END OF THE TRAIL

by

Mickey Minner

Copyright 2021

mickeyminner@yahoo.com
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https://groups.io/g/MickeyMinnerDiscussionGroup

End of the Trail tells the story of Pat and Sherry meeting a descendant of Jesse and Jennifer. It takes place between Slam Dunk and the final volume, Give and Go (yet to be completed). For more information on the journal, read my story Footsteps (Ghost-towning, original title). Stories available at the Academy of Bards.

NOTE: THIS IS A FIRST DRAFT AND MAY CONTAIN ERRORS

CHAPTER ONE

Carrying a soft leather brief case, a woman pushed open one of the glass doors fronting the lobby of the Missoula Cougars Arena. Immediately turning left, she walked toward a wall of large metal doors behind which muted energetic voices could be heard. Pushing open the middle door, she entered a cavernous room circled by seemingly endless rows of cushioned seats stretching upward almost to the arena’s acoustic ceiling. Her ears were bombarded by the echoing cries of encouragement, thumps of bouncing basketballs, and shoes screeching on the court’s varnished maple wood surface. Unthinking, she released the heavy door only to be shocked by an unanticipated sharp bang created when the door slammed against its solid frame. “Well, that’s not the best way to make an entrance,” she muttered after hopping a few startled steps away from the reverberating noise. Seeing a woman wearing a Cougar practice uniform break away from the others, she prepared herself for what she knew could be a less than friendly welcome.

“Hey,” the player shouted, “this area is off limits. If you’re looking for the team offices, take the elevator to the top floor.”

“I have an appointment with Coach Calvin.”

“She didn’t tell us to expect any visitors,” the player replied after coming to an abrupt stop.

“I’m from Sports Women’s Weekly.”

“Oh, my,” the player smirked after hearing the reason for the woman’s intrusion. “Her office is over there,” she said tossing her thumb over her shoulder and in the direction of the far end of the arena. “Down the corridor… third door on your left. She doesn’t like reporters so knock first.”

“Thank you,” the reporter responded with a smile; but the player was already running back to rejoin her teammates.

Knowing it would be unwise to walk a direct path to the indicated doorway, the reporter shifted her steps to avoid the players running patterns around the snarling cougar at center court. Attempting to calm her growing nervousness, she focused on her destination. When she was within a few feet of the doorway, she slowed her steps to give her eyes time to adjust from the brightly lit arena to the dimmer passageway.

“Third door,” the reporter reminded herself as she walked. “Utility room,” she read the sign identifying the purpose of the first room she passed. “Cougar Locker room… No Admittance,” she read the sign on the second door then smiled spotting the hand written note on the third door. “Media -- Knock first or get thrown out. This must be it.” She raised her hand then rapped her knuckles against the solid wooden panel. Hearing no response from the opposite side of the door, she stepped back to consider her options. “Well, I do have an appointment,” she told herself while re-reading the posted warning. “Can’t hurt,” she decided reaching for the door handle. The knob twisted easily and she hesitantly pushed the door inward then peeked inside.

Four desks were situated about the windowless room giving their occupants equal space in the office. Eight identically sized file cabinets sat along one wall. The room’s walls were covered with white boards, some wiped clean while others displayed lists of players or diagrams of plays. The woman noted two identical doors in the room, one to her left and the other straight ahead. “Left… nope, that’s the locker room,” she thought then headed for the other door.

“Yeah,” a perturbed voice answered the reporter’s knock.

After easing the door open, the reporter studied the top of the head bent over a larger than normal desk. “Coach Calvin?” she addressed the woman writing furiously on a sheet of paper. “Hi, I’m—”

“I know who you are,” the coach said without lifting her head. “The reporter from Sports Women’s Weekly.”

“Um, yes.”

Still focused on her writing, Coach Calvin motioned with her left hand to the chairs in front of her desk. “Sit,” she said while continuing to scribble with her right. After several moments, she flipped the paper over and looked up at the reporter now sitting across from her. “I don’t normally give interviews in the off season,” she gruffly informed her unwanted guest.

“Yes, I know.”

“Do you?” Coach Calvin challenged the reporter. “Yet, you’re here.”

“I am. And I thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“I had nothing to do with this. You called Mac,” the coach named her boss, the team’s owner. “Had you called me, I would have refused. Mac likes publicity… I don’t.”

“Um… I guess I dialed the wrong extension.”

Coach Calvin chuckled. “Somehow, I think you knew exactly what you were doing. Do you have a name?”

“Beverly… most call me Bev—”

“Good enough,” Calvin cut off any further answer. “Everyone calls me Coach”, she stated. “I suppose you have some questions for me.”

“A few.”

Pat leaned back in her chair and studied the reporter reaching inside the brief case on her lap. Her guest looked to be a couple of years older than herself. Casually yet neatly dressed, she was a little shorter than the coach with a trim body and well-toned muscles indicative of someone with an active lifestyle. Not exactly the out-of-shape physique she found common to many sports reporters. “Ask away,” she stated halfheartedly.

After reviewing her notes, Bev began without fanfare. “You’ve made quite the reputation for the youngest head coach in the league.”

“I’ve been lucky to have talented players,” Pat responded casually.

“Come on, Coach… no need to be modest. You helped turn the Cougars around as an assistant coach. Then two league titles as head coach; plus being named Coach of the Year both seasons. Your face has been on the covers of every major sports magazine and even a few women magazines.”

Pat grimaced remembering the lengthy and embarrassing photo sessions she sat through for most of those stories after her vehement protests to Mac had fallen on deaf ears.

“With most of your line-up returning, are you anticipating a three-peat?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Basketball is a difficult game. It’s a long season. Injuries can destroy your hopes in an instant. Another team can draft the next super star.” Pat shrugged. “It doesn’t pay to anticipate anything. Best to just go out and play hard. Maybe you get lucky… maybe you don’t.”

“You think winning is a matter of luck?” Bev asked confused by the coach’s abnormal comments. With a record like hers, most coaches would be bragging up their team’s prospective dynasty setting season.

“Life is a matter of luck. Basketball is no different.”

“Interesting philosophy.”

Pat smiled impishly.

Bev noticed what could have been a small twinkle in the corner of Pat’s eye and wondered if the coach might be toying with her. “I was warned you could be a pain for interviews,” she admitted grinning. “Care to drop the attitude? It’ll get me out of your hair a lot quicker.”

Pat chuckled. “I’ll consider it. How about you cut out the BS questions? No coach in their right mind would ever expect they could run three consecutive championship seasons together. Especially, before the season even begins. The only coach who would is just trying to tweak their competition. I don’t play mind games… it’s a waste of time.”

Bev nodded. “Point made. Let’s focus on you then… you performed dual roles last season, coach and player. I heard that was rough on you.”

“It was tough on everyone,” Pat corrected.

“They were some major disagreements with your team over it.”

“We dealt with it. Enough said.”

“Are you planning to do the same this coming season?”

“That’s a question Mac and I have yet to discuss.”

“So you might not?”

“Or, I might.” Pat grinned. “Which do you think will upset the league more?”

Bev laughed. “I thought you didn’t play mind games,” she reminded the smiling coach. “But I’d venture a guess that either option will be un-welcomed.”

“Coffee?” Pat asked standing. “Or, ice water? It’s probably safer,” she added moving to a table at the side of her office that held both items.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

Pat poured ice water into a glass before returning to her chair.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t hold practices during the off season,” Bev continued her questioning.

“I don’t.”

“But there are players out in the arena running through plays,” Bev objected. “Surely, that’s at your direction.”

“Roster players are given a conditioning program for the off season and are expected to meet their goals. They’re also given a book of new plays to learn. The arena’s available to them... if they want to use it. Players who live in town find it easier to practice here. I don’t tell them to and I don’t tell them not to. It’s their decision.”

“Speaking of new plays… you’re known for never using the same plays from season to season. Why is that?”

“Oh, I repeat plays occasionally. But depending on the same ones year after year is a sign of a lazy coach,” Pat said in disgust. “And it makes it too easy for the competition to design defenses against us.”

“Doesn’t it also make it hard on your team to learn new plays every season?”

“Mac pays her players well. I would think that would compensate them for the extra effort.”

“Rumor has it Dawn Montgomery is going to re-sign with the Cougars. Didn’t she cause you enough problems in your first season as head coach?”

Pat nodded. “She made a good effort at it.”

“Why re-sign her then?

“She’s grown a lot in the past two years… as a player and a person. She decided to put her immature attitude behind her. And I’m looking forward to her showing that on the court.”

“Should be interesting to see if your faith in her works out.”

“I think I’ve done pretty well so far in choosing players for the Cougars.” Pat took a drink of water. “If she doesn’t work out, she’s gone. Simple. But, I’m not concerned.”

“Are you as unconcerned about some of your roster players?”

“Such as?”

“Diane Sunndee… she isn’t getting any younger,” Bev stated. “And her backups are injury plagued.”

“Is that a serious question?” Pat asked annoyed.

“Yes. Do you plan to replace Pete?”

“Why in hell would I?” Pat snapped. “She’s been a leader for the Cougars for several seasons, both on and off the court. She may be older than most but she’s still one of the best point guards in the league. Her experience on the court is invaluable to me and my players. She has a place on my roster as long as she wants it.”

“You’re very loyal to your players,” Bev observed.

“They’ve earned it.”

Bev tapped her pen on her chin. “I don’t suppose you’d let me talk to the ones out in the arena,” she asked tentatively.

“Help yourself.”

Bev looked warily at the coach. “Any subject off limits?”

Pat smiled. “Anything they refuse to talk about.”

“Fair enough,” Bev agreed placing her sheet of notes inside her brief case.

“Just don’t expect many of them to stick around once you start asking questions. They dislike reporters as much as I do.” Pat grinned watching Bev leave her office. “Come see me before you leave,” she called out to the retreating reporter.

Whistling softly, Sherry strode into the coach’s office. Heading straight for the coffee pot, she poured some cream in a cup then filled it with the steaming liquid.

“Why do you look so happy?” Pat asked her assistant coach and lover.

“Because, it appears I missed the big, bad reporter.”

“Nope. She’s out in the arena talking to whoever is out there.”

“You allowed her to talk with players?” Sherry asked in mock surprise while settling onto the chair that Bev had been occupying. “How did the interview go?”

Pat shrugged.

“You were polite at least… I hope.”

“I’m always polite.”

“Uh, uh,” Sherry muttered before taking a sip of hot coffee. “Yuck,” she exclaimed seconds later. “How old is this stuff?”

“I think it’s from yesterday,” Pat answered nonchalantly.

“Why in the world didn’t you make some fresh this morning?”

Pat laughed. “I figured you would eventually get around to it.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Sherry rose from the chair to carry the cup over to a small basin in the corner of Pat’s office. “That was disgusting,” she protested while pouring the foul tasting liquid down the drain.

“She knew about Montgomery,” Pat said while trying not to laugh as Sherry briskly scrubbed her cup before refilling it with fresh water.

“Old news,” Sherry commented after downing the entire contents of her cup in a failed attempt to get rid of the stale coffee taste in her mouth.

“She wanted to know if I was planning to replace Pete.”

“What?” Sherry snapped.

“Says she’s too old to be playing.”

“Like hell she is. Maybe we should have Pete invite her to join one of her morning workouts.”

Pat laughed. “Maybe we should.”

A knock at the door, interrupted the women.

“Come on in,” Pat called out. “Sherry, this is Bev… Sorry, but I don’t think I got your last name.”

Smiling, Bev entered the office. “Actually, you never let me say it.”

“Honey, I told you to be nice,” Sherry chided stretching her hand out to the reporter. “Sherry Gallagher,” she introduced herself.

“Yes, the ‘amazing’ Miss Gallagher with moves that put most veterans to shame.”

“Oh, please,” Sherry muttered motioning for the reporter to sit.

“Bev… Beverly Branson.”

Preparing to tease Sherry over her unwanted nickname, Pat froze unable to utter a sound.

“Did you say Branson?” Sherry asked cautiously while tossing a hopeful look at Pat.

“Uh… yes. Is there a problem?” Bev asked tensely, the looks on the two women’s faces were unnerving her.

“Go ahead,” Pat urged her lover.

“Okay. This may sound weird, but are you… I mean is there a chance you might be…” Sherry stopped to gather her thoughts.

“Are you related to Jesse and Jennifer Branson?” Pat blurted out while Sherry struggled to form a tactful question.

Bev stared at the coach. “How do you know about them?” she demanded.

“My question first,” Pat insisted.

Giving the women another quizzical gaze, Bev nodded then answered, “They’re my great grandmothers.”

Sherry eyes grew wide. “Your great grandmothers… no kidding?”

“No kidding,” Bev responded. “Now tell me how you know about them,” she repeated.

Pat leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Holy shit!”

“This is so amazing,” Sherry blurted out. “You’re related to Jesse and Jennifer,” she stated grinning broadly.

“What in the world?” Looking from one awed woman to the other, Bev pushed down the urge to shout out a demand for a sane explanation. Instead, she asked through clinched teeth, “Would you please tell me what in the heck are you two so freaked out about?”

“Oh, my gosh,” Pat said smiling. “You won’t believe us.”

“Try me,” Bev encouraged.

“Hey, Coach, did you forget your meeting with Mac?” a player called out from the locker room.

“Dammit,” Pat spat out. “Sorry, I have to go upstairs,” she told the reporter apologetically. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

Bev shook her head as the coach pushed up from her chair.

“Hon, give her directions to the house. I should be done with Mac in an hour. I’ll grab pizza on the way home,” she said rushing out of the office.

“Hey,” Bev called after the coach.

“Sorry,” Sherry told the confused reporter. “When Mac schedules a meeting, it’s best not to be late. Are you spending the night in town?”

“I wasn’t planning on it. I’m booked on a ten o’clock flight to Los Angeles for my next assignment.”

“Rental car?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I have a feeling this is going to be a long night. Let’s get your car turned in then head for our house. We can re-schedule your flight from there. We’ve got spare rooms,” Sherry continued as she walked around to the front of Pat’s desk. “You can stay with us,” she added while clearing the top of the desk then locking its drawers. “Come on.” She followed Bev out of the office then secured the door. “I think you’ll find the change in plans worth staying in town overnight.”

“Not that I would leave until you explain how, and what, you know about my family,” Bev said as Sherry poked her head into the locker room. “But I think I should call a hotel if I’m staying the night.”

“We’re out of here,” Sherry told the handful of women changing into street clothes. “Anything you gals need will have to wait until Monday.” She pulled the door shut then motioned Bev toward the corridor door. “You were saying?”

“I should get a hotel room booked.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it going to be awkward for me, a reporter, to be staying in your house? Pat is the subject of my article, after all.”

Sherry stopped and turned to face Bev. “As of right now, you are not a reporter. And Pat and I are not your interviewees. We’re just three people sharing information on a subject having absolutely nothing… and I mean nothing to do with basketball. Understood?”

“No. But for now I’ll agree. That is, as long as I don’t have to wait much longer to find out what the hell is going on.”

Sherry laughed. “Come on. I’m sure Pat is going to make this a really short meeting.”

CHAPTER TWO

Holding a paper bag in one hand and balancing several pizza boxes on her other, Pat literally ran into the kitchen. “Grab these,” she urged when Sherry turned to see what the sudden commotion was about.

“Holy cow, Pat,” Sherry chuckled taking control of the haphazardly stacked boxes. “Hon, this is more pizza than we order for the entire team,” she said setting the boxes on the kitchen table where she had just finished placing plates and a generous stack of napkins.

“Wasn’t sure what kind Bev would like… so I got a variety,” Pat explained.

Sherry moved back to the sink to finishing filling a large pitcher with water. “We sure won’t be hungry if we end up talking all night,” she said adding a tray of ice cubes to the pitcher.

“Is Bev here?”

“I set her up in one of the spare bedrooms.”

“Is that wise?” Pat asked, more than a little surprised by the arrangement.

“Knowing how many questions we have about Jesse and Jennifer, I figured it was better than trying to find her way to a hotel in the middle of the night. I think it’ll be okay… especially since we definitely won’t be talking about basketball.”

“I suppose,” Jesse agreed uneasily. Reporters made her nervous, even friendly reporters.

“How did the meeting with Mac go?” Sherry asked.

“The usual,” Pat replied shoving the sack to the back of the kitchen counter.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“More tapes of prospective recruits.”

“Ugh,” Sherry groaned. “How long until rookie camp starts?” For her, the absolutely worst part of being a player slash coach were the endless hours spent reviewing tapes of college players hoping to be recruited by a professional team.

Pat laughed. “Buck it up, coach,” she teased pulling her lover close and wrapping her arms around her.

“Am I interrupting?” Bev asked after walking into the kitchen to find the women kissing.

Sherry turned to their guest. “Yes,” she blushed. “But please come in. I hope you like pizza,” she said motioning toward the table.

Bev grinned seeing the tall stack of pizza boxes. “I guess we’re all lucky that I do.”

“Sit,” Sherry encouraged, pulling a chair back from the table. “I’ll get the journal,” she told Pat.

“Journal?” Bev asked watching Sherry disappear down the hallway in the direction of the bedrooms.

“The reason for you being here,” Pat explained as she started arranging pizza boxes. “Please, help yourself.”

“Pizza may not have been the right choice for dinner,” Sherry was thinking out loud when she returned with a large leather bound volume.

“Why not?” Pat asked.

“Greasy.”

“Oh. Oops,” Pat muttered.

“Well, at least, we can talk and eat,” Sherry offered. “After we clean up, we can show you the journal,” she added placing the book at the end of the table.

“If that’s what I think it is,” Bev said curiously eyeing the deep brown leather covering, “I’ll wait to eat.” She stood to examine the book more closely. “Where did you find this?” she asked in a reverent whisper while she lightly traced the meticulously tooled pattern on the leather.

“Well, that’s an interesting tale,” Pat responded.

“May I?” Bev asked her fingers itching to gently lift the journal’s cover.

Sherry nodded. “Of course.”

Bev carefully opened the journal then silently read the dedication on the first page. “We looked everywhere for this,” she said, her voice full of emotion. “Papa Charley couldn’t believe he had lost it.” She looked up at the pair of women standing at the opposite side of the table; their faces bearing matching anxious expressions. “Where? How?”

“It’s a long story,” Sherry started as she motioned for her guest to sit. “Might as well get comfortable.”

After sitting, Bev gently pushed aside her plate then placed the journal in front of her. With tears forming in her eyes, she started to examine the pages. After a few minutes, she proudly proclaimed, “Papa Charley was quite the story teller.”

“We have truly enjoyed reading that journal,” Pat told her guest. “In fact, we’ve read it so often, I’m surprised the pages are still intact.”

“We’re always very careful,” Sherry quickly added. “The stories drew us to Jesse and Jennifer,” she stated smiling. “In fact, we spent most of last summer trying to track down the places your grandfather wrote about. Eventually, we found them all except for Sweetwater and their ranch.”

Astonished by the statement, Bev asked, “You were that interested?”

“Absolutely,” Sherry answered. “We had so much fun walking in Jesse and Jennifer’s footsteps. But it was disappointing not to be able to locate Sweetwater.”

Finally, acknowledging the stomach grumbles she had been experiencing for the past hour, Bev set the journal aside. “I’m hoping you’ll let me take a real good look at this later,” she said reaching for a slice of pizza.

“Of course,” Pat assured. “Tell us about them… were you lucky enough to know them?”

“Sadly, no,” Bev replied. “But Papa Charley’s stories brought them to life for me. He loved his mothers very much and he thought it was important to write down the story of their life together for the family.”

“Did he write more journals?” Sherry asked hopefully.

Bev shook her head. “Just this one. That’s why we were so devastated when it went missing.”

“Can you tell us more about them? I know we found the towns your grandfather described and we walked in their footsteps… but are all those stories true? How Jennifer busted Jesse out of jail; how they found KC in a burning wagon; the murder trial in Bannack, and—”

“I never knew Papa Charley to lie,” Bev stated forcible.

“Oh… no,” Sherry stammered. “I wasn’t implying—”

“Bev,” Pat broke in. “We’re don’t believe your grandfather made up any of it. It’s just… what an amazing life your great-grandmothers led. And we would really love to hear more about them. When we started reading the journal, all we wanted to know was who wrote it and why. After we finished it and after we had visited most of the places described, the more questions we had. The one thing we really regret was not being able to find their graves and pay our respects to them.”

“To tell them how much we admired how they had put their love for each other first,” Sherry quickly added.

“I’m glad you think of them that way. They always stayed true to who they were and to each other… no matter what others thought about that.”

“I can only imagine the challenges two women living together in the old west must have faced,” Pat said. “It couldn’t have been easy. But their love always seemed to get them through.”

Bev nodded.

“Please,” Sherry beseeched, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s okay. I’m just a little touchy about Jesse and Jennifer. I don’t talk about them much because most people don’t believe that two women could have accomplished all they did… especially, in those times. Business owners, ranchers, married to each other, raising children…” She shrugged her shoulders apologetically. “I kinda over-reacted. I guess you could say I feel about questions regarding my great-grandmothers like Pat feels about reporters,” she suggested.

Pat laughed. “Oh, I think I’m much worse.”

The women welcomed the lighter mood in the room.

“Okay, ask away. I’ll do my best to answer,” Bev said placing another slice of pizza on her plate.

“Where is the ranch?” Pat and Sherry asked at the same time.

Bev chuckled lifting the slice up to take a bite. “Right where it’s always been,” she said after swallowing.

“It still exists?” Pat asked surprised by her guest’s answer.

Bev nodded.

“What about Sweetwater?” Sherry asked.

“Time hasn’t been as good to the town. Some buildings are still standing but most gave into nature years ago.”

“The Silver Slipper?” Pat asked.

“It’s still standing,” Bev acknowledged.

“Oh, I’d love to see it. Bette Mae’s kitchen, the dining room…” Sherry said then chewed on her bottom lip nervously. “I don’t suppose it’s possible for you to tell us where it is?” she asked.

“It’s on private property. Even if I told you, you wouldn’t be able to get past the locked gates.”

“But you’ve been there?” Pat asked noting the reporter’s awareness of the town’s present condition.

“I know the owners.”

“Then you could get us access,” Sherry implied hopefully. “Like this weekend.”

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to turn my story into my editor tomorrow. And I really want to read the journal before I leave town.”

“You have a laptop… we’ve got internet.” Pat pointed out. “You could write your article tonight and send it in. I’ll answer any questions you might still have,” she added hoping to encourage the reporter to reveal the elusive locations of Jesse and Jennifer’s ranch and the town of Sweetwater.

“We don’t have anything pending,” Sherry added confidently.

Bev mulled over the timing. She had planned to write her article on her flight. And her next interview wasn’t scheduled until Monday which left her own weekend free. There really was nothing against a change in plans; if she disregarded the possible ethics of staying in her subject’s home, that is. And she really did want to read her grandfather’s journal. Decision made. “Okay, but on one condition,” she finally told her anxious hosts. “You have got to tell me how and where you found Papa Charley’s journal.”

“Agreed,” Pat and Sherry declared excitedly.

“It was purely accidental,” Sherry began explaining how she came to purchase the journal. “Pat and I were wandering around some of the second-hand shops near the old Northern Pacific Railroad depot downtown. In one, I just happened to spot a leather-bound book in a pile of old hardbacks. It was bigger than the others and, for some reason, I was drawn to it. When I got it free from the stack and brushed off the thick layer of dust on it, I was intrigued by the design on the cover -- two J’s bound together with a heart. I could tell that someone had taken great care in making it.”

“Papa Charley said it had taken him almost two months to perfect that design; and another month to tool it into the leather for the cover. He was very proud of it.”

“He should have been,” Pat stated. “Sherry decided to buy the journal and didn’t even haggle on the price.”

“Much to the surprise of the store’s owner,” Sherry recalled with a laugh.

“A second hand store,” Bev muttered.

“I always wondered why anyone would have gotten rid of such an obviously important keepsake,” Sherry murmured. “Did your family fall on hard times?” she asked softening her voice so as not to have her question taken as a criticism.

“No,” Bev answered with a shake of her head. “No one in my family would have tossed that journal aside. I always suspected Papa Charley’s ex-wife had burned it. It’s nice to know she wasn’t as spiteful as I thought.”

“Why would she do that?” Pat asked.

Before answering, Bev took a drink of water, emptying her glass. “Papa Charley met her when he was living with Jennifer’s family back east. His grandmother had arranged for him to attend a college nearby and he couldn’t talk of anything else until Jesse finally relented and agreed he could go.”

“She didn’t want him to get a college education?” Sherry asked surprised after reading in the journal how much Jesse loved to read and had built a substantial library during her life.

Bev shook her head. “She didn’t want him away from the ranch. She loved Papa Charley and his sister, KC, so much that she didn’t think she could survive if either left the ranch. Knowing he would be gone two years was just too long for her. She tried everything to get Papa Charley to change his mind but he wouldn’t. Finally, Jennifer talked her into letting him go.”

“That must have been a heck of a discussion,” Pat imagined the two strong willed women debating the whys and why nots for their son to attend an eastern college.

Bev smiled. “Actually, it was never too hard for Jennifer to convince Jesse of anything. She simply pointed out that Papa Charley had always loved school learning and she thought they could spare him a few years for a good education. After all, KC would still be home helping run the ranch.”

“That argument would have convinced me,” Pat said reaching for Sherry’s hand.

Sherry blushed when her hand was lifted to Pat’s lips and gently kissed. “I can’t wait to see you when its time for our first child to go off to college,” she giggled. “I bet you double lock all the doors to stop them.”

“First! Who said they would be more than one?” Pat teased.

“Ah, is this a news flash?” Bev asked.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sherry wiggled her index finger at the reporter. “You’re off duty and this is all off the record,” she reminded the reporter.

“Bummer,” Bev mumbled, pretending to be disappointed, “that would finally get me my cover story.”

Pat grinned. “If you’re nice, we’ll give you the exclusive… IF it ever happens.

“Deal,” Bev agreed squirming on the straight back chair.

“Hey, why don’t we move to the living room?” Sherry offered. “Leather is much softer than these wood chairs. Anyone want coffee?” she asked standing.

It took just a few minutes to combine the remaining pizza slices into three boxes and tuck those into the fridge. Sherry made a pot of coffee while Pat and Bev cleared the table, discarding the now empty pizza boxes, and placed the dirty dishes in the sink to be washed later.

“Okay, to continue,” Bev said having taken possession of the loveseat. “Papa Charley met his ex when he was back east; she was the sister of a classmate. While at college, he rarely talked of his mothers; being unsure how others would take the news of their relationship. And for some reason, his would-be wife had just assumed that Jesse was a man… his father.”

“Clueless,” Pat muttered.

“Very,” Bev agreed then continued. “After his graduation and their marriage, he brought his new wife back to the ranch.”

“They weren’t married in Sweetwater?” Pat asked.

Bev shook her head. “He was anxious to be married and insisted they do it before he returned home. I think he thought he would seem more mature if he returned married.”

“I bet Jesse and Jennifer weren’t very happy about that,” Sherry said imagining their disappointment.

“They weren’t. They never took a liking to the idea of Papa Charley bringing home a bride they had never met. And, once she discovered they were both women, she hated them. Tempers flared until she finally blew a cork,” Bev paused to sip some coffee. “To make a long story short… she cried, screamed, stomped her feet, and threatened to have them all arrested unless he agreed to accompany her back east and have the marriage annulled. It was during all of this that his journal disappeared.”

“He didn’t suspect her?” Sherry asked.

“He had truly loved her. He never would admit she could be as mean as to take something that meant so much to him. But when he told me the story, I was sure she had.” Bev took a moment to recall the day her grandfather, frail and approaching the end of his life, told her of that disastrous homecoming. She rubbed her nose to stop from sniffling.

“Are you alright?” Pat asked the suddenly distressed woman. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

Bev wiped a tear from her cheek. “He was a good man and deserved better,” she said of her grandfather and his ill-fated marriage. Her smile morphed from sad to happy in an instant. “Luckily, for him, he met my grandmother about a year later. He was picking up supplies in Sweetwater and literally bumped into her at the Mercantile. A few months later, they were married at the ranch with Jesse, Jennifer, KC, and most of the valley attending. It was quite the party. Papa Charley and Grandma enjoyed a happy… and long, marriage.” She stood to stretch out her tired muscles. “It is late and I still have my article to write. So perhaps we should keep the rest for tomorrow...” She paused to consider a thought that had been rolling about in her head for most of the evening. “If you’re still up for a drive in the morning, I’ll take you to the ranch.”

“Yes.” The word exploded out of Pat and Sherry at the same instant.

CHAPTER THREE

Early the following morning, Sherry padded barefoot down the hall from the bedroom. Entering the living room, she spotted her lover swinging her arm at the television. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing,” Pat responded jumping into the air before landing softly back on her sock covered feet. “Three points,” she boasted.

“Honey, playing a video game does not count as practicing,” Sherry teased.

Pat pressed the game’s pause button. “Why not? Some of those players,” she said pointing at the TV with the game controller, “play better than a lot of the ones we’ve been scouting. I’m even thinking of sending a few of them invite letters for rookie camp.”

“Ha, ha.” Sherry wrapped her arms around her lover. “Good luck finding their addresses,” she dared with a laugh, imagining her partner trying to track down the game’s animated players.

Returning the hug, Pat leaned closer to kiss Sherry on the lips. “Is our guest still writing?” she asked, ending the kiss after several moments.

Sherry nodded. “So much for hoping for an early start,” she muttered keeping her voice low.

The day had dawned with a cloudless sky chasing both women from their bed as they anticipated an exciting day of exploration. But after showering and getting dressed, they disappointedly heard the sound of typing coming from their guest bedroom. Mid-morning had arrived and they still had yet to see the reporter.

“Good thing days are long this time of year.”

Sherry nodded while releasing her lover from her grasp. “You want more coffee?”

“I’ve had three cups already,” Pat said moving to the video game console to shut it off. “I think I should eat something or I’ll be bouncing off the walls all day.”

“It’s de-caff, honey.”

“The can may say de-caff but my brain thinks it’s fully leaded.”

“Okay, I’ll make breakfast. Think she’ll eat eggs and bacon?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Sherry nodded, “Good point.” Turning to walk into the kitchen, she spied Bev coming down the hallway. “Good morning,” she greeted cheerfully.

“Morning. Did I hear someone mention coffee?”

“Yes. And I was just going to start breakfast.”

“Sorry for the late start,” Bev apologized. “I planned to finish my article last night but I fell asleep.”

“No problem,” Pat fibbed. “We’ve got plenty of day left,” she added willing her disappointment out of voice. “I don’t think the delay will prevent us from doing all we want.”

Bev smiled. “It won’t,” she assured the obviously impatient coach.

“We’re ready to go as soon as we eat,” Sherry said indicating the items stacked neatly by the door that lead into the garage.

“How about we hit the road? I’ll tell you some more of Papa Charley’s stories as we drive. Are you agreeable to grabbing something quick on the way? Then we’ll eat lunch at the ranch. Unless you would rather take the time to make and eat breakfast here,” she asked grinning after offering the less favorable option.

“No way,” Sherry said shaking her head. “Let’s get going.”

After a short discussion as to which vehicle to take, it was decided that Sherry’s Subaru Forester would probably do better than Pat’s full-size pickup on the narrow, gravel, and twisting roads they would be traveling during to the ranch. While Pat filled a two gallon jug with fresh drinking water, Sherry tucked their jackets and hiking boots in the cargo area along with a cooler full of snacks.

“Let’s see camera, binoculars, journal,” Sherry checked the named items. “Do we need anything else?” she asked. When Bev shook her head, she opened the front passenger door. “You ride up front,” she told their tour guide.

A few moments later, Pat carefully steered the Forester out of the garage. “Full tank of gas,” she told Sherry after being asked about fuel. “Um,” she hesitated before backing into the street. “Which way?”

“Head to Stevensville,” Bev instructed.

“I knew it,” Sherry exclaimed triumphantly. “After plotting all the places in the journal on a map, there was really only one place for Sweetwater to be… the Sapphire side of the Bitterroot Valley,” she explained

Bev grinned but remained silent.

With a last check to make sure the garage door had closed properly, Pat set the Forester in motion. “Here’s to a great day,” she proclaimed turning the car toward their destination.

“You’ll want to turn left at the signal,” Bev said as they approached an intersection.

Pat slowed the Forester’s speed and slipped into the left turn lane.

“Then drive on through Stevensville… the road we need is south of town.”

Sherry studied the passing brick and stone buildings while Pat drove down the length of the town’s main street. As she knew the town to be considered one of the oldest in Montana, a thought occurred to her. “I noticed there was no mention of Stevensville in the journal,” she stated, “but it must have been here when Jesse and Jennifer came to Sweetwater.

“It was,” Bev answered.

“At first, we thought Sweetwater must have been Stevensville. But we could never find any evidence of the town being renamed,” Pat said.

Bev smiled. “Good guess, but no. The town was here but Jesse and Jennifer avoided it. Papa Charley said the Stevensville business owners didn’t approve of my great-grand mothers’ relationship. And since they could get any supplies they needed in Sweetwater and, later, Hellgate… now Missoula, they stayed clear of the place. Papa Charley followed their example— he never spent a dime in Stevensville.”

“Good for him,” Sherry declared with a nod.

“Next left,” Bev told Pat. “Burnt Fork Road.”

“Got it.”

Sherry sat up to get a better look out the side window. “Hey, we’ve been down to the end of this road a million times. We’ve never seen anything remotely resembling Sweetwater.”

“No, not from this road; we’re actually closer to the ranch here. The town is northeast… in a valley hidden in the hills.”

The women continued driving on Burnt Fork Road for a few miles before Bev guided them onto a gravel side road bearing a sign identifying it as part of the forest service’s web of roads in the Sapphire Mountains.

Almost immediately, the road began to narrow as they started a gradual climb into the mountains. The Sapphire range had once been home to numerous logging and mining camps during the second half of the 1800s. Communities that came into being and disappeared so quickly little evidence of them remained except for the rugged wagon roads used by the miners and loggers.

“This looks just like your grandfather described the area around Sweetwater. More rocks than trees,” Pat observed as she steered the Forester along the pot holed road.

“You won’t find many trees until you get higher into the mountains. But you will find lots of desert scrub and rattlesnakes.”

Sherry groaned. “You had to say that.”

“Just an honest warning,” Bev answered with a grin.

A hundred feet ahead, another road veered off toward the east.

“Take the right fork,” Bev instructed Pat.

Pat was disappointed to find the new route was in worse condition than the road they had been driving. “Doesn’t look like this is used much,” she said easing the car around a washout. “Do the people that own the ranch ever use it?”

“It’s used more than you think,” Bev said. “It’s just that the owners leave it in bad shape to discourage the curious,” Bev explained. “It turns into better road once you get about half a mile in.”

“What’s in half a mile?” Pat asked.

“The property line.”

“We’re that close?” Sherry asked eagerly.

“It’s about another three miles to the ranch.”

“Drive faster, Hon,” Sherry ordered.

“It’s your car,” Pat reminded. “You really want me to?” she asked knowing that to comply with her lover’s request would likely cause damage to the suspension of the Forester as they bounced over the rough ground.

“Patience, ladies,” Bev told both women. “Believe me, it’s worth it.”

“I take it we’re near the gate,” Pat said when a pair of large wooden signs came into view.

KEEP OUT -- PRIVATE

NO TRESPASSING

VIOLATORS WILL RECEIVE FRONTIER JUSTICE

WE HAVE GUNS AND KNOW HOW TO USE THEM

TURN AROUND AND GO AWAY!

“The owners sound like real friendly folks,” Pat observed nervously.

Bev laughed. “You don’t have to worry… Papa Charley came up with that warning. He said it was good to scare the tin-horns ‘right quick’. And it’s worked for the better part of the past hundred years. We don’t get too many trespassers on the property. You’ll need to stop just after the turn,” she advised.

“Wait a minute,” Sherry pulled herself up using the back of Pat’s seat. “You own the ranch?”

Bev grinned sheepishly. “It’s never left the family,” she admitted. “Jesse and Jennifer passed it to KC and Papa Charley; they passed to my father; and it will eventually be passed to me and my brother. My great-grandmothers insisted it remain in the family… even had it written in their wills. Not that any of us have thoughts of selling it.”

Pat pulled the car to a stop a few feet from an iron-bar gate. A sturdy six foot fence stretched away from the car in both directions.

Sherry’s brow creased as she replayed Bev’s words in her head while they waited for the reporter to unlock the gate.

Pat drove the Forester through the opening then stopped leaving plenty of room for Bev to close and re-lock the gate.

“KC never had children?” Sherry asked as soon as Bev returned to the car.

“Sadly, no,” Bev replied pulling her door shut after she regained her seat. “She was engaged once. But her beau insisted they move to Denver; he wasn’t much for working on a ranch. Thought a nice office job was more respectable and Denver was the place for that… or so he said. At first, KC agreed. But as the weeks passed before their planned marriage, the more she realized leaving the ranch… and her mothers… was not in her future. As much as she loved her beau, she loved the ranch and my great-grandmothers more. KC always had a special bond with Jesse and Jennifer.”

“I would expect that considering how they came to be a family,” Sherry said.

“Yes,” Bev agreed. “KC adored Jesse and Jennifer. As a young child, she even refused to be away from them for more than a few hours. But when she came to learn the story of her rescue from the burning wagon and what her mothers had endured to adopt her, she cherished them even more.”

“So she called off the wedding?” Pat asked.

“Yes. The ranch was home and being with her mothers meant the world to her.”

“That’s so sweet,” Sherry murmured. “But I’m sorry she never experienced sharing her life with someone she loved,” she said gently squeezing Pat’s shoulder. “It is a wonderful feeling,” she added when her hand was covered by her lover’s.

“Papa Charley said it took KC several months to mourn the loss of what might have been; she loved kids and wanted some of her own. But she told Papa Charley, she never regretted her decision.”

Smiling, Pat imagined the feisty girl described in the journal leading exciting escapades with her own children. “I bet she would have made a kick ass mom.”

Bev laughed remembering days from her own childhood. “More than likely,” she agreed. “She sure made a kick ass great aunt. Papa Charley told me her exploits with me and my brother reminded him of some of the antics KC had gotten into with him and their grandfather.”

“Do I stay on this road?” Pat asked, regretting the necessity of breaking up the women’s laughter.

“No. Take the road veering to the left.

As directed, Pat steered the Subaru onto a narrower but slightly smoother road. Two broken parallel deep ruts ran down the center of the road.

“You are now on the old wagon road between Sweetwater and Bozeman,” Bev announced. “This is the route used by the stage and freight wagons that traveled between the two towns. Turn just up ahead… that’s the cut-off to the ranch. There are still ruts on the road from Jesse’s buckboard. Unfortunately, rain has washed away some and wind has filled in some; but there’s enough of them left to see.”

Pat brought the Forester to an abrupt stop as soon as she drove onto the cut-off. “No way,” she said hopping out of the car. “I can’t believe I’m standing on the very road Jesse and Jennifer traveled.” She knelt down to place both palms against the dirt surface.

Shutter clicks seem unending as the enthralled Sherry swung her camera in every direction to record the moment.

Bev smiled watching the women’s actions. “This is only the road, gals,” she teased.

Slowly, Pat rose from her kneeling position then set off on a deliberate walk, her steps carefully placed in the center of an eroded rut.

“This is so cool,” Sherry gleefully rejoiced while watching her lover walking further away.

“Is she planning to walk all the way to the ranch?” Bev asked when Pat showed no sign of returning to the car.

Sherry giggled. “Probably... Come on.” She waved Bev back to the car. “We’ll pick her up on the way.” As soon as Bev was settled, she started the car and guided it down the road; being careful to keep the tires out of the ruts. “Thank you for allowing us to come here,” she told her passenger. “I can’t tell you how much this means to us.”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Bev responded.

“Hon,” Sherry called out her open window, “it will be faster to drive to the ranch.”

“This is such an odd feeling,” Pat expressed without altering her pace. “I can’t really describe it. It’s almost like I’ve been transported back in time.”

“Honey, get in the car,” Sherry insisted. “You can walk the ruts when Bev takes us to Sweetwater later.” After the words came out, she suddenly wondered if they were true. After all, the reporter had never said they would actually see the old town; only that parts of it were still standing. She quickly turned toward Bev, almost afraid to ask if her assumption had been right. Bev’s smile and nod allayed her concerns.

After a few minutes, Pat reluctantly slowed her steps. “That was awesome,” she sighed claiming the back seat of the Forester.

They were driving past a rather unremarkable section of road when Bev motioned for Sherry to slow down.

“This is where Stanley, Jesse’s father, broke an axle when he and Marie, her mother, came to the ranch.”

Sherry set the brake then reached across the seats to place a hand on Bev’s arm. “We know the relationships,” she assured the woman. With a smile, she added, “We’ve read the journal enough that they’re burned into our memories.”

Bev laughed. “I guess you do, don’t you?”

Sherry nodded. “If we forget, we’ll ask.”

“Good,” Bev said. “It’ll make it easier to tell their stories if I don’t have to explain who everyone was over and over again.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “The axle on Stanley’s buckboard broke right here. Papa Charley said it was a miracle he managed to nurse that old wagon all the way to the ranch, but he did. There isn’t anything to show you, I just thought you’d like to see where it happened,” she explained then pointed up the road. “When you get to that rise up ahead, you’ll want to stop. The ranch house is just over that knoll.”

Pressing against the accelerator, Sherry felt her heart beat speeding at the prospect of finally being able to visit where Jesse and Jennifer lived. “Oh, I can’t wait,” she repeated. “I can’t wait, I can’t wait.”

It wasn’t but a few minutes before the top of rise was reached. Pat was out of the car before the Forester slid to a stop and Sherry quickly joined her.

“Wow,” Pat sighed slipping her arm around Sherry’s waist as they gazed at the sight before them.

The road sloped down to a clearing occupied by a ranch house, barn and corrals, and several out buildings.

“I didn’t think we would ever get to see this,” Sherry declared leaning against her lover while her eyes scanned the, somehow strange yet, familiar scene at the bottom of the knoll.

CHAPTER FOUR

Leaning against the front fender of the Forester, an amused Bev studied Pat and Sherry as they stood transfixed on the top of the knoll overlooking the ranch yard. Not for the first time, she wondered why the two women, who had no connection to her family, would have such sincere esteem for her great-grandmothers. Then she gave herself a mental head slap realizing she shared their admiration for her ancestors… women who defeated every hurdle life had thrown at them. Smiling, she pushed off the Subaru to walk forward. “Is it what you expected?” she asked after joining the pair.

“Definitely,” Jennifer answered, clicking pictures. She could easily imagine Jesse and Jennifer sitting in rocking chairs on the house’s front porch as their children, KC and Charley, played in the yard.

“Except that,” Pat said tilting her head back and pointing upward. “You changed the name of the ranch,” she noted, puzzled why such a change would have been necessary.

The women were standing under an arched log that was supported by two larger logs set on either side of the road. The side of the upper log facing away from the ranch buildings had been sawed flat with letters carved into its smooth surface – DOUBLE JJ RANCH.

Sherry looked up. “Why?”

“After my great-grandmothers died, KC said it was too hard to see JJ’s Dream up there every time she passed under the arch. It made her sad and reminded her how much she missed her mothers. Papa Charley suggested a slight change to the name and KC agreed. He carved the new log and put it up.”

“But it was their dream,” Sherry protested sadly.

“Yes,” Bev agreed. “It was their dream; and even though the name has changed,” she said looking up at the arch above her head, “we still remember and we’re doing our best to keep their dream alive.”

“I guess that is what’s really important,” Sherry observed.

The loud clanging of a dinner bell interrupted the women’s conversation.   

Bev laughed. “I guess we’ve been standing up here too long.” She waved toward the figure standing on the porch of the ranch house. “That’s my dad. He’s probably busting a gut for us to get down there.” She turned toward her guests. “He’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

“Then let’s not keep him waiting,” Sherry cheerfully proclaimed walking back to the Forester. “I’m starving.”

“That’s rude,” Pat groaned.

“Well, I am.”

“It’s still rude. We are guests here.”

“Come on you two,” Bev interrupted the teasing. “I have a feeling, after today, you’ll be more like family. Besides, I’m starving, too.”

Sherry eased the Forester to a stop in front of a century-old two story house with a wide covered front porch.

“Welcome,” a tall man enthusiastically greeted his visitors as soon as the car doors opened. “Welcome,” he repeated bouncing down the porch steps, “welcome.”

“Pat, Sherry, this is my father, Charley Junior,” Bev introduced the man.

“Thank you for letting us visit, Mr. Branson,” Sherry said stretching her hand out toward him.

Bev’s father stood a few inches taller than six feet with a muscular body displaying the results of years of physical work. Sparkling blue eyes stood out against his deeply tanned skin and his dark brown hair held more than a few streaks of grey. His calloused hand gently squeezed Sherry’s offered hand. “No need to be so formal. Call me Charley.”

“Won’t that get confusing?” Pat asked grasping the man’s hand after he released Sherry’s.

“It’s not so bad now-a-days but when my father was still alive, I’ll admit it was a tad confusing,” Charley explained. “If you want, call me Junior… or Pops, that’s what Bev and her brother do.”

“Okay,” Pat agreed taking an instant liking to the friendly man. “I’ll give Pops a try.”

“What’s for lunch?” Bev asked turning for the house.

“Not so fast,” Pops snarled at his daughter. “We need to talk about the ground rules for this visit,” he said, his tone changing from friendly to ominous. Moving to stand directly in front of his visitors, he folded his burly arms across his chest in a menacing pose.

Patting the book she carried, Sherry gave the rancher a worried look. “We brought the journal… if that’s what you’re—”

“Figured you would,” Pops interrupted, “but that’s not my issue. My daughter informed me this visit is off the record and I’m to act like I don’t know who you two are,” he started solemnly. “But that is going to be difficult,” he declared, his voice softening. “You see, I’ve had Cougar season tickets for several years and I am a great fan of both of you.” His lips began to twitch into a grin as the women realized he wasn’t as upset as he acted. “I have very much enjoyed watching you build the Cougars into the champions they are, Coach. And watching you play, Sherry, makes the money I spend on those tickets worth every penny. So, I’ll pretend the best I can but,” his face lit up with a huge grin, “I want you to know what an honor it is to meet you today.”

Giggling, Bev slapped her beaming father on the upper arm. “I knew you couldn’t hold that in. He really is a huge fan,” she told the women as she started for the house and motioned for the others to follow her. “Let’s eat, I’m hungry.”

“Damn, you had me worried there for a minute,” Pat admitted falling into step next to a chuckling Pops.

“Sorry,” Pops apologized. “When Bev said you wanted to keep your trip here on the hush, hush so there wouldn’t be any fall out from the press, I thought that was mighty un-necessary. Who cares what those fools say?”

“Our boss, for one,” Sherry muttered mounting the porch steps.

“Why would anyone object to your coming here?” Pops inquired.

“With Bev writing a story about Pat,” Sherry explained, “we thought it would be better to eliminate the possibility of someone jumping to the wrong conclusions. We had enough of the media making trouble last season and we don’t want anyone starting rumors we’re favoring some reporters over others.”

“Especially since I don’t have the best reputation for entertaining that group of hyenas,” Pat grumbled.

“I hope you’re not including me in that,” Bev said while pulling open the screen door and motioning her guests to enter the house.

“You haven’t written any lies about us,” Sherry noted. “At least, none that we saw,” she added giving the reporter a critical look. “Have you?”

“I try to keep my reporting on the high side of the truth.”

“Then, I think we can forgive you for your connection to the press,” Pat assured the reporter.

“I’m not sure I will,” Pops grumbled. “Of all the careers, you had to be part of that mob. Think of what Jesse would have said.”

“One of Jesse’s best friends was a newspaper owner,” Bev reminded her father. “Or have you forgotten Thaddeus?”

“Friend isn’t family,” Pops groused. “Besides, there’s plenty of work here to keep you busy.”

Bev stuck her tongue out at her father. “It’s only part-time, Pops. I still manage to help you around here whenever you need me.”

“Holy cow!” Sherry’s excited shriek put an end to the good natured banter between father and daughter. Standing in the middle of the sitting room, she slowly rotated in place; her eyes taking in all the objects she had read about in the journal. “This is just like Charley described… I can’t believe I’m standing here.” Suddenly, she rushed toward the wall opposite the bottom of the steps that led to the upstairs bedrooms. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked pointing at a wood framed piece of glass hanging on the wall.

“Jesse and Jennifer’s marriage certificate; and KC’s and Papa Charley’s adoption papers,” Bev proudly acknowledged.

“That frame hasn’t been touched since Jesse hung it there,” Pops told the awed women. “Grandma Jesse always said those papers were her most valuable possessions.”

“Fantastic,” Pat murmured leaning close to the glass to peer at the faded writing. “Seeing things like this makes Charley’s stories come alive.”

“Bev, why don’t you give them a quick tour upstairs while I get lunch on the table,” Pops suggested.

“Sure. Come on,” Bev agreed. “Don’t worry about the creaking, the wood is just old and dried out,” she warned leading the women up the steps.

“That was unreal,” Sherry was telling Bev as the women made their way into the kitchen after their tour. “It must be so neat living here being reminded of their lives everywhere you look. Does it ever bother you?” she asked.

“Not really. I don’t think it’s any different than any other family being surrounding by generations of keepsakes,” Bev replied. “What about your own family?” she asked pulling out a chair to sit at the dining table. She gestured for Pat and Sherry to do the same.

Sherry instantly accepted the invitation. “No one in my family led the kind of lives that Jesse and Jennifer led. Most exciting thing one of my ancestors ever did was manage to fall overboard while bringing his family over from Europe,” she repeated an often heard story from her childhood.

“My goodness,” Pops exclaimed. “I hope they managed to save him.”

“No. It was during a storm and the ship’s captain refused to go back and look for him. Lucky for me, he had two children already… one being my great-great grandfather.”

“What about the story your father told me? The one about a distant cousin hanged for being a horse thief?” Pat asked reaching for the glass of lemonade set next to her plate. “I don’t suppose this is Jennifer’s recipe?”

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Pops replied lifting his own glass. “Now, tell us about your horse thief, Sherry.”

Sherry laughed. “You know as much about him as I do. It happened somewhere around Tombstone, Arizona. And I’d hardly call him someone to brag about.”

Pops chuckled. “What about you, Coach?” he asked while passing a platter of ham to her.

“My great-grandfather’s family traveled west from Missouri in a covered wagon; he was born just after they crossed into California.”

“That sounds like a good source for stories,” Bev said.

“Family rarely talked about it. After they made it to California, he split and was never heard from again.”

“Sadly that wasn’t uncommon back then,” Pops stated. “I think the long trip west provided too much time for the men to think about all the responsibilities they would face once they reached a new place to call home—buying a piece of land to clear and plant, possibly getting a side job to ensure their family had plenty to eat, building a place to live. I think some just got overwhelmed… and scared.”

“How did your family end up in Montana, Pat?” Bev asked.

“One of my grandfather’s brothers studied to be a mining engineer. He traveled to mining camps all over the west; finally ending up in Cripple Creek, Colorado. When those mines started to play out, he worked his way north and ended up working in some of the Montana gold camps. My grandfather decided to join him.”

“I never knew that,” Sherry said surprised to hear her lover’s revelation. “No wonder you’re fascinated with the old west and ghost towns.”

Buttering a home-made biscuit, Pat grinned. “One of many reasons,” she said.

After lunch, Bev and her father offered to show Pat and Sherry around the ranch yard. It took only an instant for the pair to eagerly agree.

“Jesse and Stanley dug this out… just the two of them?” Pat asked standing in the middle of the root cellar’s dirt floor. “That must have been hard work as rocky as this ground is.”

“KC helped,” Pops noted then laughed. “She always made sure we knew that. Of course, she wasn’t much higher than the top of Jesse’s boots at the time so I’m not sure how much help she actually was.”

“I can’t believe how square the corners are,” Sherry commented examining the rock foundations under the wood plank walls.

“One thing about Grandma Jesse, she never did anything half way.”

“Well, you’ve seen everything here… barn, chicken coop, garden, what’s left of Marie and Stanley’s cabin, and the root cellar. Are you ready to see Sweetwater?” Bev asked walking out of the cellar into the afternoon’s bright sunshine.

“Absolutely,” Pat answered.

“You kids go ahead,” Pops told the others. “I think I’ll do some sitting in the shade for a bit. I hear a pitcher of lemonade calling my name.” He hesitated then continued. “I, uh… don’t suppose I could get a look at Papa’s journal, could I?” he asked.

“Oh, my gosh, I left it upstairs,” Sherry blurted out. “Of course, you can. Let me go get it.” Before anyone could object, she was running toward the back porch of the house.

“I’ll go see if I can help,” Bev called back over her shoulder as she chased after Sherry.

CHAPTER FIVE

The drive to the abandoned town had taken little more than a half hour.

“It used to take a bit longer to get here by buckboard,” Bev said when the sun-baked wooden structures of Sweetwater came into view. “You can park in the shade of the Slipper if you want,” she directed Pat who was bent forward peering through the windshield at the approaching buildings.

Sherry was gazing out the passenger window at a row of small, single story houses they were slowly driving past. “It seems bigger than Charley described.”

“It grew some after Papa Charley wrote that journal. The building of Fort Missoula and the arrival of the railroad brought a lot of people to the valley. Most settled around Missoula but a few decided Sweetwater was a better choice… less hectic. Unfortunately, it wasn’t too long before the stage company decided to close the depot since most people were traveling by railroad. With merchants and families moving to bigger towns, Sweetwater slowly died out.”

“What a shame,” Pat muttered bringing the Subaru to a stop.

“I think it was a blessing,” Bev said pushing open her door. “That’s why we have as much of the town Jesse and Jennifer knew as we do. If Sweetwater had continued growing, these old wood buildings would have been torn down and replaced by bigger stone and brick structures—just like what happened in Missoula.

Pat pursed her lips in thought. “It’s sad how much history is lost in the name of progress,” she unhappily observed. “Thank goodness we still have Sweetwater,” she quickly brightened, grinning at the prospect of finally being able to explore the old town. “Where do we start?” she asked looking around. She spotted her lover turning in a slow circle as her camera never stopped clicking. “Hon, you’re lucky that’s a digital camera,” she said chuckling. “Otherwise, by now, we would own Kodak.”

Sherry ignored the playful taunt. “Let’s start where Jesse and Jennifer met… the stage depot,” she suggested still snapping pictures.

“Okay,” Bev agreed then set off toward a crumbled adobe structure halfway down the town’s main street. “But, technically, they didn’t meet there. When Jennifer stepped off the stage, Jesse was standing across the street on the boardwalk. They didn’t actually meet until later at the Silver Slipper.”

“Oh, I guess Charley left that detail out of the journal,” Jennifer said. “He just said they met when Jennifer arrived on the stage to accept the position of the town’s schoolteacher.”

“Well, in fairness, Charley did write the journal for his family,” Pat defended. “I doubt he thought a couple of yo-yos would be the ones to find and read it.”

“Who are you calling a yo-yo?” Sherry objected.

Bev laughed as Pat raced past, attempting to outrun the faster, Sherry. “Hey, don’t damage the buildings,” she yelled at the women tossing lumps of dried mud at each other. By the time she reached the remnants of the old stage station, Pat was struggling to brush off the back of her pants where she had been nailed with a dirt clod.

“Let me do that,” Sherry offered swatting her lover’s hands out of the way. It only took a moment to brush the cloth clean. “There… all gone,” she announced. “That’ll teach you to call me names,” she added giving one last swat to her lover’s behind.

“Ouch,” Pat protested loudly then turned her attention to the ruined adobe walls. “If you hadn’t pointed this out, I would have never guessed it used to be a building.”

“Problem with adobe… if you don’t keep it protected, the rain melts it away. After all, it’s just sun dried mud. We have a lot of adobe ruins back home,” Sherry explained her source of knowledge of the historic building material. “A lot of the cavalry forts during the Indian Wars were made of adobe. Not much is left of them today either.”

“We’ll have to check those out when we make it to Arizona for a visit,” Pat said excitedly.

“Let’s go over to Ed’s,” Bev told the women then starting walking away from the old depot. “Might as well see what’s left of the downtown businesses before going into the Slipper. The original Mercantile burned down several years ago in a lightening storm. The fire destroyed a dozen buildings including the Oxbow, the schoolhouse, and several of the private homes.”

“Oh, no,” Sherry moaned. “The school house is gone?”

Bev nodded. “Luckily, all of Jesse’s books had been moved to the ranch house by then.

“Damn.”

“I know. It was a sad day for us, too. If the wind hadn’t been blowing east, we probably would have lost more of the town. Pops decided not to take any more chances and had sprinklers and fire alarms installed in the buildings that mean the most to us.”

“Jesse and Jennifer did have their problems with fires,” Pat noted.

“Curse of the old west; living in buildings made mostly of dried-out wood, and using open candles for light,” Bev stated while walking toward a two story structure. “This is the building Ed purchased when he needed to expand the Mercantile,” she said making her way up a series of steep steps.

“Goodness, this is high,” Pat observed looking over the edge of the loading dock at the side of the building.”

“It was built tall to make it easier to load the freight wagons that took supplies to the mining camps,” Bev explained.

“Like the one you have at the ranch?” Sherry asked remembering the huge wagon carefully protected in the barn.

Bev turned the knob on a pair of double doors. “That was Dannie’s wagon… one of the biggest ever made.” She pushed open one of the doors leading into the mercantile. “Not sure what details, Papa Charley put in his journal… Hopefully, I’m not repeating.”

“If you do, we’re more than happy to hear it all again,” Sherry assured their guide.

“Okay… this was originally planned as a hotel for the mining investors. When their mine proved to be lacking in gold and worthless, Ed bought the building. That corner office,” she said pointing at a wall-off area at the front of the store,” was rented out to the stage company for their new depot.”

“Makes better sense than a crumbling adobe ruin,” Pat said walking toward the office. “Can I go inside?” she asked before attempting to open the door with steel bars covering its window.

“Sure, nothing is locked. “We probably should but Pops has installed enough security alarms and cameras around town that nobody could get within a mile of Sweetwater without setting them off. So far, intruders have only been the four-legged kind. But, if the alarms sound, everyone comes running.”

“So that sign about frontier justice still holds true?”

Bev grinned. “Today, we just call the sheriff. But when Papa Charley ran the ranch, he would take great pleasure scaring any trespassers by holding them at gunpoint until the sheriff showed up to claim them. He was even known to accidentally fire his rifle in their direction.”

“Somehow, I get the impression that Charley was a lot like Jesse,” Pat stated.

“Actually, that was more like Jennifer. You didn’t threaten her family unless you were prepared to be whopped up the side of the head with her cane.”

Sherry laughed. “I can just picture that.”

Bev moved to the store counter and sat on a tall stool behind the scarred wooden surface. “Go on and look around,” she encouraged the women. Ed lived upstairs in one of the apartments; and Billie and his wife, Ruthie, lived in the other. Both rooms look pretty much like they left them.”

As Pat and Sherry set off to explore the upstairs, Bev let her mind wander back through memories of her Papa Charley and her aunt KC sitting on the porch of the Mercantile telling stories about their mothers and the other citizens of Sweetwater to her and her brother.

“How come the shelves are still stocked?” Sherry asked after returning back to the main floor from upstairs. “Is any of this still fit to eat?”

“I’d hate to give try,” Bev laughed letting her eyes roam over the dusty shelves stocked with decades-old canned fruits and vegetables. “After Ed died, Billie and Ruthie decided to try and keep the Mercantile open by themselves. But as fewer and fewer customers came in to buy supplies, they decided to move their family into Missoula. Papa Charley and KC tried to find someone else to take it over but by then Sweetwater had grown too small. So they just shut the doors thinking they’d get it cleaned out some day. Gradually, Papa Charley and KC decided to just leave it be. Although, we did clean out the perishables.”

“They could have made a fortune selling some of this stuff to an antique dealer,” Pat suggested after taking a mental inventory of the dusty but pristine items sitting on shelves, nailed to walls, and hanging from its ceiling.

“Don’t think a few didn’t make offers. While Papa Charley had been tempted, KC refused any offers outright. She always said the memories were worth more than the money. As he got older, Papa Charley was thankful his sister had stopped him from selling anything,” Bev said before changing the subject. “Ready to see the jail?” She asked slipping off the stool.

“We’ll go in through the back,” Bev told the women as they neared the boardwalk fronting the adjoining buildings of Sweetwater’s town hall, newspaper office, and sheriff’s office. “The boardwalk is in bad shape and won’t support our weight,” she explained leading her visitors down a side alley. “There it is,” she said pointing when a solid wood door at the rear of the building came into view. “Now, prepare yourselves,” she teased opening the door and moving inside. “This is where Jennifer broke Jesse out of jail.”

Sherry raised her camera and began snapping pictures.

With her lover occupied, Pat scooted into the sheriff’s office. “Not very big,” she observed.

The jail was actually two adjoining rooms, both approximately ten feet square. A dusty and scarred wooden desk sat facing the jail’s only window. Hanging on the wall behind the desk was an empty rifle rack and a pair of short equally empty shelves. A lonely chair had been placed beside the window, positioned for someone to sit and peer out through the dirty glass panes.

Pat moved about the room until she stood in front of a thick wooden door with an iron barred window in the top half of the door. Peeking through the glassless window, she saw what she had been hoping to find. Pulling the heavy door open, she stepped into a room with opposing jail cells occupying most of the space.

“This is depressing,” Sherry stated after joining Pat. “Not much for accommodations,” she noted of the single canvas cot and wooden bucket in each cell.

Standing in the doorway, Bev informed the disappointed woman. “Wasn’t meant to be the Ritz.”

Sherry gently pushed Pat into one of the cells and shut the barred door. She pointed her camera and clicked a picture. “That will be good to show our kids,” she joked.

“With my luck, the press will get hold of it and it’ll be front page news that I was locked up for some crime or other,” Pat groused opening the door and stepping out from the gloomy enclosure.

“Damn, you’re right,” Sherry grumbled looking at her camera’s screen then pushing the delete button to destroy the picture.

“So, you are planning a family,” Bev accused the women.

“No,” Sherry snapped.

“Maybe,” Pat spoke at the same time. “I mean no,” she quickly corrected.

Grinning, Bev looked unconvinced.

“We’re in the talking stage,” Sherry finally admitted before brushing past the reporter. “Where is the newspaper office?” she asked.

Bev laughed. “Change of subject accepted,” she said moving to a door-less opening next to the rifle rack. “Pops put this door in so we could avoid the boardwalk,” she explained leading the women into a much larger space and walking to the center of the room. “Being the town’s first mayor, Mayor Perkins designed this idiotic setup.”

A desk twice the size of the one in the jail was situated a few feet in front of the back wall. Between the wall and desk, a large leather chair sat. The desk and chair were on a raised platform allowing the short-statured mayor the opportunity to look down on any visitors.

“Impressive,” Pat noted dryly.

“Only in Mayor Perkins mind,” Bev said. “Most in town considered him to be a pompous do-nothing who definitely did not merit such fancy surroundings.”

“But he did perform Jesse and Jennifer’s marriage,” Sherry stated. “That must have garnered him some credit.”

“Jesse called it the only… and best thing, he ever did,” Bev agreed. “Come on,” she urged moving across the room. “Office of the Sweetwater Gazette,” she announced opening a door. A printing press sat in the middle of the room with a tall desk squeezed in between it and a tall cabinet holding multiple ink stained drawers.

“Oh, my gosh. You have the actual printing press and all the type,” Sherry exclaimed easing open one of the drawers to reveal carefully arranged letters in multiple fonts and sizes.

“Holy cow,” Pat added her approval of the collection. “I can think of numerous museums who would love to get their hands on all of this.”

“Don’t think they haven’t tried. Thaddeus was a good friend and Jennifer had promised to care for his press after he died. KC and Papa Charley weren’t about to go back on that promise.”

“Jennifer worked for Thaddeus… right?” Sherry asked.

“Yes. She liked to write and would help Thaddeus out whenever he asked. I think that’s how Papa Charley got the writing bug.”

“I’m curious,” Pat said peering out the office’s window. “Sweetwater wasn’t on JJ land. How did your family come to own it?”

“When folks began leaving Sweetwater, Jesse and Jennifer started buying up any parcels they could. It took several years, but they eventually owned the whole town and the land around it. They only needed to obtain the strip with the road to the ranch to complete the deal. Unfortunately, it had ended up under the control of the government and they weren’t interested in selling it. Jesse and Jennifer were devastated to think they couldn’t save the road.”

“But you do own it— so what happened?” Pat asked.

“One day, KC went to the state capital in Helena and she somehow managed to convince them to sell that strip to her.”

“Somehow?” Pat asked.

“KC would never tell how she did it or how much she paid for the land; but it was one of her proudest days when she brought that deed home. She presented it to Jesse and Jennifer to show that their ranch was finally complete. I can still remember the smile on her face whenever she talked about that day. She was so happy to be able to have done that before they died.”

Sherry sighed. “You have the most remarkable family.”

Bev nodded. “I sure do. But, to be honest, Jesse, Jennifer, KC, Charley… they are a heck of a lot to live up to,” she confessed. “That’s about it for the town except…” she stretched out the word teasingly. “Ready for the Slipper?”

“Lead on,” Sherry and Pat replied enthusiastically.

CHAPTER SIX

After mounting the steps to the Silver Slipper, Bev walked across the wide porch to a shuttered window. “Let me open a couple of these or it’ll be too dark to see inside,” she told her guests while quickly releasing the catches securing heavy wood shutters to the window frames. After repeating the process on two more windows, she walked back to the door.

“You can see just about the whole town from here,” Pat observed leaning on the porch railing.

“Bette Mae used to say that,” Bev commented. “Papa Charley said she would tell folks she had no reason to leave the Slipper… she could sit all day in the shade of the porch and still know everything that was going on in town.” Her gaze turned inward. “I remember KC would sitting up not long before she died. Papa Charley said she was remembering how Sweetwater had been when they were kids. She found comfort in the memories.” After a moment, Bev turned back to the door and pulled open the thick wood panel, cringing when its hinges squealed in protest. “Welcome to the Silver Slipper,” she announced while stepping aside to let Pat and Jennifer enter. “This is—”

“The restaurant,” Pat interrupted by properly identifying the square room filled with an assortment of tables and chairs. “And that must be Jesse’s office,” she pointed to a door tucked under the steps leading upstairs. And the saloon is through that door,” she continued turning to point out another door on the opposite side of the dining room.

Bev chuckled. “I’m impressed.”

“Thanks. Your grandfather described this room perfectly.”

“It’s still looks like Bette Mae could walk in at any moment with a pot of coffee in one hand and an apple pie in the other,” Jennifer remarked while moving carefully about the dining room.

Pat smiled. “Coffee and a piece of apple pie sounds pretty good,” she started to pull a chair away from one of the table.

“Careful… I wouldn’t trust these chairs not to collapse if you tried to sit on them,” Bev warned.

“They are kinda old, honey,” Jennifer reminded.

“I should have thought about that,” Pat said returning the chair to his rightful place tucked under the table.

“Luckily, Jesse’s office was furnished with higher quality furniture.” Bev stated stepping through the room’s doorway. “And, for the record,” she told her guests once they had joined her inside the office, “this is where Jesse and Jennifer officially met.”

Pat and Sherry stood in the center of the office content to match the journal’s descriptions with their surroundings.

“Amazing,” Pat murmured after several minutes. “You haven’t changed a thing in here.”

“No, it’s just as they left it,” Bev said opening the curtains hanging over one window.

Pat lightly trailed her fingers over the back of Jesse’s leather office chair. “I can almost feel them in here.”

Glancing dubiously at her lover, Sherry asked, “Honey, you’re not having one of those paranormal experiences again?”

“Paranormal experiences?” Bev asked curiously.

Sherry turned to the reporter and whispered, “Pat thinks she feels the presence of ghosts, at times.”

“Make fun of me all you want,” Pat grumbled stepping to the front of the chair. She carefully brushed off the seat then gingerly sat down.

Sherry crossed the room to stand behind her perturbed lover. “Ah, hon,” she whispered bending over to encircle Pat’s shoulders with her arms, “I love you. But you have to admit, it is kinda…” she paused searching for the right word.

“Feelings like that aren’t too unusual around here,” Bev interjected.

“Really?” Pat asked reaching up to gently place her arms atop Sherry’s.

“Oh, yeah. I think the first time I felt it was when I was seven or eight. I was sitting on the edge of the Mercantile’s loading dock with my brother. Papa Charley was sitting between us and re-telling the story of Jennifer breaking Jesse out jail.” She smiled remembering the moment. “We had heard the story a thousand times but we kept asking him to tell it,” she said chuckling. “Anyway, he was nearing the part where Jennifer let Jesse out of her cell and I felt like someone sat down next to me. I looked over but no one was there and my brother was still on the other side of Papa Charley.”

“Were you scared?” Jennifer asked.

“Surprisingly, I wasn’t. It was a comfortable feeling, like an old friend sat down and you recognize their presence without having seen them.”

Jennifer straightened to relieve her cramping back.

Noticing her lover’s discomfort, Pat stood then began administering a soothing back rub. “Do you think it was one of your great-grandmothers?”

Bev nodded. “I like to think so. After all, I grew up hearing stories about how much Sweetwater and the ranch meant to them. It’s not hard to imagine Jesse and Jennifer coming back to visit their favorite places.” She turned toward the doorway. “Should we take a look at the saloon?”

“Actually, I’d rather see Bette Mae’s kitchen,” Sherry responded.

“Kitchen, it is,” Bev said agreeably. She started out of the office then stopped and turned around to face her guests. “Have you experienced paranormal experiences often, Pat?” she asked the question nagging at her.

“A few times,” the coach admitted. “Mostly, when exploring ghost towns.”

“Tell her about Bannack,” Sherry urged.

“Bannack?” Bev asked, her curiosity elevated.

Pat shrugged. “You’ll think I’m crazy… but I think I met and talked to KC there.” She hesitated, waiting for Bev’s reaction.

“What happened?”

Surprised when her statement was met with genuine interest, Pat continued. “I was considering whether or not I should propose; debating with myself if Sherry would accept or…”

“Of course, I would accept,” Sherry blurted out. “I was hoping you would be brave enough to ask because I wasn’t sure I would be.”

“Okay, okay,” Bev interrupted. “What happened?” she insisted.

“I was sitting on the porch of the old courthouse,” Pat continued, remembering the unexpected and odd encounter. “A little girl about, I don’t know, five or six came out of the building and sat down next to me. She started telling me about the town and her mothers and brother. You were walking by on the street and she pointed you out. Then, just out of the blue, she asked me if I was going to marry you.”

“That’s why you proposed that day? Sherry asked in disbelief.

Pat nodded. “Well… I had almost convinced myself it was the right time but she pushed me the rest of the way when she said to follow my heart.”

“What?” Bev exclaimed.

“What what?” Pat asked confused.

“What did she tell you?”

“Follow my heart… why?”

Bev chuckled. “That’s what Bette Mae said when Jesse was unsure how to deal with her feelings for Jennifer,” she informed the women. “Follow you heart,” she repeated in a whisper.

“You’re kidding?” Sherry asked skeptically.

“Nope. It her favorite advice… no matter what the situation was… follow your heart. Jesse and Jennifer told it to KC and Papa Charley who passed in down the line. It’s used a lot in our family.”

“So it could have been KC,” Pat said casting her eyes at Bev seeking confirmation of her encounter.

Bev shrugged. “I don’t know if it was KC or not. But,” she grinned, “I wouldn’t put it past her. She was always encouraging people to take a chance on love. Maybe she saw in you what Jesse and Jennifer had… true love.”

Sherry sighed happily. “What a wonderful thought,” she murmured.

The women were exploring the kitchen, a combination of three rooms at the rear of the Slipper. The center of the largest room was occupied by a rectangular table; its well used surface covered in unintentional knife cuts and indentions from other zealously welded cooking utensils. Hanging from one wall, cupboards and shelves of varying sizes held dishes, cups, serving dishes, and bins of eating utensils. A cook stove stood in one corner of the room with a pile of chopped wood neatly piled next to it. A waist high counter took up the remaining wall space; two deep wash basins rested in openings roughly cut into the counter’s surface. Under the counter, open shelves provided space for storing large cooking pots when not in use. The top half of a third wall was crowded with specially built shelves where a multitude of canned foods were stored, ready to be added to any recipe as needed. Below the shelves, deep pull out drawers provided easy accessibility to bags of flour, dried beans, and the like. On the fourth wall, cooking utensils of every shape and size hung on pegs in neat rows.

“It’s not very big,” Sherry observed.

“Compared to modern kitchens, it’s super tiny,” Pat agreed. “Our kitchen is bigger than this.”

Sherry nodded. “She did all the cooking for the Slipper in here?”

“Here and in that little cubby off to the side. That’s where she made all her pies, cakes, and such,” Bev answered. “She had a second cook stove in there, too.”

“What was this for?” Pat asked of a rock walled room accessed by a door at the back of the kitchen.

“Cold storage. In the winter, ice would be collected from the river and packed in layers of sawdust. Surprisingly, it would usually last into the summer months. Bette Mae stored her fresh meat and vegetables in there.”

Examining the varied assortment of utensils, Sherry spotted a non-descript door almost unseen at the end of the wall. Opening the door, she peeked inside.

A spring coil bed frame with a thin feather filled mattress was pushed to one side of the tiny room while a simple chest of three drawers sat under the room’s only window. A thin, threadbare rug covered the floor in front of the chest; its once radiant design of blooming roses was faded and almost unrecognizable.

Sherry was startled by the sparsely furnished bedroom. “Who’s bedroom is this?”

“Bette Mae’s.”

“But it’s so… empty,” Pat said having joined Sherry.

“It’s the way she wanted it,” Bev explained. “Jesse tried to move her into a room upstairs and even offered to fix the office up for her to use. But Bette Mae always refused. She’d say this room was better than any she’d had before and it suited her just fine. Jennifer tried to bring in a new rug once; but Bette Mae insisted on keeping this one. KC told me that rug must have meant something special to Bette Mae… maybe a gift from someone she loved. She’d asked Bette Mae but she never got her to talk about it.”

“What happened to Bette Mae?” Pat asked.

“She continued to run the Slipper, even after her health started to fail. One day, Sally—that was the woman who bartended in the saloon—found Bette Mae in bed. She went to sleep the night before and never woke up,” Bev said.

“Charley wrote she was buried at the ranch,” Pat commented.

“Yes.”

“Any chance we could pay our respects to them?” Sherry asked.

“Of course,” Bev agreed. “You’ll have time to visit when we get to the ranch. Which we probably need to start thinking about; it’ll be dark before long and I doubt you want to make the drive back to the highway after sunset.”

“Not if we can avoid that,” Pat replied. “That was a pretty rough road and I’d hate to break an axle going back.”

“You better not break my car,” Sherry threatened then smiled. “But, you’re right… I’d rather not attempt that road after dark.”

After a quick look around the Slipper’s lodging rooms on the upper floor, Pat, Sherry, and Bev settled into the Forester for the ride back to the ranch. Sherry steered the car out of Sweetwater while Pat sat in the rear passenger seat enjoying a final look at the town’s still standing buildings.

“Today was amazing, Bev,” Sherry declared. “Thank you so much for bringing us here.”

“You’re welcome. And, you have an open invitation to return… any time. I’ve already emailed Pop’s contact information to you.”

“That’s great,” Pat said. “But,” her happy mood quickly fading, “most likely we won’t make it back until next summer. Rookie camp begins soon.”

“Ugh,” Sherry groaned. “And here I was hoping for a quick follow-up visit.”

“Anytime,” Bev repeated. “It’s not like we’re that far away. And Sweetwater isn’t going anywhere.”

The words cheered Pat back up. “Hey, that’s right. The Double JJ is only an hour from our house.”

“Keep that news to your selves,” Bev encouraged.

“Our lips are sealed,” Sherry agreed as Pat guided the Forester up the road to the top of the knoll. “Hon, it is getting late. We probably should go as soon as we say goodbye to Pops.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

With the sun dropping in the late afternoon sky, Pat, Sherry, Bev, and Pops stood on the front porch of the ranch house.

“I thank you for bringing the journal,” Pops told Pat and Sherry. “It was a fascinating read.”

“Did you finish it?” Sherry asked.

“Unfortunately, no. I’m hoping you’ll return for a visit soon and give me another go at it,” Pops said hopefully as he tried to hand the journal back.

Sherry shook her head. “No, you keep it,” she said placing her hand up with flat palm blocking Pops attempt. “It belongs to your family.”

“Are you sure?” Pops asked surprised by the gesture but also very pleased.

“Absolutely,” Pat responded. “I hate to say this but we really need to get going.”

“Just one more place to visit,” Sherry reminded.

“We’ll have to make it quick.”

Sherry nodded.

“You kids get going then,” Pops encouraged. “Thanks again,” he added gently patting the cover of the journal. “Go on, Bev. Take them to see Jesse and Jennifer.”

Bev led the pair down the porch steps and across the ranch yard to a well used path leading back up the knoll to a fenced enclosure. She stopped at the base of the path where the Forester sat, having been parked there instead of near the ranch house. “I’ll say my goodbyes here,” she said holding her hand out. “Thank you for the journal. Papa Charley would be proud knowing you enjoyed it as much as you did.”

Ignoring the offered hand, Sherry hugged the reporter. “Thanks for everything.”

Released by Sherry, Pat wrapped her arms around Bev. “Ditto,” she said.

Bev watched the women begin their climb to the collection of graves. “Hey,” she called after them. “When you get to the junction, turn right instead of left,” she instructed. “Don’t worry,” she shouted when Pat tossed her a suspicious look, “you can thank me later.”

“What’s that about?” Sherry asked.

Pat shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”

“Goodness, I wasn’t expected so many people to have been buried here.”

“Thaddeus, Ed… Ah, Bette Mae,” Sherry read the names.

“And Elizabeth.”

“Look, Leevie and Dannie.”

“KC. Papa Charley. Oh, and that must be his wife.”

“Stanley and Marie.”

After spending a few moments in silent respect at each of the graves, Pat and Sherry moved to the grave highest on the hill. “Jesse and Jennifer,” Pat said softly, gently placing her hand on top of the shared tombstone. “It is a definite pleasure to meet you.”

Kneeling, Sherry placed a pair of roses, freshly picked from the garden behind the ranch house, at the base of the stone. Then she stood, placing her hand in Pat’s free one.

“Pat thinks she talked to KC in Bannack,” Bev informed her father as they watched the women slowly walking down the path to their car.

“She did, huh?”

Bev studied her father. “You don’t sound surprised.”

Pops smiled. “Come… let’s sit and have a glass of lemonade,” he said walking across the porch to a pair of rocking chairs. “I’ll tell you about the last time I visited Bannack.”

“Do you mind driving, hon?” Sherry asked. “I’m beat.”

“Okay.”

“Just take it real slow on that road. I’d hate to have to walk back here tonight if we bust something.”

“Yeah.” Pat settled behind the steering wheel while Sherry removed her hiking boots and placed them on the floor of the back seat.

“My feet are so sore,” Sherry moaned wiggling her freed toes. “I must have walked a hundred miles today.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Pat chuckled starting the engine. Pressing the accelerator, she eased the Forester toward the road that would take them up to the top of the knoll. “Poking your head into every nook and cranny you could find. And just how many pictures did you take?”

“Don’t ask… but I almost filled up my memory disc.” Flipping the switch that turned her seat’s heater on, Jennifer leaned back and sighed. “I’m glad they’re all together,” she said turning her gaze toward the enclosure of graves. Something odd caught her eye and she straightened up. “Hon, is that Bev and Pops?”

Pat slowed the car to look where her lover was pointing. “I don’t think so,” she said straining to make out the figures in the growing darkness. Stopping the car, she pressed the switch to lower her window.

Standing just inside the fence, were the translucent figures of two smiling women. One held an infant in her arms while the other held the hand of small girl.

“Pat, are they…?”

The figures started to fade away as the women watched. Just before the apparitions disappeared, the young girl waved at them.

Pat took her foot off the brake and the Forester continued up the slope. Before they got far, a child’s giggle floated around them on the night’s still air.

Sherry’s eyes grew wide. “Hon… that’s the same giggle we heard in Bannack.”

Pat nodded. Then a smile spread across her face. “We’ll be back, KC,” she called out the window. “We’ll be back.”

Neither woman spoke until they had crested the knoll and reached the junction. Turning left would take them back on the same rutted, potholed road they had traveled that morning.

“Bev said to turn right,” Sherry reminded when Pat slowed the car to a stop.

“But where does the right one go?” Pat asked nervously. It was well past sunset and she wasn’t looking forward to driving a mountain road that was completely unknown to her.

“I don’t think Bev would have sent us on a bad road,” Sherry replied thoughtfully.

“Okay. I’ll drive slow until we reach pavement. You need to keep an eye out for any obstacles.”

“Sounds good,” Sherry agreed returning her seat to its normal upright position.

Pat steered to the right. It quickly became apparent that the new road was well cared for, its gravel surface level and pothole free. As she became more confident with the condition of the road, she increased their speed. It wasn’t long before they were approaching a gate blocking their route to the paved highway that would take them home.

“Do you think it’s locked?” Sherry asked. The words were barely out of her mouth before the gate began to swing open. “I guess they were watching for us,” she said grinning. “Bev said they had cameras everywhere.”

“That punk,” Pat groused, “she brought us up that crappy road on purpose.”

Sherry burst out laughing. “Well, we did tell her we wanted to experience Jesse and Jennifer’s old west. “Imagine coming up that road in a buckboard.”

Easing the Forester through the gate’s opening, Pat joined in the laughter. “Yes, we did, didn’t we?”

THE END

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