“And still, he seemed like such an ordinary man.”
“That’s why. He never held himself above anybody else. It was a natural thing with him.”
When they pulled the wagon into the yard, Sierra said, “There are a few lamps on in the house. Somebody’s there.”
“Likely Josephina or Consuelo, or both. They might be looking for us to return any day and are getting ready to welcome everybody back. Are you up to giving them the news?”
“I don’t look forward to it, but I will.”
“Then I’ll drop you off here and take the wagon and string of horses down to the big barn. Then I will roust out Rusty and give him the bad news. He can recruit a few of the hands to help. I’ll have a few of the guys get the coffin down from the loft and we’ll bring Jack up. I thought we would lay him in the library. Seems right somehow. Maybe you and Consuelo can round up some duds for Jack. Otherwise, I’ll look when I get there. Whoever is at the house can get the rest of the Cortez family out to help with things there. It will be a late bedtime for everybody, but there won’t be much sleeping at the Lucky Five tonight.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Jordy stood with Thor at Jack’s graveside. He was not certain Jack would have approved of the fuss made about his funeral this afternoon. Word had spread like wildfire about the Lucky Five owner’s demise and burial plans, and an hour before burial was scheduled a literal caravan of people had descended upon the ranch, not only folks from the Lucky Five enterprises but from nearby ranch and farm families and town businesses. There had been a good number Jordy did not recognize that he figured Jack had done a good turn for at one time or another.
Even the Fort Concho commandant had showed up with a military funeral detail that had draped a flag on the coffin and provided a twenty-one-gun salute. The bugler playing taps had likely sent chills down many spines. Jack had been a veteran of both the Texas War for Independence and, later after statehood, the Mexican War, not to mention his long service with the Rangers.
True to her word, Sierra, stunning in a black dress with matching hat and veil that Consuelo had helped round up, had presided efficiently over the brief service. No sermon. A reading from Chapter Three of Ecclesiastes: “To every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven, a time to be born and a time to die . . .” and then asking all to join with the singing of “Shall We Gather at the River?” But midway during the song the crowd had stopped singing, so awed were they by her beautiful voice echoing through the valley. She seemed not to notice she had become a soloist and had continued without missing a beat.
Jordy, heir to his mentor’s ambiguity about religion, had been deeply moved by Sierra’s performance. Finally, all had recited the Lord’s Prayer. The flag that had draped Jack’s coffin had been folded then, and when a member of the honor guard looked uncertainly for a recipient, Jordy had nodded toward Sierra, who graciously accepted the folded flag.
The female horse wrangler he had ridden with the past several weeks had left Jordy feeling a bit overwhelmed with her shifting roles, moving so easily to a poised, confident woman presiding over her grandfather’s impromptu funeral. She had earned his respect this day.
Fortunately, most attending had brought food to contribute to a community supper, and hands had hurriedly requisitioned every table on the ranch to set out on the grounds below the house and cemetery. Jordy turned away from the gravesite. Attendees were now sitting on blankets and benches partaking of the feast that had appeared spontaneously. The sight would have pleased Jack, with the gringos, Mexicans, and colored ex-soldiers and families all intermingling comfortably on his ranch.
He saw Sierra and Tess working through the throng together, apparently greeting and thanking folks for their presence. He did not enjoy such things and would never make a politician, he thought, but he supposed he had some responsibility to express his appreciation. Before he walked away from the cemetery, he looked back and saw that Thor was not budging and was now lying on the mound of dirt that covered Jack’s coffin. He decided to leave the dog to his mourning for now and return later with food scraps and try to coax Thor to the house.
When he stepped out onto the ground below the cemetery, he saw a mustachioed, impeccably dressed and suited man coming his way. He had never formally met the man, but he recognized him as Frank Bell Russo, the San Angelo lawyer whom Jack had visited on occasion. Russo extended his hand when he came up, and they exchanged firm grips.
“Mister Jackson,” Russo said, “I am Frank Russo, I was Jack Wills’s lawyer. My sincerest condolences. Jack was a rare breed, and I was honored to do business with him.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mister Russo. Just Jordy will do.”
“And Frank for me, since we are going to become well acquainted, and I hope friends, during the months ahead. I won’t take much of your time today, but I do require your help.”
“I will help you if I can, of course.”
“I am executor of Jack’s will, and I would like to meet with all the major beneficiaries for a reading of the will Friday, three days from now, say one o’clock in my office. I would like to ask you to inform the beneficiaries, as I think you will be speaking to all of them.”
“Sure, I could do that, if you will tell me who I need to
