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PART ONE

NEW ALAMO, TEXAS

LATE AUGUST

THE STILLNESS

It is the secret of the world

that all things subsist and do not die,

but retire a little froht

and afterwards return again

—RALPH WALDO EMERSON, ESSAYS: SECOND SERIES

1

GABRIELLA “GUTSY” GOMEZ BURIED HER ain on Friday

This was the world and that’s hoas

2

THE SIGN OVER THE CEMETERY read “Hope”

Gutsy kept trying to believe in the sign, but every day it was getting harder to understand what the word even meant Hope for what? Hope for who? Hope for where?

She stood in the road, one hand on the bridle of the weary, patient old horse; her other hand on the broad-bladed s on knife and bridle had been sanded down and painted in flat colors There was nothing reflective on anything she wore, on the horse, or on the work cart Reflections were dangerous this far from town The wheels of the cart and the harness strapped to the horse were greased where they needed grease and padded where they needed padding Reflection drew one kind of trouble and noise drew another

“Come on, Gordo,” she said, and the horse bobbed his head and followed, big hooves cloround He knew the way as well as she did Maybe better, since he had taken his three previous owners here over the years Gutsy’s neighbors, Old Henry and Jackie Darling, then her mother Twice Gutsy wondered if Gordo would pull her cold body here someday The horse had maybe two or three years left Gutsy doubted she had that much time herself

“Hope,” she said “Right”

She turned and looked at the silent foron

“We’re here, Mama,” she murmured “We’re back”

The grave was on the far side of the graveyard, in cool shadows beneath the sheltering arms of an ancient cottonwood tree Gutsy had picked that spot because it was quiet and there were sonarled roots As she approached, though, it was obvious that the tranquility had been torn apart As the ground had been torn

She stopped and studied the scene, frowning