by Anna Oney
The clothing the Natives wore was limited. Emma compared her neighbors' blue jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers to their moccasins, shawls, and the tanned hides of dead animals they used to clothe themselves. As the two groups worked side by side, something as simple as clothing set them worlds apart.
Being a man blessed with great stature, Doolie was too massive to carry inside, so Emma had one of the boys fetch a spare mattress from Griffin's old room. Together, Emma, Winston, Shirley, and Wakiza rolled him on top of it. Using his favorite tarp, they set up a tent around him to shield him from the brightness of the sun. Emma covered him with one of Aunt Mary's quilts, and placed her finger beneath his nose. She prayed he was still breathing.
After the tent was set up, Wakiza assured her.
"He will wake soon. Soon."
With the neighbors patrolling the fences and safety restored, Emma decided it was time to bring back the children. Marion stayed close to her mother's side, following Ayita closely. Darby and Link had rekindled their love, refusing to ever be parted from each other's sides again. Farrah balanced little Oliver on her hip while Danisha and Tempest helped Nell make his way. Cooper had done a swell job with his leg, but Nell would have to try his best to stay off it for at least a couple of weeks.
Once Ripley arrived and noticed her master lying on the ground, she refused to part from his side. Both she and Shirley kept Doolie company while Emma began scanning the crowd for Reed's rugged features. But they never surfaced. Both he and his son had disappeared.
Darby seemed to spot Emma's wandering eyes and crept behind her.
"He ain't here," she whispered. "So you can stop looking."
"Where'd he go?"
"I told him and Ross to stay put until you came to get them," she replied, locking her elbow with Emma's. Digging for something inside of her pocket, Darby handed Emma her Aunt Mary's cross. "Reed said to give this to your girls. But if I did, I . . . I felt like it meant I was giving up on you."
"Thanks for not giving up on me." Emma smiled, grasping her hand. "And thanks for telling Tom."
"That's what friends are for." She chuckled. "But if these people find out about your other friends . . . "
"I know. They're not gonna like it."
"Especially that man of yours."
"I'm fully aware, thank you."
"Oh, are you?" She smirked. "Good, then. By the way, your new friends—you know, the ones with the immaculate tans? They're nice. Can't understand a word they're saying, but they're nice."
"Hey, you remember the dude who attacked you?" Taking her nod as confirmation, Emma continued. "Tom found him with an arrow in his chest."
"He was killed the same as the rest?"
"Thing flew right through the closet door."
"Never thought a miracle would leave behind so many dead bodies."
"What's a miracle for some can be a tragedy for others."
"Wasn't that Reed's brother?"
"Yep, and their head honcho was his daddy. What about your man?" Emma asked, changing the subject. "He okay?"
"They banged him up pretty bad. Mrs. Maples said he's got a couple of cracked ribs." She paused, eyeing Emma's ripped and bloodied clothing. "What about you? You be looking rough, girl."
"I've got other things to worry about."
"Oh, right, how's Doolie? Your mom looks upset," she said, nodding toward the entrance of Doolie's tent.
"Not good. Stella's gone. Aunt Mary's gone. Soon Daddy'll be gone, too—and I have no idea where Griffin is. The way things are looking, he probably died months ago."
"Oh, God! I didn't know. With all that's happened, I just . . . I just didn't think to ask. I am so sorry." Embracing Emma, Darby whispered, "How are you so calm?"
"I've cried for him. I've cried for her, but . . . when Daddy wakes up, I don't want his last moments to be filled with worry for me."
"He's your father, Emma. It's okay to cry."
"I know that, but with this rage festering inside me—I know if I was to break down—I'd march my ass down to that basement and kill them three that've been kept alive." Noticing the appalled look on Darby's face, she quickly added, "I'm fighting it, though, so don't worry. And I don't want Daddy to know what I've done. God knows my sins, but it won't do the rest of these people any good to know what I'm capable of."
"Emma, he's part of the reason why you went out there!"
"You're right, and I'm gonna lie to him all the same. He told me to go out there and bring my brother home. Told me to do whatever was necessary, and I did, but—"
"But what?!"
"I've failed on so many levels, it ain't even funny."
"It's hard to tell the truth. A hard truth, there's no doubt about it. But you're gonna have to tell someone what you've been through."
"The only person I'd tell is the person who just got shot because of me." Stepping back, Emma began to cry. "He won't be able to take it. It'll only take him away from me quicker."
Minutes after their emotional discussion, they heard Ahanu calling his tribesmen back home. The tribe's departure was swift, but as they went, Emma noticed their bows being left behind. They seemed to understand that soon Back Wood's guns would turn obsolete without ammunition to sustain them. By leaving their weapons, the tribe was giving them a new way to continue to exist. If they wanted to survive, they would have to put aside their old ways and learn a new one.
It would take a great deal of strength to adapt to the setback that had befallen each of them. Emma would be a fool if she didn't believe so. But, like everything else, she thought, It'll all happen in due time.
Ayita and Wakiza were the only ones left behind. She continued watching over the children while their parents tended to Back Wood's needs. Seeming to overhear Emma and Darby's discussion, Wakiza joined Emma.
Standing a few feet from the entrance of Doolie's tent, Emma could see her mother's form leaning over his. Winston stood as a guard over Shirley's shoulder to comfort her when needed.
"He is beginning to wake," Wakiza whispered from beside Emma.
From a distance, Emma watched Doolie's lids slowly begin to open. Watching from afar, she witnessed her parents' last embrace. Shirley's tears flowed as she kissed his lips, and so did Emma's from feet away. Rising from her knees, Shirley stepped back and allowed Winston to say farewell. Emma couldn't make out the words, but whatever was said sent Winston striding from the tent with his weeping face buried in his hands.
As Emma entered the tent, Shirley flung herself at her daughter, clinging to her spirit for support. Shirley kissed her cheek.
"You go ahead. I'll leave you alone," she said, crying.
Doolie's face was pale, and he looked as though he'd aged twenty years. But despite his sickly appearance, he was able to grace his daughter with a smile.
"Heeey there, baby doll," he weakly whispered.
Lying beside him, Emma tried mustering a chipper attitude for his sake, but couldn't.
"Daddy, does it hurt?" she asked.
"Can't feel a thing." With his eyes drowned in tears, he cried, "Did you find your brother?!"
"He was wounded when we came in, but he's okay. Mrs. Maples said he needs to stay put for now."
"Did you tell him I loved him?"
"I did. He told me to make sure and tell you he loves you, too."
"Did you tell him I was sorry?"
"Sorry?" Emma asked, snuggling closer. "Sorry for what?"
"Maybe . . . if I hadn't been so hard on him." He sniffled. "Maybe he would've wanted to finish that cabin. I didn't know any better. My daddy was hard on me, too. I couldn't see myself. The last thing I wanted to do was treat my children the way he treated me. I wish I'd had the sense to—"
"You did right by us, Daddy. We all have choices. It's not your fault Griffin made the wrong ones."
"Em . . . Emma, I need to tell you something. I lied. I didn't . . . I didn't kill that boy Ethan. I just couldn't do it."
Pulling the edge of Mary's quilt to his chee
k, Emma said, "I know, Daddy." Brushing away his tears, she whispered, "I know you didn't."
"How?"
"I just do."
"I don't like lying to you."
Oh, if only you knew the lies I'm telling you, Emma thought. If only.
He widened his eyes, and they seemed to lose their spark before her. Doolie blinked rapidly, as though he were trying to take a memory the two of them had just made together to his grave.
"You know," he whispered in a daze, "when you were little, I'd take you to the store and ride you around in one of them buggies, just a-showing you off." He paused, letting loose a ragged breath. "People were drawn to you, baby doll. Every time a stranger would ask me your name, it made me feel special to say, 'This is my Emma. She's a little fighter, she is.' I would tell them, 'I don't know who I'd be without her.'"
"Please don't go." Emma sobbed. "What am I gonna do without you?"
"Live. You'll beat this because you got that Clery blood in you. You'll beat this because you were a survivor before nature turned on us and forced you to carry my gun. And you'll continue on being one, because that's just who you are."
"Daddy, I just don't understand the evil in this world."
Even as he lay dying, Emma's father, with his infinite wisdom, replied, "You never will. You just have to be aware of it." Gracing her with the only smile he could muster, he gasped. "You . . . you're my favorite person in the world, and I'm proud of you. I . . . I wouldn't be the man I am today without you. I love you, darling." Before his daughter could respond, Doolie, seeming to be on the cusp of his last memories, continued, "Memaw's funeral, remember when . . . remember when you went up there and . . . and helped your pawpaw finish that song?"
"Yes, he couldn't finish it, he was so heartbroken."
"Sing . . . will you sing it for me?"
"You won't laugh?"
"Never." He smiled as his lids grew heavy and his breathing faltered.
During his last moments, Emma's voice was scarcely a whisper, as she struggled through the pain in her throat to sing what the Clerys commonly referred to as the funeral song. It was Vince Gill's "Go Rest High on That Mountain." As Doolie faded away, Emma knew when the last verse left her lips, she would never speak to him again. The green eyes of her father's love beamed upon her as she sang. And as Doolie took his last breath, all the regrets for which he'd held contempt beneath the toughness of his façade, were washed away.
Emma glided her fingers over his eyelids to close them, and kissed his forehead.
"Bye-bye, Daddy. I'll be seeing you," she whispered.
Emma rose from the mattress, and turned around to find Tom waiting for her at the entrance. He glanced toward Wakiza, who was standing in the corner, and then back at her. By the look on his face, Tom couldn't seem to find the words to ease Emma's pain. Reaching her, he ran his palms down Emma's arms, and whispered, "Baby, I'm sorry."
But Emma didn't want anything to do with his condolences. "Those men," she said angrily. "They still in the basement?"
"You don't need to be worrying with that right now. We've got everything under control. You need this time—"
Interrupting him, Emma brushed past his shoulder. He attempted to stop her, but Tom had never been able to keep up. Striding toward Mrs. Maples's house, Emma snatched the hatchet from her belt.
"Emma, don't!" Tom shouted after her.
Nearly tripping over the gravel covering Mrs. Maples's driveway, Emma had to stop herself from running up the wobbly porch steps. Climbing them one at a time, she managed not to cave them in. The screen door was constantly being blown open and closed by the force of the wind, and Emma nearly tore it off the hinges.
Before Emma could enter, Tom grabbed her by the wrist and tried pulling her back.
Turning about, she glared at him, and said, "Let. Go. Of. Me."
"They're just boys. Two of them ain't even sixteen."
"Just boys?" She smirked, moving toward Maddox, who was guarding the basement. "If we were in Wakiza's time, they'd be men. They knew what they were doing when they signed up to come here."
"Cousin, listen," Maddox pleaded, blocking the door. "Just . . . just hear them out."
"Move," she commanded, tightening her grip around the stock of Doolie's hatchet. "Get out of my way."
"What about what you said, huh?" Tom interjected. "Your big speech about us not having the right to decide who lives or dies?"
"That was before they shot my daddy in the back," she said, looking back to Maddox. "Now, move."
"Go on, let her do it!" Tom exclaimed, furiously. "Open the damn door!"
Maddox took the keys from his pocket, and hurriedly unlocked the door. He opened the latch, and stepped to the side, eyeing the hatchet Emma carried.
"What's she gonna do with that?" he asked Tom.
"Make a big mistake."
As she made her way downstairs, Emma could hear one of them whimpering, but their suffering had no effect on her. All three of them were bound. Two seemed so frightened they couldn't look her in the eye. The other male was the oldest of the three, Emma was sure. He was the type that would stare someone down until they tore his eyes from their sockets.
Shaking with fear, one of the boys, whose gaze hadn't left the hatchet gripped in Emma's hand, looked up.
"Please! We didn't—" he cried.
"Didn't what?"
"We didn't have a choice," the oldest of the three cut in. "They would've killed—"
"There's always a choice," she said, pressing the blade against his neck.
"Yes, there is, but the question is, what choice will you make?" Mary's voice whispered in her ear.
"Get out of my head!" she screamed, forcing the boys to huddle together in fright. "Get out!"
"The Devil wants this. He has you in the palm of his hand."
Stepping back, Emma could feel someone's hand resting invisibly upon her shoulder.
"They killed Daddy," she said. "He's gone."
"They did not pull the trigger."
"They were a part of it!" she argued. "They watched it happen."
Thrusting her father's hatchet into the air, the boys cowered beneath her, as Emma prepared to cave in their skulls—when her Aunt Mary stopped her hand.
"The Devil pounces on us when we're at our weakest. You must fight against his persuasion," she said.
"They deserve this! They were a part of it! Daddy didn't . . . He should . . . he should still be here!"
"It is just as much your fault as it is theirs. You left. We as a people are more adept to commit the harshest of sins when we feel angriest with ourselves."
"I led them here!" she cried. "I should've never left."
"Do the right thing, my love. I know it hurts. But if you take their lives, you know the name of the demon who will claim their souls. For they know not the word of God."
Lowering the hatchet, Emma backed away from them, and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm gonna leave you now."
"What?" asked the oldest of the three.
Turning away from them, she whispered, "It's over." She returned to the stairs, and a Bible verse began flowing eloquently from her lips, "Isaiah 41:10. 'Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous hand.'"
"What's that from?" the younger two asked.
"I lost sight of Him for a minute there, but y'all need Jesus reeeal bad," she stated, clearing the first step.
"Why would we need Him?" the oldest smugly asked.
"What's your name?"
"Nor-Norman."
"Because, Norman." She paused. "He just saved your lives." Climbing the stairs, Emma could feel a weight being lifted from her shoulders. "Do not fear, for I am with you," she recited to herself. "Fear not." By pulling through the bitterness of her heartache, Emma had managed to make the right decision.
The two men upstairs waited for Emma's figure to emerge from the depths of the dark basement. As she arrived
at the top, Emma could tell they expected to see fresh blood staining the hatchet's blade.
"See that they're fed, please," she said. "Water, too."
"If you're not gonna kill them, we need to decide what we're gonna do with them," Maddox said, latching the door shut. "It won't take long for these neighbors of ours to start asking questions."
"Look, I couldn't do it. And just a minute ago you two seemed hell-bent on keeping them alive, so just tell the folks asking to sit tight," she replied, heading toward the front door. "Once we know, they'll know."
"Where are you going now?" Tom asked. "You need to settle your ass down."
"I will. I will, but . . . I've got to bury Daddy first."
"Uncle Doolie's dead?" Maddox asked with sadness in his voice.
"Yeah, cousin, he is."
By the time Emma and Tom arrived at the tent, Winston, Lyle, and Ian had already begun digging the grave. Doolie couldn't be carried from where he lay, so the burial site was to be located in the exact same spot he'd been shot down in.
Shirley took her place next to the dog her husband had refused to call by the right name. Stella's pup rested her head upon her master's thigh, whimpering each time she witnessed them adding another shovelful of dirt to the pile.
Watching her, it was as if the name Ripley was erased from Emma's mind completely. Emma knew she would never call the dog by that name again. The battle of picking the best name had ended, because it had died with him. From that day on, Emma would make sure her father's beloved friend was referred to as Rambler. It had always been Doolie's choice; therefore, Emma felt it should be hers as well.
"Hey, Emma," Tom whispered. "I'll be back in a minute."
"Where are you headed off to?" she asked.
"The sawmill."
"Whatcha looking for?"
Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead.
"You'll see," he replied.
"All right then. Go on, shoo."
While the boys tended to Doolie's grave, Emma helped Shirley wrap his body in Mary's quilt. Before covering his face, Emma's eyes lingered on the patch of gray hair covering his hairline. "I get this from you, you know," she remembered he would say.
