Work Text:
Maybe That’s Okay
The clouds are an ombre grey-blue, dense and sweeping as Beth steps out onto the porch of the small cabin, screen door snapping shut behind her. It’s cold, fall transitioning rapidly into winter in Montana, and her breath generates billowing clouds of its own. The heavy quilt draped over her shoulders provides some protection from the chill but its wool is coarse and it irritates the exposed skin on the back of her neck. Her hands tremble as she lifts them to light the cigarette pinched between her lips. It takes a few tries, multiple strikes of her thumb over the flint before it lights, the frosty air sapping the strength of the flame. When the tip finally glows red, she sucks in the smoke eagerly, only to end up choking on it, her chest already tight and burning. Her eyes burn too, from tears though not the smoke, as she stares out across the meadow.
Grief is a motherfucker.
Sometimes it hits her out of nowhere, triggered by something she least expects; other times, she can see it coming from a mile away. Today she has anticipated it, mentally braced herself for impact and still it is a jagged, rusty knife in the gut, jabbing and twisting. Her mind rails impotently against the sorrow, trying to thrust it away, but it stubbornly refuses to budge. He’s gone, has been for over a year now, and there’s still an emptiness in her heart where he had lived. Now she has signed off on the final document related to his estate, making it official.
It's over.
Three hundred miles away, the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch is gone too. They had lost it, as she had always known they would, but not to progress. Not to an airport, or a casino, or a planned community, she had made sure of that. The land had been gifted back to the Broken Rock tribe, to Tate’s people, to their care and stewardship. They had razed the buildings a few weeks ago, removed all the fences, let the land start to return to nature. She had wanted to be there when they did, to say goodbye, but found when the day came, she couldn’t leave the comfort of her little cabin. She would go back, at some point, to visit the graves of her family, which would be left untouched. She had made sure of that too. Small consolation, but better than nothing. She would be buried there too, someday, as would her husband, that was all part of the deal.
But not today. Today she’s still alive. Barely maybe, but she is.
A single, solitary snowflake drifts down in front of her. The first one of this winter; the first one she has seen in this place. Leaning against the porch column, Beth sticks out a hand and catches it. It glitters on her palm for a moment - pristine and uncorrupted, symmetrical, a unique work of art – before winking out, the perfect crystal melting, leaving the tiniest droplet of water behind. The pressure in her chest loosens slightly. The emptiness in her heart starts to ache a little less.
Movement to the right catches her eye. A cow, brown and winter shaggy, lumbering up over the hill across the field. It’s joined by another, and then another, and then more, lowing and plodding. Behind them are three mounted cowboys who slap their legs and wave their lassos when one drifts out of formation, skillfully driving the small herd along the fence line. The biggest of the three cowboys, looking handsome in the thick Carhartt jacket she bought him last Christmas, shouts an inaudible order. At the sight of him, the emptiness eases a little more.
The Yellowstone is gone. And maybe that’s okay.
A smile spreads slowly across her face. Extinguishing her largely unsmoked cigarette in the ash tray on the railing, Beth bounces down the front steps and heads due west toward one of the pastures. The quilt slips from her shoulders and lands in a crumpled pile. Ducking through the white fence, she walks slowly at first, then faster, then faster, her pace gradually transitioning to a jog, her dress tangling around her legs. She passes the barn and the guest house, still smelling of fresh timber, skirts the line of silver water troughs, and dodges around piles of hay spread haphazardly about. When she reaches the center of the field, she halts so abruptly it’s as if she has hit an invisible wall.
Maybe that’s more than okay.
It’s snowing steadily now, thick flakes falling at a rate somewhere between light and blizzard. If it keeps up like this, there’ll be a decent layer of powder coating the land by morning, turning the world white. Making it fresh, new.
A clean slate.
Arms outstretched, Beth turns in a circle, face tilted to the sky, catching snowflakes on her tongue like she used to as a child. Each rotation picks up speed, faster and faster, creating a mini-cyclone around her, and then the ground is spinning too and she’s laughing and staggering, dropping to her knees in a nearby pile of hay. Flopping down on her stomach, still giggling, she closes her eyes and inhales the sweet, herbal scent. It’s easier to breathe now, the pangs of grief there but diluted. An elusive emotion, one she has experienced only intermittently for most of her life, starts to take root in her soul.
Happiness.
She doesn’t see him approach, the pillow of hay obscuring her vision, but the vibrations of the horse’s hooves through the earth give him away. When she opens her eyes again, Rip looks down at her from his perch in the saddle with a bemused half smile.
“What the fuck’re you doin’?”
She points to the sky. “It’s snowing, Rip.”
Leaning casually on the horn of his saddle, he nods. “Uh huh, I can see that. Which begs my next question. Where’s your coat? It’s freezin’ out here.”
Beth ignores him, kicking her legs up behind her, the toes of her boots thudding rhythmically off the ground on the downswing. “It’s our first snow here. At this place. At our place.”
His smile widens almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. Reckon it will be.”
Rolling onto her back, she props her head up on an arm. The snowflakes kissing her cheeks lend them a rosy glow inside and out.
“We should celebrate.”
Rip’s gaze travels down her body automatically before he glances across the field. “Lloyd and Carter are right over there with the herd, Beth. We can’t fuck here.”
Rolling her eyes, she pushes herself up into a sitting position.
“No, not celebrate like that. God, your mind is always in the gutter, isn’t it? That’s not what I was thinking.”
Beth pauses, head cocked to one side as if in thought, and then grins wickedly.
“Well, maybe later.”
Drawing a cell phone out of her pocket, she flicks through the saved music, selects a song and presses play. It’s the same country ballad they danced to what felt like ten lifetimes ago that night they were alone on the ranch. She had downloaded it that night and listened to it almost every day since. There is a flash of melancholy accompanying that nostalgia, but it passes quickly.
It’s time to make new memories.
Tossing the device carelessly into the hay pile, she extends a hand to him. As the vocals starts, Rip leans over in the saddle, grasps her forearm and pulls her to her feet. Wiping her palms on the soft fabric of her dress, she strokes the horse’s neck and smiles up at her husband.
“First, I’d like to dance.”
He shakes his head in disbelief but he’s grinning one of those wide, toothy white grins that make her gooey inside as he dismounts and loops the reins around the horn. “You’re so damn crazy.”
“Crazy for you, baby.”
There’s a light skiff of snow on the shoulders of his jacket. Beth brushes it off perfunctorily before wrapping both arms around his neck. Slowly they sway to the music in the place in the middle of a huge meadow in the middle of nowhere that’s just theirs. She revels in the warmth and solidity of his body; her rock, always. Her safe space. The curtain slowly lifts on a new vision for the future, one full of rest and laughter and opportunities for happiness. No more politics or scars; no more fighting a futile war. There’ll be battles of course - development will come for this place too, eventually, just as it had come for the Yellowstone - but it’s different now. The pressure of maintaining a legacy that had been hanging by a thread for decades is in the past. For the first time, she can live life the way she wants to live it.
She’s free. They’re free.
Snowflakes land in Rip’s beard and linger. Beth touches one with a fingertip and it vanishes.
“Let’s get married.”
Rip’s deep chuckle reverberates in his chest. “Already did, darlin’.”
“Again. Right here, in this field.”
His eyeroll is almost audible. “Okay, Beth.”
“No, I mean it.” Pressing her hands against his broad chest, she stops the dance. “I want to get married again.”
He scans her face, registering the new earnestness with curiosity. “Why?”
Sadness threatens her again, as it will for a long time, puncturing these bouts of contentment. No matter how bright the future, the loss remains.
“My father, he wasn’t impressed we got married like we did. I never cared, I just wanted to be your wife, but a formal wedding was important to him. He wanted to do it again for us, and in his words, do it right. He never got to give us that before he died, so I want to do it in his honor. Here, at our home, in this field. In front of what’s left of my family, and our friends. Me in a white dress, and rings for us both.”
Her chin lifts defiantly against the grief. “I want to do it right. For us, and for him.”
Rip’s expression is soft, his own heartache just below the surface as he pulls her back close.
“Sweetheart, if it makes you happy, I’m happy.”
“Good. It’s settled then.” Smiling contentedly, she kisses him and then buries her face in his neck. “We’ll get married . . . again.”
The flurry of snowflakes gets heavier as they resume their slow waltz. It’s starting to accumulate on the ground already, the grass struggling to poke through.
“So a white dress, huh?”
“I know, blasphemy, right? That’s your fault by the way, in case you forgot. The good news is we won’t be in a church, so I probably won’t spontaneously combust walking down the aisle. And if I do, the cleanup will be simple. Just leave me out here for the wolves.”
“It’s not that, it’s just . . .” Rip shrugs, lips curling up into a grin. “Well, I’m rather partial to your first one.”
Beth smothers a smile of her own in his chest. “You liked it, did you?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well, you’re in luck.” Standing on her tiptoes, she kisses him again, this time longer and with more heat. “I happen to still have that dress in our closet.”
“That so?”
“Yep. Maybe I could put it on again for you.”
“With the boots?”
Beth bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Men.
“If you want.”
“Mmm.” Rip’s arms tighten around her as the song comes to an end. “Wouldn’t be on for long.”
“I’m counting on that.” Glancing over his shoulder, she sees the herd thirty yards away and closing. “Think you can get off work?”
He nods. “Pretty sure I can. Perks of bein’ the boss.”
“Well, in the barn maybe.” Eyes gleaming playfully, Beth takes Rip’s hand and tugs him toward their home.
“C’mon, let’s go. White’s a better color for a snowflake anyway.”