Acceptance.

[ikissdhimbck]

   'This is the story of Morning Star, who freed the Earth from bad animals. In the beginning, he had been the errand man, and during war expeditions he had to get up early in the morning, hours before dawn, to go around the camps and wake the people, so that the enemy would not find them.
    The people had many councils from time to time, and the errand man went all round to call the people to these councils. At one council, Coyote arose and said: "First, we must change our rule about death, because all are not being treated alike. Now, when some die, they come back to their people, and then others die and never see their people again. I propose to make another rule, so that we may all be treated alike after death. This is the rule that I wish to propose: When anyone dies, let him be dead forever, and let no living person ever see him again. Our Great-Father-Above made a place there where every one of us may go after death. Now, when anyone dies he shall go from the living forever, but we shall still keep up the fire for six days." All the people were well pleased with Coyote's rule, and so from that time on, even to the present day, the same rule is kept, and when anybody dies he is gone forever, never to return again. The people are taken to the sky when they die and become the stars that we see at night.
    That is the reason why Morning Star gets up so early now. He had three brothers also, and he was the oldest one and the leader of all the tribe. In the evening, one of his brothers would go back a long distance to see if the enemy were coming on their trail, and so the man was named Evening Star. The other two brothers were named North Star and South Star, and these four brothers always had something to do. Their father's name was Great Star, and he was the chief of the people.
    Now the people think that when any one dies he goes up to the sky, where he turns around and looks back and becomes one of the stars, and so they believe every one when he dies goes up to the sky. This, I believe, is where your father's spirit lives on, young Katherine.'

_________


Kate spends half the morning and a good portion of the afternoon at Doc's grave. It's harder finding him now that the snow has formed deep drifts along the forest path; but even a hundred years of change couldn't diminish her memory of this place.

She sits to speak with his ghost, emptying herself completely of every disquieting thought, every despair and regret, every hope and every dream she failed to share when he was living.

It's cold comfort, at best.

She keeps Sam by her side, in her heart, dreaming, wishing, hoping.

"He didn't deserve this."


No. No man deserves t'die 'fore they got a chance to live.


"I did this to you both, you know. It's my fault."


Well. Somethin' tells me he didn't think of it that way.


"How can you know?"


'Cuz a truly noteworthy woman like yourself, Miss Katherine? Is worth layin' down your life for.


"I'll never understand that."


Don't gotta understand it. Just have to accept it.










She spent the previous afternoon by the corral, clucking and cooing gentle praise to Doc's horse as he pranced in circles for her. She wondered if it confused him when she'd come to him dressed in Doc's winter clothes—if there was a secret to the way he'd nuzzle the pockets of his heavy coat, or spend long moments snuffling the knit gloves that didn't quite fit her hands. He'd perform for her, and she'd whistle her appreciation, but there were never any treats to be found.

"I'm real sorry, sweetheart. I don't even know your name," she told him that afternoon, encouraging him to come to her at the fence. "You're prob'ly used t'much better, huh? Bet you never were so skinny when Doc was alive."

He came up and searched the coat pockets, the knit gloves; for many long moments he made sure he didn't miss a single whiff of promise.

"Yeah, they're empty 'gain. I know how disappointin' it is, havin' a starvin' belly," she murmured in commiseration. "Maybe 'least I could do is give you a name, huh? I can't always be callin' you 'horse'. Right? What d'you think?"

With a quiet nicker he nudged her, pulling the collar of her jacket between his yellowed teeth, and pricked his ears. Kate had laughed, and the sound carried through the snow-dusted woods.

She looked up to the blue sky over her head, and listened to the echo.




Acceptance.








"That's why it's okay t'leave," she tells Doc, recumbent in the snow alongside the marker at the head of his grave. "'Cuz no matter how much the thought that I'm gonna be leavin' you behind breaks my heart, 'long with all you left when you went, I know you're gonna stick with me. So it's okay to move on. It-It's all right, because you would want me to."

She stares at the pinpricks in the snow.

"You gave me so much. I don't think I could ever leave you behind, even if I tried. Your spirit's gonna be watchin' out for me, 'longside my daddy."

Alongside Sam, she thinks, and he grasps her hand just a little bit tighter. He always was her very best friend; she wouldn't be able to find the strength to carry her head high without his strength to guide her.

Just like she wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for Doc's love to move her.

But she can't survive as long as she clings to the dead. They made choices in their lives beyond her control, and suffered fates more horrible than she could have anticipated. As much as she wishes she could take those things back, it isn't within her power to do so.

She doesn't have to understand it, she just has to accept it.

"Besides, I think you'd be real mad at me if I let your horse die," she croaks, laughter hidden in there among her tears.

She presses her fingers against her lips, and then shallowly buries them in the snow where his marker is. It doesn't bear his name—Josiah Gordon Scurlock. It doesn't bear an account of his life, or a list of loving survivors.

It's simply where he rests his head.


Yours.








Always.









She sets out at dawn, heading east on the back of the horse she's only just recently named.



Concession.


Puffs of air curl from his nostrils in the cold winter chill, like steam from a smokestack on a locomotive. His back bows under the weight of heavy tack and saddlebags, and her body, as slight as it is.

It's east to town (she hopes). East to their first meal.

They follow the forest path out, past Doc's grave and down a slope to a small meadow beyond his property. She carries with her only what she cannot part with, and the things that will keep her alive on the long hard ride across country, back to Texas. She's wearing Doc's coat over the blouse she wore the day she fell through his door. There are bloodstains on the fabric, but she's sewn up the rips and tears. The titles and deeds to his land and Concession are in one pocket. She took a few books from his bookshelf, his gunbelt and sixshooter (which she plans on selling), and his Winchester (which she'll keep).

An owl calls to them as they cross the open plain, a flock of mourning doves set to flight overhead. She tips her head back to watch their path, and smiles up at the peach sky.

In the east lies Morning Star, and with him she knows the rest, guiding her journey home.



You are always with me.

































And I am always






Yours.

.