K.N. Casper - As Big As Texas

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.

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 hoping the three of you can give him a hand in the vineyard. Bet you never planted grapevines,” she said to Brad.

“Aren’t you going to be here?” Megan asked.

“In a little while. I have to run over to Ethan’s for a few minutes, then I’ll be right back.”

“Why are you going over there if Ethan is busy, Mommy?”

She should have said she had an errand to do in town, but Kayla didn’t like lying to her daughter, even for her own good. Besides, in her experience lies backfired and made matters worse. Equivocating rarely got her anywhere, either, not with her precocious daughter. The children gazed at her, clearly expecting a better explanation than the one she’d just fumbled. She had no choice but to explain.

“Ethan’s father died last year. He was buried in the cemetery on the other side of town. You remember, we saw it when we were driving to San Antonio to see the Alamo.”

“That’s where Davy Crockett was killed,” Megan stated.

“Yes, it is. Well, there’s also a cemetery on the Broken Spoke, and Ethan is having his father buried there today.”

“They dug him up?” Brad asked with the fascination boys seem to have with the macabre.

Kayla shook her head and wished she’d prepared a convincing lie beforehand. “They’re moving the casket, the box he’s in.”

“They won’t open it, will they?” Heather asked.

“No, no. All anyone will see is the casket.”

“Can we go, too?” Megan asked.

“I won’t be long and Grandpa—”

“I want to go,” Megan insisted.

“It wouldn’t be polite to leave your friends here.”

“I’d like to go, too,” Brad announced. “I’ve never seen a casket, ’cept in movies.”

Kayla glanced at Heather, trying to gauge her reaction.

“I’ll go,” the girl said.

Kayla shook her head. “It’ll be better if you all stay here. I won’t be long, then we can play some games, and I’ll fix a special supper. Do you like fried chicken? I’ve got a really good recipe. Megan will tell you how good it is.”

“People came to see my mommy’s and daddy’s caskets,” Heather said. “I didn’t know all of them. The people I did know told me they were sorry.”

A lump formed in Kayla’s throat. “You can tell Ethan you’re sorry when you see him next time,” she said, amazed the words didn’t come out strangled.

“I’d like to tell him today. I don’t mind seeing a casket.”

This wasn’t turning out the way Kayla had anticipated or wanted.

“Are you sure?” She hoped the girl would change her mind. “You really don’t have to. It’s all right to offer your condolences on Friday when you have your riding lesson.”

“Ethan’s my friend,” Heather replied with more determination than Kayla would have expected.

Boyd came to the rescue. “Why don’t we all go, then we can come back here and play dominoes. Have either of you ever played Mexican Train?”

And so the five of them piled into Kayla’s Toyota. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. Would attending this burial further traumatize the girl? On the other hand, children were more resilient than adults often gave them credit for, and Heather seemed to understand what was going on.

“If we get a chance to talk to Ethan—” she turned into the ranch road “—all you have to say is ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ or ‘I’m sorry about your father.’ We’ll stay only long enough to let him know we’re his friends. Okay?”