On the twenty-sixth day of May 1856, Keech, Sam, and Duck rounded a curve on a quiet gravel road in northwestern Missouri.
A large, egg-shaped boulder sprang into view, and the trio halted their horses. A tremendous warmth permeated Keech’s heart and soul as he took in the familiar landmark on Big Timber Road.
“Copperhead Rock,” he said.
Duck peered up at the big stone. “I remember this place! This is where we first met. Me and Cutter and John Wesley bushwhacked you just over yonder in the woods.” She winked at Sam. “Keech thought we were a gang of penny thieves.”
“Y’all pinned me down, three to one!”
Sam chuckled. “C’mon. Let’s head down to Pa’s property.”
Just beyond the Rock, they crested White Elm Peak, and Keech couldn’t believe his eyes when he looked down on the little valley.
Construction was underway. Dozens of Big Timber townsfolk were carrying boards, driving nails, sawing wood, a chorus of work to rebuild the Home for Lost Causes. The house stood larger than before, with an extra wing of rooms extending off the east side and a covered porch that ran around the entire structure.
Keech glanced at Sam in delighted shock. “You never told me a word about this!”
Sam returned a boastful smirk. “Granny wanted more rooms so that we could take in more orphans. She said there’s lots of children out there who need caring for.”
“Duck, borrow the spyglass?” Keech asked.
When Duck handed over the telescope, Keech gazed around the property in awe. Then his eyes went cloudy with tears when he spotted a familiar boy perched on the peak of the new Home, pounding nails into the roof.
“Robby,” Keech whispered, then shifted the spyglass a little to the north. There was Little Eugena, framed in perfect sunlight. She sat on the lowest limb of a pin oak tree, a yellow straw hat sitting askew on her head, and held her trusty bugle. When she glanced up and spotted Keech, a huge smile crossed her face. She hopped down from the oak and raised the trumpet. What followed was the most perfect melody Keech had ever heard. Each note was clear and dauntless, a heralding tune that spoke of victory and joy.
At the sound of the bugle, every worker on the property stopped what they were doing and turned to see the young riders at the top of the hill. A cheer broke out across the valley.
To the anthem of applause and Little Eugena’s bugle, the trio rode down to the property. As they approached the shakepole fence that bordered the yard, Sam reached out and smacked the painted sign that hung above the gate.
CARSON’S HOME
FOR LOST CAUSES
PROTECT US, SAINT JUDE, FROM HARM
As the trio dismounted, the townsfolk gathered around Keech and Sam to welcome them home. A moment later, the front door of the new orphanage squeaked open, and Granny Nell stepped out. The second she saw them, she yelled, “My boys!” and hurried across the yard.
She grabbed Keech and Sam and hugged them so tightly that Keech thought he would burst like a grape. The past few months had not robbed an ounce of the woman’s vigor. “I was so worried! So very worried! But here you both are, safe and sound!” Granny bawled.
“I missed you so much,” Keech cried. Then from the corner of his eye, he noticed a bundle of blazing red hair on the front porch of the Home. The hair belonged to a tiny boy who bounded toward them with the speed of a young lion.
“Keech! Sam!” hollered Patrick, the youngest of the orphans. He seized Keech’s leg and squeezed it in a bear hug. “I knew y’all would come back! I just knew it!”
Keech’s eyes poured tears of joy as he grabbed Patrick under the arms and hauled him up. “Hey, flapjack. Look how you’ve grown!”
Pressing tightly against Keech’s face, Patrick said, “Granny said y’all went on a grand adventure. She said y’all are legends in these parts!”
“Legends?” Keech turned to Granny Nell, and they shared a profound, understanding look, a glimpse that spoke of all the dark times that had befallen Pa Abner and the orphanage. But then, the somber moment broke, and Granny smiled. “Patty here’s asked every day about your whereabouts, Keech. I told him—” She hesitated, her throat hitching with sobs. “I told him that you went off to seek justice for Pa and that you’d come back a hero. I wasn’t wrong.”
Still clinging to Keech, Patrick said, “Robby and the townsfolk have been busy. They built all our rooms bigger. Even added a few more!”
“That’s mighty good to hear,” Keech said. “Because we all have a new sister.” He turned back to Duck, and she stepped forward with a small, nearly bashful grin.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Duck said to the boy. “I’ve heard some tall tales about you, and I suspect every one of them is true.”
“What’s your name?” Patrick asked.
“Duck.”
Patrick chewed on the name for a second. “That’s the best name I ever heard.”
Scratching his cheek, Keech glanced at Duck again. “You know, something just occurred to me. I never learned your real name.”
Duck mulled over Keech’s words, then grinned. “I think I’ll keep it a secret a little while longer. Maybe after our next adventure, I’ll spill the beans.”
Keech laughed.
Later that day, after a long celebration with the family, Keech and Duck and Sam walked down to the Third Fork River and kicked off their boots. They rolled up their trouser legs, sat on the muddy bank, and talked about all their perilous travels. They swapped all the best stories about their friends Cutter and John Wesley and Quinn and Strong Heart.
After a time, Sam said to Duck, “Hey, wanna hear my favorite song? It’s one me and Keech learned from Pa Abner.”
Duck said, “I’d love to hear it.”
So Sam taught the lyrics to Duck, and together they all sang as they watched the sun settle over the western horizon.
“Ol’ Lonesome Joe, come ride next to me.
Let’s roll, ol’ Joe, to the Alamo Tree.
Lonesome in the heart, lonesome as can be…”
As they sang, Keech took in the hills and the trees, all the way to the limit of his sight. Read the earth, Pa Abner once taught. Let it tell you its story. So Keech took everything in and let the Earth speak its tale. This is what it told him, on that quiet, peaceful evening in 1856:
The Reverend Rose is no more, but the hatred and greed that created him still exist. The world is an ever-changing mold of clay, capable of terrible deformities, but also beautiful creations. You should not rest till the world is a place in which folks are free to live in peace, to raise their families in harmony with the good earth, and to love and be loved as desired. Do not simply wish for such a world. Strive for it to be.
Sitting on the riverbank beside his friends, Keech Blackwood knew he would continue to work for a better world, a place of companionship and support for all those in need. With this purpose in mind, he looked at both his brother Sam and his sister Duck. And they shared joyous laughter as they continued to sing.
“You won’t be so lonesome at the Alamo Tree,
When you sit next to me, when you sit next to me.”