From Mourning to Joy

piece of property another man owns.”
“We’re of no concern to you, Bernie Drysdale. You will drift away and forget us before you hit the next state.”
“You know nothing about drifters and why they roam the land so don’t get all righteous on me.” He tried to bite off his anger but the woman goaded him.
“Enlighten us,” she challenged.
“If it was any of your business, I’d do just that, but seems you’re just as stubborn as my old lady and destined to follow in her footsteps.”
He grabbed a box of groceries and marched to the door. Henry followed with the birthday package tucked under his arm.
“She’s a fiery one that gal,” said Henry as he passed the paper wrapped gift to Bernie.
“Stupid and naïve is more like it.” He buried the package under the straw in the back of the wagon. At least Davey got his birthday wish. He reached into his pocket and passed Henry five pennies. “Almost forgot. This is for the boy’s whistle.”
“I might sell the thing,” argued Henry.
“I doubt it, but I will be giving the boy some lessons in whittling and maybe someone will be interested in buying the next one he brings in.”
“Fair enough. You’re a good man, Bernie. Yer taking a shine to the little widow, aren’t ya?”
“You heard her. I’ll be gone in the spring. The woman is determined to farm the land, raise her boy, and run her house at the same time. Mighty determined to put all the women hereabouts to shame.”
“Don’t sound like a compliment the way you spout it off,” said Henry.
“Wasn’t meant to be. Even a small farm is too much for one speck of a gal as you so kindly labeled her.” He slammed the crate against the sidewall of the wagon. “Need to load the wagon and get back to work.”
“Davey told me you shot a buck clean through his heart.”
“Yeah. Did you know the woman had nothing in her cache? She can’t gut an animal or take fish off the hook. She’d like to think she’s tough but don’t you believe it. They’d have never survived the winter alone.”
“I’ll send Livvy out for a visit real soon. Maybe she can talk some sense into her.”
Bernie slammed his fist on the floor of the wagon. “Not on a school day. Appears your friend is going to be a working girl.” He shuffled around Henry and headed for the door.
Bernie only half listened as Davey chatted non-stop during the ride home. Blaze was sure footed and kept the loaded wagon on the straight path. At home, he pulled on the brake at the front door of the cabin, unloaded the wagon, piling the boxes on the kitchen table, and leaving behind two disheartened faces. He slapped the lines on Blaze’s back and continued to the barn with the wagon.
He unloaded his few purchases; some nails and a good ax. The one they used to chip ice from the river had gouges out of it and was as dull as a hoe. Bernie grabbed his new ax and headed for the woods. He found a few small but straight cedars and took the rest of his frustrations out on the trees. Before long, they lay on the ground. He measured approximately five feet and cut one, then used it to make the others the same height. They’d be the posts for the new pigpen on one side of the new building and a chicken coop for the fowls on the other. Both would enjoy separate fenced in yards to breathe in the summer air.
Summer! He’d be long gone from Wyoming – the winter a distant memory. He dropped onto a stump, threw off his hat, and ran fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. The thought of leaving hurt worse every day. He was growing fond of the family, especially the headstrong wisp of girl who thought she could tackle the world on her own. Wrapped in his own thoughts, Bernie never heard the footsteps approach. He looked up and Janelle stood within three feet, studying him.
He stood to his feet. “What do you want?”
“It appears we are at a difference of opinion again. I’d like to, how did you say, speak my mind.”
“Guess I asked for it.” He positioned a log and began to peel the bark.
“It all boils down to the fact that I’m becoming too dependent on you. I have no intentions of stopping you when the lure of the trail beckons you in the spring. I’ll not stop a man from following his dream.”
“What makes you think wandering is my dream?”
“It’s what you do,” she said matter-of-factly. “Suppose some men feel trapped by roots. Davey repeats the stories you tell him about your adventures all over the countryside and its obvious you’re happy with the life.”
“I ride wherever the road takes me, stopping to raise enough money to move on. I reckon a young lad might think that an adventurous life.”
“And what do you call it, Bernie?”
“Until I stopped in Belle, I might have called it my lot in life. I left home at fifteen and now I kick myself for not killing the man who ruined my mother’s life. But she was too far gone. Convinced herself she loved him and encouraged me to leave and find my path.”
“Was the man your father?”
“Nope. That one got killed rustling cattle.” He cast a glance toward Janelle. “Come from bad seed. You should be glad to be rid of me in the spring.”
“I’m more interested in hearing your dream – one other than wandering around like a gypsy with no ties anywhere.”
Bernie bypassed the yearning in his heart, convinced her widowed soul was not yet ready to love another man. He’d arrived too soon. He took the easy way out. “Figured I’d recognize the