The boy got up and nervously approached the man. “Who … who was he?”
“I don’t know.”
The child sat down by him and took his hand, trying to hold the tears back from his worried eyes. “What happened to him?”
The man could think of nothing to say except that “a monster got him.” The two of them sat there a while, the man holding and watching the boy, and the boy whose gaze was fixed on the man’s bloody boots. Joshua would never once ask the man about them.
Later that day they buried the boy there next to the road. The man took him out and dressed him, then wrapped him in his own blanket. It was the only thing he could think to do for the child. Like with Adda Pedersen, the man made the child a cross but into this one he carved “UNKNOWN BOY – ABOUT 9 YEARS OLD – REST IN PEACE” and set the simple marker over his lonely grave.
Then the man knelt down and said a prayer for the nameless little boy, and for his own boy, and for his own soul.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They traveled the rest of that spring and through the summer making good time and a few new friends along the way. Their trip became easier as they went and the dangers of traveling slowly seemed to fade. On the first of September they had crossed most of Nebraska, the end of their journey not yet here but within reach.
As the two walked along through the tall grass the man could hear a long forgotten sound coming from the other side of a hill not too far off. He decided to investigate and changed his direction. As they climbed to the crest, the sound became louder, somehow familiar and yet still forgotten. When they reached the top the mystery was solved.
He looked down on it in admiration, listening to that sound of it flapping in the breeze and occasionally the metallic ring of its fitting slapping against the hollow metal pole. A large American flag stood in the wind, the free end tattered and torn. It was an old truck stop, the building long burned to the ground, yet that flag kept waving all these years.
The man felt like crying but didn’t, all we had lost or squandered away, everything he would never see again. They only paused a moment and then kept walking, the boy wondering what was there in the man’s eye.
The rest of the day the man found his mind wandering, that flag had him thinking of their trip so far and all he had left behind. His family, friends, and the world he once knew. He also thought of this child with him, this boy who had grown up at his side.
The man thought how different it was, the child’s world was the opposite of his own. He grew up in abundance and safety, the boy in constant danger and always wanting for something.
In the world he grew up in, you went to school all year and took the summers off. But for Joshua it was just the reverse. They would travel spring to fall and generally by November or certainly December would find some place to stop for the winter.
Usually some nice farm family would give them a place to sit out the cold winter in exchange for another hired hand, as a rule an extra set of eyes to keep guard at night. During those tedious winter days, Joshua would go to school taught by the man, a year of learning compacted into a few short months.
As they walked along, the man watched the child and studying him had to admit Joshua was a good looking boy. Joshua had grown up crossing the wilds of America, often with not enough to eat and never with a place to call his own.
The man had worried for years the child would be malnourished and it would affect his growth. But it didn’t seem to matter as the boy had grown up strong and tall. He was healthy, a little thin for his height but not sickly so.
The child’s face reminded the man of the boy’s mother, especially his bright blue eyes which were clear and proud. His cherub face was slightly rounded and his hair was her exact color, a light golden brown. His skin had taken on a warm glow over the years from all of their time traveling under the sun. A band of freckles prominently showed there high on his cheeks and right across the middle of his nose.
At times the boy could appear angelic although from their years together the man knew Joshua was certainly no angel, but just a normal boy.
Then the man thought about what was normal now and what the child’s world might become. There were many things he experienced the boy probably would never know, things like movies, high school football games and joyriding with his friends in the summer time, the car’s top put down. Flying on an airplane or going to the mall to meet girls, experiences the child might not ever share. His world would be a much simpler and harder lot. The life of ease had been ended for the boy’s generation, his and previous had made sure of that. Joshua’s world would be tougher and the man thought that both a curse and a blessing.
Years of traveling had taught the man the world that he was raised in, the world he loved was also a curse. When life was easier it made you softer and more superficial, focusing your attention on things that really didn’t matter. And while living in this new world was more demanding, it also forced you to think about what was most important, family, friends, country, God.
The man suddenly felt a sharp pain in his heel and found a place to stop. Sitting down on the ground, he removed all his gear and then his boot, finding a rock inside. His pistol was digging in his side and the man took it off too, figuring this was a good a place to stop for the night. He looked around for Joshua and saw him about ten feet away, a mangy dog only an arm’s length from the child.
A mutt bitch stood there staring back at the boy. From her size and look, she was probably half German shepherd and had definitely produced more than a few litters.
With one boot on and one in his hand, the man quickly got up and hobbled towards them, hardly armed and not thinking. He threw his free boot at it while warning the child, “Joshua, get away from it!”
The boy then turned looking at the man, and then beyond.
The man turned to what had the boy’s attention and could see another dog behind him, between him and his weapons.
The second could have been a dog or a wolf, he just didn’t know. Whatever it was it was more aggressive than the first and was growling and looked ready to jump him there in a low crouch.
He stood there forever thinking this was unreal as wild dogs usually ran at the first sign of trouble. But this one wasn’t running; it must be hungry and desperate.
It continued to stare him down, snarling, its body a taut wire.
The man tried to slowly move towards his gun but with only one step it pounced. In an instant the man was on the ground, his arm in the savage creature’s jaws, the sleeve of his heavy coat the only thing keeping him from being torn to pieces.
As he used his free arm searching for his pocket knife, the animal unexpectedly made a loud yelp, jumped up, and took off running. The man looked to see the beast running away, a white plastic spear stuck in his side, his mate chasing after him. On his other side Joshua stood there watching.
He picked himself off the ground and the man immediately put his pistol back on just in case the beast came back. Then he gave his arm a thorough check, his sleeve had been shredded. His arm had been saved at the cost of his good jacket.
“Joshua, you okay?”
“I’m okay …”
“Joshua, you saved me.”
“You showed me what to do … remember?”
“Yes I remember. I didn’t know if you would. I didn’t have time to think about it anyway. Thank you for saving me.”
“Okay …” The child didn’t seem to know he was a hero.
As they were sitting around the fire that night enjoying a dinner of canned ravioli he had saved for a special occasion, he sat there watching the boy and couldn’t been more proud if he was his own. The man thought about it a moment and then searched for a small package wrapped in plain paper at the bottom of his bag. They had always celebrated the boy’s birthday on November 17th, the day he found him, but even though it was still over two months away it seemed close enough.
“Joshua, come here a minute.”
The child p
ut down his empty plate and slid to the man’s side.
“Joshua, you know that your birthday is not for a while yet, but I want you to have this now.”
He extended out the small package in his hand and the child took it without a word, and then opened it by the light of the fire. He watched with his own joy as the boy’s curious expression suddenly became one of elation.
It was a small penknife nearly identical to one the man had as a boy. The man knew what he wanted to say yet the words didn’t come easy, “Joshua, I want you to know … what happened today. I’m very proud of what you did. I know you’re not eight yet but … I think you’re old enough for this. Every boy should have a knife.”
The boy looked up to the man and then back to his new treasure, finding the words difficult himself. “Thank you.”
Suddenly the man’s mind was overcome with something that had troubled him for a long, long time. “Joshua, you know I’ve never lied to you.”
The child sat looking up to the man nodding, his innocent gaze only making what he wanted to say that much harder.
“I’ve always been honest with you. I told you about your mother, you know I’m not your father …”
The boy continued to nod, staring up at him with those trusting eyes.
The man stopped mid-sentence wondering why this was so hard. Why he couldn’t say how he felt, what he wanted. He never had any desire to be a father but the world had changed now and he had too. Then he finally realized that it wasn’t his choice to make, but God’s. And God had decided nearly five years ago. “But … if … if you wanted me to I would … be your father I mean.”
The child instantly leapt on him, embracing him, his arms locked around the man in vice-like hold. The question was answered.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As they walked along the man had a sudden need to hold Joshua’s hand. The events of the night before had him feeling more sentimental. He took the boy by his hand and the child promptly snatched it back.
“Give me your hand.”
“Why?” The boy’s face and voice filled with suspicion.
“I want to hold it, that’s all.”
The boy answered him as if he had just been insulted. “You don’t need to hold my hand. I’m almost eight years old. Seven years, nine months, three weeks old.”
“Just give me your hand.” The man was annoyed with the boy’s reply. He couldn’t believe he was acting this way. It wasn’t so long ago that Joshua would never leave his side and now he couldn’t even hold the boy’s hand without an argument. The child was growing up and the man had no idea where the time had gone.
Joshua just continued staring at the man, slighted.
“Give … me … your … hand.” The man slowly explained it to the still offended child.
With a few more awkward moments staring at the man, the boy finally did offer up his hand, but absolutely refused to change that insulted expression he wore upon his brow.
The man took the tiny hand and instantly felt a warm feeling inside, the tiny hand he protected with his own all of these years, the tiny hand that somehow made him feel everything would be all right.
The two marched along that way for over an hour, the contented man and the sullen child. The man cheerfully led him along. But the child was determined to be miserable, and that the man should know it, the boy constantly glaring at him with his unhappy eyes.
But the man wasn’t too bothered by the child’s sour expression. He knew that someday the boy would remember this moment and would finally understand, when he was a father himself.
And that one wished thought filled the man’s mind with all the joyful wishes he heaped upon the child, wishes of plenty of food and water, a home, a wife, children of his own, and a long and happy life.
Suddenly the man had the wind knocked from him as he helplessly tumbled backwards. The world became a confused blur as he toppled uncontrollably and landed hard, face up on the ground. He struggled to see what was happening. It felt like someone had hit him in the chest with a club. But when he finally could focus it was only the grass and sky above him that he could see.
The child found him there in the high grass, “NO!” and began crying as he pressed those tiny hands down on the man’s chest.
The man lay there watching it all, his mind in a jumble. He tried to ask “What happened?” but the words would not come. Then he tried to sit up but couldn’t find the strength, it was like his body was nailed to the ground. All he could do was lay there helplessly watching it all, the boy, the blowing grass, and the clear blue sky beyond.
He lay there trying to grasp what just happened, the taste of blood in his mouth. The boy’s hands were now covered with blood. Is Joshua hurt? At first the man was frantic with the thought. But then came relief when he could see it was he that had been shot and the blood now covering them both was not the child’s but his own.
Then that sound began. That awful metallic rattle the man had heard too many times before. That chatter, the death chatter of guns, the sound of men with their guns.
No matter where he went it was already there, the good and the evil. No matter where he had gone in this world the sound of the two was inseparable, it always the same. Men with their guns that wanted to own you and men with their guns that would resist to the end.
The sound of it was deafening and came from his left and right. To the right came the heavy jarring pulse of several large caliber rifles, methodically pounding away at an unseen foe. To the left came the thunderous drone of a belt fed auto, angrily answering those guns to his right. The noise of death filled his ears and the smell and smoke rapidly filled his lungs.
Through it all Joshua sat there holding his hands to the man’s chest. Those tiny hands now soaked to the elbow in blood. Only inches above the boy the tall grass stood there, quivering and bending as it was shredded by the gunfire, torn bits of it caught in the wind and dancing in the air.
The man struggled to make out Joshua’s voice over the din of the guns, and as he concentrated on the boy’s anguished mouth he could finally understand the weeping child over the raucous, murderous sound. The boy hovered over him desperately pleading with the man. “NO! PLEASE! DON’T GO!”
The man tried with all his strength to tell Joshua to get down on the ground, out of the line of fire, but it was no use the words would still not come.
Then without warning a soldier was there looking over the man. He briefly glanced at him and then turned his attention to the boy. As quickly as he came, the soldier seized the child and took off running, racing in the same direction from where he just came. As he was taken away the bloody boy shouted through his tears, “NO!” Those tiny bloodied hands instinctively reaching out for the man.
As the soldier quickly carried the screaming child away, it seemed to the man that Joshua’s voice was fading, and then the gunfire fading. The world soon became silent and now only the sound of the man’s own breathing remained. He lay there listening to the sound, the low struggling sound, and knew that he didn’t have much longer to live. He accepted he was about to die and didn’t care about that, his only thoughts for the child he was leaving behind. His only hope, that he had enough time. Enough time for one short prayer for the only thing that mattered to him in that last fragile moment of life. Please God … please protect Joshua, please watch over my little boy.
The man lay there in the stillness, only the burdened, sodden sound of his own breathing there to keep him company. Now even that sound began to fade as the man looked up into the clear blue sky, the stunning clear blue sky and the tall grass around him. The grass silently blew there in the wind, swaying and fluttering in his eyes. The man could no longer hear the sound of his breathing and then in the perfect silence the picturesque view began to fade to black … and the man realized that it was such a beautiful day to die.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A warm glowing light caught his eye, blurry and then slowly coming into focus. Looking around he could
hardly see a thing, except the faint spot of light hovering above him. It was a window he finally realized. A heavy drape had been put over it to block the light but a narrow slit of sun had escaped there at the top.
He took a breath and his chest filled with pain. Then it started coming back to the man; he had been shot.
Suddenly a soft light filled the room from the far wall, a door slowly opened, a shadowing figure stood there just outside.
“Joshua?”
The figure approached the bed but it was too tall to be a child. It then opened the curtains and flooded the room with warm sunlight that for a moment blinded the man. Eventually his eyes focused again and a younger man was standing over him. He didn’t recognize his face. He was sure he didn’t know him.
“No, my name is Ridley, Travis Ridley.”
The man wasn’t concerned with this person, whoever he was. He had more important things on his mind. “Where’s Joshua? Where is he? Is he all right?”
The stranger held him down by his shoulders, the man struggling to get up. “Joshua is fine. He’s out playing with my children. I’ve sent for him, he’ll be here in a minute. Please stay calm.”
“Joshua is fine?” The man wasn’t sure if could believe the stranger, that last memory he had was not a good one.
“Yes.”
“He’ll be here in a minute?”
“Yes, I’ve sent someone to get him. It won’t be long.”
The man still wasn’t sure if he could trust the strange man but he didn’t seem to have a choice. He didn’t have the strength to get out of bed and look for himself.
“Joshua is on his way … but before he gets here though we should talk. As I was saying, my name is Travis …”
Joshua (Book 1) Page 32
