by Jill Lynn
Well, there was nothing for it, Mark told himself as he squared his shoulders and began the long walk up the street. He couldn’t turn back now without at least talking to his foster father. Given the growing wind, Mark was glad to reach his destination. The foyer of the church was dark and the doors from it to the inner sanctuary were closed. Mark let the warmth settle over him as he listened to the muffled sounds of what must be a prayer from the pulpit in the large room on the other side of the wall.
Suddenly, the double doors to the sanctuary burst open and two men in black suits stood there, looking shocked and staring at Mark. Bright sunlight streamed in from the windowed sanctuary behind them. He recognized the men; they used to work on the Rosen Ranch.
“Josh?” Mark asked softly. “Arnold?”
Arnold gave a strangled-sounding croak. “Mark? Is that you, son?”
Mark nodded, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. By now, he saw they were holding the front part of a brass-accented coffin. It wasn’t seemly for a funeral to have interruptions like this.
Suddenly, a small woman walked around the pallbearers and stood in the foyer, with what looked like a black choir robe billowing around her and a black blanket draped over her head like a shawl so that he couldn’t see her face.
“Mark?” the figure finally spoke. Mark knew the voice well.
“Bailey? Bailey Morris? Is that you?” Mark hadn’t shaved this morning. The color of his skin might betray his days in the Afghan sun, but his dark whiskers were all his own. Mark knew he looked unkempt.
The woman drew back the blanket and Mark could see it was his childhood friend. He recognized the flyaway red hair and emerald eyes that she’d had when they met in the first grade. Somehow though, the angles of her face had filled out since he’d seen her last. And her hair was slightly tamer and more styled. She’d be twenty-eight years old now. He took a second look.
“You seem—” Mark didn’t know how to finish his sentence.
What had happened to dear old Bailey? She used to be comfortable in her appearance, like a favorite aunt sitting in front of the television in a tattered robe with her stockinged feet up and a bowl of popcorn on her stomach. Even with that black blanket, he could see this was no longer the Bailey he had known. Her skin used to be freckled something fierce, but now it was creamy with no hint of a spot. Her hair, carrot red for the decade he’d known her, was now auburn with dark blond streaks. Instead of frizz, she had soft curls. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d spent some real money at a beauty salon. That fact stopped him for a moment as he contemplated it. Bailey was beautiful—expensive beautiful. His whole world shifted on its axis.
“Did Gabe Rosen send for you?” she demanded to know, her words coming out low and her eyes sparking with fury.
That settled Mark’s world back into place. She might be buffed up on the outside, but inside it was the same Bailey. She had been an outspoken seven-year-old when he had been sent to this community after the authorities tried, and failed, to track down his parents. He’d been abandoned in a gas station along the Dakota/Montana border. That’s why the foster care system gave him the last name of Dakota. Bailey had decided mothering him was her right since she was an orphan, too, and in the foster care system like he was. When he protested, she informed him he was only six years old and couldn’t know what awaited him in life. With her extra year, Bailey said, she had much more experience. She had sounded so sure that he’d believed her, at least for a few months.
Mark stood there, trying to figure out who could have died that would bring Bailey back to Dry Creek to pay her respects. Her elderly foster parents had passed away when she was in high school. Before Mark had left, she’d taken a good job working for an attorney in Los Angeles. She’d planned to go to law school at night and, in her words, make a place for herself. He wondered if she’d become a lawyer by now.
“Why would Gabe send for me?” Mark asked, picking on the point that made the least sense in all that she’d said. No one here knew he’d been wounded and was now on a medical leave while he decided whether or not to leave the army. No one, outside of Eli, would even know how to reach him.
The crowd behind the coffin must have parted, because someone stepped out. It was Gabe. He was a man now instead of a teenager, but he had the same lanky look to him. The son of Eli Rosen’s cousin, Gabe had been a thorn in Mark’s side when they were kids. The only good thing about having Gabe come for a visit to the ranch had been that Junior would align himself with Mark since they both thought Gabe was no fun. It was the only time Junior acted like he was Mark’s brother and Mark had liked it.
“I’m protecting the old man’s will,” Gabe said with a look of determination that Mark had never seen on the man’s face when they’d been boys. “Eli was like a father to me and I aim to see his wishes done. I saw a copy of the letter that he sent you,” he said and glanced over at Mark before continuing. “I read what he said about a ‘brazen gold-digging woman.’ He apparently didn’t want the ranch to go to Bailey and, no matter what she says or how she plans to twist the will, I don’t believe he ever meant to give it to her.”
“Bailey is the gold-digging woman?” Mark repeated in shock. Then he looked around. More people were crowding up to the pallbearers so they could see what was going on. “That can’t be right. Bailey might be controlling—maybe even a little bossy—”
“Hey,” Bailey protested, her words no longer low or soft.
“But she’s honest as the day is long,” Mark concluded hastily. And she was too short to be a physical threat to anyone. “I’d trust her with my life.”
Gabe snorted.
“And my wallet,” Mark added so there was no question.
Bailey’s face relaxed and she smiled.
Mark noted that the whole town of Dry Creek seemed to be buzzing and looking at him, Bailey and Gabe.
“Besides,” Mark said, thinking this would settle things, “doesn’t Junior inherit everything?”
That made the whispering stop. Mark knew bloodline was important to Eli Rosen and that meant Junior, his only child, would be his heir. Pure and simple. When Mark first came to the ranch, he had been shown where his bed was in the bunkhouse with the hired hands and he’d been given his list of work to do. There had never been any suggestion that he move to the main house or become part of the Rosen family.
He found out later, just before he enlisted in the army, that the foster care people had no other place to put him except on the ranch. He’d been angry in those days and it showed. No one had wanted him in their home. The authorities must have thought the bunkhouse was a good compromise.
“From what I’ve heard the will might be complicated,” Bailey said quietly as she backed up against the opposite wall of the foyer. “The reading happens after the—” She glanced back at the coffin.
“That’s Eli, isn’t it?” Mark whispered as he eyed the coffin. If he hadn’t been so distracted by seeing Bailey, he would have figured that out from the pallbearers. Unsettled, he stepped closer to the foyer wall. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The two ranch hands nodded.
“It’s good you’re here,” Josh said, and the procession began again.
People passed by Mark, most of them giving him a smile and a curious look. Finally, only Bailey was left with him.
“I wish you didn’t have to find out this way,” she said as she walked over to him. “I know Eli could be a difficult man, but—” She paused, her eyes full of sympathy. She had always been able to pull the painful feelings out of him like they were nothing but meddlesome cockleburs caught on his shirttail.
They were both silent for a moment.
“Whether he wanted to be or not, he was the closest thing to a father I ever had,” Mark finally admitted. It was pointless to confess that he’d had a flicker of hope when he first read that letter from Eli. The time was past for suc
h dreams. “Eli was bigger than life. I never thought he would die.”
Mark wasn’t sure what a father was, but he knew it was more than just someone who lived, begat a child and died. He figured Eli must have known a secret that he hadn’t thought to share. Junior had seemed satisfied with his father.
“I know what you mean about Eli,” Bailey said. “I remember the time he gave us a whole roll of quarters so we could go on all the rides at the county fair. Just you and me.”
“I was surprised,” Mark recalled. He didn’t think that gesture of Eli’s revealed the secret of fatherhood, but it had been fun. “I’d never been as high as we were on that Ferris wheel.”
“Or as sick as when we rode the whirly-twirly thing,” Bailey added.
“You were only sick because you ate all that cotton candy,” Mark scolded mildly. “That stuff will kill you.”
“Not when you’re ten years old,” Bailey replied firmly. “It’s all right then.”
“Maybe,” Mark agreed. He’d be the first to acknowledge that he knew nothing more about kids than he did about fathers.
They were quiet and then Bailey started to waddle away. Mark decided she was having even more trouble walking than he was. It had been a while since he’d seen a pregnant woman, but she sure seemed to be one. He wondered where her husband was, but he saw no one lurking in the door opening, waiting for her. Mark quickly put his hat on the rack by the door and extended his right arm to her. “Let me help you.”
He gripped the cane firmly as she put her small hand on his other arm.
“Thank you,” she said.
The cemetery was behind the church and that’s where everyone was headed. Mark and Bailey walked slowly down the few steps going out of the building. The ground was gray and rocky, but, when they turned the corner of the church, they saw a large fenced square filled with flat name markers, a scattering of gravestones and even a few concrete angels. Plastic flowers were everywhere except where a new proper hole had been dug.
Mark didn’t think Eli would be happy that his grave site looked so plain.
“I thought Junior would spring for a big marker of some kind,” Mark said as he glanced around. He didn’t want to show any disrespect to anyone. But he and Bailey were far enough behind the other mourners that they wouldn’t be overheard. “Where is Junior anyway?”
Bailey’s face flushed. “He’s...ah, well—” She paused and didn’t seem inclined to continue.
“What?”
Bailey stopped walking so Mark did, too.
“Junior isn’t with us anymore,” she finally said somberly.
“Took off on the rodeo circuit, did he?” Mark whispered a guess as they started moving again. “He always said he’d do that someday.”
Bailey shook her head. They were beside the open hole. She spoke in a low voice. “No, that’s not it. He’s dead. Car wreck. Alcohol. The usual.”
By then they had caught up with everyone else and the minister was opening his Bible.
“We’ll talk later,” Bailey whispered as he stared at her.
Mark couldn’t have said a word then anyway. Fortunately, the minister was saying everything that was proper. Dust did return to dust. The man cited the hope of heaven, but Mark figured that was just one of those nice things people said at funerals. He preferred to take death like a shot to the chin. There was nothing hopeful about it that he could see. As for the rest of it, God never had much time for him and Mark returned the favor.
Eli had at least written him a letter, Mark thought. Unfortunately, when it arrived, he was in the hospital trying to learn how to wiggle his toes again. When he’d left Dry Creek years ago, he hadn’t thought he was saying his final goodbye to either Eli or Junior. At first, he told himself he’d come back when he became successful in life. He wanted their respect.
He’d thought about settling in Wyoming when he left the military. He’d seen ranches for sale on the internet there that were cheaper than those in Montana. Still, he planned to stay close to Southern Montana so he could travel to Dry Creek easily. For better or worse, this was his home and, despite the past, he hadn’t been able to stop hoping that someday Eli and Junior would want him to be part of their family.
* * *
The cold air made Bailey wrap the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She couldn’t believe Mark was here. Not after all these years. She tried to focus on Pastor Matthew Curtis as he spoke. She knew there was something she still needed to do but she was rattled and couldn’t think of it. She watched as the pallbearers lowered the casket into the opening. She could still hardly believe that Eli had died. The old man had seemed immortal to her. Not that he had ever thought much of her; Junior had seen to that. But she had always hoped that a light bulb would go on inside Eli’s mind one day and he would see that she had a good heart.
How had it all come to this?
She had loved Junior when she married him seven years ago, or, at least, she’d thought she did. Maybe it hadn’t been a grand romance, but, right up to the day he died, she had intended to make a good home with him. That’s all she ever wanted: to feel she had a place in the world. An orphan was too easily set aside and she never had felt the steady support of a family. She’d thought she’d find that by marrying Junior.
Pastor Matthew was reading the Twenty-Third Psalm, but the words flowed over her. Mark was standing beside her. She’d always thought that, if she saw him again, she would be wearing a designer suit and holding a leather briefcase. At first, she had thought a profession and a job would give her the grounding she needed. But when Junior had come to Los Angeles to visit her, she’d been homesick. Junior had promised her everything. It was like a whole new life was opening up.
She was glad Junior couldn’t see her now. Between the scratchy wool blanket and the black choir robe that covered the only pair of slacks she could get into these days, she was a mess. Everyone in Dry Creek knew about her clothing crisis and would forgive her—she had, after all, taken the few clothes that still fit with her to the Salt Lake Hospital when Eli was transferred there to see a heart specialist. They’d gone in a medical ambulance set up for the trip.
A few days ago, when she’d gone to the airport to come back to Dry Creek after Eli’s death, she was told she couldn’t fly because of her pregnancy. By that time her suitcase had already been checked in and couldn’t be found. Finally, she learned it had been sent to New Orleans by mistake. By the time she got home in a rental car, her suitcase was still gone. If it wasn’t for her five-year-old daughter, Rosie, she would have followed her suitcase and left the funeral to others.
Fortunately, a friend had stayed with Rosie while Bailey went to the hospital initially so her child was spared most of the pain of Eli’s passing. That same friend had agreed to sit with Rosie during the funeral so Bailey could do her speaking parts in the service and then handle the flowers at the graveside.
That was what she’d forgotten, Bailey told herself as the minister said her name. “As the daughter-in-law and final caretaker of Eli Rosen, our Bailey Rosen will lay some flowers on the grave now,” Pastor Matthew said.
Bailey had her hand on Mark’s arm and she could feel his muscles tense at the use of her new name. He was no doubt surprised she’d married Junior. She’d never liked Junior that much in their childhood, but he’d seemed different in Los Angeles. That was in the past though, she told herself as she stepped forward.
Fortunately, she saw the white roses lying in a box beside the pastor.
“I object,” Gabe spoke loudly before Bailey could even take a flower out of the box.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“You can’t object,” Bailey said firmly. “This isn’t a wedding. No one gets to object at a funeral.”
“That’s true,” the pastor agreed.
She wished Gabe had spoken out at her wedding to Junior instead of now, b
ut the contrary man had just stood mute back then. And Gabe probably knew Junior wasn’t one to stay faithful to any woman. Before Junior had gotten drunk and slammed his pickup into a concrete trestle, he’d already announced to everyone that he was going to divorce Bailey. She was not good enough for him, he’d said like he was some kind of a king. Plus, he added, he had a pregnant girlfriend in Missoula who needed him. Bailey hadn’t bothered to tell him she was pregnant and needed him, too—or that she’d recently found out from one of his drinking buddies that Junior had yet another girlfriend in Bozeman who might or might not need him, as well.
That had been six months ago. She pushed thoughts of her dead husband away and reached down to the box of roses. None of that had been Eli’s fault. She knew there were a dozen long stems and she picked up four to give to Gabe.
“Here. I’m sure Eli would like you to put a few on his casket.”
Gabe looked at her dubiously, but didn’t say anything as he took the flowers.
She picked up four more stems and also held them out. “Mark?”
Her old friend balanced himself on his cane as he reached for the roses. “Thanks.”
She nodded. Together the three of them scattered the flowers over the top of the casket until the roses all lay there, their white petals mixing with the snow that was starting to fall.
Everyone was silent as dirt was shoveled into the grave.
“I didn’t know he liked roses,” Mark said quietly once the shovels stopped, a final blessing was said and people started turning to go back inside the church.
“I don’t think he liked any flowers,” Bailey confessed as she watched everyone leave but her, Mark and Gabe. “I just felt we should have some touches to show that people cared about him.”
Mark searched her face. “You’ve been crying.”
She shook her head.
“Your eyes are red,” he persisted.
