The House in Banes Meadow
Page 10
“Okay, mighty hunters,” Sarah said, looking at the note. “What flavor Pop Tart do you want?”
The morning feast done, the two mighty hunters of the Creek Nation took bows and arrows and set out in search of buffalo, in the form of small frogs, in a nearby culvert.
But the ‘buffalo’ were evasive and difficult to hit. After a frustrating two hours, both were bored.
“I have an idea,” Toby said. “Let’s find an old house to explore.”
“No!” Timmy replied. “Old houses are dangerous and U’ tiun’ ta’ may nest in them.”
“Bullshit,” Toby replied. “There is no U’ tuin’ ta’! That is only an excuse to keep people from finding all kinds of good stuff. Wouldn’t it be cool to find an old gun or some money?”
“But what if we got hurt?” Timmy asked. “No one would know where we were.”
“We’ll be careful,” Toby replied. “If one of us gets hurt, the other can go for help.”
“I don’t know,” Timmy said. “We could get in a lot of trouble, if we are caught.”
“That’s why we find someplace away from town,” Toby replied. “That way no one will catch us, nor ever know we had been there.”
“I still think it’s not a good idea,” Timmy said.
“What? Are you chicken?” Toby asked. “So much for the brave Creek Warrior.”
Timmy looked at Toby and disliked him at that moment, but said, “Okay. I know of a place that is far out of town, if you go by road, but not so far if we cut through the woods. I saw it once when Uncle was teaching me to track.”
“Then let’s go!” Toby said.
John woke late from a beer-induced relaxed sleep to find Ray had already left for work. The dream of Sharon telling him that U’tuin’Ta’ was in the house they had searched, but was so well hidden they had overlooked her, was fresh in his mind. It was something he’d take care of as soon as the coffee cleared the fog from his mind and he worked the stiffness from his leg. “There was no hurry,” he told himself. “I have all day.”
Nettie awoke in her chair, the television still blaring in front of her and her ice cream bowl, licked clean, across the room on the floor.
“Enjoy your dessert?” she asked Potlicker, who managed to look guilty and pleased at the same time.
Nettie opened the door and shooed the dog outside. “You stay out there,” she said. “I’m getting on my Sunday-Go-To-Meetin’ clothes. Me and the Lord are going to go kick Satan back into hell, where he belongs.”
Looking at the clock, Nettie saw that she had plenty of time. After all, she had all day.
Though the lawn tractor roared and vibrated, something was bothering Amos, but for the life of him, he could not think of what it was. Lost in thought, he had mowed not only grass, but paper cups, plates and a few aluminum cans. He wasn’t worried about that. He would pick them up this afternoon. Break time came and went unnoticed. Just before noon, Tibbs came looking for him to make sure he was not hurt.
“Hey!” Tibbs yelled, above the noise of the tractor. “Are you going to work through lunch, too?”
Amos stopped the tractor and switched off the engine. Suddenly he knew what was bothering him. The children were alone today.
“I must go check on something,” Amos said to Tibbs. “I will be back after lunch.”
“What about the tractor?” Tibbs asked.
“Will you take it? I’m in a hurry,” Amos said, walking away.
Amos had just stepped onto the porch at Timmy’s house when Ted pulled up in the driveway. Ignoring Ted’s greeting, Amos knocked on the door. Sarah answered.
“I have come to see how you children are.” Amos told her.
“Me too,” Ted said, from behind Amos. “I even brought lunch. Where are the boys?”
“I’m not sure,” Sarah said. They said they were going hunting. I think that means they went down to the culvert.”
Amos turned to Ted and said, “I will go find them and tell them to come home for lunch.”
“Thank you,” Ted replied. “I’ll stay here with the girls until they get back.”
Chapter 30
Amos checked the culvert. He saw where the boys had been by the confusion of tracks they had left behind. Circling the area, he picked up their trail leading deeper into the woods. Timmy’s tracks showed promise of someone difficult to trail, but Toby’s trail was the wandering rhino, who did not care who found him and let the tracker beware.
Amos could see that the boys were alone, that no one forced them in their direction of travel. They were only a little better than an hour ahead, but where were they going?
There was nothing in that direction except...an unreasonable fear gripped his aged heart, when he realized they were on their way to the old house in Banes Meadow. Cursing his age, his heart and his weak legs, Amos hurried, in hopes of catching the boys before they reached their destination.
John cursed too, but not at himself. The old motorcycle had decided it wanted to stay home today. No matter how hard John slammed down the kick starter, the motor didn’t even try to start.
After an hour of kicking, cussing, and pleading, the old machine finally relented and roared to life. Stopping for gas, John drank another cup of coffee before heading for the house in Bane’s Meadow.
Nettie was having her own problems. It was obvious that her one good dress had shrunk in the wash. Not only was it tight around her middle, but her ankles showed too. After trying to decide if she should change back into one of her old house dresses or not, she was given the thought that the Lord doesn’t care if a decent woman’s ankles showed by accident once in a while. It was what was in her heart that counted. Taking her Bible, Nettie started out to her car, but stopped on the porch and went back into the house to take the old, silver cross from where it hung on the wall. Thus armed, Nettie stopped to pet Potlicker before going to her car.
U’ tiun’ ta’ dreamed of children and longed for the taste of the sweet fresh blood she once had, so many years ago. A child’s blood is untainted by alcohol, tobacco or the drugs whose taste she didn’t recognize, in what she had to feed on these days.
She had dreamed of children many times, but this dream was more realistic. It seemed she could hear them talking in the yard outside.
Timmy looked wide eyed at the old two story house, hoping that Toby wouldn’t see his knees shaking.
“We’ve seen it. Let’s go,” Timmy said.
“Oh. Come on,” Toby replied. “There is nothing in there to hurt you, unless you are afraid of a few spiders.”
“I’m not afraid of spiders,” Timmy replied. “But there is something about this place that scares me.”
“Then you stay out here and I’ll go in,” Toby said. “But don’t expect me to share anything good I find.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Timmy said.
“I don’t care what you wish,” Toby replied. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll only look around on the first floor and I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Okay,” Timmy said. “But I still have a bad feeling.”
Toby didn’t bother to answer, but instead went to a broken out window and climbed in.
Timmy moved to where he could see Toby search the first floor through the window. Toby went through the door by the fireplace, into the kitchen.
“Wow!” he called. “You should see this old stove! There is a lot of cool stuff in here.”
Coming back into the living room, Toby set an ornate oil lamp by the window sill, then turned and started up the stairs on the other side of the fireplace. He was halfway up the stairs when his foot broke through a rotten board, trapping his leg.
“Timmy! Help!” Toby shouted. “My foot is caught and my leg is bleeding!”
A noise made Toby look at the top of the stairs.
Timmy started toward the house to help his friend when he heard Toby scream.
“Oh God! It’s U’ tiun’ ta’! She’s here!”
Upon hearing what Toby screamed, Timmy tur
ned to run. He would find help and return to rescue his friend. Running a few steps, he stopped. Was not the blood of the ancestor who had once killed U’tuin’ta’, running through his veins? Are the Creek cowards, who flee an enemy, no matter how powerful?
Returning to the spot, Timmy picked up the arrows left by Toby. With what he thought was the terrifying Creek war cry and the faith of a ten-year-old, Timmy ran toward the house.
John was choking to death in the dust kicked up by some slow-moving old fart in a 1952 Chevy in front of him on the county line road. Unable to see to pass, he finally came to a stop in order to let the car get far enough ahead for the dust to settle.
Nettie had no idea that John or his motorcycle was anywhere around. Not only did the dust she kicked up hide him behind her, but her off-key fortieth stanza of “Onward Christian Soldiers” sung at the top of her lungs, kept her from hearing the roar of the motor behind her.
Amos had reached the edge of the woods just in time to hear Timmy’s war cry and to see the boy run to the house, bow and arrows in hand.
He was halfway across the meadow, when an old car chugged and coughed its way up the drive to stop in front of the house. What was even stranger was when he saw an old fat woman in a dress get out of the car, tuck a book under her arm and hold a silver cross out in front of her, as it gleamed in the bright sunlight like a headlight on a train. Bellowing a Christian song, she marched up to the house.
Amos was just a few feet from the house when some crazy man on a motorcycle flew behind him, slid the bike to a stop, hopped off and ran past him into the house.
“It is a very strange world,” Amos told himself.
Reaching the house, Amos heard screams and shouts, as he looked for an easier way in. The fat woman must have been more agile than him, to have gone in this way.
Peeking in the window, Amos saw the fat woman knock U’tiun’ta’ down with a hard left hook.
“Take that, Satan!” the woman yelled. “That one was from me! The next one is from the Lord!”
Unhurt, U’tiun’ta’ sprang to her feet. Hissing with rage at the woman who dared strike her, she drew back her hand, the bone-hard finger with its barb like a snake ready to strike. Rushing at Nettie, she met a right hook that even made Amos wince.
“How do you like me, now?” Nettie yelled, doing a fair imitation of Ali’s rope-a-dope dance on the littered floor. “How do you like the Lord, now?”
U’tiun’ta’ screamed in rage as she regained her feet. Drawing back her hand again, U’tiun’ta rushed in. Nettie danced away backwards, but her foot hit the lamp that Toby had set by the window and she fell heavily to the floor. U’tiun’ta’ was on her in an instant, laughing, drooling and screaming all at the same time. Drawing her hand back to puncture Nettie’s heart, her eyes opened wide in surprise when her hand was stopped as it started to descend. Turning her head, she looked up just in time to see an obsidian blade flash down into her eye.
John, still holding her arm, threw U’tiun’ta’ off Nettie and onto the floor.
After a few spasms and an ungodly groan, U’tiun’ta’ was no more.
Nettie, still dazed from her fall, looked at the large well-built, dark skinned man standing over her and muttered, “Lookin’ good, Lord. Lookin’ real good.”
John picked up U’tiun’ta’s hand with the bone finger on it.
“Look here,” he said, as he pulled the heavy, flesh colored latex glove from the veined, wrinkled hand. “She even cut off her forefinger at the first knuckle and wired this bone in place to her hand, before pulling the glove on over it. She wasn’t a real monster, just some poor nut that thought she was.”
“Or,” said Amos. “A poor soul that was possessed by a demon.”
Chapter 31
A week later:
Ted, Marlene, Sarah, Naomi and a small crowd of people sat and watched the ceremony. Grayson presided and Amos attending, were both in traditional clothes.
“We are here to honor John Littlefeather as a true warrior of the Creek Nation,” Grayson said. “We present him with the spear, the bow and arrow, the war club and obsidian knife that are the traditional weapons of the Creek Warrior. We also offer him a position with the Lighthorse Tribal Police, if he will take it.”
Grayson then turned to Nettie and said, “We also honor Nettie Pyles as an Honorary Woman Warrior of the Creek Nation. Her courage is an inspiration to us all.” Amos handed the bronze plaque to Grayson, who gave it to Nettie.
With a brief scattering of applause, the crowd started to disburse.
“Wait!” Grayson commanded. “There is one more thing. Timmy and Toby, come up here.”
When both boys stood before Grayson, he whispered, “Be brave. This will only sting a little.” Taking a ceremonial knife from his belt, Grayson made a small cut on Timmy’s palm. Then taking Toby’s hand, did the same. Placing the cuts on each hand and pressing them together, Grayson said. “During the fight with U’tiun’ta’, Toby had his leg caught and could not free himself. Timmy, at risk of his own life, stood over his friend, armed and ready to fight to the death, to defend him. These are now Brothers of the Blood for all time.”
This time, the applause was much louder.
Ted turned to Marlene and asked, “Think we could get Amos to stay with the kids this weekend? I think you could use a vacation.”
“Inspector?” Ray said walking up with his arm around Trudy.
“Yes, Ray,” Ted replied.
“We found the Barren’s truck that was stolen from the crime scene in the meadow,” Ray said. “Junior Sikes thought it might be funny to hide it. Apparently he hotwired it and drove it to a friend’s garage, while his girlfriend followed in his car.”
“Mr. Sikes has been suitably chastised, I assume,” Ted replied.
“Yes sir,” Ray said.
“Good. Very good.”
The End
About the author:
Jessie (Jess) Cox is a citizen of the Creek Nation in Oklahoma and a former law enforcement officer.
He is a motorcycle enthusiast and lives amongst the Cherokee in the eastern central part of the state.
This book is dedicated to many, including
Lottie, who has backed my play so many times. I love you, dear.
Darlene, the best cousin in the world, who not only edits my work and gives me instruction, but also feeds me cookies.
Stacy, who fed me when times were hard.
Tammy, who encouraged me and gave me credit.
Jen, who is “unbiased”.
Sinful Lisa, who sweetly informed me that my punctuation sux.
“Dirty Bugs” Canon, one of my best friends and treasure hunting buddy
and a host of Biker friends, including Big Daddy Doc, Brother Ug, Staryder, Krackers and BigBen.
The third novel in the series is entitled
“Cheechako” and hopefully will be on the shelf in a month or so.
“May Peace and Harmony be permanent guests in your lodge.”
JC
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
About the author
Dedication
The House in Banes Meadow