Chapter 29 - Blackstone at Sunset
Silas waited on Blackstone porch.
No guards.
No lawyers.
No ledgers.
Just old man in blanket.
Jonah rode alone.
Naelli offered to come.
Jonah declined.
She respected it.
Another kind of trust.
Silas looked toward sunset.
“You kept cattle.”
“Some.”
“Sold south parcel.”
“Yes.”
“Returned Carter land.”
“Yes.”
“Wasteful.”
Jonah smiled.
“You asked me here to criticize?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He sat.
For long time they watched cattle move across valley.
Silas said, “I loved this place.”
“I know.”
“More than people sometimes.”
“I know.”
“Your mother hated that.”
“I know.”
Silas smiled.
“You know everything now?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Jonah looked at him.
“Why did you really leave Blackstone to me?”
Silas considered.
“Because I had no child.”
“Not enough.”
“Because I wanted something of mine to continue.”
“Closer.”
Silas sighed.
“Because if I left it to investors, everything I justified became permanent.”
Jonah listened.
“If I left it to you, you might undo some.”
“So responsibility.”
“Yes.”
“Burden.”
“Yes.”
“Control after death.”
Silas smiled.
“Yes.”
Jonah shook head.
“At least you know.”
Silas looked at his hands.
“I do now.”
Jonah asked, “Do you want forgiveness?”
Silas answered immediately.
“Yes.”
Jonah appreciated honesty.
“Do you expect it?”
“No.”
Silence.
“I forgive some things.”
Silas looked up.
Jonah continued.
“I forgive you for loving Mother.”
Silas’s eyes filled.
“That was not wrong.”
“No.”
“I forgive you for resenting Elias.”
Silas nodded.
“He gave reasons.”
“I forgive you for being afraid.”
Silas swallowed.
“But not everything.”
“No.”
“Good.”
Jonah frowned.
Silas smiled faintly.
“If you forgave everything because I’m dying, I’d know you were lying.”
“You’re not dying tonight.”
“Hopefully.”
Jonah looked across Blackstone.
“You raised me.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“Both true.”
“Yes.”
Silas’s voice cracked.
“Thank you.”
Jonah did not know which statement he thanked.
Maybe both.
Silas reached into coat.
Jonah groaned.
“If that is paper—”
“No.”
Silver?
No.
A wooden toy horse.
Crude.
Jonah stared.
“You made this?”
“You were five.”
Jonah remembered.
A toy horse in childhood.
Broken leg.
He had thought his mother made it disappear.
“You kept it?”
“You threw it at me.”
“Why?”
“I told you your father rode a white horse.”
Jonah’s chest tightened.
“My father’s horse?”
“Brown.”
“So even that was a lie?”
Silas laughed weakly.
“Apparently I lied recreationally.”
Jonah laughed too.
The absurdity released something.
He took horse.
One leg repaired with wire.
“Thank you.”
Silas nodded.
Jonah stood.
“Come to Cedar next week.”
Silas looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Dinner.”
“With Elias?”
“Yes.”
“Naelli?”
“Yes.”
Silas grimaced.
“She frightens me.”
“Good.”
Jonah mounted.
Silas called:
“Jonah.”
He turned.
“I am sorry.”
Jonah waited.
No explanation.
No necessity.
No love as defense.
Just sorry.
Jonah nodded.
“I know.”
Not it’s okay.
Never that.
He rode home.
Naelli waited on porch.
“How was it?”
“Bad.”
“Good bad?”
“Complicated.”
She smiled.
“Family.”
Jonah handed her wooden horse.
She laughed.
“This is ugly.”
“I was five.”
“You made it?”
“Silas.”
She studied repaired leg.
“You kept something from him.”
“Yes.”
“Will you give it to child?”
“Maybe.”
Naelli touched her stomach.
Jonah froze.
She watched him realize.
“No.”
“What?”
“Are you—”
“Yes.”
Jonah sat down immediately.
Naelli laughed.
“You look wounded.”
“How long?”
“Not long.”
“Mercer knows?”
“Yes.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“I’m last?”
“No. Elias does not know. Silas does not know.”
“Good.”
Naelli sat beside him.
Jonah stared at her stomach as though expecting visible child immediately.
She pushed his face up.
“I am here.”
“Right.”
“You may touch me.”
Jonah smiled.
He placed hand gently over hers.
Fear came.
Of loss.
Of repeating parents.
Of secrets.
Naelli saw.
“We will make mistakes.”
“Yes.”
“We will tell child some things badly.”
“Yes.”
“We may even hide birthday gifts.”
Jonah smiled.
“But not fathers.”
“Agreed.”
“Not land.”
“Agreed.”
“Not debt.”
“Agreed.”
Naelli leaned against him.
Inside cabin, the Reed brand remained above door.
Outside, Cedar creek ran under moonlight.
Jonah thought of the frozen evening when her hand grabbed his wrist.
A warning.
A boundary.
The first honest thing between them.
Tomorrow they would tell Elias.
Then Silas.
Then Naelli’s father could pretend he had not already guessed.
Jonah smiled.
“What?”
Naelli asked.
“I was thinking about the first thing you ever said to me.”
She smiled too.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Yes.”
“Good advice.”
“Apparently.”
She placed his hand over hers again.
“Different now.”
“Because you choose.”
“Yes.”
That would be what they taught their child.
Not that family owed loyalty automatically.
Not that land proved worth.
Not that sacrifice erased harm.
Choice.
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