The Good Son

My name is Micah Walker. I was born in 1880 and raised on a cattle ranch in the high plains of western Kansas. My father owned over 1,000 acres of grazing land there. Every fall we’d sell around 300 head of beef cattle and drive them to the stockyards in Denver. Growing up it was my Pa, my Ma, my little brother Caleb and me. But they’re all gone now.

I’m putting this in writing now because there’s something I’ve been carrying around with me for nearly fifty years - something I’ve never told a living soul. And I just need to get it off my chest. So, I’m writing it down and I'll leave it in the bottom drawer of my desk. Maybe someday somebody will find it and read it. Then they’ll know what happened. I’m not looking for redemption. I know I’m way past that. I just need a clean slate before I go.

~

One afternoon in the early Spring of 1908 I was riding the fence line of the north pasture assessing what kind of damage a hard winter had left us to be repaired. My mare’s legs sprung grasshoppers into flight and sent jackrabbits scurrying away. It was a long day in the saddle. Before Caleb ran off to seek his fortune, we did this together. But Caleb wasn’t there. He hadn’t been for years. As I rode along I chewed on my anger, mouthing curses to myself.

Three years earlier, when Caleb turned twenty-one, Pa gifted him a trip to Denver for his birthday - train tickets, hotel and restaurant reservations, and spending money. Caleb always got the best of everything from Pa. I scoffed. I was wearing my 21st birthday present; I wore it every day. A silver belt buckle with the ranch’s Bar W brand on it.

Anyway, when Caleb came home from that birthday trip, he was all wound up about an opportunity he had heard about. He’d met an apparently successful developer who had a sure-fire deal for him. He assured Caleb that if he could invest with him, his money would triple in five years. Caleb didn't have the kind of money the developer needed, so he asked Pa for his share of our inheritance.

Pa was predictably open to Caleb’s request. He’d always had trouble saying no to his favorite son. After making a few inquiries, (to references provided by Caleb’s contact, of course), he quickly concluded that the opportunity sounded legitimate. I strongly advised Pa do his own independent research before making his decision, but he said his mind was made up. A few days later he wrote Caleb a very large check, and my little brother was on a train to Denver. I hadn’t seen him since. But that was about to change.

A few days earlier my parents had received a letter from Caleb, the first in nearly a year. The return address was a rescue mission in the Five Points section of Denver. In it, Caleb described his misadventure and asked to come home to make amends. The business developer had turned out to be a confidence man who took everything Caleb had and disappeared. Afterward, Caleb chose to remain in Denver trying unsuccessfully to salvage his misadventure. Eventually, he stopped writing altogether. Pa had even spent some time there searching for him the previous winter but returned home without any answers. My parents, unlike myself, were fine with welcoming Caleb back home.

~

When I finally finished my circuit of the north pasture, I reined my mare towards home. The sun was a few fingers above the western horizon, turning a bank of low-hanging clouds orange and dusky pink. The scent of sage wafted on a freshening breeze as we turned onto the road home.

I hadn’t gone far when I noticed a figure on foot up ahead. I was soon close enough to see that it was a man carrying a cloth sack over his shoulder. His clothes were ragged, and his boots were falling apart. His shoulders, the gait, and the swagger all reminded me of someone I had hoped I would never see again.

He turned slightly as I swept past him and wheeled around in the road. My horse jerked her head and snorted as we spun to a stop. “I hoped we’d seen the last of you, brother,” I said. I could feel my pulse pounding in my neck.

“Micah.” Caleb replied, stopping and pushing his hat back on his head with a grin. “I guess Pa didn’t mention my letter?”

“No, he told me you finally wrote. I just can’t believe you’d show your face back here. That’s a lot of gall. Even for you.”

“You shouldn’t judge a man unless you’ve walked a mile in his boots. Isn’t that what they say?”

“Save that bullshit for somebody that doesn’t know you. I’ve walked hundreds of miles in your damn boots while you’ve been pissin’ away your inheritance in Denver.” The mare shook her head and rattled her bridle.

“Listen, I’ve come to set things right with Pa. He says he’ll give me a second chance. So, maybe polish up that faithful son act of yours, and follow his lead in welcoming your little brother home.” His mouth twisted in a grin that made me want to jump down off my horse and punch his teeth down his throat.

“That’ll be the damn day!” I spit hard at the ground beside his feet, spun the horse around, and galloped off. A few minutes later I skidded to a stop in front of the house, threw the reins around the hitching rail and strode inside. The smell of supper on the stove made my stomach growl as I hung my hat on a peg near the door.

Ma appeared in the kitchen doorway at the far end of the hall, wiping her hands on her denim apron. Her hair was grey, and flyaway wisps of it stuck out around her bun. Her apron had flour smudges on the front. “Come on. Wash up and have some supper,” she said.

I favored Ma's looks – tall and dark. Big bones. Caleb bore a strong resemblance to the Walker side of the family. Slender and fair-haired like Pa. I always wondered if that was partly why he favored Caleb over me.

Growing up, I was always the example. I took all the discipline from the old man. Maybe he figured Caleb would learn his lessons by watching what happened to me when I messed up. It didn’t work. All that did was turn him into an entitled lay-about.

In the kitchen Pa sat at the table with a plate in front of him. In one hand he held his fork; the other rested on the Daily Gazette. He looked up when I walked in. “There he is!” he said, looking up over his reading glasses, a forkful of chicken and biscuits suspended halfway to his mouth. “How did things go today?”

“There’s some work to be done. But not bad.”

He nodded and grunted, then turned his attention to the newspaper.

“Pa, I saw Caleb.”

“What?” he asked, half turning in his chair.

“Caleb. I saw him up the road just now. He should be here any minute.”

His eyes opened wide, and he pushed his chair back from the table. Ma gasped. Pa dropped his fork and yanked his napkin from under his chin. It fluttered to the floor behind him as he ran out the door and down the hallway toward the front. The screen door slammed. I exchanged a weighty glance with my mother.

“Caleb!” Dad’s voice carried in from the road, across the yard, through the door and down the hall to the kitchen. His unbridled exhilaration made my blood boil.

Ma looked at me with an expression that was one part excitement and one part apology. I felt a hesitancy lurking behind her eyes, a question she seemed afraid to ask. Then I knew.

“Aw, Ma. It’s okay. You go to him.”

She quickly crossed to me and laid her hands along my cheeks for a moment then gathered her apron in front of herself and ran down the hall. I walked slowly after her.

~

Of course, Pa forgave Caleb unconditionally and welcomed him back with open arms. You would have thought my brother was a returning hero, rather than a failure come crawling back for redemption. Pa threw a party, hired a dance band, and invited friends and family to welcome Caleb back home. He even slaughtered and roasted a calf, for God’s sake. I felt like the Bible story of the prodigal son was playing out right in front of me.

But something about that story had always bothered me. What about the good son? The one who stayed and helped his parents for the benefit of the family? How was he supposed to feel about this homecoming celebration? Especially after what the prodigal had done?

A few days after the party, and a fair amount of thinking, I wanted to speak with Pa about where things were headed. One night after supper, Caleb had gone to bed early, unaccustomed as he was to a full day of hard work. And Pa decided to sit and have a whiskey on the front porch, so I joined him.

The sun had just sunk below the horizon and the first stars were appearing over the willow tree in the front yard. The whiskey felt good sliding over my tongue and down my throat. After some small talk and a second drink, I turned the conversation to my concerns.

“So, Pa. I was wondering. With Caleb back - where does that leave us? I mean, financially?”

“We’re fine.”

“Good. But when Caleb left for Denver you sent him away with his inheritance. Nearly half the value of our property and holdings.”

“And?”

By the steel in his voice, I could tell Pa was starting to get his back up. “And I am wondering how that may affect your will. I assume you plan to cut Caleb’s share by the amount you’ve already given him.”

Setting his empty glass down on a side table, Pa turned toward me with a frown. “First off, Micah, my will is none of your business. Second, we’ve done very well in the years Caleb was away. We’ve made back all of what he lost and more. Honestly, I am disappointed in you. Isn’t it enough that your brother is back home in one piece? I would hope you'd be grateful for that, not worrying how much money you’re going to get compared to him when the time comes.”

“Of course I’m glad Caleb made it back to us safe, Pa. But it doesn’t seem fair - Caleb’s getting his cut twice, especially after losing it all the first time. I AM glad to hear that we’ve done well financially these last few years, but I think you’ll agree that wouldn’t have happened without me here keeping the home fires burning while Caleb was off squandering his inheritance!”

“All right, that’s enough!” Pa said standing up and glaring at me. “I am grateful to you son, for sure. But you’re treading on thin ice now. I’m not gonna leave your brother penniless just for making some bad decisions and trusting the wrong people. Besides, I played a part in that mistake, too. Now this conversation is over, and I don’t want the subject brought up again! Are we clear?”

I was so angry I couldn’t speak. I just nodded. He glared at me for a minute, then grabbed his whiskey glass and stalked into the house, slamming the door behind him. I sat there in the dark for a long time, mulling things over before I went up to bed myself.

~

The next morning, I hitched our draft horse to the buckboard, Caleb saddled up his mount, and we headed out to the north pasture to finish the fence mending. We didn’t talk along the way. I didn’t have much to say to him and he seemed to feel the same, so we left it that way.

We made good progress for a few hours until the sun got high in the sky, and we decided to take a break. There was an old ash tree there for shade and a little spring nearby, so we watered the horses, filled our canteens, and sat down to eat some sandwiches Ma had packed.

The birds were quiet in the noon heat. The horses munching and the grasshoppers buzzing in the grass were the only sound.

“I had a little trouble gettin’ to sleep last night,” Caleb said, breaking the silence.

“That right?”

“Yep. It was awful warm in the house, so I opened my window.”

“Help any?”

“Well, some, yeah. I got a little cool air comin’ in. But then my window bein’ right over the front porch like it is, I couldn’t help but hear you and Pa talkin’ down there.”

I felt my pulse quicken. “Hear anything interesting?”

“Oh, nothin’ but you givin’ Pa the third degree about me.” He looked at me as if he expected a reaction. “Why don’t you just mind your damn business, Micah?”

“God DAMN it!” I said, throwing my sandwich down and leaping to my feet. “You selfish, spoiled baby. Pa’s will IS my business!”

“Who’s bein’ selfish now? You don’t care about me. All you care about is money. He told you – let it go. Why can’t you?”

“You wasted half of our family’s fortune! You idiot!” I felt myself at the edge of self-control. “While I was here doing every damn thing Pa needed done, you were having a high old time in Denver pissing half our life's savings away. And now you come crawling back home with your alligator tears, expecting no consequences? You make me sick.”

“Face it, Micah. You’re jealous because Pa has always loved me best.”

“That’s it,” I said, my fists clenched in fury. “Get up. We’re gonna settle this right now.”

Caleb sat there with his shoulders slumped. “What? You want me to fight you? Come on, brother. You outweigh me by 50 pounds and you’re five inches taller.” He shook his head and started to eat his sandwich again, but I snatched him up by the front of his shirt with my left hand and slapped him hard across the face with my right.

He staggered back a few steps and leaned against the tree. Holding his hand against his cheek, he stared at me in disbelief. He breathed heavily and his eyes filled with tears as his face morphed into a mask of rage. Screaming like a lunatic, he charged me. I caught him and pushed him back, then he came at me again, swinging wildly. I avoided one punch, blocked a second, then delivered a crushing uppercut to his jaw. He fell back again, hitting his head against a large rock at the base of the tree. His eyes closed as he rolled over and lay still.

What happened next, I remember only as a scene from a dream, looking down at my wounded brother and resenting him deeply, hating him beyond reason, never intending to kill him, but feeling the weight of all the years of taking Pa’s discipline and bearing the burden of the ranch and putting my own pleasure on hold fell on me all at once and the rage of suffering the inequity of always doing the right thing and making sure the hard work was done while Pa coddled and fawned over my feckless brother caused a rage to well up inside my soul consuming me and removing any sense of right or wrong.

With both hands I picked up the rock that already had Caleb’s blood on it from his fall, held it over my head, as high as my arm’s would reach, then brought it down on the back of his head with all my strength. With a sickening crunch and a spray of blood, it was over. Then I came back to myself.

I stared at him in disbelief as my rage subsided and my pulse slowed. He wasn’t moving or making a sound. I stepped to his side and knelt. I pressed two fingers against the side of his throat. Nothing. He was gone.

I sat for a long while, deciding what to do next. Then I gathered Caleb’s limp body in my arms, loaded him into the buckboard, and tied his horse to the tailgate. The mile ride back to the house felt like ten. I drove into the driveway shouting for my folks. Ma came running from the front door. Pa followed close behind. Ma checked on Caleb and collapsed in tears on his lifeless body.

“What happened?” Pa asked.

“Rattlesnake. Spooked his horse and threw him. His head hit a rock.”

So that was that. My troubled little brother was dead. My concerns about the inheritance were settled. I would always wonder, in light of the bad blood between Caleb and me, if Pa wondered about my version of what happened that day. But he never questioned it. Maybe he took it at face value. Or maybe he just didn’t want to consider the possibility that anything darker may have happened. Either way, I’ll never know. He’s gone. They’re all gone. And I’m alone. I never married. It didn’t seem right to get that close to anyone without telling them the whole truth. And I couldn’t. So, it’s just me now. Me and my fortune and my secret.