by Lee Clinton
Henry was so surprised that this little game had actually elicited a response that he forgot to start counting to ten and had been left behind.
The wild ride to the river was exhilarating. The wind blasted their ears and the vibration of the pounding hoofs could be felt through every inch of their bodies. Chrissy leant forward, almost resting her cheek on the neck of her charger, as she felt the strength and power of the horse beneath her, while Henry pulled off his hat and flicked it back onto the rump of his horse. To watch these two skilled riders was to observe beauty in motion. They raced on towards the river with the grace and speed of a low-flying hawk.
Who won? It was close, very close, but Chrissy claimed victory and couldn’t stop laughing, which caused Henry to smile. Her laugh was warm and familiar and for just a moment, it felt like Grace was with him again.
After watering the horses and checking each leg for any heat or swelling, Henry caught sight of a jack rabbit on the other side of the riverbank. He pulled his Winchester from the scabbard, bent down on one knee, took aim, and fired.
He missed.
Chrissy let out a snigger and shook her head slightly, as if to say, Not very good, Henry.
‘Like to see you do better,’ he said.
Chrissy extended both hands for the rifle. Henry hesitated, but only for a moment. She took the Winchester confidently, knelt, and pulled it into her shoulder with her head raised as she looked for a target.
Henry sighted one. An old dead branch from a twisted and knotted fir tree that hung down close to the river’s edge. ‘See that old branch, just right a little. I want you to shoot where it touches the ground.’
Chrissy nodded once and gently laid her cheek to the stock. She took aim by aligning the front and rear sights on the exact point that Henry had selected, then easing out her breath just a little, she focused on the foresight and squeezed the trigger.
The rifle fired and she missed.
‘How sad,’ said Henry in mock concern.
The shot had missed just to the left and was a little low, not unlike Henry’s shot. This showed that the iron sights were not aligned to either Chrissy’s or Henry’s eye. This was not uncommon. Rifle sights needed to be adjusted for each individual so that the line of sight accurately reflected where the shot would fall. This was not a difficulty to fix but tools were required. The quick and popular solution was to aim off, but this required skill because the exact distance had to be estimated for both latitude and elevation if the intended mark was to be hit.
Chrissy pulled down on the lever and ejected the spent cartridge. She took up her position once again, resighted on the target and slowly shifted the aim to the right a little and up a little. Easing her breathing she paused, held steady, focused on the point of aim and fired.
The shot hit its mark.
Chrissy pulled down on the lever with one smooth action, resighted and fired quickly. The target was struck a second time. She continued to pull down, sight and fire, and struck the target again. Then once more. All four shots hit the mark.
Henry was impressed. He had been put to the test, so he pulled his Colt single-action Army from the holster, extended his arm, pulled back on the hammer, took aim and fired. With relief, he hit the same mark.
Chrissy squealed with delight and clapped her hands.
Henry put his pistol back into the holster, pride intact and feeling more than relieved with the result.
Chrissy grabbed his wrist and for a second or two he thought she was pleading for him to do it again. He had no intention of pressing his luck. It was time to quit, while ahead. But what he soon realized was that Chrissy wanted to take a shot herself. He mulled it over. Why not?
Henry withdrew the pistol. ‘Ever fired a handgun before, Chrissy?’
She shook her head.
Second thoughts came to mind, but it was too late now so he dismissed them. Chrissy was not just safe around a rifle but skilled, he told himself. And she could handle a horse as well as he could. He placed it in her hand, the hammer still forward with the firing pin against the fired cartridge.
Chrissy’s hand sagged a little as she adjusted to the weight.
‘Grip firm,’ he said, ‘now extend your arm. Pretend the barrel of the pistol is your finger and point it to where you want to aim.’
Chrissy did as instructed and selected different targets each time she pointed the Colt.
Henry watched intently. ‘Now pull the hammer all the way back. Try not to lift the barrel as you do.’
Chrissy pulled back on the hammer, it clicked and the cylinder rotated.
‘Now look along your arm, over the top of the barrel to the foresight, aim just like you do with a rifle and squeeze the trigger.’
The Colt Army fired, kicking the muzzle up, but Chrissy held firm and lowered the barrel. The shot had gone high over the target.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Henry. ‘Pistols tend to shoot high, you just need to get used to it and compensate.’
The next shot was closer to the target, but still high. Her third shot was closer again, but also high. With her fourth shot, and concentrating hard, she hit the mark.
Henry took the Colt from Chrissy and she observed as he reloaded five rounds, leaving one chamber empty, which he aligned to the hammer. He went to put it back in his holster, but Chrissy was holding up a finger to indicate that she wanted one more turn.
‘No, we’ve got to go,’ he said.
‘Please?’ came the plea from Chrissy.
Henry relented; she had spoken again. He handed her the revolver.
Chrissy gripped the handgun, pulled back on the hammer, concentrated and began to fire all five shots with less than three seconds apart. The first and second missed, but not by much. It was the last three that impressed. All hit the target.
Henry commended her skill with a warm smile. Yet it was not her marksmanship that he thought about on the journey home. It was Chrissy, the younger sister of his beloved Grace, who had been found when all thought she was lost for good or dead. Could she possibly take her sister’s place in his heart, he wondered?
CHAPTER 19
SUPPLIES
The General Store
Henry waited until he and his mother were alone before passing on the news that Chrissy had spoken. Martha clasped her hands to her cheeks, saying, ‘Thank the Lord,’ and began to cry. ‘Oh, Henry, that is such wonderful news, isn’t it?’
Henry agreed and gave her a hug. He had not seen her this happy in such a long time.
Martha believed it was best not to press Chrissy to talk, but to let it happen in its own good time. Gus agreed, but did so while dwelling on the consequences that now lay before him. Could Chrissy tell him what had happened to her and her family?
Gus sought advice from Doc Larkin, who was most interested in the details and circumstances that had led to this significant event. In turn, he agreed with Martha, while taking some pride in his own advice by saying, ‘Told you time heals, Gus. Best we just let it run its course and let Chrissy speak when she is happy to do so, but I want you to tell me all that happens. I’m going to make notes. This is a most interesting study. I have since learnt that there are recorded incidents of young men who have not spoken a word since the end of the war. Their tongues just froze. Did you know that?’
Gus did not.
‘Most interesting, most interesting, the workings of the human mind.’
‘I just want to know what she saw on that night,’ said Gus.
‘I’m sure you do, and so do we all, but don’t be impatient, Gus. Besides, she might not be able to tell you any more than it was Indians.’
‘Maybe,’ said Gus, but he didn’t believe it.
The rediscovery of Chrissy’s voice was seen by Martha as the mercy of God. Gus didn’t offer an opinion on such provenance. His faith was hanging from the thinnest of threads, but he had never told Martha that he had lost his conviction. He was happy to support her in her faith, and maybe sometime in the future he w
ould return to his. But for now, he’d ceased to believe in miracles. The war had taken care of that.
Martha regained confidence in Chrissy’s ability to recover fully and set small goals to be achieved. One of these important milestones was for Chrissy to leave the house and accompany her to the General Store to purchase supplies. The approach taken by Martha was gradual and the first step in this progression was for Chrissy to make out the list of required provisions. This she did with keenness and diligence. The written list, in pencil upon the kitchen notepad, was neatly lettered and the words spelt correctly.
When Martha finally asked Chrissy if she might like to come along and drive the buckboard for her, the response was at best tepid, but Martha persisted by getting her to harness the horse. Once done, she asked again, ‘Chrissy, would you drive for me?’ The horse snorted as if to ask the same question and the urge to hold those reins was too great. Chrissy relented.
The list of supplies was not extensive so the trip wouldn’t take long, and they would go no further than the store, returning home to place the provisions in the pantry before commencing baking. Chrissy climbed up onto the seat next to Martha and with a flick of the reins, they were off.
The ride into town was uneventful, but a little chilly. They had not rugged up sufficiently. Nevertheless, this was really no more than an inconvenience. On arrival, the store was busy with the hustle and bustle of customers. They waited in line, Chrissy now seeming a little unsettled until she became enticed by the large table festooned with fabrics at the back of the shop. From there she saw the boots, hats and coloured horse blankets on the back wall. Martha couldn’t see Chrissy as she was obscured by bolts of cloth standing upright on a row of pegs behind the table, but she knew where she was.
As Martha was attending to her order and crossing off each item from the list, customers came and went, purchasing items, be they cooking pans or lamp oil or nutmeg, cloves, toffee or even a rolling pin. When a man stood beside her and ordered one hundred rounds of .44 ammunition, Martha paid little attention.
Ben Edmonds served the customer and asked, ‘Rifle or pistol?’
‘Army Colt, centre fired,’ came the response.
Ben went to the shelves directly behind him and returned with two boxes and laid them upon the counter. ‘Best quality,’ he said. ‘UMC for Colt’s new Army revolver. Says so on the package.’
The man looked down at the yellow label and said, ‘That’s them,’ paid and left.
When Martha finished up marking off all her items, she called to Chrissy that it was time to go.
Chrissy did not respond.
Martha collected her change and called Chrissy again, asking her to help with the wicker basket and hessian sack now full of wares.
Still there was no response from Chrissy.
Martha was a little annoyed and went looking for Chrissy, while struggling to handle the supplies. What she found behind the fabrics near the horse blankets was a shock. Chrissy was crouched down low, eyes wide, and trembling like a hurt animal.
Martha dropped her load and the sack spilt as she embraced Chrissy with all her might. ‘What is it, Chrissy, what is it?’
It was as if Chrissy wanted to tell her, to speak, but the words just wouldn’t come out, just an odd stuttering yowl, not unlike a coyote pup.
Those in the shop now started to cluster around, gawking.
Martha was becoming frantic. ‘Come, come, Chrissy, let’s go, let’s go home, now.’
And as they made for the door, she heard a voice behind her say, ‘The poor Mayfield girl has embarrassed herself.’
Martha looked back to see the wet trail upon the floor behind Chrissy.
Martha was most troubled with this event and put Chrissy to bed. She said to Gus it mystified her how she could be doing so well one minute, only to return to a situation that was worse than when she had come to them. Henry went and got Doc Larkin who examined Chrissy. He prescribed Mrs Winslow’s Soothing Syrup, which he said would remove any nervousness and allow her to rest.
Later that evening, Ben Edmonds dropped by with some of the groceries that had spilt from Martha’s carry sack. Gus thanked Ben for his courtesy and walked him outside to say farewell.
Just as Ben put his foot on the wheel hub of his buckboard to climb up, he said. ‘Nearly forgot, Gus. I sold two boxes of UMC .44 revolver cartridges today.’
‘Who to?’ asked Gus.
‘Calvin Moy,’ said Ben.
Gus felt his stomach churn. ‘When exactly?’
Ben shrugged, ‘Can’t remember exactly.’
‘Could it have been around the time that Martha and Chrissy were in the store?’
Ben thought for a minute before saying, ‘Yeah, I guess it was around that time.’
CHAPTER 20
PROTECTION
Adoption
Neither Gus nor Martha could sleep that night, but for different reasons. Martha worried about the state of Chrissy, while Gus worried about what he might have stumbled upon. If the presence of Calvin Moy in the general store had resulted in the regression of Chrissy, maybe she had linked him to the killing of her family, and that was also a direct link to both his brother Aaron and his half-brother Rufus Cole.
The more Gus considered their implication, the more concerned he became. They were members of the community, and for all their faults could he honestly believe that his suspicions should extend to the murder of Abe and his family? And if it did, then what was their purpose? What would they have to gain? Sure, Cole had purchased the Mayfield stock, but he’d bid and his offer had been accepted. He had also given generously towards the funding of the search, when the three of them attended the funerals. Were these not acts of compassion? Was Gus just displaying his own personal prejudice? Anyway, how could he convince anyone of their personal involvement, let alone a court of law? Where was the evidence?
Chrissy remained in bed for the next two days, and only left her room on the urging of Henry to help him groom two horses, which he brought up to the house from the livery. It was a ploy, but it worked. On seeing Chrissy relax, Gus decided that should the opportunity arise, he would try and seek some answers from her.
It was nearly a week later that an occasion did come about. Martha asked Gus to read to Chrissy to help soothe her to sleep. She suggested the bible, which didn’t much please Gus and besides, he couldn’t think of a suitable text. Henry had moved out of his room to make way for Chrissy, and Martha had fancied it up a little. On a small shelf above the bed she had placed some of Henry’s childhood books, and one of these volumes was Ivanhoe.
‘You’ll enjoy this one, Chrissy, I know I did. It’s called Ivanhoe.’
Chrissy looked despondent.
‘It is the story of knights and maidens in the court of a king a long time ago.’
Still no response.
‘And of course, it’s about their horses.’
It worked; Chrissy’s eyes flashed. With that Gus turned to the first chapter and began to read of beautiful hills and valleys, but when his eyes sighted the words gallant outlaws he stopped. There was no such thing, he thought. You either live within or outside the law – and if you live outside the law then there are consequences.
Chrissy was becoming restless. Gus glanced back at the page and decided to abandon the printed words and make up his own story. ‘If these fine Englishmen share anything with us today,’ he said as if reading carefully, ‘it was the love of their horses.’
Chrissy cupped her hands upon the blankets as Gus continued with his made-up story of fast rides down craggy ranges, high jumps over walled fences, and the stamina of man’s best friend. When he finished and as he was about to say good night, she sat up and kissed him on the cheek, which took Gus by surprise. He patted her arm in response. ‘You know you will always be safe here, Chrissy, with Martha, Henry and myself, don’t you?’
She nodded.
‘And if you ever felt unsafe, you would tell us, wouldn’t you, so we could protect y
ou?’
Chrissy nodded, but it was a slow nod.
‘You saw someone in the store, didn’t you? Someone you need to be protected from?’
Her eyes darted from side to side, before she slowly and deliberately nodded again.
‘Don’t worry, Chrissy, we will protect you, I will protect you as if you were my own daughter. Do you understand?’
She nodded.
‘But do you believe me?’
Chrissy reached up and hugged Gus around the neck, as he said, ‘It is my promise to you, Chrissy. This family is your family now.’
When Gus spoke to Martha later that evening, it was to ask her if he should speak to the judge regarding the adoption of Chrissy.
‘Isn’t that what we’ve done?’ she replied.
‘Yes,’ said Gus, ‘it is, but not in the eyes of the law. She is considered a child without kin and having no legal guardian.’
‘Aren’t we now legally responsible?’ asked Martha.
‘No. By the law, Chrissy is like the Mayfield property, liable to the judgement of the courts.’
‘Which courts?’ Martha was more than a little vexed.
‘Well, in our district, it would be Judge Morgan’s court.’
‘What right has he to make such decisions?’
‘The right of the law. Chrissy is lucky she has you as her second mother. That is not always the case for all children who lose their family. The law is therefore necessary.’
Martha softened. ‘Then best we make it lawful, Gus.’
‘I think so too. She needs a family to protect her.’
When Gus spoke to the judge, he seemed in general agreement with the proposal, but hesitated.
‘You have concerns?’ asked Gus.
‘None on your fitness as a family to care for Chrissy. Your two families were to be joined on the wedding of Henry to Grace. If ever sensibility should dictate that on the loss of her family, Chrissy should be put in care of the Ward family, then good reason has prevailed. But complications, as always, arise.’
