Outtakes 288

April Snow

By Cait Collins

Impossible! Snow on the last day of April. Spring began in March. Temperatures had been in the 90’s and now snow covered the ground. Taylor stood at the picture window looking out over rolling grassland wondering if she would be able to keep her lunch and shopping appointment with her sister. They were meeting to plan an engagement party for her niece. Ashley would be the first of the nieces and nephews to get married, and like all other family traditions, the event would set the pattern for future engagement parties.

Taylor didn’t envy the couple. Marriage had been difficult in her day, but with all the social changes and more relaxed ideas about fidelity and till-death-do-us-part, marriage didn’t have the same commitment as her vows had. At least she and Mark had a brief but good life. He was taken too young by a fugitive from prison. Mark had been a good cop. He died seven years ago during an April snow.

She turned away from the window. She needed to leave her house by 11:15 to meet Carolyn at noon. What to wear? Her sister would be dressed to the nines, but City Girl didn’t have to drive in from the ranch. She didn’t need to clear the drive before leaving the house. Carolyn had a husband and a couple of teenage sons to do that for her. Taylor wasn’t so lucky. The ranch was hers alone. Sure she had a couple of hired hands but they cared for the stock and the land. One more good year and she could hire more help. Taylor brightened. Her life was good. She had friends and family. The ranch kept her busy. And there was the upcoming wedding. And she finally decided what to wear for her afternoon with her sister.

Returning home at twilight, Taylor wished she had left earlier. The morning snow had ended about the time she reached town. But it started again just before she and Carolyn had gone their separate ways. The roads were worse than earlier and she battled to keep the car on the road.

As she neared the turn to the ranch, her car began to lose traction. Unable to get the car under control, she found it impossible to make her turn. Instead of heading up the road, the vehicle was headed straight toward the rock wall that ended at the gate.

The impact threw Taylor from the car and head first into the wall. A hand reached down to her. “Hello, Sweetheart, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Mark. I’ve missed you so much.”

The ranch hands found Taylor Compton early the next morning. The expression on her face was peaceful; not pained. A red rose was clutched in her left hand. Both men had mentioned the shadow that often kept watch at the gate. And while neither was fanciful, they both believed the lovers had been reunited in an April snow.

Outtakes 287

Friends

By Cait Collins

I’ve been blessed to have good role models in my life. I was fifteen when we moved to Amarillo and soon found friends among the youth group at our church. Along with the teens came an assortment of parents who soon became very special to my sisters and me. We lost my dad too soon. I was about to graduate college, three sisters were married, and two were minors. It was a difficult time for all of us, especially for my two youngest sisters. But one of my parents’ friends always stepped in to fill the void. When I married, Joe gave me away. Floyd walked at least one girl down the aisle. Tom supported and advised us in making critical decisions. Glen, bless him, still treats all of us like his own. They were all with us when we lost mom.

I think subconsciously I developed Chris Whitely from my memories of these men. In Three x Three, Chris is the father of Creed who suffers from amnesia. While his primary concern is helping his son, he opens his heart to the kids Creed grew up with. He’s doesn’t interfere in their lives, but will step in to listen, hold a hand, or provide the wisdom that is only gained from surviving difficult times. While he is a minor character, he plays a role in uncovering the events that culminated in a Good Friday disaster. Still, he’s a good man. The kind of man we all wish we had in our lives.