by Beth Lewis
“We had mostly men, groups of four or five friends who pooled their time and resources. Had a few on their own, idealistic, foolish. Then, yes, I do remember a couple now I think on it. Can’t remember their names, but they were looking for Halveston too. She was pretty, the wife,” then he laughed a bit and said, “That’s right. I remember her because she called it the Great YK. Never heard the old Yukon called great before.”
More words out my momma’s letter. Must a’ been grinning ’cause Matthews shut up and stared at me.
Then he said, in a strange flat voice. “Were they your parents?”
Something in his tone made me not want to answer, but he must a’ read my face. He was quiet, looked at me with a mix a’ pity and pleasure. Weren’t at all sure what to make of him.
Then he got up and went to a tall bookshelf on the other side of the room. From the gap ’tween shelf and wall, he pulled out a roll of paper and spread it on the eating table. A map of BeeCee and North and a bunch of other places I couldn’t figure. It didn’t have no scribblings on it like Nana’s.
“We’re here,” he said, and poked his spindle finger at a black dot surrounded by a whole lot a’ nothing.
I picked out the ridge I climbed down and the Mussa and farther south another dot I guessed was Dalston, though it could a’ been Ridgeway. On that map, I hadn’t traveled more’n a knuckle length, and when I looked at the North, big and vast and more nothing, that put the fear in me.
“That Martinsville?” I said, pointing to a dot with a little black cross on the top.
Another nod and smile. I wondered brief if he could do anything different with his face.
“Your parents, they went to cash in on the second rush?”
I said yes, sir, they did. “I heard that durin’ the Damn Stupid, them fools dropped a heap of bombs in the wrong place, cut up the land something nasty and unearthed a bunch more of that yellow metal.”
Matthews sat back down and stroked his chin like he was stroking a cat. “That’s right. That’s a long way. That dot there, that’s Halveston.” That one was way, way up in the empty part a’ the map. “How are you going to get there by yourself? That’s a good few hundred miles.”
I scrunched up my face. What kind of asking was that? ’Sides, that mention a’ hundreds a’ miles worried me down deep but I weren’t ’bout to let it show. Walking is walking, one mile or a hundred, it ain’t no different. Least that’s what I told myself.
“I got two legs, ain’t I? Don’t need nothin’ more.”
Nod, nod, nod, like a dunce watching a ball of string.
“Except food,” he said, looking at his pot of chili, “and water.” Then he looked at the empty glass. Then he looked at me.
I felt squirmy then. My chair didn’t offer comfort no more. “I’m just caught in a bad run of luck is all, I can fend fine. I just, well…I just had a bad run is all.”
Matthews smiled, right through his eyes again, and tapped the table. “Say your thanks to the Lord that you found me then.”
Then he got up and went to the bubbling chili pot. My belly gurgled loud enough for him to turn and raise an eyebrow.
He ladled a bowlful and set it steaming down right in front a’ me with a one a’ them silvery spoons. Didn’t take none for himself.
“Eat up, don’t let it go cold,” he said.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I burned my mouth quick but I didn’t care. That chili, spicy and meaty and full of black beans, was like heaven came down on me and said, Elka, you’re gonna be fine. Get used to this luxury, you got it waiting for you in the North.
Then I heard a horse galloping down the track. More’n one horse. My stomach tightened up. Matthews’s face turned dark and stormy. With not one word he got up, got his gun, and went to the door. I kept chewing. No matter what was about to happen, I’d eat as much as I could afore shots fired.
“Ho, there,” Matthews whooped, and flung open the door, set his gun down. Horses was still clomping up the track.
I was side-on with the entrance, could see a bit outside without seeming like I was looking. Matthews stood on the threshold then looked back at me. His face, caught in that half-light ’tween out and in, took on a demon’s grin. I felt a tremble up in my chest and went back to my chili.
Matthews had one a’ them crucifixes above the door, like God was blessing him every time he took a step outside. Cowardly was what I thought of that; God ain’t going to protect you if you can’t do it yourself. Then I squinted against the light, gave a little chuckle. Crucifix was upside down. God ain’t going to bless no one what can’t even nail a bit of wood straight.
I shook my head, ate my chili, and checked over that map. Little towns marked by red dots, bigger ones marked by black squares. Didn’t see too many black squares ’tween me and the North. Just a handful of red dots and a whole bunch of wild. I was grateful for that, didn’t much like towns, didn’t much like people. Can never tell what a person’s thinking, you see. They could be meaning to kill or kiss you and you’d never know till they gone and done it.
Near the top of the map, Matthews had shaded out a big section of the old territory. I figured that was where the Damn Stupid bombs went off. There was one red dot near that, but I didn’t know the letters, couldn’t name the town.
Horses stopped.
I finished up my food, scraping the bowl for every bit. Then I let out a rolling belch. That was some fine food and my stomach said its thanks.
I heard talking outside. Woman’s voice what I knew. What in the good goddamn was Lyon doing here? She follow me here? She track me all this way? Or was it just this was the only place ’tween Mussa and them big mountains? Had Lady Chance brought this pale demon to me or was Lyon better’n I ever thought? All them questions but no answers in my thick head. Suddenly all that food wanted to come right back up into the bowl. I got up quick and pressed my back ’gainst the wall behind the door.
“Reverend Matthews?” Magistrate Lyon said. That voice sent shivers through me. Ice-cold woman with an ice-cold voice.
Stomach churned up that chili with a big ol’ gutful a’ fear.
Didn’t hear Matthews answer, figured he must a’ nodded.
Heard the creak of a saddle what said the rider was dismounting.
“Do you know who I am, Reverend?” Lyon said.
“Yes ma’am, I do.”
“I’m looking for two people,” she said, and it felt like a big rock hit the side a’ my head. Two people.
“This man,” she said, heard the crumble a’ paper and figured she was showing Matthews that charcoal face a’ Kreagar. “Have you seen him?”
“My word, that’s a face I’d remember,” Matthews said, “I sure haven’t seen anyone like that.”
“What about a girl?” she said, and all my muscles tensed up.
Matthews didn’t say nothing for a few seconds too long. Was he gonna give me up? Had he done it already? My eyes went frantic ’round that room for a back door or window but them storm shutters turned the place into a rat trap.
Then I heard footsteps, clink a’ spurs, then a heavy thud on the wooden step. “Mind if I take a look around?” Lyon said, so much closer now.
My hand went to my knife and I moved right behind the door. Them other two horses didn’t move, just heard them huffing. Their riders, I figured her two lieutenants, didn’t say nothing. This woman had her men trained like dogs, and I didn’t expect nothing less.
“Ma’am,” Matthews said, quick in his voice, quick in his step. “I think a lone goat like me would remember if he’d seen a girl.” Then he laughed.
A mite a’ relief crawled up in me. Matthews weren’t selling me out. Not yet.
Lyon moved and I could see her side-on through the skinny gap ’tween door and frame. Till that second I saw her, I didn’t right believe she was there. There’s miles a’ wild out there and she turns up here? That just said to me stay away from people, they draw in other people, it ain’t never safe. But sh
e was here now. White skin like a china cup, all in black, not a hair out a’ place. She was taller’n Matthews and weren’t no hint of a slouch in her back. My back straightened up just seeing her again.
She didn’t say nothing else to him, just stared with them cold eyes a’ hers. Then she was at the door, half a step over the threshold. Close enough that I could smell the horse’s sweat on her. Heard her breathing. Slow and measured just like everything else. I reckoned that even if a bear chased her up and down a mountain, she wouldn’t breathe heavier than a whisper the whole time.
My hands got hot. My head got hot. She took a step inside and I couldn’t see her no more and that was worse.
“What does this girl look like?” Matthews said.
Floorboard the other side a’ the door creaked. “About so high, brown hair to her chin, brown eyes. Feral thing.”
My heart hammered and I prayed she wouldn’t hear it.
“Wearing a dark green coat?” Matthews said, and that heart a’ mine near stopped.
“Likely,” Lyon said, and came back so’s I could see her through the gap. “You’ve seen her?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve seen her,” he said, and I wondered brief if I could get the other side a’ this door and wring that scrawny neck afore Lyon shot me.
“What’s she done?” Matthews said.
Lyon smiled on one side of her mouth and that chilled me worse’n a midwinter blizzard. “She’s wanted in connection with several murders.”
Hell, that chilled me worse. I ain’t done nothing and it took all I had in me not to burst out from behind the door and shout that right in her smirking face.
“Oh dear, oh my,” Matthews was repeating, “and I fed her and gave her directions. I can’t believe it. She seemed uncivilized but harmless. God forgive me if she hurt anyone.”
“Where is she?” Lyon said, and there was a harder edge in her voice. It weren’t ice in there no more, it was iron.
“I sent her on her way not two days ago with mine and the good Lord’s blessing,” Matthews said, and I could a’ collapsed right then. “She said she was going to take the road west. To the coast, she said.”
Lyon’s eyes narrowed and I suddenly weren’t sure if she was believing all this.
“If you’re planning on sticking around,” Matthews said, “I’d love to see you in church this Sunday. Our services are rousing indeed. This week we’ll be bleeding a lamb for our Lord in exchange for a mild winter.”
I rolled my eyes. People what kill animals thinking God’s got control over the winds and the snow are more fools than any other in these lands.
Lyon gave a nod but it weren’t to Matthews. I guessed she was telling her lieutenants they was done. Then she strode off, down the steps, and quick mounted her horse.
“Keep your god,” Lyon said, all iron in them words. “The law has no place for God.”
She shouted Yah! at her horse and the three a’ them galloped off.
Matthews, no matter how much of a fool his god made him, had saved my skin, and when he came back inside I could a’ hugged him. I quick stowed my knife so’s he wouldn’t see it, then sat back down at the table.
“Hot damn,” I said, my heart still thudding in me, “I appreciate your words, sending Lyon on her way like that.”
Matthews stood in the middle a’ the room for a minute, not moving nothing ’cept his lips. Was like he was quiet praying for something. Then he filled up my empty glass and set it down in front a’ me. I drank it up while he stared, hard face on him. Expected him to ask me ’bout Kreagar or why Lyon was looking for me but he didn’t. Was like it didn’t matter. ’Stead he sat down at the table and asked me for my name. Lyon didn’t know it, so I didn’t see no harm.
“Elka,” I said. Figured I owed him a speck a’ truth after what he did.
“Strange name.”
“My daddy said I came out my momma with antlers big as a ruttin’ stag. Damn near killed her. Cut them off when I was a yearling,” I said, smiling wide. “They left for the North soon after.”
Nod. Nod. All that bobbing was churning my belly.
He wouldn’t look at me no more, kept wringing his hands like he was itching for something. He put my teeth on edge, and I figured my welcome was just about used up.
“Thank you kindly for lettin’ me share your table,” I said, standing. “But I best be on my way now.”
The deer horn on my knife dug into my side and I felt my toughness come back.
Matthews’s half smile fell right off his face. “Lyon won’t have got far. You’d best wait a bit longer,” he said, then all quiet and wistful-like added, “It won’t be long now.”
All at once my head fuzzed up, turned me dizzy, and I slumped back down on the chair. Figured I’d stood up too quick, but the bright spots weren’t going away.
“Good idea,” I said.
The world was swimming ’round me.
“Not long now…” he murmured, all sweet like he was cooing a baby to sleep.
Everything went dark and I woke up facedown on a cold table.
I couldn’t move no more’n to breathe. My arms and legs were spread wide, held tight with iron chains. My knife weren’t digging into my side no more. My flask weren’t knocking ’gainst my leg no more.
I quick realized with shaking in my bones and ice growing to a blizzard in my gut, that I weren’t wearing a stitch of clothing. Blurring filled my eyes but I saw Matthews knelt on the floor beside the table, praying with something, maybe a knife, ’tween his palms.
“Dear Lord, bless this child, your lamb,” he said to the blade, but his words sounded like they was spoken through cotton wool, “bless this home and all who contribute and may this sacrifice ensure a mild and safe winter for us all.”
Crazier than a three-peckered mountain goat.
“Goddamn son of a bitch!” I shouted with all the voice I had, but he just prayed harder.
I raged against those chains, but they weren’t giving an inch. I couldn’t figure how I’d get out a’ this. I couldn’t see nothing but Matthews. Couldn’t hear nothing but Matthews. Couldn’t feel nothing but cold steel on my skin.
I figured I was in the basement, but whatever that dog Matthews put in my water made my eyes swim and my head fuzz up and down; my ears throbbed and rushed and I couldn’t hear or see right. The bit of wall I could make out was stone ’stead a’ wood and the ground was dirt. Shelf in my eye line, all skewed and blurred in my eyes, stood behind kneeling Matthews and was full to brimming a’ canned meat and fish, boxes a’ greens and potatoes ’side it. Devil been good to this fella, filled his stores but stole his hair, and all it took was a bit of killing. Least he had a reason, selfish and skunk-shit crazy as it was. Kreagar didn’t have no reason. Kreagar didn’t have nothing.
I kept hollering and cursing at the good reverend but my words were slurred up and I can’t be sure I was even speaking ’em right. He didn’t move nor even blink till he finished his praying. Talking to God or the devil ’bout spilling blood and making friendly winter. Praying so the snow didn’t freeze his damn toes off.
“Ain’t no reason I got to die,” I shouted, but my words muddled up in my mouth and I didn’t reckon what was coming out was what was meant to. “What in hell I done to you?”
“Hush now. The lamb must be bled and its sins must flow from the vessel as commanded by our Lord.” Every word was buzzing like he was made a’ flies.
“I ain’t…lamb,” I think I said, felt sick rising up in me.
“You, Elka, are full of sin. I see it in you like a taint. The lamb we had picked for the service on Sunday, well, she was guilty of lusting after several men, but if Lyon is to be believed, and her honesty is unfaltering, then you are guilty of murder. The worst sin.”
“I…killed no one. She didn’t, said I…I…” I tried, but my brain weren’t playing fair. I strained at them chains, trying to ignore the pain throbbing in my head.
“Whether you took the life or stood by as someone
else did, you are guilty and your hot, devil blood will thaw our winter.”
Them words, or what I thought I heard a’ them, stuck in me. Was I guilty if someone else did the killing?
“May you guide my hand and my blade to bring glory to your name, O Lord,” Matthews said, then stood up and came close to my head. He held the knife, the bastard, my knife, in one hand and I swore blind I would rip his heart out and feed it to the devil myself.
Steady hand. Not a tremble. He’d done this plenty no doubt.
“Best if you’re relaxed, young lady,” he said, soft like he was offering another bowl of chili. “Now, you’ll feel a little sting.”
He stroked my hair and I wanted to bite his damn hand off.
With my own knife he cut me. Starting from my left elbow he dragged the blade up my arm, cross my back, and down to my other elbow. I didn’t scream or nothing. It didn’t hurt that much though I reckoned it went pretty deep. I’d had a worse whipping from Trapper in my time but it was the principle that stung more’n the blade. Felt warm blood run down my spine.
“First you will be marked with the cross so the Lord knows you are for Him,” Matthews said, and cut me from neck to nethers.
Heard a floorboard creaking up in the homestead. Least I think I did. Maybe them drugs was telling my head what it wanted to hear. Or maybe Lyon had come back.
“Get this crazy bastard off me!” I might a’ shouted. “He’s got a knife! Hurry it up!”
“No one can hear your foul language here,” Matthews said, then he went off somewhere I couldn’t see and I heard a sack dragging on the dirt.
Nobody came rushing to my rescue, no one yelled back, and I didn’t hear no more creaking. Fear started settling deep in my bones, putting a coldness in me that I thought would never leave.
“Second,” Matthews said, “the evil must be cleansed.”
Heard something strange then, like he was shoving his hand into snow, that crunching, gravelly noise that didn’t make no sense in this place.
Then I screamed. Then my sight went from blur to stark to black in half a second.
Matthews slapped handfuls of salt on my back, in those cuts, ground ’em deep into the blood. I screamed loud and fierce and with everything I had in me. My head went to mush and my eyes couldn’t see or hear or speak no more. I just kept on screaming, it was all I could do. Kept hearing him dig for more salt and the clanging of iron chains on the iron table.
