Under his father’s patient gaze, he reluctantly put down the plate and sat back in his chair. His father knew his thoughts on God and prayers, but for the sake of their guest, he would relent for the night.
They bowed their heads and clasped their hands in front of them. Thomas joined in the gesture but didn’t close his eyes. He couldn’t participate in something he didn’t believe in.
“We thank you, Father, for the food we are about to receive. We thank you for your provision and protection throughout the day...” Arthur prayed.
Thomas watched as Rosaline smiled during the prayer. Her fingers were long and slim and her lashes lay against her cheeks when her eyes were closed. She had a look of contentment and peace. Yet he noticed her eyes were red at the corners as if she’d been crying. He wondered if it had been his abruptness from earlier that made her upset. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest.
“And Lord we thank you for our new guest that we invited into our home. May she feel welcome and loved. We ask this not because we deserve it, but because of your abounding grace. Amen.”
Thomas stiffened and clenched his jaw. His father’s words felt like an attack.
“Amen,” The ladies joined in.
Buena started passing the dishes so that everyone could fill their plates.
The hearty beef stew was warm and fragrant, served with a side of freshly baked bread and yellow ears of corn, topped with butter.
She had pulled out all the stops to make their guest feel at home. Not that she was ever a bad cook, this was just a bit more than they usually ate.
“Everything looks delicious and smells even better, Buena,” Arthur commented pleasantly.
“Not at all!” Buena beamed. “I knew our guest would be hungry and tired after such a long journey.”
Thomas kept his eyes on his plate as they tucked into their meal, glancing up from time to time to see if Rosaline was looking at him. Her eyes were always on her plate whenever she wasn’t addressing the others.
The long ride across the ranch had cleared his head. He would be honest with her in the morning. It would not be fair to her if he agreed to the marriage. No young woman should be tied to a man that could not love her, let alone to a man with a drinking and gambling problem.
They passed the rest of the dinner in comparative silence. Only Arthur and Buena had attempted polite conversations. Rosaline would reply but didn’t engage any further. She seemed much quieter than she had earlier in the evening.
Thomas felt another pang of guilt when she excused herself from the table and went to bed after offering to help Buena with the dishes. Buena had of course refused and told her to get some rest.
Just when he was about to stand his father placed a hand on his arm. “Whatever you decide to do please be kind,” Arthur’s said gently, his eyes pleading with Thomas.
Thomas was about to reply that it was his fault that she was here in the first place and that he would choose to address her in whatever manner he chose, but the memory of her puffy eyes stilled his tongue. He nodded and left the room.
***
Thomas awoke with a start. His body was drenched in sweat and his nightshirt was clinging to his chest. The room was dark, though the candle had been burning next to his bed when he had fallen asleep. Judging by the shortness of the wick, it had long since burned out.
He focused on his breathing and sought reality as he tried to calm his racing heart. The same nightmare had been plaguing him for weeks. It always started and ended the same...
He was dancing with his wife under the trees out in the yard. It was a perfect day with golden light that shone in her hair. She smiled and laughed as he spun her around and dipped her in his arms, just like he had done on their wedding day, and countless times thereafter.
A gentle breeze was rustling the leaves. Just as he spun her out of his arms, her hand went a little too far and left his, and a sudden gust of wind came out of nowhere and swept her away. He grabbed for her and yelled, but the gust swept her up and through the trees until she disappeared out of sight.
All he could hear was the pounding of wind in the trees as he frantically searched through for her, the branches scratching his face and tearing at his clothes.
The trees suddenly gave way to a clearing. Thomas stepped out and shielded his eyes against the sun. The scene was familiar, but he couldn't quite place where he was. He looked back, but the trees were now just a gaping black void. The land in front of him was dry and hot and weeds tumbled across the empty expanse of cattle pens.
Just ahead was a single pile of rubble, no bigger than a tumbleweed.
Pieces of the rubble glinted in the sun as he drew closer. They somehow seemed familiar. He stopped in his tracks when he realized where he was and what he was staring at.
This was his ranch. The empty pens were his pens. The animals were nowhere to be seen and the pile of rubble that lay in the scorching sun was his guitar. Thomas sank to his knees and tried to gather the pieces, but they sliced into his hands, making him recoil in pain.
A rumble in the distance made him look up. He could just make out the shape of his house in the distance. He shot to his feet and started to run, as all around him his home and his ranch crumbled into dust.
The faster he ran, the quicker the house crumbled. When he stopped running and looked down, he realized that he was still in the exact same spot. All of his running had only succeeded in tiring him out.
