talking, though, I do hope you'll join me for one last ride. I'm of a mind to call on Lord Harcourt tonight and settle up about my payment."
EPILOGUE
A steady wind rolled down from the slopes of the foothills and out across the plains, making the tall grasses bend and sigh. It was not a warm wind bearing with it the gentle promise of spring, but a cold, fierce wind filled with bony fingers that pulled and poked and pierced. It swept between the silent gravestones and tugged at the thick buffalo coat of the lone figure standing amid them. The figure seemed to take no notice of the cold wind or the bright afternoon sun as it stood, head bowed, before a gray stone cross. In the distance, a pair of saddled horses huddled together against the cold. A small man stood between them, his black robes flowing out beneath his white beard.
The wind pulled Cora's tears across her cheeks and froze them in place, but she didn't turn away from the gravestone at her feet. It was small and simple, a stone cross etched with the name of the dead man and his years of life. Ten years of wind and rain and snow and sun had already begun wearing down the edges of the letters, making them smooth. Strands of yellow grass emerged from the blanket of snow, teasing the stone arms and playing with the hem of her coat.
Benjamin Abraham Oglesby
1843 – 1873
Cora read the words over and over, her brown eyes tracing each letter as if carving them anew into the stone. Her breathing was uneven, drawing the cold wind down into her body only to return it to the prairie in quiet sobs. She didn't know how long she had stood at the foot of her husband's grave, but she knew it could never be long enough. The words on the stone were colder than any winter wind, covering her heart with a frost that would never melt.
"Well," she said, her voice thick, "I never thought I'd wake up one day to find you here."
The wind whistled around her, carrying her words away from her lips as soon as she spoke them.
"I hope you won't mind that I didn't stop by sooner, but I guess I was in a bad way about you dying. Didn't want to believe it, so I just kept saying it wasn't so until you came back to me." She sniffed, offering the headstone a small smile. "We still had us some good times, even if you wasn't really there."
Memories of his kind eyes and warm smile welled up in her, bringing fresh tears to her eyes. She didn't brush them off or turn her head; she had never hidden her sorrow from him in life and would not start now. The wave passed after a few moments, and she opened her eyes again.
"Even after Father Baez told me you was resting here, I couldn't make myself come. I couldn't face you until I knew that I'd settled up with your killer." She smiled again, feeling the frozen tears crack on her cheeks. "I licked that bastard good for you. Ran him through with your sword after me and some fellers cornered him like the dog he was. James says killing him freed you to go on up to the good Lord at long last. Once you're sainted, Father Baez says he'll talk with the Pope himself about making you the patron of vampire hunters. There ain't never been one before, so there's room, and it's fitting that it should be you."
She patted her breast pocket with a gloved hand. "Got me the bounty they put on that vampire's head. There's plenty there to open a print shop, just like you wanted. Ain't settled on where I'll put it yet, but I'm thinking about going back home and setting up where your pa's old shop was. Don't know if they'd take me as I am, though; I ain't exactly no lady."
A gust of wind filled in the silence as she trailed off. She could feel the icy fingers weaving their way under her coat, and she shivered, sinking back into her memories. After a few minutes, she roused herself, reached into her belt pouch, and pulled out a familiar silver dagger. She ran her fingers over the soft leather sheath, then tied the dangling rawhide strips into a loop. Then she knelt down and hung the dagger on the stone cross.