Losing a loved one was hard enough. Finding him dead had to be even worse. But suicide! Survivors were inevitably plagued by self-doubt, forever wondering what they should have done to prevent it.
“Ethan wanted his daddy to be buried on the ranch with his other kin, but the family no longer had legal claim to the land, so his request was denied. I reckon that’s why he chose that particular parcel to buy. He grew up in that house, you know. A lot of memories on that land, and of course the graveyard where his ma and sister are buried.”
“It’s a sad story,” Kayla said.
Millicent nodded. “I hope laying his daddy to rest there will bring them both some peace.”
ETHAN’S NIGHT was filled with memories, mostly sad. Even the few that were happy were clouded by melancholy foreshadowing.
If only I’d been able to get you to hang on a little while longer, Dad. Ethan lay in the shadowy darkness of his old room. I’ve gotten our house back and at least a little of the land. The stable’s doing real well now, too, making a decent profit, even after I gave Carter and Luella a pay raise. They’re happy to be home, too.
Now, with the Broken Spoke homeplace back, he had the facilities to board a dozen horses in addition to his own. In fact he had a waiting list of people who wanted to keep their horses there. He was starting to turn a nice profit buying and selling horses, too. In another year or so he figured he’d be able to build another barn, one that was bigger and better.
He rose as dawn was coloring the sky pink and found Luella already sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee clasped between her work-worn hands. More unusual was Carter being there, as well. The old man took his noon and evening meals with them, but he tended to keep to himself in the morning. Ethan doubted they’d slept much the night before, either.
Today would be as difficult for these two people as it would be for him. He poured himself a cup of the hot, bitter brew and joined them.
“Crew’ll be here at ten to dig the grave,” he announced. “Casket at two.”
A small grunt from Carter was the only response.
After a few minutes, Luella asked, “You let Jud know?”
Ethan had thought about contacting his brother, but Jud hadn’t come home after their father died last year, so this second burial wouldn’t mean anything to him, either.
To be fair, Jud had been in the hospital in Austin recovering from an injury when he got the word of their father’s death, but he could have come home later. Ethan tried not to resent his brother for staying away. Maybe he was even grateful he hadn’t shown up. He didn’t need to see the accusation in his brother’s eyes to feel another stab of guilt.
“No,” he said.
Neither made any comment.
“There was a notice in the Herald,” Luella said a few minutes later. “People will want to pay their respects.”
Ethan shook his head. “I wish Millie would mind her own damn business.”
Carter grunted. “Her old man would go broke if she did. Only reason anybody reads that rag is for the gossip. The CIA could take pointers from her on confidential sources.”
It was a long speech and one with a rare note of humor for Carter. In spite of himself, Ethan laughed.
The next hours were filled with routine chores, which should have made the time fly by, but it didn’t. It dragged.
He and Carter fed and watered the horses, then put them out to graze. Ethan mucked out stalls, spread the manure in a pasture where it would fertilize and soften the footing. He replaced fluorescent tubes in the overhead lights in several of the stalls and repaired a worn hinge that would soon need replacing, then he worked with a green three-year-old for nearly an hour.
Finally the workmen arrived. Ethan led them to the spot, a narrow space beside his mother, Valerie, and sister, Angela, one row forward of his grandparents and great-grandparents. He’d straightened up the tombstones when he’d reclaimed the land—a mere forty acres out of the thousand-plus they’d once owned. A pittance by Texas standards, but it would have to be enough. At least he’d gotten the barns and house—what had once been home. The rest was just land, or so he tried to tell himself. This was where his family had lived, and for over a hundred years, thrived.
The operator of the backhoe was an expert. He carved out a neat rectangular hole without disturbing anything around it. They inserted the concrete liner that the law now required, then the machinery was pulled discreetly out of sight. Ethan had already purchased a new headstone, one that matched the style of the others. Tradition.
There wouldn’t be any more Ritters, not from him and, as far as he could tell, not from his brother. His sister had never even gone to a dance or had a date, much less kissed a boy behind the barn or….
After supervising the grave digging, Ethan wandered over to the bunkhouse. He’d offered Carter one of the bedrooms in the big house, but the lifelong bachelor preferred his privacy. He’d selected the foreman’s room in the empty dormitory, across from the plain, utilitarian kitchen the hired help had used in the days when they had a full crew on the place. He kept soda and beer in an ancient refrigerator out here, along with a few snacks.
The old ranch hand was sitting at the scrubbed wood table, a half-empty bottle of bourbon in front of him, a couple of fingers of it in a jelly glass.
“Early start?” Ethan asked.
Carter wasn’t much of a drinker, and if Ethan hadn’t known the bottle was nearly half-gone to begin with, he might have been worried.
Carter grunted but didn’t make a move to touch the whiskey.
Ethan wasn’t much of a drinker, either, but there were times when it seemed appropriate. He grabbed another jelly glass off a shelf and splashed a half ounce of the amber liquid into it.
Carter picked up his drink. “Welcome home, Zeb.” He tossed it off, slammed down the glass and stomped through the screen door, letting it bang behind him.
Ethan took a deep breath. “Yeah, welcome home, Dad.”
He coughed after downing the shot, washed both glasses, put the bottle away, then filled a taller glass with orange juice to get the taste of death out of his mouth.
CHAPTER FOUR
BY ANNOUNCING the time of Zeb Ritter’s interment at the Broken Spoke in the Herald, Millie Niebauer had essentially invited people to attend. Kayla wanted to pay her respects, as well, but that presented a dilemma. Taking Megan wasn’t a problem, but Kayla hadn’t canceled Heather and Brad’s school bus drop-off. Not knowing the reason Ethan had called off the riding class, she’d figured the three kids could pass the time together playing at Stony Hill. That Heather and Brad would welcome the break from their large foster family.
But she couldn’t very well leave them home alone while she went over to the Broken Spoke. It seemed cruel to take Heather to a burial so soon after her own parents had died.
“Leave them all here with me,” her father had suggested at lunchtime when she brought up the subject. “There’s plenty around here to keep them interested.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not. You know how I love to show off.”
Kayla had to smile. He did have something of the pedant in him, but he was also a good teacher. The plan fell apart, however, the moment the kids got off the bus.
“Mommy, why aren’t we having a riding lesson with Ethan today?”
“He’s busy with other things, honey. Grandpa’s