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Chapter 13: Across the Broken Miles

"It's been a long dark night
And I've been a waitin' for the morning
It's been a long hard fight
But I see a brand new day a dawning..."
-The Wailin Jenny's

Thursday, April 21, 1988

The fields lay out below him like a quilt of interlocking parallelograms, sewn in brown and green. The land was alive, but he was in that dead space in the middle, neither on Earth nor up in Heaven and to think that only three days ago Uncle Jesse had still been -

Stop.

Or that three years ago-

No. Not that, either.

The message Joy had passed on to him in Chicago had been to call 'someone named Rosco' as soon as possible, and the ensuing call had routed him to O'Hare instead of home. He had changed into civilian clothes from his go-bag in a restroom of the TWA terminal, then sat for the next six hours staring out at the planes shuttling back and forth on the tarmac, trying not to think about where he was going and why.

He leaned his head against the window and looked towards the horizon and the early morning haze where Cincinnati rose like a scab on the farmland. The aspirin he'd bought at the kiosk while he waited for the red-eye to Atlanta had worn off by the time he boarded, and his head throbbed dully from holding back his grief, but this wasn't the time to let it go.

Daisy thought it seemed fitting that it would be raining.

It pounded against the canopy above them and on the cars parked in a long procession on the winding path, and ran off the edges of the canvas, muddying the loose ground. Next spring, grass would cover the ugly, rutted dirt, and a year after that lichens and moss would settle in. Someday, this spot would be forgotten like all the others; like the broken slabs leaned up against the back fence.

"... will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away..."

Bo was crying again. She could feel his breathing hitch where his shoulder touched her own, made all the worse for him trying to hide it. To her left, Luke was sitting; stoic and straight as a arrow, yet his eyes, if she could see them, would be filled with a horrible pain that lashed out and cut anyone close enough to try and care.

"...a life, well lived and well loved. And through it all, a steadfastness to what was right and decent and..."

And her own pain was there, just behind her eyes and in the tightness of her throat. She had shed plenty of tears, but the loss that cut the deepest was that which no one would ever understand - the twenty years of love, advice, and laughter that she had lost and could never retrieve.

"...that we will meet once again in the sweet by and by..."

Behind her sat a sea of faces she didn't know, and she was glad for the rain that drowned out any sounds of their grief. Many had come up to her at the wake with tears in their eyes, each with a story they needed to tell, waiting expectantly for her to remember whatever it was they were talking about. It wasn't her they needed. It was the Daisy she couldn't remember, but that Daisy had died in Crockett's Pond.

"... touched our lives and made them better, and though we will miss Jesse Duke, we will never forget him. He lives on in..."

Things would change now. Life would go on...and on. She saw the lonely years stretch out in front of her. Her cousins would move on; find someone to share their futures with, marry and raise families. Their lives were compete, full of years and memories and stories.

Her own life was a dried and empty husk, like the milkweeds after their seeds had scattered.

Empty.

Orphaned.

Alone.

The graveside service was crowded with the the many lives Jesse Duke had touched over the years. Enos supposed it was a beautiful service, despite the rain, if any funeral could truly be called beautiful. Maybe for one had many physical afflictions; their time-ravaged, earthly body exchanged for a more comfortable, eternal existence.

He wouldn't know. Nearly everyone he had cared about had died violently and before their time. He was still a child when his Aunt Mary had been beaten to death and thrown into the Chattahoochee for having the audacity to court a revenuer. His father, who had died in a still explosion when Enos was fifteen, remained the latest of a list that spanned generations of the Strate family.

He stood at the back of the crowd, hearing only bits and pieces of what the preacher was saying and feeling, for the first time in his life, like an outsider. Three years had passed since he had called Hazzard home, and life had gone on without him. Now, minus Daisy and Uncle Jesse, there was little reason to ever return to Georgia.

Once upon a time, nothing could have taken Hazzard's place in his heart. Not until he had walked across a frozen lake with the night sky full of green fire above him and stood in a snowy forest so quiet it shut out even his own thoughts. He had wandered into the North and discovered that magic still existed - as dangerous as it was beautiful.

I've fallen in love with it, he realized. The truth hit him blindsided. There would always be a pain in his heart for his past that nothing but time would soothe, but if he could start over, it would be there, not here.

After a last prayer the crowd began to shuffle away, heading back to their separate lives. He waited, hoping he could catch Bo and Luke without Daisy nearby.

"Enos?" He turned and looked down to find Ms. Tizdale, Hazzard's indomitable postmistress and good-natured busybody. "I thought that was you." She gave him a once over with a critical eye. "Not feedin' you enough up there in Michigan, I reckon. You're lookin a little scrawny."

How she knew where he lived, he hadn't a clue, but it didn't surprise him. "Hey Ms. Tizdale, it's good to see you, too. I guess I've been awful busy lately, not much time to eat."

She considered his excuse and nodded. "It's so terrible, what with sweet Jesse passing. I know you were close to him after poor Otis died, God rest his soul," she lamented, raising her eyes heavenward and he saw that there were tears in them. "I expect you'll be staying on at the farm for a few days?"

"Oh, no ma'am, I can't," he said. He could only imagine the fallout from that experience. "I've got two murders that ain't been solved, and I'll have to burn the midnight oil to figure them out." It was only half a lie.

The petite woman raised an eyebrow at him. "I expect it's more about not wantin' to see Daisy," she said. "I heard she don't remember you, anymore. I'm awful sorry about that, too."

"There's no fooling you, is there, Ms. Tizdale?" he sighed, resigned. "Anyhow, my flight from Atlanta leaves at 9:15 this evening. I was hoping to catch Bo and Luke before I left."

She turned around, craning her head to search for them then turned back and patted his hand. "You wait here, Enos," she told him, and left him standing alone.

The stragglers were leaving now that the rain had played itself out. He saw Ms. Tizdale take Daisy's arm and gently lead her away from the gravesite to the passenger side of her taxi cab. She opened the door for her and Daisy climbed inside. A moment later, the cab pulled onto the gravel drive on its way out of the cemetery.

"Well, I'll be ding-danged," he whispered to himself. "Good ole' Ms. Tizdale! That woman's got a heart of gold and the mind of a sharp tack."

Enos brushed past a couple speaking to each other and made his way over to where Bo and Luke were trying valiantly to look like they weren't falling apart at the seams. He'd known them too long to be fooled. Bo grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug, and others around them drifted respectfully away. Finally, he let him go, swiping at eyes red from grief and gave him a sad smile.

"Hey Enos," said Luke, somberly, giving him a hug as well. "Rosco said he got through to you. We was worried you might not be able to get away."

"I made time," he answered, "but I've got a flight leaving Atlanta in less than five hours."

Bo looked ready to object, but Luke beat him to it. "Now Enos, there was a time when you were nearly as close to Uncle Jesse as we were," he reminded him. "You've gotta at least stay the night at the farm."

"Luke's right, Enos," added Bo, "Why, it wouldn't be right not to, everybody knows you're practically a Duke!"

Enos shook his head. "Not everybody," he reminded him, dismally. "Thanks for the offer, fellas. I'm much obliged, but you know it'd be awkward for me to stay there, and I'm not just thinking of myself."

How long would it take for one of them to blurt out the past? He knew the boys like they were his own cousins, and Bo was especially good at putting his foot in his mouth. He could hear him now: Gosh, Daisy, we all thought Enos was your fiance until you ran off and married someone else.

Best to not push his luck.

"So that's it?" countered Bo. "You ain't even gonna try to get to know her? Now, more than ever, she needs all the friends she can get. Heck, we all need you."

That hurt more than he expected. "You guys know I love you like you're my own flesh and blood, but...I can't face her as a stranger again," he insisted. "If she remembers me on her own then-"

"That ain't fair, Enos! Why...that's like not tellin' somebody they've got a brother or something!"

Luke nudged his younger cousin. "Leave it, Bo. It ain't our business."

"I'm sorry, Bo. I just deal with that right now. Maybe someday."

"Yeah, well, Uncle Jesse used to say that 'Someday' ain't one of the seven days of the week."

Enos could hear Uncle Jesse chastising him, but wild horses wouldn't drag him to the farm tonight. "Yeah, I know he did." He nodded towards the little car parked along the road. "Listen, I'm sorry to leave you guys like this, but gotta get the rental back before I take off."

The cousins looked out towards the road where the only vehicles remaining were the a City of Hazzard work truck, the General Lee, and a red Caprice.

"We know how hard it must've been on you, Enos," Luke sighed, "and you know we never blamed you for leaving. We still don't. You'll call us if you're ever back in Hazzard?"

He had no plans of returning. "That's a promise, Luke."

Together, the three of them walked to their vehicles and, after a last round of goodbyes, drove away in opposite directions. The sound of the Dodge Charger's 440 lingered in his heart long after the car had disappeared.

Fifteen minutes after he'd left, Enos circled back around and parked beside the canopy. There was a freshness in the air after the rain, but soon enough the sun would come out and bake the puddles into steam. Frank and Milton, the two hands who worked in the county cemeteries, were preparing the coffin to be lowered. He waved and called out to them.

"Hey, Enos! I thought I saw you here today," said Milton. "Forget somethin'?"

He gathered his courage. "I was wondering...I wasn't able to make it to the service at the church or the wake. Would you guys mind if I took a couple of minutes?"

The two workers glanced at each other and Frank shrugged. "Don't see why not, Enos. Hell, I remember how close you were to the Dukes growing up. I'm awful sorry about...," he nodded towards the coffin. "I tell you what, we ain't had lunch, yet. Why don't we take a break, and we'll give you some time."

"Thanks fellas," he said. "That's mighty kind of you."

"Ain't a problem," Milton assured. "There's a latch here-" He felt around the side and unclasped the lid. "Just relatch it when you leave, if you would."

He nodded his thanks as the two men leaned their shovels up against the canopy's supports and headed towards their county work truck. He waited until the dust from their wheels was gone before opening the lid. A gust of wind blew through the pines with a soft whistle, rising and falling as it moved through the branches. It sounded like mourning.

He stared down at the body for a long time. It didn't set right with him for Jesse Duke to be in a suit, and his first crazy thought was that they should have laid him to rest in his faded overalls and red hat. Knowing the man, he'd probably agree.

The reality of it came to him all at once - seeing Uncle Jesse still and cold with the waxy sheen of makeup covering the bruising and unnatural skin tones, a shell of the man he had loved and respected. On the opposite side of the casket was the grave of Lavinia Duke.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Jesse," he murmured. "I'm so sorry...You have to believe how much I wanted to stay."

He hung his head and sobbed, not just for Jesse and Lavinia, but for his own father who had been there one minute and seemingly gone the next. The Dukes, and Daisy especially, had been the ones to lead him out of the depression he had suffered with afterwards. There hadn't been a viewing for Otis Strate - there had been nothing left to view. Just a body bag and a cracked watch with its hands stuck forever at 1:17 am.

Monday, April 25th

It was too quiet inside the house.

Daisy made herself a ham sandwich knowing she wouldn't eat it and headed outside. The creak of the screen door sounded harsh and shrill, overly loud in the stillness that had infected the farm in the four days since the funeral. The hours passed incredibly slow, and she tried to fill them however she could. She had cleaned the kitchen and bathroom so many times her hands were red and cracked from bleach.

This morning, Bo had disappeared off towards the back forty with an ax as soon as it was light. Now and again, she would hear the sound of chopping drifting on the wind. She hadn't seen Luke since the night before, but she had heard his steps in the hallway in the wee hours of the morning and knew, at least, that he was home.

They were all avoiding each other because none of them knew what to say to make it better and understanding that the same anguished look stared out from their own eyes. Beneath it all ran the fear of things that had to be done, those tasks that meant facing the reality that Uncle Jesse was gone, but no one could bear to open his bedroom door. Better to walk around like ghosts imagining that he was in there sleeping.

It was too real, yet. Too raw.

They needed someone to come in and set them down and tell them that they would take care of everything. Daisy didn't know who would be close enough to their family to ask to help with something so personal. Plenty of people had stopped by to drop off food and had asked if there was anything she needed, but something in their faces told her that they were hoping she would say no, and so she did.

The planks of the old porch creaked beneath her as she carried her lunch out into the yard and wandered over to Bonnie May, the only one of their goats to survive. She had wandered out of the woods a week after the storm, scratched and hungry, but no worse for wear. Daisy tore off a hunk of sandwich for her before she took a bite herself. It turned her stomach and she threw the rest out into the field for the crows and coons.

Following the dusty footpath around the foundation of the barn, she walked aimlessly towards the shed wondering if Molly, the old, piebald, calico cat that hung around, might have had kittens again. Then she remembered that Molly had been there when she was little and the cat was probably twenty years dead, if not more, and that started her tears again.

And so the time passed.

When she got back to the house, Luke was sitting on the steps to the porch. His expression was distant and he didn't notice her until she sat down beside him. He turned towards her, but said nothing. He looked wrung out, the same as she felt.

"Hey."

"Hi Daisy." He attempted a smile and failed. "You up for a walk?"

"Sure."

He pushed himself off the step then offered her his hand to pull her up. As they walked down the road, she stared at the hardpack beneath her sandals and Luke's rundown boots as pillows of dust stirred with their steps.

"Just say what you were gonna say." He shot her a pained glance and she realized she had spoken the words aloud. "Sorry, Luke. Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

He stopped and looked up at the sky as if searching for rain though there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and ran his hand through his hair. "Before Uncle Jesse... I was...well, what I'm trying to say is that... Do you know anything about the Georgia Fire Academy down in Forsythe?"

"Fire Academy?"

"It's sort of like Police Academy, except to be a firefighter. Anyway, I mentioned to you and Uncle Jesse that I'd been thinking about it, just before you...your accident last fall, and both of you hounded me until I sent in an application."

She grinned at him. "Good for us."

"Yeah well," he pulled a folded paper from his pocket and held it out to her. "I got an answer."

He turned away as she unfolded the letter and read it. "Luke, this says here that you've been accepted!" She tugged on his shoulder until he looked at her. "This is great!"

"How is it great, Daisy?" he argued. "Uncle Jesse ain't been in the ground a week. I can't go off and leave you and Bo right now. There's a million things that need doing, least of all building a new barn before winter."

"Oh, no you don't, Luke Duke!" she fumed, putting her hands on her hips. "Now, you listen to me. There ain't been much good happen to us Dukes in a month of Sundays." She held the up letter. "You've got a chance to do something that you love, and you're not gonna throw it away."

His laugh was rusty and out of practice, but it touched his eyes and softened them. "You sound like your old self, you know. Just as stubborn and pig-headed. But, it's an eight week course, down south of Atlanta," he told her, "and afterwards, I don't know if I'd be coming back home. Ain't much call for a new firefighter in Hazzard. They're all volunteer, anyway."

She tried to ignore the way his comment about her 'old self' made her heart ache. "Oh Luke, one of us chasin' their dreams is just what this family needs! We should tell Bo," she said, turning around to walk back home.

Luke caught her shoulder and pulled her back. "Now, hold on just a minute," he complained. "I ain't even had time to think about it. Give me till the end of next week."

"Alright, but you'll regret it if you don't do it."

"Not a word about it. To anyone." He spat in his hand and held it out to her.

She spat in her own and shook on it. "Not a word."