Page 124 of Stockman's Showdown

She cupped her mouth to stop blubbering, with the thick hot tears against her cheeks.

‘Say it back, kid. Come on.’

‘I love you too, Pop.’

He nodded, satisfied, then slumped against her chest, lying on the stone path, in the garden he’d built with his wife, on the edge of the stock school he’d created, on the land he loved. His body became heavier, his eyes became still on the soft blue summer sky as his last breath left his chest in a whisper on an outback sunrise, and the world became silent.

Forty-nine

The days merged into one—sunrise, sunset, then sunrise and sunset, stuck in a cycle of light and dark. Bree ate food she didn’t taste. She drank but wasn’t thirsty. She listened but didn’t hear, all while completely and totally numb.

The doctor said Charlie’s heart had given out. Those last few days had been too much of a strain for his heart.

Even though they said he’d proved them all wrong, lasting an extra five years past their diagnosis, Bree had always hoped her grandfather would outlive her, just so she didn’t have to do this on her own.

She thought she’d be ready for the funeral, but nothing could prepare her for the deep-seated level of loneliness, where grief became a long road without sunshine and flowers.

When the lawyer gave her a letter from Charlie, it gave her something to hold on to, to see her through that ugly haze created by grief.

In true Charlie style, it was simple:

Hey, Kid,

Don’t grieve too long. We always knew this was gonna happen. Unlike other people, we had warning enough to plan my funeral and everything.

But I decided to find a blinking pen and write down the extra bits I might forget to tell you. This is the fifth time I’ve rewritten this letter. I think the lawyer’s getting sick of me doing it.

Anyhoodle, after recent events, finding Pandora, and the cave with Harry and that gold, I had to. So this is why you’ve got this letter, when I haven’t written one in decades. So, here we go…

Someone said to me once, dunno who, but they reckoned I should look at this whole tricky heart thing as a gift, coz I’d been told when my time was up. And I did.

The way I see it, kid, we’re all given a ticket of time in this world. We never truly know when that ticket gets called up, which is why I got to live every second of every day like it’s my last, living a life with no regrets. And I tried hard to have none.

So, this is my last list of things I want you to do for me, kid. You’d better do it, too.

It’s not a big list, but it’ll help you grieve, and also to move on with your future. So, attached is a list of things I want you to give to people, like Cowboy Craig. He gets my rodeo ropes and spurs, coz I know he’ll treasure them.

Don’t sell Pandora to anyone, even if she just sits in the shed. I enjoyed watching you smile when you drove her, and Harry would want it to stay in the family. Just don’t let Dex turn it into a hot rod, okay?

Sadly, the caretaker’s caveat is over, and according to that contract, we’ve got this grace period to move all our gear out. Don’t get mad at them Riggs brothers because this is what Darcie and I negotiated. So, it’s an ironclad deal, kid.

First up, I want you to clean out my room. I know it might seem cruel to do it so soon, but it’s what I want. Then you’re to clean out Liam’s room, too. The clothes and stuff you don’t want are to go to Mrs Sternston at the sewing store. She’ll send it toa friend in Queensland, who runs the Goodwill there. That way, you won’t see anyone wearing our clobber round town.

The Station Hand says he’s got room to store the blacksmithing gear for as long as you need, and for anything else you want to store for a bit, including the stockhorses. Although Cowboy Craig has some stables at his place, if you need. And I’m sure there are plenty of people who’ll volunteer or offer to buy them. They’re good stockhorses.

If you haven’t already, see Lenny about Harry’s gold you found, and he’ll take it to the gold broker and sell it.

Then I want you to use the gold for that holiday you’ve always yakked about, then find yourself a home. As much as I would have loved having the means to buy Elsie Creek Station, which has always been a home for us both, I can’t. So get your own, kid. Find that place perfect for you where you can work on the tools, with one eye on the weather and a view of your own paddock.

Just know I’ll always be watching over you from the long paddock of eternity with the rest of your family, so you know you’re never alone.

Until then, may your seat sit well in that stockman’s saddle with that stockwhip whirling like the wind, and be sure to raise your cuppa as you keep an eye on that outback sunrise every day forward until we meet again.

All my love, your grandfather,

Charlie ‘Splinter’ Splint (Your Pop)

Bree had read it enough times now that the paper was wearing at the creases. Wiping at her tears, she tucked the letter safely away in her pocket, nearing the last of the entire funeral process. After this, the packing would start, but first she had to get through today.

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