The Badger's Revenge

by Larry D. Sweazy

  When Josiah walked back into the room, Billie was standing over the stove with her back to him. She was frying up some bread and bacon. She must have heard him come in. She turned to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Nothing came out of her mouth but a surprised cry, followed by tears bursting out of her eyes, cascading down her full cheeks as if a dam had been breached after a devastating storm.

  CHAPTER 10

  “For a second, I saw Charlie standing there,” Billie said, wiping her face dry. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” Josiah stood a good ten feet from Billie, across the room, and had his own visions of ghosts. There was no way Josiah could not have thought of his wife, Lily, silhouetted against the window, her stomach swollen with child. They’d had four children together. He was no stranger to the beauty of pregnancy—and the tragedy of it, too. “I take it Charlie Webb was the one John Wesley Hardin killed in the spring,” he said.

  “Shot him in the back is what he did. The coward.” Billie hesitated, scowled, and looked away, fighting back even more tears. “Don’t ever mention that man’s name in this here house again, you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry. But I won’t rest till I hear tell that son of a bitch is dead and buried. I’d’ve gone after him myself if I’d been able, but I’d figured out that me and Charlie was gonna have a young’un to look after right before then.” She exhaled heavily. “It’s not your problem.”

  “You don’t have a family to go to, I take it? No one to help you out?”

  “None that’s worth the powder and lead to blow to hell. Charlie was my family. All we ever wanted was a little piece of land and a family to look after. He took to bein’ Roy’s deputy to make a little extra money. I never figured he’d get kilt.”

  “I’ve questions about the sheriff.”

  Billie let out a quick laugh that originated deep in her chest. “That man’s scared of his own shadow. My guess is he let the fools into the jail that pulled out Hardin’s brother and started all this meanness. Look at what it’s done. Nobody feels safe. You’re a Ranger, can’t you do something?”

  Now it was Josiah’s turn to exhale. “The county sheriff pretty much has authority over all of the Rangers. He’s got to ask us for help, and we’re not lawmen. Not in the sense that the sheriff is. Jurisdiction is a topic best left to Governor Coke and the men in Austin who make the laws. They don’t want us to wear badges or interfere in county business. There’s not much any Ranger could do. Especially one who’s just been shot and chased after like he’s an outlaw himself.”

  “Well those stuffed shirts ought to get out of the city more often.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me on that.”

  The room was warm and the smell of bacon strong, carried about on the drafts that were poking in all through the house as the storm carried on without any sign of letting up outside.

  Billie had set two plates on a small wood table. A cup of steaming coffee sat waiting for Josiah—but he didn’t move. His feet were suddenly frozen to the floor. He was afraid of what he was walking into, certain that if he sat down at the table, leaving would become difficult, if not nearly impossible. And he had to leave. He just had to—and soon.

  “Let me take a look at that leg.” Billie slid a piece of fried bread onto a plate and set it on the table along with a small bowl of beans.

  Josiah still didn’t move. He just stared at her, uncertain of what would be next. He understood Billie’s bitterness and pain more than he could say. It had taken him nearly two years to pick himself back up after burying Lily and his three little girls. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like for a woman left to fend for herself, at the worst possible time in her life, pregnant, her husband shot in the back by a heartless outlaw set on making a name for himself.

  “Well?” Billie said, a questioning look falling across her face. “You surely ain’t bashful, are you?”

  “No, no.” Josiah stepped forward, remembered the pain, and limped over to the chair, pushing any thought of his family—living and dead—as far away from his mind as possible.

  Billie rolled up his pant leg. “It needs cleanin’ out and bandaging up real tight-like. I got some salve that Charlie brought back from the war that ought to stop the infection from spreadin’, if’n it shows up. Don’t look to be too much trouble. You’re a good healer, Josiah.”

  Only on the outside, Josiah thought, but he didn’t say it. “I don’t think there’s any lead in there.”

  “Don’t look that way. I couldn’t help you if there was. We’d have to wait for Doc Foley.”

  “That might be too long.”

  “Ain’t a concern. He won’t do nothin’ for you I can’t.” Billie stood up, walked over, pulled a pot off the wall that was hanging just above the stove, then headed for the door. The water pump sat like a lonely sentinel just outside.

  “I’d like to be on my way before the doc shows up,” Josiah said.

  Billie ignored the comment. “Go on, get yourself somethin’ to eat. You need to regain your strength.” She seemed reenergized now that her attention was focused on someone else. Any pain she might have felt before was minimized as she prepared to take care of Josiah’s wound.

  Josiah thought she had the makings of a good mother.

  Billie grabbed the sack coat off the peg and threw it over her shoulders. She pushed out the door, unconcerned about the weather or anything else—like somebody watching from a distance. But Josiah was concerned. He scooted back against the wall, out of the line of sight from the doorway, eyeing the Spencer that he’d stood in the corner, just next to the door.

  He couldn’t resist any longer and took a deep swig of coffee. It was hot and strong and had the flavor of Arbuckle’s, for which he was glad. He breathed deeply after the first swig, then took another drink. The coffee was nearly gone by the time Billie came back inside with a pot full of water.

  She had barely dried herself off from being outside in the first place, and now she was soaked from head to toe all over again. The rain didn’t appear to bother her.

  “Not lettin’ up out there. I think it’s gonna be a long storm,” Billie said.

  “Looks like you all needed some rain.”

  “The land’s been pretty much on its own since Charlie died. Not gonna be long before one of the outlying ranchers moves in and takes it. Probably come spring. Baby’ll be here anyway, and I can’t keep up with it the way it is. Can’t imagine runnin’ after a young’un and tryin’ to do all of Charlie’s work, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” Josiah said.

  “Just the way it is. I couldn’t just stop, not with my belly growin’ every day. Maybe if’n I would’ve been without it, then I could have.”

  Josiah fidgeted in the chair. “I understand.”

  “I imagine you do.” Billie put the pot on the stove to boil. “You look like a man who’s seen more than his fair share of ugliness. You was in the war, wasn’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The Texas Brigade.”

  “I figured. Looks like you came back all in one piece.”

  “Mostly.”

  “That’s what Charlie would’ve said, too. I knowed him since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, but I sure didn’t know him when he came back from that fight.”

  “War changes a man.”

  “Ugliness does. Sure does. Charlie softened some after we married. But some nights he’d scream out, tremble like a scared little feller. You know what I mean?”

  “I do,” Josiah said. “I do.”

  “I ’spect bein’ a Ranger is a lot like still bein’ at war.”

  “Not so much. It’s a different war, at least.”

  “They’re all the same.”

  Josiah nodded in agreement.

  “You got family?” Billie asked.

  “A son, in Austin. He’s two.”

  “No momma?”

  Josiah shook his head no. “Her a
nd my three daughters died. Fevers took ’em.” He wasn’t about to tell Billie that Lily had died giving birth to Lyle.

  Billie took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks.”

  Neither of them said anything for a minute or so. A long minute. Time enough for the drafts to push much of the sadness and death out of the house—at least as much as was possible.

  “You drink all of your coffee?” Billie asked.

  “Nearly.”

  “Not hungry?”

  Josiah nodded his head yes. “I was waiting for you.”

  Billie smiled. “You go on while I get out of these wet clothes.”

  “You sure?”

  “I appreciate you bein’ a gentleman and all, Josiah Wolfe, but I’m not much for food at the moment. Now, go on, eat.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Josiah didn’t need to be told twice. He dug into the plate as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in a year, like he had upon returning home that first day from the War Between the States.

  Billie disappeared into the same room Josiah had changed clothes in. The house creaked as a gust of wind pushed against it. Rain pelted the single window, and for a brief moment, Josiah felt safe.

  He lost himself in the meal, in the warmth from the stove, in Billie’s kindness. He nearly forgot about everything. The pain in his leg. O’Reilly’s presence in Comanche. Scrap’s fate . . . And most of all, Lyle and Ofelia, waiting for his return in Austin. He was only supposed to be gone two days.

  It was a moment to savor, just like the bacon, the fried bread, and the beans . . . because just as soon as he finished eating the meal, Josiah heard a loud thump in the other room and felt the floor shake.

  A scream that matched the wind and the storm outside echoed inside the house, and without thinking, Josiah was on his feet, knowing full well what the tone of the scream meant.

  CHAPTER 11

  Billie lay on the floor motionless. Her face was drained of color, and there was a huge puddle seeping out from underneath her. The room smelled wet and sour.

  “Somethin’ broke,” she whispered, her eyes flickering in pain—or maybe fear.

  Josiah nodded, and exhaled deeply. “I sure wish Ofelia was here,” he said, looking to the ceiling. He was kneeling at her side.

  They never had got around to bandaging his leg, but that seemed to be a distant concern at the moment. The wind outside whistled as loud as a locomotive, and rain hit the roof like stones dropping from the sky. Josiah sure hoped the house was built solid.

  Billie put her hand on her belly and tears began to stream down her face. “Damn you, Charlie. Damn it all to hell. Why ain’t you here? You promised you’d never leave me.”

  Josiah ignored the plea. There was nothing he could say to her to ease her pain and he knew it. Neither of them had the ones they loved in their lives to call on, to lean on, when they needed them the most.

  “Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes on and get you in bed. That baby’s gonna come whether the doc’s here or not,” Josiah said, standing up.

  It was a struggle, but with Josiah’s help, Billie pulled herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, groaning softly, her hand never leaving her stomach.

  “You’ve done this before, ain’t you?” she asked, her mouth wide as she breathed in quick bursts.

  “No, ma’am. I wish I could tell you I have.”

  “But you had four children. What did you do? Go huntin’ while your wife laid in misery?”

  “I stood outside the door, watched the little ones after there was more than one. Ofelia, the comadrona, um, the midwife, was there for every one of the births of my children.”

  The scowl returned to Billie’s face as she regained normal breathing patterns. “You weren’t there for any of them?”

  “The last one. My son.” Josiah hesitated, tried to force the memory out of his mind, but that was impossible.

  Lyle was born nearly a year after they had buried the last of their children. Lily’s pregnancy was a new hope, a rebirth of their family. But it wasn’t long into it that she started to grow weak. By the time the baby was due, the fevers had come for her. She died in labor, and with little time to spare, Josiah’s son, and only living child, was cut from Lily’s belly by Ofelia—with Josiah’s help.

  It was the saddest moment of his life.

  “. . . But it was a difficult birth,” Josiah added, looking away from her, away from her stomach. Tears settled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

  “This one ain’t gonna be easy,” Billie said.

  “I suppose it’s not. It’s your first pregnancy?”

  “Yes,” Billie said. “And from the feel of it, I ain’t gonna be in no hurry to ever do it again.”

  “Can you change yourself into a dry dress?” Josiah asked.

  He wasn’t a praying man, although there were circumstances when he sure hoped for a certain outcome—but asking an unseen force for a favor seemed silly at the moment . . . when it was just the two of them, stuck in the middle of a storm, with Billie about to give birth.

  When Billie nodded yes, Josiah was greatly relieved. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”

  “You’re good at that.”

  “It’s the last place I’d prefer to be at the moment.”

  “Beats bein’ out in the storm, a wanted man, a posse on your heels that won’t offer you a moment of justice,” Billie said.

  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. That’s not what I meant. I’m sure I’d be hanging from that live oak just outside the door, my feet dragging the ground, if it weren’t for your generosity.”

  “This has to be hard for you. I can’t imagine losin’ a baby, much less three. But I don’t think I can do this myself.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Josiah said, easing out the door, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, wishing he was the kind of man who could run right out of the house and not look back.

  Billie’s bloodcurdling scream matched the roar of thunder over the house. Sweat and tears mingled as they streamed down her face. She looked like she was standing outside in the storm instead of lying on her bed, her legs pulled up in a V, about to give birth to a baby.

  Josiah could see the baby’s head starting to protrude out of her body. There was no time for embarrassment or hesitation. Billie needed his help, needed him to be strong, to be there for her in a way he couldn’t be there for his own wife when she was alive. He had no choice but to put his hands down between her legs and guide the baby out into the world.

  In his memory, Josiah heard Ofelia speaking in Spanish, “Empujar al bebé hacia fuera.” And then in English: “Push, Miss Lily. Push hard.”

  Josiah repeated what he remembered. “Push, Billie, push.”

  “Oh damn it. Where’s Charlie?”

  “Push, Billie.”

  The baby’s head was halfway out.

  “Push harder, damn it,” Josiah demanded.

  Billie screamed again, and with a swift and surprising thrust, the baby was in Josiah’s bloody hands.

  For a second, he was in shock, holding the wet and warm little thing. It wasn’t moving. It was all red and wrinkled like a prune. Honestly, the baby scared him, covered in mucus and blood like it was. He’d only seen one that wasn’t cleaned up, and that was Lyle, cut out of his dead mother’s stomach. Josiah had tried to forget that.

  Billie was panting, catching her breath, staring at him. Her eyes were all glassy.

  Josiah stood back, brought the baby up to his face, and tapped it between the shoulder blades gently. The baby didn’t hesitate. It gasped, let out a whimper, opened its eyes, and began to cry, filling the room with life—and relief.

  “What is it?” Billie whispered.

  “A girl,” Josiah said. “You have a daughter, Billie Webb. You have a healthy little girl.”

  The day had passed right on by with Josiah completely emerged in the drama of the baby’s birth.

  The s
trongest part of the storm had passed over them, too, but the rain persisted, steadily now, tapping on the roof comfortably instead of with the threat of menace or destruction.

  There was some coffee left, and Josiah poured himself a full cup. He wasn’t sure what time it was. Coming up on evening. It was hard to tell with the continuing cover of grayness that seemed like it was never going to go away.

  Billie and her daughter lay sleeping in the bed. Josiah had done what he could to clean the two of them up, but eventually Billie ran him out of the room, certain she could do it herself. Another relief.

  The coffee was strong and only lukewarm since the fire in the stove had nearly died out. After a couple of deep drinks, Josiah set the cup down and tossed a few pieces of wood inside the stove. The pile was getting low and probably wouldn’t last another day. The thought caused Josiah some deep concern. He had no idea how Billie was going to take care of herself.

  There was nothing he could do at the moment to help her out, other than warm up the beans and bacon and fry up some bread. He figured Billie would be pretty darn hungry when she woke up.

  He wasn’t totally inept when it came to women’s work. He couldn’t be. There were a lot of things he’d had to learn after Lily died. Ofelia was a great help, but in the beginning she wasn’t around all the time. That didn’t happen until Josiah moved to Austin, and Ofelia had decided to come along with him.

  He eased over to the window, then eyed all of the ingredients he’d need to get supper going.

  The land was flat beyond the barn, and the horizon was a good distance off. It was hard to tell where the rainy sky left off and the earth began.

  The ground was soaked. Newly created streams crisscrossed the yard, rain cutting through the dry, unsettled dirt around the house. Puddles looked like ponds, and the pasture appeared more like a lake than a field left unattended.