This story was inspired by the song "Father's Son" by Stephen Wilson Jr. I beg you, please listen to that song when you finish this story, because it sums up everything I was trying to get across about Slim so perfectly. Almost every line sounds like it could have been written with Slim in mind.
1865
The rain came down in cold and dreary sheets. Cold. That's all that Slim could feel. No matter how close he got to the fire, the warmth couldn't reach his insides. He shivered inside the coarse blanket he had wrapped around himself. He could hear the other men in camp laughing and carrying on. He could bet that there was a bottle being passed around and stories being told of beautiful women, but he couldn't bring himself to join them. Something about the weather was reminding him of home. Home, the place he had fought so long and hard to get away from, and now it was calling to him like a siren song, making every part of his heart ache with longing. He could feel some stinging salt building in his eyes. He blinked and steeled his will to keep the tears from coming to the surface.
"I just hope you can tell me it was worth it when you get back." He was startled by how clearly he could almost hear his father's voice floating on the wind and the rain. Suddenly the tears wouldn't be kept in, and a silent stream of moisture slid down his cheek. In that instant, he was back in the ranch house, facing his father. Like snapshots, he began to see all his adolescent scenes play out in his head.
Ten Years Earlier
The blonde teenager threw his armful of logs beside the fireplace with a fury that was palpable. Matthew Sherman looked up from his seat at the table with a frown.
"Something botherin' you, Slim?" The contempt was clear in the boy's face as he looked at his father. Something close to a snarl lurked at the edges of his mouth. However, instead of answering, he merely pierced the older man with a glare and turned to go out to the barn. He was stopped halfway with a command that felt almost like a physical impediment in his way.
"Slim, come back here." The cold steel in his father's voice couldn't be mistaken. Whipping around, Slim let out an infuriated,
"What?!" Slowly Matthew rose from the table, like a contained hurricane rising from the depths of the sea.
"I said come here." His voice was still low and contained. Slim found himself wishing fervently that his father would let his passion out in a shout instead of always keeping it tautly controlled. Did he always have to be so perfect? Sullenly, Slim walked towards him.
"Yeah?" Matthew stared at him disapprovingly at the disrespect in his tone.
"Is this about that girl I said you couldn't see?" Matt was never one to beat around the bush. Yet another thing that crawled under Slim's skin.
"Of course it is, Pa." He tried to keep his mouth closed in the same stoic way his father did, but it only lasted for a few seconds under his father's close scrutiny. Bursting out, he added vehemently, "You have no right to tell me who I can and can't see! I can make my own decisions now - I'm fifteen, after all!" Pursing his lips, his father merely nodded and said bitingly,
"That old?" In that moment Slim felt about as small as a person can get. With no words left and embarrassing tears threatening to leak out of his eyes, he turned and ran out of the house. The burning rage inside drove him to the hayloft where he could let out the hot, bitter tears. He missed the profound look of regret that passed over his father's face before he swung his leg over the chair at the table and sat back down to stare sadly at his cup of coffee.
Two Months Later
"Matt, darling, have you seen Slim this morning?" Mary was holding her dark-haired baby in her arms as she talked to her husband. Matt looked up presently from the ledger book he was writing in.
"Uh, yeah, I sent him up to the north pasture to mend those fences that had rotted." She could see in his eyes that his mind was not in the words he was saying but was still in the midst of the figures he was adding. He turned his head back towards the desk, until her voice reached into his thoughts.
"Matt." The intimate tone of her voice caused him to raise his head immediately. She had moved to stand right beside him, ensuring that his whole attention was on her. When she was satisfied that the ledger was out of his mind, she said, "I think you need to talk with Slim. He's been moody the past few weeks. You know there's no time a son needs his father more than when he's trying to become a man." She smoothed the baby's hair against his head tenderly as she added, "I know you're trying to figure out how to be a father to your oldest. But think, when Andy here gets to be his age, you'll have it all figured out." She now moved her hand to rub Matt's back, and leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. Then she whispered in his ear, "Talk to him, Matt." He nodded, but as she began to turn away he pulled her back around to give her a passionate kiss.
"I will," he breathed once they broke apart. "I'll head out to see him in a little while."
Slim was just starting on the last post when his father rode over the rise. He continued working until his father stopped and dismounted. Then, taking a break, he pushed his hat back on his head and asked,
"Does it look okay?" Matt surveyed his work approvingly, and nodded his head.
"Looks good, Slim." The boy would never have admitted what a surge of pride ran through him at these words. Outwardly, he just nodded.
"I'm just about done here. Does Ma have lunch fixed for us?" Matt came to stand beside his son and pushed his hat back on his head in an identical manner as Slim just had.
"I think so. Andy's been a little fussy so it's taken her a little longer than usual." Slim could imagine his little brother throwing one of his tantrums, and he smiled slightly at the thought.
A long moment of silence stretched between them as Matt tried to think of how to put his thoughts into words. Finally, he just decided to dive right in.
"Slim, I know it's been hard recently." Slim sensed a lecture coming on, and he steeled himself. After a moment, his father continued. "You're a boy, growing into a man. You're having to make decisions, and sometimes you're not exactly sure what to do. Trust me, I remember those days. You feel like you're expected to do things that seem so hard. You're expected to be responsible. But responsibility is something that is earned, and in the earning of it you can sometimes make mistakes. And then you question yourself, wondering if you can ever learn to shoulder it." Matt paused for a moment. Slim was looking out at the fields, refusing to turn and look at his father. Knowing the churning thoughts and feelings that were inside of his son, Matt placed a hand on his shoulder. "I just want you to know, Slim, that I think you're coming right along. You're growing up faster than I'm realizing, and I know you'll be a good man. I'm proud of what you're becoming." A shudder ran through his son, and before he knew it he had wrapped Slim in a bear hug, reveling in the manly tears his son shed into his shoulder.
Two Years Later
He couldn't look up at his father, and he wondered if he ever would be able to again. The silence was far worse than any words or shouts or physical punishment that his father could have administered. He could feel the eyes of each of his siblings on him, and his mother ostensibly rising to get something from the kitchen. His sister Ruth stared down at her plate in extreme discomfort, while his brother John Horace looked at him in disbelief, mouth agape. Even little two-year-old Andy could tell that everyone was focused on his older brother, and his little voice asked uncertainly,
"Sim? Sim?"
But more than anything, he felt his father's disappointed gaze searching him, trying to figure out how he had failed as a father. However, when he finally broke the silence, of course it was in his eternally calm, logical tone.
"The sheriff tells me you and some of your friends shot at some men in town. Hit one in the shoulder, too, if I heard right." Slim continued to stand in front of the door he had just entered and refused to raise his head.
"Yes, sir." Shame flooded through him so intensely he wished he could stop existing. But his father was far from through.
"Do you want to tell me how it happened?" It was only at this point that Slim looked up, and the pleading that Matt saw in his son's eyes tore through his heart. But he knew that, no matter how much it hurt him, he needed his son to feel every ounce of his shame so he would never be tempted to repeat the mistake. In the long run, it was the more loving thing to do.
"Pa…" Slim's frantic voice begged not to be forced to repeat the details in front of his whole family, the siblings who looked up to him and the mother who doted on him.
"Matt, are you sure…" Mary began, unable to bear her oldest son's pain. But Matt raised a hand to silence her.
"Slim?" He prompted. Taking a ragged breath, Slim dropped his eyes again and began to relate the details.
"Tom Sloan said that one of the fellas in this group had called him a liar, and he wouldn't take that from anybody. Then Shorty said we needed to teach them a lesson." Slim looked up at his father desperately. "I didn't want to, Pa, I swear I didn't, but they all started to head down that way and I just sorta followed along. I never thought there would be any shooting. It just all happened so fast." Matt had listened to his son in silence, but when he finished Matt said,
"So you let your friends lead you into a shootout. Slim, I thought I had taught you to stand on your own two feet and make the right decisions, no matter what everyone around you was doing!" It was the only time that Slim had heard that amount of disappointment in his father's voice, and it crushed his soul. However, his shame and anger at himself for his weakness came out in a frenzied retort.
"How would you know what it's like? You're always so perfect, so high and mighty! You don't know what it's like to be a normal human being! D–n it, I hope I'm never anything like you!"
"Slim!" His father's shout was more than a warning. It was a whiplash. But Slim was overwrought, and he stomped outside, slamming the door violently behind him and leaving the family in stunned silence. Andy began to wail, and Ruth had tears running down her cheek. John Horace continued to stare at the door in shock. Mary looked up at her husband who had stood up from his chair. Visibly agitated, he stood where he was for a while, then moved towards his desk, but changed his mind. His steps moved towards the door that Slim had just strode out of, and he opened the door and exited out the same way.
Darkness had set in many hours ago, and distant stars twinkled in the clear night sky, but he could see the back of his son as he grasped the post on the porch as if for dear life and stared across at the pastures. It suddenly struck Matt for the first time that his son was almost as tall as himself. The strong back in front of him was the back of a man, not a boy. Why had he not noticed before?
"Slim." His son tensed and refused to answer.
"Slim." Again, a refusal to answer. Placing a firm hand on his arm, Matt pulled him around to face him.
"Leave me alone, Pa!" Slim cried out, tearing his arm out of his father's grasp. But Matt was not deterred. He now placed both hands on his son's strong shoulders.
"Slim, listen to me." His voice was as firm as his grip, but there was kindness behind it that Slim recognized. He was still tense, but he stayed quiet to let his father talk.
"Slim, this is difficult, not just for you but also for me." He released his hold on his son and let his arms fall back to his side. "It was easy to teach you when you were a child. I could just tell you what to do and you would do it, and if you didn't then a punishment would set you in the right place. I learned how to relate to my son as a boy." He paused, and Slim was surprised to see a tremor roll over his features. A sign of uncertainty? Surely not in his father!
"But you're not a boy anymore, Slim. You're a man." Slim felt as if he'd just been punched in the gut at his father's admission. "You're a man, Slim, and I don't know how to relate to my son as a man, as an equal." Slim couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his father's mouth. He never would have thought he would hear them. "Slim, being a man, you are bound to make man-sized mistakes, just like I did. Oh yes, I'm not perfect, Slim, like you seem to think. Far from it." Now Matt had placed his hands on the porch railing and was hunched over, staring across at the pasture, while his son looked at him in stunned silence. "I think that's why it's so hard to hear this news, because you are a much better man than I ever was at your age. I'm so proud of you, so much so that it doesn't seem possible that you can make mistakes like I did." Slim didn't think his heart could take anymore pain before, but now he thought it was about to burst from sheer love for his father. "Will you be patient with me as I figure this out?" He held back his tears just barely, but he threw his arms around his father and for a moment felt like a child in his father's embrace.
Two Years Later
Laramie was bustling today. Slim wondered to himself if something special was going on and decided to ask as he went into the general store. Lem was at the counter as he walked in and threw a warm smile across at him.
"Be with you in a minute, Slim!" he called out.
"Take your time, Mr. Evans," Slim answered. He had his mother's list in hand, full of groceries and fabric and such that was needed around the house, but he wanted to look over the firearms and see if anything new had come in. A beautifully embossed gun belt caught his eye, and he was irresistibly drawn to it. What a beauty it was! Engravings decorated the entire length of the brown leather. He could see himself strapping it on, dropping his pistol inside the holster, and being the envy of everyone in town.
However, just at that moment, he heard the owner of the store come out of the back room and ask Lem, "I heard you talking to somebody just a second ago. Who was it?" Lem replied,
"Oh, it's Matt Sherman's boy." The owner said something about expecting someone for an appointment, but Slim didn't hear that. After the vision he had been having of being a man among men, it was crushing to hear himself referred to as "Matt Sherman's boy." Not Slim. Slim Sherman. His own person. Simply "Matt Sherman's boy." It wounded his pride deeply.
He didn't realize he was still staring at the envied gun belt until he heard Lem right behind him say, "It's a beauty, ain't it, Slim?" Jumping, Slim whirled around towards the clerk.
"Oh, sorry, Slim!" Lem laughed. "Didn't mean to startle you!"
"Don't worry about it, Mr. Evans," Slim said and forced a smile. "Here's Ma's list that she needs filled."
"Coming right up." The order was filled quickly and Slim found himself driving the wagon back home, but he couldn't shake the thought of what he had heard in the store. It burned inside of him, rankling that he was seen as just a knock-off of his father, a chip off the old block. Didn't they realize he wasn't his father?
It was only a few days later that his birthday came. He was turning nineteen, and his family wanted to have a celebration. His mother made a cake, each of the siblings made him something special, and little Andy kept wrapping his leg in a ferocious hug. He scooped his little brother up after the festivities subsided, but then Matt approached with a wrapped package.
"Lem at the general store said he thought you might like this." Slim quickly placed his brother back on the floor and took the package from his father. He missed the look that flashed across Matt's face, an almost childish expression of pride and hopefulness, waiting for the reaction of the receiver. Slim ripped the paper off, then a smile stretched across his face as he pulled out the beautiful gun belt he had been eyeing. The excitement he exuded was all the thanks Matt needed. As Slim turned the gun belt over in his hands eagerly, he noticed his father had even had his name embossed on the inside.
"Matthew Sherman, Jr."
Suddenly, the joy of the belt seemed to fade away. These letters held a story all their own. They were a stark reminder that, not only was Slim known as his father's son, but he didn't even have his own name. He had his father's name. With "Junior" attached at the end.
He tried to keep the excitement for his father's sake, he really did, but suddenly the belt seemed to him a mockery of his desire for independent manhood. He thanked his father, but Matt could tell something had changed. He didn't ask, but he wondered at the change in his son's demeanor.
The gun belt stayed buried in Slim's drawer for a long time.
Eight Months Later
"Pa, do you think that all the things going on back east could lead to war?" Slim's younger sister was nothing if not intelligent, and she eagerly devoured the current events. Talk of conflict and opposing viewpoints had been going on for many years, but it all seemed to be reaching a boiling point. She and Slim had held many conversations about these topics and they bantered ideas back and forth about possible outcomes. However, anytime either one of them hinted at these topics at the dinner table, Matt seemed to redirect the topic of conversation very quickly. But she decided to press her luck once more.
Matt let several long minutes pass as he continued to chew his food. Finally, after pushing back his plate and leaning back in his chair, he said evenly,
"It's a possibility, that's for certain, but whatever happens, it really won't make a difference one way or another to us. Life will go on." Slim decided to push the envelope.
"You don't think we should even have an opinion?" Matt looked at him steadily.
"If you're not going to act on it, why does it matter?" Staring back at him with the same steely gaze in his same blue eyes, Slim answered,
"It matters to know your own mind." With profound wisdom, Matt pushed back,
"We'll never fully know our own minds, no matter how hard we try." Slim couldn't help acknowledging the truth in his father's statement, but he wasn't ready to let the matter drop. He could feel the anger welling up inside at the fact that his father always had the right answer, but he forced the feeling down and asked calmly,
"So you don't think that keeping our country together is enough of a reason to take a stand?" Shaking his head, Matt answered,
"There's very few things that are worth killing a man over. If someone's determined to go their own way, I don't see that it's our right to force them to go along with us. Give them space, and they might just see they've made a mistake and come back on their own." Slim couldn't hide the surprise in his face. He had felt certain that his father always avoided talking about the current events because he didn't want to think about it, but hearing how much thought he actually had put into these ideas caught Slim off guard.
"But Pa, tearing the country in two is a pretty big mistake, maybe one nobody could come back from." This was from Ruth, who was delighted that her father wanted to continue this conversation. He looked at her quickly, and a wave of sadness rolled over his face.
"I don't see how starting a war and killing the very people you want to keep in this country is less of a mistake." Slim opened his mouth to add something else, but Matt raised his hand. "No, we're not going to talk about this anymore. It's only going to make us all get our tempers up for no reason."
Slim may have obeyed his father and stopped talking about the issue, but he didn't stop thinking about it. It stayed on the forefront of his mind, and he and Ruth had another conversation that night before they went to bed.
"Slim, would you join up if a war broke out? After all, like Pa said, it wouldn't affect us very much way out here." Slim shook his head with feeling.
"It might not, but knowing that there's people fighting out there for what's right, I don't know if I could just sit here and be okay with that." Ruth was quiet for a moment, then responded,
"Just because you stay home doesn't mean you're not fighting your own kind of battle. I know that." Slim always appreciated his sister's wisdom, and he agreed respectfully with her.
"I know." He paused before adding, "And after all, there might not even be a war, so then we'd be worrying about it for nothing."
"I wish I could believe that," Ruth said somberly. "But I don't think things can go any other way."
It was to be a timely and prophetic statement, for the very next day they received news that a fort in South Carolina had been fired on by Southern forces. The war had begun.
Slim was in town when he saw a rider come galloping down the road like the devil was after him, shouting to everyone he passed, "They're fighting back East! The war's started!" A thrill ran through Slim that was equal measures excitement and dread. Excitement for the possibilities of proving himself with daring exploits, and dread for the unavoidable suffering that would come along with the dangers of war. He hurried to finish his chores and take the news back to his family.
Just as he began to climb up on his horse, his friend Tom Sloan grabbed his arm.
"Slim! Did you hear the news?'
"How could I not?" Slim answered sardonically. Tom missed the humor entirely but simply said,
"Well?" Though Slim knew what he was asking, he suddenly felt stubborn and said after a moment of expectant silence,
"Well what?" Tom let out an exasperated grunt.
"Are you gonna join up? Fight for your country?" Just like that, after Slim had thought long and hard about joining the fight, and after he had been so certain that he would be the first in line, now that the decision was laid out in front of him, he found himself hesitating. Seeing his hesitation, Tom scoffed, "Ah, come on, Slim, don't tell me you haven't been thinking about this for a long time." Slim still hesitated, debating in his mind what to tell Tom as to the reason for his hesitancy. Before he could say anything, though, Tom added,
"It's your Pa, isn't it. He's always so careful to think about everything. He's the reason you're not jumping at this chance, isn't he." The way it was said, in a discouraging, condescending, and completely confident way made Slim throw away all of his natural common sense. If he had actually stopped to think, he might have realized that Tom's jab actually hid behind it jealousy, an admiration and desire for the strong example of manhood that Slim had in his father. He might have remembered the lazy, shiftless alcoholic that claimed Tom as a son and been more understanding of the feelings undergirding these words.
But Slim didn't stop to think. All he heard was an echo in his mind. "Matt Sherman's boy." Boy! "Matthew Sherman, Jr." Couldn't they just call me Slim? "His father's son." Not my own person. "The oldest of the Sherman bunch." Just a cog in the well-oiled Sherman machine.
This was his chance to show them all that he was his own man.
"You better watch it, Tom. Yeah, I'm joining up, just as soon as I can." A greedy smile flashed over Tom's face.
"Well, come on, then! I'm heading to Omaha myself next week - You can come with me." Slim agreed, and the two boys set a time and a place to meet and begin the journey.
As Slim had expected, no one at home was happy about the news. Mary placed a hand over her mouth as tears sprang into her eyes. Ruth looked proud, yet sad. John Horace stared at his older brother with a strange look that bordered on anger. If Slim had noticed he might have had a talk with his brother and learned some valuable things that had been going on.
But Slim's whole attention was focused on his father, who simply looked at him with an unreadable expression. The silence stretched out for what seemed like ages. Slim was waiting for some chastising remark, some high-handed lesson, maybe even an outright forbiddance. But none of these things is what came out of his father's mouth.
Instead, his father simply stared out the window, saying distantly, "I hope you can tell me it was worth it when you get back." This simple statement held within it so many meanings. It said that his father realized Slim's mind was made up, and no amount of arguing would change it. It said that his father believed he was man enough to make his own decisions, even if they conflicted with Matt's opinions. Finally, it said that his father believed that, if a man is making his own decisions, he should also be prepared to shoulder the responsibilities those decisions bring on him.
Slim wasn't sure exactly what reaction he had expected from his father, but it wasn't that. The rest of their meal continued in silence.
It wasn't until the night before Slim was planning to leave that he had another meaningful interaction with his father. He knew Matt was unhappy with his choice, so he saw no reason to talk about their difference of opinion. However, after debating back and forth about leaving the matter alone until he got back from the war, Slim finally made up his mind to seek out his father and have one last conversation before leaving.
Little did he know how much that decision would mean to him in the future.
His father was on the porch, sitting in his wooden chair and polishing a bridle. He looked up at Slim as the soon-to-be soldier stepped out and gave him a smile.
"Hi, Son," he said invitingly. "Sit down." Though the chair next to Matt was unoccupied, Slim didn't feel like taking it. Instead, he settled himself on the porch railing and leaned his head back against the post so he could look up at the stars in the sky. It seemed the only view that could still all the thoughts within.
A comfortable silence stretched out for several minutes, broken only by the squeaks of the leather bridle his father was polishing. Finally, Matt gathered up the project and placed it in the empty chair beside him. He leaned back.
"So you're going to Omaha, then."
"M-hmm," Slim murmured. The stars had lulled him into a peaceful comfort, and he had no desire to start an argument. The same mood seemed to have settled on his father too.
"That's a pretty far piece from here," Matt commented lazily.
"M-hmm," Slim repeated.
"You excited?" Slim didn't reply immediately to this question, even though he nearly let out another automatic "M-hmm." With the hesitation in his response, his father fixed his gaze on his son. "Slim, I hope you're not rushing into this." With the peaceful mood that Slim was in, he didn't immediately bristle at the fatherly tone. However, he did lose a bit of his peacefulness. He brought his head up and turned to look at his father.
"Pa, I've been thinking about this for a long time. I've got to fight for what I believe in." Now it was Matt's turn to hesitate. When he did finally answer, his voice was thoughtful.
"I suppose I shouldn't expect you to do anything less. I just wish I felt the same, and then I'd join up with you." A vision of him and his father charging into enemy lines side-by-side came into Slim's head, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought as he leaned his head back against the post again.
"Yeah, me too." Another comfortable silence enveloped them. After a while, Matt roused himself and stood up from the chair.
"Well, if you're leaving for Omaha in the morning you'd better get some sleep." Slim pulled himself forward and placed his feet back on the porch.
"Yeah, I guess." Matt was just reaching for the door when Slim added, "Pa?" He waited for his father to turn around.
"Hmm?" Casting his eyes down to the ground, Slim opened his mouth, shut it, then looked up steadily at his father.
"Pa, do you really think I'm doing the right thing?" Matt took a few steps toward his son (he would never get used to the fact that they were the same height) and placed his hands on his hips after pushing his hat back on his head.
"Slim, I can't tell you what's right and what's wrong anymore. You're just as much of a man as me, and just because I don't agree with you doesn't mean you're right and I'm wrong, or you're wrong and I'm right." He reached a hand up to take his hat off and raked a hand through his hair as he looked aside. "This war, it's doing things to people all over the country, turning families against each other, tearing them apart. That's not going to happen to my family." The almost angry tone he said the last sentence in struck Slim powerfully. Matt focused his gaze back on Slim. "I don't agree with your decision, you know that, but you're my son, no matter what. I'm proud that you're doing what you believe is right." Slim nodded, and his father clapped him on the arm with a grin. "Just make sure you come home safe. Maybe bring a Reb or two home with you." They both laughed aloud at this.
Slim left for Omaha early the next morning. As he turned around in the saddle and saw his family waving at him, he suddenly realized that he never would have guessed what an ache he would feel inside. He felt as if he was ripping his heart away from something crucial in his life.
And little did he know that was the last time he would see all of his family gathered together.
Present Day (1865)
The rain was still falling, but even wrapped in his thoughts Slim heard someone approaching. Thank goodness for the darkness, or they might have been able to tell that he had been shedding tears.
"Sherman," a voice said lowly. He looked up to see his captain, a man he had grown to admire, bending over him. He had the strangest look on his face, some wild mixture of confusion, astonishment, disbelief, excitement, and joy.
"Yes, sir, Captain?" The officer seemed to be finding the words hard to say. But he found his voice presently.
"Sherman, I'm about to go tell the rest of the men, but I wanted you to be the first to know. Lee met with General Grant yesterday. He signed papers on behalf of his army to surrender." He paused, waiting to see if Slim grasped what this meant. Just to be sure, he added breathlessly, "The war's over. We can go home." Slim had understood what it meant, but it was too much to comprehend, too much to accept after four brutal years of fighting, that all he could do was nod vaguely. The captain moved off to tell the rest of the men, and even as Slim heard them let out whoops and hollers of celebration, he simply continued to stare into the campfire.
One Month Later
The ranch lay out before him, just as it had looked when he left. As he observed it from the hill, his shattered heart began to mend at the sight, a reminder of unchanging things in a changing world. He could see the scenes from his childhood playing out in front of him. They seemed like a million years ago now. Had he really been a child once, innocent and carefree?
However, it was awfully still. Shouldn't John Horace be doing chores? And where was Ruth's cheerful singing? And why wasn't Andy romping in the yard? The thought of his youngest brother made his heart constrict. He couldn't even imagine how much the boy must have grown in the last four years.
The stillness was unsettling, and he rode closer with a dark foreboding quickly replacing his joy. As he slipped off his horse and tethered him to the hitching post, he noticed that there was a fire in the fireplace, the lanterns were lit inside, the smell of cooking wafted out to greet him, all of those things that bear testimony to a house that is lived in. He shrugged the foreboding aside. Just as he stepped onto the porch, remembering the last conversation he and his father had shared there, the door opened and Ruth stepped out. Coming face to face with him, she froze, shock clear on her face, but almost immediately it was replaced with a smile that threatened to split her face in two, and shrieking,
"Slim!" she jumped into his arms. They were both laughing and crying at the same time, and the commotion brought the rest of the family outside. Mary gasped and put her hand over her mouth, nearly fainting from surprise.
"Ma," Slim choked, and swept her up in his strong arms. Her tears rained down on his shoulder as he twirled her around. Finally, when they released, Slim looked over her shoulder to see that his father's best friend, Jonesy, was standing there a little awkwardly in the midst of such a joyful reunion. But he was clearly delighted to see Slim and reached eagerly forward to pump his arm.
"Slim, it's good to see you."
"You too, Jonesy," he answered warmly. Just then, his attention was arrested by little Andy standing in the doorway, watching him curiously. But he wasn't the three-year-old that Slim had left behind. He was now a seven-year old, not the happy toddler anymore but a quiet and observant boy. He was looking at his brother curiously, unable to remember this stranger that he hadn't seen for more than half of his life.
"Andy, this is your brother, Slim," Jonesy leaned down to tell him. Andy continued to look his brother up and down, just seeing another stranger. But when he looked up at Slim's face and saw his father's features, a small smile broke over his face and he held out a hand to his brother.
"Hi, Slim. I'm Andy." Slim could have laughed aloud, but he held it under his amused grin.
"Hi Andy," he answered as he took the offered hand and shook it seriously. Andy looked up at him with a mischievous grin of his own and said,
"Did you know that I've got a pet possum out back? I can show him to you if you want." Slim finally let out his laugh and answered,
"I'll see it in a minute." Then, looking up and all around, he asked innocently,
"Where's John Horace?" Mary dropped her eyes, and Slim watched as the joy suddenly drained from her face. Ruth grabbed Andy's hand and took it upon herself to break the hard news.
"He ran off just a few days after you did and joined the Confederate Army. We haven't heard from him since." Slim's face fell at the bad news. John Horace was just a kid, much too young to be in any army! There was no telling what had happened - His brother might have been killed, he might have been taken captive, or he might have been wounded so severely that he couldn't be moved for a long time. Or he might need time to figure out his own mind after learning to become a man in the midst of losing a war. The returning soldier could understand all of this.
But all Slim said was, "The Confederate Army, huh?" There was no need to explain the comment, as he stood there wearing his battered blue uniform. Ruth nodded. The silence hung heavily over them, until Slim attempted to lighten the mood.
"When's Pa getting back?"
If he had dropped a bomb and they were all waiting for it to explode, the atmosphere couldn't have tensed so suddenly and intensely as it did at these words. Each person present seemed to have turned to stone. As Slim cast his eyes over each person in turn, the sudden change gripped him, but his heart wouldn't let him accept what his mind was telling him no one wanted to tell him. The abject wretchedness on each face told the truth plainly, but no one was brave enough to voice it.
Only when his mother let out an involuntary sob and Jonesy hurried to put an arm around her shoulders did Slim finally understand.
"Pa…" He couldn't finish the thought. It was such an emptiness that tore through him that no words would come. Someone could have physically reached in and removed his heart for all that rushed through him, the pain, the way his other faculties seemed to stop working, the ripping away of his very core.
And yet, simultaneously, he really didn't feel anything. It was such a foreign concept to think that his father was not a part of his life that he couldn't fathom it. The facts were there, but they were distant, removed. They didn't apply to him.
Ruth stepped forward to place a hand on his arm, but he pulled away and stepped down from the porch in a daze. His unseeing eyes slowly swiveled around, taking in but seeing through all the familiar landscape of the ranch yard.
Stumbling to the barn, he swung open the doors, still expecting to see his father coming out of one of the stalls, or throwing hay down from the hayloft, or laying down his hammer at the forge. Maybe he was cleaning his rifle in the corner, or reaching for the canteen that Slim knew he kept hanging on the wall "for medicinal purposes only." A vivid memory of his father shoeing a horse came to Slim's mind, so vivid that it seemed like yesterday.
But it wasn't yesterday. He hadn't seen his father for four long years. Surely, he couldn't have gone through a war, something that clawed away everything he ever thought he knew, and come home, aching for his father's grounding influence to remind him what was real, only to find that he would never see his father again? It couldn't be possible! It was all that he had clung to during the hardest parts of the battles, the loneliness, and the pain of his soldier's life.
That was when he caught a glimpse of his father's horse.
The black gelding stood in his stall, calmly, patiently, waiting for the one he loved most to come back to him.
Just like Slim had thought his father would be waiting for him when he came back.
His long strides quickly ate up the ground between himself and the stall, and he stepped inside, reaching a hand out to the gelding. The horse whooshed at him fondly, sniffed him all over for treats, and finding none, gently butted him, almost as if to reprimand him with, "Your father would never have treated me this way." Slim rubbed his nose and let his hand run down his neck as the gelding went back to his oats. The soldier's jaw clenched and unclenched repeatedly as he tried to come to term with the facts he had just learned.
Slim put on a brave face when he came back in the house, but his mother could see the tightness in his jaw. His denial was harder for her to watch than if he had let his grief loose. She worried for him as the days went by and he did not show any signs of his sorrow coming to the surface. All she saw was anger, removal, and determination to appear strong and unaffected. But she knew he was anything but.
Several nights later, Slim was staring into the blackness as he lay on his bed. He heard the door creak open, and Ruth crept in quietly.
"Slim?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he said softly. She was still getting used to the husky tones of manhood in his voice.
"There's something I've been wanting to tell you but haven't found the time." He sat up on his elbow in bed when he heard the contained excitement in her shaking voice. He could just barely make out her silhouette in the leaked light from the full moon.
"Yeah? What is it?" He saw her head dip, and he could imagine the little blush that he knew was spreading over her features.
"Do you remember Asa Barnes?" A vivid picture of a red-headed boy with freckles and crooked teeth entered Slim's mind.
"I sure do," he said with a hint of amusement. A pause followed.
"Well, he asked me to marry him last month." An even longer pause ensued, until Slim couldn't be silent any longer and cried out,
"What did you say?" He heard a giggle burst forth from his sister, which quickly developed into rolling laughter, between peals of which she managed to gasp,
"I said yes!" Dumbfounded, Slim found himself joining in with her laughter, in spite of his whirling mind trying to picture his sister, married. And to Asa Barnes, no less! After their laughter had begun to subside, he got up and wrapped his arms around her, saying,
"Ruth, I'm really happy for you, honestly." Now that her giddy laughter had subsided, the volatile emotions inside her suddenly turned into tears, and she began to sob into her brother's shoulder. He held onto her tightly as she cried. Finally, the tears stopped and she withdrew from his embrace.
"I'm going to miss living here," she sniffed. He still held onto her arms, and he rubbed them sympathetically. Peering into her face, he asked,
"But do you love him, Ruth?" Even in the dark, he could see a smile grow on her face, the purest smile he had ever seen, and it was all the answer she needed to give. She nodded. "Well, if that's the case, you're never going to regret giving up this life to make a life with him. You'll be happier than you could ever imagine." In that moment, she could have sworn she was talking to her father, and the reminder on top of all her other emotions brought on a new batch of tears. Slim pulled her back into his arms and let her cry some more.
"I'm done, I promise," she said with a half-laugh, half-sob as she pulled back one more time. He wiped the glistening tears from her cheek and gazed at her fondly, and it suddenly dawned on him that he was losing his sister.
"Slim, there's one more thing." She returned his gaze with a hopeful smile. "Will you walk me down the aisle?" For the first time since learning of his father's death, the full reality of his absence impacted Slim, as he realized he was the one who was expected to take his place. Along with this realization came a sudden release of all the grief he had been unwilling to accept.
Now it was Slim's turn to dissolve into tears.
Two Months Later
Slim never knew how he made it all the way down the aisle with his sister on his arm. Asa Barnes had eyes only for his blushing bride, and he certainly couldn't spare a glance at her brother. Slim felt as if he had a cornstalk tied to his back, keeping him stiffly upright, while his every effort was focused on not allowing the tears behind his eyes to escape. He nearly lost them when Ruth turned to give him a kiss on the cheek before joining hands with Asa, but with a tremendous effort he forced a trembling smile and hurried to sit down.
The ceremony went by in a blur, literally, because as valiant an effort as Slim made to hold back his tears, a few overflowed when he heard the heartfelt vows that each person made to the other. He thought of how much his father would have enjoyed seeing his only daughter marry a man who would treat her well, and he had to bow his head until the thought passed.
Then there was a celebration afterwards, with cake and punch and neighbors all around congratulating the new couple. Slim would have liked to have had a few moments alone with Ruth, to enjoy one last moment to talk as brother and sister, but then he reminded himself that she was now a wife, and Asa Barnes was the focus of her life now. It hurt, but that was the way things worked.
When he returned to the ranch with his mother and Andy and Jonesy, there was a quietness about the place, an added emptiness. Everyone seemed in a somber mood as they got down off of the wagon. Slim led the horses into the barn and unhooked them, finished his evening chores, and came back to the house after he knew everything was how it should be. Walking in the front door, his first glance fell on the table and chairs. It seemed a stark reminder of how their family had gradually been whittled down.
He remembered his mother talking about the three children she had borne who had not even survived to have a body outside of the womb. Then there was Rachel, who would have been just a little younger than Ruth if she had survived her first year. And Henry. Slim remembered Henry. He had been ten years old when the boy had been born, looking like a baby should, except that there was no life in him. It shook him, and he remembered having nightmares for weeks after this first real glimpse of death.
Now his father. And possibly John Horace. And, in a different way, Ruth.
And yet, with all of this, there was still one more loss that was coming.
Three Years Later
It had been coming on for three years. Mary Sherman's health had been gradually declining. She hadn't gone to see any doctor, and there was an honest suspicion that it wouldn't have done much good even if she had.
"Mary, you need to get some rest," Jonesy would say. But Mary would just smile wearily and say,
"No, there's still more I need to do." No amount of coaxing, pleading, or ordering would do any good. Day by day, Jonesy could see her withering away.
Finally, one day, Jonesy came into the kitchen from the barn to find her sitting in a chair, staring at nothing. "Mary, you okay?" he asked, concerned. She snapped out of her reverie and shook her head.
"Oh, oh yes, I'm fine." However, her actions were quick to make a liar of her, for even as she tried to stand up, her emaciated body could not support the movement, and she would have collapsed on the floor if Jonesy hadn't caught her. Gently, he carried her to her room and laid her on the bed.
He had to get a doctor.
And Slim.
Hurrying out to the barn, he found Andy and briefly explained what had happened. "I need you to stay inside and keep an eye on your mother." Andy nodded, eyes round with fear, but hurried to do as Jonesy said. Within minutes, Jonesy had saddled a horse and, in spite of the protests his back continued to make, rode as hard as he could towards town.
You see, something had happened to Slim these last three years. The war had taken a toll on him, and learning to live with the horrors he had witnessed would take a lifetime. Alongside that, the burden that his father's absence had left on his shoulders was just too heavy. Losing his father, he had lost the moorings that had always tethered him to stability. How could he ever live up to the standards his father had put in place?
Feeling as if he could never fulfill the role that was expected of him, he had done what many men do: He had run away from his responsibility. First it was to Adobe Wells, where he had hooked up with a rancher and become involved in a range war. But somehow, he couldn't stay away from home, and he had returned, forlorn, miserable, kicking himself for his weakness that was so unlike his father. And though he had stayed home since, he ran away by a different trail, one that took him to the saloon in town to drown his fears and failings.
Jonesy knew this was where he would be now. And he wasn't disappointed.
As the old man pushed through the doors of the saloon, he saw the returned soldier leaning against the bar, throwing back a swallow from a shot glass. Even in the midst of his disapproval, Jonesy couldn't help but be struck by how much Slim looked like his father, the young man he had met many years ago.
"Slim," he said as he came up beside the young man. Slim looked down at his father's friend.
"Go on, Jonesy, I'm not in the mood for a lecture right now." The alcohol could only cover up so much. It had never and would never drown out the shame that Slim felt deep in his core for the road he was following. Nevertheless, he threw back another shot in hopes that this time it would.
"Slim, you're needed at home." Now Jonesy plucked desperately at his sleeve, but Slim pulled away from him unsteadily.
"Jonesy, leave me alone, all right?" His voice was slurred, and Jonesy knew he wasn't thinking straight, but he had to do something to reach through the fog and touch the real Slim that was still inside.
"Slim, your mother…" But before he could finish the sentence Slim cut him off angrily.
"I know she's worried about me, Jonesy! You don't have to tell me that again!" HIs voice had risen to a significant volume. The bartender stopped wiping the glass in his hand and threw a wary glance at him.
"But Slim-" Jonesy tried again, but he got no further. This time, Slim swung around towards him and used his free hand to shove Jonesy back towards the swinging doors he had come in.
'Jonesy, I said get out!" The entire saloon had fallen silent, every eye watching the spectacle playing out before them. The bartender, who had been edging his way towards the inebriated blonde, now leaned over the counter and said in a low voice,
"Son, I think you've had enough for now." Slim's head whipped towards the bartender and he snapped loudly,
"I'm not your son!" Choosing this precise moment to interject, Jonesy said,
"You're right about that, Slim. For Heaven's sake, boy, what do you think your father would think of you right now? He didn't raise you like this!" Moisture suddenly sprang into Slim's eyes, and his hard jaw trembled. He had no words to throw back at his father's friend, so Jonesy decided to seize the moment to tell him the hard news.
"Slim," he said quietly. "It's your mother. I think she's dying." Slim, who had been staring at the ground, jerked his head up, and the eyes that searched Jonesy's face for a lie were not the eyes of a drunken man. "I came into town to get the doctor. You better come with me." Turning, Jonesy led the way out, and after a few moments Slim took a step after him, stumbling as he did, and catching himself on the bar countertop. He stayed there, head bowed, for several moments, then raised himself up and walked out to his horse as fast as his unsteady legs could carry him.
Jonesy's prediction proved true. Despite the doctor's best efforts, he said there was nothing he could do. There was something inside her that was eating away, something that he couldn't touch. Mary passed away a week later, after suffering terribly. In her last few days, she was often out of her head, and she continuously called for Matt to come and comfort her. Jonesy ached for her and would try to sit by her and ease the pain, and Andy would hold her hand while tears ran down his pale cheeks. But it was only when Slim came in and spoke to her that her tortured features relaxed, if only slightly.
Ruth and Asa were able to make it to the ranch house in time to see the ailing woman before she passed, and Ruth was amazed at the change that had come over her older brother. She had heard about and been witness to his recent history, and it had wounded her to see the brother she always admired sinking so low.
But the man she met now had changed, just like someone had turned a switch. Something inside him had made an inner resolve to change his ways. Not once during the whole week of Mary's dying days did he make a trip to the saloon. In fact, he didn't even leave the ranch. It was as if he had suddenly discovered the reason for his existence and had grasped it firmly with both hands, determined not to let go.
The reason for this change could actually be traced back to the morning after he rode back to the ranch with Jonesy. Waking up with a splitting headache and burning shame, the first thing he laid eyes on was his little brother. Andy had woken up before Slim, and he sat huddled on his bed, blankets pulled around his shoulders, staring at the wall with a look of pure terror. Without thinking, Slim rolled out of bed and crossed over to his brother, who looked up at him with brimming eyes. Seating himself on his brother's bed, Slim wrapped him in a tight hug as the boy let loose his tears against Slim's chest. At that moment, something that Slim had been pushing away for many years broke through the surface, and his running days were done.
Throughout the grueling week of Mary's sickness, Slim was Andy's constant, his mainstay, the solid rock he could lean against when all the fears and sadness threatened to overwhelm him. In fact, Slim was the rock that held the whole family together that week, and in the weeks and months following his mother's funeral.
One Year Later
"Slim, if you're goin' into town today, could you take a message to Sadie at the general store?" Jonesy was looking through the pantry in the kitchen, so he missed the mischievous grin that appeared on Slim's face.
"Why, Jonesy, you know as well as I do that she's married! Shame on you!" Jonesy turned around quickly, saying in his slow drawl,
"Why, Slim Sherman, you know I didn't mean nothin' like that!" Slim's mouth opened in a laugh.
"I don't know, Jonesy, knowin' your way with women…" Jonesy just let out a cantankerous,
"Ah, go on with ya." He added in moment, "I was gonna say that you can tell her that I'll be bringin' some eggs by in a day or so."
"Aha!" Slim shouted triumphantly.
"Aha what?" Andy, who had just come into the room, asked interestedly. Slim's big grin stayed on his face as he said,
"Andy, Jonesy's goin' courtin'!" The old man was tired of Slim's shenanigans and rolled his eyes as he turned back to the pantry. But Andy was thoroughly excited.
"Gosh, really Jonesy? Are you really?" Exasperated, Jonesy answered,
"No, Andy, your brother just has too much time on his hands to conjure up some darn fool story like that." The brothers shared a smile, and Slim rose to grab his hat from the hat rack and buckle on his gunbelt.
"I'm goin' into town, Andy. I'm gonna check the north pasture on my way back. You get out to the barn and get those harnesses shinin' before the stage comes in." Andy nodded, but was more interested in the flapjacks on the table than his brother's instructions. The buttery deliciousness topped with sweet syrup was all he noticed as his brother galloped down the lane.
Slim had delivered his message and deposited some money in the bank. He had been aware of the tense feeling in town, thanks to an outlaw being held in the jail and worries that his friends would try to spring him out. But Slim's errands couldn't be put off another day, so he hurried to accomplish them and get out of town as quick as he could. He was just getting ready to walk back to his horse when a stranger rode towards him. Pulling his horse up beside the blonde rancher, the stranger asked,
"What's your name, Son?"
Slim looked up with a rooted strength in his glance. He said each syllable slowly, deliberately.
"Matthew Sherman, Jr." Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "But most folks call me Slim." The stranger seemed to recognize the name, and his next sentence showed why.
"Matthew Sherman! Then you must be the one who owns the Sherman Ranch outside of town?" Slim was nodding, but stopped abruptly when the man added, "Your wife is Mary Sherman, then? Previously Mary Howard?" A coldness crept through Slim.
"No, sir, you're looking for Matthew Sherman, Sr. My father. He and my mother are both dead." The crestfallen look on the man's face wasn't enough to rouse pity in Slim, who was still far from healed from his parents' deaths.
"Dead? Oh, I'm so sorry, Son. I was looking forward to seeing them again." Slim knew he should ask for details, be polite, ask how the man knew his parents, maybe invite him to dinner, but the grief was still too near to follow through. He simply gave a curt,
"That's all right," and turned on his heel, leaving the poor man in bewilderment. Even as Slim reached the ranch and rode into the north pasture, he still felt a cold hollowness inside at the reminder of the parents he had lost.
Therefore, it was only bound to make him even more angry to see some drifter stretched out by the lake, right next to the "No Trespassing" sign, looking for all the world as if he owned this land. The very land his father had given his whole life to protect and maintain. Slim felt a cold fury working itself up inside him.
Quietly, he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and pulled his rifle out of the scabbard, advancing stealthily towards the trespasser. The hat pulled over the dark hair made Slim think he might be able to catch the stranger sleeping. Once he was close enough, he cocked his rifle. That was all it took to rouse the stranger, who began to reach for his pistol. But Slim had anticipated that.
"Keep your hands where they are." The stern command in his voice brooked no argument. As the stranger looked almost ready to disobey him anyways, Slim added, "Uh, don't move. Just stay right where you are." As he moved closer, he asked the young drifter coldly, "What are you doing here?" Not that he really cared, but he hoped the dark-haired man who peered up at him from beneath the brim of his hat might realize on his own that he needed to move on and admit it out loud.
Alas, that was not the kind of person he was dealing with. The impudent remark that issued forth made that plain.
"Gettin' a crick in m' back. Tell me when I can get up."
Just great, Slim thought as he ordered the stranger to hand over his gun. A dozen places this big mouth could have landed, and he had to choose my ranch.
So much for a normal, uninterrupted day.
I wish I knew how Pa would handle this.