Prairie Song

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Kate felt suddenly weak and defenseless, like her baby. This was too much. It was sick and degrading and … crazy. “I had no idea. I didn’t—”

  “I know you didn’t. But still … you have to die. It’s the only way.”

  Kate began backing away. Norah advanced on her. “No, Norah, you don’t have to do this. Just let me go again.” Another part of Kate’s mind noted that Edgar Talmidge was out there somewhere … and getting closer.

  “Oh, no, Kate. I can’t do that. See, Edgar wants your baby. Yours and his. He wants part of you to be with him always. I can’t allow him to have that. Why do you think he followed you out here? And why do you think I came with him? He came to get you back. And I came to make sure you never come back. You or your little bastard.”

  That was all Kate needed to hear. That and the metallic click of Norah pulling back the trigger hammer. It was now her life or Norah’s.

  “No!” Kate’s howl accompanied a vicious swing of her right arm. Putting all her fear and her strength and her righteous anger behind it, she landed a resounding blow to the other woman’s left temple that made her stagger to her right, sent the gun flying from her fingers, and took her feet out from under her.

  Norah Talmidge never made a sound. For one horrid second, she righted herself, stood up perfectly straight, stared at Kate—and then simply went limp and wilted slowly, elegantly, to the ground, falling back as if she’d merely fainted. But blood pulsing from the crushing indentation on the side of her head put the lie to that. She was dead.

  Kate, her eyes wide with shock, her body stunned into inaction, just stood there.

  “Norah? Where are you?”

  Edgar Talmidge was getting closer.

  “Kate? Where are you, honey? Kate? Answer me?”

  Numb, lethargic, not even bothering to look up, Kate told herself, Well, that’s just plain silly. That sounded like Cole. Only it can’t be. Cole doesn’t know where I am. It must be a trick.

  In the gathering dark, and feeling as if she swam against molasses, Kate ignored all else and stepped up to Norah, peering down at her body. The dead woman’s eyes and her mouth were open, as if she were surprised. Blood pulsed more slowly from her wound. But Kate’s only thought was, So that’s what I’ll look like when I’m dead.

  She couldn’t seem to rouse herself to move, to get away, to save herself. And yet, she knew she had to. She knew she had to find the gun that Norah had dropped and then kill Mr. Talmidge and his driver. And then she had to get back to the children. Because she was their mother. And because Cole loved her and would be looking for her.

  If only she could move. Edgar Talmidge must be almost upon her by now. She could hear him charging through the undergrowth. But crazily, it sounded as if he were coming from two different directions at the same time. It didn’t matter, Kate decided. Because he wouldn’t be happy with what he found. Or with her. No. He’d be angry. Very angry. She needed to get away. Now.

  Before she could take a step, though, a hard male body slammed into Kate’s, eliciting a shriek from her and engulfing her in a bearish embrace as he took them both to the ground and rolled … just as a hail of bullets flew all around them.

  * * *

  “How’s Miss Kate, Uncle Cole? Is she gonna be okay?”

  Sipping at his morning coffee, and squatted down on his haunches in front of the campfire early that next morning, April 22, the long-awaited day of the land run, Cole pivoted on the ball of his booted foot to see Joey standing there between the wagons. Sleep-tousled and tucking his shirt into his britches, the dark-eyed boy looked concerned as usual for the world’s woes. Nudging up his Stetson, Cole realized he must have been deep in thought because he hadn’t even heard Joey climb out of the schooner and go tend to his business. “I reckon she’ll be fine, son.”

  Joey nodded and adjusted his suspenders. “Where is she?”

  Cole thought of Kate curled up like a baby in the back of the buckboard. He’d held her shivering body against his all night. “She’s still sleeping in the wagon. Come on over here and get you some bacon and biscuits. It ain’t much, and it’s mostly cold. But it’ll fill your belly.”

  “I reckon it’ll do just fine.”

  Cole watched as Joey, never smiling, never complaining, approached him and took up a place on the thick branch Cole had only this morning tugged into their new, more remote campsite. Once the boy was seated, Cole picked up a clean tin plate from a stack and handed it to his nephew, who said, “Thank you, Uncle Cole.”

  A grin tugged at Cole’s mouth. The boy was as sober as a cowhand a week after payday. “Where’re your brother and sister? They up yet?”

  Joey shook his head as he heaped his plate with the morning’s vittles. “No. Not yet. I reckon they’re still tired from yesterday. They ran and played all day, it seems, with Miss Nell’s girls. I had all I could do to watch over them.”

  Cole cut his gaze over to Joey and wished just once this kid would cut loose and act like the child he was. Cole knew all too well that once Joey took on the trappings of being an adult, he’d be one for the rest of his days. “I expect you did a fine job of watching out for them, son.”

  Joey shrugged his thin shoulders and started on his breakfast. “I reckon. I had some help.”

  Cole nodded. “You mean Kitty?”

  Joey swallowed a bite of bacon and said, “Yes, sir. He came right along just fine once he got good and woke up. Them boys brought him to the wagon, like you asked them to do.”

  Cole thought of the two half-grown kids from yesterday down at the creek. And realized that although they’d never forget his name, he’d already forgotten theirs. “That’s good. I expected they would.” He sipped at his coffee and then added, “I reckon ole Kitty’s got a good-sized lump or two on his head.”

  Something tugged at the corners of Joey’s mouth. Could it be a grin? “That he does. I reckon it don’t feel too funny, but he looks most comical-like, if you ask me.”

  Cole grinned, heartened that Joey would find anything funny. “Where is he right now?”

  Joey’s mouth suddenly firmed, as if in disgust. “He’s in the schooner. I’ll be damned if Lydia didn’t fetch that hound to sleep with us last night.”

  Surprised at Joey’s cussing, Cole cut his gaze over to the boy, whose eyes were now wide as silver dollars. Cole took a slow sip of his coffee as he narrowed his eyes at his seven-year-old nephew. “I wouldn’t let Miss Kate hear you talking like that, if I was you, son. Unless you like eating soap for your breakfast.”

  Joey put his biscuit on his tin plate and hung his head. “Yes, sir.”

  Cole bit back a grin. And took pity on the boy. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve also taken up chewing tobacco, hard liquor, and cheap women, are you?”

  Joey’s head popped up. His cheeks were bright red. “No, sir. I only tried tobacco once, and I got sick as a dog.”

  Cole stared hard at this kid he hardly knew … and yet loved as if he were his own. “You did? When was that?”

  Apparently realizing he’d told on himself, Joey again lowered his gaze to his plate and worked on picking apart that biscuit. “I don’t recall exactly. Back when I was kid, I reckon.”

  Overcome with humor and pride at such a good kid being related to him, Cole chuckled and reached over to tousle Joey’s hair even more. The young boy raised his head … and revealed he was actually grinning. A crooked, gap-toothed grin. Cole sat back, certain his chest would burst with this moment of happiness. He realized he owed the boy something. So he just spat it out before he lost his nerve. “You’re quite the kid, you know that, Joey?”

  Joey’s sobering gaze locked with his. Cole rushed on. “I know I’m not a one to go around handing out praise. But … I’m right proud of you. You’ll make a fine man one day, son. A damned fine man. The kind this territory is going to need.”

  Joey’s mouth worked. He looked as if he might cry, but he never shed a single tear. Instead, he cleared his throat and set about
eating again. After a moment, he quietly said, “All I want is to be like you, Uncle Cole.” Now he looked up and met Cole’s sober countenance. “You’re a good man, too. And me and Lydia and Willy want you to stay here with us and Miss Kate … if she’ll have us. We don’t want to go to no cousin up in Kansas. Not if we don’t have to. Not if we have a say.”

  Cole’s heart constricted. “You have a say. And you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to. I believe Miss Kate and I have it worked out that you kids can stay with her for good. She’s your aunt now, So it’s okay,” was all he could say … or promise.

  Looking immensely relieved, Joey said, “That’s good.”

  Suddenly feeling awkward, as if his clothes were ill-fitting, Cole shrugged his shoulders and stretched forward, reaching for the pot bubbling atop the grate over the campfire. He slowly refilled his tin mug and gathered his thoughts. Then, sitting back and sipping at the steaming coffee, he directed his gaze to the steadily rising sun and thought of the coming day. He had no idea in hell how to proceed with the inevitable events it would bring.

  “You still making the run today, Uncle Cole?”

  Cole cut his gaze over to Joey. “I was just pondering on that. I don’t know how I can. Not with Kate—” He hadn’t intended to worry the boy, but it was too late now. Already, concern had sprung into Joey’s black eyes, so like Cole’s own. “Well, not unless Miss Kate gets to feeling better.”

  “I thought you said she was okay.” His voice was as high as his eyes were rounded.

  “She is. She just—had a scare yesterday, is all.” And had cried herself to sleep in his arms and had shivered and shaken until Cole thought she’d rattle her bones loose. He’d soothed her all he could, had kissed her hair, her face, her mouth, and had reassured her as best he knew how. But all she’d done was cling to him and say, “I killed her, I killed her, I killed her.” If she was still like that today, then Cole knew he couldn’t leave her. Not if she wasn’t right in her head. But if he didn’t go, then she’d never have that land. That would be a final blow to her, he knew.

  Cole thought about that and decided he sure as hell wasn’t about to be the one to deliver a final blow to Kate. She’d come too far to be defeated now. So how could he still do this for her? Well, it wasn’t as if he was all alone, he suddenly realized. It wasn’t as if he had to do everything himself and be everywhere at once. He had help. Good, reliable help. Cole frowned at that surprising thought, pausing a moment to allow it to sink in … For the first time in his life, he had help. Now he grinned, thinking this was quite something, this idea of not being alone, of having someone to turn to in times of trouble.

  Suddenly, the day seemed brighter … and it had nothing to do with the warm yellow glow of the April sunlight shining down through the trees. The brightness came from within Cole, from the realization that with help, he could do this. The thought was a triumph of will and determination … and of a family united. Feeling good and strong, Cole turned to Joey. “You through with your breakfast?”

  When the boy nodded and put his empty plate down, Cole grinned and told him, “Get your brother and sister up, if you would. It’s going to be a long day, and we need to get moving.”

  Sudden excitement lit Joey’s eyes. “Then you’re going to do it, Uncle Cole? You’re going to make the run?”

  Cole still didn’t know exactly how he would, given all the problems that still faced him—or rather, them—but he did know that he would. “You bet I am. I didn’t come all this way just to sit here.” Then, realizing that he was still just sitting there, Cole tossed out the dregs of his coffee from his mug and came to his feet. He put the tin mug beside the campfire and faced Joey. “I’m going now to see to the mules and my roan. I set them out to graze earlier. When I get back, I’ll get Kate up.”

  “No need. I’m up.”

  Cole, along with Joey, pivoted at the sound of her voice. She stood back by the buckboard … holding on to it. While that made him frown—she seemed about ready to fall down—he also realized he really should expect nothing less. After all, she’d taken quite a beating yesterday during her ordeal. But still, afraid for this woman he loved so intensely, Cole looked her up and down. His hatred of all things Talmidge flared as his gaze lit on the angry welt raised on Kate’s cheek by Norah Talmidge’s riding crop. “How long have you been up? I didn’t even hear you.”

  Her gaze lowered a second and then she raised her head, looking him in the eye. “A while. I’ve been up a while.”

  Her voice was strangely soft. That had Cole worried. “How you feeling, Kate? You look a mite pale.”

  She put a hand to her face and smoothed it across the cheek unmarred by the welt, as if she sought to feel the color there for herself. “Do I? It must be because I—I just woke up.” She lowered her hand and met Cole’s gaze. “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t believe her in the least. His eyebrow arched to prove it. “You sure?”

  “I said I was,” came her testy reply. “I said I was fine. And I am.”

  Silence ensued. Cole watched her clutch at her dirty brown skirt and stand there shakily—as if she were dizzy. Never looking away from her, he spoke to Joey. “Go get your brother and sister up, son.”

  “Yes, sir,” Joey chirped as he jumped up and took off for the schooner. But surprisingly, the boy suddenly veered to grab Kate around her waist and hug her fiercely.

  When Cole saw her wince and stagger back a step, he lurched forward, a hand held out to her across the distance. But she righted herself and hugged Joey in turn, tousling his hair and grinning down at him—all with painful effort, Cole observed. “Go on now, Joey. Do as your Uncle Cole says.”

  Joey scrambled into the schooner, instantly raising a noisy ruckus that had Kitty barking and Willy and Lydia fussing sleepily. As Cole heard Joey telling the two other children that this was the day of the land run—making it sound like Christmas—his gaze remained locked with Kate’s. She’d again clutched at the buckboard to her left. Cole exhaled slowly, tightly. Just looking at her now, he called himself crazy for even thinking he could go off and leave her alone, even for the several-hour duration of the land run. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she spoke first.

  “Joey’s almost as excited as I am.” Her voice, to Cole, sounded unnecessarily loud, even over the din of the children’s and the dog’s waking-up noises. Could it be that even talking was a strain for her today?

  “Yeah. It would seem so,” Cole answered, responding to her words about Joey’s excitement. Then he stepped up closer to her, the better to be heard without having to raise his voice. “Kate, I don’t think you—”

  The kids and the dog piled out of the wagon … in one noisy, rolling heap of arms and legs and squeals that interrupted Cole. Kate stepped back, staying out of the fracas. Cole’s concern for her increased. She must be more beat up than he’d realized because she always stepped into the fray, sorting the children and issuing hugs and orders. But since she didn’t this time, Cole took charge, quickly herding the kids together and setting them off, holding hands, with Kitty and Joey leading the way as always, for the nearby stream to wash up.

  As they walked away, going slow to allow for Lydia’s short legs, Cole watched them a moment and, unexpectedly, pictured the land run at noon today. He felt certain he could already hear the cavalry firing their pistols to signal the beginning of the run. Now, why am I thinking about that? he asked himself. Then it struck him—the kids. If he didn’t grab those acres near Guthrie Station that Kate had her heart set on, then none of them—not him, Kate, Joey, Willy, or Lydia—would have anywhere to call home by this afternoon. They’d be no better off than they were right now. Son of a bitch!

  He turned again to Kate. With tenderness for her tugging at his heart, he rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “Tell me the truth, Kate. Where are you hurting?”

  A ragged sob escaped her, but her chin came up a notch and she shrugged away from his touch. “No one place over another. I�
��m just sore from yesterday.” She then met Cole’s gaze, her green eyes shadowed with weariness. Cole frowned, wanting again to comfort her. But again she resisted his touch. “I’m all right. I just got tossed around pretty good for most of yesterday, if you’ll recall.”

  “I do. And I own a share of the blame for my part in that.”

  Kate lowered her gaze a moment and then lifted her face to his. Some kind of deep hurting edged her eyes. “There’s no call to blame yourself. You did what you had to. We’d both be dead if you hadn’t.”

  Cole nodded, even as he remained upset as hell with her paleness and her soft, injured way of speaking. Then something else that tightened his gut occurred to him. “Kate, you’re not bleeding again, are you?”

  She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Cole half expected their green depths to be swimming with tears. But she was dry-eyed as she shook her head and answered him. “No. I’m not bleeding.”

  Cole exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “Well, that’s one good thing.” But still, upset in the extreme over her not wanting him to touch her today—after all, he’d held her in his arms last night while they’d slept—he could only stand there and watch her and pray he hadn’t really hurt her last evening when he’d grabbed her up to get them away from Edgar Talmidge—that rotten son of a bitch—and his driver. But once Talmidge had all but tripped over his own wife’s body in the dark, the chase had ended. At least for last night. Of course, by today, Cole suspected, the man had set the law—or a pack of outlaws—after Kate and himself.

  Cole gave in to the sense of an impending disaster that had been nagging him since it had awakened him. “Kate, what are we doing just standing here and talking?” She flinched, no doubt at the suddenness of his speaking into the silence between them. Cole rushed on before she could interrupt. “We need to leave this place. And now. We’re not safe. Not with three kids to worry about. We need to forget the land run and make our getaway. I have plenty of money. You can start over—”

  “No.” Kate’s expression hardened. “I won’t run.” Then she slumped, all but wilting as she drew in a ragged breath—as if her outburst had taken all the remaining starch out of her. “I can’t, don’t you see that? I can’t allow them to win, Cole. I won’t be pushed out of my own life anymore by the Talmidges.” Her chin quivered with her raw emotions. “They’ve cost me too much already, Cole. Too much. Don’t let them take this land away from me, too.”