The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1) by Brad Dennison (books that read to you .txt) 📕

It had been a stupid book, he thought. Ginny, of course, disagreed. It was destined to be a classic. Johnny couldn’t see how. He thought the whole concept was preposterous. Real life is not like that.

And yet, here he was, looking down on himself like in that book.

A dream. It had to be a dream. He hoped it would end soon. He was starting to find the whole thing unnerving.

He became faintly aware of the scent of peach blossoms in the air. And then, a presence at his side. He turned to see the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on in his life.

She stood five-one, with hair falling to her shoulders in ringlets the color of straw. She was in her early twenties, the age when she had been shot.

“My God,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. “Lura.”

She smiled, her head leaning gently to one side as it always did when she smiled. She was dressed in a flowing gown, of the same gray he wore.

“My love,” she said.

“This is a dream. It has to be a dream. Or, am I going mad?”

She stepped toward him. “It’s no dream, my love. And you’re not going mad. I’m here, and you’re here.”

She reached a hand up to let her finger tips gently slide down one cheekbone, and he reached his hands to take her by the shoulders. She was real. Flesh and blood.

He said, “But you’re dead. I saw you die.”

“No one ever dies, Johnny. I was shot, and my body died away, but I have never been far from your side. I have been with you all the way, as you and Aunt Ginny raised the children.”

He was going to ask how, but somehow, in his heart, he knew. It was like the old Shoshone shaman had said.

He pulled her closer, wrapping her in his arms, and her lips were on his, her arms reaching around to his back and pulling him to her. His fingers were stroking her hair, and he was drowning in the scent of peach blossom she so frequently wore.

After all these years, he could at last be with her. After all this waiting.

“It’s just the same as when we first met,” he said. “I said it then, and I say it now. A man could drown in you.”

“And I want you to drown in me for all eternity.”

She then pulled away, taking a deep breath. “But Johnny, we can’t. I know we’ve been apart for a lot of years, but we can’t.”

He found his brows dropping into a sort of half-frown out of puzzlement. “What? Why? Why can’t we..?”

“Because, it’s just not your time. You still have so much to do.”

He felt tears welling. “But I can’t lose you again. It’s just not fair.”

“Nothing’s fair in life, my love.”

“Then, why is all this happening? Why are you here now?”

“Because,” she reached with a hand to the side of his face. “I have a message for you, and it had to be delivered personally.”

“What message?”

“It’s okay to live, Johnny. I died, younger than most, and you’ve been living with so much guilt because you weren’t able to keep that from happening.”

“I should have protected you. I should have kept you safe.”

Her face glowed with a smile. “You did everything humanly possible to protect me. But to live is to take risks.”

“But..,” he looked away, sucking in a lungfull of air. It was suddenly hard to breathe. He felt a lump welling in his throat, and his vision was swimming with sudden tears.

“I know, Johnny. You’ve been with living with a terrible guilt. The gunman was aiming for you, because of the reward that was on you and your brothers from years ago. But he hit me instead.”

“That bullet was meant for me.”

“No, my love.” With her hand still on his face, she gently turned his head until their eyes again met. “It was meant for me.”

His brows knit again with puzzlement. “How..?”

“It was my time. It wasn’t your time. It’s as simple as that. When it’s not our time to go, not all the bullets or all illness in the world can take us. But when it is our time, nothing can prevent it.”

“I don’t know..,” he found this confusing. He wanted to believe what she was saying, yet...,

A voice spoke from behind him. A deep baritone that sounded as old as time itself. “John-nee.”

He knew it instantly. He turned to find himself staring into eyes that seemed to reflect an almost bottomless pool of wisdom. The face was weathered and lined, the nose bent like a hawk’s. The man’s hair was white like a newly fallen snow. He wore a buckskin shirt and trousers made of the same. The Shoshone shaman.

Johnny found himself smiling. “My old teacher.”

“Let yourself believe, my son. Too often we try too hard not to believe what we, at the core of our spirit, already know. We are born knowing, and then spend a lifetime forgetting and then trying to re-learn. Or turning away from what we knew and trying to convince ourselves that what our eyes see and our ears hear is all there is.”

Lura stepped around to stand beside the shaman, facing Johnny. “It’s time you started letting yourself live. Instead of grieving my early death, celebrate our love every day, in the way you live. And let yourself love. Life is too short to deny yourself love. Another may come along, and denying her will not in any way protect me, or belittle what we have.”

“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

“And you still have me, in your heart. You always will. I will always be here, waiting for you, for when it’s your time. But until then, let yourself live life to its fullest, as it was meant to be lived. Let yourself love. We all have enough love to give to more than one. You’re still a young man, with many years ahead of you.”

“But my son,” the shaman said