by Mercy Levy
“You family is well known in this town?” I asked feeling the sun baking my skin. I wanted to desperately run into the hotel and drink a hundred glasses of water.
“My folks know everyone and everyone knows my folks,” Walton smiled. He looked into my beautiful face and studied my eyes.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
“Forgive me for being so forward, mam, but you sure are beautiful.”
I felt my cheeks turn red. I wasn’t used to receiving an honest compliment from a stranger. There were good slaves back home who complimented my beauty often, but I never felt drawn to them the way a woman is drawn to a man she wants to marry. “Thank you.”
Walton put his back on and pointed at the hotel. “Will you have lunch with me?”
“I…” I began to say and then stopped and let my eyes study the hot town. “I’m looking for a man,” I confessed. “A man with my skin color,” I explained Jones’s facial characteristics to Walton. “Have you seen this man?”
Walton rubbed his chin. “Can’t say I have,” he replied in an honest voice. “Is this man your husband?”
“No,” I said in a tone that caused alarm to shoot through Walton’s eyes.
“I see,” Walton said in a worried voice. He glanced down at my right hand and spotted the money I was holding. “Mam—”
“My name is Beth Jenkins,” I blurted out before I could help myself. Revealing my name was a mighty dangerous thing to do.
“Beth,” Walton said in a careful tone, “Lone Ridge is a peaceful town. We don’t get much gunplay here. Oh, from time to time a rowdy misfit shows up, but the folks around this part don’t put up with no skunks.” Walton stared into my eyes. “Two years back the Beaver Gang rode into town and tried to rob the bank but they were met with a whole bunch of guns that sent them six feet under. Folks in this town only want to be left alone and live their lives in peace. The land is hard enough without folks making it harder.”
“I ain’t here to cause trouble,” I told Walton in a defensive tone. My words were a lie. I had come to cause trouble because my intentions were set on killing a man.
Walton kept his eyes locked on mine. “I see a lot of anger and hurt in your eyes,” he told me in a voice that made me want to cry—a voice filled with love, concern, and care. “Beth, why did you come to Lone Ridge?”
“My business is my business,” I told Walton. Tears began falling from my eyes. I wiped at them with furious hands. “I want a bed and a meal and to be left alone.” I turned away from Walton and hurried into the hotel without saying another word. Walton watched me run away from him with worried eyes and slowly walked toward the hotel wondering what to do.
Chapter 2
War of the Heart
A large woman wearing a lovely blue and white dress was standing in a hot but very cozy lobby that was cleaner than anything I had ever seen. The woman was talking to a tall, skinny, black man wearing gray work clothes. When the black man saw me, his eyes became curious. “Now, Mrs. Maye, what did the wind just bring into your hotel?”
Mrs. Maye looked at me with her own curious eyes. She smiled. “Hello, honey,” she told me.
“Hello,” I said and began closing the front lobby door. Before I could Walton stepped through the door.
“Hey, Ma,” Walton told Mrs. Maye and closed the front door. “Lunch ready yet?”
Mrs. Maye rolled her eyes. She was a beautiful woman in her late fifties with the long, gray hair that was graceful and gentle. Her face was rosy and full of a sweet, pure, love that touched my heart. The black man standing next to Mrs. Maye didn’t seem mean or cruel. He was a man about the same age as Mrs. Maye. His face was easy going and his heart tender. “Jake,” she gently nudged the black man with her elbow, “should a mother feed a son who only comes around for food?” she teased.
Jake grinned and rubbed his chin. “Seems to me Young Walton has the nose of a good old hunting dog. He can smell some grub cooking from miles away. Maybe I should take him hunting with me instead of Old Sam,” Jake said and winked at Walton.
“Old Sam is the best hunting dog in this territory,” Walton told Jake and winked back. “He might get a bit jealous if you take me out hunting instead of him.”
Jake laughed. “Mighty true.”
Mrs. Maye smiled. She focused her attention back on me. “Honey, do you want a room?” she asked.
I glanced down at the money in my hand. I didn’t even know how much Joe had given me. “Yes, mam, please. And…a meal.”
Jake rubbed his chin again. “Stage ain’t due until tomorrow,” he pointed out.
Walton looked at me. “Old Joe brought her into town,” he said in a protective voice. “Say, Jake, Pa is looking for you. Those tools you needed came in on the supply wagon.”
Jake stared at me for a few more seconds and then smiled. “Well, I reckon I can fix that broken wagon wheel now.”
“You’re going to eat first,” Mrs. Maye told Jake and pointed at a door leading into a small dining room. “You ain’t doing no work until Momma has filled your belly. Today’s special is chicken and dumplings.”
Jake smiled from ear to ear. “Yes, mam,” he said in a happy voice and wondered off into the dining room.
“You get on there and settle down. I’ll be along shortly with the food,” Mrs. Maye order Walton. Walton nodded his head, glanced at me with worried eyes, and walked away. Mrs. Maye approached me. “Now, honey,” she said with a kind smile, “let’s get you a room.”
I watched Mrs. Maye walk behind a wooden counter. A large guest registry book sat on the counter. A wooden board painted blue was nailed on the back wall behind the counter. The Board held ten, shiny, keys. “It’s very nice in here,” I said.
Mrs. Maye smiled again. “My husband and his brother made all the furniture you see and the paintings on the wall was created by a one-armed gold digger.”
I turned and let my eyes soak in the beautiful artwork hanging on the walls. The artwork showcased beautiful mountains and with cold snow caps, snowy plains, dry deserts, stormy oceans, raging rivers and lonely forest. “The paintings are very beautiful.”
“Nate was a talented man,” Mrs. Maye told me. “He died a few years back, alone, up in his little camp. He froze to death.”
I felt sadness enter my heart. I turned and looked at Mrs. Maye and placed the money in my hand down on the front counter. “I know how to count,” I said forcing my emotions to become numb—or so I tried. But when I began counting the money tears started flowing out of my eyes. Joe had given me enough money to house and feed me for at least a week. “Here,” I said and pushed the money toward Mrs. Maye and quickly wiped at my tears. “The man your son called Old Joe gave me this money…he was very…kind to me.”
Mrs. Maye looked at my tears. And then, to my shock, she pushed the money on the counter back toward me. “Honey, you take that money back to Old Joe and tell him that Momma Maye is going to take care of you.”
“I don’t understand?”
Mrs. Maye walked out from the counter, approached me, and put a loving hand on my shoulder. “Honey, you’ll stay at Momma Maye’s hotel and eat here, do you hear me?”
“Not for free,” I objected in a weak voice.
Mrs. Maye looked deep into my eyes. “God is love, honey, and the love we share doesn’t come with a price because Jesus paid the ultimate price on the Cross. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, mam,” I said and then, unable to control my emotions, I threw my arms around Mrs. Maye and burst out crying. Mrs. Maye wrapped her tender, strong arms around me and held me like a baby. I cried until it hurt. “He killed my Pa…”
I didn’t know it, but Walton was standing in the doorway to the dining room and he watched me cry into his mother’s arms. “Cry out, baby,” Mrs. Maye told me and began caressing the back of my hair. “You just cry it out. Momma Maye is right here.”
I closed my eyes and cried and cried. And that was the last thing I remembered before my
body finally gave out and I collapsed. Walton quickly ran over to me and picked me up out of Mrs. Maye’s arms and carried me upstairs to a clean, safe, room and placed my body down onto a soft bed. “Ma?” he asked.
Mrs. Maye sat down on the bed and pushed my hair off my face. “This child is being tormented,” he told Walton in a concerned voice.
“She’s a runaway slave, isn’t she?” Walton asked.
“Most likely.”
“I’m not letting anyone take her back,” Walton promised in a powerful voice. He looked down at my sleeping face. “She’s so beautiful, Ma. I ain’t ever seen a woman as beautiful as her before.”
Mrs. Maye looked up into her son’s face. “People might come looking for her,” she said. “Son, you better start wearing your guns again and stay close to her for the time being until we can reach the bottom of the well and find out the truth.”
Walton bit down on his lower lip. “I guess you’re right,” he agreed.
“In the meantime, I’m going to take care of this baby and make sure she’s well fed and protected. Now, go on down to the store and tell your pa to get up here.”
As Walton left the room I drifted off into a deep sleep filled with the image of my pa lying dead in a tobacco field.
<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>
The next morning I found myself waking up on a soft bed in a room filled with weak daylight. My head was hurting and my eyes felt heavy and strained. Slowly and carefully I threw my legs over the bed and stood up. “What happened?” I asked myself and struggled to remember the events of the day before. Mrs. Maye’s loving face exploded into my mind. I saw myself crying into her arms. Before I could remember anything else, someone knocked on the room door. I back away to the window and debated on whether to run or stay put. “Who…is it?” I called out preparing to pull back the pink curtains covering the window and dash away into the approaching morning.
“Momma Maye, honey. May I come in?”
Relief flashed through my heart. I eased across the room and carefully opened the room door. Mrs. Maye appeared holding a beautiful pink dress in her hands. “Good morning,” she smiled.
“Good…morning,” I said in a cautious tone.
Mrs. Maye presented the dress she was holding to me. “You didn’t have any luggage with you so I took it upon myself to buy you a dress, honey. I hope you don’t mind.”
I looked at the dress. The dress was beautiful and must have cost a whole lot of money. “I can’t…accept the dress.”
“Sure you can,” Mrs. Maye continued to smile. She reached out and handed me the dress before I could continue to object. “Breakfast will be ready in about a half hour. That should give you time to get changed,” Mrs. Maye told me and hurried down the hallway and back downstairs.
I closed the room door, walked back to the bed, and placed the dress down. As I did the money Joe had given me fell off the dress and onto the bed with a note attached. I picked up the note and read it to myself. “Miss Beth, I wouldn’t let Mrs. Maye give me back the money. You keep the money and buy yourself a pretty dress. Joe.” Tears began falling from my eyes again. I squeezed the note to my heart and closed my eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered to God even though my heart was still set on killing the man who murdered my Pa.
I hurried and changed into the pink dress, hid Joe’s money under the soft bed, and walked downstairs. Walton was standing in the lobby near the front desk. He was alone. When he saw me walking down the stairs, he stood very still and watched me as if he were watching a piece of heaven falling from the sky. “Good…morning,” he said and cleared his voice. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” I said feeling overly dressed. I had never owned a fancy dress before. The green dress I arrived into town in was a hand me down from kind Christian woman. I looked at the clothes Walton was wearing and noticed a gun belt wrapped around his waist. Walton was wearing a gray shirt tucked into a nice pair of brown trousers. It was clear to me the man wasn’t planning on tending to any chores once the morning woke up. “Why are you wearing a gun?” I asked.
Walton glanced down at the gun resting on his right hip and then he looked up into my eyes. “To protect you,” he answered honestly. “You’re a runaway slave and people might come looking for you.”
Instead of letting panic grip my heart I felt comfort and safety embrace me. Walton was wearing a gun to protect me—and the stranger I barely knew meant his words and would risk his life protecting me, too. Why? I didn’t know why? “I did run away.” I actually let myself confess the truth. “I’m looking for the man who beat my pa to death with a stick. I’m going to kill that man and then go back and face my punishment.”
“Go back?” Walton asked confused.
“My mother is still a slave and I can’t desert her,” I told Walton in a desperate voice. “When I kill Jones, I’ll go back to Virginia.”
“And be a slave?” Walton asked in an incredible voice.
“All I know is being a slave,” I confessed.
Walton stood and stared at me with confused eyes. “You’re free now.”
“Not in here I’m not,” I replied and touched my mind and then my heart. “I’ll never be free.”
“That’s not true,” Walton insisted. He walked up to me and gently put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “Beth, Jesus frees us from death and offers us life. But if we refuse to let our hearts be free…the chains around us are the ones we put there.”
I stared into Walton’s eyes and, to my fear, saw a man I wanted to love—a man whose heart loved Jesus more than life; a man who would love me, protect me, provide for me, give me beautiful children, build me a warm home, hold me when I was scared, wipe away my tears, and grow old with me as a faithful husband. I wanted to be free inside of my heart and escape the rage consuming my soul. But I couldn’t. My prison chains were wrapped too tight around my body. “I’ll be free when I kill the man who killed my Pa,” I said and pulled away from Walton.
“We have the law for that,” Walton tried to tell me. “If the man you’re searching for is found, he will be arrested and tried in a court of law before a jury of his peers.”
“Peers?” I asked and nearly laughed to myself. “A man like Jones isn’t going to let himself be tried by a white man. Jones is an evil, dangerous, vile snake!” I yelled. “His soul is poison and his heart full of the worst kind of hate there is on this earth!”
Walton stared at me. His eyes held compassion and patience. “I guess there are men roaming this land who are too wild be taken alive,” he told me. “Beth, is this man is as dangerous as you say then what makes you think you can kill him?”
“Because,” I said in a strained voice and then…I went silent. How was I going to kill Jones? I didn’t even own a gun. I sure couldn’t kill the man with my own bare hands, even though that was my heart’s desire. How was I going to kill a dangerous man who was stronger and deadlier than I was? “When the time comes, I’ll figure it out.”
“And get yourself killed,” Walton told me. He shook his head. “Beth, whether you like it or not, I’m going to be your shadow.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I would like to,” Walton promised me. “We can take a picnic today and do a whole lot of talking. I’ll get Pa’s horse buggy and drive us down to Snow River, and we can sit under some mighty pretty trees and walk and put our feet out in the water and—”
“I’ll be spending my day searching for Jones,” I interrupted Walton. Oh, how I wanted to take the man up on his offer and go on a wonderful picnic. Instead, I forced myself to feel cold inside and reject any offer of friendship. “I’m hungry.”
“Breakfast is almost ready,” Walton told me with sad eyes. “Would you like to eat alone?”
“Yes.”
“I understand,” Walton said. He backed up to the front counter and glanced at the front door. “Beth, I’m still going to be your shadow whether you like it or not. You may have stopped caring but I was raised
to never give up.”
“This ain’t your fight,” I told Walton in a frustrated voice. “Just let me do what I came out here to do and then I’ll fade away with the wind.”
“No mam,” Walton told me in a firm tone. “I’m not letting you go get yourself killed. And even if you did manage to kill the man you’re looking for I wouldn’t let you go back to a life of slavery.”
I stared at Walton in shock. “Why do you care? I’m a black woman and you’re a white man. What is my life to you?”
Walton placed his right hand out into the air and drew a cross. “What was life to Jesus when He died for you on the Cross?” he asked me. “Jesus died for the world and for all His children. Now go eat your breakfast. I know you’re hungry.”
Jake appeared in the dining room doorway before I could respond to Walton. “You better go on and eat,” he told me, “Walton can be a mighty stubborn bull when he wants to be. And you best know he’s being stubborn because he cares.”
I spun around and looked at Jake. “Why? Why should he care about me? I’m a stranger to him and you. I came here to kill the man who murdered my pa and then I’m going back to Virginia. I don’t need kindness, and I don’t need love.”
“Girl,” Jake said and shook his head at me, “you better get that hate of your heart before you let it eat you alive.”
I stormed past Jake into the dining room and saw Mrs. Maye sitting a plate full of pancakes, eggs, and steak down onto a table facing a window. She smiled at me. “Breakfast is ready, honey. I’ll bring you out some coffee.”
I walked over to the table and sat down. My eyes fell onto the delicious food standing on the plate. I wanted to say a prayer of thanks but found the anger I was feeling inside disabled my desire. All I could see was my pa lying dead in a hot tobacco field. A few minutes later, Mrs. Maye returned carrying a metal coffee pot and poured coffee into a brown coffee cup sitting next to my plate. “Eat, honey.”
“Yes, mam,” I said and picked up a fork and slowly began to eat my breakfast. Mrs. Maye left me alone and returned only when I had taken the last bite of food on my plate. She came back into the dining room carrying a piece of cake. She removed my breakfast plate and sat the cake down in front of me. “What is this?” I asked.
