The Construction of Cheer - Liz Isaacson Page 0,43
dollars of fifties there. “There’s nothing that says anything?”
“Not in here,” Bishop said. “Was there anything in the will?”
“Not that I recall,” Bear said. “But it’s been a while since we read it.” He had not gone back to it since the day they’d hosted the lawyers at the homestead. Daddy had a pour over will, which meant everything went to Mother, except for certain things that had already been transferred.
Bear had already taken over the ranch on paper by then. After Daddy’s death, he’d taken over in every aspect. A few years later, Ranger had joined him at the helm, and after Uncle Stone’s death a handful of years ago, they’d been running Shiloh Ridge together.
Uncle Stone also died from colon cancer, he thought, and he couldn’t believe he’d missed it before. Did he really think himself immune from the troubles and trials of the world? Of course he wasn’t.
“Here’s yours,” Bishop said, handing him a single sheet of paper. “They’re all just one page, surprisingly.”
“Well, Daddy never did mince words,” Bear said. “Did you read yours?”
Bishop shook his head, and Montana said, “Come on, Benny. You come outside with me, and I’ll throw you a ball.” She’d said the magic word, and Benny perked right up as Montana picked up his toy and headed for the front door.
“She’s great,” Bear said once she’d left. “I see why you like her so much.”
“Do you?” Bishop looked so hopeful, and Bear smiled at him to get him to settle down.
“Absolutely.” He looked at his letter. To my son Bartholomew.
His chest hitched, and he said, “I’m going to go read this upstairs.”
Bishop didn’t answer, but he had a single sheet of paper in his hand too, and he moved toward the living room and through it to the door that led into the main level suite.
Bear did go upstairs and all the way into the bedroom he now shared with Sammy. He sat in the recliner she’d brought from her place and took a long, deep breath.
To my son Bartholomew,
Your mother and I started calling you Bear after my momma told me you had a heart of a champion. I’m not sure she ever told you that story, so I’ll tell you.
You were probably four or five years old, and we’d just brought home Judge from the hospital. Mother was drowning with more children than adults, and I was working an incredibly difficult birthing season that year. Gone all the time, and your mother met me at the door one night, long past dark.
She told me she couldn’t keep doing what we were doing. She was upset with me, and looking back, she had every right to be. You were a rambunctious child who wasn’t in school yet, and Cactus has always been a bit spiny. Judge cried all the time, and Mother gave me the baby and said, “I get to go work the ranch tomorrow. You’ll be the one at home.”
I didn’t believe her. But when I got up in the morning, she was dressed already in her pants and shirt and winter coat. She looked at me and said, “Good luck,” before she left.
I marvel at her strength and faith. I could’ve literally killed you three boys that day, because I had no idea what I was doing. Mother hadn’t left me a list of when you ate, your activities, or even what to feed you.
I had nothing but myself and you three boys, two of whom couldn’t even talk.
You could, though, Bear, and you got up first and found me in the kitchen. You asked me what was for breakfast, and I asked you what Mother usually made.
Pancakes. I managed to make some of those, but no one would eat them. I gave you all juice and turned on the TV. You lasted about five minutes. Then you asked if you could go fishing. I said no.
On and on this went. You’d ask to do something; I’d say no. I didn’t dare leave the house. I didn’t even know where your shoes were, and none of you were dressed in anything but what Mother had put you in for bed the night before.
Finally, you climbed onto my lap, despite the fact that I had Cactus in one arm and Judge in the other, both of them fussing over something I didn’t understand.
You took my face in both of your little boy hands, and you said, “Daddy, they need to eat and go outside. Let’s go play.”