by Bill Bright
While the sleeping man snored, Epps walked to the fire, warmed his hands, poked the fire with a stick, then tossed the smoldering stick into the man’s lap.
“Wha—!” The man bumbled himself awake, shoving the burning stick off his lap, and in doing so, knocked his hat off. He eyed Epps with alarm, groping for the pistol that had been resting on his chest.
That the gun didn’t go off in all the fumbling was amazing. Even from a distance Daniel could see the barrel of the gun shaking.
“Put that away, Watkins,” Epps ordered.
“You! What are you—? How dare—”
“Aya, it’s good to see you again too.”
It was clear Watkins was flustered. Holding the gun with one shaky hand, he felt for his hat with the other shaky hand and, with difficulty, placed it on his head.
“I couldn’t say anything back there at camp,” Epps explained, “so I waited until my partner was asleep before coming to find you.”
“Say anything? Find me? Why would you want to find me?”
“I work for Cyrus Gregg,” Epps said.
Watkins sneered down his nose at the long-haired intruder. “I don’t believe you.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
The gun stayed up. “What is it you want of me?” Watkins asked. “Do you want me to deliver a message for you?”
“No, I want you to give me something. I want the letter you placed in your pocket.”
The man’s free hand went to his pocket, almost as though he thought the letter would jump out and fly to Epps on its own.
“The letter was entrusted to me,” Watkins said.
“Cyrus Gregg will be angry if you deliver it to him.”
“That is none of my affair. I gave my sacred pledge that I would deliver this letter, and deliver it I shall.”
Epps held out his hand. “Just give me the letter.”
“Never, sir! I will guard it with my life!”
Watching in the tree, Daniel groaned. “Wrong answer,” he muttered.
Epps scratched his beard. “Last chance, Watkins. I’m telling you, it’s in your best interest to give me that letter.”
“Is it now?” Watkins sat up straighter, bolder. The gun no longer shook. “Do you know what would happen to me if word got back to Green Ridge that I had forsaken my pledge to—?”
Epps kicked the burning fire on the man, who raised his arms to protect himself from the flaming sticks and embers. Quick as a panther, Epps was on top of him, knife drawn.
In two seconds it was over.
The dead man’s head lay to one side. His throat was cut. Like Braxton’s.
“And what’s going to happen when word gets back to Green Ridge that you’re dead?” Epps said to the corpse.
His hand slipped into the man’s coat and came out with a piece of paper that Epps unfolded and read. Bending over what was left of the fire, he touched the paper to the flame. It flared, blackened, and was gone.
Epps showed no other interest in the man other than to say to him, “By the way…Merry Christmas.”
Robely Epps paused at the edge of camp. Everything was as he’d left it, including Asa Rush curled up, sleeping, in his carriage.
Moving to his spot beside the fire, which was little more than dying embers, Epps pulled the blanket up around his neck.
“Anything wrong?” Asa’s head rose up inside the carriage.
“Squirrel didn’t agree with me.”
“Doing better now?”
“I’ll be fine by morning. Thanks.”
The carriage jostled. The head went down.
Epps got himself cozy under his blanket.
For a while tonight he had thought he was going to have to kill Asa. Then the boy had made his presence known.
Epps was glad. He didn’t want to have to kill the old man any sooner than he had to. He liked him.
Chapter 25
Unable to sleep in a tree near a fresh corpse, Daniel ventured deeper into the forest. He stumbled through the woods, across the frozen ground and over patches of snow, anxious to put as much distance between him and Epps as possible.
He found another tree suitable for nesting, but sleep eluded him.
When morning came, his eyes were bleary, his nerves jumpy, and his legs distilled to jelly with fear.
It didn’t help that he hadn’t had a meal since yesterday. His stomach was a hollow pit. But he was more afraid than hungry, so he kept going, casting frequent glances over his shoulder.
By midmorning, exhaustion overtook him. He searched for and found a large evergreen tree. While other trees made better beds, daylight forced him to find something lush in which he could hide.
Shinnying up the tree, surrounded by the scent of pine needles, his hands sticky with sap, Daniel found a limb suitable for his purposes. He lay prone on his stomach, his cheek against the branch, his arms and legs draped over the sides.
Within minutes sleep caught up with him.
“See something?” Asa asked, packing the last of their things in the carriage.
Epps stared into the woods. “Not sure. Something caught my eye. It’s not there now.”
Asa gazed into the woods and saw nothing. “Sleep well?”
“Never better.”
Asa grinned. “The sign of a clear conscience.”
He finished packing with a sense of urgency. God willing, they’d catch up with Daniel this morning. And if Daniel didn’t give him any trouble, they could almost beat the letter to Camilla back to Cumberland.
“The squirrel must have settled down,” Asa said.
Epps appeared puzzled.
“Last night. Your stomach.”
“Oh, that!” Epps pounded his stomach with his fists. “Not a chirp out of the little fellow this morning, may he rest in peace.”
“Good! Let’s get going. If I remember correctly, there’s a little town not too far up the road. A couple of miles, maybe. I’m hoping Daniel will stop there to get something to eat.”
The two men climbed into the carriage.
“What are you grinning about?” Asa asked.
Epps’s grin widened. “Am I? Guess I’m just grateful you’re still around. For a while there, I thought I’d be heading out alone this morning.”
“The feeling is mutual, my friend. To me, you’re a godsend.”
Refreshed from his nap, which left him with sap on his cheek, Daniel had just begun to climb out of the tree when he heard someone approaching.
He froze.
Epps!The man had to be part bloodhound.
But it wasn’t Epps.
Ten feet below, a boy sauntered through the woods.Beefy was the word that came to mind when Daniel peered down at him. A huge body, but with a boy’s face. His jeans and coat were threadbare. His boots scuffed. His brown hair mussed. He carried a switch in his hand with which he whacked everything within reach as he walked along.
The boy stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Daniel checked that same direction, but a branch blocked his view.
The boy swatted a tree limb and continued on his way. He came to a giant oak tree, stepped behind the tree, and disappeared.
Daniel waited. He thought it best to stay where he was until the boy finished whatever it was he was doing behind the tree. But several minutes passed, and the boy didn’t reappear. Nor did he make any sound.
Intrigued, Daniel decided to outwait him.
“I’m not fibbin’. Honest!”
“You are too, Red. And I’m tellin’ Pa.”
“I’m shootin’ straight with ya, Hughie. Trees got feelin’s—just like people.”
“Yeah? Then how come they don’t laugh when you tickle ’em?”
Two boys walked below Daniel. Brothers from the looks of them. The older boy had red hair and freckles. The younger boy—six or seven years old—had sandy-colored hair and a rounder head.
“I’ll prove it to you,” Red said. “Crawl under here with me.”
Daniel’s brea
th caught in his throat as Red urged his younger brother to follow him under the evergreen. If either of them glanced up, they’d see him.
Red wiggled in the pine needles on his belly to the trunk of the tree. Hughie followed his example.
“See there on the trunk?” Red pointed. “Those are tree tears. This tree’s been cryin’.”
“Has not! I’m not stupid, ya know.”
“Go on, touch it. Just because they’re different from human tears don’t mean they’re not real tears. Go on!”
When Hughie refused to touch the sap, his brother tried to make him. When the younger boy resisted, they wrestled around, and Daniel thought for sure they’d seen him. But once Red succeeded in sticking his little brother’s finger in the sap, he let go and the wrestling stopped.
Hughie made disgusting noises and tried to wipe the sap off on his trousers. Daniel touched the sap on his cheek and wondered how he was going to get it off.
The boys crawled out from under the evergreen.
“I learned all about trees havin’ feelin’s in school,” Red insisted. “You’ll read about it too. When you get as old as me.”
Hughie was still wiping his finger on his trousers.
“Back in the olden days, everyone knew trees had feelin’s. Even little fellas, like you,” Red said.
“I ain’t little. I’m big for my age.”
“Over the centuries, men have forgotten most of what they knew in ancient times.”
“Yeah? Well, how come you know about it, then?”
“I read about it, Chucklehead. I just told ya.”
Hughie was still trying to get the sap off his finger. “Well, Pa’s read more books than you. How come he doesn’t know about it?”
“When you get old like him, you get civilized, and civilization blinds you. You and me? We ain’t civilized yet, so we can understand. I’m talkin’ about lost knowledge, Hughie. Lost and mysterious. You see, Hughie, a long, long time ago, there lived these three sisters. And they had a brother. But their brother died, and his body was buried beside this river called Poo.”
“Poo?” Hughie laughed. “You’re makin’ that up.”
“Will you shut up and listen? It’s a river in India, an old and ancient country. The three sisters? They were real sad their brother died.”
“I wouldn’t be sad if my brother died.” Hughie’s comment earned him a punch in the arm.
“Do you want to hear this or not, Thickwit?”
Hughie rubbed his finger again on his pants.
“Anyway,” Red continued, “these three sisters kept comin’ back to the river where their brother died.”
“Poo.” Hughie laughed.
“And the three sisters were cryin’ and wailin’ and carryin’ on somethin’ awful.”
With a singsong tone, Hughie said, “And their cryin’ made the trees so sad, the trees started to cry. Ow!”
Red punched him in the arm again. “Shut up and listen.”
“I’m gonna tell Pa you’re hittin’ me again!”
Red’s voice took on a ghostly tone. “One day, when the three sisters were lyin’ beside the river, weepin’ and wailin’, one of the sisters—her name was Phaethusa—”
“What a stupid name,” Hughie said.
Red ignored him. “Phaethusa was cryin’ real hard, and all of a sudden, the wind begins to moan in the top of the trees. She gets this real shocked look and starts complainin’ that her feet are feelin’ real stiff. She looks down, and…roots are growin’ out of her toes! They’re tryin’ to wriggle and worm their way into the ground!”
The older boy toed the dirt with his foot as though it was trying to root. “Then her sister, Lampetia, sees what’s happenin’. She gets this real terrified look and jumps up. But it’s too late. Her feet are growin’ roots too! Now both girls are screamin’ somethin’ awful.”
Hughie’s eyes were as big as saucers.
“But there was nothin’ they could do about it. And it didn’t stop there. Before they knew it, their arms start turnin’ into tree limbs, and tree bark starts to wrap itself around and around their legs and their bellies!”
Red twisted and contorted his torso for effect.
“The third sister, seein’ what’s happenin’, tries to rescue the other two. She reaches for one sister and thinks she’s grabbin’ her by the hair, but when she pulls her hand back, she’s got a handful of leaves. And then the third sister’s arms and legs start growin’ into tree limbs too!”
By this time Hughie had caught enough of the story to become agitated. His feet began to dance in place.
Red grinned and continued with the story. “Then their mother hears their screams and comes runnin’. She gets real scared, because when she gets there, her three daughters are half-girls and half-trees, but what can she do? She can’t stop it. So she runs from girl to girl, cryin’ and kissin’ them while there’s still time, because now the girls’ faces are turnin’ into tree bark.
“The mother grabs one of the tree limbs and pulls real hard, hopin’ to pull her daughter out of the tree. But the limb breaks off and the girl inside the tree cries, ‘Stop, Mother! Stop! You’re tearin’ off my arm! Please, stop!’”
Hughie was caught up in the story. His mouth dropped open.
“And to this day,” Red continued, “sometimes a girl will walk into the forest and never come out because, like the three sisters, she’s been turned into a tree. And if you listen late at night, you can hear them moanin’ and tree limbs crackin’ as the girls try to break free, but they can’t. They’re trapped inside the tree forever.”
With that last bit, it was evident Red had gone too far.
“Naaaaahhhhhh. You made that up,” Hughie said. “You’re just tryin’ to scare me.”
“Did not. I read it in school, just like I said. A fella named Ovid wrote it a long, long time ago. And if you don’t believe me, ask Mr. Tibbetts. Besides, they couldn’t teach it in school if it wasn’t true.”
“I know why you brought me out here. You brought me out here to scare me,” Hughie said with a quiver in his voice. “I’m tellin’ Pa.”
“Hughie, I’m tryin’ to do you a favor. I don’t want you to get scared when you hear girls cryin’ in the woods when no girls are around.”
“I’m tellin’ Pa.” Hughie turned to leave.
Red caught him by the arm. “OK, I’ll prove it to you.” His voice sounded reluctant, as though he didn’t want to do it, but Hughie was forcing him. “But you have to promise you won’t tell anybody about it. Do you promise?”
Hughie nodded. “I promise.”
Red shook his head. “I don’t know. You’re awfully young.”
“I promise, Red. I won’t tell no one.”
“OK, but just because you’re my brother.” He leaned close to Hughie.
From his vantage point in the tree, Daniel strained to hear what Red was saying.
“You know how sometimes people write in their schoolbooks?” Red whispered.
“Jonathan got six lashes on the back of his hands for writin’ in his ’rithmatic book,” Hughie said.
“Aya. Well, still people do it. In the back of my Ovid book there was this old writing. It was shaky, like some old person wrote it.”
“Old people don’t go to school.”
“Shut up and listen. Maybe somebody’s grandfather wrote it. It was some kind of magic spell.”
“A magic spell?” A horrible thought formed on Hughie’s face, and he began backing away from his brother. “You’re not goin’ to turn me into a tree, are you? I’ll tell Pa!”
“Get back here. I’m not gonna turn you into a tree, Chucklehead. Will you just listen to me?” Red rolled his eyes. “It’s a spell that wakes up the girl inside a tree.”
Hughie’s brow furrowed. He appeared skeptical but interested.
Red stepped closer to the massive oak. “For example, if you pull a leaf or a branch off a tree, all you hear is a crack. Right?”
He snapped
off a twig.
Hughie did the same.
“But,” Red continued, “if you wake the girl inside the tree with this spell…well then, when you break off a branch, you can hear her cry out in pain.”
Hughie cocked his head. “You gonna do it, Red? You gonna cast the spell?”
“Do you want me to?”
A few seconds pause, then Hughie nodded.
Again Red showed reluctance before saying, “You have to tap the tree twelve times.”
Hughie began poking the trunk. “One…two…three…”
“Not like that! You can’t just tap it anywhere. Like this.” Red stepped up to the tree. He loosened his shoulders and rubbed his index finger. “Three taps, four times. That’s what the spell said.” He bent low.
“Three to her toes.” He tapped the roots three times.
“Three to her knees.” He tapped a fourth of the way up the trunk.
“Three to her chest.” He tapped halfway up the trunk.
“And three to her head. It said, ‘On the laurel of acorns.’” Stretching, he tapped the trunk as high as he could reach, then stepped back, hands raised in expectation. “There. She’s awake.”
Hughie looked from the tree to his brother. “Are you sure? How do you know?”
“One way to find out,” Red replied. “Break off a branch.”
“Me? I’m not gonna do it! You do it!”
Red shrugged. He reached for a branch and snapped off a twig. “Ow!” he cried, using a high voice out of the side of his mouth.
Hughie’s finger pointed. “You did that.”
“Did not. That was the girl.”
“It was you. I saw your lips move.”
“Then you try it.” Red stepped back from the tree.
With an eye on his brother, Hughie snapped off a twig.
“Ow!” Red cried, the same as before.
“I saw you do it that time,” Hughie insisted.
“All right,” Red said. “I’ll stand over here, so you can see me. And I’ll put both of my hands over my mouth, like this, OK?” He placed both hands over his mouth to demonstrate. “But you have to pull a really big branch off this time, so I can hear it too. Agree?”
