“Why not? You got all you need. You've got a nice little place. You make out.”
“I don't have anyone like your grandmother. She's as fine and kind a woman as I've ever known. O. C. was a lucky man the day he met up with the likes of her.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Most of the time, no. But then, there are times when I do. I get to thinking that it would be awful nice to have a lady to take with me to town or to visit your grandparents. Things can get pretty lonely during those long winter nights when all you got is your chores and yourself for company.”
He was quiet for a while. “And then there's children. Who's going to be around for me to give my place to when I'm gone? Who's going to miss me when I ain't around anymore?”
“We'll all miss you.”
“I know that. But it ain't the same. It ain't like having blood kin. For all I know, I'm the only Sunday left. Don't get me wrong. I've had a good life and I've got few regrets. It's just that a man should think about such things when he's your age. A woman like your grandma could be quite a comfort as the years pass.”
“Excuse me if I try to do better than June Groves.”
Bill shook out his bedroll. “Well, she would be nice on those cold winter nights.”
“We could always go back and see if she's interested in hitching up with you.”
Bill crawled into his bedroll and pulled his hat over his eyes. “If I was twenty years younger, we might just do that.”
I watched Bill for several moments wondering if he was serious. “Good night, Bill,” I finally said.
“Good night, Andy.”
I thought about what Bill said as I waited for sleep. I watched Lightning, hobbled and grazing nearby. I could see a lot of the world from the back of my buckskin. I could go to Wichita or Kansas City. Or, I could go to Texas. Now that was an idea. I could ride down to Texas and even see the Gulf of Mexico. Or maybe I could go to California and see the orange groves. I could take on short-time work as a cowboy on different spreads and see the whole West in a couple of years. I could join the Army; perhaps fight in a war in Cuba or against the Kaiser in Europe. But then I'd have to leave Lightning with my grandparents, and I'd have to leave the ranch. What would they do without me? What would I do without them? Oh, they'd be all right. They'd do just fine. Grandpa could hire another man to help out. Then I would be free to see the world.
Lightning was grazing within a foot or so from my head. I sat up and fished a bit of sugar from my saddlebags. He took my offering and I gently stroked the side of his head.
“What do you think, Lightning?”
He nudged my hand begging for more sugar. I pushed him away. He couldn't care less, I thought. He had it easy. He didn't have to worry about such things. He worked his way into the darkness and I relaxed in my bedroll. Perhaps I would say something to Grandpa and Grandma when we got back to the ranch.
Bill rolled over in his bedroll onto his side. I thought about what he had said about my grandmother. What would the world be like without her? It would be pretty lonely.
There were a lot of stars out that night. It was a big world and I had seen only a very small part of it, but the part of the world I knew was good. That night I dreamed of fat wives, vaudeville shows, and trading Lightning for a new Buick that wouldn't run.
Black Jack turned out to be everything we had hoped. He sired such fine mules that many farmers brought in their own horses for him to breed. Grandpa had flyers printed to advertise the jack's availability for stud. Prices were high for everything we sold during those years. Grandpa said that they were the best years that he had ever seen. The high market was the result of the war that raged in Europe.
Other things did not go so well the summer of 1915. Grandma would say the same things several times a day. She would forget to prepare meals or work in the garden for hours on end at odd times of the day. She would become frustrated or deny doing things that only she could have done. Grandpa didn't say much at first but finally decided she needed to see a doctor. He took her to Great Bend to get the best professional advice. The doctor's diagnosis was simple. Grandma was rapidly becoming senile. There was nothing to be done. I remember the tears in Grandpa's eyes when he told me. For the first time he seemed at a loss for a solution to a problem. Of course, my plans to go off on my own were forgotten.
Aunt Jean stayed with us for a while but she had children and responsibilities of her own. She offered to take Grandma to live with her but Grandpa would have none of that. He insisted that she remain in her home where she wouldn't be frightened or confused. Grandpa attempted to get one of the Porter girls to stay with us, but one had gone to Kansas City to work and the other was about to marry a fellow from Hoisington. We struggled through the winter and the following spring attempting to take care of her and the household chores.
June 13, 1915, was a terrible day. It was miserably hot and Grandpa was doctoring sick pigs. I was out checking cattle on Lightning. I found a break in a fence and by the time I had gathered up stray stock and made the necessary repairs it was two in the afternoon before I was able to get back. When I returned, Grandpa was nowhere to be found. After some searching, I found him in the west pasture, on foot, following Grandma's tracks. He was nearly frantic. Grandma's condition had become so bad that she would forget to eat or drink enough fluids. Grandpa carried her bonnet. He was especially concerned that she would collapse from sunstroke before he could find her.
I took the bonnet, sent Grandpa back to the house to get the buggy, and followed Grandma's trail on Lightning. When I arrived at the west pasture fence, I found blood sign and a bit of Grandma's dress material hanging on the barbed wire fence. Unable to negotiate the fence line, she had turned south following the barrier. The blood increased my concern. Rather than taking the time to follow the barely visible tracks, I set Lightning into a run. I found her tracks again at the southwest corner. She had worked her way through the fence and turned west on the road that ran south of the pasture.
I had to backtrack east for a quarter of a mile until I could get to a gate. From there it was another flat-out run for two miles on the road until I found her. She was standing in the middle of the road staring into the four o'clock sun. She did not act as if I was present. I stepped down from Lightning and walked toward her. Her face was deep red in color and she was not sweating. She had a small cut on her forearm.
“Grandma, are you all right?”
She didn't look at me but kept staring into the sun. I repeated my question and she mumbled a garbled reply. I took my canteen from the saddle, held her by the arm, and urged her to sit at the edge of the road. I led Lightning to the west of her so she could sit in his shadow. Coaxing her to hold out her hands, palms up, I slowly poured some of the water on her wrists. Bill Sunday had told me that the worst thing a person could do for someone suffering from sunstroke was to pour water on the head.
She showed a response, holding out her hands requesting the canteen. I gave her a small drink and watched her reaction. She seemed to be improving. I soaked her bonnet in water and placed it on her head. She looked at me and showed some signs of recognition.
“How do you feel, Grandma?”
“I've got to find O. C. The chickens are gone.”
“What chickens?”
“I can't find the chickens. Tell O. C. they've been taken.”
“I found the chickens, Grandma. They were in the trees.”
She seemed to relax.
“Andy, I can't find the chickens. We've got to find Grandpa.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I sat down beside her and put my arm around her shoulder. “Grandma, don't worry about those damned chickens. They'll be all right.”
Lightning stamped his forefoot and took a step forward. She looked at the pony and smiled. “He's such a nice colt. I told your Grandpa and Bill that they should give the pony to you. You play with him every day, don't you?”
“Yes, Grandma. I play with him every day.”
“We ought to find your grandpa. Someone's taken the chickens.”
My heart was breaking. All I could do was sit beside her and fight off my tears. She just couldn't seem to get a grip on reality. I don't know how long we sat together on the roadside in silence. The sun was nearly down when I heard Grandpa driving the buggy down the road. When he pulled up, his face was ashen. I helped Grandma to her feet and we gently coaxed her into the buggy. She said nothing as she relaxed in the seat and adjusted her bonnet.
“What happened?” Grandpa asked.
“She said she was looking for the chickens. She said someone took them.”
Grandpa's eyes filled with tears. “Chickens! Can you imagine such a thing?”
Grandpa turned without another word and climbed into the buggy next to her. She took hold of his sleeve and adjusted her bonnet with her other hand.
“Where are we going, O. C.?” she asked with a smile.
“We're going home,” Grandpa said as he turned the buggy around.
I watched them drive away before I gathered Lightning and lifted myself into the saddle. I felt as if the weight of the world had suddenly settled on my shoulders. I was in no hurry to catch up, choosing to ride through the pasture rather than taking the road back to the house. I just couldn't bring myself to be with them. I needed to be alone and sort through my thoughts.
As I topped a large sandhill, I held up Lightning and dismounted. The last rays of the sun were disappearing to the west behind my back. The farm buildings seemed to glow against the dark sky behind them. Everything looked so normal and beautiful. Horses were circling in the corrals, cattle were walking to the windmill tank for an evening drink of water, and turkeys were roosting in the trees by the pigpens. Laddie was barking at something. I smiled, figuring that he was probably tormenting some cat by the washhouse.
As the sun continued to settle, I could make out lights through the west windows of the house. I needed to get down there and help Grandpa with supper. I had chores to do. I hated milking cows in the dark. Lightning stamped his hoof in the sand. He was eager to get to the barn.
I remembered Grandma standing in the kitchen fixing pies when I was small. I thought of those early mornings when she was in the flowerbed silently working to make that year's garden more beautiful than before. I remembered her smiles and quiet laughter. I thought of the day that Bill brought Lightning and how calmly she reacted to the tiny colt's antics on the porch as she tried to get him to take some milk from the bottle. I remembered those times late in the evening when she could be found rocking on the porch next to Grandpa.
I smiled at the memories before considering what had happened that day. I was going to lose my Grandma. She was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it except help out with her care. Living with so much livestock, new life and death had been a constant cycle throughout my life. We never thought too much about it when one of the animals grew old and died; that was natural and expected. Sometimes, when a newborn foal or calf died, things got pretty discouraging, but that was the way things were and we lived with it.
Now it was Grandma's time to go, but I would always have the memories. She would always be in my thoughts as long as I existed, and she would be as young and well as I chose to remember. At least I had that and nothing could take it.
It was well after dark by the time I finished chores. As I stepped into the house, Grandpa was sitting alone at the kitchen table. The galvanized bathtub was half full of soapy water in the middle of the kitchen floor. He was staring into the lamplight.
“How's Grandma?” I asked.
“I gave her a bath and put her to bed. She went right off to sleep. Your supper is on the stove.”
I found my plate and sat across from him at the table. He looked very old that night in the flickering shadows of the oil lamplight. “I'm going to St. John in the morning. I've got to find someone to help us. I want you to stay around the house and make sure she's all right while I'm gone.”
“How long will you be gone?”
Grandpa cut his eyes toward me and cast a glum, hollow expression of determination. “As long as it takes.”
“Maybe Aunt Jean can help.”
“I hope so.” Tears welled up in Grandpa's eyes. “I don't know what else to do. We can't have this happen again. I wish I could watch her myself, but we've just got too much to take care of. She's going to need someone full time to see to her needs and take care of her. I've thought of my sister, Liddie. Maybe she could fill in until I could get someone permanent.”
I nodded. I hadn't thought of Aunt Liddie but she was an excellent choice. She was a widow and probably could do it, at least for a while. I always liked Liddie. I had stayed with her once when I was eight and helped her pick cherries.
“Try to do the chores early, Andy. Spend the rest of the day around the house. I don't want her near the kitchen or the stove alone. I'm afraid she'll burn herself, or cut herself, or wander off again. We've some harness that needs mending. You could do that.”
“Sure, Grandpa. I can do that.”
“I wish the Lord had saw fit to take her suddenly. You knowâ¦without the suffering. I'm afraid she's going to suffer.”
“Maybe it won't be too bad.” There was really little else to say. I was afraid of the same thing.
Grandpa rose from his chair. “Maybe not. We can hope it won't be too bad for her.”
I watched him make his way toward the bedroom. I could see that same weight that I had felt bearing down upon his shoulders. After a moment I heard the bedroom door close. It was my turn to stare into the small flame of the lantern.
Aunt Liddie stayed with Grandma until a woman named Ester Finch was hired as a housekeeper and nurse. Mrs. Finch was pleasant enough and seemed to get on well with Grandma. She was an attractive widow in her mid-fifties. As Grandma's condition steadily deteriorated over a six-month period, problems began to develop. Grandma became a constant concern. She lost all contact with reality and had to be changed, bathed, fed, and constantly monitored. Mrs. Finch was not up to the responsibility. Grandma's hair was not properly cared for and there were times that Grandpa suspected that she had not been changed throughout the day. Suspicions were verified when Grandpa entered the house early in the afternoon and saw Mrs. Finch strike Grandma while attempting to tie her in a chair. Mrs. Finch was gone by that evening.