The Widow Brannigan Pt. 01

The watching crows sat cackling in the skeletal trees as a cold October wind blew through the graveyard as Mr. Brannigan was put into the ground and laid to rest.

We stood a ways back from the black-veiled Widow as she stepped forward and dropped her small posy of flowers onto the coffin as it was lowered then stooped down to grab a handful of dirt and threw it into the grave.

My Mother crossed herself as she turned and made her way back to the small white church that sat atop a windy hill surrounded on all sides by the remains of those whose journey had come to an end.

Most of the local rural community had turned out to pay their respects to old man Brannigan who had been well regarded in life as a hard working and hard drinking man of God who did right by you if you did right by him. Brannigan had been pushing fifty when he went. He had been a tall, solemn man of few words and who farmed his piece of land from dawn to dusk to make a living for him and his young wife.

I looked over to where Mrs. Brannigan stood surrounded by those offering their condolences and our local Pastor who was giving her words of comfort in her time of distress. The woman was dressed all in black from top to toe and only the shadows of her face could be seen through her veil.

Mrs. Brannigan had always been in my life. Her family lived about a mile outside of town and my earliest memories of her were of a teenage girl with long flowing sawdust hair when they came to stock up with supplies at McGinty's General Store in their beat up truck. There she'd be with her folks, the Caulders, and she'd jump down running around helping out as they loaded up.

She looked as pretty as a picture and must have been about eighteen I figured which to a then five-year-old like me made her seem as old as the hills. But even back in those days, I always knew there was something about her.

From memory, it was a couple of years later when word went around that she had gotten engaged to someone from way up North. A man called Silus Brannigan who was twenty years her senior. As with most things in a small town like this, rumor and gossip were the order of the day and various tall tales were told about the where and why this had all come about. Their eventual marriage a month later was a private family affair and for the rest of us life pretty much went on as usual as the days turned into months that became years.

Her name was Mary Beth. Mary Beth Caulder.

***

Most of the mourners had moved on as Uncle Joe and I stood there waiting for the Widow Brannigan to finish talking with some of the townsfolk that knew her.

Uncle Joe was a gruff man with a buffalo temperament and a build to match. He had moved in a few years back to try and put down some roots. The old man had long since gone to God knows where to leave Mom having to look after our farm and raise me on her own. I had been just twelve when he disappeared one Saturday in June and as the years had passed came to learn that he was a weak-willed man who hated responsibility and loved his drink. The extra pair of hands had been a Godsend and Uncle Joe settled into the routine of farm and rural life.

He gave me a nudge and I looked up to see the woman in black and a female companion approaching us as we stood there in our Sunday best holding our hats respectfully in front of us.

She took my Uncle's hand first and thanked him for coming and then she turned as she looked at me through her veil. It had been an age since I last saw her and only had vague memories of what she looked like.

"You must be Thomas," she said, taking my hand in hers. Her grip was firm and strong, "My, you've grown," she smiled, "How old are you now?"

" Nearly eighteen, Ma'am," I said as I stood there as red as a pickle in a vinegar jar, "I'm uh, sorry for your loss, Mrs. Brannigan."

She simply nodded and let go of my hand, "Thank you. My late husband always used to say that when God knocked on your door it was time to reap what you had sown in this life and hoped it was enough to get you into the next. For the rest of us, the sun will still come up tomorrow and life will go on. Thank you for your condolences."

We both watched as she turned to walk back to the Church where the Undertaker sat on the headboard of the wooden wagon waiting to take her back home.

"Tough one, that one," said my Uncle as he pulled on his black hat and began to walk towards our truck, "Never saw much of her when he was alive and will probably see less of her now that he's dead."

I stood there staring at her with the stiff breeze ruffling my thick black hair. What my Uncle said was true enough. Life was pretty isolated out here in the back of beyond. Neighbours pretty much kept themselves to themselves only meeting up if there was an emergency, a social dance, or if they were in town on business.

Schooling and the age difference was also a thing. Thirteen or fourteen years is a big old river to cross all things considered. She would have been leaving school just as I was starting I figured. At seventeen, I had finally finished with school and could now concentrate on the farm full time.

I took a deep breath and put my hat on as I gazed around at the rows of crosses and weather-worn stones silently asking those in life to remember them in death. For some reason, I turned and walked back to the open grave as one of the journeymen began to fill in the dirt. Six feet down was a plain, simple oak coffin and I stared at the flowers scattered on top of it.

The wind whistled through the trees as I turned my head to watch the wagon carrying the Widow leaving the graveyard and head out onto the never ending road that disappeared into the far distance. My eyes fixed on the small figure sat huddled against the cold and somehow knew our paths would cross again.

High up in the branches of the bare trees, the murder of crows watched in silence as the wheels of fate slowly began to turn.

***

It was three months later when the first Winter storms in nearly seven years hit the region and left a thick quilt of deep snow as far as the eye could see whichever way you looked. Thankfully, we had already stocked up for the season and the barn was full of everything we would need to get us through to Spring.

It had gone mid-morning and the sun was bright as it hung in the slate grey skies with the freezing air cold enough to take the breath away. Mom was in the kitchen making a rabbit and potato stew with my Uncle in the shed chopping logs for the fire as I cleared away the snow in front of the house. Suddenly there was a dull "Honk Honk" in the distance and I looked up to see a battered old Ford slithering its way up the long driveway towards our house.

The car pulled up as its hood gently steamed in the cold. It was Ned Beckett, one of the major store owners in town and he got out of his motor looking like an Eskimo. I leaned on my shovel as he stood in front of me jumping up and down on the spot to warm himself up.

"Hey, Tom," he shouted above the grumbling sound of the car engine, "Last night was a doozy, wasn't it!" He reached into his overcoat pocket and pulled out his pipe and stuck it into his mouth as he tried to light it with a match.

"Yes Sir," I nodded, "Pretty bad. What are you doing out this far?" I asked him.

He took a long draw from his pipe that had his ears flapping as he blew out a cloud of smoke that hung in the air for a moment before slowly fading away in the light breeze. "Civic duty, son," he said firmly, "Civic duty. Checking out the local folk roundabouts. Making sure they're holding up in this weather. He pulled out a map and laid it on the bonnet of his car, "Done as far North as Pottersville, as far east as Petersburgh and now I'm heading as far west as Burkdale."

I stood beside him and looked at the map. "Burkendale?" I muttered, "Isn't that the Brannigan place?"

Ned, a fifty-three year old ex-railroad engineer, reached up and scratched his head through his thick wooly brown hat. "Reckon it is. What's it been?" he wondered, rubbing his grey whiskers, "Three months now? Wonder how the Lady is getting on. Can't have been easy keeping that place going what with losing her husband and this snow and all. Maybe she hired some help though can't says I've heard anything in town. I guess she got a decent sum when her old man croaked. Sensible to see how she's doing all things considered. I've got a bunch of supplies in the back just in case. Cans of beans, oats, and stuff."

"Howdy, Ned," said Mom as she suddenly came up behind us.

Ned waved his pipe at her. "Mornin' Mrs. Cassidy," he replied as he folded up his map, "Now that just ain't fair. Shame on you for making an old fella's belly grumble before he starts his day's work." he winked as he sniffed the crisp air and the smells coming from the kitchen.

Mom smiled. "Rabbit Stew. You're more than welcome to sit with us."

He grimaced. "Temptation is a sin!" he laughed as he opened his car door, "Another time. Heading West to check out all the farms as far as Burkdale."

She frowned. "Mary Beth Brannigan's place?"

Ned nodded.

"I'll come with you," I said as I ran back into the house. Anything to get out of clearing the yard of snow.

"Well," said the older man, "I ain't one to be refusing a bit of company. So long as it's all right with your Momma here."

I came back out pulling on my thick overcoat and hat as my Mother stepped behind me and made sure I was wrapped up warm and tight. "Okay, Mom?" I asked her as she pulled me around and tugged my hood up.

"You have my boy back before sundown, Ned," she ordered as the man slipped behind the wheel and unlocked the passenger side door, "As for you, don't do anything stupid, mind your manners and I'll keep your dinner simmering in the pot for when you get back."

She reached up and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

Jumping into the passenger seat, I yanked the car door shut and settled in for the ride as my Mother waved us off with light flurries of snow beginning to fall again.

***

A solitary raven sat atop the mailbox warily watching us as we turned into the entrance to the Brannigan farm and headed up the snow covered road towards the white house that sat quietly on a small rise with a single wisp of smoke coming out of the chimney.

Brannigan had farmed a mixture of wheat and livestock and was thought to be a man of some means when he and his new wife had taken over the place as tenants. Not much was known about him. The odd rumor that he had come down from the North East and was looking to start a new life away from the pressures of city living. It had been through these initial visits that he had met the Caulder family and his eventual wife, Mary Beth.

Ned pulled up before the house and we both got out. There was no one around and the only signs of life were a bunch of chickens peeking out of a hen house next to the barn. Stepping onto the porch, I banged on the white door a couple of times and stood back but there was no answer. Maybe she had gone into Burkdale for a food run in case the weather settled in for a stretch. There would be no traveling anywhere if another foot of snow fell in the next day or so. You could practically smell it on the wind as the temperatures began to drop again.

I glanced at Ned who went over to the window and peered in. It was beginning to look like a wasted trip which for some reason disappointed me more than it should have.

"Can I be helping you fine gentlemen?" said a voice suddenly behind us.

We both turned to see a woman walking up from the defilade that was on the far side of the homestead holding a shotgun with the break action open over her right arm. In her left, she was carrying a pair of ducks and what looked like a decently sized goose.

Removing his hat, Ned stepped down and nodded as the woman came to a stop and looked the pair of us up and down.

"Mrs. Brannigan?" he asked as he quickly replaced his hat due to the biting cold, "I'm Ned Beckett and this," he said as he turned to me, "Is Tom Cassidy. We've been doing a neighborly check of all the outlier farms in the district after the storms last night. Making sure that folks are okay and all that. Especially those that are living on their own."

Trying not to stare, I took the woman and her appearance in. She was dressed in a dark grey padded overcoat with a thick black scarf tied tight around her neck, a long black skirt which reached to her ankles and she had on a pair of what looked like brown leather laced ankle boots. On her head, she had a dark tanned cattleman's hat pulled down tight with her long dusty blonde hair tied at the nape of her neck with the tail hanging down her back.

But it wasn't her clothes that drew the attention.

She was a remarkably striking looking woman with a sharply defined facial bone structure that was enhanced by a pair of clear blue eyes, dark eyebrows, a firm nose and a wide set mouth with the hint of a cleft on her chin.

I was so surprised at her appearance that I hadn't removed my hat until Ned gave me a nudge and made a face at me as I whipped it off and gave her an apologetic smile.

This made her smile back at me in return and I felt the world sort of fall timelessly away as I stared at her with my heart somewhere down inside my boots before lurching back to thump loudly between my ears. It was a simple smile but it lit up her face in the most stunning way imaginable. Like she had suddenly walked into the circle of God's light.

Even old Ned looked flustered as he coughed and clapped his cold gloved hands together.

Mrs. Brannigan nodded slowly. "That's mighty thoughtful of you," she smiled as she walked up the steps and stood on her porch next to us, "But things are fine here. Already cleared the yard mostly and spent a couple of hours with Duke catching the fowl as they head North."

Duke was obviously her hound who was running around chasing squawking chickens and rolling around in the snow looking as happy as a pig in dirt.

Ned rubbed his whiskers. "Well, Ma'am," he said nodding towards his car, "There's beans, oats, salt, and some sugar in the back if you be needing them."

I kept quiet as I listened to the conversation as they began to talk about the conditions and other things such as how she was on for dried peat and logs for her fire. The Lady knew her business and was considerate and firm in her demeanor and answers as the older man showed her his map and pointed out the roads which were pretty much impassable and the workarounds if she needed to head into town for whatever reason in her truck which was parked over towards her barn.

Her attention was on Ned as I came over to stand behind them as they both looked at the map which was on the bonnet of the car. I glanced at her and let my eyes slowly roam over her person as she stood there with her back to me.

She was about five-eight and the top of her head was about level with my nose. From what I could tell, she had the build and figure of someone who knew what hard work was. Farming was no life for the faint of heart or for those lacking determination or effort. It was then I noticed her hands as she pointed something out to Ned on the map.

Those were hands of someone who was used to the dirt and understood the lay of the land as it shaped you both mentally and physically. As Uncle Joe had said at Brannigan's funeral, she was tough. As tough as they came.

My eyes stopped on the swell of her hips and the curve of her backside hidden under her thick skirts and I felt something stir within me. She really was one fine looking woman and it was a complete mystery to me as to why she was living here in the outback alone.

Or maybe she wasn't alone. Maybe someone was already paying her a visit. Was three going on four months time enough to mourn? Any woman that looked like she did and was now available would surely have every single and not so single man Jack and rabbit knocking on her door in their Sunday best asking for her favor. That thought didn't sit well with me at all and I frowned.

If only I was older.

Not that I'd have the gumption to enquire for her if I was. Thirty one was such a long way away in the grand scheme of things. The man she welcomed in her bed was going to be one lucky son of a bitch that was for sure.

Not that I was an expert in matters of the fairer sex.

Rural living sure did restrict whatever opportunities were available which weren't many all told. Even school had been pretty barren. There had been a couple of secret kissing and cuddling sweethearts that had been strictly off limits because if the worst thing that could possibly happen did actually happen then me and my skinny ass would be running for the hills full of buckshot.

Better to be safe than sorry I figured. I sighed before I realized the conversation had stopped and the Widow Brannigan was looking at me with an amused expression on her face as I stared at her imagined backside.

Uh. I jerked my head up and put my hat back on as I stuck my hands in my coat pockets trying not to turn purple.I glanced at her to see her still staring at me as I raised my eyebrows wanting the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

"Give my regards to your Mother," she smiled, "Mister. Cassidy."

I gave her another quick glance and nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. Will do."

She seemed much amused at my awkward shyness and as she went to open the screen door, she suddenly put a hand on my arm and flashed me a look of understanding that made me shiver from head to toe as I felt her calming touch.

Ned, oblivious to my little drama, put his map away and waved at Mrs. Brannigan. "Glad to see you've got everything in order, Ma'am," he shouted as he got back into his car as I did the same, "If there's another whiteout make sure you stay indoors and keep warm now. Once it passes, I'll arrange for myself and others to check up on folks again. So if you hear a horn honking you'll know who it is. You take care now!"

The woman gave us a wave as we turned and headed back up to the main snow-covered road. As we headed East, I turned and looked out of the passenger side window at the figure standing there all alone in front of her house.

***

The dawn awoke from the overnight blizzard as the misty blue sun rose over a pristine landscape that sparkled with black ice, frost and another good foot of snow.

Uncle Joe was already out checking the various outhouses making sure that everything was still in one place and that what livestock we had was safe, secure and fed. Mom was making breakfast as I wandered into the kitchen pulling on a shirt and fastening my belt as I stood there yawning as she stirred the big pan of oats on the stove.

"Take a seat," she smiled as she grabbed a bowl and used a ladle to spoon the thick porridge into it, "Here you go, son," she said as she put the steaming bowl down in front of me as I sat at the table.

Once she had put the lid back on the pot, she came over and sat opposite me holding a mug of steaming coffee.

"Bad night," she said as she looked at me munching away, "Another one."

"Mmmmm," I nodded as I sucked my spoon clean, "Could hear the wind lying in bed. At least it looks like its blown itself out. Yesterday, Ned said the radio says it'll be clear now until the end of the week at least. Don't think there'll be a thaw for awhile though."

Mom took another slurp of her coffee. "Got them errands, remember," she said as she turned her head to look out of the window as Uncle Joe pitchforked some hay for the cattle that had been kept in the barn overnight.

We sat in silence as she watched me finish up before she put her mug down on the table and rested her chin on her hands.

"So," she said matter of factly, "What did you think of the Widow Brannigan?"

I gave a slight twitch at the mention of the woman's name as I felt myself getting hot under the collar at the thought of her. I gave a shrug. "She was fine," I admitted, "Nice Lady."