Chapter Text
The autumn breeze was cool and crisp. The first sign of the summer heat leaving the valley. Soon it would be getting dark earlier and then there would be snow—though they hardly ever got any snow on Beecher’s Hope. It was too dry in West Elizabeth.
The cypress leaves in the tree above whispered in the breeze. A few fell softly to the ground, littering the tops of John and Abigail’s grave markers. Jack reached forward and brushed the piney leaves off, doing so as carefully as he could before stepping back to once again regard his parents' graves. The soil in front of his mother’s headstone was raised, freshy disturbed, and muddy with the recent rain. No plant life had had any time to grow over it in the month since he’d buried her save for the first sprouts of sweet grass on top of the dirt. The wild flowers his mother had first put over his father’s grave those three years ago had taken to the soil and now happily grew around John’s headstone. White daisies, black-eyed Susans, Indian paintbrush, even some Jack couldn’t name. His mother always knew flowers better than him. But she wasn’t there to name them for him anymore.
Because he was alone now. The house was cold and quiet. There was no more life in the rooms, no laughter in the hallway, or quiet evenings in the parlor beside the roaring fire. He didn’t read much anymore—there was nobody to read to. His mother didn’t sew the holes in his shirts and his father wasn’t there to yell at him and Uncle for sitting around instead of helping out—so the ranch had completely fallen into disrepair. The fields were dead, most of the cattle had been stolen, the barn was full of dust and broken planks.
He didn’t care, though. It didn’t matter. Edgar Ross was dead. His father was avenged. Yet he was still alone and there was nothing he could do about it.
One thing Jack Marston did know was that he couldn’t stay on Beecher’s Hope any longer. It was all too much. Too many memories. There was nobody to stay for anyway. So he knew he had to leave.
He straightened and brushed off his father’s old hat before putting it on. He gave his parents one last look and a nod.
“Goodbye mother…pa. I’m going away but it will all be alright.”
He didn’t cry or shout or feel anything really.
He just knew that he was leaving and he wouldn’t be back.
Jack whistled for Ajax, his dappled Arabian, and the obedient horse came galloping quickly from the stables. Jack mounted up and with a sharp whistle and a soft kick, he loped Ajax into a brisk trot toward the road. He was nearly to the front gate when a thought occurred to him. He was leaving the cattle. There weren't very many left, sure. No more than five and most of them old heifers. But Jack couldn’t just leave them. His father wouldn’t have wanted him to. So he sighed and slowed Ajax before turning him back toward the pasture to gather the small herd. As he rode, he tried to think of what he might do with them. He could sell them in Blackwater for some good money. Or butcher them and sell the meat and pelts. No, the butcher in Blackwater didn’t pay well.
Who had his father gotten them from? He remembered that day. Over three years ago, now. The ride down to New Austin with his father, near Thieves Landing. They’d gotten the cattle from a woman, a nice woman with blonde hair. She’d joked with John and reminded Jack of his mother. Bonnie McFarlane, he remembered his father calling her. Yes, that was her name.
Though he hadn’t been back to the McFarlane’s town of a ranch since that day three years ago, Jack had passed it often enough to know where it was. Past Manzanita Post, right outside Hennigan’s Stead. The ranch was still running successfully if he remembered correctly. He just hoped Miss McFarlane took the cattle back.
He herded the cows up quickly, the small amount making it easier. He turned them round and started them back toward the ranch’s front gate. As he rode, he turned in the saddle to watch his home disappear behind him. He watched that blooming cypress tree that shaded his parents’ final resting spot get smaller and smaller as he rode. Goodbye ma, goodbye pa, he thought blearily. Then he turned back in his saddle and herded the cattle forward onto the road.
//
It was well past noon when he got to the McFarlane ranch. Golden sunlight was spilling through the trees that dotted the pasture around the ranch and Jack could see it reflecting off of Stillwater Creek in the distance. The sight reminded him distantly of his childhood but he couldn’t place why.
The ranch was bustling when he entered the post. It was just how he remembered it. Ranch hands and civilians both walking around the place and going about their chores and duties. Folk stopping in the general store and doctors office like it was a regular town. Only it wasn’t, it was still only a ranch. Jack had to remind himself of that. His father used to go on about the place to Abigail—in the short time between him coming back to them from Mexico (and wherever else he’d been) and his death, that is. He had wanted Beecher’s Hope to be like that.
A community, his father had said.
At the time, the thought of Beecher’s Hope being like a town—a community—made Jack nervous. He wouldn’t be able to keep up with it. Hell, he was hardly able to keep up with their ranch as it was. But then again, he was a child.
Jack entered the ranch from the east entrance, closest to the big farmhouse and the stables. He left the cattle to graze by the front gate, staying on Ajax to scan the busy ranch. A ranch hand quickly noticed him and approached, eyeing his cattle suspiciously.
“Can I help you, sir?” He asked politely enough, looking up at him with squinted eyes to block the bright sun.
The “sir” part threw him off. Jack thought he might never get used to it. He looked down at the man, leaning down a bit.
“I’m looking for Bonnie McFarlane, you know where she is?”
The ranch hand furrowed his brow, looking bewildered.
“Yeah, I know where Bonnie is. What do you need?”
Jack was about to ask the man what he was so suspicious of—maybe threaten him a bit—when a voice from the farmhouse porch interrupted him.
“John Marston, as I live and breathe!”
The words instantly made Jack straighten in his saddle and turn toward the house. The voice was feminine, with a slight southern drawl—like his mother’s—more pronounced in her clear excitement. The voice perfectly matched the woman it went with. There she was. Bonnie McFarlane, exactly as he’d remembered her. Blonde hair, ranching clothes, a bright smile, a strict-yet-motherly personality. She was smiling that bright smile as she ran down the walkway from the porch and toward Jack on his horse. She looked more happy and excited than he’d ever seen her, smiling and laughing to herself as she ran. But then again, Jack had only met her once.
“My lord, there’s a face I thought I'd never see again.” She laughed as she approached him, and Jack suddenly dreaded telling her he wasn't who she thought he was.
Luckily, it seemed he didn’t have to. When he didn’t return the smile or laughter, and as she stepped closer, her face fell. That bright smile was gone in an instant and her brows knitted in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak but Jack answered before she could ask.
“I’m afraid I’m not the man you think I am, Miss McFarlane.” He told her as softly as he could, watching her expression carefully. “My name is Jack Marston, I’m John Marston’s son.”
Bonnie was quiet for a moment, processing what he was saying.
“Oh yes, I remember you, Jack. You came here with John a few years ago to get cattle from us.” Her gaze wandered to the cattle he’d brought back that were now spread out along the fence line grazing. She thankfully didn’t ask.
“How’s your father, Jack? Where is he?”
Jack sighed quietly at the question but made sure to look at her as he answered. She deserved to know.
“I’m afraid my father has been dead for some time now, Miss McFarlane. He was killed three years ago now, shot down by lawmen on his own property.”
He knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it any less painful when Bonnie’s face fell even more into despair. She looked like she might’ve been expecting him to say that, but he knew she was hoping he wouldn’t. She was quiet for a long while, looking down at the dirt path. When she looked back up at him, there were tears in her eyes. But like the strong woman she was, she didn’t let them fall.
“I’m very sorry for it, Jack. Your pa was a good man to me and my father and I know he didn’t deserve that.”
Jack looked away from her for a moment, nodding. “That he didn’t.”
After a few more moments of measured silence, Jack swug down from the saddle, stepping forward toward Bonnie so that it was easier to talk. She was looking at the cows again, her blue eyes misty.
“Those your cows?” She asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” He replied honestly.
She turned back to him. “I guess you came to give them back, did you?”
He nodded once, meeting her eyes again.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bonnie nodded in reply, looking at the cows then looking back to him.
“Would you like some coffee, Jack?” She asked politely, gesturing toward the house with a nod.
He smiled a small smile. “Sure, Miss McFarlane.”
She laughed, beginning to walk with him up the short path to the house.
“Call me Bonnie, you fool.” But she was laughing when she said it, so Jack knew she was teasing.
//
They sat together on the farmhouse porch overlooking the ranch. From his spot near the porch rail, Jack could see almost everything. As Bonnie went inside to make up the coffee, he watched the ranch hands come through on their small Tennessee Walkers and round up the cattle near the farmhouse gate, driving them swiftly toward the corral on the other side of the ranch. If everything would be that efficient, maybe running a ranch like a community wouldn’t be so bad. He guessed he’d never know for sure.
The sound of the door opening spurred him from his thoughts. He took the mug of coffee from Bonnie with a polite nod, slowly sipping the hot drink.
“Careful, it’s real hot.” She told him as she sat down beside him.
He smiled slightly, setting the mug down on the railing in front of him.
“It’s great. Thank you, Bonnie.”
She smiled, looking pleased he was using her first name like she’d asked him.
They sat quietly for a while, sipping their coffee, watching the ranch, and enjoying the comfortable silence. Bonnie broke it first.
“How’s your ma?” She asked, setting her mug down on the railing.
Jack took a breath, not meeting her gaze. He didn’t even know Bonnie and his mother had ever met.
“She also passed away.” He admitted plainly, nodding. “About a month ago. She was sick for a while, the doctors didn’t know what it was. Said she was just dyin’, I guess.”
Jack paused, huffing a short, bitter laugh as he remembered. “She used to tell me she was ‘dyin’ of a broken heart’.”
Bonnie was quiet again, her eyes on the wooden porch floor. She sighed, sitting up.
“Oh, you poor kid.” She muttered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
But Jack didn’t want comfort. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t know much what he did want, but it certainly wasn’t that. He kept his gaze down, not moving away from her touch but not relaxing into it either. He cleared his throat after a while, glad to be changing the subject.
“Listen, Miss McFarlane.” He started, messing with the handle of his coffee mug.
“I still got a coop of chickens back on Beecher’s Hope. They’re all pretty old and might not even lay eggs anymore. But with my ma and pa gone, I’m leavin’ the ranch, so I can’t take care of ‘em anymore. I was wonderin’ if maybe you’d want them. You know, like with the cattle.”
He looked up at her, trying his best not to look too hopeful. Bonnie smiled a small smile, letting her hand drop from his shoulder back down to her side.
“Sure, Jack. If you’re sure you’re leavin’.”
“I’m leavin’.” He said quickly, assuredly.
Bonnie seemed to notice his self-assurance and nodded, her expression serious.
“Well alright, Marston. Let’s get them back here before dark.” She stood. “I’ll get Clyde to get the wagon together and I’ll meet you at the hitching posts, alright?”
He nodded, “Alright.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jack was mounting up on one of the McFarlane’s wagon’s, settling easily into the passenger's seat and letting Bonnie take the reins.
“You’ll be alright, Bonnie?” One of the ranch hands was asking her.
Bonnie rolled her eyes, adjusting the leather grip in her hands to her liking. “I’ll be fine, Clyde. It’s a short trip to Beecher’s Hope. We’ll be back before sundown.”
The ranch hand nodded and stepped back from the wagon. Bonnie snapped the reins once and the horses pulled them into a quick pace. They rode in silence for a while. It wasn’t until they were passing Manzanita Post when Bonnie spoke up again.
“You said you’re leavin’ Great Plains? Where are you plannin’ on goin’?” She asked casually enough, seeming genuinely curious.
Jack shrugged slightly, keeping his gaze on the open road in front of them.
“I’m not sure yet. Just away, I guess.”
“I understand.” Bonnie replied with a nod.
“My father used to tell me about friends he had that were living farther east. In Lemoyne? I thought I might check there before I head west.”
“That’s a good idea.” She agreed easily, glancing at him briefly.
Jack paused for a moment before asking, “You know of anyone named Sadie Adler come through here? I was lookin’ through my father’s old things and found that name in a telegram someone sent to him a while back.”
“Sadie Adler?” Bonnie exclaimed like the name in itself was unbelievable.
“The bounty hunter? Yeah I know the name, but never met the woman. People used to say she was tough as nails. Though those were people closer to y’all up near Blackwater. I never heard of her comin’ down here. Besides, I ain’t heard that name in some time. Not since I was a girl. Why? You think her and your pa might’ve been friends?”
Jack just shrugged again. He remembered Sadie Adler. She’d been there when his father had first bought Beecher’s Hope. Sadie and Uncle Charles and Uncle. Back when Jack was twelve and his mother finally decided to go back to his father. Sadie had visited them often. His mother liked her a lot, always beaming when Sadie came by. Sadie really was as tough as nails and brash. Always armed to the teeth with pistols and shotguns and knives. But she was kind—always asking Jack to read to her while she sharpened her knives or brushed down her beautiful stallion mare. She would help his mother with dinner and sing along with Uncle Charles’ harmonica playing around the scout fire at night. To Jack, Sadie Adler wasn’t an outlaw or a bounty hunter. Though his mother used to constantly remind him of that.
Don’t you go gettin’ mixed up in that business, John Marston. His mother used to say.
That’s Sadie’s work, not yours.
But Sadie wasn’t a bounty hunter—not in his eyes, at least. She was just his father’s friend. She didn’t kill anyone, not that he saw anyway. So hearing Bonnie McFarlane talk about Sadie like she was some storybook outlaw was jarring. Though he knew she really was. Just like his father was.
“I always knew your pa was a wanted man,” Bonnie continued when Jack didn’t respond. “But being hunted by Sadie Adler? That’s a new low for John Marston.”
Jack managed a short laugh, and Bonnie smiled when she saw it. She steered the horses forward once more and before much longer, they were driving through the front gate of Beecher’s Hope. Though Jack hadn’t expected to be back to the ranch so soon, seeing his family home once again was easier than he expected it to be. At least, it wasn’t any more painful than it had been since his mother’s death. He kept his eyes on the road as they drove up to the barn, reminding himself that he wouldn’t see his father’s bloody corpse there in front of it, mangled from how many bullets hit him. No, his father was long buried. There was nothing to worry about.
Bonnie parked the wagon in front of the barn, thankfully void of any bloody corpses of his family members. He showed her to the chicken coop, pretending not to notice her intrigued gaze as she glanced around the ranch. He guessed his father never brought her to Beecher’s Hope. Not even when Jack and his mother were being held captive by the Pinkertons and the ranch had been deserted. When John and Bonnie had first met. Jack tried his best to push those thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand . With Bonnie’s help, they had the chickens rounded up and into a smaller coop in no time. Bonnie brought the wagon around the front of the barn and Jack hefted the makeshift coop into the bed.
“That everything?” Bonnie asked as she hopped down from the front seat to join him behind the bed of the wagon.
“Just about,” Jack replied, “I should grab the rest of their feed from the coop, so at least I’m givin’ you somethin’ other than a few lame cows and chickens.”
Bonnie laughed good-naturedly and patted his shoulder before turning and walking back toward the horses. Jack headed back to the chicken coop, where a few bags of feed still sat undisturbed outside of it. One of them had been broken open, probably by the hungry chickens who he hadn’t fed in weeks. At least he knew they were smart enough to know they didn’t have to starve to death. It took him a few minutes to haul all four of the remaining bags onto the wagon, but they got there eventually. When he was done, he brushed his hands off on his jeans and walked back around the wagon to the front. The front seat was empty and the horses stood alone. Jack looked around for a moment before walking back around the wagon and calling for her.
Where’d she gone off to?
“Miss McFarlane?” He called through cupped hands, as loud as his mother used to call him for dinner, so loud enough for the whole ranch to hear.
There was no reply, but it turned out he didn’t need one, because he spotted her pretty quick. It shouldn’t have surprised him that she was standing under that green cypress tree, her head bowed, wringing her hands in front of her. If anyone could find John Marston’s grave without being told where it was, it was Bonnie McFarlane. Well, maybe Sadie Adler, too.
Jack made his way up the hill behind the barn slowly, giving her time and trying his best not to disturb her. She was crying softly when he approached, teary eyes looking down on the carved wooden cross that was his father’s headstone. Blessed are the peacemakers, it read. Jack had carved it himself, much like he had his mother’s. Bonnie sniffed and wiped her eyes with both hands, clearly trying to compose herself.
She didn’t shift when she noticed him, she just kept her eyes on the graves in front of them.
“Your father was a real good man, Jack.” She said quietly, her voice so sad and broken Jack nearly flinched. He stepped a bit closer to her, trying to provide even just a small gesture of comfort.
“Your ma too, from what I saw. Good people. John helped me and my family in ways I can’t ever repay. He—well…” she trailed off quietly, her breath catching on a sob.
Jack said nothing. There was nothing to say.
They packed up the wagon and headed out, riding in silence through Beecher’s Hope. The sun was setting when they passed from West Elizabeth and into New Austin, streaking the sky in pinks and golds and dark crimson reds and purples. Jack thought it might’ve been the most beautiful thing he’d seen in quite a while. The McFarlane ranch was quieter when they got there, yet still busy somehow. Mostly the ranch folk finishing up the day's chores. A few greeted them as they rode through the ranch and toward the stables. Bonnie returned the greetings, Jack just nodded. They parked the wagon and Bonnie showed him to the chicken coop, helping him to carry the feed as well as the chickens. By the time they were done, dusk had long since fallen—the street lamps had been lit and the lights were on in the farmhouse windows.
“You hungry?” Bonnie asked him as they walked down the road to the house, wiping her dusty hands on her even dustier work pants.
“Starvin’.” Jack replied easily, realizing suddenly how hungry he was. He guessed he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast that morning, which wasn’t much.
“Well c’mon then, Jack Marston. You eat with the family tonight.”
He didn’t argue, he followed Bonnie the rest of the way up to the house and inside. Inside the ranch house was warm and quiet compared to the dark cold of autumn outside. He followed her into the dining room, where a few house maids were setting the table with fine looking china and embroidered napkins. She instructed them to set another place out for Jack and they did so without any questioning. They waited in the parlor while dinner was finishing up. Bonnie put a record on the fancy gramophone, just some old classical music, but it was better than silence. The sight of the gramophone reminded Jack of an entry he’d read in his father’s journal, back when it was still his Uncle Arthur’s journal.
Dutch stole one of those fancy gramophone’s from some rich feller he and Hosea conned, Arthur had written. He’s about drove us all mad from the goddamn opera music he insists on playing. Don’t know where he got the records from, but I suppose that’s Dutch for you.
Bonnie, luckily, didn’t play any opera music. Because on the off chance she had, Jack would’ve started thinking about Arthur’s journal entry too much. Analyzing it over and over in his mind, trying to put himself in his Uncle Arthur’s shoes. Where had he been when he wrote the entry? What song was Dutch playing? What were his surroundings like? Had Jack’s father been around? Had his mother? Was Jack there? The thoughts sounded too much like the inner workings of a madman to Jack, and when he started getting them, it was hard to stop. Then his heart started beating fast and his breaths would get all funny. That couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t. Because Bonnie had played classical music, not opera. So Jack listened contently to the soft string music and waited for supper to be ready.
When Bonnie finally brought him back to the dining room, he realized another person was joining them. At the head of the table sat an old man with a thick comb mustache. He looked stern but not unfriendly. He stood quickly when they walked into the dining room, eyeing Jack like he was a ghost.
“Daddy,” Bonnie greeted the old man, stepping aside so he could see Jack. “This is Jack Marston, John Marston’s son. He’s gonna be eating dinner with us tonight, if that’s alright.”
Jack removed his father’s hat, nodding politely toward the man. “Thank you for having me, Mister McFarlane.”
The old man kept his eyes on Jack, eyes narrowed in speculation.
“I heard about your ma and pa, son. I’m real sorry for it.” His voice was gruff but kind. Jack shifted uncomfortably under the empty apology, knowing the old man meant well. “It's a hell of a thing, losing parents so young.
He spoke like he knew the feeling, Jack didn’t doubt he did.
“Your father was a good man, Jack. He helped me and my ranch more than I can ever repay him. Saved my Bonnie. If it weren’t for John Marston she might not be with us tonight.”
Jack glanced at Bonnie standing beside him, who gave him a sheepish smile in response. His father had never told him that. Then again, Jack had never asked. He hadn’t wanted to know.
“Come, sit. Tonight we eat like a proper family.”
Jack did as he was told, following Bonnie to the dining table and taking a seat across from her, next to the old man.
Most of supper was quiet, only Bonnie and her father exchanging stories of their work days for most of it. The food was delicious—the first home cooked meal Jack had had in months. He savored it and listened quietly to the father and daughter exchanging pleasantries. It wasn’t until after dinner, when the maids cleared away their dinner plates and started preparing dessert, that Bonnie dragged Jack into the conversation.
“Well, where are you planning on heading after tonight, Mister Marston? Back to Beecher’s Hope?” Mister McFarlane asked him casually.
Mister Marston. It felt strange to be called that. That was what people called his father. Not Jack. He was just Jack. John and Abigail’s boy if Uncle was giving him a talking to. And just John’s boy if he was speaking to strangers in Blackwater. He was quiet for a few moments, trying to think of what to say. He didn’t want it to sound like he was running away.
“Jack here is heading up toward Lemoyne, ain’t that right, Jack?” Bonnie answered for him when he took too long to do so.
“Y-yes. Yes.” Jack stammered in reply. “My father used to speak of friends he had down there. I thought I might pay them a visit. Now that the ranch is empty.” He hoped he didn't sound too sad or desperate.
“A smart plan.” Mister McFarlane agreed, nodding. “I hear Lemoyne has really shaped up in the past fifteen years. Less rich backwater racists and more working class folk. I suppose the downfall of the Braithwaite and Gray families really was the final push they needed in order for Lemoyne to progress.”
Bonnie scoffed a laugh, shaking her head.
“Daddy, you and your strange obsession with those plantation families.” She scolded him, folding her napkin on the table in front of her absentmindedly.
An unexplained chill suddenly went down Jack’s spine at the mention of the families. He wasn’t sure why but the names sounded familiar and it frustrated him. He should know those names. The Braithwaites. He didn't ask. He stayed quiet and attempted to smile at the McFarlane's playful banter.
“It’s quite a shame with those families. With all the money and power they had, they had the potential to make some big changes in Lemoyne.” Mister McFarlane shook his head, staring absently up down at his untouched slice of pie.
Jack stared down at his own plate, still wracking his brain on where he’d heard the families names. Bonnie started talking again a few moments later and Jack forced the thoughts away, telling himself that he’d figure it out some other time.
“Jack, did we ever tell you how my daddy and I first met your father?” Bonnie asked.
It was a rhetorical question. She knew she'd never told him that. His father hadn’t either, really. He’d just said that Bonnie and her father had saved his life. Jack shook his head.
Bonnie laughs slightly and the old man smiles like it was a fond memory. Jack took all the stories about his father he could get.
“It was three years ago, close to four now, I suppose. We were on our way back home from Armadillo where we'd just had a meeting with the Marshal about some cattle of ours that had been stolen. We had asked him for a deputy or two to come out and search for us. He told us to hire another ranch hand. We got your pa, instead, I guess. Though not in the way we expected to. Amos was driving us in the stagecoach because of the long ride. And as we were passing Fort Mercer, who did we see lying bloody and unconscious in the dirt near the road? John Marston in all his rough and tough glory.”
Mister McFarlane laughed and Jack couldn’t help but follow. What had his father been up to?
“Him and his fool self had tried to approach wanted outlaw Bill Williamson—on his own gang’s turf—and ask him to turn hisself in to the law. Of course he got shot! And who was left to go pick him up and take him to a doctor? Me and my own father. Your pa’s stupidity almost got him killed as I'm sure has happened many times before. Luckily the town doctor was able to get him fixed up. We took him back here with us, nursed ‘im back to health until he woke up again.”
Bonnie laughed, amused and genuine, shooting a bright smile toward Jack.
“But I guess if he never had thought of that stupid idea, we never would’ve found him there bleedin’ out and we never would’ve had the pleasure of meeting John Marston. And, I suppose, by extension, you.” Bonnie smiled again, softer this time, like she was looking back fondly on old memories.
Mister McFarlane leaned forward slightly toward Jack, a soft fondness on his face like he was looking at John himself.
“You look so much like him, you know that, son?”
Jack nodded. “So I've been told, sir.”
The old man hummed then nodded and sat back in his seat.
“I suppose it's getting pretty late.” Bonnie finally said, the grief that had hung over the room suddenly dissipating as she spoke. “We should all get some rest.”
Jack stood as she did, putting his father’s hat on once more.
“Oh, no. I won’t be staying, Miss McFarlane.” He interjected quickly.
“Nonsense!” Mister McFarlane cried, standing with them.
Jack turned to him. “ I really should get going now. It’s quite a ride to Lemoyne.”
“Which is exactly why you should stay here for the night.” Bonnie replied matter-of-factly, “You’ll need good rest before you take off.”
“Yes, we have plenty of room.”
Jack sighed but didn’t argue, looking back up at Bonnie. She smiled softly and lead him out of the dining room without a word.
“We have rooms in the house, if you would like. Too fancy for my taste, but good enough for one night, right?” She told him as they walked through the entry hall and toward the staircase to the upper levels.
“Miss McFarlane.” He called after her, pausing on the first stair.
She stopped, turning to face him with a patient expression, waiting for him to go on.
“Where…did my father stay? When he was staying here?” He asked hesitantly, wringing the front of his jacket nervously.
Bonnie’s patient expression dropped into a look of understanding, a sad smile drawing onto her face. She led him outside and back into the ranch, down the main dirt road that wound through the property. There was a small cluster of houses just outside the corral, one room shacks that he assumed were the houses of the ranch hands and their families. Bonnie showed him to one that jutted out a bit, just next to the doctor’s office. There was a porch and a hitching post outside. It seemed nice enough. Bonnie unlocked the front door of the house with a small key. The door creaked loudly when it opened, like it hadn’t been opened in some time. Dust flew up in bits as they stepped in, creating strange shadows against the moonlight. Bonnie quickly lit a lantern and set it on a table near the door.
It was small and the back half of it was packed with old storage, but it was nice enough. There was a bed and a side table and a chest for clothes. All dusted over, reminding Jack of how much time had passed.
“Please excuse the mess.” Bonnie told him, standing in the doorframe half-embarrassed. “We haven’t had anybody stay in this unit since your pa was here. You can see that we kept some old farm supplies in here as well. But…this is where John stayed for his time with us. Didn’t keep in here much, he was always doin’ somethin’. Helpin’ around the ranch or off shootin’ fellers in town, I guess.” She laughed slightly at the end, fondly amused, voice slightly wistful.
Jack stepped forward hesitantly, like if he stepped on a wrong board the whole place might collapse. He didn’t know why he was nervous, but it all felt strangely fragile. Not just the shack itself but the memories, too. His father had been there. He’d stood on the wooden floor Jack stood on, slept in the bed in the corner, on the dusty sheets that still remained. He’d laughed with Bonnie McFarlane, much like Jack did now, if not more so. It was a strange feeling. His father was gone, buried miles away. Yet his presence felt so close.
“Christ, it’s dirty in here.” Bonnie was saying, looking around the cabin from her spot in the doorway. “You can’t sleep in here, Jack. C’mon, I can get a room—”
“No, no. It’s perfect.” Jack said quickly, turning back to her. His heart jumped slightly in his chest, like someone just threatened to take away his ability to breathe. Though in this case, she might as well have.
Bonnie’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, “You sure? It’s real dusty.”
“I’m sure.”
She smiled slightly, huffing an amused laugh. “Well alright. Make yourself at home. Come and get me if you need anything, anything at all, y’hear?”
“I hear you. Thank you, Miss McFarlane. For everything.”
Bonnie smiled again, then laughed, loud and clear.
“I told you, call me Bonnie, you stupid man.” She was smiling when she said it, but her eyes were sad. Like she was remembering the times she told his father that.
She wavered in the doorway for a moment before grabbing the door handle and beginning to close it.
“Get some sleep, Marston. You’re gonna need it.”
She hesitated before rushing forward and wrapping him in a warm embrace. When he overcame his shock, Jack managed to return it. She was gone soon after, leaving Jack alone in the old cabin, searching desperately for the remnants of a man who was long dead. He found himself searching for the sound of his father’s breathing and the familiar smell of cigarettes and gunpowder in the worn old sheets.
//
Jack woke before sunrise. The cabin was cold and dark and the ranch was quiet. He put on his gun belt and hat and pulled on his boots. Ajax was hitched outside at the posts—probably Bonnie’s doing given the horse wasn’t there the night before. Jack mounted up and rode off through the quiet ranch, not bustling or busy for once. He passed the ranch house, giving it one last look before riding through the front gate and onto the main road back toward West Elizabeth.