CHAPTER 1
"Ma'am, it happened so fast. All I know is somethin' must've spooked his horse. Could've been a rattler . . ." Slim said as he glanced down and brushed his dusty hat against his faded leather chaps. "Never found out what it was. I guess it don't matter now... knowin' can't bring Jesse back."
I stood motionless, as I listened to the trail worn cowboy standing before me. His weathered face, etched by the wind, rain, and dust encountered over the thousands of lonely miles he traveled, showed a deep unspoken sadness few could understand.
"How did it happen Slim?" I asked.
"Ma'am, it was late afternoon. We saw a few clouds and heard a few rumblings to the north, but not a drop of rain. It was one of the hottest and driest summers, I've ever seen. The cattle were restless; we spotted a couple steers headin' toward the gulch. Jesse rode over to bring them back to the herd. The next thing I see is Jesse's horse buckin 'and gettin' too close to the edge. Before I could do anything, the horse lost his footing and they went over the edge."
Slim hesitated for a few seconds, looked at me and continued. His usual deep gruff voice now softened by sorrow, "We found Jesse about half way down amongst the rocks; his horse further below him. Both were dead."
I had always feared, someday Slim would stand before me and tell me Jesse wouldn't be coming home. Now, it was happening and it felt like a dream . . . a bad dream. I could only hope, in a few moments I would awake and find my husband lying next to me, peacefully asleep.
"Ma'am, Gus and I carried him out and buried him right there by the side of the trail. We said some prayers; even made a cross to mark the grave."
"Thank you Slim," I said, trying to hold back my tears.
Slim was my husband's best friend, his partner. They had ridden the cattle trail together for almost twenty years. No one knew Jesse better than Slim. So many times, I had envied him. He and I were the only ones, who accepted and loved Jesse just the way he was.
Slim reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture and handed it to me.
"Jesse carried this picture of you in his chest pocket . . . said that way you were always close to his heart."
"Thank you Slim, those are very kind words."
His eyes met mine, "They're true, Ma'am."
As I held the picture, I noticed there were bloodstains on the back. I wondered if they were the result of Jesse's fall, but I couldn't bring myself to ask.
My thoughts were broken by Slim handing me Jesse's silver spurs, "Ma'am, I know Jesse would have wanted you to have these."
I carefully placed the picture in the pocket of my skirt before taking the spurs. I looked down at them, then closed my hands tightly around them, as if I was embracing Jesse for the last time.
During the next two days, I went through the motion of living.
Once again, death had taken someone I loved. I arranged for Reverend Hathaway to say a few words and Ambrose Sandoval to carve out a small stone for a marker. The hardest part had been trying to explain to our five-year-old daughter, Ellen that her Poppa was never coming home.
Ominous storm clouds shrouded nearly all of the early afternoon sun as Slim walked beside me to the cemetery. To the East, low laying clouds cloaked the upper ridges of the Sandias and in the distance, the rush of the fast moving waters of the Rio Grande could be heard as the wind urged the river southward.
"There's a storm moving in from the north; I heard it might even bring the first snow of the season," Slim said.
I nodded in reply and glanced behind me at my oldest daughter, Jenny and her husband Nathan. Ellen walked with them, holding tightly onto Nathan's hand. She adored this young man,
who treated her as though she was his own daughter.
We joined the trailhands and townspeople, who had gathered by the gravesite to pay their last respects. An unadorned stone marker; stating only his name, Jesse Hoehne, and the dates, August 30,1841-September 5, 1884 stood as a memorial to my husband, whose body was buried in a shallow grave hundreds of miles away.
The menacing dark clouds motivated Reverend Hathaway to shorten his sermon. I truly believe his kind words were said out of compassion for me. Six years ago, he had performed our wedding ceremony and although, he believed it wasn't his place to approve or disapprove of one's intended; prior to the wedding, he strongly expressed his concern to me. Jesse's wild times and indiscretions while out on the cattle drives, were common knowledge.
Bracing against the increasing chill, I wondered if Jesse heard us, as we sang his favorite hymn, 'Amazing Grace'.
After the service, with the wind to our backs, Nathan, Jenny, Ellen and I walked home. The others went inside as I sought refuge on the porch, in the comfort of my old rocking chair. At that moment, I realized the service had been far more exhausting than I ever imagined. Deep within me was an immeasurable emptiness, indigenous to a loss, which can never be regained.
"Momma, are you all right?" Jenny asked. Today she had witnessed a more fragile side of the feisty strong-willed woman, she knew and loved.
"Jenny, they think I'm better off without him and in some ways they're right." Hesitating a moment, "But they just don't understand....he was a good man and I loved him."
"I know Momma," Jenny answered; although she too, believed her mother was better off without Jesse. "Momma, why don't you come inside; there's a mean storm brewing."
"Jenny, I feel alive out here. There's nothing like a funeral to make you appreciate being alive . . . to be able to feel the wind blowing through your hair, to smell the scent of the rain in the air, to hear the sound of the river in the distance and even though I can't see the dust devils out there on the mesa, I know soon I'll be seeing tumbleweeds making their way down here, seeking refuge and resting along the side of our fence."
Jenny smiled and shook her head. "Oh, Momma, whatever am I going to do with you?"
"There is one thing you could do."
Jenny saw a twinkle return to her mother's eyes. "What is it?"
"Would you bring my old chest out here. I want to put the picture and Jesse's spurs in it."
"Momma, are you sure, you wouldn't rather come inside and do it?"
"I'd rather...
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