Memories

July, Texas, and a popsicle were a bad combination. The sticky mess ran down my arm, leaving behind muddy tracks. The endless fence line that still needed to be repaired stretched out for miles, the property had been neglected for far too long. Monica, our fearless leader, had swung by to check on the progress and dropped off the wonderful treat on a 101-degree day. Bob, Monica’s husband, and my dad, moved towards the line with fence snips in hand, time to get back to work. 

The property was a dream of my father’s for years, but Paul Stevens would not part with it. As neighbors we watched a beautiful property grow into a mesquite tree invested hovel. The downturn had happened when Albert Stevens had died in Afghanistan. On impulse Albert joined the army when the towers fell, oh how those two fought over that decision. Paul Stevens refused to see his son off, the next time he saw him was in a coffin draped in red, white, and blue. Barbed wire snaped, poles fell but Stevens refused help, so dad started trying to buy.

 Ten years later, Paul Stevens was found face down in his runner beans. Massive heart attack, we all hoped he had found peace before he went. The greatest surprise was when we returned home from the funeral to find local attorney, Devon Green on our doorstep. Paul Stevens had willed my father everything he had. Proving, to me at least, that miracles do happen. One hundred and 47 acres added to our property gave us just over three hundred. Now we could double our heard of prime angus, but first the fence must be repaired. Thus, the reason sweat poured from me and purple stickiness stained my right hand.

 By eight that night my shirt was stiff with sweat, the day was done, another tomorrow. This was not how I wanted to spend my summer. I wanted to go to writer’s camp with my best friend Ashley, but family always comes first. We must get the fence line finished, so we can move cattle in. The next morning started with mucking stalls, always fun starting the day in horse muck. Today however would not go to plan. Ernesto a good friend and talented hand, was pulling wire taunt when his feet slipped out from under him. The fall was not what hurt, the deep cut to his right hand was. Despite his gloves sometimes barbed wire bites, so with tools quickly loaded dad and Ernesto headed for the hospital. I could have gone but chose instead to walk home, I do not like hospitals especially the local one. Mom had spent her last days there, I avoided it like the plague. 

Despite us owning the Stevens property for three months I have not explored it yet, so adventuring I will go. The mesquite trees were thick, blood ran from several scratches. So far, I have avoided any to the face. Finally, my persistence paid off I found the tank. One night I heard dad talking to Monica about this place, it was where he had proposed to mom. On the opposite shore was the weeping willow, under here my father and mother kissed, and became engaged. I really did not want to fight my way back through the mesquite forest, but curiosity had me now. After twenty more minutes of fighting off the vicious mesquite I made it to the willow. I love Monica, but I missed my mom. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I touched the tree. Perhaps my mom’s hand rested here, before the cancer came. Without thought I knelt and began to pray; God always gave me comfort when I thought of the cancer. 

Wiping tears from my eyes I looked up and spotted something on the other side of the tree. Making my way over I was glad to spot a clear path away from the pond. Just a little way down this path I spotted something else. A tree stump shaped into a comfortable stool, worn from years of use. In front of this was another stump with what appeared to be a plaque. Making my way into the little clearing I felt a sense of finality much like walking into a cemetery. I had been right; a bronze plaque was secured to the stump. On the plaque was a picture of a beautiful blond and a small dark hair girl, the plaque read “To my beloved wife and daughter my heart went with you when you left.” Under the plaque scrawled into the wood, “My precious Albert, I am sorry.” I backed out of the clearing suddenly feeling like an intruder on a private family moment. 

So, Paul Stevens had buried his entire family, somehow, I suddenly felt his loss so deeply it hurt. Swallowing back the tears and rubbing at the knot in my chest, I continued down the path. A beautiful old farmhouse, two stories with a wraparound porch rested at the end of the path. Dad talked about fencing off a couple of acres and selling it. After the paperwork cleared dad had come over and turned off the gas and water, but other than that no one had been inside. Pulling the key out from under the rock next to the porch, I made my way to the front door. It was weird, even though we owned it, it was not our home. I was surprised, I had pictured a hovel to match the property. Instead I walked into a home that could have been on a magazine cover. Not exaggerating here, it really could have been on a magazine. Beautiful woodwork on the staircase, and pictures and accessories just so. Right down to the beautiful patch work quilt draped over the back of the leather sofa. Other than a layer of dust, it was pristine in every way. The door squeaked open, I quickly turned and was surprised to see Monica. 

“Your dad called. Told me about Ernesto and that you were walking home. Thought I would come give you a ride. I was driving by when you walked in.” She smiled and looked around. “Christina was a home decorator, she was good.”

“Very good, this is not what I was expecting at all.”  

“Paul always made sure to keep it just as she had.”

“What happened?”

“Car accident, took Christina, Amanda and put Albert in the hospital. It was a tragic day around here. I was a good friend of Christina, so was your mom. “Her voice cracked. “Sorry it’s just tough memories, I love them you know. They were like sisters to me.” I went and pulled Monica into a tight hug. 

That evening as we ate are dinner a thought popped into my head. I tried to dismiss it, but it was a strong thought. The little grove of stumps and plaques had to be preserved and the willow tree had to be protected. I cleared my throat twice before I could get the words out. But as I opened my mouth it portrayed me. “How is Ernesto’s hand?” I sputtered. 

“Ernesto needed ten stitches, but he will be okay. Now what is really running through that head of yours?” My dad knew me so well, but it was such a huge thought in so many ways. Again, I cleared my throat, this time when I opened it the words I wanted tumbled out.

“You know dad that I graduate next year.” I looked up; dad was nodding. “And you know that I plan on commuting to college?” More nods, I rushed on before I lost my nerve. “Maybe I could move into the Stevens place.” I waited in silent anticipation. 

“That is an awfully big place for one person. I could get a nice price for it and five acres.” If dad sit a decision in, it stayed set. So, I quickly jumped in. 

“I know but….” Dad put up a hand to stop me. 

“However,” dad continued as if I had not interrupted him. “If Ashley wanted to stay there with you, she could help with the bills. When college is through and you know that staying around is really what you want, then maybe we can talk about you buying the house and the five acres.” I ran and hugged him. I would not be putting up any plaques on stumps, but I did feel remarkably close to mom at the willow. The place would be kept pristine and I would see to it that the clearing remained the memorial it was.