Beyond the Dream Catcher

by Rita Hestand

  The throbbing pain of unshed tears choked her as Katherine Hightower hung the remnants of clothes on the line then swept past the barn, the hem of her skirt stirring the dust. She didn't dare let her eyes stray to the freshly marked graves. She couldn't and wouldn't cry again. She'd cried all during the sickness, hot angry tears at first and then heavy sobs for her lack of ability to save them. Now they were gone, and it was too late to cry. She and Joshua had died a little too, she realized as she gazed into her brother's lifeless blue eyes, passing him by the barn door. He was barely sixteen and after what they'd been through could pass for twenty-five or more.

  Now the monotony of everyday life seemed to hold no joy as it once did.

  Loneliness sliced the air they breathed. What did they have to look forward to? Especially if Mr. Butterfield went out of business.

  She lifted her gaze to the azure skies. A cloudless sky offered no hope of rain, the endless days of stifling heat, with no reprieve in sight, Katherine noted. The drought began and her garden dried up before it started. Potatoes, onions and carrots would be the extent of her fresh vegetables, her mind reflected.

  A whiff of dry dust rustled her skirt making it billow. Katherine glanced down at her dress, and sighed heavily, it looked more brown than blue, now splattered with blood. She was filthy. She doubted she could get the blood out on washday, but she'd try. She could taste the same grit of her dress in her mouth, as the West Texas wind refused taming.

  She and Joshua hadn't thought much about their appearance lately. There was simply too much work to do.

  Katherine turned her head away from the slicing wind as the sun beat down on her, but she didn't burn like Josh did, she was thankful. She sighed heavily and went inside the cabin her father built just after he'd signed on as stationmaster. He'd been so proud of his new job and built his little adobe with all the pride of a man with money in his pocket. Little good it had done him, he'd contracted the fever from one of the first passengers that came along. A fever Katherine fought hard to drive out of him, her mother, and her two sisters and the passenger who gave them this dreadful disease. For a short while, it looked as if the concoctions she made on the stove might work, but in the end, death won.

  Katherine felt the old hurts stirring and forced herself not to think about it, forced the tears away in one long swallow down the long trail of her throat. The knot that stayed heavy in her stomach made her queasy.

  She missed them, she realized with sudden clarity. God, how void life had become without them. She missed her father's big brassy voice bellowing as the noon stage arrived, "Get ready, the dust is flying."

  She missed her twin sisters, Sarah and Sally, with their incessant giggles as they played about the station, but mostly she missed her mother. The calm, kind woman who'd taught her everything she knew about life. How could she live without her mother?

  "I won't cry," she told herself aloud. She felt a tear falling down her cheek and sniffed it back. She'd hardened herself with her life and meant to go on with it. She still had Joshua, thank God.

  With her grief tucked deep inside her she readied the food for the next stage. If Mr. Bowlins was on time he'd be pulling in any time now. Mr. Bowlins was never late, that's why Mr. Butterfield hired him, her father had told her numerous times.

  Her father, dear God, a man of such strength and courage. How could he be gone?

  "The stage is comin', sis." Joshua rushed upon the porch and hollered through the doorway breaking the silence of the old home place.

  It was a blessed sound, hearing Joshua's voice come alive once more. For weeks now they barely spoke to each other, unable to contain their own grief. Conversation seemed unnecessary as death etched their minds. At least they were together. At least they were still alive or perhaps merely going through the motions of it... But Katherine could hardly call what her and Joshua had been through living either.

  She remembered how Hawks had come by and hung around most of the day when her father died. He seemed to be everywhere, as though looking for something. But what? Katherine didn't like the man; he kept staring at her so. She didn't understand his rude manners and he almost wouldn't leave. Since then he'd been over almost every day. She'd seen him up on the ridge staring down at them several times as though watching. She knew it was him. She recognized his horse, a palomino. It gave her the willies, the way he kept watch on them. What could he want from them?

  She tried to remember what he'd said the last time he'd been here and her father had been alive. She'd been on the porch, going inside, they were talking about money and the Indian wife.

  But Katherine couldn't piece it all together no matter how she tried.

  Still, she didn't consider Hawks a good neighbor either. He was definitely after something.

  She just didn't know what it was…yet!

  ***

  Katherine missed the noise and misadventures of her younger brothers too. The task of sending the young ones away was almost unbearable. It had been harder than she ever imaged. Their ages were from 4 years to 12 and the noise they created kept the old homestead full of cheer. Now, there was no noise. She had escaped their presence many times to weep in solitude, knowing what she would have to do. She hadn't wanted to send them away, but she couldn't be selfish and keep them here in this barren land. It was too dangerous, with the Indians on the warpath. No, she'd made the right decision. She wrote the letter and made all the travel arrangements. At least the youngest four were still alive and well. But she'd never forget their tears as she said her last goodbyes, feeling as though she might never see them again.

  She had a dreadful feeling that she and Joshua died with their folks and just hadn't gotten around to burying each other. The deadness inside would not go away.

  Katherine felt the wind whip through the open window and the dust quickly settled on her lips and everything else. She batted the flies away from the food.

  The taste of dust was familiar though. Feeling the grit she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, absently. Then she glanced at Joshua who stood transfixed on the porch watching the approaching red-brown cloud of dust.

  "Good, the biscuits are nearly done. You hurry up and get the team hitched. You know how anxious Mr. Bowlins gets. We don't want to keep him waiting." Katherine stirred the beans in the pot and checked the biscuits.

  She barely remembered the meals she'd prepared since her folks took sick. Food was merely a way to keep going. There had been the tubs of cool washcloths, the herbs stewed and sipped, but what she and Joshua ate she couldn't remember.

  She bit her lip and felt the blood, tasting salt against her tongue. She quickly set the table and dusted the benches and table. Had it not been so hot she would have closed the shutters. Memories of how her mother had tried so hard with so very little to set a nice table haunted her now, but she pushed those thoughts away. She would not think about that. She had too much work to do, and thankful of it.

  She heard the stage pulling into the yard, one wheel squealing, horses tromping like a stampede. For one brief moment all the memories of her family came rushing in on her, despite her intention to not think of it. Memories of how her father would loudly call the Whip and have the horses ready at hand, how her mother would fluster just a bit as she checked her food, how her sisters would stand on the porch and screech with their high pitched little voices at the sound and fury of the horses.

  The earth seemed to rumble now, bringing life into the barren yard once more, reminding Katherine that life does go on somehow.

  A hot, unwelcome gust of wind stirred the air again. Katherine waved the flies from the table and touched her hair for just a second. She hadn't thought about how she looked in a long time. The dismal act of combing her dark brown hair into some structure and putting her clothes on had become habit, not enjoyment as before.

  ***

  The stage driver bellowed mightily and swung off the top rung seat quickly as he spoke to Joshua. He quickly opened the door for the passeng
ers to climb out.

  "We'll be takin' dinner here folks and if the weather holds we'll move on to Horseshoe Bend before nightfall," Matthew Bowlins was saying as he watched the three men file from the stage.

  Joshua ambled up to them with his team of horses, ready to make the exchange as quick as possible so as not to rile the old driver. Matthew Bowlins had a mean temper when delayed with his traveling.

  "Those are right fair lookin' animals, boy. You hitch 'em up nice and tight and we'll be back in a bit. And give that back wheel a greasin' if you got any grease, huh boy. It's a ways to the next stop."

  "Yes sir, Mr. Bowlins."

  "Your Pa around?"

  Joshua glanced up from his task, his eyes hooded, his glance not quite meeting Mr. Bowlins accessing gaze. The word Pa ground into his heart like an arrow stinging him. Unwanted feelings surrounded him, but he cleared his throat and shook himself. A man didn't cry. And he was a man now. Something hard and knotted hit his stomach, but he stiffened his back and willed his eyes not to water. "No sir, he ain't."

  "Well, don't matter none. We ain't gonna be here long enough to do no tale swappin' anyhow. Your Ma around?"

  "No sir, my sister Katherine's doin' the cookin' today." Josh glanced to the porch and saw Katherine scuttling through the kitchen to get things ready. Sadness hit him hard, looking at her now. A sadness he was bound to keep inside him for the rest of his life.

  "Well now, that's fine, yes siree, that's just fine. Katherine can fix a mean bowl of beans, boys. Takes right after the Missus, she does. Come on in."

  Chapter Four

  Katherine took the biscuits out of the oven and placed them on top of the stove. She heard Joshua moving the horses and smiled to herself that they had managed well so far. Perhaps she and Joshua were alive, if she could still smile. She glanced at the table and smiled again. The cactus flower she'd put there looked pretty. She wondered if anyone would notice or care. Most of the passengers that happened through enjoyed a handsome touch to the table. Still others never mentioned it.

  She nodded to the men as they filed in, not paying much attention to them. One man looked the same as the other to her on most occasions. Besides, direct eye contact with the passengers was rude, her Ma once told her, although curiosity got the best of her many times.

  They stomped and knocked the dust off their clothes and made all kinds of racket. Sharp swords and holstered guns dangled from their hips. The clomping of their boots and spurs sounded almost as loud as the horses in the yard. It appeared no women traveled with this bunch so she wasn't too interested in any formal introductions. Mr. Bowlins seldom introduced the men on the stage to her or her mother. They weren't staying long, only long enough to refresh their hungry bellies and be on with them. Katherine imitated her mother as best she could.

  She hoped there might be at least one lady; it seemed so long since she had someone to talk with.

  She nearly dropped her ladle when she saw the man in the middle of the room though. It was the man in her dream, she knew it was. How could that be? Shock and something unfamiliar skittered through her. An awareness that made her take note. How long had it been since she felt aware of a man? Or had she ever? But this man was different, this man had been in her dream and something pulled her to him, like a magnet. She did not understand it. Had he cast some spell upon her?

  He stood out from the rest. He was tall and stood proudly. He filled out the buckskins he wore like a second skin. His hair was black as a raven's wing, long and straight. His face was angular and well chiseled. He was handsome beyond measure. So much so he nearly took her breath away. Her mouth hung open in a quiet gasp. No beard lined his cheek; instead he looked smooth as a newborn's bottom. Katherine's hand itched to touch it, but she quickly stashed that thought away. To see a man without a beard was something rare. She had asked her mother why men did not shave that unkempt thing on their chins and her mother had smiled patiently at her.

  This man looked clean and well kept. She wondered what manner of man he might be, certainly not the kind of man to be tied like an animal.

  He stood out from the others, not because he was tied up like a hostage, but because he was unquestionably the most handsome man Katherine Hightower ever set eyes upon. He neither dressed nor looked like the others. His clothes were of buckskin, his long black hair hung loose down his back, only the top tied in back of his head. His eyes were dark and piercing and he neither looked at her, nor at anyone else.

  She wondered what she might see in those eyes if he looked at her directly. A quiver ran through her for such thoughts. Yes, she was still alive. The act of thinking of a man for any reason other than having to feed his belly seemed odd and shameful to her, yet there was no shame. For one could appreciate the beauty of a sunflower as it stood out from the dandelions.

  "You have a prisoner?" Her voice sounded almost husky when she spoke.

  "Yes ma'am. He's a turncoat. Used to be a scout for the Army, but he killed one of my men, all over an old squaw who asked too many questions. I reckon he'll hang when we get him to Fort Davis."

  Katherine felt the urge to grab her own neck and rub it. She didn't like such talk. But she couldn't afford to cause trouble, not with her Ma and Pa just dead from the fever. She was in charge and she had to operate as they had. She had to keep her tongue, for she was the stationmaster now and must act it. She had enough misery the past few days to last a lifetime, she didn't need any more. Katherine sighed heavily as she dished up their food. She felt a lot older than her nineteen years, a lot older. She wished all the trouble would look the other way.

  Every now and then she would steal a glance at the men who helped themselves to her table. They sat unwashed, smacking their lips, making all sorts of rude noises. They chewed their food with their mouths open; let the juice run down their chins. Katherine frowned but kept her tongue. Mr. Bowlins tried to pass the biscuits but one of the uniformed men stabbed his finger and grabbed a biscuit greedily. They had no manners and ate like pigs, all save Mr. Bowlins and the man they called Scout.

  The two men in uniform were big and their bellies hung over their pants. Obviously the army fed them well, but it didn't look as though they'd done a decent days work in a long time. They looked sloppy for soldiers, but what did she know of soldiers, she asked herself. Their guns rode low and big on their thighs. One spit tobacco on the floor and Katherine grimaced. She'd forgotten to replace the spittoon her father had used so often. She'd been determined to clean everything in the house after they died. She'd scrubbed till her hands were raw and blistered.

  Holding her tongue again, she recollected how her mother used to hate men with no manners. How she had kept her mouth closed was beyond Katherine, for she was finding it exceedingly hard to bite her own tongue.

  None of the men even glanced at the flowers, save the prisoner and Mr. Bowlins. But the prisoner's eyes seemed glued upon them. Strange that a man in his situation would notice a cactus flower, but he did. And for only a split second, she saw his glance meet hers. It was startling and breathtaking the way he looked at her, as though he knew her inner thoughts. It was a piercing glance, one that warned of dangers to come. She looked about her, trying to understand where the warning had come from. His eyes were the softest thing on the man, like looking into heaven, Katherine's mind wandered for only a second.

  She'd taken leave of her senses, hadn't she? Just because he was the handsomest man she'd ever seen? But no, she would not give him another thought. Still the thought of him being hung bothered her. She had no reason to care for this man, but he was a human being and she hated to think of him hanging. Some women enjoyed witnessing a hanging; she wasn't one of them, nor her mother for that matter.

  "Will you untie his hands so he can eat?" She asked one of the men in uniform who seemed more interested in helping himself to the beans from the kettle on the stove. He'd eaten one plate full and was determined to fill another.

  "No ma'am." The man on her right answered, giving her
a quick glance. As his green eyes narrowed on her, his yellow teeth cast a sly grin. It was the way he looked at her that bothered her, as though he could unclothe her with his eyes. The man was big and well rounded and nearly bald. His teeth were not clean and he looked unwashed. He reeked. Things a woman did not speak of, but Katherine disciplined herself quickly.

  "He can eat with 'em tied or not eat at all. Don't matter to me."

  Katherine wanted to object, but she bit her lip and kept quiet. It wasn't her business and she really should not get involved. But Katherine rarely did what she should. How many times had her father told her she was too outspoken? She must remember these things and keep her tongue.

  "You'd rather he die of starvation than have the pleasure of seeing him hang?" She inferred being careful not to sound too sympathetic although her heart went out to the prisoner.

  "She's right, why don't you untie him? It's three to one, what could he do?" Mr. Bowlins asked politely.

  "Plenty, this snake is part Shawnee raised by the Comanche. He's a breed. He done killed the Sergeant back in Sweetwater over some stupid Injun. He'd slit our throats in a minute. Nah, he stays tied. I ain't takin' no chances. Comanches killed my folks back in '34 and I ain't forgettin' it."

  Mr. Bowlins shot Katherine a quick look, but merely shrugged his shoulders and kept eating. Mr. Bowlins knew the manners of the stage line employee and kept his mouth closed.

  She kept busy, trying to ignore them. Especially their crude talk of the Comanche on the warpath again. Fear skidded down her spine. Not because of the prisoner, but rather the soldiers and their leering eyes. Whether he was a breed or not, their prisoner at least had manners.

  All the while, she'd steal a glance at the prisoner every now and then. Wondering why he had done what they said or if he had done it.