go to notes and disclaimers

If Walls Could Talk
by Tess

Damn man drives me nuts. Always has and I guess he always will. Hauled his sorry ass out here on the trail with me as payback. I remember the look on his face. Smug. Wanted to knock his fool head right off. I told him if he wanted to be such a smart ass then he could just help me check on the smaller ranches across the valley.  I figured that he’d be down right miserable traipsing all over creation with snow still on the ground.  So here he is, three days later, with a big ol’ grin on his face charming the skirt off some rancher’s wife. Well, not literally, insufferable imp is a gentleman, don’t you know.

Can’t determine how that man manages to always look just so. Or why I have to think of some reason to be mad at him, just so he doesn’t walk all over me.  He has got to know. The way he pulls on my bit. Running me up to the edge of the cliff, stopping in the nick of time just to throw that ornery little boy grin at me. That’s all it takes.

That’s all it has ever taken. I remember the first time I laid eyes on him. Don’t know how I ever kept a straight face. Had those drunken sots in that saloon falling all over themselves thinking they were bilking some city slicker out of his money. Well, he got the last laugh, he always does. It was like watching an artist paint one of those beautiful landscapes I saw in a museum once, back east. I had to admire the way he handled himself.  Damn good shot too. Didn’t really matter that the others were blanks, it’s only the first one that counts anyway. I surely ought to know that.

Don’t know what made him ride with us. Was sure glad he did, but I knew somehow that he’d run. He’s the type that you can’t tie down, got to give him his space, make him feel free and trusted. Didn’t learn that until it was almost too late.

I had a stallion like that once. Thing was wild, ran all over the range, kept my whole herd in a tizzy. Caused me more grief than I could stand. That beast would come in just close enough and run off, almost like he was teasing me.  Let me catch him once, but I was young and stupid and tried to rein him in with force.  Fought me with everything he had. Threw me out on the range. I broke my leg and then watched him run off without a backward glance.

I thought I would die out there, cursed that son-of-a-bitch horse till I was blue in the face.  Next day I saw him standing there almost like he was telling me something. Called him, that’s all, just called him and damn if he didn’t come. Walked right up to me, all calm and peaceful, let me climb up on him and took me home. Good thing, another night out there and I’d have probably died. Let him run wild after that, just had to call him and he’d come.

Disappeared one day, I think somebody grabbed him or maybe he got killed somehow. Kind of  hope he just died, hate to think of him tied down somewhere,  wondering where I was. He was the most loyal creature I ever seen in my life and boy did that horse have heart. Damn, just had to call him and he was there.

Oh Lord, I can’t believe where we are. Just over that ridge is my old place. My family is buried there. This is where my old friend used to run free. Wish he was here now. Wish they all were. Do I want to stop? Now how did he know? I can feel those glow-in-the-dark eyes searching for an answer.  I do, I want to stop. He is afraid of something, I can tell, went all still like he does. I hate that cause I can’t figure out what scares him so.

I tell him to come on. He’s surprised. Shock written all over his face, that and astonishment.  Don’t know what for, but I never read him very well. Half expect him to complain about the delay, but we just keep on riding, in silence.

The memories hurt, they really do. We get close enough to see the tiny little graveyard where my sweet wife and baby boy sleep under their cold blankets of earth and snow.  The old windmill still squeaks in the flinty breeze. I dismount to find him already on the ground reaching for the reins. He stands quietly and leaves me to my pain. It’s an old pain now, but sometimes it can stab as deep as when it was fresh. I stand and stare into the blank white ground at the stark words that can’t capture those precious lives.

It’s cold and the shadows are long. I watch as the wavering arms of the crosspieces of the markers reach up to enfold me like semblance of phantom specters.  There is no warmth in their embrace; it is cold as my lonely soul.  Time to go.

I slip over to where he is standing, staring at the burned out walls that once sheltered three very happy people. He is smiling, squinting his eyes against the rosy glow that gilds the snow covered ruins. I almost get the feeling he’s watching something.

He turns to me and I am lost in the pleasure dancing in his eyes.  He starts to speak, those dulcet Southern tones gently drawing me along.  He’s telling me that he was just listening to those walls talk.  Listen, he urges. Part of me wants to be angry, I feel silly. Not exactly a feeling I’m used to having, but something makes me do just that. I listen.

Laughter bubbles on the wind. I hear baby cries, the thump of a boy’s first boots, the clatter of pots and pans, the slap of a leather strop.  Softly spoken songs of love dance around my face in the breeze. They whisper peace to me and take me to a place where I find home. Snow is falling now, drifting down like little bits of heaven. It warms me through and through.  I listen.

He hands me the reins and we ride away in the quiet of the snowfall. I look over to see the smile on his face matching my own. He knows what I heard, he heard it too. I never again will ask if walls could talk, of course they do, you just have to listen.