The Leftovers of a Life

by Anna Oney

  "I can't believe he's gone. He's just gone."

  "I know, baby, I know," Shirley said, covering his face. "Wakiza . . . he and his sister are gone, too."

  "Did he say anything?" she asked, hurt that he hadn't said goodbye. "Did he?"

  "No. Besides," she said, "I wouldn't have understood him if he had."

  "They took your father with them," Mary whispered in Emma's ear. "Wakiza has left you something to keep."

  Something to keep? she asked herself. What to keep?

  "Go to the dig," Mary instructed. "The dig is where you'll find it."

  The location of the Indian dig was too far away. Besides, Emma felt it wouldn't have been the kindest thing to leave her mother's side.

  Once Doolie's grave was finished, the boys began calling out for Tom to assist in lowering his body into the hole. It wasn't a far distance between them and the sawmill, but it took three shouts to coax Tom into making his way back.

  He had left empty-handed, but from where Emma sat, she noticed he carried something. It wasn't until he reached the side entrance of the goat pen that Emma realized what it was: a grave marker. The wood he'd chosen was cedar. She could always smell cedar coming from a mile away because her father had come home every day from work smelling of it.

  "I made you something," Tom said, turning it over. "I hope you like it."

  The marker was a reminder for Emma of why she had fallen in love with him. Tom wasn't the most gracious or gentlest person by any means, but then again, neither was she. But he possessed enough kindness to be able to surprise her with such touching acts as this.

  Tears welled up in her eyes as she read the words Tom had burned into the cedar. "Doolie Clery, brutal but fair." The second line read: "A man who valued a hard day's work and family above everything else."

  "He'd love it," Emma said, pecking his lips. "Thank you."

  "Thank you," Shirley said, reaching to peck him on the cheek. "It'll do."

  After placing Doolie's remains beneath the earth, Shirley said a quick prayer over his grave. Then they stood in silence until Winston spoke up, and began the eulogy.

  "Uncle Doolie . . . you know, Uncle Doolie taught me how to build a house from start to finish. My kids are growing up in a home I've built with my own two hands because of him. I never thanked him for that."

  "I never thanked him for a lot of things," Emma admitted, ashamed. "I have so many things to be thankful for, and I never . . . I never told him. He built me that cabin and gave me my independence. I wouldn't be the person I am today without him."

  "He wasn't understood by most people," Lyle said. "But they weren't the ones that mattered. Family was what always mattered to him. Family."

  Nodding in agreement, Emma clung to Tom for support.

  "He used to say that those who didn't understand his ways weren't worth knowing anyhow." She chuckled. "And he was right."

  "We're all gonna miss him," Shirley said, tightening her grip on Emma's hand. "His raspy voice and, oh, his loud laugh." She giggled. "The way he'd storm through a room and stomp around. I'm gonna miss him."

  ***

  Before returning to the house, Shirley thanked Tom again for making the marker and softly kissed her daughter's cheek. One of her tears struck Emma's skin, forcing Emma's to escape the barriers of her eyes.

  "I'm gonna see how the kids are doing. Will you be okay?"

  "Yes, Momma." Emma paused, motioning toward her family home where the kids were. "You go on. I'll be all right."

  Their grieving processes were vastly different. During times such as these, Shirley seemed to crave the company of others while Emma wanted to be left alone. Knowing that, Emma wasn't surprised when her mother asked, "Can the girls stay with me tonight?"

  "Sure they can, Momma."

  "Thank you," she replied, turning to leave. "Love you."

  The old world they'd inhabited would've allowed the appropriate time to grieve, but not this one. The new world gave them only enough time to bury the dead and finish out the day. Everyone was burdened with a list of things to do before dusk was upon them. Emma, for one, had to meet with Reed and then help rekindle Ross and Tom's relationship. Even though she hadn't heard their story, Emma had an uneasy feeling it wasn't filled with positive, father-son bonding time. To kill two birds with one stone, she decided to bring Tom along. That way, he would be introduced to Reed—hopefully with no punches being thrown—and depending on how aggrieved their relationship was, Tom and Ross could finally make peace.

  "I guess we're gonna head that way to the barrier and see if everything's still intact," Winston said, nodding toward Ian and Lyle. "Cousin, I'll be seeing you later."

  As Winston embraced her, Emma felt the tears welling up in her eyes.

  "Love you," she hastily replied, separating from him.

  "Love you, too."

  Waiting for them to cross the field, Emma looked to Tom, and whispered, "There're some folks I need you to meet."

  Chapter 41:

  Emma

  "What, right now?"

  "Yes, now," Emma said, motioning toward the horses sheltered in the rundown barn. "We can take two of them if you want."

  "They ain't here?"

  "Nope, uh-uh." She paused, nervously kicking at the ground. "They're where all the kids were hiding."

  "Have you ever ridden a horse before?"

  "Couple times." Yeah, she thought, couple times with the dude you're about to meet.

  "A couple times isn't enough for you to get out in them woods and start galloping around. You're going to bust your ass."

  "Well, if I do," she said, "you'll be there."

  Turning their attention toward the barn ahead, the thought of mounting one of these massive creatures made Emma's stomach lurch. Her eyes were set on the black one, sprinkled with white patches throughout his hide. The animal was stunning, but with her nerves building up, Emma wasn't sure how she was going to accomplish this task without blowing chunks all over the horse's mane.

  Approaching the entrance, Emma moved forward slowly. The last thing she wanted to do was frighten him, so she held her hand out before her, in hopes of telepathically telling him "I'm not gonna hurt you." Immediately, he flared his nostrils. His ears perked up to the sounds of Emma's feet rustling against the hay, and she found herself stopping abruptly.

  "It's okay," Tom whispered, beside her. "Just keep moving."

  As Emma offered her hand, the animal took a step forward and sniffed her palm. By the time he was finished, Emma's skin was covered in gooey muck. Assuming his actions gave her an invitation to touch him, Emma began running her fingers along his neck.

  "Hey, horsey," she whispered. "I think he likes me."

  "You want to try mounting him?"

  "What? Oh . . . yeah, sure, sure, sure, that's why we're here." Truth be told, Emma admitted to herself, I'll do anything to keep from thinking 'bout the losses we've suffered.

  "Now stick your left foot in the stirrup."

  "The what?"

  "For the love of—" He stopped himself from cursing. "That dangling metal bit there, the thing hanging from the saddle."

  "Gotcha."

  "Grab hold of the reins."

  "Okay, okay, I got them."

  "Put your right hand at the back of the saddle. Wait," he said, "you do know what a saddle is, right?"

  "It's where my butt goes."

  "You are correct." He chuckled, resting his hand against her lower back. "Now pull yourself up and swing your leg over."

  She grunted, hoisting herself up. During the process, Tom did what he could to help, but all of his efforts were wasted. After Emma's third attempt, she finally mounted the horse completely with an "Ooof!" echoing throughout the barn.

  "Right, okay . . . right." He panted. "Get yourself balanced. I'm gonna get on this one over here."

  "Don't you leave me here on this thing."

  "Emma," he said, "what are you, twelve? I'm not leaving you. I'm just going right over there. I
won't be but ten feet away from you, so chill out. If you lose your shit, then he's going to lose his, too."

  Once Tom chose his ride, it was clear he had far more experience in the field. His mount was swift and confident, as though he'd done it a hundred times before. But it saddened Emma to realize she knew less about his previous life than she'd originally thought.

  "Did you have horses growing up?"

  "Grandmother did. I lived with her a few years after . . . after what happened."

  "You mean"—she paused—"when your mom . . . ?"

  "Yes," he replied in exasperation. "Yes, now let's get going."

  Tom sat upon a gorgeous brown mare with white patches strewn over her left eye and snout. Emma watched him grip the reins while gently squeezing at the mare's sides with his legs, and like a good student, eager to learn, Emma did the same. Both of their rides began moving at the same time, thankfully at a speed she could handle.

  "You okay?" he asked, eyeing Emma as she bit her lip.

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm good," she said, concentrating on staying balanced. "You good?"

  "I know what I'm doing, so yeah, I'd say I'm doing pretty good," he smugly replied. "You look constipated."

  "Well, now that you mention it," she joked, trying to crack a smile. "Tom, before we get there," she said, feeling anxious to see his reaction, "there's something you should know."

  "Yeah?" he replied. "What's that?"

  "I met your father earlier today."

  "What?!"

  "He . . . he was with Heskill's group."

  "Does Cooper know?"

  "Yes. Ross helped Darby and I save him from one of their men. Along with the help of another."

  "Who was the other?" he pried.

  "The guy we saw outside of the church. The one with the little boy."

  "But. . . That's the dude who took you." Seeming to take the reluctant nod of her head as confirmation, Tom looked away from her, and grumbled under his breath. "This is too much shit for one day."

  Switching the subject from Reed, she asked, "Can I ask why you're not happy to hear of your father?"

  Meeting her gaze, he clenched his jaw. With a quivering lip, he replied, "He would beat my mother on a daily basis."

  As they went, she prayed Tom would forgive his father, not for Ross's sake, but for his own. That got Emma thinking: She had no one to forgive but herself. How could I ask that of Tom when I'm not ready to forgive myself?

  The road was bumpy, but like a trooper, Emma was able to remain topside. As she sat upon the magnificent creature, blessed to be alive, Emma found herself so disheartened by what had transpired that she couldn't enjoy the rarity of the moment. Snapping her from the solemn state of mind was an approaching sharp curve in the trail. Suddenly, Emma discovered her newfound confidence wavering.

  "What do I do?"

  "We're going to pull the reins to the right. Gently," he instructed. "Do it now."

  The horse began turning, and as hers turned, Emma felt as though her insides were being twisted along with his movements. As they cleared the corner, Emma realized they were almost there, and her anxiety instantly multiplied by ten.

  Propelling Emma from her manic train of thought, Tom said, "You know you're going to have to deal with his death sooner or later. You know that, right?"

  "Yes, well, to tell you the truth," she said, "I came out here to escape it, so can we please not talk about it?"

  "I know this won't help," he continued. "But you need to hear it."

  "Ugh, go ahead say it."

  "You never know what this life will bring you. All you can do is make peace with the hand you've been dealt."

  "You should write that down," she replied, childishly rejecting his wisdom. "That's some good stuff there."

  Continuing their trot down the trail, the wind picked up and brushed the horse's mane against Emma's thigh. Patting him on the side, he tilted his head, responding to her touch. But it was difficult for Emma to decipher whether he was annoyed or grateful for her affections. She was only used to the personalities and quirks of chickens, dogs, and goats—not horses!

  "Almost there," she said, deciding it was best to keep her hands to herself. "Just around here."

  As they turned the corner to their haven, Tom's eyes were latched to the two people ahead playing a game of tic-tac-toe. They had tied Brute's reins to a low-hanging branch, preventing him from wandering off. From a distance, Emma witnessed Reed and Aiden making their marks in the dirt. They had cleared a spot to play by brushing away the pine needles littering the ground.

  Tom's father wasn't there. Now is not the time to go wandering off! she thought. Where the hell is he at?!

  As they dismounted, Reed was made aware of Emma and Tom's presence. Rising from the ground, he took his son by the hand, and they began making their way down the trail. Reed seemed to sport a welcoming expression, while Aiden continued to wave in Emma's direction.

  "Hey, miss!" he exclaimed. "She looks different," Emma heard Aiden whisper to his father.

  "Keep it to yourself," Reed replied, holding a finger to his lips. "Never be the one to point out somethin' negative about a lady's appearance."

  Locking her arm to Tom's elbow, Emma tried holding him back. It was immediately made clear that she lacked the necessary strength to do so. Not a second passed before Tom began moving forward with ease, effortlessly dragging Emma along.

  "No, wait! Don't!" she begged, struggling behind him. "Stop!" She detached from Tom's side, and ran out ahead and planted herself between the both of them. "Stop it!" she screamed, shoving against Tom's chest. "He's done fighting. And you should be, too! Now, stop it!"

  Standing as a shield to protect his son, Reed interjected, "Listen to her, man. Look, I didn't come here to aid them. I came here to help her. I'll admit—we should've left a long time ago. But it ain't easy sayin' goodbye to your own family for good."

  "Your family? Your family's dead."

  "Tom! Reed, I-I'm sorry, I was—"

  "Sorry?!" Tom yelled, grabbing Emma by the arm. "His father killed yours! Don't be saying sorry to him!"

  "Yes, that's right." She paused, snatching her arm from his grasp. "But he lost a father, too."

  "They're all dead?" Reed asked, somewhat panicked. "My brother?"

  Solemnly, Emma glanced toward Aiden, and reluctantly replied, "I'm sorry. Only three of the group was kept alive."

  "Three?" Reed paused, allowing Aiden to cry into his shoulder. "What three?"

  "One of their names is Norman, but I didn't think to ask the other two. I was a little heated, you know, afterward. But they look to be brothers."

  "Sounds like the Davie brothers," he said. "They joined us a little while ago. They've got another brother and his daughter waitin' for them back home. Remember? They're the ones I told you we took in." He paused, stroking Aiden's back. "If it's them, the others' names are Ben and Marty. Come to think of it, they never said what their other brother's or his daughter's name was. He was wounded when they brought him in. He's still pretty bad off."

  "Are they dangerous?"

  "Naw, just idiots is all. Harmless idiots."

  Tom cut in.

  "There's no such thing as harmless idiots these days. They can get you killed in a hurry."

  "At least they didn't leave him to die," Emma said, nudging the stubborn man by her side. "Right, Tom?"

  "I'm not happy, Emma. Not. Happy."

  Before she could respond, the rustle of someone approaching from the woods had her on alert. Turning around, Emma spotted Tom's father walking toward them.

  "Tom, I, I," Ross stammered. He continued to shorten the distance between them, with tears welling up in his eyes. "Tom, I-I'm sorry. I can't fix it, but Lord, how I wish I could. I'm sorry, son."

  "No. You can't. You can't fix any of it. Mom's dead. She's dead. And you know what?!" he cried, looking back at Emma. "It wasn't just your fault." Before his father could respond, Tom, trembling, whimpered, "I could've done something. She n
ever called out my name, but I always knew she needed my help."

  "Son, she would've never risked your safety. Your safety was all she cared about. Sally loved you more than anything. She loved you the way I should've loved you both. You and Cooper are all I have left. I love you."

  "I don't think I can say that to you yet. But I'm going to try and forgive you. I think Mom"—Tom paused, choking up—"would want that. It's not going to be easy. But I'll try."

  Before Ross knew what hit him, Tom had embraced him. From a few feet away, Emma watched them reconnect and couldn't help but reach out to his mother. I think they're gonna be just fine, she thought.

  Once they had separated from each other, Emma interjected, "They have others."

  "What others?" Tom asked, joining her side.

  "Mostly women and children," Reed replied. "'Bout five or six miles from here."

  "Five or six miles? That's all?"

  "Yeah. Tricked you good, didn't I?"

  Ignoring his attempt at humor, Emma asked, "How are we gonna do this? They can't survive on their own, and they sure as hell ain't coming here."

  "Do they know where we are?" Tom said angrily, staring Reed in the face.

  "They don't know anythin'."

  "There's got to be something—something we can do that doesn't involve eradicating their entire group," she said.

  "That's what their plans for us were," Tom argued.

  Looking from Reed and his son to Ross, Emma broke her momentary silence.

  "We'll bring you guys back with us, and then—"

  "Em—" Tom began to argue.

  "We need to make a deal," she said. "And everyone back home deserves to know what that is."

  "What's this deal?"

  "Well," she said, "I don't know yet. I'm thinking on it now."

  For the time being, Emma allowed Ross to borrow her ride so he wouldn't have to walk the distance. Tom and Emma rode together the rest of the way back. With company in tow, they reached the mended barrier, and as their neighbors spotted them trotting toward the dance hall, they stopped what they were doing to investigate the newcomers.