by Natalie Dean
Her mother nodded and finally pulled away, taking the tissue to wipe at her damp face. After a few more tender seconds, where Chastity gently gripped her arms, she took several deep breaths to collect herself.
Chastity took a moment to examine her mother. Three years had passed since either of them had visited each other for the holidays, and she could see the years worn into her mother’s face. Her crow’s-feet had grown deeper while the lines around her mouth had dragged down farther by the relentless hand of gravity. There was a slight cloudiness to one of her eyes, and she stood a bit crookedly, as if one of her hips was hurting her.
It was quite different from the gray-haired yet spry woman that she had seen three Christmases ago. What all had she missed?
Too much, she told herself as her fingers interlaced through her mother’s. But she was home now, and she was going to fix that. Even if it was only long enough to get her mom back onto her feet and through the grieving process, Chastity would make sure she didn’t have to go through this alone.
Goodness knows, Chastity was aware of how soul-sucking loneliness could be from her time spent in the city. The isolation was like a gaping maw, always eating at both time and happiness until nothing was good and everything was daunting.
“You ready?” she asked gently, giving her mother another soft hug.
“Quite,” her mom answered, composing herself into a bright smile. “We might even catch the ice cream cart rolling by.”
“Goodness,” Chastity said with a laugh. “Is Flannigan still at it?”
“It’s his son, actually. Marty Junior.”
Chastity felt a strange sort of twist in her stomach that she couldn’t quite name. “Oh, he just stepped right into his dad’s footsteps?”
“Yes. Started right after high school with them together, and after Flannigan had that stroke, he took over the whole thing.” She sighed and pressed her hand against her heart. “They’re such a lovely family. They offered for me to come stay with them, but I turned them down when you said you were going to come back home for a bit.”
“Wow, that was nice of them.” There it was. That small-town hospitality and looking out for each other that she had missed.
“It really was. But even staying in their fancy place couldn’t compare to having my little girl back in town. Oh! We have so much to catch up on. Your father’s—” she stopped short, and Chastity halted as well, feeling her mother’s grip tighten on her arm. “Oh dear. I’d forgotten.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Chastity murmured, wrapping her arm even more firmly around her mother’s slim figure. Had she lost weight? Chastity wasn’t sure she liked that.
“I—I would very much like to go home now.”
“Of course. Let’s keep walking.”
Thankfully, the town was small enough that it was only about a ten-minute walk home, and the temperature was mild. As they walked, multiple people tipped their heads or offered their condolences, and Chastity recognized almost all of them.
In fact, it seemed like nothing had really changed in the small town. Storefront after storefront, the post office, the town hall. All of it was the same colors, the same structures. Even the video rental store that had caused such a ruckus when it moved into town when she was a wee little girl had survived. Funny how that stood the test of time when almost all the other shops had been handed down for generations since the founding of Blackfish County.
Even though it was only a ten-minute walk, the last part seemed to take forever, as all the history of her life in the town began to weigh down on Chastity’s mind like a ball and chain. When they finally did walk into the unlocked front door of her mother’s house, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders.
“Would you like some tea?” Mother asked, smiling sweetly to her daughter.
Chastity nodded before pressing a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “I would, thank you.”
“Perfect. Why don’t you go up and get your things squared away while I get the kettle going?”
“Sounds good.”
Chastity headed up the stairs, and as she did, it felt like she was going back in time. The wallpaper was the same. The photos were the same. Even the vanilla and lemon smell of the house was the same.
She reached the door to her room and opened it carefully, remembering how it loved to swing open wildly and how many times her father had to patch the wall behind it. Sure enough, her room was exactly how she had left it the last time she had been around, three years earlier.
Letting out a long breath, Chastity let her stuff fall to the ground and looked all around, taking it in. Not a speck of dust anywhere, which meant that her mother had been cleaning her room this entire time, just in case she ever visited.
Or that she had gone into a cleaning frenzy after Chastity announced that she was coming home to help. But judging by the fact that it had only been three days since her father’s passing and her mother’s emotional reaction at the train station, she doubted her grieving mom would have had the time or energy to clean it after he died.
But that just made the guilt stab at Chastity that much harder. Why had she let so much time go by? Yeah, she hated the way her parents would constantly wheedle at her dreams, dismissing all the hard work she had done so far just because she didn’t have any dollars to show for it. And yeah, her father would always pressure her about getting married while her mother would drop hints about wanting grandchildren.
But still… they loved her. They had never raised their hand against her, had never called her names. They told her how smart she was and how lucky they were that she was their daughter. They just… were products of their time, Chastity guessed.
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.
“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. Clearing 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.
