Posted: Apr 28, 08 7:47am
THEIR PLACE
By Ashlander
On all the trips Nicholas had made here to Saddle Mountain with Annie, they’d never seen another person. He was grateful that nobody would come nosing around. He eased the old green Ford pickup along the rutted forest road, searching for the spot they’d been to a hundred times before. Despite the early September frost up here at eight thousand feet, he kept the driver’s window wide open, with just the floorboard heater to warm his seventy-four year old limbs. Here we go, thought Nicholas, as he stopped the truck and backed into a grassy clearing fringed with big ponderosa pines. The sudden quiet when he shut the engine off surprised him, as did the realization that he was alone in their place.
Nicholas hobbled out of the truck on old achy legs, then poured himself a cup of coffee from the thermos, touched up with a little morning shot of brandy. He savored that first sip, black and smoking hot, the way he liked it. His face relaxed into a slight smile, missing how Annie always scolded him when he doctored his coffee. He wondered what she would think of all this.
They had shared so many seasons and so many memories in all their years together. He took some comfort in knowing that Annie had passed quickly, and he hoped mercifully, after the sudden pain came on. Her voice had gone, but he spoke for both of them in refusing the treatment proposed by doctors who pretended to care. She was ready when she let go, snug under their thick old comforter at home.
That same old comforter, its medallion patterns faded with age, now lay rumpled in the pickup bed. It shared the morning sun with a few tools, some scattered bark flakes, and his battered old rucksack. Nicholas reached in and pulled out a shovel, then set to work digging. He dug in the thin, rocky soil for the better part of an hour, then stepped back and looked at his work. Even with the chilly air, he paused to pull his old felt hat off and wipe his forehead. There, that should do, he thought.
He walked to the truck, scooped up the comforter and carried it over to the hole in the forest floor. With old hands, bent and calloused, he gently laid it in place and opened it. He gazed down, surprised at how tiny and peaceful she looked. All at once he was empty and full, lonely and loved.
The notes of a lone hermit thrush spiraled upward. Aspen leaves rustled in a sudden updraft of wind. Nicholas sat there on an old pine stump for the better part of an hour before wrapping the frayed comforter back over his Annie. He reluctantly rose to one knee, and then stood all the way up. He slowly scraped the soil back in, then lovingly patted it down and scattered the leaf litter back over it. He looked up, past their names carved on the tree trunk from years ago, through the treetops, beyond the old volcanic peak, and into the sky. Nicholas hoped she was at peace now. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he joined her, and they’d be together again, in their place.
