Loving the Snow

A funeral is happening in Wyoming, will the distant brother return home?

From the top of the hill, Buck watched while those who had gathered to pay their respects cast a mottled scene upon the snow, pepper sprinkled upon a tray of salt.

Among the few dozen mourners were Walter, Buck’s oldest brother, Jack, and Brian, long-time workhands on twelve thousand acres of scrubland that Buck turned with the help of all three, and his wife, Jessie, into a working cattle ranch.

Buck scoured the group and beyond for any sign of Gary, his wayward younger brother. Either he was well out of view or obscured by the surrounding forest if he was nearby.

Jack and Brian had arrived about a half hour before the service began and used an auger slightly to loosen the hard earth so placing the cross wouldn’t be an impediment.

Father Whitmore blessed the homemade marker, stood aside as Walter held it, and Buck drove it firmly into the ground with a sledgehammer.

The only sound apart from each thud of the hammer on wood was Buck’s labored breathing as he swung the hammer squarely atop the cross.

When finished, Buck stepped forward and, with the aid of his stick, knelt on his left knee and bowed his head. No one moved nor said a word while Buck remained quietly in place.

The mid-November wind drifted across the valley, causing loose raiment to flap and the flowers atop the casket to tremble. An hour before, soft snowflakes had glided and tumbled amidst the gathering.

Buck didn’t stand close to the body of mourners, feeling his place was next to Jessie, as it had always been.

The service was somber, bereft of light despite the early morning hour. After the service, every soul in attendance stopped to impart their condolences. The men shook Buck’s hand, and women warmly embraced him.

It took all he had to remain standing — his old, painful knees desperately wanting to buckle despite his willing them not to.

Walt, Jack, and Brian were the last to approach Buck, each man forgoing the handshake and opting for a heartfelt cowboy hug before meandering off, leaving Buck with Father Whitmore.

The Father stepped in front of Buck, looked him in the eyes, and grasped of his elbow.

“Buck, there’s little I can add that hasn’t already been offered here this morning. Jessie gave so much to these folks, and today they all gave back.”

He paused if only to let the first thought blow gently about them.

“I assure you; her soul has returned from where it came.”

The preacher bent his head, downcast his eyes, seeing the darkness of loss and unfettered concession to sorrow in Buck’s heart.

Buck’s head remained hung and still. The preacher’s voice had told him the truth. “At your age, Buck, many couples are divorced or working on a second or third marriage. You and Jessie — well, you always seemed to be on honeymoon,” the preacher said.

Buck grasped the man’s hand and shook it before Father Whitmore left to speak to other mourners.

Looking over his shoulder at memories, Buck saw Jessie walking to church, her Sunday dress gently stirring in the prairie breeze, dark autumn hair lifting from her neck as gusts of wind brushed around her.

Then he heard his name called and turned to see Walter pointing to a figure approaching, a time and weather-worn cowboy. Buck, resilient yet quivering under the weight of finally seeing his youngest brother again, cracked a timeless smile.

Gary stopped a while away. Buck nodded as if his brother had been out of state for a weekend. Gary’s response, glancing at the casket, was to touch his hat, then crouch and run his gloved forefinger through the snow, scooping up a handful and walking over to the gasket where he let the snow sift it through his fingers.

Buck looked up at the drifting clouds, gathering and grey, then back down — and for the first time, allowed himself to openly grieve Jessie’s passing, his tears falling to the white powder.

Minutes dissolved into the unrelenting cold as both men acceded to their urging emotions. Mercifully, the breeze had died down, but snow continued to fall on the utter stillness.

After a fallout, Buck and Walter had not seen their younger brother in forty-three years. Gary stood away, but closer than in four decades.

Walter dragged his boots through the deepening snow toward Gary. “I can’t thank you enough for being here for Buck.”

“Well, Walter, I’m here for Jessie,” Gary whispered with raspy regret.

“Either way, it’s to see you here, Gary. I still remember you told me how she found you first. When you weren’t looking,” if I remember you said that. “You weren’t looking.”

“It was a long time ago, Walter.”

“More than forty years. I guess it was that painful. Why did you tell me you weren’t looking?” I remember how much it took for you to finally summon the courage to tell Jessie how you really felt. You threatened to steal her from your brother, insisting you loved her first.”

Gary looked down at his boots and kicked mindlessly at the snow. “She wouldn’t come with me.”

“I know, Gary.”

“I guess that’s what finally forced me to leave. I knew that I loved her.” Gary dropped his head, then looked up, straight-faced. “She told me she wasn’t at all certain whether she was worthy of being married to Buck, that he was the best man she’d ever met. She was going to wait for him.”

“My point, Gary, is that I’ll bet you have much the same feeling right now — that same sort of scariness that Jessie felt. Sure, the situation is different, but the emotion is probably much the same. If there are feelings where she is now, I’ll bet the ranch she’s just as scared now to think that your brothers and you are without her.”

Walter extended a hand to Gary. Gary instead of his brother into a hug only family can define. Gary got the message. “Speak to him, Gary,” said. “I’m not asking you to mend broken fences. Maybe you’ll go again. But have a word, okay.”

Jack and Brian were talking to Buck as Gary approached them all. The two ranch hands tipped their hats to Gary as they walked by.

Gary knelt on one knee, gently embedding it in the snow, and removed his hat, giving it a careful brush, and rested it on the casket.

Buck paused and wiped his eyes, wanting to blame the snow for stinging them but knowing it was blameless.

“Remember when we were kids, Gary, me, and you, jumping from the hayloft onto those huge bales below?” Buck said, standing three feet away.

Gary stood and bowed his head. “Of course, Buck. I remember.”

“Sometimes we’d be uncertain or intimidated by the drop. But the fall was always exhilarating, and the landing always safe.”

Both men were enveloped by winter’s vast expanse and the wind’s bitter caress. They stood momentarily silent, facing each other.

“I’ve missed Jessie for more than forty years, Buck — forty-three years I’ve missed her voice and her smile. A huge part of me is gone, Buck.” Gary paused.

Buck didn’t move but listened attentively.

Gary’s tired eyes never lifted from Jessie’s’ casket. “It was one thing to know she was with you, the man she loved. But for all this time I’ve not known what to do.”

Buck inhaled deeply, exhaling a sorrowful sigh, his breath captured in the ensuing vapor. Buck looked skyward and squinted. When he looked he offered Gary his gloved hand, palm up. Gary took hold of it tightly.

Both men watched silently as snowflakes lit upon the casket and melted.

“What are we going to do, Buck?”

Buck smiled, “Well, Gary, we are both going to love the snow while it’s here.”

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