“Stuff. You done went and pissed your aunt’s home away. My home! Damn you, Alonzo.” Furious, I stared at the man blubbering in front of me. “Dammit.”
“Please, please…” He reached for my arm. “Honey, can you forgive me?”
I slapped his hands away and backed up. “I’ve lost everything, Alonzo, everything,” I spat out. “And now I could go to prison because of it. You.” Angry tears blurred my eyes, and I swiped them away on my scratchy knit glove.
“Please, Honey. Please jus’ give me your forgiveness an’ show mercy on my poor, wretched soul.”
“How dare you ask when you didn’t show it for her?” I said through gritted teeth.
He lowered his head. “Please jus’ understand. Honey, forgive me.”
Tired, disgusted, I stared at him hard, the anger draining me, and because I knew ol’ Retta would, I patted his back and choked out a weary yes, gulping down more hot tears. The ol’ man sobbed into my shoulders, reeking from his last night’s tear.
“Let’s get you inside, Alonzo.” I helped him into the cabin like I’d seen Retta do so many times before.
I made coffee and a quick dinner, trying to sober Alonzo up. The man was ashamed and could barely meet my eyes as he shoveled down the bowl of beans, mopping up the last juices with a roll.
Finally, I broke the silence. “Retta was all I had, Alonzo.”
“When my sweet bride passed twenty-four years ago, Auntie took care of me.” He dipped his bread again in the bowl.
I looked out the window. “Will you marry again?” I asked quietly. “Retta always hoped you would.”
He pushed the bowl aside, rubbed his hand tiredly over several weeks’ worth of whiskers and thought a minute. “I ain’t through grieving her jus’ yet, Honey. She’s worthy of more. A lifetime.” Alonzo’s agony rested on his slumped shoulders.
I let the stillness wrap the air as we sipped from our cups, remembering my own grief, and now the fresh grief of losing another, and knew he was right.
Retta told me once that Alonzo’s wife, Lily, had been a midwife. She was riding home during a night of heavy rains when her buggy’s wheel broke off as she crossed the creek. They found her body several miles downstream. Alonzo never forgave himself because he was working late and couldn’t take her to deliver the baby.
“Alonzo, it hurts to lose the last of Retta like this.” I glanced around the room.
“What can we do?” he asked.
“Fetch your horse and wagon, and I’ll start packing Retta’s belongings so you can take it all down to your cabin. That way we won’t be losing everything of Retta’s.” With his home being so close, I knew it wouldn’t take him long.
Alonzo nodded and gulped down the last of his coffee. “Yes, we’ll save what we can of Auntie’s. Real sorry I sold the home, Honey. Well, I don’t think there will be room to take the beds, but you’re welcome to a pallet on my cabin floor if you like.”
“I’m going back to my grandparents’ place,” I said, the gloom filling me, the loneliness pressing in.
“As you wish.” He shot up from his chair. “You be sure an’ keep whatever heirlooms you like.”
I nodded somberly. The copper teapot was still on the table, and I was mindful to hide the money from Alonzo and save it for Retta’s marker.
I packed the pannier with my books Retta had bought for me over the years, along with the Bible she passed on, then folded her quilts and fabric, stacking them by the door for Alonzo to pick up later.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, bouncing off the two delicate gold-trimmed, white teacups as I wrapped them in old newspaper. Her papa had carried them and his Bible from Texas where he’d been a preacher before settling his family here in 1857. She never once fussed about me drinking from them, even though my tiny hands were clumsy when I was toddling about. I clutched them to my chest, remembering, then packed them carefully inside my pannier.