Chapter 4 #2
It all happened so fast. One moment we were looking up at the sky, and the next men were shouting, guns were firing and I was dragged from the campfire, thrown down into the snow.
Inside the wagon are my companions’ belongings, Bobby’s hunting knife among them, bound in leather.
I draw it free, clutching it to my chest. If that fabric moves so much as an inch, I will lunge with this.
I will run this blade right through his putrid heart.
A sharp wind cuts through the seams, seeps through the fabric, as if nature seeks to remind me of its dangers as well.
I should have never come to this lawless territory. Tears streak my cheeks and I can’t stop trembling from fear, from cold, from the waiting. I never thought I’d cry for my mother again, but in the darkest corner of myself a child’s voice rises up, thin and desperate, calling for her comfort.
God, help me. Not her memory. Not now.
That well is empty. There’s no sense in wasting any time I might have left seeking water from it.
But it’s too late.
Mother’s letter unfolds in my mind. How I might die without ever having forgiven her. What if she’s changed? What if it could have been better if I’d merely let it?
I force it away. Eli, isn’t there a place in heaven where husbands go to look after their widows?
My mind goes back to planchette, to Mae’s little game of ghosts and spirits, communing with the dead, and how I wondered if Eli was haunting a Chickamauga battleground instead of stopping by to say hello.
Perhaps when these men find me I will haunt this place, my ghost clinging to a hunting knife along the Verdigris.
The canvas walls press in, and suddenly I hear horses riding away. Men’s voices, growing distant. The wagon settles, boards creaking.
If they’re gone, what now?
I’ll search for survivors in the snow.
I’ll tend to their wounds.
Together we might live to see another sunrise.
Now I wait, torn holes peppering the wagon tarp letting in strips of moonlight overhead. Glimpses of the stars. Cold air and frozen damp from the heavens make their way inside like the last bits of dusty flour from a sieve.
I don’t move. Not yet. I keep the knife tight to my chest and wait for my hands to stop shaking. Wait for the courage to peek outside.
Okee
We stumble through the deepening snow. Boone yanks the canvas back. Inside, curled up against a crate with a blanket clutched around her, is the blonde woman. Her face is blotchy from crying, hair wild, and a small knife shakes in her hand.
“Get back!” she chokes out. “Don’t you come near me!”
I crouch so she can see my face and hold up my hands. “We’re not here to hurt you, miss.”
She doesn’t lower her knife and shrieks once she sees the carnage behind me.
“You killed them all!” she screams, face soaked with tears.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” is all I can say. It’s an idiotic thing to say. What good would an apology do her now? “I… We—”
“We ain’t signed up for this,” Boone cuts in, mercifully. “We might be many things, but we ain’t ones to raise a hand to no lady.”
She studies him a moment longer, then me, lowering her knife a fraction. “You. You’re the one who shot that man.”
“I am,” I say.
The wind blows harder. Boone turns toward the storm. “Goddamn storm’s comin’ in fast.”
The snow is thick now. Falling hard, swirling sideways in sheets.
I glance around the clearing. Red-black patches already half covered, outlines of bodies softening under the white. Not a horse left in sight. No wagons sound enough to be of use, except the one we’re standing beside.
“Ma’am,” I say carefully, “we need to take cover here. You’re safe now. I give you my word.”
The woman keeps her knife lowered, but her breath comes short and fast. “Your word.” She stares at Boone, then at me—two men dripping in snow and blood. The last people she should ever trust.
I stay crouched beside the wagon, rifle across my knees, snow stinging my cheeks. Inside, the woman trembles beneath a wool blanket.
A gust of wind slams the canvas, rattling the wagon’s frame. The storm’s near whiteout now. Snow climbs the wheels fast, swallowing blood, bodies, footprints—all of it vanishing.
The woman inside wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “You killed the men who did this,” she says, voice faint. “But you came with them.”
I close my eyes. “We did,” I say. “But please. We need to take shelter or we’ll die out here.”
She laughs. A breathless sound like something torn loose from inside her.
“Take shelter?” she echoes, eyes flicking to the corners of the wagon like it’s the first time she’s seeing it.
Her breath plumes out white, uneven. She clutches that blanket like it’s the only thing holding her.
Boone drops his gaze to the snow, jaw working.
I don’t blame her for the fury. Were it not for her shaking, she’d probably stab me clean through the heart and be righteous doing it.
She squeezes her eyes shut, shoulders trembling hard enough the blanket rustles. The wind hits again, a violent shove that rocks the wagon with a groan. Snow drives in sideways.
Boone steps closer to block some of it. “Storm’s settin’ in fast,” he mutters. “White-out. If we stay out here, we freeze.”
She lets out a broken breath. “Then freeze.”
The words hit like a slap. Boone nods like he accepts her sentence.
We both rise slow, careful not to spook her. I take one step back from the wagon. Boone takes another. Snow bites at my neck, blows down my collar. The cold hits like a fist.
“Ma’am,” Boone says. “Know we made it sound like you had a choice. That was us bein’ polite. Now, you’re lettin’ us inside. We ain’t gonna hurt you, but we ain’t dyin’ out here. Move aside.”
She’s at the edge of the wagon’s opening, blanket clutched tight around her shoulders, the knife still in her hand but lowered to her side. Snow blows past her, catching in her hair. She shakes her head. “Fine.”
I hold still. Boone does too.
She swallows hard, as if fighting revulsion, then crawls back an inch, clearing space inside.
“You can stay,” she says. “Just stay over there. And don’t come near me.”
Boone exhales, shoulders dropping like someone loosened a vise around his ribs. I nod once, slow, careful.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “We’ll keep to our side.”
She backs into the dim wagon interior again, sinking down with the blanket clutched to her chest.