Heaven's Ashes

Heaven’s Ashes

by

Ronald Paxton

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

World Castle Publishing, LLC

Pensacola, Florida

Copyright © 2024 Ronald Paxton

Smashwords Edition

Paperback ISBN: 9798891262942

eBook ISBN: 9798891262959

First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, October 28, 2024

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

Smashwords Licensing Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Cover: Cover Designs by Karen

Editor: Karen Fuller

A single lifetime, no matter its duration, is never long enough.

It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but only retire a little from sight and afterwards return again.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Chapter 1

John leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and concentrated on keeping his lunch down. The outside temperature was in the low 90s, but it felt cold enough to store ice cream in Ellen King’s waiting room. Freezing droplets of sweat dotted his forehead. Sarah Jane had warned him about eating a fully-loaded pizza in this heat. He should have listened to her instead of his stomach.

Sarah Jane squeezed his hand. How do you feel?

I’m freezing and about ready to puke, John said. They should hand out blankets in here. A complimentary bottle of Pepto-Bismol would be nice, too. Listen, don’t worry about me; you’re the patient.

It was late Thursday afternoon, and the waiting room was deserted. John drew a deep breath and tried to silence the catastrophic scenarios that were cascading through his mind. Sarah Jane had been plagued by persistent nausea and vomiting for nearly a year. The gastroenterologist Ellen had referred them to had performed two colonoscopies and an endoscopy in the past ten months. None of the procedures were conclusive. Either that or the doctor didn’t know what the hell he was doing. One thing John was sure of – whenever some doctor screwed up, the medical profession closed ranks and protected their own, no matter the consequences for the patient and their family.

Doctor King had finally gotten Sarah Jane an appointment with the radiology department at the hospital. Their tests and imaging would almost certainly provide some answers. The results were now in, and here they were, awaiting the verdict.

John glanced at his wife of over fifty years. She seemed calm. Maybe she was in shock. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes. His fear had a sixth sense for any weakness, like a lion stalking the slowest and oldest member of a herd of gazelle. John was no gazelle, but he was old and slow. When had that happened?

You picked the wrong guy. I’ll kick your ass, no matter what.

Sarah Jane, John, come on back.

He took Sarah Jane’s hand and followed the nurse down the hall on spaghetti legs. The examination room was like every other examination room in every other medical office. At least the dated, dog-eared magazines were gone, probably another victim of the relentless Mr. Covid. Either that or the proliferation of smartphones that had zombified most of the human population.

John tried not to fidget as the nurse took Sarah Jane’s weight, temperature, pulse, respirations, and blood pressure. It seemed like an irrelevant exercise under the circumstances. His wife’s blood pressure had to be stratospheric, and her pulse was surely galloping faster than JB on his best day. The numbers would tell Ellen King nothing, but they would be dutifully entered into Sarah Jane’s chart. There was no bypassing the protocols of a doctor’s office.

Doctor King will be in shortly.

John watched the door close. In a few minutes, his and Sarah Jane’s life would change forever. He was sure of it. Whatever the tests revealed, it had to be something bad. Sarah Jane was the strongest woman John had ever known. She had always been the healthiest one in the family until this year.

Don’t borrow trouble. Whatever it is, Ellen will know what to do.

I remember when Ellen would come out to the ranch, and she and Emma would pack a lunch and ride up to the top of Look Back Mountain, John said.

Sarah Jane nodded. Emma would ride Little Powell and Ellen always liked Gordon. I miss seeing her, but she’s had her hands full. I feel bad for her.

Ellen King and Emma had been best friends since they were elementary school classmates. John and Sarah Jane had welcomed her into their home, almost like a second daughter. It had been routine to see Ellen at their breakfast table on holidays and weekends.

Like so many teens testing their independence, the girls had grown apart in high school. Emma had always been the studious one, usually coming straight home from school if she didn’t have a science club meeting or some other after school activity. Sarah Jane never had to worry about unfinished homework or a bad report card. Even back then Emma had known she wanted a career in equine veterinary medicine and was serious about doing the work to achieve that goal. Most of Emma’s friends were serious students. Some would say nerds if people still used that word.

Emma was a good daughter, but she wasn’t a saint. Sarah Jane was actually glad for that, although John had been unhappy when Emma missed a couple of curfews and came in once smelling like a brewery. He had threatened to ground her until she was thirty. As usual, Sarah Jane had intervened and nothing had happened after she reminded John of some of the things they had both gotten away with as teenagers.

Ellen had taken a different path. She had started to run with a fast crowd and dabble in drugs. Her parents had shipped Ellen off to a private school after her freshman year before she ended up in jail, rehab, or pregnant. Two years later she had returned to Shenandoah County for her senior year a different girl. Ellen and Emma had renewed their friendship and enjoyed one last summer together at Wild Pony Ranch before leaving for separate universities in the fall.

Four years later Ellen returned home with a nursing degree and accepted a position with Shenandoah County Hospital. The following year, she married one of the emergency room doctors who had just completed his residency. They rented an apartment close to the hospital and began working on a five-year plan to buy a house and start a family after they knocked their massive student debt down to a manageable size. Ellen used to joke that she felt like a walking cliché. Life was good. And then her world imploded.

Mid-summer, a steamy Saturday night, and a full moon, the stuff of emergency room and law enforcement nightmares. The paramedics and state police had delivered a scruffy young man to the hospital with a blood alcohol level of .15 and a bullet in his ass that he had been unable to outrun. The man was well-known to police and hospital staff in the county and surrounding area. Ellen couldn’t understand how he kept turning up on a regular basis. Someone like that belonged in a jail cell.

The cop had been momentarily distracted by a well-endowed nurse and had taken a point-blank round to his gut before he even realized his holster was empty. The drunk sprayed bullets around the room like a gunfighter in an old television western staggering out of the local saloon. Security had finally shown up with their tasers and ended the killing spree. In addition to the police officer, the well-endowed nurse and one doctor were dead. The doctor was Ellen’s husband. The drunk was still alive, serving a life sentence in a federal penitentiary.

It had taken her a full year to recover enough to chart a new course for her life. Ellen loved nursing, but after much soul-searching, she decided to honor the memory of her husband by applying to medical school. The Mount Everest of debt she was facing didn’t bother her. Ellen had confided to Emma that, in a way, it was actually liberating. She would either be able to work long enough to pay it off, or she wouldn’t. Either way was all right with her since she had no spouse or family to complicate her decision.

Ellen had always been attracted to family medicine but had originally accepted employment with the hospital because their salary and benefits package was far superior to office nursing. Continuing to work full-time while going to medical school had nearly broken her, but she proudly celebrated her fortieth birthday as a board-certified family practice physician. When Emma threw her a surprise party, Ellen had cried like a sleep-starved baby.

They both looked up as Doctor King entered the room. The expression on her face was unreadable.

John cleared his throat to speak, shook his head, and remained silent.

So, Sarah Jane, I have your results.

King moved her stool across the room next to Sarah Jane. It’s not good – Stage 4 colon cancer that has metastasized to your liver.

Sarah Jane sat motionless, frozen in place by the news.

How? John managed. The other tests didn’t show that.

I don’t know, Cowboy, Ellen said. The type of cancer Sarah Jane has is a malignant neoplasm. She’s clearly had it for some time. As to why it didn’t show up in the endoscopy or colonoscopies, that’s a question for Doctor Fraling. I can tell you that cancer sometimes has a way of hiding. In Sarah Jane’s case, the diagnosis was complicated by the AVMs Doctor Fraling found. Did he explain that to you?

Sarah Jane found her voice. He said they were lesions in my stomach, but there was no sign of cancer.

Fucking quack, John hissed. That guy needs to have his license pulled and his ass handed to him.

Doctor King paused. Yes, they’re arteriovenous malformations. They disrupt normal blood flow and oxygen circulation. Those lesions can also cause bleeding in your lower GI tract. That explains your abnormally low hemoglobin and iron levels. You’ll likely need transfusions as we move forward.

Sarah Jane folded her hands and placed them in her lap. So, what’s the plan?

Ellen opened the folder she had been holding. I’ve set up an appointment for you with the cancer people at the hospital. They will discuss the most suitable chemotherapy treatments with both of you. If you decide to proceed, they will schedule an appointment for you to have a chemo port put in.

Tell me something positive, Ellen, John said. Anything.

Doctor King hesitated. I don’t want to get too deep in the weeds here, Cowboy. The oncologists can answer any questions either of you have, and, of course, they’ll keep me in the loop. Based on the images and the notes from the radiologist, it does appear that Sarah Jane is a viable candidate for chemotherapy, and although the cancer has spread, the tumor in the liver is relatively small. Also, if you decide to seek treatment at a nationally recognized facility like Mayo, there’s a good chance they will take you simply based on who you are. The Howard name is well-known and respected in a lot of places beyond the rodeo world.

So, what’s the prognosis? John asked.

The doctor spread her hands. Cowboy...

Please, Ellen, Sarah Jane said. I’d like to hear your best guess before I see the oncologist. Please.

Ellen took her hand. If you respond well to the chemotherapy, you might have two or three years. If you decline the chemotherapy, you’ll probably have six months, a year at the outside. You and Cowboy need to talk about this with each other and the oncologists. They can give you a better idea of what to expect in terms of side effects from the chemo and the progression of the disease.

Whoa, John said, slow down. Why can’t we operate and remove the tumors? Let’s take out what we can, even if we can’t get it all. That’s got to help some, doesn’t it?

Nobody spoke.

Finally, Sarah Jane turned to the only man she had ever loved. Tears rolled down her face.

Because, John, the cancer is inoperable. I’m dying.

Chapter 2

On the way back to the ranch, they stopped at the pharmacy to pick up two different prescriptions for nausea. Ellen had explained that both medications were effective, but one would likely work better than the other based on Sarah Jane’s individual body chemistry. Doctor King had also stressed the importance of engaging a hospice provider as soon as possible if she decided to decline treatment. John had resisted the idea of bringing a team of strangers into his home, but Ellen had stood firm on the matter.

You’ll need them, Cowboy, believe me, she had said. This is going to be hard enough on your family as it is. If you want to keep Sarah Jane at home this is the only way. Otherwise, she will eventually have to be hospitalized. And not that it matters so much in your case, but hospice care treatments and medications are fully covered by Medicare.

Emma was waiting on the front porch when they got home. I saw you coming up the drive. What did Ellen say?

Let’s go inside, Sarah Jane said. I’ll brew a pot of coffee.

I’ll do it, John said. You need to sit down and rest.

I’m not drinking your coffee, Sarah Jane said. You make it strong enough to tap dance across the room.

Emma ended the discussion by making the coffee and heating up a package of cinnamon buns.

So? she asked after serving the coffee and buns.

Sarah Jane broke the news to her daughter. Emma excused herself and fled to the first-floor bathroom. When she returned, her face was flushed, and her eyes were red.

What can I do to help? she asked.

I think I’d like to stay here at the ranch, Sarah Jane said, glancing at John to get his reaction. I love the lake house, but I don’t like the sixty-minute commute three days a week. That will get harder for me as time goes on. Wild Pony Ranch is where my heart is. Besides, it will be easier to wind down my work responsibilities and train a replacement if I’m here every day.

Sarah Jane looked at her husband.

Fine with me, Sarah Jane. Whatever you want is what I want, John said.

I’ll gather up some of your things when I get home and bring them in with me tomorrow, Emma said. What else can I do?

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to cook or do housework. John will need someone when that time comes and after I’m gone.

Don’t talk like that, Sarah Jane. I can take care of myself. I’m not...

Sarah Jane silenced her husband with a look.

I’ll talk to Gwen, Emma said. She works mornings for me and Chase, but her afternoons are free. I’m sure she would be happy to have the additional hours and work for you and Daddy. And since both houses are on the property, it’s convenient for everyone.

Thanks, honey, Sarah Jane said, getting to her feet. I’ll be in my office if you need me.

John watched his wife walk down the hall, then turned to his daughter.

Do you need anything from me right now?

Don’t worry about it, Daddy, Emma said. "I’ve got two carts of merchandise for your autograph when you have a chance, but it’ll keep. We can put Cowboy’s Corner on hiatus if you want to. I know the weekly blog isn’t your favorite thing to do in the best of times. Also, we’ve got a tour group coming out tomorrow morning. I’m sure they’ll want you to sign their copies of your books. If you like, I can get Jupiter to handle that or reschedule the visit."

John waved his hand distractedly.

No, I’ll take care of it. I can...

The sobs came without warning, wracking his body with violent spasms. John staggered over to the sofa and buried his face in his hands. Emma was beside him in an instant, saying nothing because there was nothing to say.

After a moment, John wiped his eyes and headed down the hall to talk with Sarah Jane. As Emma took the stairs to her office, she considered the irony that her friend, who had seen her dreams of a husband, home, and family shattered, had been the person to deliver the devastating death sentence to her family. Life was funny except when it wasn’t.

──────

He knocked on the door and walked in to find Sarah Jane staring at a blank computer screen. Do you want to talk?

A faint smile flickered across Sarah Jane’s face. You’re probably the first man in history to ever utter those five particular words to his wife.

John sat down and waited.

You said whatever I want is what you want. Did you mean that?

I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it, Sarah Jane. This is your life, your decision. I’m with you all the way.

I’ve had a good run, and I’m not ready to leave you and Emma behind, but I don’t want to spend the next two or three years throwing up and losing my hair. Chemotherapy is no cure, and the treatment is almost as bad as the disease. Plus, it eats up time I could be living instead of pumping poison into my veins.

So, what are you saying?

Six months, John, maybe a year, but let’s count on six months. That will give us one last Christmas at the ranch. I’d like to take one more ride to the top of Look Back Mountain while I still can. Maybe we could do that this weekend.

John nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.

I love you, John, more than anything in the world. I hope you don’t think I’m being stupid or selfish. This is my gift to both of us. It’s how I want to say goodbye.

He stood up and wrapped his arms around the only woman he had ever loved and who had been by his side for over half a century.

One more thing. I want to be cremated; I’ve told you that before. No fuss and no funeral service. What you do with my urn is up to you, but if you decide to scatter my ashes, I want you to do it on top of Look Back Mountain. You can visit me there anytime you want, and the rest of the time, that magnificent wild stallion can look after me while I enjoy an eternity of sunrises and sunsets.

John lifted Sarah Jane’s face to his and kissed her. He left before a fresh torrent of tears poured down his face. This was no time for weakness. Sarah Jane needed him to be strong.

He stopped by Emma’s office and collected the merchandise carts. Signing merchandise was a routine task but one that John never took lightly. As a best-selling author, two-time national rodeo champion, and one of the greatest bull riders in rodeo history, he was still humbled and surprised by the enormous demand for his appearance at various events and his signature on everything from books, caps, and shirts to parts of the anatomy from some of his bolder female fans.

When he was finished, John returned the cart to Emma’s office.

I’ll see the tour group tomorrow morning and probably do the blog this weekend. You’ll have it by Monday morning.

Daddy, you don’t have to...

I know I don’t. If you need me, I’ll be in the attic. Your mother’s been after me to clean it out for months. I can at least do that much for her.

John opened the door to the walk-up attic and climbed the stairs. It was a large, fully-finished space that he and Sarah Jane had at various times planned to turn into a recreation room, a study, a conference room, and, when they had faced a serious threat to their well-being, a safe room. Instead, it had become a storage space that looked like it had been ransacked by a drug-addled home invasion crew.

He took a slow tour around the space and then started a throw-away pile in a corner of the room. Judging by the looks of things, he would probably need to go to the store for more garbage bags. The work went quickly. John had never been a pack rat, much less a hoarder, and had no trouble consigning items that would never be used to the trash. Sarah Jane would have to trust his judgment regarding what to keep and what to discard. Under the circumstances, he felt certain that a clean attic was well down her list of priorities.

John was heading for the stairs with a bag of trash when he spotted something lying in a far corner of the room underneath a rack of old garment bags. It looked like an old backpack that he might have owned as a boy. Why would he have kept something like that?

He stopped and put down the trash bag. Might as well take that out with the rest of the garbage, unless it contained old family photos or some other keepsake.

He bent down and examined the item. Chills raced down John’s spine as his heart rate accelerated.

Oh my God, he whispered.

The material was badly frayed, but it was clear to John that he was holding a haversack from the Civil War era. His hands trembled as he gently opened it, half-expecting the spirit of his great-great-grandfather to emerge from the pack kicking and screaming.

Inside, he found an ancient rusted straight razor, an empty cartridge box, and a letter. The envelope containing the letter was missing, but as soon as he read the ‘Dear Hester’ greeting, John knew it had been written by his great-great-grandfather to his wife. The letter was three pages long, and it took John some time to decipher the faint print and misspelled words. The contents of the letter left him stunned.

Private William Howard had served as a Confederate soldier in Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. In the last year of the war Howard had been assigned to Lieutenant General Jubal Early’s tiny Army of the Valley. The Confederacy was dying, and Lee’s forces were bottled up at Petersburg by General Ulysses Grant’s Union army. The plan born of desperation involved Early and Confederate cavalryman John Mosby combining forces to secure the Shenandoah Valley and threaten Washington, D.C. If successful, Lincoln would have to transfer some of Grant’s men to reinforce the Federal capital and eliminate the threat that Early posed. With the chokehold on Petersburg loosened, Lee would then have a chance to escape the siege and slip out the back door to combine forces with General Joseph Johnston’s Army of Tennessee. Johnston was engaged in a desperate tactical retreat up through North Carolina while trying to slow the juggernaut of General Sherman’s overwhelming forces.

As history shows, the plan ultimately failed. What history doesn’t show is that in a series of raids and battles in the northern Shenandoah Valley during the autumn of 1864, Early’s men had broken through the Federal lines and seized a Union payroll train loaded with gold bars and greenbacks. A courier had been dispatched to Richmond to notify President Jefferson Davis of the seized treasure. The security of Richmond was too tenuous to risk delivery of the monetary windfall to the Confederate capital, so a team had been assigned to transport the fortune to a safe, remote location for future use. William Howard had been a member of that team.

A crudely drawn map accompanied the letter. The most notable landmark was a proximity to Lynchburg, a city in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains that was primarily used as a hospital town for sick and wounded Confederate soldiers during the war. The map also showed thick forests, a freshwater creek, and a towering mountain peak. A large X covered the top of the mountain. At the bottom of the map, Howard had written a cryptic message that he expected his wife to understand but would perplex the enemy if the letter were intercepted: ‘Human eyes are the reason why you’ll find it under half the sky.’

Four years of misery, horror, and starvation had taken their toll. Private William Howard had survived the war but died soon after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox and had never gotten