Slowly, the helicopter banked over the ranch the fort had reclaimed and Travis caught sight of the cowboys riding their horses alongside the herd of cows. They were moving them to a reinforced pasture surrounded by a new high fence. “This is really amazing. We’re really doing it. Building the new world,” Travis said in awe.
“Yep,” Kevin grinned. “We are.”
“As long as-” “Don’t jinx it, man!” Kevin gripped his arm and gave him a stern glare. “Don’t say anything to jinx it. Just enjoy it.”
Travis laughed, then inclined his head. “You’re right. You’re right.” The helicopter finished its pass and headed back toward the fort on the hill.
2. Daddy One
It started slowly as all love stories do.
It started with one lone man working long hours on a small garden in a corner of what had been a construction site. Day by day, he toiled slowly and painfully. His long curly ponytail fell over one shoulder as he worked and he rarely looked up as people strolled by.
Silence is what he craved and silence is what he received. Everyone seemed afraid to talk to him and he was relieved. He didn’t want to talk about her.
His Jenni.
His loca. His heart and his love.
So he toiled on the memorial garden, the last thing he could give her.
True love comes slowly, they say.
In Jenni’s case it had hit him so hard he had never seen it coming. Just one day it was there and it was good. He had relished every moment with her. In his mind’s eye he could see her laughing until she fell over in a heap or dancing with wild abandon to some horrible song. Then there were the quiet times when she lay in his arms and her smile made this life beautiful and good. Now she was gone and he could find no beauty around him. Everything was gray and dark.
So he was planting flowers for her. Something beautiful to remind him of her beauty.
When he had started his little endeavor, Charlotte’s strict rules ringing in his ears, he had felt he would never love again.
He was wrong. Working hard one morning, a shadow fell over him. He did not look up. Most of the time he was working with tears in his eyes and he did not want to reveal them to anyone. This time was no different. He did not look up.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Planting a memorial garden.” Standard reply. Standard neutral voice.
“What does that mean?” The voice was tiny. Female.
“It’s for those who died. To remember them.”
“Oh.” A long pause. Then, “My Mommy and Daddy died.” Hesitating, he looked up slowly.
A blond girl around eight or nine years old stood above him. Her long blond hair trailed around her face and her eyes were so dark and vivid, they reminded him of Jenni. Holding tight to the girl’s t-shirt was a little boy around four or five and another girl maybe around six. The little boy had masses of dark hair and big chestnut brown eyes. The second girl was blond with clear blue eyes. It was the three children Jenni had given her life for.
Juan had been avoiding them for weeks now. He had seen them wandering through the fort, always looking a bit lost, three little waifs. Peggy tried hard to take care of them, but the three children did not speak to her or anyone else. The oldest occasionally would ask a question, but mostly they drifted through the fort like tiny ghosts.
Juan didn’t know what to say. At times, he could barely stand to look at the three children. He almost hated them. They were alive because Jenni had died.
The little boy leaned down and began to gently run his fingers through the earth at the base of the freshly planted violets. “I have a lot of work to do,” Juan finally said.
“Can we help?” the oldest one asked.
“No, no. I don’t think so.”
The middle child, her lips pursed, gently ran her fingers over the features of the face of the Virgin Mary statue. “She’s pretty.”
Juan felt a sense of panic coming over him. The oldest girl squatted down and began to dig another hole. A whole tray of flowers were waiting to be planted. They had been salvaged from yards around town by Linda and Bette for him.
“We used to do this with our Mommy,” she said finally.
Juan felt a lump in his throat and fought not to cry. The children clustered around him, already finding things to do. The middle child began lay bits of pink granite in a little row along the walkway Juan had already laid down. People had been writing the names of their deceased family members on each stone. The oldest girl began to work at planting the next batch of flowers while the little boy diligently helped.
Unable to speak for fear of crying, Juan let them be and kept to his work. Their tiny presences made him angry. Jenni had died to save them. They were here because she was gone. “What is your name?” the little boy asked in a hushed, raspy voice.
As far as Juan knew, this was the first time the boy had said anything to anyone. “Juan,” he managed.
“One,” the little boy said with satisfaction.
“No. Juan.”
“One,” the boy said with a small smile.
Juan started to correct him and then thought differently. The boy was talking and that had to be important.
Despite his agony, despite his pain, he let them be. To his surprise they were good little workers. When he came out the next day to work, they were waiting for him. He hesitated, not sure if he could deal with their presence another day, but finally he relented to their tiny smiles.
They worked hard around him, sweating, getting dirty, talking in hushed voices, but they were determined to help. A few people came by and tried to get the children to talk, but they refrained, drawing close to Juan as if seeking his protection. Once more, he felt angry and wanted to scream at them and make them flee, but he couldn’t.
So they worked on together. Every morning he found them waiting for him. Peggy would make sure they had breakfast and had work clothes on, but otherwise left them to Juan’s supervision. They called him One and would ask him countless questions about the garden, but when others would speak to them, they fell silent.
Slowly, his anger faded and he began to enjoy their company. The garden began to look lush and beautiful with its red brick walkways edged with pink granite and the plethora of blooming flowers. “I like bluebonnets,” the oldest girl, Margie, told Juan and tickled his nose with one.
“And why is that?”
“Cause they’re pretty,” she answered with a laugh and rolled her eyes.
Juan just smiled.
He began to have lunch with them and then breakfast. They began to laugh and tell him stories. Every night when they went inside to be with Peggy and her son, they would hug him and give him kisses on his cheeks. The pain slowly lessened inside and he found himself smiling.