7. Arabella

7

ARABELLA

I packed what I thought I would need for a week, figuring I could come back if I needed to. Before I could think too much, I headed back downstairs, where Rafferty waited. His parents had gone on ahead, but he’d offered to stay until I was ready. His presence downstairs while I tossed clothes and toiletries into my suitcase, kept me from completely breaking down.

By noon, I was at Stella and Jasper’s home. Stella showed me into the guest room, with its adjoining bathroom. She’d already put new towels out for me and said she’d put fresh sheets on the bed. After Stella left to give me privacy, I freshened up a little and ran a brush through my hair. When I went downstairs, Rafferty and his mother were in the kitchen. Stella had made sandwiches and fresh lemonade.

“Are you hungry?” Stella asked when I appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Not really, but I should eat something. I have a lot of decisions to make.”

I’d been to Stella and Jasper’s several times over the last few years. They had an elderly and very spoiled cat called Willa, whom they were exceedingly fond of, as well as a newly adopted mutt from a shelter in Bozeman named Humphrey. I’d come out to visit Willa recently as she’d had an abscess on one of her paws. I’d gotten her fixed up in no time, but Jasper in particular, had been nearly frantic. He loved that cat. They’d found her hiding in their shed one winter morning years before and had brought her inside, nursing her back to health.

Humphrey seemed to remember me because he rose from his bed near the breakfast nook to come say hello. Perhaps he sensed my confusion and sadness because he pushed against my knee with his nose.

“Hey, Humphrey,” I said, kneeling beside him. “How you doing, bud?”

He wagged his tail and licked my hand. I wasn’t entirely sure what kind of mix he was, but I suspected some kind of terrier mixed with a lab. Regardless, he was a sweet little boy with fluffy bangs over brown eyes and a sweet smile.

“Come sit,” Stella said. “Is a turkey sandwich all right?”

“That sounds nice.” Stella’s elegant kitchen always smelled of a combination of bacon and cinnamon apples. Jasper had remodeled it for her not long ago, and it was absolute perfection. I loved the soft, muted blue cabinetry, accented with glass-fronted doors and a large and classic farmhouse sink beneath the window. Exposed wooden beams across the ceiling and wide-plank wood floors gave it a bit of a nostalgic feel.

Stella placed a pile of sandwiches on the island. Rafferty retrieved several plates from one of the cabinets and set them side by side next to the pitcher of lemonade.

I joined Rafferty, sitting on one of the industrial-style stools next to him. My mouth was so dry it felt as if my lips were stuck to my teeth. I thirstily drank from the glass of the cold, slightly sour lemonade. It seemed life-giving, that lemonade. Like everything else about Stella. What would my life have been like if she had been my mother? I would never know.

I had a sudden, intense longing for my mother. If only I knew where she was.

“Where’s Jasper?” I asked.

“He ran into town to pick up a few things for dinner,” Stella said. “We weren’t expecting guests.”

“I really don’t want to cause you any extra work,” I said, feeling bad.

“Nonsense. We’re glad you’re here. I’ve already talked to the funeral director.” Stella remained on the other side of the island. “I told him you weren’t sure what you wanted yet but that we’d get back to him. He said to take your time.”

“This is going to be expensive, isn’t it?” I asked.

“More than it should be,” Rafferty said. “Such a racket.”

Stella shot him an annoyed look. “That’s neither here nor there at this point. It is what it is, and we need to help Arabella figure out what she wants to do, not go into a rant about the funeral business.” She spoke with a humorous lilt in her voice, but Rafferty clearly got her point as he humbly nodded and returned to his sandwich.

I’d been thinking about the funeral on my way over to Stella’s and had decided to do only a graveside service. I said as much to Stella and Rafferty now before taking a bite of the sandwich. Although it tasted like sawdust in my mouth, I knew it was best to eat something. After the harrowing twenty-four hours I’d just experienced, I needed to keep my energy and strength up.

“I’ll call him again after you eat,” Stella said. “But he mentioned the coffin. You’ll have to decide which one you want. Which means we’ll have to go into the funeral home.”

I sighed, feeling tears prickle the backs of my eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll take you,” Rafferty said. “If you want.”

I glanced sideways at him. His expression was so earnest and sweet it almost set me off crying again, but I held it together. “I’d like that, thanks.”

We finished up our sandwiches, and then Stella sent me upstairs to take a shower and change clothes. Rafferty said he’d go home to do the same and come back to get me in an hour. Stella promised to call the funeral home director to let him know we’d be in to choose a casket and make the rest of the arrangements sometime that afternoon.

Fifteen minutes later, I got into the hot shower and scrubbed and washed my hair with more vigor than necessary, as if I wanted to wash death away. When I finished, I turned off the water and donned the fluffy robe Stella had hung in the bathroom. A wave of grief hit me, and I collapsed onto the floor. I wrapped my arms around my knees and wept.

My father was gone. I’d never hear his harsh criticism again. He’d never again call me the nickname I hated. I tried to think of a fond memory of him that didn’t include a stinging remark or violent outburst but couldn’t muster a single one. How sad was that? A man whom no one would miss, not even his daughter? It was not a legacy anyone would want. Yet it was the truth.

We buried my father on an afternoon so bright and cold I had to wear sunglasses. The irony of such beautiful weather was not lost on me. Not only had he perished in a snowstorm, but he’d been the opposite of light.

As I’d requested, the service was held graveside, with only the Moon family and a few men of my father’s generation. The old men stood at the back of the gathering, heads bowed respectfully. I knew at least one of them had had several altercations with my father over the years. Yet he’d come out to pay his respects, which touched me.

Our pastor had asked me if there was anything specific I wanted him to say about the dearly departed. After some soul-searching, I’d asked him to speak about my father’s love of his land that had been in our family for generations.

The cemetery was quiet, save for the faint whistle in the pines and the occasional chirp of a bird braving the cold. Our family plot was set on a small rise overlooking the foothills. Buried here were my grandparents and great-grandparents. A small tombstone marked the burial place of my father’s only sibling, who had died during infancy.

A forgotten memory rose to mind as I stood there, looking at the gleaming coffin. He’d brought me out here one Sunday afternoon when I was about thirteen or so. Although he hadn’t often attended church, he had that day. After the service, he’d dragged me out to the cemetery to pay his respects to his mother and father.

“This is where you’ll lay me to rest someday.” He’d knelt to wipe a few leaves and debris from the top of the tombstones of each of his parents. He’d paused at the grave of his little brother. “Samuel was only six months old when he died. My mother went to get him from his cradle, and he wasn’t breathing.”

I’d cried at the thought of the tiny baby and his mother. My father had seen my tears and straightened, a harsh shimmer in his eyes. “My mother never got over it. Stopped living the moment she found out he was dead. She was like a ghost after that, was until the day she died. The old man, well, he just wandered out to the barn and never came back.”

“He left?” I asked, thinking of my mother.

“Not physically, but he may as well have—nasty man. Never had much to do with me. Once, he told me I was an albatross around his neck. I was so ignorant I didn’t even know what that was. Had to ask my teacher at school what he meant. Once she told me, I knew where I stood.”

I thought of that now as the pastor opened his Bible to begin. Dad had grown up without love or affection. He’d passed that legacy right along to me. How could I possibly have a husband and children and not do the same? Was it in my blood? Cruel men who stayed. Weak women who left, one way or the other.

The pastor—a stooped, gray-haired man who’d known my father since they were kids—cleared his throat and looked out at us, his face a blend of compassion and stoicism.

"Harold Collins was a man who loved his land. Land that had been passed down from multiple generations. He was of this place, rugged and rough, strong and resilient. Despite the hard times that came his way, he kept on. He was not a man of many words, but his actions spoke volumes.”

Yes, they did, I thought, touching my gloved fingers to my cheek that no longer bore the bruise of his last gift.

A breeze picked up, tossing a lock of my hair across my face and sticking to my lip gloss. I tucked it back behind my ear and kept my gaze on the casket.

The pastor went on, “He understood the beauty and the harshness of this place, and he lived his life with a fierce loyalty to it. In this modern world, where young people change jobs and locations as easily as the wind changes directions, Harold Collins stayed where he’d walked his first steps, devoted to the stewardship of place. Surely, there is beauty and grace in such a thing. I hope it will give his daughter peace in the days to come.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. My father may not have loved me, but he did love the land beneath his feet, with its untamed beauty and brutal winters. Was there peace to be found? I wasn’t certain. All I knew was that he was now free of the burdens this life had brought him. And I was free of him.

The pastor paused, drawing in a breath before he quoted from the book of Psalms: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

A weight pressed down on my chest, heavy and bittersweet.

At last, the pastor nodded and murmured a final blessing, his words soft as he commended my father’s spirit to the heavens. I stepped forward, pulling a single red rose from my coat pocket. For a second, I paused, staring down at the casket.

“Goodbye, Dad. May you rest in peace.” I laid the rose gently on the polished wood and sobbed. I cried for the way he’d lived and the way he’d gone out, choosing hate over love every time.

I wiped my damp eyes and turned away from the coffin. My gaze found Rafferty’s. I fell into those eyes of his, letting his warmth and compassion wrap around me. He reached out to me and I went to him, letting his strong arms engulf me, taking comfort from his support.

He held my hand as we walked across the snowy ground back toward the cars. We’d not bothered with a fancy farewell for my father. No motorcades or fuss for Harold Collins. I suspected he approved.

Rafferty held the door for me, and I got into his truck. He stood for a moment in the space between the door and seat, tugging at the seat belt and reaching across my legs to buckle it around my lap. “You okay?”

I nodded, peering up at him through my damp lashes. “I’m okay.”

He brushed a cold thumb over my cheekbone. “It’s almost over. And I’m here.”

“I know. I know you are.”

How was it possible that it was Rafferty Moon I wanted to comfort me?

I paused for a moment, looking up at the brilliant blue sky, and breathed the cold, crisp air into my lungs as if it were life itself. Since I was a small child, my father’s presence had been a guiding force in my life. Not for good. Instead, his influence had created self-doubt and worry, qualities as thick as tar. But I was no longer under his dark web. I no longer had to take in his lies and make them true. From now on, I could follow the light. Forge a path in time that brought light to others. And in doing, bring light to my soul.

I would be like Stella Moon. Not Harold Collins.

It was a choice, I realized. We did not have to be sentenced to repeat the sins and mistakes of our ancestors. I’d been given a new way forward. A path that would no doubt be as winding as any other, yet the difference was—I could choose my own way. His mocking, cruel judgments no longer had to live within me, coloring my choices or what I saw in the mirror.

I was Dr. Collins. Not Pudge Collins.

Wisdom teaches us to honor the dead, but not in all cases. In this particular one, I could choose to let him go without sadness. I could choose myself.

Stella and Jasper had graciously offered to host a simple event after the graveside service. At first, I’d declined, thinking I would not be in any shape to receive condolences. In the end, however, I’d agreed. Now, as I sat near the fire in the Stella’s living room, with the Moon brothers and their wives mingling, enjoying tea sandwiches and warm beverages, I was glad I had. Regardless of how I felt about my father, this day was for me. I could take in the love and comfort from those who cared about me. There was no reason to be alone. Not anymore.

Jasper had ushered me over to sit on their comfortable sectional arranged around the gas fireplace. Even in my current state, the room soothed my jagged emotions. The high, vaulted ceiling with exposed wooden beams and natural light streaming in through large windows were too pretty for such a sad occasion. This was a room for family celebrations, not a day like today.

Rafferty came by to check on me, refilling my teacup and reminding me to nibble on a sandwich or two before heading over to talk to his father.

Annie and Atticus came by to give their condolences, apologizing that they couldn’t stay long, as their baby boy was waiting for them at home with a sitter.

“We’re so sorry,” Atticus said. “About everything that happened. I hope you know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m starting to,” I said. “Your mother’s been helpful that way. She’s so kind.”

“We’re lucky,” Atticus said. “She’s very fond of you. I know it gives her joy to be of service to you.”

“Yes, and please let us know if you need anything. Anything at all,” Annie said, flashing her movie-star smile.

“I’m okay,” I said. “But thank you. Staying with Stella and Jasper has helped tremendously. I couldn’t stay out there alone. I’m not sure how I can go back.”

“Understandable,” Atticus said.

“Get it on the market,” Annie said. “If that’s what you want. Start fresh in your own home.”

“You’re planning on staying?” Atticus asked.

“Bluefern’s my home, even if my father’s falling-down ranch house isn’t. And I have my practice now. I wouldn’t want to leave.”

“Even though you wanted nothing more than to get out of here?” Atticus asked.

“Isn’t it ironic?” I asked. “You, me, and Rafferty, so anxious to get out of here, are now back.”

“For me, I knew I wanted to get back to my family,” Atticus said. “I was away long enough.”

I’d been brought home by family, too, but for different reasons.

“I hope we can provide comfort in the months to come,” Annie said. “You’re part of our community, and everyone loves you.”

I thanked them, touched by their words. As tragic as it all was, I felt greatly comforted by the Moon family. What would it be like to be a Moon for real?

To be Rafferty’s wife?

Whoever it was and wherever she was, I felt jealous. I knew for certain he would never choose me, but I had this strange longing since we shared the cabin. A yearning to be with him. All day. Every day.

What had happened to me up there?

Atticus and Annie excused themselves, and I sat alone for a moment, sipping my tea and wishing I had something stronger. This had been a day. But what could I expect?

Elliot, who was about to give birth at any moment, had managed to make it to the funeral and was now at the gathering. Caspian kept a close watch on her, I’d noticed. Again, a twinge of jealousy poked at me. What would it be like to have a man look at me the way Caspian did his wife? Elliot came to say goodbye, wrapping her arms around me, her round tummy between us. “You hang in there. And let me know if you want to talk.”

“Thanks for coming and bringing the cookies.”

“It’s all I could think to do,” Elliot said.

Somehow, although greatly pregnant, Elliot had made tiny sugar cookies with raspberry filling. She’d remembered how much I enjoyed them when she served them with a dollop of ice cream at the restaurant last month. As the pastry chef of the Moons’ dude ranch, she never failed to delight her guests with her rotation of delicious concoctions.

Finley came by next, her sweet face crumpling slightly before she embraced me. “I know a little of what you’re feeling, having recently buried my sister. She and your father made it hard to love them, yet we did anyway.”

Finley’s twin sister had struggled with addiction and died in the most traumatic of ways, right in front of her eyes. I’d admired her for how courageously she handled such a blow, especially because her sister had done so many horrific things to Finley over the course of her life.

“That’s right. Still, I feel strangely…untethered,” I said.

“Yes, I know all about that too.” Finley smiled kindly before wrapping me in another hug. “I should go, but call me if you need anything.”

Soren, her husband, lingered behind to give me a hug. He was remarkably less grumpy than he’d been before he fell in love with Finley. “You’re family, you know that, right?” Soren asked. “You reach out if you need me.”

If I hadn’t before the last few days, I certainly did now. “I do, yes.”

Sammie and Thad approached, sitting down together on the couch next to me. “We wanted to say how sorry we are,” Sammie said.

Thad reached over to squeeze my shoulder. “It wasn’t right—what happened. I wish there was something someone could have done.”

“Rafferty and I tried,” I said. “And almost ended up dead in the process.”

“We’re glad you’re both okay. That was a long night waiting to hear,” Sammie said softly.

Sammie’s little girl, Chloe, came running up, throwing her four-year-old arms around my legs and placing her cheek on my knee. Children were like dogs. They always knew just what a person needed.

“How’s your kitten doing?” I asked Chloe.

“She’s good.” Chloe’s mouth curved downward into a frown. “But she’s big now.”

“That’s good. That means she’d growing up just right.”

Thad scooped Chloe onto his lap and kissed the top of her head. “Chloe’s been taking excellent care of our new family member.”

“We should go and leave you in peace,” Sammie said. “Please reach out when you’re ready for a girls’ night out. We can let down our hair, so to speak.”

I promised to do so, then watched as the family of three headed toward the front door.

My father’s old cronies had come by next. They said a few perfunctory things about my father before excusing themselves.

This left just Stella, Jasper, and Rafferty. Stella and Jasper were in the kitchen, presumably cleaning up, but Rafferty came over with a bottle of wine in his hand. “You ready for something stronger?”

“You read my mind.”

He poured us each a glass and sat on the couch. “Mama and Pop are putting everything away. Are you hungry at all?” He gestured toward the uneaten plate of ham and cheese sandwiches he’d dropped off earlier. “You haven’t eaten anything. You need to keep your strength up.”

I didn’t feel like eating, but to take that anxious expression from his face, I reached for one and took a bite. He did the same, washing it down with a swallow of wine.

“What can I do?” Rafferty asked. “Ask me for anything. Whatever it is you need, I’m here.”

“Kiss me.”

What had I just said?

Rafferty’s eyes widened, and he went slightly pale. “Kiss. You?”

“That’s what I said.”