She helped him to his dun mare and patiently assisted him while he struggled to get mounted. She then made short work of kicking enough dirt onto what remained of the fire to keep it from getting loose. She then stiffly mounted her buckskin gelding and pulled him around to face the mare. She leaned forward in the stirrups and guided the rein over the animal’s head. She rode out of the stand of trees, leading the mare with her father clinging two-handedly to the saddlehorn.
She hipped around to take one last look at the place that had changed her life forever. She vowed inwardly to never return to this awful place. She again faced forward and set her mouth in a thin line of grim determination.
Chapter 3
It was painfully obvious right from the start that this wasn’t going to be an easy task by any stretch. Jason had been hit hard and was having a difficult time remaining upright. They had gone less than a mile or so when Dolly reined up and pulled the buckskin around to face the dun.
“Looks like being shot full of holes ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?” she asked as she placed a hand atop his whitened knuckles while he continued to cling two-handedly to the saddlehorn.
He looked up and squinted, trying his best to bring her image into focus. He grinned feebly. “Ain’t much better’n a jab in the eye with a sharp stick if ya ask me,” he replied.
He swayed dangerously.
“Whyn’t you fetch a piece of rope and tie me on?”
“Why don’t we just stop for a spell until you get things back on an even keel?” she offered.
“Just do like I say, girl...tie me on this nag. Those fellas need killing and it ain’t gettin’ done with me sitting here like some helpless, walleyed, newborn calf lookin’ at a new gate.”
She sighed resignedly, and swung down as the pain in her upper legs made the usually easy task anything but.
She untied the rope from the front of his saddle and set about securing him to the mare. During the process she could see that the red splotch on the front of his coat had grown considerably. “Looks like you started bleeding again.” She had a fleeting thought that she wished they had some medical supplies along. “Maybe it’d be best to—”
“Forget it, honey.” He placed a palm against his chest. “This is only minor compared to what’s in store for those three varmints.”
She completed the job by coiling the excess rope and retying it with the leather tie down on the fender of the saddle. She then remounted, again experiencing the pains in her thighs and lower abdomen that were unfamiliar to her.
They rode for the better part of an hour, until finally they topped a slight rise and reined up overlooking a scattering of unpainted structures with a river skirting them around to the south. The groves of apple trees that uniformly lined the area, especially along the eastern edge, as well as the area between it and the river, lent recognition to the layout and Dolly realized that she had been there a couple of times before.
Her previous experiences in Manzanola hadn’t ever given her cause to go looking for a doctor. But, judging from those brief stays, her guess would be that the town probably hadn’t been able to lure one anywhere near it for a coon’s age. It was common knowledge that folks usually tended their own in these little towns that dotted the terrain along the Arkansas Valley.
She looked at the slumped over figure that was her beloved father, resolute in her belief that if, as suspected, the town didn’t have a doctor, he would probably not see another sunrise.
She kicked the buckskin, towed the somewhat reluctant dun down the slope, and hopefully toward some much needed help.
*
Dolly reined up in front of what she figured must be the barbershop. There were no painted words or other indications that would confirm this, but just the fact that along the front wall there was a bench and two chairs that were occupied to their fullest with gents who seemed to have nothing pressing to do, gave her cause to figure that it was most likely a meeting place of sorts. Of course another place to lollygag would be the general store, but this surely wasn’t anywhere close to being a mercantile.
“Is there a doctor in this town?” she asked softly, to no one in particular.
At the same time she had spoken the buckskin shook his head violently, rattling his bridle loud enough in the process to obscure her words to the point of where one of the four gents, a fella with a fuzzy white beard, had cause to rock forward. The two front chair legs settled squarely on the wooden sidewalk with a gentle thump.
He cupped a hand to his ear. “What’s that ya say, Missy? Danged fool horse a yourn done drowned out just about all a what you was sayin’.” He glanced at the slumped-forward man on the other horse. “Was you askin’ about a doc?”
“Yes...yes I was,” she replied, raising the volume of her voice a bit. “Is there one in this town?”
“Most likely not since Hector was a pup.” The old gent grew noticeably thoughtful as he lifted the front edge of his shapeless, dusty, brownish hat using a thumb and index finger. He scratched his scalp with the remaining three fingers as his eyes narrowed and he squinted the left one. Right about the same time, he used his other hand to scratch lazily at the area under the opposite armpit. “Fact is...” he looked at the other men seated along the wall. “Any of you fellas ever recall seein’ a sawbones in town?”
“Not as I can remember.”
“No, sir...not ta my recollection.”
“Me neither. Don’t recall one right off.”
Dolly’s heart sank. She had to find help, and quick, judging from the way her father remained slumped over and had taken to groaning.
The gent with the white beard continued, “But then again that ain’t ta say that Nestor here,” he jutted a thumb in the general direction of the fella seated next to him, “ain’t got the wherewithal ta have a look at that fella. Course, he ain’t a truly bonafide sawbones, but he can snatch out a rotten tooth with the best of ’em, an’ not ta mention he’s fixed up a gunshot hole from time ta time. That what’s ailin’ that fella?” He again looked at the injured man.
“Yes...yes it is. Some ruthless men attacked us and my father was shot. You can see that he’s in a bad way. I’m afraid that he may not make it through the day if something isn’t done to help him.”
“I can surely see that, Missy. Nestor, what say you do yer—?”
Nestor had already risen from his chair. “You don’t need to be tellin’ me when I’m needed,” he said from under a pair of scornfully narrowed, bushy eyebrows. “I can see with my own two eyes when a fella’s in need. How about the two a you lazy good fer nothin’s gettin’ up off yer keesters and tote him on inta the barbershop?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “And be quick about it too...if I’m any judge of things.”
Dolly swung down and looked on with concern as the two men took measured care lowering her father from the back of the mare. They gingerly worked their way up the two steps and continued right on through the doorway with the bearded gent holding the door open for them.
“Thank you,” she said through a genuine smile as she passed him by and followed the procession into the room.
The confines were a bit on the smallish side, with a single barber’s chair pretty much centered under a dirty mirror that hung crookedly above a badly stained cabinet of sorts. Along the far wall was a table. It wasn’t nearly long enough to stretch a full grown man out on, but that’s where they put her father anyway. She glanced around, taking in the rest of the room. She then realized t that the table was indeed the best place under the circumstances. His legs hung over the end, but at least the rest of him was lying flat.
“How long ago’d this happen?” Nestor asked as he pulled the shirt apart, popping the buttons off in the process. “Sorry about them buttons...an’ not to mention the shirt itself,” he said. “Just don’t see no reason ta waste time bein’—”
“That’s okay,” Dolly said. “It’s got a hole in it anyway.” She forced a wane smile, amazed that she was able
to joke about the shirt. “To answer your question...we were attacked yesterday about an hour or so to the north of here.” She blinked back the tears that were threatening to well up. “My father...my father stood up to them earlier in the day and had run ’em off, but...but they came back and shot him from the bushes...before they...before they rode in and…and—” The tears commenced despite her efforts to the contrary and she buried her face in her hands.
The gent with the beard placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “There, there, Missy. You just go on an’ have yerself a real good cry. I ’spect you been through some hard times tryin’ to find help for yer pa. So you just go on ahead...yer entitled.” He patted her shoulder lightly.
Dolly forced a smile or sorts. “Yes...yes I have,” she said morosely. “But you can see that he’s had a much harder time of it.” She looked over to where Nestor continued to work on her father. “Is he going to be alright?”
Nestor looked up. “Well...I ain’t one to be givin’ false hope,” he said. “To be right up front about it...I’d be inclined ta say he’s a good ways away from being alright. Might even could be that he won’t make it atall.”
She shuddered. The thought of her father dying right there in front of her was more than she could comprehend. “But he’s made it all this way,” she protested. “I’m sure he’ll recover completely. He’s about as tough as shoe leather. He...we have a ranch. He can’t die. There’s things to be done. There’s cattle to be driven to the railhead. There’s...” She broke down and sobbed her despair into her palms.
Jason groaned and she immediately forgot her own plight and sprang from the barber chair. She crossed the short distance to where her father lie and took his hand in hers. It seemed to her that there was blood everywhere. She closed her eyes in an effort to make it go away.
She opened them.
The blood remained.
“You’re going to be alright, Daddy,” she vowed tenderly but knew the words were more a hopeful plea than anything else.
She felt strong comforting hands on her upper arms. “Whyn’t you just come on away from here an’ let Nestor do what he can?” the man with the beard said softly, and tugged gently in an attempt to coax her away from the table.
She reluctantly allowed him to turn her around, finally causing her hand to lose contact with her father’s. She had a fleeting feeling that that would be the last time she would ever touch him alive. She tried to turn back to make contact again, but the hands on her arms remained firm.
She gave in.
“From the looks of ya, I’d say you could use yerself a real good soakin’ in a tub. That appeal to you, does it?”
Visions of the soothing warm comforts of a bubble-filled bathtub danced before her eyes. The thought of the filth that she had been forced to endure returned. The need to scrub away what those horrible men had done to her quickly became paramount. “That would be wonderful,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at her father. He seemed to be sleeping comfortably. “Maybe I will take just a few minutes to clean up.”
“Good. C’mon with me then. There’s a tub over to the cafe. Well...not the cafe really, but leastwise the room at the back of it.”
They briefly stopped off at her buckskin while she pulled the saddlebag and slung it over her shoulder despite an attempt on his part to take it from her. The cafe was near the end of the street, on the same side.
“What’s your name, anyway?” she asked as they walked.
“Folks around these parts are prone to callin’ me Johnny...Johnny Appleseed to be exact.”
“But—”
“Yeah I know. I ain’t that Johnny Appleseed. It’s just that I got just about the best orchards around here. Folks figure that I must have a knack or something, when it comes to makin’ them sweet red fruits pop outta them trees.”
It was obvious to her that he was prideful of his accomplishments. “I don’t know the first thing about growing apples, Mister Appleseed. Fact is—”
“Ya know, Missy, I never did say my name was Mister Appleseed. So whyn’t you just call me Johnny.” He grew thoughtful. “Fact Is…whyn’t you just call me Nate. In case yer wonderin’ that’s my given name, Nathaniel Sharpton to be exact.”
Her teeth glistened as she smiled warmly. “Okay then, Nathaniel Sharpton...to be exact. And you can call me Dolly.” A constricting sadness tightened her chest. “My real name’s Dorothy, but Dolly’s what my daddy calls me,” she added sadly.
He held the door open for her as they entered the cafe.
With the greasy smells of recently cooked foods assaulting her nostrils, she remembered that she was hungry. “That sure smells good,” she said. “Believe I could eat my weight in skunks. It’s been a day or two since—”
“I ain’t et today my ownself,” Nate said. “Mind if I was to join ya? I usually head back to my farm about this time...but, well, shoot, I ain’t heard of nobody dyin’ from eatin’ in this place. Not for a while anyways.”
His grin proved infectious and she smiled in response.
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t have enough money. My father’s got—”
“I’m offerin’...that means I’m payin’,” he said flatly. “And that goes for the nickel for the price of the tub an’ hot water as well.”
She stuck her hand in her front trousers pocket and fingered the circular outline of the quarter. “Now that much I do have,” she said and grinned.
“Suit yerself,” he said. “But I’m still gonna pay for the eatin’.”
“Anyone ever tell you what a nice person you are?”
“Yep, but that don’t mean I’m needin’ to buy into it.” He returned the grin. “What say we stake a claim to one of these tables? Then I’ll sit a spell an’ slug down a cup of coffee or two while you go take that bath of yours. Then we’ll stuff our faces until we can’t hold no more. That appeal to you atall?”
“I’d say that appeals to me a whole bunch...Nathaniel Sharpton, to be exact.”
His grin turned into a disarming smile as he shifted his attention to the approaching, heavyset, black woman. “Howdy, Miss Lida,” he said in greeting. He placed a hand on Dolly’s shoulder. “This here’s my new friend, Dolly. She’s in need of a hot tub with lots of soapy bubbles overflowin’ it. After she gets shed of all the trail dust, then we’re gonna sit at this table right here,” he gestured to the one he meant, “an’ stuff our faces with some of your fried chicken, mashed potatoes ’n gravy, an’ hot buttered biscuits ’til we purt near bust a gut. An’ don’t forget to put a pourin’ cup full ofsome a that sweet honey this place is famous for.”
“You done got that all mixed up, Mister Johnny, suh. Them buzzin’ honeybees is the ones what’s famous fer makin’ that honey. This place is famous fer cookin’ the chicken.” She looked at Dolly. “You c’mon along now young’un. I got not only the biggest tub in town for takin’ a bath in, but it’s the onlyest one besides. So you just c’mon now.” She then slipped the saddlebags from Dolly’s shoulder. “I’ll be takin’ this from ya an’ don’t you be givin’ me no guff about it neither.”
Dolly let her take it, glad to be rid of the burden. She was bone tired and followed the matronly black woman obediently as she let her mind revel in the perceived beneficial aspects of the hot tub of bubbles that was to come.
*
Dolly sat on the front edge of the wooden bench and began undressing while Lida two-handedly carried a steaming kettle of hot water to the tub and added it to the warm water that was already in there. She then dumped in a generous amount of liquid soap from the bottle she pulled from her apron pocket, and while swishing it around with her hand, managed to work up a pretty good froth.
“I’m gonna boil up another kettle while you git yerself situated in them bubbles. By the time that no-account stove gets it ta steamin’ that tub’ll most likely be needin’ another warmin’.”
“Thanks, Lida. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’re doing.”
Dolly finished removing her clothes, noticing for the first time that she had a number of black and blue marks on her legs and arms. She also saw traces of dried blood on her underwear as well as the insides of her upper thighs.
She wasn’t the only one who noticed. “Land sakes, child! What in tarnation done happened to ya?”
“Oh...eh...nothing.”
“Nothin’ my Aunt Jemima. Someone done give you a bad time. I ain’t entirely blind, child. I kin see that dried blood down there on them legs. You done been abused,” she said solemnly, and shook her head with outright sympathy, and not to mention a whole passel of disgust as well.
Dolly had hoped to hide the fact that those three men had raped her, but now that the evidence was right there for Lida to see, she broke down and began to bawl with uncontrolled, shuddering sobs.
Lida went to her, and even though Dolly was nearly a half a head taller, Lida did her best to comfort the distraught young lady by hugging her and stroking the back of her hair. “There, there, young’un,” she said, with heartfelt concern, “it ain’t the end of ever’thin’.”
She Wore It Tied-Down Page 2
