was lying on a bench, stretched out, hat on his chest and snoring gently. I crept up towards him. His silver hair still had a cowlick in it. His face was etched with the lines that sun and hard riding and laughing bring. His hands were almost translucent and blue veined. He was still wearing spurs.

I don't believe in fairytales and am a very sensible woman. If anyone says differently, I shall have Lawyer Daggett Jr. take them to court for libel. As such, I cannot explain what came over me that morning. I found myself leaning down over LaBeouf and gently kissing his lips.

He awoke slowly and sat up, smiling at me. "Well, if it isn't Mattie Ross stealing a kiss. Times sure have changed."

I smiled back at him like the 14 year old girl I never was- giddy, butterflies in my stomach, head spinning a bit from the smile and those blue eyes. "Hidy LaBeouf. Or should I call you Napoleon?"

He smiled even more. "My mama was sure proud of our French heritage. Most folks that call me by a first name call me Lee."

"Lee." The name sounded strange coming off my tongue. Lee. "I think I shall stick to Labeouf for now."

"That's alright. Mattie, would you care for some breakfast?"

"I would"

He gallantly offered me his arm and we walked to where he had tied up his buggy. "Wait! My case!"

"You were planning on staying, were you?"

I was at a loss. I had not thought further than seeing him again. "I did not know what to expect I.."

I saw his grin and stopped my babbling. "You are as vile as ever, I see." I did not enjoy being teased so.

"You are as full of sugar as ever, I see" He tightened his grip on my arm and smiled down at me. I could not stay angry in the warmth of his smile.

He lifted me up into the buggy as easily as could be and climbed in with me. " I thought I'd take you to my ranch. They'll bring your case along later."

The ranch was about 5 miles outside of town. Far enough to feel alone, but close enough for company. I saw the rambling house with it's wide veranda and excellent view and I was happy that LaBeouf had finally found a place to call home. It suited him, this sandy, rough, surprisingly beautiful place. He lifted me down from the buggy and his hands lingered on my waist. He looked down at me and grinned. "Welcome home, Mattie." He had no idea how true his words were.

I was exhausted from the journey and I slept for a while in his spare room. When I awoke he was sitting in the chair at the foot of the bed, watching me.

"How long was I asleep?" I sat up, looking around for some frame of reference.

"I've got dinner ready whenever you are." I could smell something delectable wafting in from the kitchen. He got up to leave

"Thank you." I whispered. Even now, I had a hard time saying the words.

"For what?"

"For saving me. All those years ago- Tom Chaney would have killed me if not for you." My voice broke. He crossed the room in two strides and was at my side. He knelt before me and clasped my hand.

"No Mattie, you've got it wrong. It was you that saved me. I was a young ranger, all alone in the world and I only cared about my job. I was reckless. I guess I didn't much care if I lived or died. And then I met you. You were so different from everyone else I knew. So sure of yourself. So sure of God and of good and evil. I started thinking maybe there was more to this world than man's attempt at justice. Maybe there was something worth living and fighting for bigger than myself. I never forgot you."

"Then why didn't you come for me? I wanted you to, you must have known."

"You were too young and then I cared too deeply for you. A ranger's life is usually short and very hard. It's no life for a woman. You deserved so much more than I could offer."

" And now?"

"And now, Mattie Ross, I'd be honored if you would spend the rest of my days beside me. When I read the end of your story I realized I wanted a different ending. I don't have much to offer but I love you. Always have, always will. I tried not to, but it didn't stick. The way I see it, you can either marry me and be my bride, or I can marry you and be your husband."

I smiled down at him with my heart on my sleeve "Either option is equally repulsive."

As he stood and pulled me into his arms, Labeouf didn't have to steal a kiss. The kiss we shared was long and gentle and sweet. Standing there in his arms, drinking in his love, I felt like I had finally come home.

Later that evening, as we ate our supper and watched the glorious sunset turning the desert to liquid gold, we saw LaBeouf's horse break free from the stablehand and run off into the desert. "Should we pursue your horse?" I asked anxiously. We shared a glance, sizing up our current strength and agility. "Nah." Labeouf answered, chuckling. "Let the younger folk ride after him." And so we sat, holding hands, watching the stable boy and another ranch hand ride off into the sunset. The irony did not escape us.

The End