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11
1980 - Valediction
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Finally.
She had at last taken the final step.
It was complete now.
Mary Sherman stood in the little graveyard, her hands full of treasures and her heart overflowing with loving memories. She was doing what the family had decided and agreed to.
It had taken her quite a while to contact them all, but it was necessary, now Jay had gone to join Eli. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of the evening she had found him, sitting in Jess's rocking chair, the chair which always fitted him. The carriage clock was in his hands. His heartbeat was still. The clock was ticking.
So they had come. Shermans and Williams and Donovans – they had come from all over America and, in the case of Jay's kids and some of the others, from the far corners of the globe. Those who could not come had been in touch by letter. She had even managed to trace Sunny and the little boy she had born. She had asked them all what they wanted to do about the ranch and the answer was clear: it deserved to be loved and lived in, but no longer by Shermans. In all their variety, Shermans and their kin were living the life of the family in so many other places and planting seeds of those values which were its foundation: trust, hope, generosity, loyalty, courage, wisdom, joy.
Time to let go and move on.
Now, in the cool clear light of evening, the stars shone down on Mary, their silver hearts pouring out a benediction. She moved slowly along the row of headstones.
Jay and Eli lay close together, their resting place marked out for them with their wives. It was tempting to bury the clock with Jay, but something about its cheerful ticking spoke of earthly life and made her leave it on the mantelpiece. Instead she tucked into the turf the intricate Nativity puzzle Jay had carved for his children. And for Eli and Cat, the drawings they'd kept which their family of five had created. Next came her own boys, in a plot which had fortunately been wide enough to take all three of them – for them she had the last photograph of their whole family together. With Rebecca and Lance had already been buried his Aviator Wings. Into her own parents' grave, she returned the silver locket which contained their braided hair. Andy and Celestine were easy – theirs were the tickets for the Titanic, worth, no doubt, a small fortune to a collector, but priceless in the family history. Ray's bronze condor went to the grave she shared with Mike. The Mexican bead necklace to Slim and Holly. In faithful Jonesy's grave, his trusty herbal remedy. For each, she slipped the token under the raised turf like sliding a love letter into an envelope. When she came to the west end of the row, to Matthew and Mary, her sister in name, and to their sons who had not survived, she had no gift but the tears which dropped onto the soft turf in acknowledgement of their founding of such a loyal family.
Last of all, Mary turned back to the only grave besides Jonesy's which would only ever have one occupant. She knelt and ran her fingers over the faint lettering on the weathered stone.
Jess Guerra Harper. 1870. A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.
Two treasures remained. The gun she was able to give back to him, but when she opened the little oilskin package, the fragile fabric of the silk shirt with its dusting of dry herbs was unpicked by the slight evening breeze and disintegrated, blowing away from her and from the owner's grave as if to show that ritual was important but real and eternal life even more so. All that remained was a knot of bright blue wool. Mary put it in her pocket, next to her heart.
Mary stood and walked back to the last grave in the row – Connall's. His dancing shoes had been buried with him. She smiled because he was so very much alive and waiting. She thought of all that this part of the ranch had meant to the Sherman family over the last hundred years. The importance of the little graveyard might seem odd to the new family, but she did not want them to be inhibited by the presence of those who had gone before.
"This is a place which strengthens life and encourages love," she had told them. "Let it grow into a wild garden and enjoy it."
"But your husband's buried here. Won't you want to be …"
Mary had shaken her head. "Wherever I am then, I know I'll be with him. He was always a free spirit. And if I'm not here, he'll enjoy finding me." And her heart said, 'Then we can truly dance for all time on heaven's floor.'
# # # # #
Back in the house, her final duties completed, Mary moved the stone concealing the hiding place in the chimney breast for the last time. In the cavity she placed a little bunch of fresh flowers and herbs - violets, sage, thyme, oregano and rosemary - tied with the bright blue strand of wool. With it she put a brief note, explaining the meaning of the plants and their significance in the Sherman family history. Then she replaced the stone. The scent of the fresh herbs might lead the family to discover it or it might not: that was for the future to decide.
Mary tossed another log on to the open fire which still heated the living room. She sat down in Pa's rocking chair and began to rock absently, her mind preoccupied with all that had happened.
The young family were ideal. Of all the people who had come to look at the ranch, they were the only ones interested in its history. They'd asked so many questions, pored over the pictures and were delighted with the old sepia prints dating from the earliest years. They wanted to ranch – horses, not cattle or sheep or even alpacas - but they weren't starry eyed and seemed to appreciate the challenge of making the land pay.
A warm draft drifted over her skin, with the familiar scent of oregano. The rocking chair opposite moved infinitesimally. Mary smiled affectionately.
Then there were the children, of course. The deal had been as good as done when the little girl came wandering out of the barn and told her parents: "This is a good home. The cowboy says so!" And of course there was no-one to be seen when her parents inspected the building, exclaiming over the way the original fittings had stood the test of time. The little girl was not put off: "He says to tell you we're welcome!"
Mary looked across the hearth as she had done so many times in the years of grief. Grief for her man, for her sons, for the men of the family, for the Sherman Senior name which she alone bore now. Oh yes – there were other Shermans out there in the wide world, far and near, the ones she would visit in her travels. But they would not be the eldest son of the eldest son of the original family, not the direct bloodline of Matthew Sherman who had first perceived and nurtured into being the dream of this place.
"You understand, don't you, Jess?" she addressed the gently rocking chair. Over the years she had formed the habit of talking to him aloud. It wasn't necessary, but it had comforted her at the time when Jay had shut himself away in the other part of the house, wrapped in his own silent grief, and Jess's thoughts were the ones which answered hers. He understood grief and love and loyalty.
Mary heaved a deep sigh. "I'm the last and I – I'm not even a true Sherman!"
She felt the vehement shake of his head. Jess counted her as a Sherman, blood or not. By this time he probably counted as a Sherman himself although the barely discernible writing on the headstone said his family name was 'Harper'.
"You understand," she said again. "They're a good family. Hard-working and sensible." She felt his chuckle too, as if the description struck a chord for him. She knew he approved. "You told the child they were welcome."
The chair seemed to rock a little harder though there was nothing to make it move.
"Be excited! Be joyful! Hit the trail! Follow the wind across the Big Open!" it seemed to say.
"Very well! But I'm for my bed now. Big day tomorrow!"
Sleep well, Mary.
She slept that night the sleep of the child whose home the Sherman Ranch would become. The next morning she was up at dawn, packed her minimal remaining belongings and was ready to hand over the keys.
The family were early and the parents apologetic. "She's been up since sunrise!" the mother explained. "She wouldn't even let us wait for the packers. She just insisted we bring the horses over first."
"That's good!" Mary told them. "The place has been too quiet since the last of my stock went."
"Mummy, come on!" The little girl tugged her mother's arm impatiently. "The cowboy says they need to settle in right away."
The mother rolled her eyes. "Seems like she's brought her imaginary friends with her," she said ruefully.
"Cowboys always appeal to the imaginative," Mary smiled, "and this has always been their home, as you saw in the photos."
"It's been your home for a long time too, Mary," the father said gently. "Where are you headed now?"
A warm breeze faintly scented with oregano ruffled Mary's white hair. She spread her arms wide, embracing the horizon. "Out there. I'm sixty seven and I've never been further than Denver. I'm riding with the wind!"
A wide grin transformed her careworn face and she strode off towards the barn. "I'll be off and let you get your horses in and settled."
But as she came into the old building she saw, as she had once or twice before, the star-faced bay horse in the second stall along. Mary drew a deep breath.
"You ready to go too?" she murmured tenderly.
Then she lifted her helmet from the hook in the wall and wheeled the black motorbike out into the yard, where the family were busy unloading the trailer.
Mary took a last look round the yard, the corrals and the buildings. A hand touched her cheek and a feather-light kiss was placed on her forehead. She felt the rider hop up into the saddle of the impatient mount right next to her.
"God go with you, Mary!"
As she settled her helmet and swung a leg over the bike, Mary saw the cowboy and his bay horse leap into a gallop, not on the road but into the skies, and in that instant fade like a shadow on the wind.
"The angels ride with you too, Jess!" she murmured, "and bring you to your family and your eternal home."
Then she zoomed off herself down the road to freedom. Her heart was content at last, not least because she knew that Jess Harper was safely home in the company of all those he had loved and protected so long.
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Notes:
Acknowledgement: For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors.
Grateful thanks as always to Westfalen for the original inspiration for this story, for ideas which shaped it and for such thorough assistance in researching the background and proof-reading. Any mistakes are mine.
NOW
If you would like to know more about why this all happened, turn to Chapter 12,
the give-away part which I didn't include at the beginning when Jess first reaches the ranch.
And to see the full Sherman family tree go to Chapter 13.