“This is a good spot for many a tasty creatures to roam. We should have some luck here.” Then he pointed to an opening off to the left of them. “Watch over there—I saw a bear come out of that cave once, but it was only the one time. Still be careful; never know when one might come along.”
No sooner the words left his mouth than he was suddenly surprised by a strong arm around his neck. Carl stood a distance from him and jolted when he saw an Indian with a death hold on Thomas, a knife at his throat. Carl raised his rifle to point it at the Indian but he had no clear shot.
“Hold it, Carl,” Thomas struggled to say as the Indian began to pull him down.
His heart felt like it was up in his throat, his pulse rapid, his hand shaking, but Carl took aim. “Let him go,” he shouted. “Let him go—now.” Adrenalin raced through his blood; time stood still while he tried to assess the situation and come up with a safe way to handle this life-threatening attack on his companion.
The deep, dark eyes of the war-painted face met Carl’s with anger, revenge, as he snarled something in a language foreign to Carl. Thomas had both hands waving outward as he tried to breathe. His face darkened to a purple shade as he gasped for air. There was no time to waste. Something had to be done to save Thomas.
Carl’s finger on the trigger, the rifle aimed right at the intruder, he tried one more time. “Let him go,” he shouted and then he pulled the trigger. The Indian fell back. Thomas folded down to the ground, coughing as he went to his knees. He bent down and spit, then took a deep breath. Weakened, he rolled over on his side and lay there.
Shaking all over, Carl ran to Thomas to help him up. He coughed again as he came to his feet, his face beet red, and he hung on Carl’s arm as he struggled to stay upright.
The Indian lay flat on his back behind them, blood oozing from his head, his dark eyes wide open. Then there came a last heave of his chest, a jerk of his limbs, and his whole body became lifeless, his eyes staring upward in a dead gaze.
Gently, with reluctance, Carl stepped over the dead man’s leg to help Thomas move out of the way. His hand shook. His eyes wandered back at the Indian lying there with a hole in his forehead, the white and red war paint under his eyes and across his cheeks spattered with blood.
Thomas straightened. “You sure are a good shot,” he remarked, as though it was some kind of target in a shooting range.
It didn’t make Carl feel any better. He had never killed a real person before. This was not like gaming or shooting an animal, a bird, or a black figure on a cardboard target. He couldn’t stop shaking or take his eyes off the dead Indian.
As cold as it was, there were beads of perspiration on his forehead, his face pale, his eyes held wide open. Thomas handed him the canteen. “Here take a swig of this; you look like you need it now.” He let out another cough to remind Carl what he had been up against. “You saved my life, my friend. My scalp could have been another ornament on that redskin’s belt.”
Words from that farmer from the past drifted by Carl, like the breeze off a cliff overlooking rapids speeding down a wide river. Sounds of the wilderness faded as well, like Thomas’s voice. Fear has a way of blocking out what exists around you. Hands still shaking, beads of sweat pouring down his brow, Carl laid the gun down on the ground. Lips buttoned up tight, he stood looking down at the dead Indian. The thought that he had just killed a man zeroed in on him like a bad plague clutching at his very soul. It took all his strength to pry his gaze off the body lying in the mud with vacant, open eyes staring up at him.
The strong grip on his arm had him turn around to face Thomas, who had a hold of him and gave him a hard shake. “It’s all right, my friend. You had no other choice but to shoot—you saved my life, and I’m very thankful to you.” He placed both hands on Carl’s shoulders. “Come now; let us move on. There is nothing we can do here.”
With one last look over his shoulder at the motionless Indian, Carl followed Thomas away from the dead man, into the wooded area that lead them back to the farm. There would be no hunting that day. His legs feeling like rubber, his heart still beating hard and fast, Carl walked along in somewhat of a daze as they made their way back to the trail. To add to the day’s horror, the sky grew dark and clouds hovered overhead with the threat of a storm brewing. Whistling wind howled through the trees like a lone wolf about to pounce down on them. Nothing could have been worse for them at that time but a raging cold sleet storm.
“We need to speed up a bit,” Thomas urged. “Looks like we’re in for a nasty bit of weather—” he looked up at the sky “—at any moment.”
The darkened sky grew even darker as they hurried along the narrow path to the farm. Carl could only think of one thing—the dead Indian they’d left lying in a pool of blood back there. What would he tell Beth? His thoughts were muddled with confusion. The cold, icy breeze hit his face and kept him from becoming ill. His stomach remained in knots, ready to explode into violent eruptions of vomit. He shivered and shook on the back of the horse he rode, while Thomas seemed to move along at a rapid pace on the back of old Betsy some many yards in front of him.
“Okay there, my friend. We are almost there,” Thomas shouted back to the cold, mournful follower behind him. “Chin up now, we don’t want our women to think we are not up to the fight.” He glanced back at Carl. “Helen will be disappointed we didn’t bag a nice meal for her to cook, but I’m sure she’ll come up with something; she always does.”
The sight of the cabin in the near distance gave Carl a sense of relief. Just to be back to his wife and some kind of civil feeling was a luxury.
His eyes wandered to focus on the mountains in the distance lit up with a glance of sunlight pushing through an edge of the blackening clouds. He thought of those lovely mountains and how they enjoyed the park with its fun and weekends of relaxation. Would he ever see it again? He wondered.
The rush was on to get to cover before the rain hit. Carl held his arm up to his face to avoid the bitter cold wind sweeping across the land in a fury.
Thomas held tightly to the reins in his hands as his horse reared up due to a branch flying into his face, which caused the animal some distress. It was the first time a curse word came out of Thomas’s mouth, to Carl’s surprise.
Beth met them at the door just as thunder rolled across the sky and the first cold icy drops of rain blew up against the side of the cabin. With the horses in the barn, they hurried to get inside.
Thomas stamped his feet at the door out of habit while Carl struggled to remove his boots, also out of habit. Helen, standing at the stove, looked over and nodded in approval.
“I see you two didn’t have any luck out there,” she commented as she stirred something in large black pot. “The storm brewing makes all the creatures take cover and hide away, but I have some yams cooking and a nice salt bread rising.”
“From the looks on their faces, I think there was more than just the storm to worry about out there,” Beth said. “What happened?” she insisted as she looked Carl right in his eyes. “And don’t try to hide it from me. I know something happened.” She grabbed Carl’s coat sleeve. “Tell me. What is it?”
He shook his head, pulled his arm from her with a quick jerk then walked to the bedroom, opened the door and went inside. The door closed after him.
As Beth hurried forward to the bedroom door, Thomas stopped her. “Wait—let him be. There was an incident with a renegade Indian, and Carl saved my life, but he had to kill the savage. He’s taking it kind of badly right now.” He put his hand to his neck and rubbed it. “I almost got my throat cut by a redskin. If it wasn’t for Carl’s good aim and nerve, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
A trembling hand reached up to her mouth, and Beth let out a quick breath through her fingers while trying to hold it back. Tears filled her eyes as she went to the window and stood silent for several moments.
Helen left the stove. Trembling herself, she came up to Beth with arms open. “Come on now, everything is all rig
ht. Your man will be okay. He just needs a little time.” She put her arms around Beth and hugged her.
Beth could feel Helen shaking, but said nothing. She only hugged her back,
knowing all too well how the poor woman must feel. Yet this sweet frontier woman was more concerned for her than her own feeling.
Some comfort came from Helen’s gentle touch, but it didn’t take away the fear of what had happened to Carl. “He could have been killed,” Beth sobbed. “And Thomas was almost killed.”
“It’s the way it is, my dear. We are still in a dangerous war.” Helen dropped her arms from around Beth. “It’s not something you get used to, but it’s something you accept as a way of life, with hope things will get better soon.”
The busy housewife went back to the stove to continue cooking a pot of something that smelled very good, but Beth was not thinking of food at the moment. She only could think of how close her husband came to being killed or seriously injured. She dried her eyes and walked over to Helen, her hands still shaking.
“What about this chief—this Chief Paul character? Does he ever come around here or what?”
Helen turned to her and smiled. “Oh, yes, he comes around, but we never know just when.” She stirred the food in the pot and went on. “Sometimes he stays around here for weeks and then off he goes again. We may not see him again for months.”
“What does he do?” Beth asked as she leaned forward to see what was in the pot.
“He has been very instrumental in the war. Without his help, many more of our soldiers would have died along with some of us. He’s a great warrior.”
“Does he really have some kind of super power—some kind of power to…” she paused and looked away. “I don’t know.”
Helen laughed. “Yes, he can do many things we don’t question—we just take it as a gift.” With a large wooden spoon, she scooped a little taste from the pot and held it up to Beth’s mouth. “Here, see what you think.”
A hint of smoked bacon gave the bean soup a pleasant taste. “It’s good. I’m amazed at how well you come up with so many good dishes with so little to cook with.” Beth breathed in the tasty aroma emulating from the pot. “But what about this chief person? Do you think he will be along soon? I sure would like to talk to this guy. Carl seems to think he will help us get back to our place.”
Helen turned to her and gave her a look. “Okay…back to where we live.”
“I wish I could tell you when Chief Paul will be here, but I simply cannot. We never know when he will pop in.” Helen gave Beth a little pat on her shoulder. “Don’t worry so. He will be along sometime—maybe soon, I think. While you are here, you are safe with us. The British army has moved on to the north, and what’s left of their Indian friends are only a few, with one less now.”
Concern for her husband behind the bedroom door made Beth very nervous. She had to see how he was doing, so she went to the bedroom door and opened it a crack. Carl sat on the bed his head down, his hands clasped together in prayer. She quietly slipped in and closed the door behind her.
He looked up at her before putting his head back down.
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Carl, but you saved a life by doing what you had to do. You know I’m not in favor of guns, but we are not in the future right now, and here guns are a way of life, a necessity.” She moved up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You were so brave in what you did; I’m very proud of you.”
“I know, but it still gives me some thought. That Indian had a life also.”
“Yeah, and he was willing to take another’s life without giving it a single thought.” Beth rubbed her hand over his shoulder and back. “You did the right thing—the only thing you could do.”
Carl rose from the bed and put his arms around his wife. She could feel his tension as he hugged her tightly. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and they embraced for several moments.
The wind outside howled as it passed by the side of the cabin. It brought a chill to the displaced couple, but they went to the bedroom door, opened it, and emerged with smiles on their faces. Helen acknowledged them with a friendly nod then went on stirring her creation in the large pot on the stove. Thomas looked over from his chair by the fireplace and smiled back.
Dinner took on a little different slant as the group sat eating the bean soup and bread Helen had prepared. Different because no one said any more about what happened and only talked about the food, the weather, and how nice the fire felt.
Yes, it was getting colder out. Beth and Carl both worried about when or how they would return to their lives in the future. It did little to talk to their accommodating hosts. They had no idea of what they meant by wanting to go back to the future.
Little Annie curled up on the floor with her doll to be ready for her mother’s nightly reading from the Bible. Beth helped Helen clean up from the dinner, while Carl and Thomas went out to the barn to tend to the animals. The wind outside whistled through the land as the dark of night enveloped the small cabin.
A strong gust of wind blew in through the open door when the men returned. Thomas pushed the door closed and stamped his feet on the woven rug in front of the door. Carl did likewise in respect for the man’s need to keep his home as clean as possible.
Helen sat in place by the fireplace with her Bible in her lap while little Annie, on the large, round braided rug, moved closer to her. The men hung their jackets up and walked over to take a seat. Carl pulled out a chair from the table and set it down next to Beth.
Thomas poured two tin cups of rum for Carl and himself. All was well at the end of a trying day.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A picture of pumpkins, kids out trick or treating, danced in Beth’s head as she lay, watching a little moonlight seep in from outside the bedroom window. Carl stirred, rolled over and opened his eyes. His hand found its way around her waist as he snuggled up close to her. The chill of the morning crept into the room like a bad invader. End of October had only the cold of the coming winter to offer. It also brought to mind the Halloween events Beth enjoyed so much. There’d be no handouts at the door of this cabin, no jack-o-lanterns, no bobbing for apples. Every year the community where they lived threw a big Halloween party, filled with great fun. Now all Beth could do was think about it.
The knock on the door had Carl rolling back over on his back to sit up. He knew it was time to get out to the barn to help Thomas with the daily chores. He rubbed his eyes and yelled out, “Okay, I’m up. Be with you shortly.” He reached over to pat Beth on the behind then stood and stretched. “It’s cold in here!” Shivers traveled down his body as he grabbed his pants and shirt from the nightstand at the side of the room.
Beth sat up but held the blanket close around her. “I’ll get up and help Helen with breakfast. These people are so used to these early morning starts of the day. I just don’t know how they do it all the time. I would rather get up at seven or seven-thirty, grab a fast bowl of cereal, coffee, get ready for the office and at work by nine.”
“Huh, it must be all of five or six in the morning. Can’t even see the sun yet, just a little bit of light, probably from the moon hanging on out there. I just love getting up in the middle of the night.” Carl finished buttoning his shirt then sat on the bed to put on his boots. “It’s early morning, not night.”
When he rose to leave the room, she said, “Have fun out there with the cow. Hope you do better milking her, this time.” Her slight giggling had him turn around to face her.
He raised his open hand to her. “Not so funny, my love.” Then he went out the door, closing it behind him.
Helen stood at the stove cooking something that smelled like corn roasting on an open fire. Fresh logs in the fireplace crackled and danced, throwing heat and an amber glow out into the room. Beth went to the stove to see what Helen was making.
“It has a nice aroma; what is it?”
Helen turned to her and smiled. “It’s corn meal. With a bit of butter and
milk, it makes a nice cold morning breakfast. I think you’ll like it.”
“I see…the kind that sticks to your ribs, huh?” She looked around but didn’t see little Annie. “Where’s Annie?”
“She’s still tucked in bed, sleeping. I’ll wake her some time later. That child likes to sleep when it gets so cold. She’s like a little creature, who would hibernate if I let her.” She laughed and went back to stirring the cornmeal.
Beth had a hard time understanding this woman and how she could be so happy living this awful way of life, but then she remembered—at this time in history there was nothing to compare it to. This was the way of life back then—oops, now. She went to the window, hugging her arms to keep warm. She already knew it took a while in the morning to heat the cabin after the fire burned down over the nighttime hours.
From the looks of things outside, there might have been a few snowflakes flying by the window, but she wasn’t sure. Still very dark, all she could see, other than a slight glow on the horizon, was the light from the lantern inside the barn. She thought of Carl out there trying his luck with the cow again, and she had to laugh to herself. The image could be something for the funniest homemade videos. What was the name of that show? She couldn’t think of it.
In many ways the experience of living in the past, had an enlightening effect on her. She thought of all the history books she’d read. None of them reflected what these times were really like. Reality of life during a serious historic war, the Revolutionary War, had more to offer than anything you could read in a book. Beth learned one important thing to stay with her forever—the respect for the frontier people who wanted a better life and were willing to fight for it.
Morning in the cabin had its drawbacks. Not only did they contend with the cold of the fall season until the fire in the fireplace took hold and warmed the place, they had the problems of what to make for breakfast and how. Bacon and eggs over-easy, or anything else familiar to the present day, was out of the question. Some eggs could be made into an omelet with dried beef, but mostly the menu consisted of a cooked meal of some sort. How nice some pancakes or waffles would be with maple syrup and a big glass of orange juice. Maybe some bacon or sausage on the side. Mmm. Beth stood at the window dreaming of those wonderful breakfasts they always took for granted.
Outside That Door Page 16
