Written in honor of Katie, one of the original Tahoe Ladies
She touched so many people in so many ways
and because of her, I received a gift of friendship I will always treasure.

Adam approached the overlook quietly, his boots making only little shuffling noises on the pine needle covered ground.  He wasn’t hiding his presence, just offering the courtesy of not intruding on his little brother’s grief.  Joe stood at the very edge of the land that jutted out over the lake, the cool dawn breeze ruffling his soft curls.  Tear tracks ran down his cheeks, glinting in the early sun.  Of all things, Adam admired this about his brother – he was never afraid to feel.

“She was special,” Joe said.  “I never met her, but she was special.”

Adam moved to his side and gazed across the water to the snow-capped mountains beyond.  “Her letters came from California; you could have gone to visit.”  He grimaced, immediately wishing the words unspoken.

Joe looked down, and when he blinked, more tears fell from his lashes.  “Maybe . . . but there was something about getting the letters.  Reading what she said, learning about her through her words, seeing her handwriting . . .”

Adam nodded; he understood well the power and mystique of the written word.  Then, curiosity lacing his deep voice, he asked, “How did you two start writing to each other, anyway?  You never said.”

Joe took a deep breath and sighed.  “Oh, a friend of a friend.  That kind of thing.  She was curious about ranch life, so she wrote to me asking all kinds of questions.”  He laughed suddenly.  “I know Pa wondered why I was suddenly so interested in some of the stuff around here.”

Adam smiled in return, remembering a couple of questions Joe had put to him, remembering his own pleased puzzlement at his little brother’s sudden interest in subjects that had previously bored him to the point of yawns.  “So that’s what that was all about.”

“She was interested in everything.  We started out writing back and forth about the ranch, but pretty soon, we were talking about all kinds of things.”  His voice suddenly dropped.  “You would’ve liked her, Adam.  She cared about doing things the right way, making sure people were treated right.  A couple letters I got, when she was mad about something, I wished I could’ve been there to help.  Thing is, though, she was tough.  She didn’t really need any help.  Maybe just friends around to tell her she was right, and that it was worth the fight.”

“You did that for her, Joe, by writing back.”  Now it was his turn to sigh.  “I remember getting letters from all of you when I was in college.  I felt so alone sometimes, especially that first year.  Trying to fit in, trying to catch up on all the subjects I needed.  I’d get tired and wonder if it was worth it.  Then I’d pull out my box of letters and read through them again.  Sometimes they were just funny stories about some trouble you and Hoss had gotten into, sometimes it was Pa writing about what was going on with the ranch – it didn’t really matter, it was the love and the caring that shone through.  The sharing of what was important to each of you.”

Adam laid his arm across Joe’s shoulders and gently squeezed.  “When it comes down to it, to have family, to have friends who care about you, about what you’re doing – whether they’re standing next to you or sharing their thoughts with pen and ink – it’s the most wonderful gift in the world.  They are the ones who make the fight worthwhile.”

“I hope so,” he said softly.  “I hope she thought so.”

Adam turned Joe then, turned him so he could look him in the eyes, and said simply, “I know she did.” He gathered his brother into his arms, stroking his hair like he had when he was a little boy, and held him close to his heart while he wept.

Bless you, Katie, wherever you are,

for fighting the good fight

and for sharing a very special part of yourself with us

Becky, May 26, 2001