Rancho Arroyo receives two Guests from Roma, Texas (Book One, Chapter 10)

    Several weeks after Will shot himself, the ranch had a number of curious visitors. A man with a marshall’s badge and a shock of white hair rode into the ranch with two Indian men. The marshall addressed the ranch hands in Spanish, telling them that they were there on friendly business, and asking for the owner of the ranch. One of the children went running for Elizabeth.

“Who does he say he is, Felipe?” she asked, as she and Will followed the child back to the main ranch house. “Has he said what he wants?”

“No, Tía,” Felipe answered. “Just that they were here on business and wanted to see you.”

When they got to the main ranch house, Elizabeth asked Will to wait in one of the side rooms. She worried that an injured American in her home might make the marshall suspicious and even aggressive, and she didn’t want to take any chances. Better to find out what the man wanted on her own. She ran her hands quickly through her hair and along her clothing, and made her way into the main room, holding her hand out in greeting. 

“Hello gentlemen, I am Elizabeth Arroyo, the manager and co-owner of Rancho Arroyo. What can I do for you?”

The man with the white hair stepped forward, surprise written on his face. “An American woman? You are the manager of this ranch?” he asked.

Elizabeth nodded, raising one eyebrow. “I am, yes. What can I do for you, sir?”

The man cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude. I don’t expect to see Americans this far south of the border. Let me introduce myself. My name is Marshall Rick Rainey from the town of Rio Grande City, in Texas, and these men are Victor and Martin Longoria. They are Comecrudos, also from Texas. My friends and I are looking for two of our associates. We tracked them into your small woodland, where we found remnants of an old campfire, shell casings, several hasty graves, and wagon tracks leading this way. None of these graves belonged to our friends, though, and we wonder if you might have some news for us.”

Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “I believe I may, Marshall. Who exactly are you looking for?”

“Their names are Sheriff Will Austin and Deputy Roy Blackford, both of Roma, Texas.”

Elizabeth’s smile grew larger. “Will Austin has been here for several weeks. He was involved in a gunfight with some outlaws in my woodland, and nearly died. He had lost much blood when my children found him. I’m afraid his deputy was not so lucky; he is buried in our graveyard, behind the main house.” She turned to the child standing next to her. “Felipe, will you go get Will, por favor(italics)? These men are his friends, and would like to see him.”

The boy ran out of the room and returned within minutes, towing Will behind him. Elizabeth smiled, noting that the stubborn man had left his cane behind in his rush to see his friends. He was limping, but walking much better than she could have imagined. His face broke into a smile when he saw the three men behind her.

Elizabeth Shows Will Her Spot Overlooking a Valley (Book One, Chapter 9)

The next day, Elizabeth drove Will up into the hills near her home. He was too weak to go by horse, but the wagon ride gave her a chance to explain where they were going. “When Roberto died, I was beside myself,” she told him, steering the wagon carefully around a turn in the road. “I did not have the luxury of time to deal with my grief, though, as I was pregnant with Enrique. I did not have time to stop living or abandon those around me. I tried to continue my life as though nothing had happened, but found myself breaking down in tears several times every day – sometimes at the worst possible moment. At one point, I was out with some of my hands, gathering the sheep for the night. I was overcome with grief, and fell from my horse, hurting myself and almost killing the baby. I knew then that I had to find a way to recover.

“One of my close friends told me that when her father died, she had gone up into the hills to spend time on her own. She had come across a bluff, where she could see for miles down the valley. The area had been quiet and solitary, but never lonely. She told me that she felt she could commune with nature in this place. When she described it, I realized that I needed a place like that – a place to be by myself, and to listen to my heart. A place where I could start to heal. I found a place like that on our ranch, and, at first, spent an entire day by myself. Eventually, my heart started to mend itself, and I saw where I needed to go. I had found my path.”

Elizabeth paused, giving Will time to understand what she had said. “I think that this is what you need, Will. A place where your heart and soul can begin to mend.”

They travelled in silence for some time, and then turned off the main road. Elizabeth helped Will down from the wagon and supported him as they walked the short way into the clearing. 

“I will leave you alone for a while,” Elizabeth told him, nodding at the grass. “There are plenty of soft places to sit here, and plenty of room for thinking. I’ve brought food for us to eat later. I’ll be over there if you need me.” She turned and walked away, leaving Will on his own.

Will took a deep breath as he watched her walk away, inhaling the sharp tang of the vegetation around him, and breathing the very sunshine. He closed his eyes for a moment and sent his senses out, but found only quiet and peace; Elizabeth was right – this was a place for healing. He turned to his left and gasped at what he saw. The entire world lay before him – miles and miles of plains, forests, and ranch land. A fine mist covered the land near the base of the hills, but the land beyond that was bathed in rich, warm yellow sun. The creek on Elizabeth’s property was a sparkling jewel, while her large ranch houses looked like children’s toys. His eyes ran across her fields of corn, reveling in the gentle swaying of the stalks. Beyond that he could see her horses and sheep, and beyond that the wooded line where her own forest began. The clearing must sit on the very edge of the hills, he thought, to give him this view.

Will sat down slowly, careful not to stretch or turn his thigh, and let the beauty and enormity of the place wash over him. His was but a small life, he realized, compared to this view. Compared to the world at large, his own world – and the problems he held there – were small and insignificant. His grief was real and incredibly painful to him, but it was also just a small part of the world around him. If he found a way to heal, it would be only a small part of his own story.

He turned to look for Elizabeth and found her sitting on a large boulder, her face turned to the sun and her eyes closed. This woman wanted to help him get better, he thought. She had put her time and heart into his care, and he had repaid her by trying to give it all up. What she deserved, though, was someone who returned to her the same strength she had shown him, and the same open communication he had given her in his first days here.

Suddenly Will wanted to talk again. He wanted to tell Elizabeth everything that he had been feeling, and the thoughts that had driven him to the edge of madness. He had never believed in people who shared their feelings before, but the thought of keeping them to himself – of keeping all that sorrow buried in his own soul – became unbearable.

“Elizabeth,” he said softly, afraid that she might be asleep.

Her eyes flew open, surprised, then gentled as she saw that he was unharmed. “Yes?” she asked.

“I believe I am ready for some lunch,” he answered, smiling. “And I would like to talk, if you are willing to listen.”

Will Falls into Deep Depression (Book One, Chapter Eight)

Will sighed, looking out the window. He had been here over a week, and still couldn’t walk on his own. His thigh wound was healing, and he could see that the leg wasn’t infected, but the shoulder wound was still open and seeping. It still ached constantly, though Elizabeth was giving him medication for the physical pain.

As much as she had tried, she could do nothing for the emotional pain. Will had realized how depressed he was earlier, when he had finished his story. Elizabeth had spent a lot of time in ranch work, and he understood that there were other things she needed to do – she had a large ranch to run, and could not sit for days on end speaking to her guest. Still, her work meant that he had been left alone. The solitude was playing games with his mind, and he had taken to replaying the events of the last few months over and over, trying to find a different answer. The unhappiness of his marriage to Mary, then her death, and his tumble into alcoholism. The search for the Gomez brothers; his unwillingness to listen to Roy, and then the attack from the gang itself. He had now convinced himself that he could have saved Mary if he’d only tried harder, and that Roy would still be alive – and with him – if he’d only listened. The weight of both of their deaths leaned heavily on his conscience, and kept him from sleeping at night. He was growing more exhausted with every passing day, and falling deeper into a chasm of guilt and despair.

In his moments of practicality, Will knew that these thoughts and feelings were ridiculous, and that they were only doing more harm. His depression was probably keeping him from healing adequately; instead of being up and out in the sunshine, where the warmth and fresh air would tend to his wounds, he spent his time in his room, becoming obsessed with the past.

Will looked around the room now, searching for something to take his mind from his thoughts of Mary. He had asked for more books, and received them, but had found that they couldn’t hold his interest. He needed something to do with his hands, something that could occupy both body and mind, so that he could stop thinking…

As he gazed around the room, Will noticed his gun belt sitting on the table in the corner. Elizabeth had told him that she didn’t believe in leaving guns around the ranch, and preferred to store them in their holsters and in drawers, so that the children wouldn’t get at them. She had realized, though, that he would worry about his possessions, and would want to know that he could defend himself if need be. So she had left his gun in his room, which was found at the campsite, and where he could see it. At the time, he had thought that she was being generous.

Now he wished desperately that she had moved it.

He had been looking at the gun for less than a minute when the idea came to him. He was a useless man, lying here in bed. He could not move by himself, had to have his meals brought to him, and needed help just to reach the outhouse. He would never have his job back if he couldn’t ride or shoot, and the feeling still hadn’t come back in his right hand. His wife had been shot, and the people in the town had stopped trusting him. He had no home to which he could return, and no one who would watch over him. The worst of it was, he realized, that he felt himself to be a drain on Elizabeth’s household. She did not have time to nurse him back to health, and she wouldn’t thank him for living as a cripple on her ranch.

His gun, which had gone with him on so many adventures, and saved his life so many times, might do him one last service. This might be the way out of his current situation.

He would have difficulty getting to the table, true, but he thought that he could do it with time. He would have to load and aim the gun using only his left hand, since his right hand was useless. He would have to find the strength to squeeze the trigger, and he might be discovered and stopped before he could do any of this.

But if he succeeded … if he found the strength to do these things … he would be free. Finished with the guilt and the worry and the sorrow.

He was pulling himself up and trying to stand before he realized that he’d made his decision. The table was several steps from the bed, but his thigh was healing and did its best to support his weight. He fell the short distance toward the table, and pulled himself up to sit in one of the chairs. Loading the gun with one hand was one of the most difficult things he had ever done, but he bit his lip, concentrated, and finished the loading process. Someone walked by outside, then, and he stilled, holding his breath. If they caught him now, he would lose many of his privileges, and he did not want to disappoint Elizabeth. The footsteps outside strode past, though, and he began to breathe again. Safe, for the moment.

Will raised the gun quickly to his head. The quicker he was, he thought, the less chance there would be of anyone stopping him. It was difficult to hold the gun up, weak as he was, and his hand began to tremble and sweat. He pressed the nozzle of the gun roughly against his temple, tried to calm the shaking, and pulled the trigger before he could think any farther.