“She is beautiful isn’t she?” Elliott breathed.
As if he understood Dusty snorted and nodded his head up and down. The pure white mare merely stood there staring at them for a moment and then she pawed the ground as if to say, “What are you waiting for?”
“She’s pretty and demanding, sort of reminds me of Steph,” Elliott observed with a grin. “Do you want to go Dusty old boy?”
The big horse snorted again and swiveled his head around to look at Elliott as if to say, “Are you sure?”
“She’s probably half your age,” Elliott reminded him.
The mare merely stared, as if daring them.
Elliott slipped his arms around the big stallion’s neck and held him close for a long while knowing what he should do. With conflicting thoughts clouding his emotions he loosened the bridle of the horse he loved so much and took it off. Slowly he did the same with the straps for the saddle and let it fall to the ground. He pulled the saddle blanket away and Dusty was free. Sensing his release the stallion bounded away, crossed to the other side of the pond to within a few yards of the white horse where he stopped, raised his tail, stood at full height and gracefully side stepped a little closer. Suddenly the mare wheeled and dashed away through the trees. Dusty instantly gave chase, then spun and stared back to where Elliott sat on the log. It was as if the beautiful stallion knew he was seeing his friend for the last time. Dusty lingered a moment longer, his brown eyes locked on Elliott’s face. It seemed as though Dusty was committing to memory this last image of Elliott sitting in the shade near the pond.
“Better move Dusty or you’ll never catch her,” Elliott said softly with a wave of his hand.
The stallion whinnied and gave chase.
And the reverse was true. Elliott committed to memory that last moment when Dusty was so alive, when the hunt was on, love was in the air and the excitement of the chase was on. This was how he wanted to remember the great horse.
The stallion disappeared. Elliott succumbed to a coughing fit and sat down heavily beside the log.
For a moment he stared at the point where Dusty had vanished through the trees. Suddenly he was struck by whispers of doubt running through his mind, second guessing his supposedly well laid plans. Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe just another day or two were his to cherish. All he wished to ask for was a little more time, a few more precious hours until he could agree it was the end. He wanted to spend another day or two with Stephanie, of that he was sure. There was still time, he thought. For a moment he considered calling out for Dusty to return. Then glancing down he noted the saddle lying on the ground and smiled. Ruefully, he told himself it was too late! He’d never get the saddle back on the big horse and he wouldn’t survive the ride without it. Besides, he thought, Dusty wasn’t returning. With a sad smile he studied the cast on one foot and the titanium stump resting in the other boot. There was no way he could walk all the way back to the ranch.
The saddlebags were close by. Elliott settled in with his back against the granite boulder. Pulling the saddlebags close he opened one side saying, “It is a far, far better thing I do today …”
His thoughts were jumbled. His thinking confused. He couldn’t remember how the saying went exactly and couldn’t finish it, but it seemed appropriate. Pulling the plastic bottle of morphine pills from the bag he set them beside his right leg and then pulled the quart bottle of tequila from the bag along with a shot glass.
After he tugged the jar open and popped three pills in his mouth he poured a healthy shot in the glass and raised it to his lips where he stopped for a moment and said, “Here’s to you Greer. It’s a tequila morning.”
With the next few pills he said, “Stephanie, my love, thank God you came into my life. I’ll miss you.”
The third batch of pills and shot of tequila went down smoothly and Elliott said out loud, “Here’s to you Father Time, thank you for the years you gave me.”
He was beginning to feel a bit woozy already.
As he poured another shot and dug another few pills from the bottle his thoughts meandered. He recalled an article he’d read years ago about ancient Mount Vesuvius erupting and Pompeii being buried in ash. Archeologists discovered a building where one man, trapped in a room, had escaped the gas and lahars only to succumb to suffocation. That man had taken the time to write his last words in his own blood on the wall of his prison. He wrote on the wall, ‘Nothing lasts forever!’
“And so it would seem,” Elliott said aloud as he downed another shot. “Here’s to you, nameless philosopher.”
It seemed fitting for all the places of the world he had visited that here, beside a pond in the high lonesome he would find his final moments. The warm sun beat down across the pond. Dragonflies buzzed about, birds sung and darted through the trees. A gentle breeze carrying the scent of sweet grass and sage caressed his face and lifted the leaves which danced across the ground.
His thoughts drifted to Eddie and James, Rick and Gordon, Paul White and Doctor Yates, Jim and Mike, Archie and Goldie, Bruce Bennett and Rosa Sparks, and he raised his glass once more.
“To all of you and to the good people of America,” he murmured. “We did it.”
He gazed out across the sprawling vastness before him. The earth fell away towards the green fields of the valley below and then above it all Mount Lincoln basked in the rays of early morning sunlight.
‘It is indeed a beautiful land,’ he thought, ‘a beautiful land once more.’
Suddenly his entire body shuddered and he clutched his chest. His heartbeat began slowing and he blinked several times. He took a deep breath. Slowly he slid across the face of the rock until his cheek gently touched the earth. He whispered once more, “To all of you.”
And closed his eyes.
EPILOGUE
THREE MONTHS LATER
Graham lost his seat.
Bainer resigned in disgrace.
Cobbings did not run for another term.
Whitback quit his post midterm.
Coryn lost his bid for re-election.
Paul White won re-election in a landslide.
Each of Elliott’s men received a check for $250,000.
John Bainer’s secretary received a check for $100,000.
The nurse walked into the room with the ultrasound in hand. She pointed out various tell tale signs and then announced, “I can say with absolute certainty that you have a healthy little boy on the way.”
Stephanie, smiling through her tears said, “His name shall be Elliott.”
Greer tended the graves.
About the Author
Child, son, student, hitchhiker, scavenger, chess player, risk taker, poet, writer, father, individual, citizen, debtor, tax payer, spectator, witness, thinker, theorist, humanist…imperiled and angry.
The Return of Elliott Eastman Page 26
