“That means it’s working. Whatever you do, don’t itch it. I want you to get some sleep now too, Frank.”
He ignored her and leaned forward, re-tucking the blanket around Claire’s shoulders. Anna shut the door rather than argue with him and took a moment to appreciate the quiet. Bart Masters coughed lightly to let her know he was watching her from down the hall. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest, Dr. Willow. I’ll stay with the patients and send someone for you if there’s a need.”
Anna thanked him and grabbed her coat. She stepped outside and saw a dim light from the Sheriff’s Office. Walt Junger was sitting at his desk, hunched over, scribbling on a stack of documents. Anna had heard rumors that Junger was applying for warrants for McParlan’s arrest, sending off letters to every government agency in the sector. She shook her head and was about to turn away when someone sitting on a porch swing outside of her office caught her eye. Anna squinted to make him out and said, “Jem? What in the world are you doing lurking around out here?”
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I figured I’d stay nearby if you needed me, but not disturb you.”
Anna held out her hand and said, “Come on. You’re coming with me.”
There were no lights on in any of the businesses along Pioneer Way as they walked. Even the bars were closed. “So tell me the fate of Mr. Elijah Harpe,” Anna said.
Jem looked down and said, “A person like you wouldn’t understand, Anna. Someone like you helps people. Someone like me does the opposite.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from the baddest man in the world,” Anna said.
Jem grinned at her. “You’ve been waiting twenty years to fire that one back at me, haven’t you?”
“Maybe. Do you remember Zeke that used to work for my father?”
Jem nodded.
“Did you ever hear what happened to me?”
“I heard enough.”
Anna’s voice was quiet when she said, “When I was a little girl, I trusted everybody. People acted so nice to me after my mother died, I just assumed that’s how they really were. Zeke told me I was special. He paid attention to me. Sometimes I wonder if I did something to make him think it was okay to do what he did.”
“You were just a kid, Anna. Of course you didn’t,” Jem said.
“The worst thing about it was that the nice man who treated me so kindly told me he would kill me and my father if I told anyone. I believed him, Jem. I looked in his eyes and I saw evil. I never could tell your daddy what he did to me. Miss Katey had to do all the talking for me, and your daddy hauled Zeke off to the penitentiary.”
Jem looked off in the distance. “That’s the story I heard too.”
“Except Zeke never was at the penitentiary.”
Jem did not speak.
“I checked up on him a few years ago, just to see what became of him. The warden said there had never been a prisoner there by that name. So it leaves me with the question as to what became of the man that stole my innocence. Your daddy didn’t seem the type to let a man like that go in the desert, now did he?”
Jem shook his head, “No. I don’t suppose.”
She put her hand in his. “So, you’re wrong. Someone like me would understand.”
***
She led him to the front steps of her house and he stood there while she unlocked the front door. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on.”
Jem followed her through the dark house toward the washroom where she turned on the taps above a large washtub. The pipes whistled and hot water sputtered into the tub. Anna started to unbutton his shirt, and Jem stopped her. “I’m a little old to be given a bath by anyone, let alone you.”
She continued to unbutton his shirt. “I am a doctor, Jem Clayton. I want to make sure you weren’t injured today. Anyway, it’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen when you were a kid.”
He pulled her closer to him so that they were pressed against one another. “You might be surprised.”
Anna’s cheeks turned crimson and Jem smiled before stepping back from her and yanked off his boots. They were caked in mud and he set them down next to the door. “I’m just playing with you, Anna. Besides, you’re a little too old for me.”
“I’m only four years older than you!”
“Yeah, but that’s in woman-years. A woman thirty-six years old is like a man at fifty. At least, by my math.” She rolled her eyes but did not look away as Jem started to unbutton his pants.
They laid down together after his bath and started on opposite sides of the bed. “It’s cold in here,” Anna said.
“You want me to go put on the furnace?”
“No.”
Jem wrapped his arm around her and pressed himself against her back. “Is that better?” When she did not respond he lifted his head to look at her and saw she was already asleep.
The next morning he woke up alone. There was a pitcher of coffee on the table next to the bed with an empty cup in a saucer. Beside the pitcher was a locked wooden box with an old key laying on top of a note that read: Whatever is in this box belongs to you. I have kept it all these years waiting for you to come home.
Jem folded up the letter and regarded the box. He studied the rusted metal lock as he twirled the heavy iron key in his fingers before fitting it into the opening and turning.
The box lid creaked open and the first thing Jem saw were several pieces of paper folded together. He removed each page and placed them on the bed to smooth them out. There was the same shaky handwriting on each page. He read the first one.
Dear Jem:
I do not know how this letter will find you. Perhaps you will be an old man like me when you finally read it. All the men written of within it may have long since passed on and you will be left with nothing except maybe a few answers.
However, it is my hope that you are not so old, and that those men have not quite so easily escaped from their past deeds.
I entrusted this box to my beloved daughter Anna, who has always taken a fancy to your family. It is my sincerest hope that she is healthy and happy as you read this, and while I entreat you not to tell her anything else that you read here, please tell her that.
It has been ten years since I last laid eyes on you. You rode out one day searching for something that I suspect was taken from you when you were just a boy. Whatever it is you went looking for, I don’t believe you will have found it. Not out there, anyway. It’s here.
I am going to tell you the truth about your father and his passing.
I pray to God Almighty that you are man enough to stand it, and I hope more than anything else that you are strong enough to forgive me. I am already dead, as you read my words. I’ve heard death’s footfalls creep toward me for weeks now and he will be here soon. I am looking forward to it, actually. By the time you have lived to my age, and seen what I have seen, you will not fear death. You’ll fear life. You’ll look forward to taking a nice long rest, and to the end of having to lose the things that you love.
Only four people know the truth about what happened that day in the wasteland. One of them died finding out. I suspect I’ll be gone soon, so count me out as well. Of the two that remain, it is my dying wish that they have a chance to witness your reaction to all I am about to say.
It had been a week since Sam Clayton had left us for Beothuk Country with that wagon full of dead bodies. He went on a damned fool’s errand to try and make peace with those savages by showing them a more noble way of existence. Nobody, including myself, thought this was a good idea.
Sam was a popular man, and there were rumblings of forming a search party that didn’t amount to much beyond tavern talk. It took me by surprise when I came to find out that Walt Junger and Billy Jack Elliot had taken it upon themselves to ride out into the desert to look for him. I saw Walt loading up a destrier in front of the Sheriff’s Office and asked him when he was headed out. “First light,” he said.
“I’m going with you,” I said.
By that time, Billy had come out to stand on the porch, and Walt looked up at him. Billy nodded and shrugged, telling me that was fine.
We went past the security gate and headed into the mountains. To my surprise, both the other men hunted for your father with ferocity, determined to find him. I’d never put much stock in Walt Junger, but he cut sign for Sam Clayton like he was born to do it.
Truthfully, I wasn’t eager to find him.
I thought we would get to the border of Beothuk country and find your father’s body displayed like some kind of goddamn waypoint marker, a warning to all us civilized folk that this is what happens to them when you venture too far from home.
Imagine my surprise when I spied a rider in the far off distance, making his way down the mountain toward us.
I called out his name before we were even close enough to recognize one another, out of sheer hope. I spurred my ride forward, taking off toward him, but the other two stayed behind. I looked over my shoulder to see Billy side up to Walt and start talking.
Sam smiled at me as I came near. “What the hell are you doing all the way out here?”
“We came to rescue you, Sheriff,” I said. “But you certainly don’t look any worse for the wear.”
He asked who I’d brought with me, and when I told him, he frowned and stared straight ahead. “How are my kids?”
“Fine,” I said. “They’re with Anna. You’d see her skin a werja with her bare hands before anybody messed with those children.”
“I know,” he said. He was about to say something else, but Walt and Billy started riding toward us. Sam waited, taking their measure as they approached.
“Hello, Walt,” he called out. “Billy, your damn nose still looks crooked. Did you go see a doctor to get it set? You having trouble breathing out of it?”
Walt rode in front of Billy Jack’s destrier, blocking both our views of him for a moment. Walt made a big show of greeting Sam and telling him how proud everyone was of him, but just as Walt got close enough, he cut to the side. Billy Jack Elliot was aiming a rifle at your daddy. I remember thinking that it was some sort of joke, but then I heard the gunshot.
The noise sent my destrier up on her hind legs, and by the time I got her back down, Sam was slumped over in the saddle. He was already gone by the time I ran to his side.
The bullet had gone clear through his heart. I was reaching for my pistol when Walt Junger put the barrel of his gun against my forehead. “Time for you to make a decision, Old Man Willow.”
“Go to hell, you murderous son of a bitch.” Tears were streaming down my face and filling up my eyes to the point that I could hardly make out either of them.
Billy got down from his saddle and came up beside Walt. He pushed Walt’s gun down and said, “Calm down. Mr. Willow’s mind is spinning right about now. He needs a few moments to process.”
I got my pistol free and shouted, “Process this!” like I was some sort of dimestore hero. I feel funny writing it, but it’s the truth. The look on both of their faces was priceless. It would have been perfect if I’d shot them both right there, but I squeezed the trigger and nothing happened. Either the damn thing jammed or it was never loaded in the first place. I’ve never been much of a gunman. If anything, I kept it with me for show.
They laughed when I sank to my knees in the dirt and cried like a fool. Jem, I cried for you kids and I cried for my dear friend Sam. I’m not proud to say that I cried for myself and Anna too, because I was convinced that they were going to kill me next.
But I did not beg.
I cursed those sons of bitches and told them to get on with it.
Billy squatted down in front of me and said, “I think there’s been enough killing for one day. Especially since you got that pretty little girl back home.”
“Imagine what could happen to her if you don’t come home tonight. We might have to go visit her, just to check on her,” Walt said.
“I heard how that old boy who used to work for you got real friendly with her,” Billy said. “I heard he had her do all sorts of things. Sounds to me like she’s got some experience. What do you say, Walter?”
“I could use a sweet young thing that knows what she’s doing,” he said.
“Unless of course we can all agree that we found Sam Clayton dead out here. I think if we all made that agreement, we could all live together in peaceful harmony.”
I looked at both of them and cursed them harder than any man has ever cursed another human being. I cursed them, Jem, and I told them to shoot me, but they didn’t.
They laughed at me.
Both of them dragged Sam’s body off to the side of the road just to leave him there. I wouldn’t allow it. I dug out a shallow grave for him with my bare hands at the crest of the mountain. When they weren’t looking, I took his Sheriff’s badge and stuffed it in my pocket.
Before we left, I memorized where we were and when I got home, I drew a map to his grave.
Justice died in Seneca 6 the day Sam Clayton was murdered, Jem. It’s been sitting inside this wooden box ever since. My hope is that by writing this, I might bring the day that it returns closer.
I pray with all my might that you forgive me, Jem.
May God have mercy on my soul, and none on the bastards that murdered the finest man I have ever known.
Yours Eternally,
Erasmus Willow
Jem folded the pages of the letter and removed a map from inside the box. The map was a crude drawing with a stick figure for Sam’s body and various symbols designating the terrain. Old Man Willow had drawn dots across the map to show footpaths and scribbled notes along the margins about the terrain.
At the bottom of the box was a small object wrapped in black velvet cloth. Jem felt the heavy object inside the cloth, weighing it in the palm of his hand, before he unwrapped it. He peeled away the corners of the covering slowly to reveal the tarnished bronze star hidden within. The word SHERIFF was etched across the front.
Jem laid back on the bed and inspected the star, turning it over in his hands. It looked smaller than it had when he was a boy, even though this was the first time he’d ever actually held it. Sam had never taken it off of his coat.
Jem twirled the badge between his fingers, feeling that the grooves of the letters were worn smooth. He studied his reflection in the dull brass surface and could not deny that the image he saw looked a lot like the badge’s previous owner.
But he’d been a good man, Jem thought. A law-abiding man of respectable character. Decent as the day is long. Sam Clayton was a good man, and you sons of bitches took him away, he thought. He picked up the letter and looked at it again, thinking, you all are about to die.
16. The Mercy Seat
The newest Ayawisgi entered the sacred circle, surrounded by the warriors of the tribe. A trio of drummers pounded a skin of stretched hide in unison with a slow beat that made the boys bend over and sweep the ground with their hands. The pace of the drum increased and the drummers sang in high-pitched tones of an ancient battle between the Beothuk of the Plains and the White Man.
Lakhpia-Sha winced as he tried to lift his thickly bandaged arm at the elbow to point it toward the sky. Haienwa’tha hovered close by, keeping the excited Thathanka-Ska from bouncing into them both.
Osceola stood outside the circle, stone-faced as he watched the boys dance save for the movement of his lips as he recited the choreographed movements he’d carefully imparted to them. His eyes clenched shut each time one of them missed.
Chief Thasuka-Witko entered the circle and held up his hands, “All Ayawisgi join us inside the circle, and celebrate your fellow warriors’ ascension into the tribe of men.” Everyone began to dance, and even ancient Mahpiya limped with his staff into the circle to join them.
Mahpiya had been a grand-champion in his youth, competing against other tribes and returning with ribbons and blankets in prizes for his people. He mastered the dances of the Northern tribes and Eastern tribes and even
now as his steps were limited and stilted, everyone stood aside at his approach lest they give off the appearance of challenging him.
Mahpiya watched his people dance and held out his hand to the four winds in thanks for another season. He closed his eyes and swayed to the drum’s beat, feeling the wind rise and blow across his face.
Mahpiya stopped dancing.
Everyone quickly noticed him standing still, face into the wind, chanting. Thasuka-Witko made his way toward the old man cautiously, not wanting to disturb his trance. Mahpiya’s eyes opened and he said, “Clear the circle.”
The drumming stopped and the dancers filed out of the circle behind the Chief, leaving the medicine man standing alone in the center. He raised his stick and lifted it high in the air, then drove it into the ground. He held out his hands and uttered a prayer, drawing circles in the dust with the edge of his staff until it started to swirl on its own.
Mahpiya guided the small cyclone from side to side, as it grew in force and started toward the edges of the circle, whipping past the faces of the men who stood watching. The cyclone spun around and around, circling Mahpiya as he reached into his pouch and threw a handful of green leaves into the winds.
His eyes darted back and forth to read the shape the leaves took as they flew past, and suddenly the old man clapped his hands and the wind stopped, sending dust and stone raining toward the ground. Mahpiya looked at Thasuka Witko and said, “You must gather the women.”
***
Chief Thasuka Witko greeted the Women’s Council by nodding at the ones who surrounded the fire and assessed him with their stares. The eldest woman on the Council was called Agaidika. She was older than the small mountains; older than even Mahpiya.
Agaidika had outlived everyone she loved, including her own children, and the many years alone had brought her the kind of wisdom that is born of having no sympathy for anyone or thing. At the opposite end of the circle were young women, only a few years older than Thasuka Witko’s oldest, Haienwa’tha. They held babies to their young, full breasts then bounced them on their knees, trying to keep them silent when the Chief made ready to speak.
Guns of Seneca 6 (Chamber 1 of the Guns of Seneca 6 Saga) Page 15
