“I’ll go and tell him,’’ Mama said. “Jack will probably have some questions about how it happened and all.’’

I pictured Jack Hollister, our trail boss, trying to get a straight story from Mama. She might get distracted onto a tangent about Wynonna’s high-heeled boots, and forget to mention that Lawton was dead.

“I’ll come with you,’’ I said to Mama.

___

“Well, I for one am shocked that Lawton and that new wife aren’t nowhere to be seen. You’d think they’d have been out here to greet us by now.’’

The whisper in the dinner chow line came from a middle-aged cowgirl whose bottom was too broad for her jeans.

“Oh, I’m sure he would have been here, strutting, if not for that young wife,’’ sniffed her companion, a woman in a Western-style blouse and tight permanent curls. “She’s probably convinced him to take her out for caviar in Palm Beach instead of coming out to stand around here, serving Cow Hunter chili to a bunch of ol’ Crackers.’’

I was about to set the gossipy pair of them straight, but Mama put her finger to her lips and shook her head. “Wait for the trail boss,’’ she said into my ear. “He’ll tell everybody at once.’’

A few minutes later, Jack Hollister was about to do just that. With his compact, well-muscled build and sun-beaten face, Jack’s age could have been anywhere from forty to fifty. But I guessed closer to forty, based on his physical ease climbing onto an upended length of log. He didn’t seem as comfortable when it came to actually speaking.

He cleared his throat a couple of times, and then spoke too softly. “Can I get everybody’s attention?’’

People shifted and jostled, wanting to see what Jack had to say, but not wanting to lose their place in the supper line. Some of those in position near the front muttered as other riders crowded in around them.

Suddenly, someone gave a loud, long whistle. The shrill sound silenced the crowd. Jack removed his stained cowboy hat.

“I don’t know how else to say this but to get right to it. Lawton Bramble died this afternoon. Looks like a heart attack. All of us are already here, a hundred or more. So, we’re gonna go ahead and camp tonight on his land, just as we planned. Then, we’ll ride out in the morning, so we can make our next scheduled stop.’’

The only sound now was the hum of the generators that powered the cook trailer. I looked over at the big-bottomed woman and her friend. Both of them looked ashamed of themselves, which served them right.

“Lawton was a good friend to the Florida Cracker Trail,’’ Jack continued. “He’ll be missed. Now, I’m sure the Bramble family would appreciate your prayers. Let’s all bow our heads for a few moments, why don’t we?’’

As Jack lowered his head, a ripple of prayer rose over the line. I said my own brief piece, asking for safe passage to heaven for Lawton. I looked up and saw that many others were still praying, Mama included. She always did have more than me to say to the Lord.

I used the time to scan the crowd. The fifty-something cowgirls were whispering to one another. The trail boss snuck a quick look at his watch. And Johnny Adams knuckled away a single tear that rolled down his cheek.

Later, as Mama and I were sitting in our camp chairs with chicken-fried steaks on plastic plates, I asked her about Johnny and Lawton.

“Oh, my stars, Mace. Those boys were tighter than ticks on a skinny dog when all of us were young. Lawton’s daddy used to have a rodeo arena on the ranch they had in Himmarshee back then. When those two would saddle up for team roping, nobody else could touch their times. The steers never had a chance when it came to getting past Lawton and Johnny. It was like the two of them thought with a single mind.’’

I speared a cheesy potato before it slid from my plate. “What happened?’’

“Mostly, it was over a woman—like so many men’s battles. And then, later, there was some business falling-out, too. Johnny got the short end of the stick, of course, like most people did with Lawton. But the love triangle was the real issue. Lawton swept in and stole the girl that Johnny was engaged to marry. And then Lawton married her himself. Poor Johnny never did find another, and he never did get over it.’’

“Surely this wasn’t Wynonna?’’

“My goodness, no.’’ Mama cut her steak into bite-size pieces. “Wynonna hadn’t even got her first Barbie doll lunchbox for kindergarten when all this happened. It was Trey’s mama. Lawton’s first wife.’’ She chewed her meat thoughtfully. “Barbara was her name, if I recall. I sort of lost track of the Bramble family, once they moved their cattle operation to the north of Himmarshee. But from what I heard, the marriage never was a happy one. Rumor was that Lawton had a roving eye. Poor Barb took to drinking hard, so as not to notice it.’’

I thought of Trey, and how I’d watched in awe with all the other peasants as he reigned over the hallways of Himmarshee High. With all the Bramble money and power, I’d always assumed he had the perfect life. Guess it wasn’t so perfect after all.

Mama sipped at her lemonade, then patted her mouth with her napkin. She looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper.

“That wasn’t the worst of it, though. The poor woman ended up dying in some kind of accident at home, when Trey and Belle were still little. Everyone said she was drunk as could be. She probably never even knew the fall she took would turn out to be fatal.’’

Suspicion made the hairs on my arms stand up straight. “Where was Barbara’s not-so-loving husband when she tripped and fell, Mama?’’

“Lawton? He was up at the Capitol in Tallahassee, talking to the state legislature about agricultural exemptions for pasture land. It was an accident, pure and simple, Mace. She stumbled down some steps, is what I think I heard.’’ She clucked her tongue. “That’s not to say Lawton waited all that long before replacing the first Mrs. Bramble with the second.’’

I pushed the rest of my steak around on the plate. Suddenly, I didn’t feel very hungry.

“Did you and Daddy go to the funeral?’’

“We did. It was way over in Polk County. Those poor children looked like they didn’t know what hit them. Lawton held onto them, one for each hand, as they lowered Barbara’s casket into the ground. The flowers were awful pretty, though, I have to say that. Lots of white roses and baby’s breath.’’

A rush of sympathy for Trey and Belle washed over me.

“How’d Lawton seem?’’ I asked.

“Guilty-looking, if you want the truth. He knew what kind of husband he’d been. But his eyes stayed dry the whole way through. I can’t say the same for Johnny.’’

My eyes automatically shifted to where the cook stood, too far away to overhear us.

“Why not?’’ I asked.

“Johnny sobbed like a baby, poor thing. When he walked up to pay his respects, he collapsed onto one knee and pounded his fist on Barbara’s casket. I think he might have thrown himself in there if some of Lawton’s ranch hands hadn’t pulled him away.’’

We both glanced over at Johnny, who seemed to be on automatic pilot as he passed out the last pieces of strawberry pie. The granite was back in his jaw.

I wondered if that tear I’d spotted earlier on his cheek had been shed for his old friend Lawton, or for Barbara, his one true love?

A funeral home van inched toward the gate that led from the Bramble ranch to State Road 64. Cracker Trail campers lined both sides of the narrow, crushed-shell road. Mama and I stood with the others, our flashlights and lanterns marking the route of Lawton’s last ride.