The Last Goodbye, a maverick fanfic

The Last Goodbye

They were all gone now. Pappy, Uncle Ben, Cousin Beau, Maude, Ellie, Connie, Jody and Dandy Jim Buckley. Even Brother Bret. He'd gotten through most of them with Bret and Doralice by his side. When Jim Buckley passed Bret had to help keep him on his feet so he didn't collapse. He'd wanted to be a pallbearer for his best friend of more than sixty years, but he was too weak and frail to do so. Bret took his place.

When he lost Bret he was so devastated he collapsed and almost died. Like every other time in his adult life, Doralice had gotten him through it. Now he sat in the bedroom he'd shared with her for over forty years and held her hand, waiting to lose her, too. He didn't want to live without her.

"Pappy, you have to eat something. Let me at least bring you a sandwich," JB told him. JB was the son of Jack and Maude Buckley, who were on their way back from Philadelphia. They'd taken the train east before Doralice got sick, to meet the parents of the girl JB intended to marry. He would have been with them, but a last-minute emergency at the ranch prevented it.

'The Ranch' was the B Bar M spread which had grown to some ten thousand acres under the management of Jasper 'Jack' Buckley and his wife Maude, Bart's oldest daughter. Maude was a twin with her sister Isabelle, and she and Jack had taken over the daily running of the ranch Bart had begun when it got to be too much for him. From the way things were going lately, it looked like another generation of 'Maverick' men was about to step in and take over – JB Buckley and his cousin, Joe Maverick, another of Bart's grandsons. To say that Bart was proud was slight praise. It was the very reason the ranch had been started in the first place.

None of that mattered now, however. The only thing was the old woman in the bed, Doralice. She'd been feeling poorly for some time, and their doctor had put her in that fancy new hospital they'd built in Little Bend. A week passed with no improvement. Dr. Alex Petry, the grandson of their other old friend Simon Petry, had tried explaining it to Bart, but he finally had to bring in JB to 'interpret' the medicalize into English. "Grams has pneumonia, Pappy. It means she can't breathe."

"Well, give her something so she can. One of them new pills I keep hearing about. And quit calling me Pappy. That was my father, not me. The name is Bart. Always has been, always will be. Now, about them pills . . . "

"Antibiotics, you mean, Bart," Dr. Petry interceded. "We've tried, but nothing seems to work. Her lungs have filled with fluid, and we can't help her."

"What does that mean, Alex?" Bart and Doralice knew Dr. Simon Petry before Alex was ever born. Now he was a full-grown man, a doctor nonetheless, and he didn't seem to be as effective in treating people as his grandfather had been.

Petry sighed. This was the part of the profession he hated, but he knew he had to be honest with the old man that asked the question. Grandpa Bart, he and his siblings had called him growing up. Now the medical profession preferred that Alex call him Mr. Maverick, but he didn't intend to insult his grandfather's long-time friend that way. "It means that barring a miracle, your wife is . . . going to die. I'm so sorry, Grandpa Bart. There's not much we can do but make her comfortable."

Bart stood straight and tall. "You're sure?" Alex nodded. He couldn't speak at that exact moment, as tears welled-up in his eyes. "You couldn't have made a mistake?" The young doctor shook his head. "Then get her ready. I'm takin' her home."

"Grandpa . . . " JB started.

"Don't. I'm takin' her home to die. That's what she wants, to die in her own bed. We just talked about it a few days ago." Bart's voice was clear and strong and insistent. "Alex, if you don't get her ready I'll take her the way she is. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Dr. Petry replied. He knew Bart Maverick, and the man might be old and fragile but there was no talking him out of anything that pertained to his wife. It was well-known around the hospital and the town how devoted they were to each other. Especially in times of tragedy, and this clearly qualified. "Come back in an hour. We'll have her checked out and ready to go."

"Good. JB, go on home and make sure everything's ready for your grandmother. I'll stay here. Be back in an hour."

Jasper Bartley hurried from the room. He jumped in the buggy when he got outside and took the whip to the horses. He wished he had the automobile sitting in the barn at the ranch but Bart wouldn't go to town in anything but the buggy. JB hoped he could get back in an hour.

Bart sat quietly in his wife's hospital room while preparations were made to send the woman home. He let his mind drift back to the first time he'd seen Doralice, on her way to the gallows in Mexico. Four soldiers were dragging something towards him, and it took a minute to recognize what they were struggling with as a human. Hair matted and filthy, clothes torn and half off, bruises almost everywhere, leg irons, chains and handcuffs visible, Doralice Donovan Medina looked nothing like the portrait that hung over her mother's desk in Little Bend. Things could only go up from there. And they did, but it took a long time.

When he got her home to Little Bend and back to her mother, Maude Donovan, he was ready to go home to his Uncle Ben's house. Another memory rose up to meet him. Before he could depart Maude's saloon, Doralice ran up to him and put her arms lightly around his neck. "Thank you. I have my life because of you. I'll never forget that." She kissed him, and for the first time he kissed her back as if he meant it.

Still, years passed before he ever thought about her in any romantic way. He'd gone into Maude's saloon and Doralice later related to him a conversation between her and her mother. Bart had been in the bar playing poker, and when he left Doralice stood and watched him go, then sighed. She heard her mother behind her. "Don't even be thinkin' that, daughter. You're not the woman that's gonna get him to settle down."

Doralice sighed again. "I know, Mother, I know."

He looked up from his reverie and realized that all the tubes were unhooked from Doralice, and all the people fussing over her were gone. He got up from where he sat and resumed his position at her bedside. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, then asked him softly, "You threaten them, the way you usually do?"

"No, ma'am, I did no such thing. I just told them to get you ready to go home, is all." She looked up at that poker face and after all these years knew exactly what it meant.

"It's time?" she whispered softly.

"Not just yet, blue-eyes, but soon."

"I'm ready when you are, handsome." Bart smiled at the familiar pet name. He hadn't heard it for a long while and the sound of it sent a chill up his spine. He didn't know if he'd ever hear that name again, said by just that voice, and it rendered him both overjoyed and miserable.

"I sent JB back to the ranch. He'll be here soon. Then we can go home."

"Home," she uttered longingly. "It will be good to go home."

XXXXXXXX

It took them almost an hour to get to the ranch, and Bart knew that Doralice had to be in pain, but she never complained. They talked about all the trees that were just now getting buds for spring, and the coming flowers and the green grass. When they turned onto the road to the ranch Bart saw a big smile spread across her face, and she murmured almost silently, "Home." There was pride in her voice, but more than that, there was joy. Halfway down the road she had a terrible coughing spell, and for a moment Bart feared he would lose her right there. Eventually it passed, but it left her almost gasping for breath.

JB and Joe lifted their beloved grandmother carefully out of the buggy and carried her upstairs to the bedroom. Joe came back down and helped Bart get to his chair, sitting right by her side. Once again Bart took his beloved's hand in his and kissed the back of it, which elicited another smile from her. "I want you to sleep now, blue-eyes, at least for a while. I know you must be worn out."

Her voice was barely above a whisper now, and she had to struggle for every word. "I don't want . . . to sleep . . . handsome. I . . . want to . . . treasure every moment . . . I have left. Where are . . . all those . . . grandkids?"

Almost as if on cue a dozen or more faces populated the doorway. Some were grandchildren and some were great-grandchildren, but it mattered not to 'Grams.' She loved each and every one, and while they loved and respected Bart, it was Doralice they adored. None of them could ever imagine a life without her, because she'd always been there. And they assumed she always would be.

It wasn't long before the house was bursting at the seams. Every relative that could get there arrived to say a final goodbye to Doralice. Bart didn't want to share her but he could see the smile it put on her face, so he tolerated it. He spent every spare moment at her bedside, and no matter when she opened her eyes, he was there. He watched her slipping away, this woman he'd loved half his life, and the very thought of still being alive after she was gone tormented him. He cried for everything they'd had, and everything he was losing, but he would only allow himself to grieve when she was asleep. He read books to her, and poetry, and got one or another of the grandchildren to pick fresh flowers from the garden every day. He talked about the old days, before they'd married and raised a family, and kept her entertained with tales of him and Bret and Buckley and the trouble they were so good at getting into.

He slept in a chair at her bedside. Day after day it continued, far longer than anyone expected it to, even Dr. Petry. Doralice didn't want to leave any more than Bart wanted her to. It couldn't go on like this forever; even Bart knew that. She deteriorated more with each passing day, and it soon became apparent that her time on this earth was drawing to a close. Bart woke from his sleep the next morning and couldn't see the rise and fall of her chest; she had almost no pulse. He took her hand frantically and kissed the palm – by some miracle she opened her eyes one last time and smiled at him. "I love you, blue-eyes. I always have and I always will. You wait for me, alright? Promise me you'll wait."

She struggled to give her beloved one more word, and she finally got it out. "Promise." And then she was gone.

Belle came to bring his coffee that morning and found him still holding her mother's hand. She'd come from town to stay in the house she'd lived in as a girl, and wept when she realized it was finally over. "Daddy, come with me now. Momma's gone and she wouldn't want you to keep sittin' there all alone."

"I'm not alone, Belle. Your mother's with me." His voice was flat, monotone . . . there was nothing left inside but pain. Nevertheless, he stood up and kissed his beloved wife's hand one more time, then bent down and kissed her lips, and when he straightened up he allowed his daughter to lead him downstairs.

XXXXXXXX

Bart stood at the grave as they lowered the coffin. The little graveyard wasn't so little anymore; now it was filled with most of his family. In just a few minutes it would hold the most important person in his life, his beloved blue-eyes, Doralice. He was numb with pain, and grief, and something else . . . a memory. He'd stood at a gravesite like this once before, when he was much younger. He was so numb, so certain he would never find a love like the one he'd lost; but as he stood here today he knew the loss he felt then was nothing compared to the loss he felt now. His family was gathered around him . . . Belle stood on one side of him and Maude on the other. Every one he loved was here to mourn with him and comfort him, but he felt nothing. Every ounce of feeling he had left was being buried in that grave.

When it was over everyone left but his oldest daughters, the twins. They stayed with him until he was ready to go, then the three of them walked to the buggy they'd come in. He hadn't spoken since Belle led him out of his bedroom that morning, and he said nothing as they helped him in. They drove back to the house that was filled with people, but the only one Bart cared about was no longer there. They tried to get him to come to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, but he shook his head and walked upstairs. Once inside the bedroom, he closed the door. When Maude went to get coffee she found Jack there. He wrapped her in an embrace and whispered, "Where's your father?"

"Upstairs," she answered quietly.

"He wouldn't even come to get a cup of coffee?"

She shook her head. "No. He's just retreated into himself. Just like he did when your father and Uncle Bret died. I think we should stay here in the big house tonight, Jack."

Jack Buckley nodded. "I agree. We'll get JB and Millie to stay with the babies at our house."

"Okay." Jack started to unwrap his arms from around her but she snuggled deeper into them. "Don't let go. Don't ever let go." Then she buried her face in his shoulder and wept.

Bart sat upstairs in his bedroom, with the bottle and the glass he'd kept in the bureau drawer. He poured himself a drink and sat in the chair by the bed. He raised his glass in a toast. "To you, my love. Remember your promise? I'll be there soon." Then he drank the whiskey down.

On a warm summer's eve, on a train bound for nowhere
I met up with the gambler, we were both too tired to sleep.
So we took turns a-starin' out the window at the darkness.
The boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.

He said, "Son, I've made a life out of readin' people's faces
Knowin' what the cards were by the way they held their eyes.
So if you don't mind me sayin' I can see you're out of aces.
For a taste of your whiskey, I'll give you some advice."

So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow
Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light
And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression
He said, "If you're gonna play the game, boy, you gotta learn to play it right.

"You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away, and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin', when the dealin's done.

"Every gambler knows that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowin' what to keep
'Cause every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep."

And when he finished speakin' he turned back toward the window
Crushed out his cigarette and faded off to sleep
And somewhere in the darkness, the gambler he broke even
But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep.

The End