Deep within his heart lie the memory, safeguarded in the depths of his soul. It surfaced on cool spring days, when the zephyrs tickled his face, and the sweet aroma of wildflowers tinted the air. Now, as he stood overlooking the valley his heart held dear, he could see and smell them all; henbit, blue flax, and Indian blankets, sweet peas, daisies, and wild roses. But amid that brilliant, vivid blanket, there was sadness; a loss; a missing link that filled his soul with longing.
How many springs had passed? How many summers come and gone since he had last witnessed the exalted beauty of that cherished southern season? Adam shook his head. Bluebonnets were not native to the Nevada Territory. But Adam knew of a place where they blanketed the hills, thicker than snow on a mountaintop. In a valley such as this, under the perfect sunset of a spring eve, with mockingbirds retiring to their roosts as whippoorwills took their places; Adam sighed, looking down at the small patch of heaven that was now at his feet. This was his own little Garden of Eden, his own hidden little sanctuary; still, it was incomplete.
Out of the corner of his eye, Adam spied a columbine. He remembered eyes that blue, squinted in a joyous smile. The brooding man bent and gently cupped the delicate bloom in two fingers. He didn't pull the flower, though; would not waste its beauty. Wildflowers, Adam knew, were better left to grow; for after they were picked, they wilted away quickly. As a child, Inger had told him that this was because wildflowers knew nothing but the open skies, and the wind; if they were picked and displayed indoors, they would die out of sadness. Adam gave a humorless chuckle, thinking back on how many wildflowers he'd picked.
A narrow footpath cut through the tiny meadow, traversed rarely but with great reverence. Adam turned his eyes away from the path, guilt tugging at his heart. A twig snapped to his right, and his dark hazel eyes turned up to catch the intruder. A doe and her fawn entered the sanctuary quietly, unaware of the human on the fringe of the forest. Adam watched the mother gracefully pick her way through the wildflowers and grass as her fawn kicked up his hooves in play. The doe was in front of a mound of piled earth, where the flowers grew most beautiful, and she snuffed the grasses delicately. Adam felt a twinge of anger as the doe nibbled at beautiful Indian blankets and tender primrose petals. Those were her flowers...
Adam's anger faded when the fawn dashed back to the doe, and he watched the pair interact. She would have loved watching the deer. He stood perfectly still until the wind changed, and the doe caught his scent. She and her fawn fled then, leaving the meadow in peace again. Adam's attention trailed slowly back to the mound of earth. His feet moved of their own accord, tracing the narrow footpath. His heart tugged more and more with each step he took.
Everything was more lush over her grave. She demanded that he lay her in the earth; no casket, no great ceremony. She requested to be buried in the eastern portion of the valley, feet turned toward the home she had been torn up from. A grieving Adam gently lifted a berry bramble that he had planted himself. The thorny branch concealed her headstone.
Lavenia C. Wooley
~1836-1867~
~Southern Wildflower, Removed Before Her Time~
Adam ground his teeth together, clenching his eyes shut. A gentle zephyr blew at his hair; she was home. Adam's mouth moved slowly, forming the words he had last heard escape Her lips.
"Lord when I die, let it be in a hill country spring time. Just lay me down, 'neath that blue hill country sky.
Don't dig me no grave, no sermon, no headstone, no coffin to hold me inside.
Just lay down these cold empty hands, and leave me to lie."
The soft requiem danced through his mind. Her voice at the time had been frail, faltering. She had felt herself dying from the very beginning, and every day knew she would grow weaker and weaker. Adam's own voice faltered in the middle of the song, but he didn't shed a tear. Many women had come and gone, many women had left him to grieve. Adam Cartwright accepted his fate, but did not resign himself to it. Viney's Dirge fled from his mind, replaced by another of her many spring songs.
"Spring whispers in the wind, stirs among the boughs," Adam bowed his head to the west wind that continued to caress his face. "Wakes the tender bud with its call."
"Spring murmurs in the stream, surges in the brook, rushes in the green waterfall."
A lark trilled as it flew to its roost.
"Loud sounds a shepherd's horn 'mong the rocks, calling to someone's own snowy flocks. Gay, gaily in the night, gaily in the night, praise the water sprites."
Adam's voice trailed off sadly. For a long moment he indulged in the beautiful silence that enveloped the world; the zone between the day and the night when the day creatures were nesting and the nocturnal ones were waking. The wind died down, leaving him alone. Again, Adam's deep, rich voice rang out clearly into the twilight air.
"Yet in my beating heart, sorrow lingers on...
Colder than the touch of the snow... when I remember joys of a happy day
In a happy spring long ago."
There was a long lapse of silence, before an owl hooted. Night had fallen. Adam stood slowly, reverently, and silently returned to his horse. When he returned home, his family was asleep- safe and sound.
Far, far to the east in Texas, where the Bluebonnets grew in blankets over the vast rolling hills, a blue form stared west. She smiled, and turned a complete circle. She was home, in the greatest place on earth. She was home again at last. She apologized for ever leaving; she apologized to every rock and pine clad draw, every living creature, for ever doubting that this home was less than perfect. She looked west, where her love lie mourning and smiled his way. She felt him smile back from his own home beyond the Rockies.