Extended Epilogue

Leadville, 1883

Four years later

Ray Flint, mayor of Leadville, gazed out at the crowd gathered on Main Street. The sun bathed the town in a warm, late-autumn glow, a far cry from the frigid temperatures of the previous winter. A large, hand-painted wooden sign proclaimed, “Thanksgiving to the Lord.” Adorned with garlands of autumn leaves, it was a festive entrance to the center of town.

Also scattered around the bustling street were banners, hung from storefronts and lampposts, celebrating the season. Tables lined the thoroughfare, covered with red-checkered tablecloths and adorned with wildflower centerpieces, along with gourds, pumpkins, and corn husks.

Ray looked out over the town and caught sight of Annie Arrow, who was helping some of the other women-folk set long tables covered with a feast of roasted turkeys, venison, and other wild game. They sat alongside baskets of freshly-baked bread, bowls of mashed potatoes, savory stuffing, and jars of homemade pickles. Ray’s eye settled on Annie’s homemade cranberry sauce, glistening like a jewel in the late afternoon sun.

Her three-year-old son, George Little Wolf Arrow, was clinging to her leg. He was short for his age, and skinny as a mountain pine. He had his mother’s eyes and his father’s calm demeanor, except when it came to sweets. The mayor watched as the boy tried to swipe a taste of one of the pies, only to be rebuffed by his mother.

Ray smiled. He couldn’t blame the kid. The sweet aromas wafted through the air from the dessert tables, where pumpkin pies, apple crisps, and pecan tarts set his stomach roaring.

Annie’s husband, Sheriff Jeremy Arrow, stood with his deputy, Jerome King, and some of the other men. They were toasting to the good harvest and the good fortune of the past year, their whiskey and bourbons clinking together.

“You want a drink, Deacon Ray?” said Pastor Griffin, walking over from the group. He held out a bottle of gin and a second glass.

“You know me, Reverend,” he said. “I ain’t much of a drinker.”

“You put me to shame, Mayor,” said the priest. “I’m supposed to be the sober one, not you.”

“Relax.” Ray put a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder. “You’re off-duty, but I really enjoyed your sermon this morning.”

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts,” quoted Griffin, “Since, as members of one people, you were all called to peace. And be thankful.” He took a drink of his gin and sauntered over to the dessert table to try and steal a bit of pie, only to be turned away by Annie.

Children raced down Main Street in burlap sacks, jumping, laughing, and tumbling across a finish line. The winner proved to be four-year-old Tyler DuBois, who came running up to Ray after the race. “Uncle Ray, Uncle Ray,” he said out of breath. “Did you see me? Did you see me win?”

“I sure did.” The mayor of Leadville knelt to come eye level with the sandy-haired child. He had his mother’s coloring, but there was something familiar about the bend of his nose and the dimple in his chin. Sometimes when Ray looked into the boy’s eyes, he could swear that he was back in that orphanage, swapping bawdy jokes and tall tales with Tyler’s father, Greg Travis.

“Tyler!” Harry Yelloweagle came running over to the boy. “See, I told you that you could win that race.”

“Papa!” The boy leapt into Harry’s arms. “I did exactly what you taught me to do, and I won!”

“I know,” said Harry. “I’m so proud of you.”

“We both are,” said Bridgette Yelloweagle, walking up behind them with baby Winona in her arms.

Tan-skinned and with a full head of black hair, the suckling young’un was a popular sight in town. Almost everyone who passed her wanted to pinch a cheek or muss her hair. She started mewling and fussing, pawing at the elaborate dress that her mother was wearing.

“She’s hungry again,” said Bridgette, walking off. “Excuse me boys, it takes me forever to get out of this corset.”

“I tell her to wear simpler clothing,” said Harry as Tyler ran off to play with the rest of the children, “but she doesn’t listen. She loves wearing those fancy dresses and getting all dolled up.” He smiled. “If it makes her happy then who am I to argue? I’m only her husband.” The man laughed.

Ray clapped him on the back. “That is the secret to marital bliss.”

“That and never forgetting that your wife saved your life three times.” Hazel Flint walked up behind Ray and put her arms around him.

“Two times,” said the mayor, rehashing an argument that they’d jokingly had almost once a month for the past four years. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips, still feeling that old passion he remembered from their first kiss so long ago in the middle of those cold, dark woods.

“Three,” she said firmly, and turned to Harry. “I’m glad your people could make it to the celebration. I know how important it was to Annie.”

He nodded and tipped his hat. “They didn’t need much convincing. Leadville’s become a much better place under the current mayor. Besides, we didn’t want to miss Annie’s famous cranberry sauce.”

“Well, as long as I’m mayor, your people are always welcome in this town,” said Ray. They shook hands and Harry left to chase Tyler and some of the kids while making bear noises. The young’uns screamed with laughter and ran away.

Ray turned to his wife. “Where’s Clara?”

Hazel just gave him one of her small private smiles, and Ray followed her gaze to the shady porch of the general store.

Sitting on one of the rocking chairs was a small girl in a simple blue dress. She would be just three years old tomorrow, but there was something different about her. She could be quieter than some of the others, but the dark eyes underneath her raven hair didn’t miss much, even at her young age. She sat with a familiar book in her lap, her grandfather’s favorite, and though she couldn’t read yet, she still flicked the pages and recited the words just as her mama had read them a hundred times before.

“Here I await the end of this ado.” Her finger traced lines across the page. “Which wins, Earth’s poet or the Heavenly Muse.”

“Clara Mila Flint,” said Hazel walking up to the girl. “It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t you go play with the other children?”

“Do I have to, mama?” she asked, looking up from under a nest of curls.

“I know it’s a terrible fate,” said Ray’s wife with a smile, “but yes. You must go pretend to be a child, at least for the afternoon. Then, if you’re really good, I’ll read some more to you tonight, before you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” The small girl pushed herself off the rocking chair. She ran up to Ray and hugged his leg. “Daddy, will you play hide and seek with me?”

Ray knelt and kissed her on the head. “I can’t, honey, I have to go give my speech before we start dinner.”

“Can’t your speech wait?” she said with the sad eyes she used when she wanted to fiddle with Ray’s heartstrings.

“You see, Clara, if my speech waits, then everyone has to wait to eat their Thanksgiving meal, and I think if these hungry people wait much longer they might revolt right here and now. I got your Aunt Annie guarding the supper, but I don’t know how much longer she can fend people off.”

“Okay,” said the girl, suddenly happy. “Then I’ll hide and you find me.” She ran off, giggling.

Ray stood up as Hazel walked over to him. “She gets her listening skills from you, you know,” he said.

“In her defense,” said his wife with a smile, “you do always end up doing what she wants.”

Ray arched an eyebrow and gave a slow shake of his head. Truth was, he might’ve been wearing the mayor’s hat in Leadville, but when it came to the Flint Homestead, the women-folk were the ones calling the shots. As he strolled on up to the podium, he couldn’t help but mull over how it all came to be.

It all started right after they got hitched. Ray got himself elected as mayor, and his new duties kept him busy. When he wasn’t politicking, he was sweating away, fixing the burnt-down homestead. Then Hazel went and got pregnant and spent the next three months with a wicked sickness. Instead of pitching in with the heavy labor, she spent her days in bed going over their finances, taking charge of the ranch’s books and accounts.

She proved to be a force of nature when it came to business. She even took a stagecoach to Denver when she was five months along, coming back a month later with a dozen head of cattle and a belly as round as the biggest heifer she haggled for. After that, it was clear that Mrs. Flint was the true boss around the ranch, and everyone from the smallest calf to the most seasoned ranch hand knew it.

Clara came into the world not long after Ray had patched up the house, as good as new. Along the way, he patched himself up too, and with each stone he set, he felt like he was rebuilding a piece of his own soul.

So really, it was his own fault that he found himself under Hazel’s rule, along with their daughter. Sure, he grumbled and carried on about it sometimes, but deep down, he knew she was right. Hazel was better at ranching and parenting than he’d ever been, and no one could get Ray to do something faster than little Clara.

More importantly, Ray had realized a while back that he was actually happy. It was a revelation that snuck up on him, but one that he never took for granted.

Ray no longer went on cattle drives.

“Good afternoon,” he said as he stepped up to the podium. “I know you’re all hungry and itching to dig into that delicious supper, but I got a few words to say first. I’ll keep it short, I promise.”

Everyone laughed.

“Folks, we’re here today to feast and reflect. This town is no stranger to hardship, trials, and challenges. We’ve all faced storms, rustlers, and heartaches. Now, some choose to wear the past like armor, but that doesn’t keep you safe; it only makes you a slave to what you’ve been. It’s not the struggles we’ve come through that define us. It ain’t the dust on our boots or the scars on our souls that make us who we are.

“Leadville is a place for new beginnings, filled with hope, forgiveness, and love. Today, we stand together, not bound by our past, but by open hearts and open hands. As we gather around these tables and share in this harvest, let’s be thankful for the chance to grow, forgive, and love.” He looked at Hazel.

“Be thankful for the strength we’ve found in each other, for the unity that has emerged from our shared struggles, and let’s be thankful for the many days ahead. Happy Thanksgiving, my friends. Today, we celebrate not just the food on our plates, but the bounty of our shared dreams. Thank you.”

Ray smiled at the gathered men and women of Leadville. Then he looked down at the small figure hiding underneath the wooden podium. He squatted, and quick as he could, snatched up a giggling Clara from underneath it, then swung her around.

“I found ya!” he exclaimed.

As he pulled her in for a hug, the local band of fiddles and guitars struck up a lively tune that set toes tapping and skirts twirling. Jeremy Arrow grabbed his wife from behind and spun her out onto the dance floor. She protested for a moment, but relaxed as her husband wrapped his arm around her waist.

Meanwhile, George Little Wolf’s face was covered in blueberries from the pie he’d stolen in his mother’s absence. The elderly Nina laughed as Ellie chased the boy around the dance floor trying to get the rest of the pie plate back.

The Yelloweagles were also busy cutting into their supper and fixings at the table. Tyler was holding up a slice of venison for his little sister, who was laughing and giggling at the dangling slab of meat.

Ray Flint put his daughter on his back, and extended a hand to his wife. Hazel took it with a coy look and let him pull her out onto the dance floor. All three Flints swayed in tune with the fiddle, laughing and hugging as if the day would never end. Of course, they all knew it would, but anything the good Lord chose to serve, Ray knew that his family and friends would all be there to face it together.

As Clara hung onto his neck and squealed with laughter, Ray dipped Hazel down, and kissed her hard and passionately. After all his long years of searching, he’d finally found his gold.

That lost little boy from the orphanage finally found his home.