Love on the Range. Jessica Nelson

as he looked down at her, his eyes dark pools of mystery. His chin jerked in the direction of the house. “Let’s go sit on the porch.”

       His hand reached up to rub the back of his neck as they walked. “People are dropping like flies all over the country. I’ve never seen anything like it. Some are saying this grippe is akin to the Black Plague.” They lowered themselves into the rocking chairs.

       “How horrible.” Light from the windows washed over Gracie’s face. She fiddled with her skirt. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

       “After I conducted business, by chance I discovered my father died. I—” He paused. “Stayed intoxicated for a week or two.”

       “Oh.” Gracie looked away. As if she felt bad for him.

       He didn’t know how that made him feel. Strange. Angry. He didn’t need pity.

       Their rockers creaked on the wooden floorboards. Somewhere in the night an owl screeched.

       “I’m sorry about your father, Trevor.”

       He laughed woodenly. If she only knew. When he spoke, his voice was flat. “I hate my father. I’ve hated him since I learned to speak. He was poison, hurt anything and everyone he ever got close to.”

       “Why do you seem so disturbed by his death, then?”

       He turned to face her, and this time he could clearly see the depths of her irises, the line of her nose, the pity in the turn of her lips.

       His chest constricted at the look on her face. When was the last time someone felt bad for him? No one did. He had a great life. Nothing to feel bad about. And yet the expression on her features moved him in some strange way. Prompted him to speak without knowing why she would care.

       “My father was an evil man.” He stopped rocking. “I always hated him.” A stretch of silence as he searched for words. “He died two weeks ago. I didn’t know he was living in Kansas. He found out I was there somehow and sent for me.”

       “Was it the grippe?”

       “No. Just too much whiskey, too much of everything. I went to see him. He was a shriveled husk of a man lying on a dirty cot and I felt like a little boy again.”

       Trevor cringed, remembering that dark room, the odor of coming death.

       “I raised my voice, lost control. Somewhere deep down, I thought he might care. At the end of a life, looking back, most have regrets. But he was the same, Gracie.” Trevor wiped his palms down his face, wishing he could wipe the memories just as easy. “He laughed at me, said he wanted to say good riddance before he left for good. I didn’t stay. I got out of there fast, went back the next morning and was told he’d died the night before. I’ve hated him my entire life, and he didn’t care a fig.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “My hate served nothing. It was useless and now that he’s gone and I have no reason left to hate, my life feels purposeless.”

       “Oh, no.” She twisted toward him. “That’s not true. Mary adores you. She says you were always rescuing her from one thing or another. And Uncle Lou couldn’t run the ranch without you.” Her eyes were large, the light hitting her face and highlighting her earnestness. “Your life is not purposeless,” she continued fiercely, gripping the arms of her rocking chair. “You have meaning. God made you for a reason.”

       “God again,” he scoffed.

       Gracie leaned closer, as if daring him to look at her. “What if you’d never been born? Who would have watched over Mary? The stars look random at first, don’t you think? But there are patterns to be found, pictures of a larger hand at work.” She did touch him then, tenderly, on the shoulder, and the warmth of her fingers seemed to melt his scorn. “I realize I’m just a young woman who hasn’t had to deal with much unpleasantness, but I believe with all my heart that God cares for you.”

       Trevor frowned and moved away from her touch. “I’ve heard religion before and it’s a bunch of hogwash.”

       Gracie cocked her head.

       “You don’t think that, though, do you?” he asked.

       “Sacrifice borne of passion is not ‘hogwash,’ in my opinion.”

       His fingers tapped against the rocking chair. Passion and sacrifice. That was a new thought. “You’ve got a strange way of looking at God.”

       Gracie smiled the softest smile he’d ever seen. “His love is life to me.”

       Feeling awkward, Trevor gave her a stiff nod. Wasn’t much a guy could say to a sentiment like that. He didn’t know anything about love. “Well, thanks for listening to me ramble,” he said.

       “You weren’t rambling at all. You shared your thoughts and feelings with me. It’s what friends do.” She stood, tucking her hands into the folds of her coat, and inclined her head to Trevor. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?”