Simply Dead

by Eleanor Kuhns

  He couldn’t rest for very long, not in this cold. After only a few seconds he lifted his head and prepared to descend. But he paused. Was that a light shining in the distance? Although the snow was no longer falling as heavily, the flakes still occluded Rees’s field of vision. He focused upon the illumination and stared, blinking his eyes as he tried to see through the falling snow. It was a light, a faint orange spark that spoke of a warm fireplace burning on a hearth. Or was he just imagining it? Rees gazed upon the glow until his eyes began to water. This beacon didn’t move. Could it be Granny Rose’s bonfire? He closed his eyes and tried to orient himself. He knew Wootten’s cabin was out of view and much higher in the mountains. Rees’s eyes popped open. That blaze must be the fire burning outside Granny Rose’s cabin. And that was where he must go.

  During his sojourn in the tree, his ankle had stiffened and both feet had become solid lumps of cold flesh. Rees climbed clumsily down to the ground and made his way to the track. He would follow it as long as he was able rather than attempting to cut through this dark and unfamiliar forest. He might have enough warning besides to load his rifle before the wolves caught his scent and began hunting him.

  When he came out upon the road, he saw the disturbance in the snow left by the horses. On the other side, almost invisible under the fir trees, was a lump covered by branches. A dark stain – blood – from the wolf shot by Wootten, had seeped out from underneath the pine boughs.

  Rees started walking.

  The road was easy to follow. Despite the snow that had fallen over the tracks left by Wootten and his party, the agitated snow was clearly visible. Rees walked in the hoof prints as much as he could, it was less difficult than trying to flounder through the deep untouched snow at the sides.

  A wolf howled nearby. Rees lurched into an awkward run, fumbling for his shot bag as he did so.

  A chorus of yipping and barking responded to the initial howl. He gulped. The wolves were all around him. Despite the cold, he began to sweat.

  He had to remove his gloves to load the rifle and his cold hands were stiff but he managed to get the ball down the muzzle. He poured in the black powder, tamped it, and began to jog again. A shaggy gray wolf leaped out upon the road, its yellow eyes fixed upon Rees.

  He hesitated only a second before raising the rifle and firing. He knew Wootten would hear the shot and return but right now Rees feared the wolves more than he did the other man. The wolf jumped and squealed in pain. Although the animal dropped to the snow he did not think he had killed it.

  He took the few seconds necessary to reload and started running again. Although the gunshot had scared away the pack for now he knew they would return and very quickly too. He gave the wounded wolf a wide berth. As he had suspected, he had not killed the large male. The movement of the furry chest was clearly visible. Rees began to run as fast as he could, an ungainly loping gait that kept his weight from landing on his left ankle.

  He made it as far as the hairpin curve, when the track took a sudden and very sharp turn to the left. Rees could hear the wolves behind him. He whirled and fired off another shot. His hands were trembling as much from fear as from the cold and this shot went wide. Nonetheless, the pack pulled back. But they were gaunt from hunger. Rees knew they would keep coming until he found shelter or they brought him down.

  He left the track then, heading into the woods at an angle, moving in a rapid limping run toward what he thought was the location of Granny Rose’s cabin. He could not see the firelight, not yet anyway, and he prayed that soon he would be close enough to see it shining through the trees. At least, as white snow reflected the diffuse gray light from the cloudy sky, Rees could pick his way through the black trunks.

  He knew the pack ran behind him. He turned again, dropping to one knee so he could more easily load his rifle. He fired from this position but this time nothing happened. Rees swallowed and his belly went hollow with terror. His powder must be damp. His gun was useless.

  Rees began looking around him for a likely tree to climb. He wanted to live; he wanted to see Lydia and his children again. Oh God, he thought, please don’t let me die today.

  The lead wolf, fangs shining in the dim light, began to creep forward. Rees pushed himself upright, using his rifle as a support. His legs trembled. He shifted his weapon in his hands so he gripped the barrel. The stock would be effective as a club.

  A shot rang out from behind Rees, missing the wolf but sending up a puff of snow just in front of him. The wolves fell back. Another shot, even closer, and the pack melted into the shadows under the trees. He knew they hadn’t gone far. He tried to turn around but his legs would not move.

  ‘Come on,’ snapped a woman’s voice. ‘We don’t got long. They’ll be back.’

  ‘Granny Rose,’ Rees said, his voice so weak even he could barely hear it.

  ‘C’mon.’ Granny Rose grabbed his arm and pulled at him. ‘Wootten came to my cabin looking for you. When I heard the gunshots I knew you was in trouble. And he’ll be back.’

  Shamed by his weakness – he should not need the help of this old woman – Rees pulled his arm from her grasp. But, although he knew they had to hurry, fear and relief had drained all his strength. It took the sudden defiant yipping of a wolf to send him scrambling into a clumsy run.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Wolves were real bad last year,’ Granny Rose said as she hurried through the snow. Her men’s boots were too large for her feet and each step pressed into the snow with a peculiar thudding sound. ‘We all lost livestock and even a couple of old men out hunting. So far this year they’ve taken a couple of children, sent out to gather firewood. And it’s early yet. No one travels without a musket.’

  ‘My powder is wet,’ Rees said, realizing as soon as he’d spoken that he sounded as though offering excuses.

  Granny Rose said nothing as she threw a quick glance over her shoulder but she increased her speed. Rees couldn’t help himself. He had to look. He saw the shadows slinking furtively in his wake. Re-energized by fear, he broke into a ragged trot.

  ‘Almost there,’ Granny Rose panted after a few minutes of rapid running. Rees nodded. He could see the orange light coming from the fire burning in Granny’s yard.

  She stopped abruptly and, turning quickly, she loaded her old musket and fired off another shot. A sharp cry told them she had hit one of the pack. By accident, Rees guessed, since she hadn’t aimed and muskets were unreliable anyway.

  ‘Dang,’ Granny Rose said, sounding regretful. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. Just meant to scare ’em off.’ She reached out and tugged at Rees’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’

  She had fixed a lantern to one of the posts of her rail fence. She untied the rope holding it and motioned Rees through the gate. He did not think he had ever been so happy to see a house, small and shabby though it was, in his life.

  Once inside, Granny put the lantern on the table. She stirred up the fire and as the flames took hold and the heat seeped into the room Rees finally began to feel warm. Not warm enough to remove his greatcoat however. He dropped into a chair, finally realizing how very tired he was. Now that he was safe he began to feel every one of his hurts. His ankle ached, oh, with such a grinding pain he groaned. And as sensation returned to his fingers, they tingled and then stung as though a hive of bees were at them.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Granny Rose asked as she slopped stew into a bowl and put it before him. It smelled far better than the slimy pottage offered him by the Wootten boys and Rees reached for the wooden spoon. His fingers couldn’t pick it up. Granny Rose took his hand and looked at the fingers. ‘You were lucky I found you when I did,’ she said. ‘You’re starting a case of frostbite.’

  Rees stared at her in horror. ‘I can’t lose my hands,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘I’m a weaver.’ The midwife offered him a thin smile as she put her warm hands around his white fingers and held on for a moment.

  ‘You won’t lose your fingers but they’ll be sore for a little while.�
�� She gestured at his foot. ‘What’s wrong with it? I saw you limping.’

  ‘I sprained my ankle,’ Rees admitted. ‘It’s weak. I injured it last year …’

  ‘Off with the boot. Let me look.’ As she knelt before him he struggled to remove his footwear. Every movement hurt. Granny Rose finally took the boot by the sole and pulled. He could not prevent the scream that broke through his lips when the leather scraped over his ankle. Nauseous and trembling, he held on to the table as she ran her fingers over his leg and foot.

  ‘Nothing broke, as far as I can tell,’ she said. ‘But I wager it hurts.’

  Rees, who hadn’t the strength to speak, nodded.

  ‘Finish up your stew now,’ she told him. ‘You’ll need your strength when we go down the mountain. We don’t have much time; I know Mr Wootten will be here soon. He’s bound to have heard the shots.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Rees asked, aggrieved. ‘I’ve done nothing to him.’

  ‘You asked questions.’ Granny Rose hesitated. Rees could see the thoughts flashing behind her eyes as she tried to decide what to say. ‘No one up here likes people interfering, him most of all. Why, what he done to Mr Morton …’ She stopped suddenly.

  ‘What’d he do?’ Rees asked curiously.

  ‘I shouldn’t say nothing. It was gossip, that’s all it was.’

  ‘I often find gossip has a basis in truth,’ he replied. ‘What was it? You started this.’

  ‘Some say he pushed Mr Morton off a log during a drive.’ And when Rees did not immediately react, Granny added impatiently, ‘Morton was on a log, spinning it for all he was worth, as he guided it down the river. When he fell off – or was pushed – his leg got caught. Broke his ankle and leg in so many places he’ll limp the rest of his life.’ Rees thought of the shopkeeper, walking with the aid of a stick.

  ‘I know Wootten is dangerous,’ he said.

  ‘You’d best steer clear of him,’ Granny Rose said.

  ‘You mean I should pretend those boys, Jake and Jem, didn’t jump my daughter? Granted, they thought she was Hortense but they still attacked her. Or that one of that family, probably Mr Wootten himself, killed a Shaker Sister at Zion? I can’t let it go.’

  ‘You’d best steer clear, that’s all I’m saying. Now, you eat up. We’ll talk but later, when we’re safe. I’ll wrap your ankle. Not sure how well you’re going to be able to walk on it.’

  As she gathered linen rags and began tearing them into strips, Rees tried to eat his stew. But he could barely choke down even a few bites; the combination of panic and pain had left his stomach in knots and he had no appetite at all. He did better with the chicory coffee offered by the old woman. He downed the hot liquid – with a liberal helping of sugar – in a few mouthfuls. His belly protested but he refused to yield to the rumblings and after a few seconds it settled.

  Rees tried again to swallow a spoonful of stew but although the broth went down he finally spit the masticated chunk of meat back into the bowl. ‘Sorry.’ He shook his head at Granny Rose.

  ‘Fright has a funny way of changing the body,’ she said. ‘Don’t—’

  The jingle of harness and the whinny of a horse penetrated the cabin. Granny Rose, a sudden nervous flush tinting her cheeks, turned a glance at the window. ‘Wootten and his boys are here,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to hide.’

  ‘I don’t want to hide,’ Rees said.

  ‘He won’t do nothing to me. But you?’ Granny Rose shook her head at him.

  ‘You’re frightened too,’ Rees said.

  ‘Josiah Wootten is a man of quick temper and he’s very protective of his family. Right now he’s a cornered animal and dangerous. If you want to make it back to your family you better do as I say.’

  Footsteps crunched through the snow outside. Rees exhaled unwillingly but he knew there was no more time to argue.

  ‘Hide where?’ he asked, looking around at the one room cabin.

  Granny Rose twitched away the rag rug covering a trap door. ‘Down here. My father dug out a room and a tunnel leading to the barns when there were regular Indian attacks. Down you go.’

  Rees, with one boot on and one boot off, hobbled to the square cut into the floor and climbed down. The basement was not tall enough for him to stand upright but enough firelight penetrated through the cracks between the floorboards above to produce a dim light. At a painful crouch, he hobbled forward into the chilly gloom. Granny Rose hurled his boot in after him, almost striking him in the head, before she closed the trap door. He could hear the thuds of a fist on the door and Granny Rose’s quick footsteps across the floor.

  Rees sat down on the cold dirt floor behind a wall of hemp sacks with his back against the stone wall. Carrots and turnips spilled from the sacks. There were apples too. Although he couldn’t see them he knew there must be apples; he could smell them, the sweet winey smell of overripe fruit.

  ‘What do you want?’ Granny Rose’s voice easily penetrated the cellar.

  ‘Where is he? Where is Rees?’

  ‘Not here.’

  ‘I heard gunshots.’

  ‘I shot at a wolf pack that came too close. Chased them off too.’

  Heavy steps crossed the cabin floor. After a pause Wootten said, ‘You fired this musket recently.’

  ‘I told you, I fired at a pack of wolves.’ Granny Rose sounded irritated and Rees tensed, expecting Wootten to strike the old woman.

  ‘You need to clean this weapon,’ Wootten said, the sound of metal striking stone. Rees guessed Wootten had put the gun back above the fireplace. ‘Jake, Jem, look around for him. Check the barn too.’

  The door slammed. Wooten’s weighty tread circled the cabin and Rees could hear the sound of opening doors and shifted furniture. ‘I told you, he ain’t here,’ Granny Rose said. ‘He’s probably down off the mountain by now. You told me he had a mule.’

  ‘He don’t know the hill like we do,’ Wootten said.

  ‘Don’t take much knowledge to follow the road down,’ she said, sounding as though she were trying not to laugh.

  ‘We followed the tracks most of the way,’ Wootten said. ‘Didn’t find him. But it looked like the wolves mighta took down the mule.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Granny Rose said, sounding genuinely grieved.

  Rees was grieved too – at the thought of paying for the beast.

  The door slammed and the lighter quick steps of the boys tapped across the floor. ‘No sign of him,’ Jake said.

  ‘Only mule in the barn is that old, broken-down animal she rides,’ Jem said.

  ‘You leave Job alone, you hear?’ Granny Rose said sharply. ‘I got a birthing to attend to.’

  ‘If that farmer is lost in the woods he’ll meet up with the wolves sooner or later,’ Wootten said, crossing to the door. The floor squeaked as he turned. ‘If he comes by, you send word.’

  ‘How am I supposed to do that,’ Granny Rose said. ‘He’ll be suspicious if I leave suddenly.’

  ‘Shoot three times in a row. That’ll tell me. And you better clean your musket before it blows up in your face. That musket is older than I am.’

  As the three men stamped from the cabin, Rees tried to fit his boot over his swollen ankle. He could not stay here, that much was clear. He knew the hill man would return, over and over until he was satisfied Rees wasn’t there. The leather of his boot had begun to dry stiff and hard and it seemed to have gotten smaller. Although the boot went over his foot and partially over his calf, the leather would not stretch over his swollen ankle.

  The trap door suddenly swung open. ‘Come up,’ Granny Rose said. ‘We’ve got to get you back to your family.’

  ‘I know,’ Rees said. ‘Wootten will be back.’ He stood up, barely suppressing a groan, and limped to the fire-lit opening in the floor. When he stood upright his head and the tops of his shoulders were above the floor. He swung his arms out and pushed himself up until he could put his knee on the floor. Climbing the rest of the way out took some twisting but he final
ly managed to crawl on to the floor. Granny Rose closed the trapdoor with a bang and re-covered it with the rug.

  ‘I know another way off the mountain,’ Granny Rose said. ‘We’ll go that way.’

  ‘You don’t need to come,’ Rees said.

  ‘You’ll never make it without me,’ she said. ‘You can’t hardly walk. And you don’t know that way. Through the woods you’ll run into wolves. And you go down by the main road you’ll walk straight into Josiah Wootten’s arms.’

  Rees could not dispute the truth of that but he didn’t like it. ‘This isn’t your fight,’ he said.

  Granny Rose shook her head at him. ‘You’ll have to ride my mule Job. I’ll walk beside him and bring him back after.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he said, staring at the skinny, gray-haired woman.

  ‘You’re injured,’ she replied implacably. ‘You won’t make it ten yards walking.’ As she spoke she banked the fire and blew out the candle in one of the lanterns. ‘Is your powder dry yet? We’ll need both guns.’

  Rees opened the powder horn and sniffed. He did not smell the characteristic odor of damp. ‘I think it’s all right now,’ he said.

  ‘Good. It’s stopped snowing. That’ll help.’

  Rees put his gloves back on his hands and hung the scarf around his neck. He picked up his gun and shuffled after Granny Rose as she opened the cabin door and went out. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he thought she might be right. The pain in his ankle was so severe he didn’t know if he could make it to the dilapidated barn barely twenty feet away.

  By the time he reached the shed – he moved far more slowly than Granny Rose – she had already finished saddling the mule. Rees stared at the silvery gray beast. Job was a smaller animal than the mule he had rented and for a moment he considered making a stand against riding. ‘I don’t want to hear any foolishness about your pride,’ Granny Rose said, turning to stare at him. ‘You can’t walk down and that’s a fact. You just climb up on Job’s back. No argument, hear?’

  Rees met Granny Rose’s fierce gaze. Although this small, wiry woman bore no resemblance at all to his grandmother, a tall, fiery-headed Irish woman, he was reminded of her all the same. She’d ruled her family, including her husband, with an iron fist. Arguing with her achieved the same result as quarreling with a stone: no surrender at all, except the stone didn’t turn around and give a little boy a clip on his ear. Rees suspected fighting with Granny Rose would end in the same way. Meekly he mounted the mule.