by Natalie Dean
Flopping back onto her bed, she let herself deflate for a minute. There was a whole lot of baggage to unpack, both literal and metaphorical, but with any luck, she could just shove it all into a closet until she left again.
3
Ben
Ben looked over the empty part of the barn that he was rebuilding and expanding with his younger brother, Benjamin—Benji for short. Often people were confused by their similar names, thinking that Ben’s nickname was short for Benjamin. But instead, the eldest of the current generation of Millers had the first name of Benedict, while his younger brother’s nickname was Benji. Was it confusing? Yes. But his mother had wanted to give all of her sons names starting with B, just as the previous Millers all had names starting with M.
It was a peculiar tradition, and he had been quite shocked when he had learned that not every family named all their children with the same first consonant. It had seemed convenient to him at the time, but now he realized, it was a bit strange.
Oh well. The Miller family was rich, so they could afford a little bit of eccentricity.
“What’cha thinking?”
Ben looked down from the loft he was standing on to see Benji below him, a toolbelt slung over one of his shoulders. He had previously been doing all of the work on the renovation himself, so he was glad to see one of his younger brothers present, but there was something… off about the whole thing.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but lately he had felt a growing sort of dissatisfaction. Normally, his chores and projects around the ranch were plenty to keep him going, but lately it had seemed like there was something missing. Something intangible, maybe even inexpressible, but it sat right in his gut and left a sour sort of taste in his mouth.
“Nothing,” he replied flatly. No need to clue his brother in and have them all worried. They had enough on their plates with everything else going on. Goodness knew there was never really downtime on the ranch. There was always something that needed fixing, planting, or replacing.
The cows were all frolicking out in the expansive meadows south of the ranch, being tended to by their cousins on the Ramsey side of the family, while Bart was back at the main house with mother. Ben would have liked to have him there, but he knew his next brother in line wasn’t quite ready to get back to everyday life yet.
Not after…
“Hey, you done daydreaming up there or what?”
Ben shook his head and slid down the ladder, using a technique Pa had taught them all when they were young boys. It never failed to make him feel a bit like an action hero, but that good feeling fled when he took a step away from the bottom of the ladder only to put his foot down—right into an old cow pie.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Ben murmured, wiping his boot on some long hay. Though it was certainly not unusual for ranch life to be full of poop and animal waste of all kinds, he normally wore his muckin’ shoes for walking around in that. Since he was focusing on construction today, he’d worn his nice, steel-toed boots for protection. “That’s gonna be a son of a gun to get out of the tracks.”
“Yeah, it is,” Benji said with a laugh. “You better not take those shoes onto any of Mama’s rugs. I don’t care if you’re a grown man, she’ll definitely skin ya for it.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Ben said with a laugh. Looking back up to the rafters, he clicked his tongue. “So, how do you wanna do this?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Benji admitted. “There’s a couple of ways that I see, but I’m not sure of the math of it all. You want me to call Brad out here?”
Ben shook his head. “Nah, he’s either breaking our new horses in or working with the preservation society on the reservation. We’ll have to make do ourselves. Besides, it’s not like you and I haven’t done this before.”
“I know, but geez, if he isn’t some kind of genius with the whole process. I swear he can whip up a blueprint in the time it takes me to tie my shoes.”
“He does have a knack for it,” Ben admitted with a nod. As the second to youngest brother, Bradley had been the most bookish of all of them. While he could throw down with the rest of them, he still had an uncanny skill with a protractor and calculator.
“Too bad he doesn’t have that same knack for all the beautiful women he’s meeting down on the rez,” Benji said with a snicker.
“Oh, like you’re so much better?” Ben shot back, turning to his tool kit that he had trundled here from their main barn.
“Hey, you know that I choose to remain single because I got tired of all the gold diggers that flooded in once each of us turned eighteen. But Brad… I don’t know if he even realizes that women exist.”
“I’m sure he does,” Ben said with a wry grin.
His brother wasn’t kidding about those looking for money. The Miller Ranch had made a bit of a name for itself in the generations since it was founded. Built on love, respect, and kindness, the family made a motto of putting their money where their beliefs were and made sure everything out of them was one hundred percent.
Of course, as time passed, it became impossible to keep up with the inhumane demands of industrial farming. It was Ben’s grandfather who faced the decision whether to keep his cows pregnant as much as possible, never letting them run or play, and constantly taking their calves away, or to fold up shop and live off the considerable wealth that the family had built up. It was then that Grandmother Miller had an idea, and the whole issue was turned upside down.
According to her, she could taste the sadness in the meat she ate or the milk she drank when she traveled, and she suggested that other people probably could too. And even those that couldn’t probably would prefer that their meals were treated with the respect that humans were supposed to give animals as God’s appointed shepherds. So, the Millers had kept their operation small, but began an advertising campaign about how the cows were allowed to play whenever they wanted, only got pregnant naturally by their own rhythm, and usually lived with their calves for most of their lives. Of course, there were still some people who thought any form of farming was cruel, but a massive chunk of animal lovers were thrilled to get meat from animals that weren’t tortured, and suddenly the Miller fortune shot into the millions.
And where there were millions, there would always be people desperate to do anything for that money. And gold digger women.
“I dunno. Do you even realize that women exist? I swear, I’ve never even seen you look at a beautiful lady, and Lord knows plenty have tried to get you to turn your head to them.”
“Why are you so obsessed with women all of a sudden?” Ben deflected, grabbing his checklist and going over to the pile of lumber he had brought in from outside of the barn. “You lonely?”
“Aw, come on, don’t change the topic like that. If I didn’t think it were crazy, I’d say you haven’t really loved anyone since—”
“I’m done talking about this,” Ben said quickly. “We have too much to do to waste daylight daydreaming about romance.”
“All right, whatever you say, brother.”
At least Benji knew when to let the subject go. Quietness descended, as Ben went over his blueprint again, making sure he had all the supplies and everything was aligned as it was supposed to be. Some might accuse him of being overly careful, but he preferred to think of it as being thorough. Measure twice, cut once? More like measure five times, double check again, then cut. That was his motto.
Just when he was about done with his overview and ready to get the first pieces of lumber out, there was a loud knock on the barn door. Turning, he saw his brother Bart standing there quietly.
“Hey, you got out of the house,” Ben said, grinning at his next brother in line.
But the well-built man just nodded, continuing to stand there and looking over the barn like it was completely foreign to him.
“Are you all right? Are you having one of those, uh… those moments?”
He shook his head and seemed to come to his senses. Cl
earing his throat, he spoke, which was a rare thing nowadays. “Mama would like to talk to you.”
“Right now? Is she all right?” Although Mrs. Miller was the epitome of good health, Ben couldn’t help but feel a spike of alarm. The world could be a very cold and cruel place, so he was always wary of the worst happening.
But Bart was already walking off. Ben wasn’t sure if he should be going anywhere alone with how he was acting, so he handed his tools off to Benji and trotted after him.
“It’s some good weather we’re having today,” Ben said when he was still several steps behind his brother. He had learned the hard way to never surprise his brother by sneaking up behind him. The best thing to do was introduce your presence before you were within arm’s reach.
“Yeah. It’s nice.”
“Maybe one of these days we can go for a ride. I know your little mare Juliette misses you.”
“Does she?” He seemed to think on it a moment, but his eyes were somewhere far off. Somewhere none of the family could quite reach. “Yeah. That sounds like it would be nice. Like the old days.”
“Yeah, exactly, like the old days. Before—” Ben cut himself off. There were certain words—triggers is what the doctors called them—that they weren’t supposed to mention during Bart’s recovery. “Things went sideways.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna go fix up some lunch. You want something?” Ben shook his head no. “All right. Ma’s in the sitting room, last I knew.” And with that he wandered into the main house, heading to the kitchen to rustle up something from the fridge. Ma always kept it full of snacks and treats, so there was no doubt he would find something tasty.
While most of the brothers stayed in their own places that they’d built all across the Miller’s spread of land, Ben and Bart stayed at the main house. Granted, Bart had his own place by one of the creeks, but given how much he was struggling with adapting to everyday civilian life, it’d been decided it would be best for him to live at the main house for a while in his old room.
But Ben… well, as the eldest he had never strayed far. While he had left his teenage bedroom right around the age of twenty, he had chosen to build his cozy bachelor’s cabin right beside the main house with a long hallway to connect the two buildings. It gave him enough privacy to be his own man but kept him close enough to the main house, so he could still keep his finger on the heartbeat of the Miller Ranch.
Plenty of people thought that being a rancher was relatively easy, especially one that had its own brand set up and had been around for generations. However, Ben had dedicated his entire life to training to one day take over, and he still learned something new every day. Thirty years eating, sleeping, and breathing that Miller life, but he still had a long way to go.
“Ah, there you are,” Ma said from the couch, her fingers flying as she knitted something. A blanket maybe, by the look of her yarn choices. “I was hoping you weren’t too far out.”
“Just working on the barn, Ma. You wanted to speak with me?”
“Ah yes, I have a favor to ask of you, but you are completely welcome to say no.”
That piqued his interest. Normally, Ma was an all-or-nothing sort of woman. “What d’ya need?”
“Unfortunately, an old family friend of ours has passed and the wake is tomorrow. I was hoping you would go with me.”
Ah. That was indeed unfortunate. It seemed his parents were getting to the age where their friends were either dead, dying, or had forgotten themselves. “Who was it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“You know him, actually. You were once quite close, which is why I want you to go with me.”
Ben could sense when his mother was burying the lead and stood a little straighter. “Who passed, Ma?”
“Mr. Parker. Aneurism, sadly. It’s quite tragic. I feel terribly for Ruby, so I thought I would bake her some nice things so she doesn’t have to cook for a bit.”
At the sound of the Parker name, Ben’s blood rushed through his body, making his ears burn hot and his face color with bright red. He could feel the heat creeping across his cheeks, but he fought to tap it down along with all the memories that came along with it.
A happy smile and joyous laughter. Long black hair swishing in the wind, reflecting the summer sun. Soft lips pressed against his, hand squeezes and hugs.
The images grew on themselves, filling out like an artist slowly adding color to a picture until a scene that he had long since buried was playing before him.
“I don’t understand why you have to do this.”
“Because it’s my dream. You remember what it’s like to have a dream, right?”
“But dreams aren’t real. I’m real. Please!”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. But this is what I have to do.”
Ben snapped himself out of the memory and forcefully shoved it as far down as he could into the dredges of his psyche. When was the last time he had thought of that specter of his past?
Of course, his mother caught onto his expression. “I’m fairly certain only Ruby will be there. She doesn’t really have anyone to support her now, considering her daughter lives in the Big Apple and hasn’t come back in years.”
“She’s still in New York City?”
“As far as I know.”
Ben felt a flicker of guilt. He had just heard that poor Mrs. Parker was a widow and suffering through the death of the love of her life and the first thing he had worried about was himself. That was awfully selfish, and Ben didn’t like being selfish.
“Yeah, I’ll go with you. I should pay my respects as it is.”
“Thank you, dear. Let’s hope that something good can come out of this tragedy and poor Ruby can reconnect with old friends.”
“Yeah, let’s hope.”
4
Chastity
Chastity took a long drink of water from her cup before setting it on the table beside her. The wake had started barely ten minutes prior, and there was already a long line of people waiting to give their condolences. It was overwhelming, and she felt like she had been thrust into a grand ceremony without properly preparing herself.
Sure, she had known that she was coming down for her father’s funeral. She had been going over the funeral home bill and ordering the death certificate and pretty much everything. But now, seeing his body in the casket, his pale, wrinkled face impassive… his death was suddenly very real.
And yet it wasn’t.
That cold, unmoving face in the casket wasn’t her dad’s. He had always been an expressive person. She could remember the pink in his cheeks as he saw her report card, a wide grin soon following before he hung it on the fridge. She could remember the way his forehead furrowed when she told him she was cast as a lead in the school play, and she wasn’t going to quit. She could remember him leaning over, red eyed and scared, as she burned with a fever that she caught during freshman year.
He had loved her, in his own way. Sure, that didn’t erase the mean things he did, or give her closure to the way he derided her life, but he was dead. There wasn’t much to do now but forgive him, she guessed.
Chastity just wasn’t sure she was ready to do that yet.
How stressful! Her stomach was flip-flopping as people began to approach them, all somber and serious. But if she was feeling a bit stressed and teary-eyed over it, she couldn’t imagine what her mother felt. Charles and Ruby Parker had been together for forty years. They had about given up on having children before Ruby got pregnant with Chastity. Although Chastity had her fights with them growing up, and different ideals, their love for each other had been apparent to anyone who saw the two together. Chastity remembered hoping when she was younger that she would someday find someone who looked at her how her father had looked at her mother, but so far that had yet to happen.
Well, there was one man who had gazed at her like that, but—
She cut that thought off fast. It was not the time to be thinking about old drama. She was here to help her mother and mourn the lo
ss of her father. Although they had never really been close, she’d never wanted him to die. And now that he was gone, she couldn’t help but wonder about all the ways he would be missed—and all the things she never got to say to him.
The first people came up, an older couple that Chastity didn’t recognize. Maybe church friends? She had stopped going when she was sixteen, so most of the parishioners had faded from her memory.
However, Mom clearly knew them, because the two women tottered toward each other and linked together in a teary hug. The gentleman, dressed in what had to be his Sunday finest, offered his hand to Chastity.
“We’re so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Chastity murmured, feeling the back of her throat squeeze. She had managed not to cry since arriving, but she didn’t think her streak was going to make it through this crowd.
“Agatha was worried about you two having to cook with everything you’ve got to do, so we brought you a bit to eat.”
It was only then that Chastity noticed he was holding a black, insulated bag in his other hand. The funeral home that they were renting had anticipated this, however, and Chastity found herself repeating the words they had told her.
“The door to the left over there leads to a table where you can set it down for us to collect when we go home. If it needs to be kept cold, there’s a refrigerator too.”
“Right. Of course. You let us know if you need anything, ya hear? Charles was a good man and helped a lot of people.”
“We will. Thank you so much.”
The older women finally parted, and the elderly gentleman moved on to my mother, kissing the top of her head before pulling her into a hug as well. That was another thing Chastity had missed about home, touch.
Walking around in New York City, it often seemed that everyone had a barrier around them that you weren’t supposed to penetrate, and if someone did dare to touch another human being, they were usually up to no good. It was exhausting to always be on guard, to be closed off and defensive. But here, back in town, everyone was so much more connected. It made her wonder why she was so determined to go back to the city anyway. It made her miserable.
