“Janie didn’t die a long time ago, though she knew that her brother thought she did. Janie died last month, in Dodge City, only a few days before you got there.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Janie Jensen was my mother.”
“Janie was your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then that means ...” Sally stopped in mid-sentence then smiled broadly. “Oh, my, Rebecca! That means Smoke is your uncle.”
“And you are my aunt,” Rebecca replied, returning Sally’s smile.
The two women hugged happily, just as Smoke and Falcon rode up, having returned from escorting the Back Trail riders out of harm’s way.
“What are we celebrating?” Smoke asked with a grin as he dismounted.
“Smoke, the most wonderful thing!” Sally said. “You aren’t going to believe this.”
“What.”
“Rebecca is your niece.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Smoke said. “What did you do, adopt her as a niece?”
“No. I mean she really is your niece,” Sally said. “Your blood kin, niece.”
Smoke shook his head. “That’s not possible,” he said. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”
“Janie,” Sally said.
“Janie? She’s dead. She died ...”
“Two weeks ago,” Rebecca said. “My mother, your sister, died two weeks ago in Dodge City, Kansas.”
“No, she died a long time ago.”
“She knew that you thought she was dead,” Rebecca said. “She said that she never told you, because you were better off if you thought she was dead.”
“How well did you know your mother?”
“I didn’t know her that well,” Rebecca answered. “She—abandoned me when I was a baby. I never actually saw her until a few months ago.”
“I must confess that abandoning you does sound like something my sister would do. But I just don’t believe your mother was my sister. If she had the name I’m sure it was just a coincidence. I imagine there are several Janie Jensens in the country.”
“How many of them have a brother who tied two cow’s tails together?” Rebecca asked.
“What?” Smoke gasped. He stared at Rebecca with eyes open wide. “How do you know that?”
“She told me,” Rebecca said. “Not only that, she also told me that you told your father that the cows had tied themselves together while they were swishing at flies.”
“I’ll be damn! You are my niece!” Smoke said. And, as Sally had before, he welcomed her into his family with arms open wide.
“Smoke! You never told me that story about the cows tying their own tails together,” Sally said.
“I’ve never told that story to a living soul,” Smoke said. “Not even Preacher. And there is no way; absolutely no way that Rebecca could know that story unless Janie told her.”
Over the next half hour, Smoke questioned Rebecca about his sister. Rebecca told him that Janie admitted to having been a prostitute, but that she had reformed when she met and married Oscar Davenport.
“And when I say reformed, I mean reformed,” Rebecca said. “It’s as Mama told me, there is nobody more righteous than a reformed whore.”
“But, why didn’t she tell me?” Smoke asked. “Why didn’t she get in touch with me? She knew where I was. I didn’t know where she was.”
“She said she thought you were better off thinking she was dead. She hurt you, she hurt your father, and she hurt your mother. She was ashamed and contrite, and wanted only to go to her Maker without hurting anyone else. I wish you could have seen her at the end, Uncle Kirby. She was a good woman, and she was a good wife to Oscar. He grieved terribly when Mama died. And, in the few months I was privileged to know her, she was a good mama to me.”
“And you say she died just before we got to Dodge City?” Smoke asked.
“Yes.”
“What a cruel turn of fate that was,” Smoke said. “To think that I came that near to seeing her again.”
“Smoke, for years you have resented your sister,” Sally said. “Even if you had gotten there in time, I don’t know that you could have found it in your heart to forgive her.”
“If the wound is deep enough, it takes a while to heal, I’ll admit that,” Smoke said. “But, still, I wish I had gotten there in time to see her, and to learn what she had become. I wish I had gotten there in time for forgiveness.”
“For you to forgive her?” Sally asked.
Smoke shook his head.
“No, Sally. I wish I had gotten there in time for her to forgive me.”
“Uncle Kirby, if you had asked Mama, she would tell you that you had done nothing that needed forgiveness. She loved you, I know that she did, I could tell by the way she spoke of you, with such pride, and such emotion.”
Smoke took Rebecca in his arms and held her tight. And, for the first time since he had buried his first wife, Nicole, and their baby, Art, he felt his eyes well with tears.
By suppertime, everyone on the trail drive knew that Smoke was Rebecca’s Uncle Kirby. Sally told the tale of the time Smoke tied the cow’s tails together, to the delight of all the others, and to Smoke’s embarrassment.
“How the hell did you do that?” Dusty asked. “I’ve been around those critters for most of my life and I ain’t never seen one with a tail you could tie. That would be like trying to tie two fingers together.”
“Look,” Smoke said. He took a handful of Sally’s hair. “This is the tuft at the end of a cow’s tail.” He took a hand full of Rebecca’s hair. “This is the tuft at the end of another cow’s tail.” He tied their tresses together.
“Ouch!” Sally said, as she and Rebecca struggled to get untangled.
“Let that be a lesson to the two of you,” Smoke said, laughing, “for telling secrets on me like that.”
Everyone laughed again.
“Rebecca,” Dusty said. “Would you sing for us?”
“What do you want? Little Joe the Wrangler? Home on the Range? Red River Valley?”
“No,” Dusty said. “I want you to sing one of them real pretty songs I’ve heard you sing. I don’t know the names of any of them, but you know what I’m talking about.”
“Rebecca, sing Panis Angelicus,” Tom said.
“Do you know the song, Dusty?” Rebecca asked.
“No, ma’am, but once you get into it, I reckon I can strum along.”
“I know it,” Duff said. “I’ll do the intro on the pipes.”
Rebecca nodded, and Duff retrieved his bagpipes from the hoodlum wagon, and started the intro, soft, soothing, and beautiful. Then Rebecca began to sing, her voice soaring to the heights and stirring the souls of all around the campfire.
Panis angelicus
Fit panis hominum
Dat panis coelicus
Figuris terminum
O res mirabilis
Manducat Dominum
Paupier, Paupier
Servus et humilis
Paupier, Paupier
Servus et humilis
Then, when Rebecca started through the second time, she was pleasantly shocked to see Tom step up beside her and sing along with her in perfect harmonious rounds.
“Oh, you were wonderful!” Rebecca said, spontaneously hugging Tom as the others applauded.
As Tom lay in his bedroll that night, the lyrics and melody of Panis Angelicus played and replayed in his head. He had enjoyed singing it with Rebecca, who had, he believed, the sweetest and purest voice he had ever heard.