The Vow of the Last Man – Extended Epilogue

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The kitchen of their rebuilt home filled with the rich aroma of beef stew simmering on the wood stove, mixing with the scent of fresh bread that Clementine had baked earlier that morning. Jacob stirred the pot methodically, adding salt and pepper to taste, while keeping one eye on his very pregnant wife who sat on the couch in the adjoining living room.

Clementine had grown round and beautiful over the past months, her belly now so large that simple tasks like getting up from a chair required careful planning and often Jacob’s assistance. The baby was due any day now, and Jacob found himself both excited and nervous about becoming a father.

She sat comfortably against the cushions they’d arranged to support her back, Thurgood’s worn leather journal open in her lap. Over the past few weeks, she’d been reading through the old bounty hunter’s entries with growing fascination, discovering details about his life that neither of them had known during their brief time traveling together.

Scout lay at her feet, looking considerably healthier and more content than he had during those dark days on the trail. Regular meals and the peaceful routine of ranch life had filled out his frame and restored the glossy shine to his yellow coat. The dog had claimed the spot beside Clementine’s chair as his own personal territory, rarely leaving her side as her pregnancy progressed.

The evening light filtered through the windows Jacob had carefully installed to match his memories of the Porter family home. Everything about the house had been restored with meticulous attention to detail—the same blue gingham curtains Martha had sewn, the same sturdy oak furniture Jeremiah had built with his own hands, even the same hooks by the door where the children had hung their coats.

But now it held new memories, too. The scent of Clementine’s cooking, the sound of her laughter echoing through rooms that had been silent for too long, the sight of her sewing baby clothes by lamplight in the evenings. The house was alive again, filled with love and hope instead of ghosts and sorrow.

“Jacob,” Clementine called out, her voice carrying a note of surprise that made him look up from his cooking. “Come listen to this.”

He set down his wooden spoon and walked over to where she sat, settling carefully on the edge of the couch beside her. Her pregnancy had made even simple movements more challenging, and Jacob had learned to be extra gentle and patient with her physical limitations.

“What is it?” he asked, placing one hand on her swollen belly where he could feel their child moving restlessly.

“Thurgood had a daughter,” she said, pointing to a passage in the journal. “Listen to this entry from about five years ago: ‘Received word that my Sarah is well and happy in her marriage. Her husband seems to be a good man who provides for her and treats her with kindness. I think about writing to her sometimes, but what would I say? That her father has spent his life hunting men like animals? That I have blood on my hands that no amount of soap will ever wash clean?’“

Jacob leaned closer to read over her shoulder, noting the careful script that revealed more education than Thurgood had ever let on during their travels. “He had a daughter named Sarah?”

“There’s more,” Clementine continued, flipping to another page. “Here’s another entry from about three years ago: ‘Passed through Jacksonville today on my way to track down the Morrison brothers. Saw Sarah hanging laundry in her yard, didn’t know I was watching. She’s grown into a beautiful woman, just like her mother was. Her children were playing in the garden—two little boys who looked healthy and happy. I wanted to approach, to introduce myself as their grandfather, but what right do I have? I chose this life of violence, and I have no place in theirs.’“

Jacob felt his chest tighten with understanding. “That’s why he was in that area when you first met him. He was probably visiting her or at least watching over her from a distance.”

“Poor man,” Clementine said softly, running her fingers over the page. “He loved her, but he was too ashamed of what he’d become to have a relationship with her.”

“Read me the part about where she lives,” Jacob said.

Clementine flipped back a few pages. “He mentions a small farm about two miles east of Jacksonville. Says her husband grows corn and raises horses. And here—” she pointed to another passage “—he mentions that her married name is Patterson.”

Jacob was quiet for a long moment, thinking about the implications of this discovery. Somewhere in Nebraska, a woman named Sarah Patterson was going about her daily life, unaware that her father had died trying to protect two strangers on a dangerous mountain trail.

“We should write to her,” he said finally.

“Write to her?”

“Send her the journal, along with a letter explaining what happened. Tell her where we buried him.” Jacob’s voice grew thick with emotion. “She has a right to know that her father died honorably, that in the end he chose to protect innocent people rather than pursue violence.”

Clementine looked up at him in surprise. “Are you sure? It might be painful for her to learn about his death this way.”

“It would be more painful never to know at all.” Jacob thought about his own father, buried somewhere in an unmarked grave in the mountains around Copper Gulch. “I hated my father for most of my life. We were estranged when he died, and I never got the chance to reconcile with him or even to properly grieve.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts. “But even though I hated him, I still wish I knew where he was buried. I wish I could visit his grave and… I don’t know, maybe find some kind of peace with his memory.”

“You think Thurgood’s daughter feels the same way?”

“I’m sure she does. No matter what kind of man he was, he was still her father. She deserves to know what happened to him, and she deserves to have a place where she can go to remember him.”

Clementine nodded slowly, understanding the wisdom in Jacob’s words. “We could draw a map showing where we buried him. Maybe even include some of his personal effects that we saved.”

“That’s a good idea. And we should tell her about Scout too, let her know that her father’s dog is safe and well cared for.”

As if he’d heard his name mentioned, Scout lifted his head and looked at them with intelligent brown eyes. His tail thumped once against the floor before he settled back down, content to guard his pregnant mistress.

“I’ll write the letter tomorrow,” Clementine decided. “But I want to be careful about how I explain what happened. No need to go into all the details about Ben Cain and the violence.”

“Just tell her that he died protecting others. That’s the truth, and it’s what she needs to know.”

Jacob got up to check on the stew, stirring it carefully and tasting the broth. The meat was tender now, falling apart at the touch of his spoon, and the vegetables had cooked down into a rich, hearty mixture that would be perfect for the cool spring evening.

“Dinner’s ready,” he called out.

Clementine closed the journal and began the careful process of getting up from the couch. Jacob quickly moved to help her, taking her hands and pulling gently as she used her legs to push herself upright. The baby had dropped lower in recent days, a sign that birth was approaching, and every movement required extra effort.

Instead of heading straight to the kitchen table, Clementine wrapped her arms around Jacob from behind as he ladled stew into their bowls. Her swollen belly pressed against his back, and he could feel the baby moving actively between them.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said quietly, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“About what?”

“About everything that brought us together. The violence, the death, the pain we both went through.” Her arms tightened around him. “I hate what happened to Dalton. I hate what happened to the Porter family. I hate that Ben Cain ever existed.”

Jacob set down the ladle and covered her hands with his own, leaning back into her embrace.

“But,” she continued, “I will forever be thankful that we found each other. That somehow, out of all that darkness and pain, something beautiful grew.”

Jacob turned in her arms, careful not to bump her belly, and looked into her green eyes that had first captured his attention in that buffalo stampede so many months ago. “I feel the same way. If I could go back and prevent all the suffering, I would. But if that meant never meeting you…”

“We can’t change the past,” Clementine said, reaching up to touch his face. “And maybe we shouldn’t want to. Maybe the good things in life are only possible because we’ve experienced the bad things too.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Jacob leaned down and kissed her softly, tasting the salt of tears he didn’t realize had been falling. “I love you, Clementine Hardy.”

“I love you too, Jacob Hardy.”

They stood in their kitchen, holding each other as the sun set outside their windows and Scout dozed contentedly at their feet. In a few days or weeks, their child would be born, beginning a new chapter in the story of their family. The violence and revenge that had brought them together was behind them now, buried with Ben Cain and the other ghosts of their past.

Tomorrow, they would write to Thurgood’s daughter and begin the process of healing wounds that had been left open too long. Tonight, they would share their simple meal and plan for the future they were building together in this valley where both of them had found their second chance at happiness.

Outside, the first stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky, and somewhere in the distance, a nightbird called out its lonely song. But inside their rebuilt home, surrounded by love and the promise of new life, neither Jacob nor Clementine felt lonely anymore.

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Grab my new series, "Guns and Justice in the West", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!

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