Chapter 10
Ben hefted a log onto the old stump. He turned it a bit until it was steady. Then he took a step back and swung the maul high over his head. It came down with a satisfying thunk that split the log in half. The wood peeled apart from itself, falling to each side of the stump.
He picked up one half and began the process again, chopping off a wedge of wood small enough to fit into the stove. It clattered to the ground, the sounds crisp in the early winter air.
At least two inches of snow had already accumulated on the ground, and more was falling. It descended in fat, fluffy flakes, each crystalline structure sticking to his coat for a moment before it melted. The valley was quiet enough that he could hear them falling around him.
The peace was broken by yet another whack and more firewood falling to the ground. Ben stopped to pick up all the pieces that’d scattered around the stump. He stacked them in the wagon and then positioned the next log.
His mind drifted far away from the snowy valley and into a place where the sun felt so close it might as well have been sitting on his shoulder.
Tombstone. It was a town where a man could make or break his reputation, no matter what side of the law he wanted to be on.
Elliot had promised that Tombstone would make all the difference for them.
There would be no more long days of starving, of wondering just how much further they could go. A man got desperate when his stomach was empty. The more often it happened, the worse that desperation tended to flare up.
Whump. The maul sliced neatly through the log and into the stump. Ben wiggled the handle to free the blade. He mindlessly repositioned the log, barely aware of what his body was doing.
“So, what did you do before the war?” Elliot asked as he tossed another log onto their campfire.
Elliot was the first real friend that Ben had outside the orphanage, and they’d become close after the incident in the cornfield. Ben’s injury had kept him from any long-distance work carrying messages, but Captain Wallace had brought Ben into his infantry unit as an errand boy.
“Not much,” Elliot said. A lot of the men swapped stories around the fire at night, telling tales of better times and days gone by. But what could he tell them about St. Thomas? He’d never shot an elk or gone to the big city.
“Well, what does your family do?” Elliot prompted.
“I don’t have a family. I grew up in an orphanage.” It was a simple and honest reply, but Ben wished he could take it back as soon as it came out of his mouth. There was no shame in the way he’d grown up, but it made people look at him funny.
“Damn. That’s rough. I’m an orphan, too, but I never lived in a home or nothin’.” Elliot lifted a big spoonful of beans from the can in his hand.
“What do you mean?” Ben ate slowly. The food was decent, but his stomach couldn’t handle much. The doc said it would get better over time, but his guts gurgled in dissent every time he ate.
“My family were outlaws.” Elliot explained it so plainly that he might’ve been saying they were blacksmiths. “My daddy was a famous robber. He had his face on wanted posters everywhere we went. We’d get to a new town, and us kids would go to the post office just to look.”
“Nobody caught you?” Ben had never met his father, but he couldn’t imagine seeing his face on a wanted poster.
“Naw, they weren’t lookin’ for me! They wanted him! But they couldn’t get him. He was slick and quick, as he liked to say.” Elliot’s dark hair drooped down into his eyes, and he flicked it back.
Ben tried to find a more comfortable position, but it was difficult with the consistent ache of his wound. “Did he rob trains?”
Elliot shook his head. “Wagons and stagecoaches. He said the big, bulky stuff on trains was worth a lot of money, but it was hard to carry. And robbin’ banks was only profitable if you managed to get away with it, but they always had guards.
“Travelers were his bread and butter. People pack up everythin’ they got when they head out to stake their claim. Most of them aren’t even travelin’ in caravans anymore, so it’s real easy to just take what you want.”
Ben stared down into his beans. Father Tillman had told them how important it was to be a servant of God, to be a good man in your heart so that you could go to Heaven. Elliot didn’t sound like he even cared about Heaven.
“What about your mama?” he dared to ask.
“Oh, she came with him. We all did. We went all over the place.” Elliot set aside his can of beans and laid back, bracing the back of his head on his folded arms. He stared up at the stars, his face soft with nostalgia.
Ben leaned forward, but the motion gave him pain so he leaned back again. He set his beans aside, unable to finish them. “Wasn’t that dangerous?”
Elliot shrugged. “Not most of the time. My daddy was really good at figurin’ out all the right people to hit.
He would watch them from a distance and figure out if they were goin’ to put up a fight or somethin’.
I stayed back a ways and watched when I was younger, but then he started lettin’ me come out with him. ”
In Ben’s mind, the scene was not of Elliot and his family but of Ben with Sister Matthews and Father Tillman, riding roughly over the terrain in search of the next victim. It was such a ridiculous idea that he almost laughed, but Elliot was serious as he shared his story.
“It was amazing,” Elliot told him. “We’d ride up and pretend to be weary travelers, just like them.
We’d tell them about all of our troubles, lookin’ real incompetent.
They’d take pity on us, and that’s when they’d let their guard down.
Then Daddy would whip out his gun and demand all the valuables they had. ”
“Did he—” Ben’s voice disappeared for a moment in the dryness of his throat. “Did he kill them?”
“Yeah, especially if they tried to be smart or put up a fight. I killed a few of ‘em, too.”
Ben’s stomach churned. Despite the war that waged all around him, he’d tried to avoid as much death as possible. Here was a boy about his own age who spoke of murder as though it was as natural as a thunderstorm.
“I’m not sayin’ I’m proud of it,” Elliot clarified. “It was just part of the job. Y’know, like when a rancher has to slaughter his cattle. It’s just how it is.”
“I suppose so,” Ben managed.
Murder was out of the question, but taking whatever you wanted had a little bit of appeal.
As Elliot described all of the amazing things he and his father had, Ben felt a stab of jealousy.
He’d never had much of anything besides the clothes on his back.
It’d be so easy to be rich if all you had to do was point a gun at someone and take it.
A hot flood of shame washed over his cheeks as he imagined what Sister Matthews and Father Tillman might say about such thoughts.
“But then the law caught up with us.” Elliot clucked his tongue in disappointment. “There was a lot of yellin’ and a big shootout. Daddy and Mama were both killed. My uncle was there with us, and the deputies got him, too. That left just me and my sister Sally.”
Ben imagined the pop of guns and billows of dust, the deputies yelling for them to come out and surrender, and Elliot’s parents declaring they never would. “What did you do?”
“I’m here, ain’t I?” Elliot reasoned. “Sally went off to live with some relatives, some distant folks who looked down on our ways and wanted to turn her into a ‘decent young lady.’ They didn’t want me, which is fine because I have no intention of being a gentleman. So I joined up.”
That had only been the beginning of Elliot’s story. The boy had been absolutely full of tales, many of which Ben suspected weren’t even true.
Whump! Fresh firewood hit the ground, the oaky scent filling the air.
He’d been different in those days, still wearing the innocence of the orphanage and his religious upbringing like a suit of armor. Ben had been appalled that Elliot’s parents could put him at risk like that.
But he’d also been intrigued. Ben hadn’t had the chance to find out what life was like beyond the valley, and Elliot had taught him.
Who was he now? He was back at the orphanage, but was he still the same young man who’d been raised there? Or was he the man he’d become after his injury, the one who existed outside of the valley?
More importantly, was his salvation there at St. Thomas? He’d been able to make himself useful over the past month, but Ben needed the orphanage and its occupants more than they needed him.
“Ben!” Father Tillman called, his breath turning to vapor as he hurried up the hillside toward him.
He put aside the maul. “Is everything all right?”
“Well, that’s what I came to find out.” Father Tillman rubbed his hands together. “You’ve been out here all morning, and it’s already so cold. I was worried.”
Ben picked up the canteen of water he’d brought along with him. It was chilly from sitting in the snow, but Ben had managed to work up a sweat. “I’m fine.”
Father Tillman eyed the wagon, which was full to the brim. “I think we’ve got enough for the moment.”
“I’ve already gotten started. I might as well do all I can, especially if we get more snow,” Ben reasoned. His shoulders ached, and his hands vibrated from the impact of the maul. His long johns were damp with sweat despite the weather. “Don’t want anyone getting cold.”
“God has always provided.” It was the same sentiment that Sister Matthews echoed all the time, a common phrase that suited many occasions. But Father Tillman was wringing his hands.
Ben rested his hand on the maul’s handle but didn’t pick it up. “What is it?”
Father Tillman shook his head, but then his brow creased as he changed his mind. “I’m worried about Sister Andrews.”
“I’ve been thinking about her, too,” Ben admitted. She’d gone to Antelope Springs for supplies, taking Shane and Emmitt with her. It was a three-day ride there if the weather was good, but they’d left two weeks ago. Even allowing for time to rest and load the wagon, she should’ve been back.
“I should’ve gone myself,” Father Tillman said quietly, his gaze slipping off into the distance.
“You hadn’t been feeling well,” Ben reminded him. Father Tillman had taken to his bed with an awful cough shortly after the cold weather had come. “Sister Andrews had made the trip before, and there was no reason to think she’d run into any trouble.”
“Yes, but so much can happen on the road.” Father Tillman’s face hardened slightly. “It could be something as simple as an issue with the wagon or one of the horses. It’s just as possible that they were robbed.”
Ben heard the implication that came with that: killed. He thought about Elliot once again, but his old friend wasn’t anywhere near the valley.
The remaining boys had stayed up for the last couple of nights, telling tales about what they thought might’ve happened to the party.
They imagined that Shane had decided to become an outlaw, and he’d recruited Elliot and Sister Andrews into his gang.
Then they decided the trio had run off to join the circus instead.
Perhaps they’d found gold in California.
It was amusing, but it danced all around the likely truth. They’d run into some sort of trouble.
“I can try to ride out and find them in the morning,” Ben volunteered.
“Would you?” The priest’s eyes lit up. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you, especially not with the cold weather, but I’m truly worried about both her and the boys. If something happened to them…”
“Sure.” Ben positioned a new log. He angled himself slightly so there was no danger of hitting Father Tillman and swung the maul. “It’s too late to head out today, but I can leave first thing. I’ll just take my horse. It’ll be faster.”
“Wonderful. Oh, Ben. It’s been so good to have you back. Not simply because of the work you do, either. We’ve always enjoyed your company.” Father Tillman clapped his hands once. “I’ll go have Sister Matthews put together some food for you to take, and…”
His voice trailed off again, making Ben look up.
Father Tillman’s nose had wrinkled. “Do you smell that?”
Until that moment, the only scents Ben had noticed were earthy notes of the fresh wood and the crisp redolence that always came when it snowed.
There was something else hanging in the air, though, something beyond the typical smokey smell that came from the orphanage’s chimneys. It was thicker, a scent that suggested there was more than just wood burning.
His eyes darted to the orphanage. A gray plume of smoke erupted from the far corner of the building, opposite the chimney.
Ben began running before he could open his mouth, the handle of the maul bouncing on his shoulder. “It’s on fire!”
Father Tillman was just behind him. “If it’s coming from that corner, it must be the pantry. How could that happen?”
They reached the orphanage, and Ben’s mind whirred with worry. They had to find a way to put it out, and quickly. The children were in there, and it was their only home.
As they neared, Florence burst out the back door. She held it open as she shooed the younger children out. “Go! Go on! Yes, right over there by the barn.”
“Start filling buckets!” Father Tillman called out to her. “Keep the youngest ones away!”
Florence nodded. As soon as the children were out, she raced away from the building.
Ben hurried around the corner. He skidded to a stop, horrified at the scene that lay before him.
The pantry was a small addition that’d been put on the orphanage back when Ben was a child. He’d even helped Father Tillman build it, and it stuck out like a wart on the otherwise smooth side of the building.
Flames rose up from underneath it. They gobbled up the dry wood siding and sent thick plumes of smoke into the air. Some of the structure had already burned away, revealing the burst jars and singed sacks full of food inside.
That was the food that would get them through the winter, and even it wasn’t going to be enough. This was precisely why Sister Andrews and the boys had left.
Next to the horrid scene, there was one that truly chilled Ben to the bone. Sister Andrews was back, and she wasn’t alone.
She knelt on the ground a short distance from the burning pantry. Tears fell down her dirty face and mixed with the blood that ran from her nose. Her habit was shredded and stained, and her shoulders slumped as though she didn’t have enough strength to hold herself up.
Cutter and Bo stood on either side of her, and Cutter held his pistol to the side of Sister Andrews’ head.