Death on a Wednesday

by jfclover

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From the moment Hoss and I walk out the front door, the sky looks and feels like rain.  Dark, leaden clouds obscure the sun during the entire service, but as soon as my brother and I walk away, the heavy darkness moves in a southerly direction so it can pester someone else during their important engagement.  After witnessing Jack’s funeral, neither of us is in a hurry to ride home, and neither of us has much to say.  When a good friend is taken at such a young age, it’s hard to understand why.  Jack was a darn good drover for the last twelve years.  He had other jobs, of course, but he always came back to the Ponderosa to help drive our cattle to market. 

“Cartwrights are the best,” he’d say.  “The day I miss a drive is the day I’m laid out six feet under.”

At the time, Hoss and I chuckled.  No one ever thought this year would be Jack’s last, but what makes it worse is that Pa assigned me as trail boss.  I was in charge of the men, the cattle, the schedule, and the cash payment at the end of the drive.  The whole shebang rested on my shoulders.

Hoss knows how I feel.  “It ain’t your fault, Little Brother.”

He’s right.  It isn’t my fault, but when I have to go to Jack’s white, clapboard house on the edge of town and tell his wife, Mary, that her husband of seven short years is dead, and that the father of their three young children is never coming home, I sure as hell feel like it’s my fault.

Pa tries to console me, but losing a man on my watch is a different hurt, not a hurt that can be talked out and settled easily.  My father knows that as well, and I appreciate his caring voice and thoughtful words, but I have to see this through for myself, and that will take time.

*~*~*

The following morning, I ride out.  The mountains and trees that have always given me strength do nothing but sit back and stare at the lone rider.  Jack wasn’t the first to die on a Ponderosa drive, and I doubt he’ll be the last, but is it worth all the trouble to haul a bunch of steers for more than a month?  Riding over steep grades of narrow mountain passes and high desert, the trip is never simple.  Rain and snow are possible.  Days so hot, a man can barely breathe, just so we can make a decent profit and keep the Ponderosa running strong.

I begin to question my life, my existence.  Is ranching what I was born to do?  Is caring for the Ponderosa my destiny?  How do we know what’s to become of us, and how do we decide whether we’ve chosen the right path?  Though the answers aren’t forthcoming, they become a constant hammering inside my head.  Like the beat of a native’s drum, I cling to the words said by Hoss and Pa. 

“It’s not your fault.  You’re not to blame.”

When I set my struggles aside, I realize that not only do I wander off the main trail, but I’m heading straight for Mary and Jack’s place just north of town.  I don’t dare stop.   The thought of seeing Mary brings tears to my eyes.  Like Pa and Adam and Hoss before me, I did my job as trail boss and gave Jack’s widow the bad news.  I don’t have to see her again.  A cold beer sounds like a better idea.

After realizing how close I am to her house, I spur Cochise, but a voice comes out of nowhere.  “Joe!  Joe Cartwright!”

God, no.  It can’t be.  I turn my head to the left, and there she stands.  How could she smile at a time like this?  Carrying three brown paper boxes strapped in twine, she can’t wave, so she shouts my name instead.  I have no choice.  I have to stop and act cordially.

“Mary,” I say.  “I was heading to town to pick up the mail.”

“The mail can wait.  Ride along with me.  I’ll fix us a cup of coffee.”

“I really should be on my way.”

“After the coffee, okay?”

When all else fails—Pa taught me to be a gentleman—I dismount and lighten Mary’s load.  I take the two largest packages and tuck them under my arm.  “I can’t stay long.”

“There’s something I forgot to say earlier.  Tie up that animal, and I’ll start the coffee.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”  Here comes the anger, the hate.  I never should’ve come to town, and I’m not sure what to do.  I stand like a granite statue in Mary’s front parlor and wait for her to return.  Carrying a blue, speckled pot, she reaches for two white mugs and pours us each a cup.  “Sugar?  Milk?”

“Both, please.”  She hands me one of the mugs and offers me an overstuffed chair to sit on.  “Thanks.”

She takes the chair opposite, and after sipping the steaming-hot coffee, she’s ready to speak.  “That was Jack’s chair.  If things had gone his way, he would’ve quit every job he ever had and spent his life sitting in that chair.”

“Mary, I’m sorry—”

“Let me finish, Joe.”

“The only reason he was happy to leave the comfort of that chair was to ride with the Ponderosa herd.  He loved that job.  Weeks before you left for Sacramento, that’s all he talked about.” 

“But I– ”

“Jack loved that job.  He wouldn’t have traded those weeks on the drive for anything.  Not everyone has a dream job, but Jack did, and I’m glad he was able to spend those years working for men like you and Adam and Hoss and your daddy.”

I dropped my head.  I’d never thought of life the way Jack and Mary did, but her words changed the way I looked at things.

“You’re a godsend, Mary.”

“What do you mean?”

I set my cup on the table and stood to my feet.  “Someday, I’ll tell you all about it.”

The End

2 – 2026