by Anna Oney
“I give you my word,” he replied, his voice unsteady. “I won’t. But if you do decide against bringing me along, let me give you some advice,” he said, as Fawn turned to leave. “A plan is only good up until the fighting starts. Try and keep your wits about you. All you can do is hope that you’ll end up on top.”
Fawn thanked Asher for his advice, but ultimately decided to keep him locked away. Bringing him along would only create more stress for them. Having to worry about whether he’d turn on them outweighed her desire for his redemption. Asher would have to find another way to gain their trust.
***
Fawn and her kinsmen’s three-day journey to Stagecoach was set to begin before dawn the next day. During Blythe’s recuperation, Fawn would often fall asleep beside his bed and wake to find her fingers intertwined with his. Whether their hands had unconsciously found each other’s in their slumber remained a mystery to her, until Blythe brought it up while they sat together on Griffin’s back porch swing. He grasped her hand beside him, drawing her attention away from pondering over the troublesome days to come.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his watery, hazel eyes laced with wishful thinking. “I was just hoping that, ah, you know,” he said, chuckling nervously. “That one day you’d . . .” he trailed off, gently squeezing her hand. “You’d adopt the same feelings of love that I have for you.”
Caught off guard, blood rushed beneath Fawn’s cheeks, reddening them. Speechless, she peered downward at their joined hands.
“What you have with me is an infatuation,” she said, letting go of his hand. “Nothing more. It’ll pass.”
“Please,” he said, leaning away from her with hurt in his eyes. “Don’t tell me how I feel. I’m not in the habit of lying to myself. I know exactly how I feel.”
Blythe took a rattled breath and rose to his feet, sending the swing swaying.
“Blythe, I,” she said and paused, staring up at him. “I’m not capable of loving another man the way I did Hunter. Whatever love I have to spare is for what’s left of my family.”
Blythe turned to face her, tucking his hands in his pockets. He leaned back against the porch post.
“I understand,” he finally said, peering out into the woods, and then back at Fawn. She joined his side and hopped up to sit on the porch railing.
“I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.”
“No,” he replied, displaying an awkward side smile. “It wasn’t.”
Blythe shook his head and exhaled, looking up.
“You’re young,” she said, running her palm down Blythe’s bicep. “So young. If love is what you want, love is what you’ll get. There is still time for you to find it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, deep in thought. “I’m desperately short on time.”
As Fawn struggled to comprehend the meaning behind his words, Blythe passed by her and walked further down the porch. Staring after him as he disappeared around the corner, she hopped down from the railing.
What does he know that I don’t?
Taking a deep breath, Fawn turned and peered out into the woods. She drummed her fingers across the railing. A deep-seated gasp expelled from her heart-shaped lips upon spotting a shadowy figure stepping out from behind a tree. The scarred blind man she and Pete had escorted from Back Wood stood beneath the canopy of trees. He raised a trembling hand, beckoning her into the cover of the woods.
Fawn sped down the steps. The roughly fifty paces to the woods took her less than twenty seconds to clear. She immersed herself in the woods, grazing her fingers against the bark of a tree. Their eyes met. The scarred blind man melted into the woods, whispering, “I always knew.”
She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her skirt, kicking at the leaves and sticks on the ground.
“For the love of . . .” She stomped her foot, shouting up at the trees, “What have you always known?!”
Instead of returning to the porch, Fawn decided to take a walk. The natural sounds of the forest brought her immediate peace. She was made aware of an owl spying on her as the bird gave a soft, “hoot,” as she passed by the pine tree in which it was perched. Overhead, squirrels jumped from tree-to-tree, forcing the branches to creak. She heard the scurrying of distant animals across the ground littered with fallen leaves. A larger animal she figured to be a deer, snapped twigs as it traveled.
Fawn didn’t stop her trek until she reached her uncle’s beach with its dock stretching twenty feet over the lake. She sat at the end under the awning, gliding her fingers through the chilled water. A bitter wind crept across the murky water, sending a rigor throughout her body. She shook her fingers loose of the cool droplets and wrapped herself up in her hooded cloak.
Hugging her knees to her chest, Fawn stared at the ripples over the lake, rolling toward the dock. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier as she took in the serene setting of bobbing driftwood, Griffin’s canoe rocking with the waves, and the pine trees lining the shoreline across the lake. She rested her cheek on top of her knees and drifted to sleep.
Fawn sat on the lowest branch of the willow tree, dangling her feet. Snow covered the ground of her family’s woods as far as she could see. Steam billowed from between Fawn’s lips upon spotting Gran, who knelt in the snow with her back toward Fawn. A small shovel and a pile of black soil lay beside her. Gran whispered something Fawn couldn’t decipher, even by leaning in closer.
She hopped down from the branch, her feet making a solid crunch in the snow. She walked around Gran’s front, making multiple crunches in the snow as she went. A small casket lay in Gran’s lap. Before her, a hole had been dug in the ground. Fawn’s breath caught in her chest as Gran removed the lid from the casket. Fawn sunk to her knees at the sight of a baby, dressed in a crocheted, coral colored onesie with a skirt.
Wiping tears from her face, Gran peered upward at the leafless trees harboring icicles.
“Wh-wherever you are Stella,” Gran whispered, brushing the back of her fingers against the baby’s cheek. “Take care of my baby girl.” Taking a rattled breath, she placed the lid on the wooden box. She kissed her palm and glided her hand across the top. “Take care of my Joy.”
Gran brought her gaze forward, staring straight at Fawn.
“And you, Fawn,” she said, lowering the casket into the small hole. “Take care of yourself. And remember,” she whispered and paused, dropping handfuls of dirt into the grave. “He always knew.”
Fawn awoke to the feeling of a scratchy tongue licking the side of her face. Stella’s wet nose pried Fawn’s chin from her knees. Turning away from the dog, Fawn rubbed her eyes. She tried to recover from the grogginess of her nap and her enlightening dream. She dipped her fingers into the cool water and, yawning, she pressed the back of her wet fingers to her cheek.
“Where’s Joy?” she asked, widening her eyes at the chill. “I guess I should call her Aunt Joy now, huh Stella?”
Fully awake, Fawn turned toward Stella who swished her tail and barked. Fawn blinked twice at the vision of a tall, barefoot young man strolling up the dock. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen. He kept his auburn, shaggy waves of hair pulled back into a low ponytail. He had high cheekbones and freckles splayed across his nose. Fawn sat up against the dock post, peering upward at the stranger as he came within two feet of her. A hushed gasp escaped her lungs upon noticing he bore her almond-shaped, sapphire eyes.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, sitting next to a stilled Fawn. “I know I’m not who you were expecting. Aunt Joy sent me instead.” He draped an arm over her shoulders. “She’s preparing The Faultless for y’all’s attack on Stagecoach. Father’s limited our involvement in the fight, but we’ll be able to help y’all some.”
“J-Joshua,” she stammered, tears clouding her sight.
“Yes,” he replied, pulling Fawn close. “Sorry I didn’t visit sooner,” he said, pecking the top of her head. “Time has a way of getting away from me.”
“Oh, that’s,” she said,
sniffling. “That’s okay. My God,” she whispered, smiling as she leaned to the side. “You’re so handsome. A-and tall.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, chuckling lightly. “I come to you now to give you strength,” he said, coming to his feet. He offered his hand to help Fawn do the same. “I hoped my presence would be enough to get you through the next few days.”
Fawn reached up to cup his chin in her palm.
“It is, son,” she replied. “It really is. I feel stronger already. You were so tiny in my arms that night. Had I,” she said and paused, thinking back to the night she’d awoke to savage abdominal pains and blood staining her furs. “Had I done something wrong? Was it my fault?”
Joshua tipped his head to the side, studying the torment Fawn was certain stained her expression.
“No, Mom,” he whispered, embracing her. “Though we’d sometimes like them to be, these things cannot be explained. I just wasn’t meant to walk this earth. No one is to blame.”
Fawn rested a cheek on Joshua’s chest, tightening her grip around his torso.
“Are you happy, at least?”
“Now that I’ve met you,” he replied, stroking her back. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”
Barking twice, Stella came up beside them, bumping her wet nose against Joshua’s thigh, interrupting their embrace. He loosened his grip around Fawn.
“Okay, Stella,” Joshua said, exasperated. “I have to be going now,” he said, returning his focus to Fawn. “I love you, Mom.” He backed away from her, with Stella at his side, steadily whacking his calf with her tail. “I always have,” he said, stepping behind the veil with Stella. “Remember that.”
***
It was past dark when Fawn returned to the orchard. Rejuvenated by her visit with Joshua, she skipped from the woods and was greeted by raised voices coming from the front porch.
“I’m telling you I’ve searched everywhere!” Blythe shouted at Griffin. “I couldn’t find a trace of her!”
“Maybe she went beyond the barrier.”
“Ladies, ladies,” Fawn yelled from the edge of the woods, clapping her hands. “Stop your bickering. I’m back. I just went for a short walk.”
“Short walk,” Blythe repeated, clearing the front steps. “You’ve been gone for nearly four hours.”
“Yeah, well,” she replied, brushing past his shoulder. “I needed some fresh air. Hey, Uncle,” she said, arriving at the bottom of the steps. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better,” Griffin said, folding his arms across his chest. “Now I see that you’re alive and well.”
“Fresh air,” Blythe cut in behind her. “You’re hardly ever inside.”
“Listen,” she said, climbing the steps. “If you two don’t stop squawking my head is going to explode. I’m here now. Let’s eat.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The four groups feasted on deer steak, boiled potatoes, and simmered cabbage the night before they set out for Stagecoach. By dawn the next day, the groups had bid farewell to their loved ones, who promised to pray for their safe return. Fawn and Blythe’s group were to charge the community from the north. Dean and Davlyn’s group were to strike from the south. Laken’s group was to storm the east side, while Reesa and Wakiza’s tribesmen attacked from the west.
Fenton, Noelle, and Griffin tagged along with Fawn and Blythe’s group. The three of them planned to set up a tent about a mile outside of Stagecoach to mend their wounded comrades. Equipped with his shotgun, bow, and quiver full of arrows, Griffin was prepared to defend Fenton and Noelle when the time came.
Around noon on the second day of their journey, Fawn and Blythe ventured ahead to scout out the area for signs of the NWA, and make sure it was safe for their people to pass. By supper time, they had trotted for several hours without finding any evidence that the NWA had passed through the region. Fawn’s bowstring was secured across her chest, along with the strap of her quiver full of arrows. At all times, she kept her automatic rifle slung over her shoulder for quick access.
A bitter wind swept through the canopy of trees, rattling the branches, and biting at Fawn’s flesh. Leaves and pine needles snapped from their limbs and showered down upon them. Holding a hand above her forehead, Fawn peered upward. The blue sky was overcome by thundering clouds of gray. Sleet pattered against the canopy of trees at an alarming speed. Body reeling from the sudden chill of ice striking her skin, Fawn gripped Juniper’s reins tighter. Teeth chattering, she looked at Blythe.
“This is bad,” she said, as Juniper let out a distressed neigh. “We need to head back to the others.”
Fawn spurred Juniper into motion, prompting Blythe to do the same with his horse. Puffs of steam escaped the noses of both horses as they galloped back the way they’d come. The ferocity of the storm worsened as the sleet mixed with a heavy fall of snow. Fawn’s heart sank as she witnessed the snow settling on the ground, instead of melting on impact. They weren’t equipped for a storm of this magnitude and neither were the other groups. The snowstorm decreased Fawn’s visibility. Juniper and Blythe’s horse paused mid-trot and reared back as the harsh conditions affected their sight, as well.
“This storm isn’t letting up!” Fawn called out to Blythe. “It’s getting worse! We aren’t going to make it. We need to find shelter for us and these horses.”
Blythe tipped his head, jabbing his thumb in the same direction.
“There’s a structure not far from here,” he said, turning his face from the slap of ice and wind. “We passed it on the way. We can bunk there until this storm dies down!”
About half an hour later, Fawn and Blythe arrived outside an old, run-down cabin, made of mud-chinked logs. A tree had fallen through the side of the structure, creating a passageway for the horses. Blythe worked on sealing the hole by hanging a tarp he’d stowed in his saddlebag from the ceiling. He weighted the bottom flaps to the floor with stones from outside.
Fawn secured the horses’ reins to the tree branches within the cabin. She and Blythe’s section was separated from the horses by the tree trunk. She dusted snow from the horses’ backs and made sure they were secure. She then turned her focus to gathering dry leaves that moisture from the storm hadn’t found to use as kindling to start a fire.
Mounted on the wall beside the front door was a gun rack shrouded in cobwebs and dust. The tree had smashed through a sleeping loft raised above the floor. Near the remains of the loft, a corner of a blanket stuck out beneath a mound of broken branches. Fawn sifted through the pile, pulling the blanket from the wreckage.
Under the blanket lay a picture frame, facedown. She tossed the blanket near a fireplace harboring ash and blackened wood chunks. Squatting, she brought her fingers to the floor, flipping over the frame. She rubbed the caked-on dust from the split glass using the bottom of her fist. A faded photograph of a young Gran in her prime stared back at Fawn. Emma’s copper curls, freckles, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped green eyes brought a small smile to Fawn’s face. The image captured Gran wearing a tie-dyed shirt, fishing off the creek bank with her head tipped back in laughter. Beside her mistress in the photograph, Stella sat hunched over the creek bank, staring sternly at the water with her nose merely inches from the surface.
This must be Grandpa Tom’s cabin, she thought. The one he came to after losing Joy.
Blythe came up behind Fawn and peered over her shoulder. His breath was hot on her neck.
“She’s pretty,” he said. “Wonder who she is?”
“Gran,” she whispered, running her fingers down the glass. “She’s my grandmother. Her name was Emma.”
“Emma,” he repeated, holding his hand out for the picture. “Griffin’s sister?” He stared closely at the image. “The woman that left Back Wood to bring him home?”
“Yes,” she replied, narrowing her eyes up at him. “But how do you know that?”
“Asher brought it up before all hell broke loose at the orchard. He told Griffin that Pete gave him Emma’s memoirs to
read.”
A pulse of anger at Pete flashed through Fawn for allowing an outsider to read Gran’s journal. Her grandmother’s words were sacred to her. She motioned for Blythe to hand over the picture. Once he had, she took the back out of the frame and removed the photo, tucking it inside the pocket of her skirt. She noticed a dented kerosene lantern hanging from a rusty hook. She fetched the lantern and shook it, hearing a light sloshing sound.
They used the fuel from the lantern, the dry leaves, and the remains of a broken ladder that lay to the right of the tree to build a fire. The wood clattered when Fawn dropped the bundle into the fireplace. Blythe set extra wood beside the fireplace to feed the flames when needed. Using the bow drill technique, Fawn had transformed the cabin’s gloomy atmosphere into something that was somewhat cozy. She made a silent prayer that the fire would outlast the raging storm and the long night ahead of them.
The impact of the tree had buckled the floorboards on either side of its trunk. Lopsided, Fawn and Blythe sat staring at the small flames of the fire. For dinner, they snacked on deer jerky and dried fruit from Griffin’s orchard.
The fierce, unforgiving wind whistled against the cabin, rattling the windows. The walls kept the wind from smashing against their fatigued, shivering bodies. The first snow had arrived early — in years past, it hadn’t come until early January.
Juniper neighed and swished her tail. Fawn peered over her shoulder, making sure her closest friend was getting along with Blythe’s horse. Seeing that they were, Fawn tried to distract them from their predicament.
“I hope the others are doing okay,” Fawn said, warming her hands by the fire.
“Me, too,” Blythe replied, rolling back his shoulders.
“When I was sick,” she said, hugging her knees. “You said that your father had been executed for treason.”
“Yeah,” he replied, blowing into his palms, and then rubbing them together. “Why?”