Open Road

by M. M. Holaday

  “I heard Win came back. You’ve known him forever, and he’s someone who can hold you in his arms. You love him—you always have, to some degree—but you’re wondering if you could love him the way you loved Jeb.”

  Meg stared at her friend. “Are you a mind reader? How do you know all this?”

  Etta laughed. “Well, I haven’t lived my whole life in this schoolhouse, first of all. And second, Gus told me about the strange triangle between you. When I first met Win, it was pretty easy to see how he felt about you.”

  “What should I do, Etta? I feel like I’m betraying Jeb.”

  Etta leaned forward. “Don’t be silly. Jeb told Gus that when love comes around, it’s best to grab it and hang on tight.”

  Meg squinted at Etta, a smile forming. “Jeb said that?” Talking about Jeb with Etta brought him back to her, like Etta enjoyed the smell of tack oil and straw.

  Etta leaned back and nodded. “Best advice Gus ever took, and I loved your husband for it.” Her eyes sparkled. “Jeb also said that we were the lucky ones, he and I, because we could love and be loved. He would want that for you, Meggie. And Win, too, don’t you think?”

  “How do you do it, Etta? Stay so happy when . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Etta smiled sadly. “When I’ve lost so much? Maybe I’m a fool, but I’d rather take the risk and feel the joy love brings, even it’s for a short time. But that’s just me.”

  The day was gloomy, overcast with intermittent rain. James and Charlie had retreated to the bunkhouse once chores were done to play poker with Wash. Anne disappeared into the pantry to take inventory before canning season. Meg curled up in Biscuit’s old stall and sobbed.

  Etta had warned her a day like this would sneak up without warning. Something would trigger a memory and she’d find herself aching so deeply there’d be no way around it. Meg cried for Biscuit, for Gus, and for Jeb, but most of all, for herself. She knew it was selfish to want them back, but she missed them. She wondered for the millionth time how a broken heart kept beating.

  Exhausted, she fell into dreamless sleep.

  When she woke, she wasn’t alone. Win sat quietly next to her, letting her rest. She sat up, wiping her face with her sleeve. He offered her his handkerchief. She accepted it and wiped her eyes and nose. “I’m sorry about what I said, Win. It was cruel.”

  “I’m sorry Jeb was killed, Meggie. He was taken from you, and you have a right to be angry.”

  “Yes, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Forgive me.”

  “Of course.”

  “I miss him, Win.”

  “So do I.”

  “Do you think it’s peculiar that I talk to Jeb up at the piñon tree?”

  Win didn’t answer right away. He scratched his cheek. “It’s not for me to say. Some people see and hear things I can’t, but just because I can’t hear them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

  “I’m afraid Jeb will go away if I stop needing him.” There, she’d said it. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Perhaps speaking the truth out loud would stop it from rubbing like sandpaper on her heart. “I couldn’t bear not hearing him talk to me anymore.”

  Win didn’t say anything. Maybe she’d simply handed the sandpaper to him, and now his heart was raw and in pain. I’ve hurt him again, she thought. But he wrapped his arms around her, his warmth like sun on her back.

  “I gave you up for Jeb once,” Win said, “and now it seems he and I are still vying for you. It’s hard to compete with a memory, so I’m going to play the only card I have. I don’t know how that all works—you hearing Jeb, I mean—so I’m not going to speak to it. All I know is that I’m right here, in the flesh. I want to stay, not out of a sense of duty to Jeb or you or the boys, but because I love you, and always have.”

  She looked up at him and he kissed her. Her heart fluttered to life, a broken bird awkwardly stretching its wings. “I need more time,” she said, afraid for the fragile creature.

  Win relaxed his hold on her.

  Reluctantly, she pulled away.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR: WIN

  Dawson ranch, September 1887

  Haying season. If Win were on a surveying expedition in higher elevations, the crew would be wrapping up their fieldwork to head for civilization, where they’d spend the winter analyzing collected data and writing up their observations. If he were in Alaska, the Athabascans would have left their tents at the fish camps weeks ago and settled into their permanent winter homes near the caribou fence. But Win was in a section of meadow, turning the freshly cut grass so it would dry evenly. He was where he wanted to be.

  Win paused to gaze at the ranch. Late afternoon—the mountains would soon block the sun and turn the land purple, but for now, the sun painted everything it touched a rich gold color. The house stood tall and proud; the porch stretched out like arms welcoming a long-lost friend. The rebuilt barn, weathered to nearly match the color of the bunkhouse next to it, maintained a defiant appearance, if it were possible for a barn to look defiant. James and Wash were in a large hay wagon, lifting the dry grass onto a conveyor belt that brought it up to Charlie and Meg in the loft. The sight of her soothed him in a way no breathtaking vista ever could.

  “You deserve this, Jeb, not me,” he said.

  Win turned toward a sound, almost believing he’d see his old friend. But another old pal, Gray Wolf, was there instead. He looked amused. “My friend speaks to spirits.”

  “You and Meg . . . you’re the ones who hear voices in the wind.”

  Gray Wolf shrugged. They both watched the work going on below them. “Why do you say you do not deserve this?”

  “Jeb should be standing here, watching his wife and children.”

  “We each travel a path that is ours, and ours alone.”

  “It isn’t fair.”

  “Our friend was content and his spirit is strong. He is at peace. If you could hear him, you would know he is happy that you are here watching over his family.”

  Win thought back to the day he’d left to join Powell’s expedition. He and Jeb had argued again about Jeb returning to Paradise. Whose idea had it been to make a pact about Meg? Had Jeb asked him to look after Meg if something happened to him, or had Win confessed to Jeb that he also loved Meg? Maybe Jeb agreed to the arrangement because he thought he might never see Win again. It was so long ago, all Win could remember was the handshake and the feeling of relief that he would still be part of their lives.

  “I’ve always loved her,” Win said. “But Jeb loved her, too, and deserved her more than me. He made a better husband. I wasn’t ready to give her what she needed, so I let her go.” He took a deep breath. “Can’t tell you how many times I regretted it.”

  “Everything has its own time.”

  “I hope Meg will let me share what’s ahead.”

  “She worries you feel obligated to be here.”

  “Ach, my intentions aren’t that noble. I wish she’d just love me for the incorrigible bastard that I am. I can’t replace Jeb. I wish she’d see that I’m not trying to.”

  Gray Wolf leaned on the stick he used now to walk the trails. “The wind brought a vision to me as I slept. Perhaps if I tell you about it, it will comfort you.”

  Win turned to him.

  “You were talking to white people,” Gray Wolf said. “You were standing in front of them, and they were listening to what you were saying.”

  “What was I saying?”

  Gray Wolf shook his head. “I could not hear you.” He nodded in the direction of the ranch. “She was there. She was happy.”

  “Were you seeing the future? Meg was with me?”

  “It is what the wind brought.”

  “You’re going to make a believer out of me, my friend, with visions like those.”

  Gray Wolf smiled slightly and nodded toward Meg again. “She listens to the wind, too. It speaks to her.”

  I wish it would tell her to believe me, Win thought.

  From the lo
ft, Meg looked up in the direction of Win and Gray Wolf. She raised her hand to shield the sun. Win realized this only after he raised his own hand, thinking she was waving to him. Embarrassed, like an eager schoolboy hoping to be noticed, he dropped his arm, but Meg raised hers again and waved in response to his aborted greeting.

  Gray Wolf smiled. “When we first met years ago, you did not speak our words very well, but I admired your brave effort, even though you sounded foolish. Winning the heart of a woman requires a similar kind of bravery—the risk of looking foolish. The reward is great, however, don’t you think?”

  A breeze swirled around them. Gray Wolf smiled as though it had told him a secret.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE: MEG

  Dawson ranch

  Meg tapped on Win’s bedroom door and peeked in. He was stretched out in a chair with his feet up on the windowsill, staring at the full moon shining in on him. “May I come in?” she asked in a quiet voice, almost immediately second-guessing herself. She’d stood in the middle of her own room for half an hour, mustering up the courage. Maybe she should have waited until morning.

  “Of course,” Win said and started to stand, but she motioned for him to sit back down. She sat on the edge of his bed, not sure how to begin. Then her whispered confession just slipped out.

  “I’m lonely.”

  Win left his chair and sat next to her, her heart sparking like flint against stone when he put his arms around her. Then it began to pound as she raised her lips to him, and feelings deep inside stirred as Win kissed her. But then he surprised her by pulling back.

  “What’s wrong?” Meg asked, although she knew.

  “I wonder if this is a good idea. I wonder if it’s possible for us to be alone together . . . just the two of us.”

  Meg felt like she was seventeen again, stewing over the feelings she had for both Jeb and Win. This time there was no pact to hide behind.

  “I don’t honestly know either.” Meg faced him. “But we’ve been friends a long time; we should be able to speak plainly to one another. So, if three of us are here, why not four? Jeb told me you were in love with a woman once. Whatever happened to her? What was her name . . . Jeannette?”

  “Jeannette,” Win said, furrowing his brow. He pushed himself back against the bed’s headboard and motioned to Meg to join him. She climbed in next to him and rested her head on his chest, reminding her of how she and Jeb used to talk together.

  “Jeannette was the riverboat singer I met on my way here once.”

  “I know. Jeb told me about her. He thought she might have stolen your heart.”

  Win laughed quietly. “She was a good person, but life had been hard on her. When I met her, she was trying to change, to correct some of the mistakes she had made. But she didn’t know how to straighten out on her own, and didn’t have people around her to help her. I’ve often wondered how each of us might have turned out—you, Gus, Jeb, and I—if we hadn’t had each other.”

  “We’ve all leaned on each other at different times for different reasons. I can’t imagine where I’d be without all of you. What happened to Jeannette? Why didn’t you stay with her?”

  Win sighed. “Well, I might have, if . . .” He paused.

  “If what?”

  “If she hadn’t found your picture in my things. Why she was going through my things in the first place, I never found out. We had a fight. She had quite a temper and demanded that I get rid of your photograph. I wouldn’t, of course. Couldn’t. It was the most precious thing I carried with me. I kept that photograph safe through storms and fights and everything else I encountered. I wasn’t about to give it up. She became furious and threw me out. Told me she never wanted to see me again.”

  “It sounds like she was jealous and wanted you all to herself.”

  “Well, stupid bastard that I am, I believed her and left. I wrote her a couple of letters, but I never heard back from her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Win shrugged. “I liked her, perhaps even loved her, but, it just wasn’t right. I can’t explain it any other way. She and I were alike in many ways, but they weren’t good ways, and our differences were significant. Jeb always kept me out of trouble. Jeannette seemed to pull me into it.”

  “Jeb was good that way.”

  “Jeb was a goddamn saint.”

  Meg laughed. “I don’t know about that. He gained as much from knowing you as you did from him.”

  Win pulled her close. “Marry me, Meg. We’ve been part of each other’s lives for twenty years. You and your sons are my family. Let me love you.”

  James threw his bag into the back of the wagon, his face flushed with excitement. Charlie held the reins, waiting to drive him to Cold Springs so he could start his apprenticeship with Dr. Miller. James hugged Meg, who squeezed him tightly, unable to hold back her tears. She said that she knew they would see each other fairly often, it was just the idea that he was all grown-up and moving on with his own life that made her emotional. It was the truth. She was happy for him.

  Win shook his hand. “We’re real proud of you, James. Study hard.”

  “I will. Come visit soon, and bring your pretty new wife,” James said. He smiled and winked at Meg. He’s so much like Jeb, she thought, smiling at him proudly through her tears.

  “That sounds good.”

  “Bye, Ma.”

  “I love you, James. Always.”

  Charlie waved and slapped the reins. Win stood next to Meg with his arm around her. She wondered if he was thinking about Jeb, too. They both waved as they watched the wagon disappear over the hill.

  “So this is what it feels like to be on this side of a good-bye,” Win said. “How did you do this over and over again? It feels terrible.”

  “When someone I love leaves the ranch, like the boys right now, a piece of my heart gets pulled with them and stretches, like taffy, into a long, thin string. It never breaks. No matter how far away they go, it never breaks. That’s how I do it.” Meg looked up at Win. I’m so glad you’re here with me, she thought. Out loud she asked, “Now, tell me the truth—would you rather be James right now?”

  Win squeezed her shoulders and kissed her on the temple. “No, Meggie. I am content right here.”

  Charlie graduated that next spring and began ranching full time. He loved the ranch and the horses, and it was what he wanted to do, he said. Etta stayed at the school only until he graduated. She submitted her resignation the same day she issued diplomas to Charlie’s class of two boys and three girls.

  It was not the last Meg saw of her close friend, however, as she was hired to teach at the Broadbent Academy for Young Women in Boulder, near where James attended medical school. Charlie secured the business of a livery in Boulder and made regular trips there. He visited Miss Sinclair often and she occasionally requested his attendance at social functions at the school, as proper young men were scarce at the all girls’ school.

  It was at the annual Christmas dance that Charlie fell in love, according to the story he told his mother. Introduced by Miss Sinclair, Charlie took a shine to one of her students, Elizabeth Walker, the third of six daughters.

  James and Charlie were both married within a year of each other. James married Suzanne and went into partnership with her father. They built a small home next door to the office he and his father-in-law shared. Charlie married Elizabeth, whom he called Leezie, and who quickly adapted to living at the Dawson ranch. She wasn’t a horsewoman like Meg, nor did she replace quiet Anne, who stayed on as their cook and housekeeper. But having grown up with five sisters, Leezie brought unbridled energy and a feeling of sorority to the women of the ranch. Handy with a needle and thread and possessing a lively, talkative personality, Leezie brought her sense of humor and happy nature to the family. She fit right in.

  Living in the wild for so much of his life, Meg wondered if a bustling, noisy household would wear on Win, but he never showed signs of discontent, nor claimed the itch to roam ever returned. He didn’t gaze longin
gly at the horizon like he had years earlier. She saw warmth in his eyes when he looked at her, though. He stirred her soul, like letting go of the reins while Biscuit galloped free across a stretch of flat land.

  Their marriage opened a new chapter—and a new world—for Meg. Sharing their days and a bed, Win added texture to her tapestry. The years seemed to pass in a blink of an eye, because happiness speeds up time. She hardly felt herself grow older.

  The only matter that raised Win’s ire was the continued injustice shown toward the Indian people. Win openly criticized a group calling itself “The Friends of the Indian,” because the well-meaning members caused more destruction to Indian culture with their aid than any military campaign had with force. He also disapproved of the Dawes Severalty Act of 1887, because it imposed private land ownership on a culture that had followed a centuries-old practice of seasonal movement and had the belief that the Earth cannot be owned. Meg didn’t like the Dawes Act, either, yet couldn’t resist teasing him about the ironic collision of principles and practicality, since he remained resolute in his desire to have his own property pass to Gray Wolf and his heirs.

  All the same, she was sympathetic and loyal and allowed him to rant when President Harrison opened up Indian territory for settlement. At noon on April 22, 1889, eager settlers raced into unoccupied lands. Nine hours later, almost two million acres of tribal land had been lost in the Oklahoma land rush. When Win finally quieted and sank onto a porch chair with a sigh, Meg took the newspaper from his lap and slid into its place, slipping her arm around the back of his neck.

  “It’s maddening,” she said. “How do we fight against it?”

  “I don’t know,” Win said, taking her hand. “But I like you on my side.”

  “Always.”

  In January 1891, news reached them of the massacre at Wounded Knee a month earlier. It was the only time Meg ever saw Win break down. Even as a hundred Arapaho lived in relative safety in the shadows of Steensland Peak, he felt he should do more, he said.