In Open Spaces Read Online Free PDF Page A

everyone was. But thankfully, the rest of the family came along. I heard the thump of barrels being loaded, feeling guilty about not giving them a hand, and I wondered whether someone had helped Dad and Jack carry the barrels. This question was answered when I heard Gary Glasser’s voice.
    “Thanks for coming, all of you,” he said. “Especially at a time like this.”
    “Well, we know you’d do the same,” Mom said.
    “It’s appreciated anyway,” Gary answered. “You know we’ll be at the service. You’ll let us know when it is, right?”
    “Of course.” Mom’s dismissive tone surprised me. She wasn’t generally so short with people unless she was upset. And I could tell that Gary felt it, too, as he said another quick thanks, then I heard the crunch of his boots against the ground.
    “Now what sense is there in not telling him there’s not going to be a service, Mother?” Dad asked softly.
    “He’ll find out soon enough,” she said.
    I opened my eyes and twisted toward the front. “No service?”
    An awkward silence followed, and I was confused.
    “There’s no service…” Dad hesitated, his head tipping from side to side.
    “We haven’t found the body,” Mom finished.
    I frowned, looking from one parent to the other. I pictured George floating in the water somewhere, or hung up along the shore. I pushed the thought from my mind. And then I wondered how they knew for sure that he’d drowned. My voice was high, thin, when I spoke again. “Can’t we have a service anyway?”
    “No,” Mom answered emphatically. “We will not have a service without a body.”
    “Easy, Mother,” Dad said.
    “Well, now he knows.”
    “It’s all right,” I said. Although my mother’s blunt manner sometimes put people off, and was often misinterpreted, I found it comforting somehow to know exactly where I stood with her, even at that age.
    Dad set the team in motion, and we moved forward in silence as the facts settled into my mind. But there wasn’t enough. I wanted to know more.
    “Where did he go down?” I asked.
    Mom and Dad glanced at Jack, who was staring off across theprairie. Then they exchanged a silent look. Dad spoke. “They had a real gully washer up in the Little Missouri Buttes a few days ago, so the river was high….”
    Mom turned sideways on the bench. “George and Jack were moving some cattle, and George went to water his horse. He was gone for a while, so Jack went to check on him, and he found George’s horse along the bank. We found his hat later, downstream….” Mom paused, raising her chin, sucking air in through her nose.
    I looked at Jack. His felt cowboy hat was pulled down just an inch above his small eyes, which were still aimed directly out, across the prairie, away from us.
    I didn’t understand Jack—never have, never will. He seemed to be the unhappiest person I ever met. And the reasons for this unhappiness, just like the reasons for most of his actions, were a complete mystery to us all. Because he rarely spoke. And he had an air about him that gave you the strong message that he had no desire to speak. So I sat looking at him, and wanting to ask him things, wanting to find out whether he knew more about what happened. But he was so far away, I knew any question would go unanswered.
    The wagon lurched, dipping through a gully. Dad yelled at the team. “Come on, Pint. Ed.”
    “He could still be alive,” Bob said.
    A long silence followed, and I felt a small sense of panic at the thought, of how frightening it would be to see someone you thought was dead suddenly walk into the house. Yet it did seem possible.
    “You never know,” Dad muttered, voicing my thoughts.
    “I don’t see much use thinking like that,” Mom said. “We’ve all suffered enough. No sense having him die twice.”
    At first, I felt myself obey this suggestion, surrendering to years of conditioning. After all, logically, it was best to assume George was dead, and be surprised if we were