Marlene looked down.
For years, she'd watched him struggle to raise cattle on land with thin soil, scattered rock, and unpredictable rainfall. The ranch had been in their family for three generations, but no generation had made much money from it. Every promising season seemed followed by another drought, another damaged windmill, or another year when feed costs exceeded the value of the livestock.
Curtis's fingers moved slightly.
"The box."
Marlene looked toward him.
"What box?"
"Under the bed."
She glanced down.
"The green one?"
He nodded.
"Not the tools. The notebook."
Marlene leaned closer.
"I know, Dad."
Curtis drew a shallow breath.
"Read every page."
She nodded.
"I will."
He looked directly into her eyes.
"Especially the last one."
For a moment, his voice became unexpectedly clear.
"Don't make my mistakes just because everybody calls them tradition."
Marlene began crying.
"Dad, please."
Curtis squeezed her hand.
Then he smiled.
"You were always better at listening to the land than I was."
His eyes closed.
At 4:17 that morning, his breathing stopped.
Marlene remained beside him for a long time.
She held his hand until the sunlight reached the bedroom wall.
Then she leaned forward, kissed his forehead, and whispered the words she'd been saying since she was a little girl.
"I'll take care of it, Daddy."
But this time, she wasn't sure she could keep the promise.
Three days after the funeral, her older brother arrived from Lubbock.
Daryl Caldwell was forty-four, broad-shouldered and neatly dressed, with dark hair beginning to gray near his temples. He had left the ranch shortly after finishing high school, studied accounting, and eventually built a comfortable life working for a regional agricultural equipment distributor. He loved his father, but he had never loved the ranch. To Daryl, those four hundred sixty acres represented decades of debt, exhaustion, and disappointed expectations.
He arrived driving a silver pickup that looked almost new.
Marlene watched him step out wearing polished boots and a dark winter jacket.
He looked toward the barn.
Then toward the empty stock tank.
Finally, he shook his head.
"Place looks worse every time I come out here."
Marlene stood beside the porch.
"Good to see you too."
Daryl sighed.
"I'm sorry."
He approached and hugged her.
For a moment, they held each other quietly.
Then he stepped backward.
"How are you holding up?"
Marlene glanced toward the house.
"One chore at a time."
Daryl nodded.
He understood that answer.
Their father had used it whenever someone asked how he managed during difficult years.
But Daryl hadn't driven from Lubbock simply to help with chores.