The Reckoning at Elsinore Gulch: Ophelia’s Story

They say grief hollows you out, leaves you like an empty tin cup rattlin’ in the wind. Maybe that’s true for some, but not for me. Grief doesn’t make me hollow. It makes me heavy, like I’m carryin’ too much all at once, and it’s all draggin’ me down into the dirt.

Marshal James Hamm was the best man I ever knew, and now he’s gone, put in the ground so quick the dust hasn’t settled yet. His death left a hole in Elsinore Gulch, and his brother, Claude, slithered into it like the snake he is.

Claude didn’t just take James’s badge and land. He married his widow, Martha, before the dirt on the marshal’s grave was even packed down. Folks in town don’t say much about it—Claude owns the land under their feet and keeps a hand on his six-shooter like he’s ready to remind ‘em. But there’s a weight in the air, like every breath you take might choke you if you’re not careful.

When James’s son John came ridin’ back into town, I knew that weight was about to get heavier.