Epilogue

Well, I’ve gotten to the end of this little tale. I’m back on my mountain. And the seasons are moving on into late fall and winter. Most of the leaves have fallen, and it’s no longer shirt sleeve weather during the day. The snow hasn’t started yet. But I can smell it in the air.

The doctors finally released me from the hospital. Doc Stone was responsible for that. He was well aware of what I wanted and what I was willing to do to get what I wanted. I was wheeled out to the hospital curb with an armload of medications and orders to go to Mabel’s and what was probably the biggest party in Elk City history. I then spent a week in my camper. Not because I had to, but because the various individuals that I called family wanted to make sure that I could handle the mountain.

Once I had their ok, Margarite, Jughead, Shadow, and I went home.

That ride home proved something to me that the doctors had said. Something I already knew, I needed exercise. Once I got settled at home, I started doing as much as I could to get back into shape. Not that it wasn’t that hard to do. There is something about country living, and living in the high country, that forces you to get into shape.

Between chopping a winter supply of firewood, digging a new outhouse, and riding the fence line, it did seem like work at the time, but flatlanders will pay good money for the privilege.

Some other things needed tending to. Caleb and Jackson had been laid to rest. I picked out a quiet meadow. Plenty of wildflowers and aspens. I hoped they were happy with my choice. I had also brought up a pair of markers for them. Nothing fancy. Interesting thing about that, I knew that there were other hermits on the mountain. Some were gold bugs like Caleb and Jackson. Some were vet’s, unwilling, or unable to deal with civilization. Others were distrustful of society and had moved off the grid. I rarely saw them, but I did see their tracks. In later years, when I stopped by Caleb and Jackson’s meadow to say hello, I would find coins or a sprinkle of gold dust on their markers. They may not have had a family, but they had friends. And sometimes that’s more valuable.

I know you’re going to ask, what happen to Mary? Well, several things were going on that day. First, Doc Stone was called and showed up during Mary’s visit. Also, Paul Thompson, the Sheriff, was called. Based on the medical necessity, Doc Stone authorized that the intercom in my room be turned on. Everything that Mary had said was heard and conveniently recorded by five different cell phones.

When Mary came to in the ER, she immediately demanded that the police be called and that charges be filed against Suzy. Paul came into her room and took her statement. By the time she had finished, the recordings of what happened in my room had gone viral. Shortly after signing the police report, Mary received a call on her cell phone.

Nobody knows who called. Nobody knows what was said. All that anybody could say for sure was that a loud voice on her phone spoke to Mary non-stop for 10 minutes. All Mary could say was yes, sir and no sir. Once she said ‘but’ and was cut off by an even louder voice. At the end of the conversation, Mary asked Paul for the crime report and tore it up. She told Paul that there had been a mistake, and no report would be filed.

But the damage had been done. Mary disappeared from the media world. At last report, she had retired to a small border town in Arizona. She was living with her three cats on a pension. She was a local celebrity for her cactus garden.

Today was the late season. The aspens had dropped their leaves. There was ice on the creek in the morning. Winter was fast on the way. I had just gotten back from riding the fence line one last time. With the new acreage, I had won on the tax auction, it took an extra, satisfying week.

I got Margarite and Jughead brushed and curried and fed. I made sure that there was plenty of hay for them and that their stalls had a thick layer of straw, it was looking to get cold tonight.

You may remember the beginning of this story, where I told you that the springtime was the hunger time for the mountain folk. Late fall, just before the first snow, is my favorite time of the year. The air is crisp and clean and clear. The gentle sounds of the mountain carry for miles, and life begins to slow down. The hint of storm and blizzard isn’t something to be feared or avoided. It’s an opportunity to hunker down in front of the fire, drink that hot toddy, cuddle with your lover, and appreciate life.

It was getting on to sundown, and there was a definite nip in the air. Probably have snow in the morning. I mentally reviewed what I had and what I might need. I couldn’t think of a thing.

“Matt,” a voice from the cabin called out. “Dinner’s ready, rabbit stew.”

And now, I knew life was complete.