AMERIICAN REQUIEM
✹
"LEE?"
// THREE

WREN DUTTON WAS FIVE WHEN SHE FIRST STARTED RIDING. when she sat on her fathers knee at some auction, the braids that Beth had put in her hair that morning moving and fraying with the mere velocity as she jumped up and pointed at the horses that were paraded by. The men holding the reins trying to impress both her father, but more importantly, his wallet.

Growing tired of sitting on the saddle of her siblings horses, aching for something of her own. And after a tedious and long talk of the responsibility of having her own horse, her father had agreed to it.

She had spent days of summer leaning on the fence of the pen — small arms crossed over the wooden beams that she rested her chin on as she watched her brothers and fellow wranglers break the horse she had declared 'clover' on the ride home. Soft exhales as the question 'can I ride her yet' left her mouth every other minute.

Years were spent running from the car after school, her backpack disregarded somewhere on the grass between the lodge and the stable, short legs aching from the speed she ran at. Weekends begging one of her older siblings to take her to the lake, until she was old enough to ride by herself. Once upon a time, Wren believed that Clover was the only thing on the ranch, in the world that understood her, without her even having to open her mouth.

And now? She leant against the same fence, finally tall enough not having to balance her leg on the wooden beam closest to the ground. Trading in her braids for hair that wisp in the mercy of the breeze trapped between the valleys on either side of the ranch.

Eyes fixated on the animal she wondered if it would even recognise her now. As it galloped around the enclosed space, searching for a false sense of freedom despite being so clearly trapped.

" she wouldn't let anyone else ride her." Lee hums, settling next to his sister, hunched slightly to reach the same level as her " after you left, all the wranglers were bucked off before they could even leave the coral."

Soft laugher ripples from the woman's lips as she nods her head, lips quirking into a soft smirk "what can I say? I leave a lasting impression."

Turning her head to face the gathering malicia of cowboys and livestock agents outside the lodge. Black SUV's parked alongside the horses tied to the fence. Men holstering rifles and sharing ammunition, preparing for war.

Lips pursing as she glances at Lee, who is still watching the horse  "what's that all about?"

He replies with a hand hitting the air as she shakes his head " just ranch stuff," he tells her simply, although nothing that brings that many people to this place is ever simple "nothing dad wants you to be worrying about."

That was the answer, it always had been. In different regurgitations whilst Wren was growing up. She was the 'baby' of the family, the curse of being born last. She had lost track of how many times the curses from her siblings mouth had been met with 'hey! not in front of your sister," by her father.

There was little she could be sheltered from, at least she thought. Growing up with four older brothers made it almost impossible for Wren to be squeamish. She had watched one of her brothers clutching a bloody nose from as young as she can remember anything. She had once found her father's gun lying around, wielding it in her tiny hands, the weight of it almost dragging her small body down.

When Lee had found her, reprimanded her with shouts that came from a place of fear: old enough to understand the possible repercussions if her fingers had traveled over the weapon in her permanent state of childlike curiosity.

Raised voice only softening when he noticed the welling of her eyes and quiver of her lips pulled into a frown — both because of her eldest brothers raised voice, but also the impending doom of the thing she was holding moments ago.

Instead, he blew out air from his mouth. Bending on his knee as his crossed arms unfolded, beckoning over his little sister with a soft 'come ere' kid.'.

Finding some comfort as the small hands barely reached his upper back as they wrapped over his shoulders.

Lee was the softest brother for the little girl, he just hid it better than the rest of his siblings. From the outside, he wasn't as much of a friend to her as Wyatt was, or he didn't look out for her as much as Kayce did, and he definitely didn't have half the strong sense of protection as Beth did.

In truth, he had it all. He had even dialled up by a hundred percent. But unlike his siblings, his love for Wren didn't need an audience to spectate it or a reason for it to blossom in certain times.

Lee was consistent, placing an extra scoop of ice cream in her bowl at the dinner table. not even acknowledging the act except the little smile he would barely let quirk on his lips when he heard her whisper 'he gave me more than you' to Wyatt.

Pretending to go for a horse ride each Saturday morning when he'd notice the girl scarfing down her breakfast. Unlike her siblings who still had Pyjamas (or in some cases, last nights clothes) on, she was fully dressed in her riding clothes. And her persistent stance by the stables by Clover, he acted like it was merely a coincidence.

Wren didn't notice, not even now. When her eldest brother was the only one to notice the woman stood alone at the fence of the pen. Having muttered something to one of the wranglers about leaving something in the barn. Except he hadn't made it that far, the direction of his footsteps calling out his lie the second he planted himself by his sister.

Wren nodded her head, accepting that was the only answer she was going to be getting out of him,

" just— be safe, yeah?" she decided not to push, despite the lingering thoughts of her age, the fact she wasn't a child anymore, that she knew the cruelty of the world from direct blows from it.

Lee just nodded his head, backing away from the fence " always am." he stated so simply, lips quirked into a confident smile, bordering on egotistical.

Backing away, taking steps back as his little sister shook her head, pushing down the own small smile on her lips.

— —

SHE DIDN'T SLEEP BEFORE THEY ALL CAME BACK, a habit she picked up from her father. Who when she was the last one of his children to come home, would be sat in the armchair by the fireplace. Just tapping the pads of his fingers against the arm of it. He wouldn't reprimand her for the hour she'd walk in or argue with her about a curfew she'd broken. instead, just acknowledge she'd finally come home, especially towards the end when it wasn't clear if she would or not.

Softly humming a "goodnight sweetheart." to which the bashful and (usually) intoxicated girl would nod her head and smile at the man "goodnight daddy." and then once her bedroom door clicked shut, his would follow a minute or two later.

Her legs were curled to her chest, the fire softly losing its stamina with how long it had been since the woman had paid any attention to it. Old reruns of some show she remembered liking as a kid softly reverberated against the material of the couch as it played out of the speakers of her laptop.

It's what she revolved to, her childlike self when she came back. Wren didn't know how to be herself in this place, she hadn't lived here near enough half a decade. Where did the person she became in New York fit in here? short answer, she didn't.

Her husband wasn't here (thank god), her job wasn't here. None of the small number of people she called her friends hadn't reached out in the few days since she had left. They must have known she wasn't there, the people she shared paper cups of burnt coffee around the desk at the hospital must have heard she was relocating to a hospital in Billings.

The wives of Aaron's work partners must have heard something from their partners about the wife who ran away.

No one had reached out, not a single text or call. Not like Wren would answer them, not for another week at least. When she felt comfortable enough with her feet in this part of her life to even turn back and acknowledge the last five years.

The only number that had reached out in the last five days was the only one she didn't want. None of the messages or litter of voicemails left were ones of concern or apology. Threats that only felt empty because of the distance between them, one she knew was a matter of time before he crossed. Her divorce lawyer must have worked quickly, as the next morning a string of messages squashed between pleads for her to come home were ones of 'I'm not signing shit' and insults that just bounced off her skin and back onto the phone screen.

Aaron wouldn't come here, at least right now. With the news of her return being so fresh, as well as the whispers of why she'd left him. All of it accompanied by the dark marks slowly fading on her skin, everyone knew it just by looking at her.

Wren didn't even have to say anything, it was the jump of her skin when a knife dropped from Wyatt's hand onto the table at dinner. It was the wince when Beth and Jamie got into another one of their sparring matches and he began to shout.

They all knew, shared glances when their youngest sister and daughter's head hung low. Silent conversations and promises spoke in squints of the corners of their eyes and tenses of jaws.

But they knew it as well as Wren did. One day, Aaron would show up — and that's when they'd take action.

" what you still doing up?" beth hummed, her dressing gown tied as her feet softly padded through the house. The sight of her little sister under the woven blanket pulled her lips into a soft smile.

The younger of the two sisters shrugs her shoulders, pulling her knees in to make room for Beth who soon plops down beside her. Hand instinctively reaching to smooth out the messy strands of her hair.

"just waiting for them to get back." the blonde hums softly, flickering her gaze between the laptop screen and her older sister.

Beth laughed softly " oh kid, you're gonna be up for a while..." she pulled at the blanket to cover herself " this ain't you stumbling in from billings worried about your curfew, they could be out til five am,"

The blonde hummed, moving her body to lie against her sister — the slight tenderness of her bruised cheek colliding with the cooling silk of her dressing gown. The warmth of her legs curling against her sister's cold ones.

" I don't mind." the youngest hums, watching the pixels of the screen " not use to sleepin' alone yet."

Beth nodded, her fingers brushing the hair from her sister's face. Revealing the ache she wore so heavily on the inside, it wasn't covered up by makeup or anything else. It was there, plain as day.

She should have done something, god knew she wanted to. Watching as her little sister sat in front of her in that restaurant months back, pulling hair in front of her face, let jittering under the table with every vibration of her phone on the table. The redness that poked out under the lather of makeup on her lip.

Beth felt she should have stormed into that place she knew her brother-in-law worked, and made him feel every ounce of pain that she felt the longer she watched her little sister silently ache in front of her. Should have ended the problem with a revolver in his mouth before he had the chance to hurt her again.

The tension of her hand doesn't inflict on the softness of sister's skin " why'd you let him do that to you?" voice barely a whisper.

Wren doesn't meet her sister's eyes, jaw aching with the tension she applies to it " Beth..".

" you wouldn't have stood for it, the sister I raised wouldn't of let anyone get close enough to let the thought of hurting you get in their mind."

Because truthfully, Beth had raised her. The guilt of their mother's death lingered every time she looked at the small blonde who was aching for some maternal comfort in a place where none existed. In a place of boyish behaviour and brutality of arguments resolved with fists, Beth was her sister's guide.

The blonde shaking her head " I don't want to talk about it." she exhaled, it was in the past. At least currently it was.

He wasn't always like that. Aaron once was the only touch that felt gentle to her. She yearned for the feeling of his hands on her, in any way she could get it. Tracing the freckles on her arms or the swollen ache of her lips after they kissed.

She trusted the touch so much that it felt sweeter after it came from something harsh. Like the man she still loved lingered in the palms of the man who had hurt her. Wren loved that man too much to lose him to moments he lost his temper, no matter how frequent they grew.

For her, it was the reminder that however harsh the blows felt. He was the only there to soothe it afterwards. He still was, that was the worst part.

— —

SHE HADNT REMEMBERED FALLING ASLEEP. Her chin rested against her sister's shoulder. Softly breathing that felt almost cruel considering the world that was changing without her knowledge.

But her eyes opened, sun shining through the unpulled curtains of the windows of the sitting room. Face smushed into a pillow instead of Beth's side.

Not woken by the natural force of her mind being fully rested, or the soft drawl of her father telling her she could go upstairs now.

Instead the sound of people inside the house. Soft police lights mingling with the golden Montana sun as voices boomed loudly outside.

Pushing off the blanket that provided her the only warmth she had felt in a long time, instantly shuddering with her bare feet against the cold wood of the floor.

Fear quaked in the air as she opened the front door to the lodge — nobody really looking at the blonde beside the acknowledgment that she was there on the porch. Something was wrong, she could feel it.

Wyatt is the first one to look at her, his face said it all. Fingers clutching tighter around the phone he held to his ear, muffled orders that his little sister couldn't hear. Still in the clothes he was wearing at dinner last night, the caked dirt on his hands peeling off with the aggression of the flex of his hands muscles.

He only mouthed 'Lee' before he turned away. Before his sister could read the same worry that lingered in his eyes too.

Her lips part, the pounding of her heart almost reverberated her chest as she looks at her father who leans in the arch of the porch. Gazing out to one of the fields in the distance, " dad?" she asks.

And when John Dutton turns, he doesn't see his twenty six year old daughter — in a New York yankees hoodie and sleep shorts slightly skewed from sleeping. He saw the three year old who stood on the edge of her tent, the braids that her mother had tied in her hair messy as she stood barefoot in the dirt. How he's always seen her since the day his wife died.

When he doesn't answer, she takes a step closer — eyes examining the scene unfolding on their lawn "what's— what's going on?" the same concern teetering in her voice that he had in his but he couldn't verbalise.

Instead his eyes just drifted back to the sight of the greenery, swallowing words that never fully formed on his tongue. Noticing his daughter walk beside him, gazing past the bushes to look at the people pacing around the drive.

Police, Livestock agents, the majority of the cowboys who worked on the ranch. That number of people never meant anything good, she may have been in the dark about a lot of things that happened here. But she wasn't stupid, this many people would never end in anything good.

Then her gaze follows her father's. Following the slight harsher intake of breath from his mouth. In that moment, she wished she hadn't.

Wren didn't need to see his face to know that the body lying over the saddle of Kayce's horse was her eldest brother.

She felt it, the shift. In the world, in the ranch, in the fact that nothing would feel the same the second her eyes caught onto the horse a mile or so in the distance holding Lee's lifeless body.

Whatever Jamie says as he appears in front of them on the grass blurs with the high frequency that penetrates her eardrums. The brush of her father's shoulder against hers almost knocks her to the floor. Jaw jittering as she tries to pull some kind of plea together, despite knowing it was too late. He was already gone, there was no god for her to fall to her knees and grovel to.

Instead she takes unsteady steps down the porch, nails gripping into the aching cement of the stone wall.

Her mouth opening to let out a soft sob, it comes out like a shrill squeak as the trembling flesh of her hand covers her mouth.

a blink of her eye makes the tears pricking in her eyes slide down her cheeks. Knees buckling, but it's not the ground she collides with, it's the warmth of Wyatt's body.

voice quiet " come on, let's go inside,"

"L-Lee." the woman lets out another sob, her body instinctively trying to fight off her older brother. One hand extending over his shoulder, fingers pointing to the field that was no longer in view, clouded by the tears that filled her eyes.

Pushing down his ache with a cough, Wyatt tightens his grip on her small body that convulses in time with her cries as he pulls her towards the lodge.

" I know Wren, I know."

ELLIE SPEAKS
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