Oliver

by Christine Sterling

  Finally, they arrived at a town called Flat River. Mr. Blackman decided he wanted to stay in town for a spell. He mentioned something about waiting for a man to return.

  Willow spent her days doing laundry for the soiled doves. Her fingers were raw from the hot water and lye soap. Eventually, she knew the names of all the women that worked for Miss Marcy. She listened to their stories as they talked between themselves. It was as if she wasn’t even in the room. Some of the stories made her ears blush.

  After a few weeks, Willow eventually confided in one of the women that she needed help to escape. When Mr. Blackman returned to the room that evening, she thought she was going to die from the beating he gave her. Her father’s beatings paled in comparison to those she received from Mr. Blackman.

  Willow never again asked for help after that.

  She might not be able to move for several days after one of her escape attempts, but it didn’t stop her from trying. She tried to escape on her own, but Mr. Blackman would catch her before she could make it to the edge of town. He hid her shoes after that and beat her until she gave up trying to deflect the blows.

  This last attempt was … she shuddered at the thought.

  When she last saw Mr. Blackman, he was lying face down in a pool of blood. She knew she needed to escape. She would be hung if they caught her.

  She raced to the wardrobe and grabbed her Bible and the bag of coins she knew Mr. Blackman kept under a loose panel. Might as well be a murderer and a thief, she thought. The punishment was still the same.

  The sound of footsteps and laughter boomed down the hallway, making its way towards the room she was staying in. With a racing heart and sweaty palms, she shoved the few items in her pockets. Stepping over the bloody corpse of Mr. Blackman she raced down the hall, away from the commotion.

  Her eyes darting left and right to make sure no one had seen her or was following her, she quietly opened a window and shimmied down the tree outside.

  Then she ran.

  She ran through back alleyways, a residential area, behind the mercantile and into the open prairie. She recalled spying a creek on her stagecoach ride into town. She headed in the direction of where she thought she remembered seeing it.

  Willow took several gulps of air, trying to fill her lungs. It would be dark soon and she needed to find somewhere to sleep. She looked at the sun lowering in the sky. There was still plenty of daylight for her to get further away; she estimated she had been gone for about four hours.

  Shielding her eyes, she looked at the landscape around her. She didn’t know what month or day it was, but she knew she had come to this part of the country in the Spring. The flowers were just starting to blossom.

  Now, the scent of cold weather was on the horizon. Autumn would give way to winter and she needed to find somewhere to stay before the weather turned cooler.

  Nebraska was known for its unpredictable weather in the autumn. Why Suzy said that it might even snow in September!

  She shook off the memories and decided to continue making her way down the creek bed. Lifting her sopping skirt, she gave a little hop, moving from the large flat stone towards the muddy shore where the creek met the river.

  Suddenly, the sound of laughter and whistling interrupted her thoughts. She stopped in her tracks, straining her ears to listen. There were three voices, and they appeared to be coming from behind her.

  She could hear them talking, but the words didn’t reach her ears. Lifting her nose, she could smell the scent of cheap hand-rolled cigarettes, which told her that she was downwind of the party.

  Scampering along the shore, she found a clearing where she could climb up into the brush along the water. Praying there weren’t any rattlesnakes, she scrambled under a large bush and made herself as small as possible, hiding her face in her arms and waiting until the men passed. Her breathing sounded heavy in her ears.

  A rock dug in her side as she lay on the ground. She was afraid to move lest they find her and prayed to be as quiet as possible.

  Chapter Two

  It didn’t take long to hear the riders approach where she was hiding. She lifted her eyes slightly, peeking over her arm at the men on horseback. There were three of them.

  Cowboys, to be sure, if she were to judge by the tall hats they were wearing.

  They were covered in dust, and their shirts were soiled with perspiration. One of the men removed a bandana and wiped his forehead. Willow noticed his skin was leathery from spending too much time outdoors. Their boots were caked in mud and she could see tools strapped to the back of the horses.

  The men strolled along the small trail next to the river. They didn’t appear to be in a hurry to get where they were going.

  Willow purposely didn’t use the worn trail, as she didn’t want to leave footprints behind; she remembered hearing that dogs couldn’t track through the water. The men’s voices carried as they moved closer.

  The man with the bandana looked at the sky, shifting on his saddle. “We should be headed back home for supper soon.”

  “You are always hungry, Rich,” a man in a green linen shirt said. “’T’ain’t been the same since Tot left. Poke is alright and all, but his vittles ain’t the same as what Tot could make.”

  “You missin’ his beans?” the older man asked. “Whoa.” Willow heard his horse stop. She lifted her eyes and was looking directly at his horse’s legs. She gave a little gasp and pulled her legs tighter to her chest.

  She could see the man looking around. His eyes lingered on the bush where Willow hid. She tried to sink further into the ground at the bottom of the brush.

  “You alright, Smokes?”

  The man’s gaze lingered for another moment before turning to his companions. “Thought I saw something.” He pulled a cigarette and match from his pocket and placed the tobacco in his mouth. Striking the match against the side of his saddle, he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

  “If you men weren’t so slow, we’da be headed home by now.” His shirt was so dirty, Willow couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be cream or brown. The man flicked his ash towards the water. “We better get over to the north side. We have one more fence to get done before dark.”

  Willow made a mental note not to go that way, as she didn’t want to risk meeting someone.

  She winced as the rock dug deeper into her side. Her leg was falling asleep and she couldn’t hold her position much longer.

  Move along, she thought to herself. Shifting, she nudged the rock away from her side. Instead of just going the few inches she expected, the rock tumbled down the bank and splashed in the water.

  “What was that?” Rich asked.

  “Probably just a rabbit,” the smoking man replied.

  “As long as it ain’t a mountain lion.”

  Mountain lion?

  She heard water splash and peeked to see one of the men leading his horse through the creek and directly to where Willow was hiding. She held her breath.

  A rustle from the bush next to her drew the man’s attention and a pair of squirrels jumped out from the brush and scampered up the tree.

  The man let out a nervous laugh. “Just squirrels.” The horse moved back up the bank towards the trail and the men began walking down the trail once more.

  Willow closed her eyes until she heard the men’s voices far enough away. She let out a huge breath, inhaling as much air as she could into her burning lungs.

  Muttering a prayer of thanks, she rolled out from under the bush and followed the edge of the bank to where the two bodies of water met.

  She heard the voices coming from the right, so she went left, keeping low to the ground until she could find a place to slip back in the water.

  She estimated she had walked for about an hour when she spied a large land formation jutting from the ground. It was sloped, but flat on the top. It wasn’t a hill, as she had never seen a hill all ragged along the edges.

  But it did appear to be high up enough where she could see any
one approaching from any direction. Perhaps she might find a place to rest for the night. Her belly growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the night before.

  Willow scanned the ground looking for anything that might fill her aching belly. She found a woody bush covered in small yellow berries. Picking one berry she gently crushed it between her teeth. The juice oozed from the berry, leaving a few seeds in her mouth. She spit the seeds on the ground and reached for a few more.

  Filling her palm with the golden nuggets, she continued her trek up the river, nibbling on the berries as she walked. When she was done eating, she brushed off her hands, wiping the juice from the berries on her skirt.

  The berries weren’t terrible. They were bitter but palatable. She wouldn’t want to eat them every day, but for now, they would fill her belly.

  She looked around to see how far she still had to walk to the plateau. It appeared farther in the distance. How did that happen?

  The sun was sinking lower in the sky and the temperature was dropping. She needed to find shelter, and soon. The words the man said still echoed in her mind. Mountain Lion.

  She prayed she wouldn’t see one until she arrived at the next town. She knew that a fire would keep the animals away, but she didn’t want to have anything that would allow anyone to spot her. She continued to walk, looking at the trees along the river. Finally, she spied one with a large opening at the base. The tree appeared to be hollow.

  Brushing a few spiders from the opening, Willow shivered and backed into the tree. Every muscle in her body ached, the bruises still tender as the wood scraped against her delicate skin. She stretched out her legs from the tree, trying to get as comfortable as possible. It was musty and damp. But at least it was warm.

  She could hear squirrels chattering above her and an owl calling in the distance. Placing her hand in her pocket, she grasped her Bible.

  “God. If you are listening to me, if you are even out there. Please keep me safe tonight. I didn’t mean to kill that man. Honest, I didn’t. I thought he was going to kill me. Or worse. Please guide me when the sun comes up.”

  Using the edge of her sleeve she wiped a single tear from her cheek. It had been so long since she cried, she wasn’t sure she remembered how.

  She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them to keep herself warm against the dropping temperature.

  She could see the stars shining through the leaves and the reflection of the moon was bright against the river.

  She listened to the sounds in the darkness, the sound of crickets and frogs lulling her to sleep. There was the lowing of cattle in the distance, and as she shut her eyes, she heard the lonely howl of a coyote.

  Willow waved her hand through the air trying to swat a bug that was tickling her head. She could feel the sun warming the morning, but she didn’t want to open her eyes.

  The bug tickled her forehead again, but this time it was accompanied by a gust of wind. She swatted at it once more, and rolled over, her cheek pressing into a stone.

  She slowly opened her eyes, fluttering them until the world came into focus.

  The tree.

  She had been sleeping in a tree. Sometime during the night, she must have rolled out and stretched out on the grassy patch in front of it.

  She rolled her head and stretched her neck trying to relieve the stiffness. Rolling onto her belly, she lifted herself on her knees, and then she heard it…

  A chuffing sound and a burst of hot air hit her back. She turned her head slightly to see four dark legs standing next to her. The horse leaned down and nudged her with its head.

  Willow didn’t like horses. It was simply because she hadn’t been around them enough. She flipped over from her knees, so she was sitting and low enough not to be a threat to the horse.

  She looked around to see if any men were accompanying the horse and breathed a sigh of relief when she realized the animal was alone.

  The creature was magnificent. It was a solid black, the color of licorice. It didn’t appear to belong to anyone, as the animal didn’t have the marks from a bit or saddle.

  “Are you wild?” she asked the horse. The animal looked at her with soft brown eyes. Its ears flicking, knocking the flies away. Willow didn’t know how to proceed.

  She wanted to take care of her morning ablutions, but she didn’t want to scare the horse with any sudden movements. The horse leaned down and sniffed her hair. She felt its breath hot against her skin.

  His lips were velvety soft as he chuffed against her hair. Unexpectedly she felt a tug on her hair as the horse pulled on it.

  “Ouch. That hurts!” she cried, waving her arm.

  The horse released her and gave a loud neigh before walking down the side of the riverbank. Willow scrambled to her feet and hugged a tree in case the horse decided to charge.

  There was a rustle on the other side of the bushes. Willow peeked around the tree, praying it wasn’t the men from town looking for her. She held her breath until a cinnamon-colored horse popped its head through the foliage. It whinnied lightly to the black.

  She could hear the two horses nicker to each other. Soon several other horses joined the herd and they began to walk quietly along the river. Willow quickly followed them to see where they might be going.

  The horses walked to a clearing and then turned to head towards the plateau Willow spied the day before. They picked up speed as they ran across the open prairie towards the rock formation. That told Willow there was probably no water up there, and she should rethink where to stay.

  She heard more horses in the distance. Keeping low, she maneuvered towards the open field. In the distance was a wooden barn not far from the water. There were a paddock and several training pens. Inside one of the pens, a man was riding a horse.

  To the left of the barn was a large house that sprawled across the land. A woman was hanging sheets on a line and there was another woman picking fruit from a large tree and placing it in the basket.

  Willow felt her pulse quicken. Fruit trees meant something to eat. She would make a point to come back after dark. It appeared to be a working farm, so there would probably be a lot of people. She wondered if she could sneak up in the hayloft to sleep for the night.

  The sound of dogs barking caused her to freeze where she stood. She strained her ears to see where it could be coming from. A young woman with blondish hair was running across the yard with two puppies on her heels. She would get a bit ahead and when they caught up with her, she’d lean down and pick one up, planting a kiss on its little head.

  Willow always wanted a dog. She relaxed, knowing the barking was coming from the dogs at the farm, not dogs that were tracking her. Backing again into the bushes, she decided to find a place to hide until nightfall when she would return after everyone was asleep.

  Chapter Three

  One week later

  “I don’t have a clue what could be getting in the garden.”

  Oliver looked at his mother. Marmee had one of the nicest vegetable gardens he had ever seen. His father, Weston Chapman even put a fence around it to protect it from rabbits, deer, and even the cattle that would sometimes break free from the pastures.

  Several years ago, one of their bulls found its way from the lower pasture into Marmee’s garden. The entire garden was destroyed, and his parents ended up having to purchase most of their vegetables from the mercantile in town. The bull, however, fed the family very well. The next morning Weston rallied his eight children and the fence was erected in a matter of hours.

  Oliver was half of the eldest Chapman sons. His twin brother Owen, was technically the oldest, being born five minutes before Oliver. Then came the rest of the boys: Michael, Caleb, and Everett. Twins Marianne and Penelope were next, and finally, Alice, who was the youngest. Unfortunately, Michael was killed in Denver by a cattle rustler.

  Marmee walked around the perimeter of the garden inspecting the fence. “I just don’t see anything,” she said, placing her hand
s on her hips.

  Oliver didn’t see anything that would allow a creature to sneak into the garden or escape easily either. Nothing had been nibbled on; instead, whole vegetables were missing. He walked past the rows where carrots had been pulled from the soft dirt.

  The strawberries were normally done by this time of year, but Marmee had succeeded in coaxing a second crop from the plants. Small bushes that should be dotted with bright red fruits, were now bare. He kept walking. One head of cabbage was missing.

  One head?

  Certainly, not an animal.

  He knelt next to the plant and moved the large leaves aside. In the dirt was the outline of a foot. He placed his boot next to it to gauge its size. He gave a little whistle to get his mother’s attention. “It appears we have a thief, Marmee.”

  Marmee walked over and stood above him, her hands on her hips. “I knew that, Ollie. I need to know what is getting in here, so we can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Oliver pointed to the footprint which was dwarfed by his large boot. “That looks like a child’s print,” Marmee said, lifting her fingers to her lips. “Oh my. What would a child be doing in my garden?”

  “I imagine it is so he can have something to eat.” Oliver moved back to the path. “I’ll let Everett know. He can get a few of the hands to watch over this area of the house at night.”

  “That isn’t necessary. If it is just a child, I’m sure your sisters and I can handle it.”

  Oliver looked at his mother. She was still as feisty as ever. Even though her hair was graying, and more wrinkles appeared on her face, Ingrid Chapman was not someone to be reckoned with. She could shoot a gun just as well as any man Oliver knew, and was handy with a knife.

  He followed the trail of footprints to the fence. They extended past the orchard and disappeared towards the river. No one lived along the river for miles. There was a trapping cabin further up the gorge, but no houses that he knew of between Flat River and Grand Platte.

  “I don’t doubt it, but I’m worried because Owen and I will be gone. What if it isn’t a child? What if it is a man or woman with small feet? It is just too dangerous. It will just be you, Everett, and the girls in the house.”