In a Handful of Dust

Her mother lay there too, nestled between them in the grave of her own making. Lucy’s curious wanderings had taken her all over as she grew older, with Lynn’s protective warnings ringing in her ears when she stayed out too long or strayed too far. But the graveyard was one place she always skirted in order to keep the dim memories safely cornered in the recesses of her mind.

People could be lost. People could leave. People could be taken from her. This idea had taken root in her childish mind and delved deep, sending dark thoughts that made her clutch more tightly to Lynn with her heart. Though she would wander far, there was never a time when she opened the door of their home without a sharp stab of fear: What if Lynn wasn’t there?

Lynn had gone to the graveyard often, Lucy knew, spending equal time with Neva and Eli alike, though she’d been bluntly honest when Lucy had asked long ago if she and Neva had been friends. Uncle Eli was another story, one Lynn clearly hadn’t found the end to yet, Lucy thought, as she walked along, glancing sideways at Fletcher.

He sat astride Brown Horse, who he’d cheekily renamed Terra Cotta after her foot healed. Lynn was riding beside him, Mister barely a nose behind. Lucy guessed Lynn would rather have died than admit to Fletcher he was actually leading them, and she kept her face impassive whenever she spoke to him, which was not often. Lucy had to nudge Spatter to keep up every now and then, as he was always leaving the road to investigate what edibles might be hiding from him in the Colorado dust. Her own thoughts roamed along with her mount, as if discovering the moment in time she had lost her courage might help her reclaim it.

Whether it was Neva’s abandonment, Eli’s death, her own realization that Stebbs and Vera were getting older, or the terror on Carter’s face when he accepted his fate, the seed of fear had been planted inside of her. And it had grown, filling all her corners and finding an answering echo in the dark line of the mountains. Forcing Spatter forward felt like inviting terror, and even the calm, straight lines of Lynn’s and Fletcher’s backs as they rode ahead of her held no comfort.

The day finally came when they rode into the shadow of the mountains, and Lucy fought the urge to bolt as the shade swallowed first Fletcher, then Lynn, and finally herself. Goose bumps stood out starkly on her skin even though she was sweating, and she felt Spatter falter in response to her own wariness. She leaned forward and patted him to reassure them both, glad that she was behind the adults so they would not see the struggle it was for her to keep from wheeling his head around and running back east as fast as he could take her.

The first night beside the mountains stole any semblance of sleep from Lucy. The chill that had started on her skin penetrated to her bones. Lynn had consented to a small fire after Fletcher mentioned it in passing. The heat had lulled the exhausted Lynn into a sleep Lucy envied, and she watched Lynn by the light of the flickering flames.

“It’s good she’s finding some peace,” Fletcher said. His voice jolted Lucy from her reverie, and she looked over to where he was propped on his elbows, his eyes on Lynn as well. “I doubt that poor woman has had any true sleep since I joined you.”

Lucy scooted closer to him so they could talk without disturbing Lynn. “Take it as a sign she trusts you now.”

“And leave poor unassuming you to my infernal devices?” Fletcher asked.

“I don’t think I’d put it that way, mostly ’cause I don’t know what you said.”

“What it breaks down to is, it may seem she trusts me not to harm you, but really the woman is exhausted and sleep is a biological imperative.”

“Lynn’s been known to outsmart her own body once or twice,” Lucy said. “If she didn’t want to sleep, she wouldn’t. Take heart.”

Fletcher smiled, an easy action for him, but this one was quiet and personal, and Lucy felt intrusive even watching him. “Regardless,” he said. “Her trust would be a lovely thing to have, but a man such as myself can’t ask for anything more.”

“A man like you?”

“One who’s got nothing to give.”

They were silent together for a moment as they watched the flames play across Lynn’s face, darkening the shadows under her eyes still further. Lucy broke the silence. “How did you meet your wife?”

“She was on the road, same as me. We crossed paths and it was simply serendipity. The chances of finding someone you can truly love were small, even before this dark and broken time of ours. What are the odds two people left in this vast emptiness would find each other and be soul mates?”

“It’s a long shot,” Lucy agreed.

“We found each other once. I’ll find her again.”

Though his eyes were still on Lynn, Lucy could see his thoughts were elsewhere. “What was her name?”

Fletcher was still for a while before answering, as if considering imparting a secret. “Rose,” he finally said, and she could hear the long years of loneliness embedded deep in the single syllable.