* * *
Cassie wore black—suit jacket, matching skirt and heels—and felt out of place. Colorful Western clothes abounded, the room resembling a patchwork quilt—homey and warm, like the people who wore them. The small chapel was bursting at the seams with an array of folks—old rodeo hands, neighbors, the friends garnered from a lifetime of living. Death was just another part of all that living. Her dad once commented that suits were for marryin’ and buryin’, but nobody said they had to be black. She should have remembered that.
The front of the room looked like a field of wildflowers. No fussy formal arrangements. She didn’t know the minister, but he seemed to know all about her dad. While short, his eulogy painted a vivid picture of the man. When he finished, he invited any who wished to share a few words or a memory.
Near the back, a man cleared his throat. Chairs scraped and creaked on the wooden floor, followed by the sound of heavy boots marching up the aisle. A big bear of a man, with a scraggly beard, a paunch overhanging the huge rodeo buckle on his belt and a chaw of tobacco in his cheek stepped forward.
“Ben Morgan saved my life some forty years ago. We were dang sure dumb back in our twenties. At the Fort Worth rodeo, I got hung up on a bull named Red Devil. Ol’ Boots here was working the arena as a clown, and Ben rode the pickup horse. While Boots kept Devil occupied, Ben jumped off his horse, grabbed that bull by the ear and rode him down to his knees so the other boys could cut me free. Next thing I knew, I’m sitting on my ass in the dirt, and Ben is flyin’ across the arena. That dang bull broke three of Ben’s ribs but he got right up, dusted off his britches and went on with his job. He was a helluva man, and he’ll be missed.”
A chorus of yesses and amens followed the man back down the aisle. A woman approached the microphone next. She paused to offer her hand to Cassie and gave Boots’s shoulder a pat. At the lectern, she turned a 100-watt smile on the congregation. “Most of y’all know me. For those who don’t, I’m Nadine Jackson, and I own the Four Corners Diner. Ben came in most every day before he got sick. But all the regulars kept up with him through Boots. Ben’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He didn’t have deep pockets, but if a cowboy was down on his luck, Ben always had a few bucks to spare and dinner to share. My granddaughter called him the Louis L’Amour Cowboy.”
She paused to let the chuckles from the crowd die down. “She’s only eight, so I’m pleased the little darlin’ even knows who Mr. L’Amour is. But she’s right. Ben could’ve been a hero in one of those books. He was tall, rugged and believed in doin’ the right thing no matter what. He was the kind of man a body would be proud to call friend.”
Nadine turned her smile toward Cassie. “And you, honey? You was his pride and joy. He couldn’t stop talkin’ about you. Your buckles and trophies from back when you were a champion cowgirl, your report cards and your college graduation. ‘My little girl is a college graduate, Nadine,’ he told me. ‘She’s made somethin’ of herself.’”
Cassie’s ribs seemed to constrict around her lungs, and she couldn’t breathe. Pain. There was so much pain in her heart. She gripped her hands together until her knuckles turned white. Tears prickled behind her eyelids, and she swallowed around the lump clogging her throat. Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry. She sent the prayer winging into the cosmos, hoping her father would catch a whisper of it.
“I just have one more thing to say,” Nadine continued. “The Four Corners is closed to the public today. I figure poor Cassie ain’t in any shape to be hosting this herd at home, so I’m throwin’ open the doors. Y’all come on by, grab a bite t’eat and reminisce some about Ben.”
When no one else came forward, the minister speared Cassie with a long look. She sat for a moment to gather her thoughts and steel her emotions. Boots gave her clenched hands a little squeeze. She leaned over, kissed his cheek and stood. From the podium, she gazed out over the room and was struck once more by the bright colors and the kind, honest faces of her father’s friends. They knew him so much better than she. He wouldn’t want her wearing black on this day, wouldn’t want her tears or her remorse.