Chapter 17 - A Son at His Mother’s Grave
Graham waited until the first snow before visiting Matilda’s grave alone.
He had gone to the cemetery after the funeral site was shown to him.
But Silas had been there.
Leah too.
Edith stood nearby.
He had looked at the stone and felt watched by both living and dead.
This time he went before sunrise.
Frost covered the grass.
Matilda Alder’s grave stood beside Thomas’s beneath a cottonwood tree.
Simple stones.
Simple names.
He carried the silver spurs.
For weeks, they had remained on the mantel.
He still had not worn them.
Graham sat beside the grave.
“Morning.”
Nothing.
“Silas says talking to dead people is normal.”
Wind moved through dry branches.
“He also lies.”
Graham rested his arms on his knees.
“I read the letters.”
His voice felt strange in the empty cemetery.
“All of them.”
He smiled faintly.
“The rooster probably was terrible.”
He looked at the stone.
MATILDA ALDER.
BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER.
The inscription hurt.
“Beloved.”
He repeated it.
“You made that difficult.”
Silence.
“I was angry.”
Wind.
“I’m still angry.”
Saying it felt important.
“I think people expect forgiveness to erase things.”
He shook his head.
“It doesn’t.”
He looked at Thomas’s grave.
“You weren’t perfect either.”
Then back to Matilda.
“I spent six years making you the villain because that was easier than missing you.”
His throat tightened.
“And you spent six years believing you didn’t deserve to write.”
He laughed softly.
“We wasted a lot of time.”
The sentence nearly broke him.
Graham put one hand against the cold stone.
“I wish you had sent one letter.”
His eyes filled.
“One.”
He waited.
Nothing answered.
Of course.
That was death’s final cruelty.
Understanding arrived when conversation was no longer possible.
“I would’ve answered.”
He was not certain.
But he wanted it to be true.
“Maybe not the first.”
He smiled through tears.
“Probably not the second.”
Then he looked down at the spurs.
“But eventually.”
He rested them against the stone.
“No.”
He picked them back up.
“They’re mine.”
He stood.
“I think that was the point.”
A voice came from behind him.
“Talking to yourself?”
Graham turned.
Leah stood several yards away holding two cups of coffee.
“I thought I came alone.”
“You did.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Edith said you left before breakfast.”
“Edith reports everything?”
“Yes.”
Leah handed him coffee.
“I can go.”
“No.”
She stood beside him.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Leah said, “She would have hated this stone.”
“Why?”
“Too sentimental.”
Graham read the inscription.
“She picked it.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I did.”
He looked at her.
Leah shrugged.
“She left instructions saying, ‘No poetry.’”
Graham laughed.
“That sounds right.”
“She wanted only her name and dates.”
“Why add beloved?”
“Because she was.”
He looked at Leah.
“She hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then it’s easier.”
“Yes.”
Graham appreciated the honesty.
Leah sipped her coffee.
“She talked about coming to Wyoming.”
His heart stopped.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“Fear.”
He smiled sadly.
“Of course.”
“She made it as far as the station once.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Had a ticket?”
“Yes.”
“To Marrow Creek?”
“Nearest stop.”
“What happened?”
“She sat on the bench until the train left.”
Graham closed his eyes.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t need persuasion. She needed courage.”
“And didn’t have it.”
“No.”
He looked toward the graves.
“Neither did I.”
Leah touched his arm.
After several minutes, Graham said, “I forgive her.”
The words did not produce thunder.
No sudden peace.
No transformation.
They simply existed.
Leah looked at him.
“You sure?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“That sounds more believable.”
Graham laughed.
“I think I forgive her.”
“Better.”
“I don’t forgive all of it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I wish she knew.”
Leah’s eyes softened.
“She knew you might.”
“How?”
“She said you were stubborn, not cruel.”
“That was generous.”
“Very.”
They walked back toward the horses.
Graham stopped once and looked behind him.
Two stones beneath the cottonwood.
His parents.
Two imperfect people who had loved him imperfectly.
That would have to be enough.
At the ranch house, Silas waited with news.
“Railroad representative came.”
“What for?”
“Lease negotiations.”
Graham groaned.
“I’ve had enough papers.”
“This paper pays you.”
“I suddenly love papers.”
Leah laughed.
The railroad owed several years of disputed rent.
More importantly, it wanted a long-term lease.
Enough money to restore the Alder property completely.
Enough to expand Marrow Creek.
Enough to make Graham wealthy beyond anything he had imagined.
He read the proposed terms.
Then put them aside.
Silas stared.
“Well?”
“I need to think.”
“About what?”
Graham looked through the window.
North fence.
Barn.
House.
Colorado.
Then thought of Wyoming.
Wide sky.
Cattle.
Men who depended on him.
His cabin.
His life.
Two homes.
For six years, Graham believed choosing one required abandoning the other.
He suddenly wondered whether that lesson had been inherited from people who saw every decision as a test of loyalty.
Leah sat beside him.
“You don’t have to decide today.”
He smiled.
“You said that before.”
“It was good advice.”
He looked at her.
“What do you want?”
She blinked.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t build my life for me.”
“I’m asking.”
Leah considered.
“I want work that matters.”
“All right.”
“I want somewhere that feels like mine.”
“All right.”
“I want to see Wyoming.”
Graham smiled.
“That can be arranged.”
“And I’m not living in a pantry.”
“No promises.”
She hit his arm.
Silas entered.
“Are you two finished being nauseating?”
“No,” Graham said.
Leah smiled.
Silas sighed.
May you like
“Should’ve stayed falsely accused.”
And for the first time since returning home, the house filled with laughter without memory making it painful.
