Epilogue
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Seth held Choctaw by the reins as Willow pet the horse on the shoulder.
“Can I come?” she asked, but Seth shook his head. “Aww,” she protested.
Rowan bent and lifted the girl into her arms, out of the way of the nearby horse’s hooves.
“Not this time, sweetheart,” Seth told her. “But while I’m gone, Pop-Pop and Mama are going to saddle up Caramel and let you ride, okay?”
The little girl’s excited squeal convinced Seth that buying the pony had been a good idea.
Rowan leaned in, hugging Seth with her free arm. Seth wrapped his arms around both of them and squeezed.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Rowan whispered.
But again Seth shook his head. “No. You stay here. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He gave Willow a tweak on the nose and swung his leg up into the saddle. Mac gave him a solemn wave.
The ride was easy but far. Seth had brought his rifle along just in case he ran into trouble, but looking around, he saw nothing but rolling hills, high mountains, and lush green grass. He and Choctaw passed the homestead, turned to the river, and kept their steady pace. Down into Goodman’s Gulch, they finally came to the right place, and Seth dismounted, setting the reins on the saddle horn and letting Choctaw pick at the grass.
On his knees, under a tree, Seth pushed a spade into the earth and lifted dark, fertile chunks out of the ground in front of him. When it was deep enough, he stood, walked back to Choctaw, and pulled a heavy stone cross out of the horse’s saddlebag. He carried it to the hole and slid the base into the loamy, hollowed earth.
Carved in script on the marker’s arms were Rafe and Manny’s names, two friends who’d lived and died together on this rugged, open land. Both men had graves in town, in the Catholic cemetery next to Saint Joseph’s, but Seth was convinced this was where they’d rather be and surely where they’d rather be remembered.
The graves were for the family, but this was for the men themselves, the men who’d sacrificed themselves so that all of them could go on.
He took a long look, but by no means a last one. Seth had lived on this land and worked it from the time he could ride a horse. He’d pass by the marker on his way through the Gulch, on his way to the Ridge, on his way to Pike’s Point maybe, though he’d only been that high a few times in his life. There was no forgetting these men. They’d never be out of sight or out of mind.
He turned and headed the few yards down to the Snake River. Choctaw followed, loyal trail horse that he was, without having to be led. Seth stopped near the water’s edge and unbuckled the counterweight bag, dumping the multicolored river stones back onto the bank that was visible now that the spring runoff had fully receded. The sun was rising over the far side of the east bank. A riot of pinks, golds, blues, and purples spilled across the sky, matching the hues of the stones beneath his boots.
This was his land, left to him by his father, and his legacy, left to him by his ancestors, all of whom, Seth felt, were gathered around him now. If he closed his eyes, he could hear their whispers in the sound of the water running past.
Destiny. Legacy. Family.
Seth Barlow had it all now…and he was never letting go.
THE END