Requiem for Linny
The dig had taken longer than expected. The early winter of mid-November stung and made the earth harder to excavate. With four seasoned men digging it took the better part of three hours to get to easier shoveling. Few words had been spoken, out of respect for Buck, but with the grave completed and the unforgiving cold, the gray silence took a back seat to human nature.
Brant, all five-foot-three of him, plopped down in the snow and wiped his brow with a dusted-white coat sleeve. “Damn I’m hungry,” he stated flatly, shooting Jayce a look. “Ya’ think Linny’s got any of that stew left over…”
Jayce, normally patient, left no room for his feelings on the matter, swinging his spade close enough to remove Brant’s hat and a few hairs as well. “What in the sam hell’s wrong with you? Have you not been here the last three hours?”
Brant’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Buck, I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean nothin’…” Buck just held up a gloved hand, gaze still fixated on the hole in the earth before him. Walt, his best friend of thirty-odd years stood beside him, easily able to discern the presence of another hole—if not nearly as visible, equally tangible.
“Jayce, Brant…you two have done what you can here. Why don’t both of you ride back to the house and take the truck into town, get some chow and a cold beer.”
Brant stood up and then bent over to retrieve his hat. Faded denim stood out against the dark blue denim now displaying where he’d sat. He straightened up, face red, and shot Jayce a menacing glare. “You coulda’ split my head open, jackass.”
“Shut your trap while you’re ahead, Brant, and just get on your horse. I’ll be right behind ya’.” Brant mussed his hair to remove the drifting snow before donning his hat again, and then shuffled off toward his horse, small fans of white splaying out in front of each step. Jayce turned his attention to Walt and Buck. “He don’t mean no harm, just got a head thick as a mule’s.”
Walt shuffled his feet, feeling awkward. “I know, Jayce, and he thinks with his stomach. The damn thing’s as big as a bale of hay, so it ain’t surprising he talks with it too.” Both men watched Brant as he simultaneously hopped and kicked his foot up to get into the stirrup. They didn’t see Buck lift his head and look at them, then peer through the silent snow in the same direction.
Buck stood almost six feet tall, with wide shoulders and a face experienced beyond his years. Despite his outward masculinity he kept his coat wrapped around him, hands thrust firmly in the pockets. The air hung veiled, like a wisp of melancholy when he spoke. “Never could understand what Linny saw in the snow. Damn stuff gets everywhere…”
“Too damned cold,” Walt added.
“And makes a devil of a mess,” Jayce finished.
Buck stood for a moment, stoic in the midst of the graying white. “Guess I mentioned it before, huh?”
Walt grinned a little, his wiry moustache barely lifting under its own weight, “Once or twice, Buck.” Try as he might, he could only muster a wince through his sorrow—the smile would remain on the dark side of the silver moon for some time yet.
Jayce stepped over. “You sure I can’t do anything else for ya’?” he asked, placing his right hand on Buck’s shoulder.
“No, you’ve done quite enough, Jayce, and I honestly can’t thank you enough, my friend.”
Jayce held the tip of the shovel handle in his palm and pointed a leather-clad finger in Buck’s direction. “If you need anything at all…”
“I will. I promise.” ‘Promise’ got lost in the cold November air. Buck looked down at the snow, watching it begin to dust the interior of the grave, then sniffed, hoping no one heard. “Linny loved you guys.” His throat tightened from everything but the cold, “all of you.”
Walt looked solemnly at Jayce, then to Buck, and back at Jayce. “She’s here, Buck…her heart…her spirit…she’s here. She’s better off than the rest of us. I didn’t know anyone, not one person, that ever met her and didn’t take to her. The rest of us…well…to say she was our sister doesn’t say enough. We loved her too, always will.” Both his breath and words hung listless in the piercing air, Nature allowing the moment to remain gently aloft before mercifully dissolving it. Jayce nodded his mute affirmation.
“We’ll be back in a bit, Buck, keep ya company if you’d like,” Jayce offered. Buck patted the hand upon his shoulder.
“Thanks, Jayce, but don’t worry much about me. Walt’ll be here for a while.” Jayce tipped the brim of his hat then ambled off to his own horse, snow crunching with a whisper under each boot step. Walt eyed the sparsely powdered sepulcher before them.
“We’re almost done here, Buck. Jayce and Brant stripped some pine boughs from those trees over there so we could lay them over the opening until tomorrow’s service. I figured they’d come in handy for keeping the snow from piling up inside the—” he halted mid-sentence, suppressing the urge to apologize for a mistake he hadn’t yet made. “Well, help me out, then we’ll get out of the cold.”
Most men would rub their hands together, or shuffle their feet and bounce up and down to keep the heart pumping and blood moving. Buck, however, stood in place, the flakes which fell about him a blur compared to his inertness. As well protected as he was against the encroaching cold, he was numb from the soul outward. Walt leaned forward a bit, unsure if he’d been heard. “Buck?”
Buck’s eyes remained in a lost stare as he replied. “You know, Linny wouldn’t mind a little snow in there, Walt.” The stubble on his face made the cotton mist of his breath stand out.
“I know, Buck. The thought crossed my mind too.” Walt motioned toward the boughs lying twenty feet away. “Give me a hand?” Quietly looking over, he simply nodded.
The older a friendship gets, the less needs to be said. Things were no different between Walt and Buck. Arguments, both grand and pointless, had come and gone, as had more auspicious times. They’d leaned on each other through several heartbreaks, more Walt’s than Buck’s—but nothing between them came close to the loss of Linny. Walt’s heart broke equally as much for Buck as it did for her passing. There was so much he wanted to say, if only to bring Buck some small measure of comfort, yet he knew Buck well enough to know that simply being a presence was enough. Words were too small to be of much value. So the pair trudged wordlessly through the drifting snow, dragging the boughs behind them, leaving impermanent trails in their wake much like broom bristles in the sand.
Buck walked around one end of the grave, reverently laying each bough across the somber cavity. Walt was a little more utilitarian in his approach, tossing the boughs into place then kicking them as needed to cover the opening. Buck shoved his hands into his coat’s extra-large pockets again and walked back to the stand of pines bordering the grave site. Walt wasn’t sure what he was doing, but stayed put and watched.
Buck almost blended into the shadow of the tree’s drip line as he maneuvered underneath it. He seemed to bob and weave here and there, slowly stepping in a semicircle as he looked up into the lowest branches, arms reaching up once in a while to tug on this branch or that. He’d almost completely circled the tree when he stopped and reached up again, his hand loosely running the length of a dead branch the size of his forearm. For whatever reason, it hung only partially connected to the trunk, so with a couple of strong pulls Buck was able to break the branch free of its host. Walt watched, wondering what it was for, but knew Buck had a good reason. His friend turned the branch over and over in his hands, moving it from right to left much like the platen on an old typewriter would move. Apparently satisfied, he dragged the branch behind him, stopping once he again was alongside Walt, and then just looked up at him.
Walt pulled his left hand out of its protective pocket and thrust his thumb behind them. “Let’s go get some coffee or somethin’ back at the house.”
Buck gave another look around, and then nodded his agreement. “Yeah, get us and the horses out of this white mess.” Both turned and headed for their horses, which were h
uddled against each other under the cloaking branches of a towering pine tree. Snow continued to fall, white and sedate, while the only other noise was the wet crunch of powder under their boots and the sliding of Buck’s branch behind them.
Minutes later they began the short ride back to the stables. The wind sifted through the pines as they rode, reminding Buck of Linny’s gentle sigh. Often she’d get bundled up: scarf, full hood, heavy gloves—making sure every possible inch of skin was covered; then they’d go out to the stables and take the horses out, just riding around through the pines—no special reason other than to simply be enveloped by nature’s beauty. Her voice echoed in his head, replaying the question she’d asked him, without fail, every time they rode in the snow: “Isn’t it beautiful, Buck?” He hung his head and allowed the tears to mingle with the snow as it melted on his face. Walt’s seemingly abrupt question violated the sullen moment.
“Why that spot, Buck?” He looked back only after asking, immediately noticing Buck’s sagging shoulders and heavy head. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to answer,” Walt began, cursing himself under his breath. “I should have thought better of asking—”
Buck raised his head, squinting a bit. His face was heavy with loss, eyes burdened with grief. “It’s alright, Walt,” he managed.
“Buck, really, my fool curiosity overrode my good sense.” Both men swayed gently back and forth with each step their horses took. Buck straightened up a little, then reached up and adjusted his hat. “Walt—really—it’s fine,” he assured him. “Riding through here, through these trees—Linny and I,” he paused, swallowing hard, “I can’t tell you how many times we’d been through here before, on days just like this. Just like now, the only sounds were the horses’ hooves shuffling through the snow and the breeze making the trees whisper. I’d just as soon be working on something back at the stables than be out in this stuff, but she adored it, so I rode out here for her, just to be with her.” He pulled back gently on the reins and his horse stopped, and then shook its mane; a dusting of white fell silently to the ground.
Walt followed suit, his horse stopping as well. A light pull to the left and the horse turned a bit to stand almost perpendicular to Buck and his horse. Buck looked over his left shoulder at the horizon. The earth rolled with small hills, up and down, the stands of trees along them mimicked their rise and fall. Through the veil of drifting snow the scene took on an almost watercolor feel, the snow muting colors to shades of gray and scenery layered upon itself as if it were designed as a series of huge cardboard cutouts for a stage production.
“Look out there, Walt.” Buck paused a second, caught within a moment of insight. “To the untrained eye—hell, to the unappreciative eye—it all looks the same, don’t it?” Walt scanned the view as he had countless times before, but never embedded within a moment like this. The turbulent mixture of disconsolation and pristine beauty slapped him square in the face.
“Buck, we’ve worked out here so much that I’ve come to take it for granted.” Walt dropped his head for a second, feeling ashamed to have confessed it aloud. “That’s not to say I don’t appreciate, or don’t respect it. As much as we’ve worked to take care of it, it’s given back. So I’d say it doesn’t look the same. I say it looks as it should.”
Buck turned slightly in his saddle to eye Walt, trying to put his reply into some context within his own feelings. Walt seemed momentarily mesmerized by the sweeping view, then suddenly came to and drew his gaze back to Buck. “Is that part of your answer?”
“In a way…yeah.” Buck watched the snow swirl as it fell, trapped in an invisible eddy, then continued. “This place, all of it…it was Linny. She belonged here. She loved every stone, every tree, everything. She was as beautiful as nature itself.” Walt wanted to interject something comforting, but came up empty before Buck spoke again, voice cracking. “Walt—I can still see her standing in the same exact spot where we dug her final resting place. Her dark red hair blooming in the breeze. You know better than anyone the power she had over me.” Both men sat still, flakes of winter’s touch dusting the brims of their hats and shoulders. “Anyways, she picked that spot herself. Told me years ago that’s where she wanted to be buried when she died. The rest of her family had passed long ago, so there was no one to contest her wishes, and since we owned the land, I promised her that’s where she’d be placed, unless I went first, of course.” Another wave of brute emotion washed over him, and his eyes welled to overflowing again. “Wish it was me instead, Walt.”
Walt could only pat his friend reassuringly on the back. “C’mon Buck. Let’s get inside.”
Neither Mother Nature nor Father Time had bestowed much kindness upon Buck or any of his friends. All day long the Montana sky had been draped in a shawl of pewter clouds, making the wind and snow sting a little more than seemed fair; each passing hour felt like the loneliest of years. Buck felt certain his horse could feel his heavy heart pounding against its side—it seemed to drop more with every passing thought and remembrance of Linny. His horse knew the way back to the stables from the path they took.
Just as well, as lost as Buck felt.
Walt gently nudged his ride a couple of lengths ahead of Buck, eager to get both man and beast out of the elements and put something warm in their bellies. Both horses seemed to instantly recognize the stable as it slowly materialized into view, slightly weatherbeaten but well taken care of. Paint peeled a little here and there, and knotted wood proudly stood out upon every door brace and shuttered window. Walt’s horse stopped without direction at the entrance, and he dismounted, patting the horse lovingly on the neck as he moved to slide the double-wide door open. He reached for the reins, unnecessarily, as the horse moved forward on its own, well aware of the comforts to be had within the stable walls. Buck’s horse followed suit with Buck still saddled up. Once clear of the door Walt slid it shut, staving off the chill in trade for the cozy warmth of the six-stall room. Brant and Jayce had properly stowed their gear and made sure their horses were attended to. Inwardly, Walt felt a huge sense of relief, having figured Brant would have taken off to stuff his face without thinking about the animals.
Buck extended the long, thick branch he’d dragged back. “Take this for me?” Walt hauled it off, setting it against a nearby wall, while Buck dismounted then brushed the remaining snow off his steed. “I’m sorry, Molly. Papa shouldn’t have left you out there so long. I’m sorry…”
“Buck?”
Walt’s voice snapped him back into reality. “Huh? Yeah—what?”
Walt led his horse into the first stall, the clomping of hooves masking the tension he felt. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you…,” he began, voice partially obscured by his reluctance to turn around and face Buck. He busied himself with getting his horse settled in and fed while he talked. “I got a call early this morning, before we set out with Jayce and Brant.”
“From?”
Walt’s conscience and stomach tangled in a constricting knot. “Glen.” There, it was out, although he still hadn’t squarely faced Buck. He’d fully expected to hear the rare profanity bellowed from Buck’s gut, but it didn’t come. In its place was the angry clatter of an empty aluminum feed bucket as it rolled across the sawdust-strewn floor and crashed into a wall. Molly turned her head and shuffled a bit. “Buck, you had to expect…”
“The only thing I expect from him is to stay the hell out of my life!” barked Buck. He stroked Molly’s nose so she knew he wasn’t upset with her. “How can you possibly side with him, especially considering the not-so-disguised fact that Linny is gone?”
“I didn’t say I was taking sides, Buck, I’m simply telling you he called.”
“Fine, you’ve told me.” Buck led Molly into her stall, mirroring the same preparations Walt had done for his horse. Walt’s news was the last thing he’d wanted to hear today, much less have weighing upon him.
Walt wouldn’t—couldn’t—drop it. “You’re not the least bit interested in what he had
to say? He’s your brother, Buck—family.”
“Was, Walt…was my brother. You know that. I will never forgive him for what he did to Linny. Never.”
“He lived with both of you for five years, Buck. For five years the two of you tried your best to help him get on his feet. Don’t get me wrong; you know I ain’t making excuses for his actions, but it was, what, fourteen years ago? He’s been sober twelve of those.” He stepped out of the stall, and then gently swung the gate closed and locked it. He couldn’t help but turn and face Buck now. “From what you and Linny told me, the man has tried—I can’t tell you how many times over the years—to put things right.”
Buck looked up as he put the finishing brush strokes on Molly’s mane. “Did I ever tell you how I found out?”
Walt crossed his arms and furrowed his brow in thought. “I recall you tellin’ me ‘bout his drinking problem, how he wouldn’t give it up. I remember all the fights you two had when he was drunk, and three times you bailed him out of the sheriff’s jail.”
He paused for a moment, hoping maybe Buck would jump in. After a few seconds, it was obvious he had no intention of interrupting, so he finished. “Not likely I’ll forget how angry you were when you told me he was no longer living with you.” Walt looked down at the floor and shook his head. “Even then, you never told me why.”
Buck finished scattering fresh hay, straws of gold and umber covered most of the stall; little of the concrete peeked through. He stroked Molly’s neck once more, then patted it a couple of times, content to let the conversation hang leaden between them. He stepped outside the stall and swung the gate closed, latching it as well. He stood silent for what seemed like minutes, facing away from Walt, running his hand back and forth across the top of the gate, then finally turned around and simply said, “C’mon, let’s get in the house.”
The enclosed walkway between the stables and the house proper had been built almost ten years ago, but served its purpose well. Large dual-pane windows could open in the warmer months to circulate the fragrant valley air, but closed tight against the cold during the winter, providing a much warmer walk between the two structures. Time-worn boots clapped along the hard floor as they walked. In his head, Buck could hear Linny’s stride as she had traversed the hallway over the years. He’d always taken comfort in hearing her footsteps approaching when they’d left the old mudroom door open in the summer. From the kitchen he could hear her coming, and always watched the door until she stepped through. The hallway wasn’t the same now without her footsteps to echo through it.
Both men hung their coats in the old mudroom, gloves set upon the small vented shelf that hung a full foot above an old cast-iron radiator. Though small, it was the perfect size to warm just the mudroom, and the ventilated shelf above allowed cold gloves to be warmed through. Walt slowly closed the door behind him as they entered the kitchen. The kitchen reflected none of the romantic notions of the open range; nowhere would be found a large blue and white speckled coffeepot or a huge wood-burning stove with a rotisserie. The main coffeemaker was larger than ones in most homes, mostly due to the number of ranch hands who drank it in the morning. Buck and Linny had a smaller ten-cup version for themselves, which he fumbled with at the moment. “Want some coffee?” he asked.
“Sure,” Walt said. He welcomed the steam and warmth it would bring his hands and stomach.
“Help yourself to whatever you can find in the fridge,” Buck added, still fidgeting with the coffee machine. “There should be fixin’s in there for a sandwich or two. You know where everything is.”
Walt wasted no time in getting plates out. “Want me to make you one?” He knew Buck had to be hungry.
“I really don’t feel much like eating, Walt, you know?” He hit the brew button, and then pulled two plain mugs from the cabinet above.
“You should eat something, Buck. Been a long, hard day for everyone,” Walt insisted.
“Not right now, thanks. I’ll stick with the coffee for now.” Walt just nodded and returned to pulling pickles, sliced meat, and various condiments from the refrigerator.
“Linny told me two days later,” Buck stated out of the clear blue.
Walt swung his head around and stared at his friend. “About wha—” he started asking; then it dawned on him what the reference was to. “Oh, okay.” He turned back to one slice of bread and began spreading mayonnaise upon it. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’d rather not.”
Buck slowly sat down at the large oak table. Eight chairs surrounded it, which normally didn’t feel lonely, but now took on a deep sense of foreboding without his late wife sitting with him. Thoughtfully he removed his hat, setting it almost soundlessly upon the tabletop. “I’d always promised Linny I’d never speak of it when she was around. Not much point in rehashing it anyways. She knew how much it upset me, and I certainly didn’t want her to relive it.” He sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “But now, I guess it’s just as well I talk about it.”
Walt cut his sandwich in half diagonally, then set the knife next to the sink and sauntered to the table. The chair groaned against the floor when he pulled it aside to sit down. He was careful not to sit in the spot Linny had always used. “It’s just these four walls and me,” he drawled. “If you’d rather keep it between you and these walls, I can certainly understand that.” Buck looked up at him. “These walls haven’t been with me over thirty years, my friend.” He wrung his hands together, trying to rub away some of the ache that always accompanied the cold weather. Walt lifted the sandwich, tearing a large bite from one corner. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Buck’s hat, then respectfully removed his own and set it upon the table as well. The scent of fresh coffee began to permeate the room, and Buck looked over at the machine.
“It’s almost done,” Buck noted. Walt continued his assault on the sandwich. The mood indoors was no less somber than it had been outside, but at least there was physical warmth to be had with the ever-present melancholy. Buck’s mind raced with memories of Linny—of her wavy tresses that seemed to bounce when she walked, the way her eyes partially squinted when she smiled, or how she sighed sometimes when trying to emphasize a point of conversation. Then his thoughts abruptly returned to his brother, causing malice and sorrow to collide within.
“I’d been out doing some repairs on the far west gate that day,” Buck recalled aloud. “I remember it taking a while because I couldn’t get the damn hinge to sit right and it kept binding up. My mind was working on Linny, too, ’cause she’d been acting different. She wouldn’t admit it, even when I asked. Said things were fine, she just felt like being quiet. I shrugged it off, I guess. I’d never known her to lie to me, so I let it go figurin’ it would run its course. Well, by the time I finally got the hinge fixed I was late for lunch, so I rode back to the house and tethered Molly outside the stable. I noticed Glen’s car was gone but thought little of it. I walked in the side door and saw there were only two places set at the table for lunch.
“Where’s Glen,” I asked her, “he’s never one to miss a meal.
“She says, ‘We needed feed for the horses and a few things from the market, so I sent him on errands. He won’t be back for a while.’ I remember thinking she looked preoccupied, kinda’ nervous.” The coffee machine beeped, breaking his train of thought. Seemed odd that something so important and deliberately emotional should hold equal rank with a fresh cup of coffee, yet as he paced to the machine he found one stream of thought didn’t necessarily trip over the other. Walt had stopped eating for the moment, absolutely engrossed in Buck’s recounting of the story.
Cotton strands of steam vapor climbed out of each mug as Buck poured. Even pouring coffee made him think of Linny; he could almost hear the tinking of the spoon as she stirred in her sugar and cream. He replaced the carafe on the warming plate and then stared at both mugs, as if hoping she’d appear in the wisps of steam, eventually delivering both mugs to the table and dejectedly taking his seat again. Walt wrapped his l
arge hands around his mug, raised it to his lips and sipped carefully.
“We sat there, Linny and I, and got about halfway through lunch before either of us spoke a word, which was unusual. She always talked about the horses, or some gossip she’d heard in town. But that afternoon was completely different. I couldn’t steer clear of the feeling she was avoiding me.” Buck’s eyes went down to the mug of coffee, and then closed as he lifted it and sipped. “So I finally grasped her hand, looked her dead in the eyes and asked her, ‘Lin, what’s wrong?’” Walt sat motionless.
Buck looked down at the floor, as if ashamed, as if he’d said too much. “She…,” he began, but choked on the words as they tried to come out. He took a deep, if labored, breath and continued. “She started to…cry.” His mouth turned into an excruciating frown, every facial muscle seemed to pull downward. He looked away from Walt, mumbling weakly “I’m sorry.”
Walt leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, Buck,” he whispered. “Remember that girl I dated back in college, Allyson?”
Buck nodded as he wiped his eyes.
“Remember how crushed I was when we split up? Of course, now I know it was for the best, but then—damn—I couldn’t help myself but cry it hurt so bad. Wasn’t long after that I remember someone told me something that made a whole lotta’ sense.” He paused to make sure Buck was listening. “They said, ‘Tears are words the heart can’t express.’ Remember who told me that?”
“Linny?” he replied, wrapping his hands around the coffee mug again.
“No…you did, Buck.” Walt leaned back in time to see Buck’s expression. “I know I’d heard her say that before, so that’s probably where it came from.”
Walt picked up his sandwich again, but stopped short of biting into it. “Doesn’t matter who said it—no disrespect meant to Linny,” Buck nodded. “What matters, Buck, is that it’s true. Hell, man, I’d be cryin’ if you weren’t, but it’s my turn to help you out. You can help me later, alright?”
Buck tried his best to manage a stoic grin. “Fair ’nough.” He sipped his coffee for a minute, and Walt polished off the first half of his sandwich. Then Buck mindlessly turned his mug a half turn. “So, obviously, she’d validated my suspicion—something was really wrong. I remember standing up, real sudden, and pulling up on her hand. I can picture it clear as day. She didn’t so much stand as fell toward me, Walt. You know what a rock she usually was.”
“Shoot yeah. I could break ten wild horses before Lin would crack.” He washed down his last bite with some hot coffee.
Buck pointed knowingly at his friend. “Exactly. So this wasn’t any small matter.” Walt sat back again, ignoring his sandwich.
“She sobbed for a couple of minutes, and I just held her,” Buck continued. “I couldn’t have felt more completely helpless.” Leaning forward, he ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the tabletop. Telling the story was as bad as reliving it, but he needed to get it out. “Then she started with the list of things Glen had said—and done. About how he was angry drunk, mad as a badger ’cause we’d tried to hide his bottles. He only found one, but had hidden two others in places we didn’t know of.” Walt could see the anger beginning to take hold in Buck again. He’d considered that for the moment it was better than his sorrow.
“She said, ‘He was stompin’ all over the place, arms flyin’, and cursin’.’” Buck threw his arms about wildly for emphasis.
“You surely weren’t in the house, ’cause you wouldn’t have let things get that far,” Walt interjected.
“Damn right I wouldn’t’ve. I honestly don’t remember where I was.” He gulped at his coffee before returning to the story. “It must have taken her ten minutes to tell me everything. Accusations flyin’ everywhere, threats—but that was the easy stuff. He’d cornered her against the pantry door, over there by the fridge,” he said, sternly pointing at the area by their oversized refrigerator. “Kept leering at her, standing way too close. Linny would forgive a lot because he was drunk, but she was real scared right then. So she kneed him in the groin then pushed him away. Kept yellin’ at him to get out of the house and not come back until he was sober. She said he staggered back toward her, calling her all manner of things.” Buck stopped long enough for Walt to see the fire in his eyes, the same ones that peeked at his remaining half sandwich. “You gonna’ eat that?” he asked.
“Go ahead; it’s all yours,” Walt grinned, figuring it might be the only thing he eats for a while once the heat of his anger burned off. He scooted the sandwich quickly in Buck’s direction, which Buck wasted no time in stripping a large bite out of, and then chased it down with a heavy gulp of coffee. He took another large bite and chewed it good while considering how best to finish; reaching across the table for a napkin, he wiped his mouth, then picked up again.
“By this time, Linny had backed away from me and was pointing here and there, showing me we he stood when he said such-and-such, or where she’d moved to while trying to stay away. She told me he was furious, his face was red and eyes as glazed as an icicle, but he could hardly stand. Then he slurred four words that did the most damage to her.” Buck agitated his mug to swirl the coffee, then gulped down another mouthful. “He hollered at her…, ‘You’re impossible to love!’”
“Now, Buck, you know that’s not true…”
“I know, I know—but it came out of nowhere and Linny took it to heart. Damn, Walt, he knew she had no family left. Even now, I can’t imagine how she felt.” Buck tore the third quarter of sandwich away and talked from the side of his mouth that wasn’t busy chewing. “I don’t think I had ever seen that woman so deeply hurt in all our years—and heaven knows I’d done some damn fool things to upset her, but never anything like that. Not even close.”
Walt shifted slightly in his chair and rubbed his left temple. “Well, now I understand why you were so angry with him.” He brushed a few stray crumbs off his jeans. “That’s when you threw him out, right?”
Buck shook his head. “Linny tried her best to persuade me to let him stay on, that it was the alcohol talking, but I put my foot down. Five years we tried to help him, and I wasn’t about to let him treat my wife that way and get away with it.”
“That’s a tough call, Buck.” Walt crossed his arms.
“No, it ain’t.”
“Buck, the man is your brother…”
“And she was my wife. He should’ve treated her as such,” he vented, draining his coffee mug and setting it down heavily upon the empty plate for emphasis. “As far as I’m concerned that’s all there is to be said about it.”
Walt just nodded respectfully, “Okay.”
“He didn’t show up again until the next day, almost like he knew Linny had spilled the beans. I told him he had a week, no more, to find someplace else to live. We didn’t discuss why—didn’t need to.” He stood up and ambled back to the coffeepot again, pouring a fresh mug. “Want a refill?” he asked, gesturing toward Walt with the carafe.
Walt walked the mug over. “Please.”
Mugs in hand, they walked through the large portal separating the kitchen and the living room Linny had always kept immaculate and warm. Large area rugs covered parts of the hardwood floor, and most of the furniture centered around the stone fireplace set in the far corner. Exposed beams and plenty of bare finished wood gave the room a resort feel without all the stodginess. Though beautiful, the fireplace, with its impressive lodgepole mantel, wasn’t the visual centerpiece of the room. That distinction belonged to the grand picture window, which seemed to look out for mile upon mile of rolling Montana countryside. Outside, on the other side of the window, Buck had built a wraparound porch, simple but elegant. On the far left he’d hung a porch swing, and facing the railing were two large rocking chairs with a small table in-between; Linny had chosen that spot and the furniture for a specific reason: the view was unobstructed by columns, allowing for a stunning view of the sun as it dipped beneath the horizon each
evening. Buck walked up to the window, and then stopped, seeming to lose himself in the view.
“That whole week I never left Linny’s side, Walt. Just before he left, he tried to apologize to her.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing at first, just looked at me, like she wanted my approval. Then she turned and said, ‘You should be gettin’ on now. It’s getting late.’ She always felt bad about what happened, and every so often she’d try to convince me to patch things up with him, ‘What’s done is done,’ she’d say.” Buck paused to watch the breeze blow snow along the railing.
“I made sure I took every opportunity I had after that day to insure she didn’t just know, but felt, how much I loved her.” He looked down into his mug as if to summon a little more courage to stave off his grief. Turning to Walt, he asked, “Did she ever tell you about the card I gave her for our anniversary the year after all that happened?”
“I don’t think so,” came the thoughtful reply.
“She rarely cried, you know that,” Buck intoned. Walt nodded affirmatively. “I’m kinda’ proud of that card, because that’s the only time I recall seeing her that emotional about a simple note.”
Walt stood quietly for a moment, waiting for the rest. “Well, what did it say?”
Buck rubbed his forehead then shut his eyes tight trying to remember the exact wording. “Love is not impossible, for if it is, then nothing is possible. I love you, more than any possibility, which surely means the impossible can’t exist.” He let his voice trail off, almost as if simply remembering had taken a great physical toll on him.
“That’s damned fine, Buck. You wrote that yourself?”
“Imagine that, huh.” Walt gave him a friendly pat on the back and smiled. “I’ve never known you to wear your heart on your sleeve, except where Linny was concerned. I’ve seen you corral cattle, helped you build all kinds of things—I’ve known you since college, but rarely have I seen the heart inside the man. Knowing how you’ve always felt about her…it’s not hard to imagine, Buck.”
Buck gazed down at his rough hands, fingers chiseled from years of gritty work outdoors. How many times, he wondered, had he reached for Linny’s hand without a thought—and now, they only held and reveled in the warmth of the ceramic mug. He peered up again, eyes darting, searching, in the milky twilight for some brief solace, a reprieve from the dense affliction he couldn’t feel past.
Walt took another gulp of coffee, staring at his friend’s profile. “Hey, Buck, you should try to get some rest. You look like hell, man.” Buck shook his head once. “I know, but I can’t sleep. I’m so tired…but I can’t sleep.” Walt just nodded quietly.
“Jayce and Brant should be back soon. If you’re okay with it, we’ll bunk in the guest quarters downstairs tonight.” Walt turned to step back toward the kitchen, when Buck looked up. “Hey, Walt…”
“Yeah?”
“All the same, I’d appreciate it if you stayed in the guest room up here. The other two are certainly welcome to stay downstairs. There’s food and…”
Walt held up his palm. “I’ll be across the hall then, if you need anything. We know where everything is, so you let us know if you need something, alright?” Buck nodded weakly. “Yeah—yeah.” Walt gave him another reassuring pat on the shoulder and then headed back into the kitchen. Buck listened to his boots click across the floor as he walked, but kept his eyes on the painful blanket of white gathering outside. A steamy shower and an attempt at a nap might help a little, so he turned his back on the vista and headed down the long hallway to the master bedroom, his steps echoing as he went.