

Smashwords ISBN: 9781301898367

FORD AT VALVERDE

A Novel

By

ANITA MELILLO

Copyright © 2013 by Anita Melillo

Published By Smashwords ISBN: 9781301898367

All rights reserved.

COPYRIGHT

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form. "Ford At Valverde" is printed in the United States.

This is a work of fiction. Any references of historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Anita Melillo

Library of Congress 1-902514651

Published By Smashwords ISBN: 9781301898367

All rights reserved.

Dedication

For all who will love without end, and for those who have ever

questioned the reason for their existence.

And for the love of my life, Tony.

some other temptation

The winds were blowing in from the Dakotas when I heard that I would be southward bound. It wasn't that I didn't want to fight, nor was I opposed to a mans' right to not have to till another mans' soil if he didn't have the notion to. But the light from a days path warms on us all differently, and from some sense of reasoning, it was like a magnetic pull, grabbing at my boot-strings and drawing me further west, where the dry strokes of the desert air seemed to whisper sentiments unknown, calling me ever closer to its' sustenance and claim, just laying wait for me to receive it.

Only life can be a peculiar thing, planting us like a limerick in some distorted rhyme, bemused by our dysfunction of finding ourselves somewhere in the middle of where we didn't expect to be. And I suppose that's where it found me. Oh, in my dreams I have conquered it. For all becomes possible when reality is diffused, but the difference is that it is all too real, and the realness of it touches the place where the memory lives and all is tangible.., in the middle.

Etched in glass and chiseled from granite, now these were the makings of men. For many found themselves in needful situations, but few dared to resist as he had. The reluctance showed even though he was determined to go. The moment would be subdued by a simple departure where he knew he might not ever see his brothers again. Daniel Stone, still early enough in his years so that as pride would have it, stood with his wits pronounced as though he knew what was best, though not without his fears. If he looked at the moment for what it was worth, it could be had for a song without remorse. For he knew that if he stayed something much worse could lend its cord, and then who would be there to fish him from the mire of its girth?

Already they were talking about volunteering their souls to Uncle Sam at the price of thirteen dollars a month, with the promise of some honor in the end, perhaps a trinket medal to rest on their bedside stands, while the demolishing sounds of bayonets rattled off in the distance. Such sleeping was for the soundless, those without the ability to express themselves by way of the darkened few. And if he looked closer still, it was even plainer to see that the table was lined with the trail of his mistakes.

It said that the sweaty residue on the crumpled up linen, the tweaked off end of his stale cigar, and the emptied bottle of whiskey where his shot glass swished around in the ashes had been the sum of his journey thus far. It wasn't as much about the need to leave as it was about finding his way, and amidst the amiable voices of others arguing over the need to war were the thoughts of the battle that rivaled within. It was deep and bottomless and swelled with a brooding that only the journey itself could quench.

His blistered hands stung from the alcohol that trailed down the tip of the bottle, and were tinged rough from the sap of the tree trunks he had pushed through the whining blades at the saw mill. However, the callousness only showed in his expression when the furrow between his brows was peaked with discernment. There was the bewildered prejudice in both his brothers' eyes, and looking back at him was foolery. He knew he was an outcast, even if his actions showed otherwise.

There was this cocky confidence about him that made him nothing slight of dangerous enough to tempt fate on every hand. It danced in the hazel of his eyes and steeped an effervescence into his gaze, despite the roundness of the silver-framed eyeglasses.

His features were smooth and undulated with a hollowness to his broadened jaw line with a bold chin. Although his hair was never as refined as the way he dressed for such an occasion, and stretched around his shoulders like strips of bark, combed by the weather and brushed with dirty golden strands.

Easing his shoulders against the ladder back chair, he reached into the velvet lined pocket of the copper striped vest beneath his brown trench, and looped the chain of a silver Cutters watch around his forefinger. His reflection was comprised by the arrogance of surpassing youth, dangling before him like a mirror within his hand. It had belonged to his father many years before, and was the only remaining item that held anything of caliber. Yet a constant reminder that time could slip away if you didn't coil it tightly enough.

Lloyd, portly and mule-headed with his receding curly hair, matted black as the day he was born, made a grab for the heirloom as Daniel swiftly pulled it away, allowing it to slink back into his pocket.

"Anxious to get rid of me, huh?" he teased, serious in his tone, but comprised of angst. "Don't worry. It'll be here soon enough, and you won't have to endure the agony of another hour of my shit for company."

"No, sire," he added as if on cue. "I'd hate to put you out more than is necessary."

With that, Lloyd gave a grumble under his breath and his lips puckered round and tight so that his face reminded him of a horse's ass on judgment day. Then he stamped his feet hard on the floor to vent his frustration, sending a shod of excitement throughout the noisy room, and was brimming with anxiety to let out the candor for his understated intentions.

"Why don't you just give the damn thing a rest, is all! I wasn't going to steal it, dammit! I'm just tired of seeing you ponder it all the time like its got legs and a will of its' own!"

Daniel merely scoffed and shook his head, as he took a swig from the bottle and offered it towards his brother.

Osprey, the oldest by five years, and seasoned in his response was always the first to make sense of their dilemma, no matter the cause. His hair was cured with salt and peppered gray, but his face was still full of vigor, and when he spoke the wisdom of Job always rang through like the voices of carolers on a cloudless night, though the morning was clearly hazed by the smoke of their dismay. He had barely turned the leaf to forty, but like the Juniper bushes in winter that remained green throughout its season and still produced wine colored berries, despite the frost layered heavy along its' edges, so had the stresses of everyone else's problems crusted about his crown, and seemed to wear him like the thick black cravat beneath the somber woolen jacket.

"It's really more simple than it seems," he turned to Lloyd in a manner that said he was at the fore helm.

"You see.., in a matter of minutes you won't have to wonder what would have been if he had stayed." Then he eyed Daniel sternly, "And you'll judge the distance as a good nights sleep. Only your thoughts will become entangled by the threat of anything hostile, and you'll miss the security of knowing that your conscience ruled the day."

He swirled his cup of coffee around with his finger, noticing the luke-warmness of it, and brought it to his lips to taste anyway. Then he sat it back down and looked pensively into the younger and said, "Besides, I've heard tales of savages doing far worse than anything you'd encounter on the battlefield."

At that, Lloyd pounded his fist onto the table in the aroma of it all and voiced his opinion to no avail.

"That's right! Dagnabit! Why just the other day, I heard about a trapper that got caught up by a band of Sioux just a ways northwest of here, Black Hills, I believe. They damn well strapped him upside down, spilled out his intestines and fed parts of his liver to the dogs while he watched! They say a slow death brings them more power as a mans' ghost leaves!"

Daniel upturned the bottle of whiskey and swallowed down the last of it, letting it burn the back of his throat as it warmed his bloodstream. The thoughts of such didn't lend the encouragement that he needed, so he spun the bottle around on its axis until it had finally flopped over on its side and rolled across the table. Osprey stopped it with his hand and stared curiously, as though watching for the travesty that must have been playing on his mind.

"Thanks a lot brother's," Daniel gave them both a glance of recognition. "It's talks like these that'll keep me warm out on those cold nights in the wilderness," which was followed by an uneven laugh that said he could use another drink.

He had heard the stories as well, and read all about it in the newspapers, sporting the casualties of civilian encounters with Apaches after embarking upon their territories in the west. He knew that it was no exaggeration about the ways in which some tribes tortured their victims and thought the reality of it was best left to the wickedness of dreams.

"Truth be known," he added as though it still held no indifference to his decision.

Osprey's sympathy was lost in his humility, and he compelled Daniel to see reason once more while his voice was still within reach of his hearing.

"It is an honorable thing to die for your country," he stressed with an air of compassionate dignity.

However, Daniel didn't care to mince words. It had all been said before, so he simply leaned back in his chair and twisted the end of a cigar between his teeth, studying the face of his elder brother.

"I know you've got my best interest at heart," he reasoned, "but it seems to me that when a man sets to his path, he ought to see where it takes him. Besides, the battlefield is happenstance, but the unventured road ahead is yet to be determined. It's not the dying I'm afraid of, but the life unlived."

Osprey looked disheartened by his brother's position, and felt compelled to extend his sentiment once more.

Just then, the moan of the foghorn in the distance sounded and was a signal that the train would soon come. Even as the water vessels came and went, so did the traders, along with those that had the job of emptying the ship's in order to keep their own.

With their potbellies, wayward tongues and forearms cast from a days sweat, they spent many a moment tasting a hard drink and listening to each others tales about their mothers. These were men of destiny and duality. The direction from which they came mattered little, nor did their course of action for the day. It was a waterfront port, and if one looked upon the horizon, it seemed never-ending. And perhaps the finality of the moment was somehow made broader by the expanse of sky above the shoreline, even though the wind was ever shifting and a growing threat.

It was Milwaukee, and with the year of 1861 coming to a close the days were becoming significant to many. The war machine had been churning out work for some, while others sent back what they could to loved ones that were pulling double loads. It was still a busy town, and a supply of goods would be bought and transported back home to the family store that Lloyd managed. It would take several hours to get back, but seemed a good place to see Daniel off. Most of the people in Chippewa Falls thought he was joining up before the draft, as there were threats that it would happen soon, especially for the men below the age of thirty-five.

Lloyd had beat the number by two years, and Daniel thought it was better to leave before he was served. Osprey had recruited so many from the pulpit, that he was one of the few remaining men left in their community. There had already been several casualties from the battles in Virginia, and it only seemed to fuel the need for more to join the fight.

But on this day in particular one had to sigh at the sights of men at their best, and the sporadic outbursts of laughter within the Lucky Port Pub. The walls needn't talk, for if they did, they would only echo fragments of their words intent.

As a stream of air whistled through the opening in the doorway, it was an eerie sense that one got when something was slipping through the cracks. Trying to master it made no sense. It was spirited and willful, forcing its way throughout the room.

Daniel, now weary to put the past behind him, cursed that the flame had died out from his just lit cigar. He twitched an eye as he puffed on the end, while swiping another match across the grainy table.

"It's colder than a witch's tit out there," he complained with an exhale.

"And bound to get colder still," Osprey continued vehemently, while he raised his trembling cup of coffee towards the waitress for her to top it off.

Lloyd, feeling the weight of Daniel's discord, gave his fruitless resolute as he turned to Osprey.

"Just save it for Sunday morning, all right? Seems to me that he's in the right place to vent a little misery. Why, he's off to Timbuktu or who the hell knows where, and we don't know when we'll be seeing him again!"

Daniel agreed with a glint of mischief. "I suppose we've all got our demons," he said, "but this one wrestles with me day and night. I'll never rest until I find out what's out there. Could be diamonds, gold or some other temptation still, but she's waiting just the same."

Lloyd laughed uneasily, and it was apparent that Osprey was deeply offended. He pushed his cup away and started to get up, but then he sat there for a moment and studied the cross ties and whittled beams that braced the sagging ceiling, laden with the weight of his convictions. His voice was a mixture of resentment and anger mingled with fear.

"Sometimes it seems the whole world is damned and there's not a thing I can do to save it," he replied, but not out of haste. The thoughts had been pondered in the deep hours of night when sleep deprived him of rest.

"Your words haven't been lost on me," Daniel reassured him. "Just because they haven't settled in yet and taken root doesn't mean they won't."

He looked over to Lloyd and smiled with a wink as he put his hat back on, the black silk lining showing the threads that had weathered many storms.

"Why, hells bells..," he continued. "I may be your biggest convert yet. Just give me some time to find myself first, all right? May just be that I need some testing."

Osprey couldn't help but return the irony of the moment when he glanced back at Daniel, as the shine in his eyes glistened in the light that remained.

"I won't argue it then," he smiled. "Time will take care of itself."

It was then that Lloyd adjusted the tack of his belt as he ran a stubby finger inside the waist of his pants to loosen the restraint. His belly overlapped the portal of the trousers, but he was feeling more comfortable with the shifting of the mood.

"And just what do you think Mother would have to say about such parting?" he smirked with a heightened sense of ill felt jealousy.

The waitress had brought a bottle of whiskey onto the table and added more coffee to Osprey's cup. Daniel took the bottle proudly and held it to his chest, as though an announcement was being made.

"She'd bid us all a howdy-do, and toss on some hot coals just to make sure it was a pleasurable experience!"

Osprey shook his head in disbelief, knowing that the same was true, but still hoped she was resting in peace.

Lloyd, on the other hand, scrubbed at the deepening curve of his forehead, and reminded them about a time when Osprey was younger and much more defiant. He had shot up almost all of her canning jars, while they were filled with her prized Cherry Jubilee that would make pies for the yearly auction.

Daniel remembered it all too well and added that she didn't stop whipping them for a month. Meanwhile, Osprey loosened the tightness of his cravat and agreed that they all had paid for that one in the end.

Lloyd scoffed again. "She bent your damn wrist over double and it hasn't worked the same since!"

Osprey looked down at his aching hand that trembled when he held the handle of the burnished cup. Then he wedged it deep within his coat pocket, as though ashamed by the remembrance.

"Those were lean times, brother," he said apologetically. "Only I didn't have the good sense to know it then."

Daniel laughed in his carefree style, and buckled it in with a long drawl on a freshly lit cigar.

"You know, they've got cures for that sort of thing now days," he puffed it out slowly.

Osprey only smiled, "I can still hold it steady enough to count my blessings."

The heavy screech of steel brakes coming to an eased halt practically drowned out their words as the train roared into the station, shaking the foundation of the clap board tavern that had served as a sounding board for their many hardship's over the years. Daniel exhaled with a smile, letting the spiral of smoke linger until it had lifted into the fog that clouded the room. Then he passed the cigar to Lloyd and patted him on the shoulder, squeezing his palm against the thickness that had increased with the loss of his hair, and he reached down for the brown leather duffle.

"Well now, boys." His long exaggerated grit showed its face. "It's been real nice, but I'd best be hitting that lonely trail."

Although he tried to keep it mutual, Osprey realized that time was always short of what he needed. He stood with open arms to Daniel, and strained to see through tearful eyes.

"Well then," he said. "Here's to destiny. May you find her to be everything you hope for."

Lloyd stood back for a moment and stared, as though watching a thing of beauty that was about to disappear and to perhaps never be seen again. Daniel could tell that his thoughts were going back, to a place that braided their many differences with the harshness of their childhood into a tightly woven bond that neither time nor distance could fray. Then he eased in with both arms around his middle and squeezed him like a boa that was constricting for the kill.

"When you hit pay dirt, little brother," he tightened the lock, as he heaved into his ear, "just remember who loves you best!"

Daniel groaned loudly with the agony and shoved his brother off, as he pounded his shoulder with a firm twist of his fist.

"I heard that," he replied. Then he tucked the bottle of whiskey into his bag.

Osprey bid him farewell with a simple, "God be with you."

Then they were both left standing with the crooked grin that Daniel gave them when he headed for the door. He only looked back for a moment and voiced with shaky conceit, "Just don't go getting too comfortable on me now, I'll be back!"

When he stepped outside a gust of wind rushed the bar room, sending some playing cards into a scattered whir, as some men at a nearly table complained about it. Then the stream of air swept back through, slamming the door shut just as quickly.

squander it away

The train was pushing fluid motion that rumbled and complained around the jagged edges of rock, while it blew steam through its open nostrils. Unlike the roundabouts in the city, the scenery was changing with every slope of mountain he wished he had climbed. Outside the window was a whole other world, like the view from a looking glass into a mystical place, where natives danced to tribal songs. Peaceful, still and undisturbed by modern man, with the exception of a cabin concealed behind the thickness of trees, or the occasional homestead in the remote lying lands. There was evidence of that which was unseen, that only a knowing eye could reason, like the magic that one played with child-like faith and brought things to pass; so were the branches that loomed heavy with ice, breeching the ground as though almost dead. If it were not for the clouds shifting north, so that the summer winds could rise, the faintest upset of the climate might impose a detrimental threat.

About the day was a hand wishers well, and he looked upon it with anticipation. In between the ties of civilization, where the train would stop and reload, were the hours that lulled him to sleep, braced against the padded brown leather backing that met the vibrating wall. All the walls vibrated, and the panes of glass rattled against the pounding waves of wind. Weathered limbs would sometimes dance about the scurrying leaves that wisped across the broken ice, and the snow was bountiful in its beauty. He would capture the memory of it all, and record it among his thinking. For in his minds eye was a visual of the place to come as well, and with it a new fate, one of stepping into. There would be no other way of measuring the journey, for it was the only way of remembering its path.

With every shift of the air would come a new reliance, and he would learn to live off the land and earn his keep the hard way. Before there were uncertainties about his life that didn't make sense, but now that he was on board the train, it seemed he was going somewhere. Perhaps change was his biggest asset, because he felt vigorously enamored by every object within his compartment. There would be no more dilly dallying in areas of compromise, for he was charting his own course, and as a result everything seemed significant.

So he made a mental note of details he wouldn't otherwise notice and held them in his thinking, before he let his thoughts dismiss. It was important to learn from the details and to not forget in case it might come in useful later. Only a measly sum would get him there, and the rest would rely upon substance. As the wheels churned with a tacking pace southward, so did his thoughts.

It was a state in which he could make his plans. If mental preparedness was the key, he had a houseful of many. Of all of the useable items he found around him were only two, an exit sign above a door and a metal bar that was used to keep it closed. If he needed to get out quickly, both might come in handy. Again there were things he wasn't prepared for, but the obvious was for sure. If he wanted to stay in charge of the situation, he would need to find a deterrent for his greed. So he tried to appear humble, even though he gave allusive glances to those passing by. If trouble was on the band wagon he was the drummer with a snare. If danger slid in like a knife, he would be slipping out as quickly. There was no room for error and no place for a losing sport. It was decadent to believe him so lofty a behavior, but unnoticed just the same. For there were two kinds of beggars, those whole stole and those who gave in order to steal. He would take what he needed and give back the rest. At least that would outweigh his decisions for now. The fact that he wanted to blend meant that he should take care of his notions. He was beginning to feel a charge of unsteadiness settle in, so he took out a metal tin from beneath his jacket and took a swig. The taste burned his tongue in a way that was familiar comfort. It warmed him up and must have fueled the air, because a man beside him seemed perturbed.

"Pardon me, Miss," the overweight man said to a woman across the aisle. "Is this man obliging himself in the middle of the day an offense? If so, I will ask him to keep his flask inside his coat while in the company of a lady."

The lady, whimsical in her tune, wasn't at all offended and replied, "Oh, no. Don't bother to disagree on my account. Why I've been known to have a drink or two during the day as well." She smiled to Daniel in a way that said she was vicarious by nature, and he tipped the bill of his hat in her direction.

Then he turned to the plump fellow beside him said, "If life is a gift, I am foolishly relishing it. So if you want to make what's best of yours, I suggest you move elsewhere."

At that the man turned to him with his bottom lip quipped, but buried beneath a bushy mustache, and agreed. "Perhaps it would be best if I sat back there," he replied before he got up and walked to a distant seat near the rear of the cabin.

The lady turned to Daniel squarely, "Why there are other ways of getting rid of unwanted guests."

He gave a grin in her direction, "If so, then do tell. I'm all ears for the ridding of rats and their asses."

She giggled in long whimsical strands and she got up and crossed the aisle to sit down next to him.

"Don't mind if I do?" she smiled through berry stained lips, as if there wasn't any question at all.

"Don't mind at all," obliged Daniel as his eyes shifted up and down the bodice of her dress until they met her bouncy blue eyes.

Her hair was blonde and dangled beneath her hat in curly strands like ribbons on a present. She had a fine white glove on the hand that she stretched out to greet him and had a sweet rasp to her voice when she said, "I am Nettie Mae Chambers, of Memphis, Tennessee."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," he cupped her fingers into his hand and smiled before releasing them.

They exchanged cordialities for a few moments, until he didn't quite know what else to say. Then he assumed the previous position of resting his back against the seat, while she waved a silk hand fan back and forth.

It was a place of indifference and he wished that he was better with words, but he didn't want her to know too much about him. So he pretended that he was tired, as he stretched out somewhat and adjusted his hat slightly down over his eyebrows.

However, unguarded by his ways was the mischievously obscured glances of Nettie Mae. She didn't seem like the kind of lady in waiting that was in need of comfort, or anything else for that matter. Among her parts were diamonds and rubies that lit with the passages of light that flickered throughout the narrow compartment. Her dress was of deep paisley silk with the dark colors of winter and black lace that trimmed the crevice of her small breasts. Her companion was sound asleep across the aisle, and she cleared her throat and said, "A person could die of pure boredom on a long ride like this."

Daniel sat up and adjusted his hat. "I didn't mean to be rude, but it has been a long journey so far," even though he felt anticipation for the moment.

She didn't pry at all, instead she talked to him for the next two hours about the visit with her cousin from Perryville, Missouri and the record temperatures they had endured.

All the while, Daniel thought about how he would have a woman like that one day, adorned with the jewels that the would buy. Although she clearly belonged to another, the older man that was her senior by at least twenty years, the image of her was on his mind until they reached the Depot in Tennessee. Then she was escorted from the train, being urged slightly from behind with the end of a garment bag.

Without a hitch she was gone, and in her place was a proud young man in his early twenties, with distant eyes and matted red hair with an uneven beard. He took the seat across from Daniel and stuffed a wad of tobacco into his mouth. The tenacity to overfill his bottom lip was a right in its own, but he tried not to notice the large red pustules on his face. Daniel had since grown amused with the observation of others, and reveled in the thought that it was probably the union of inbreeding. The man garbled over the chew and talked with a flat wisp and a thick drawl.

"I'm going' to Tupelo," he said.

Daniel, somewhat repulsed and yet glad for some more conversation, replied that he was headed further west.

"Jones," he added, as he spat a glob of the black juice into a cup, as a string of it lingered on his bushy chin.

Daniel gave a dry cough as he pointed toward the mans' chin, as though giving some direction. Then he answered, "Stone," content to leave it on a last name basis.

Jones wiped his chin with the shirt sleeve and then sat there for a moment eyeing him peculiarly. The train was pressing forward again, and the sound of his voice was somewhat muddled over the clambering of the wheels.

"I'm goin' to Tupelo," he stated again, as if they were the only two on board.

"So, what's in Tupelo?" Daniel replied with a stir of non-committal emotion.

"My brother's there," he said. "We're gonna go where the fightin' is!"

Daniel replied cynically, "I'd tip my hat, but I can't recall the last time Uncle Sam did shit for me."

The man stared at him crossly with unease and emptied the remaining contents from his mouth. The words hadn't settled right in his thinking and he unintentionally spat at him when he continued.

"Me either, but I'm aimin' to get my share. Hell, ain't nobody gonna tell me what I can or can't do on my own land!" he demanded.

Daniel took his glasses off and wiped the lenses on his pants leg, asking him if he had his own land already.

"Not yet," the man replied. "But I will have when the war is over. I got it all in print. All I got to do is whip some yeller bellied Yankee's first!"

Then he asked Daniel where he was from, not recognizing the accent, and already considering him being on the opposing side.

He avoided a direct answer, but replied, "A few states up. Frankly though, I couldn't give a damn either way. I've got other plans."

Jones chuckled and studied Daniel as he sized him up in the moment.

"You ain't yeller, are ya, Stone?" he asked defiantly, as he gaped forward for a response.

Daniel straightened his back and made his defense. "Oh, hell no! I'd just as soon go belly up while digging for gold, then floating down some cold ass river because some general told me to shoot! I'll choose my own day to die!"

Then he eased in closer. There was an undefined stability that rose in his voice as he placed his right hand inside his coat pocket and added, "But I'll tell you something.., you call me that again, and Tupelo will be missing the pleasure of your company."

Jones didn't counteract his aggressive tone, as he would have otherwise. He was hell bent on reaching camp before the next day's deadline. So he chose to remain civil instead, even though he was furious and steaming beneath his breath. Both fists were clenched and ready for action, but he decided to back down anyway.

"I suppose that'll do for now," he thought about it insightfully. "As long as we don't meet on the battlefield. Right?"

Daniel agreed with a half-cocked, but challenged grin. Then he withdrew his hand from his pocket, where sandwiched between his sweaty palm was a deck of playing cards. He eyed the fellow squarely and shuffled them as he made his wager.

"So what do you say there, Jones? You ain't yeller now are ya?" he teased in a mock southern drawl that pushed the limits of his game.

"Oh, I'll beat the ever livin' shit out of ya!" Jones gave an intimidating growl. "I'm not aimin' to lose on any hand. That's for damn sure!"

Daniel folded the cards and slapped the deck into his hand.

Jones felt the need to rival the emotion needed to fuel the game. "Don't squander it away now. You just might be needin' it later."

"Okay then, you deal," he replied. "I do believe in playing fair."

Jones gave a thirsty scoff as he began to shuffle. Some extra cash would go a long ways.

There were about thirty or so others within the extended black caboose. A lot of soon to be soldiers had filled the empty cargoes to capacity, some even sharing their space with livestock. It was noisy overall, with most of the travelers idle in their own conversations. Few regarded his intentions above anyone else's on board, as they all had their reasons for the trip. However, one thing became obvious, he would need to keep his plans under wrap the rest of the way. Should he run into anymore hostility, he would keep his opinions to himself and lie whenever necessary.

Once the evening had been spent, neither had turned up any wealthier for their efforts. Daniel had watched the oversized brunt fall asleep, as well as the other passengers. Then he took another swig of whiskey and removed a folded parchment of a map from his vest and creased it open, as he angled it towards the dim light of the lantern that was mounted on the wall above him. He studied the map in hindsight, fingering a trail across the red curvy lie that led to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Outside the window, the thick layer of darkness only heightened his diminishing awareness that all was still well with the world. The night was as contrary as its medicine.

penny for a worm

The new day had dawned an adjustment to his ways. No longer would he see the South as a big watering hole for the locusts of the air, but a place where one might dry out from the cold. The air had shifted with the winds that blew against the railcar along the Southern Mississippi Railroad, and he had finally arrived at the Vicksburg depot, housed between the city and the wharf. The railcars extended along its length, emptying and reloading as was the deed, and its cargo consisting of both humans and wares.

The town was bustling with everyone in its path along the wide street where the storefronts hedged against the slanted sheds that covered the walkways. The ground was churned up by the plodding of horses hooves, and for a day so rich with promise stood a street sign above an entrance that read, "Money Bought & Sold".

It was a place of going in and coming out, where Tillman's saddles and harness manufactory faced the corner lane. After a hot meal and a warm bath he would venture about the stores for some staples, before crossing the river into Louisiana.

Where the steamboats were thick about the wharf, so were the bawdy houses, gambling halls and saloons. It was still too early for them to be open, and perhaps it was for the best. He would need to catch his way across the miles that were spotted with bogs and bayous, and some sober information would come in handy; that and the need to remain steady.

A yellow wooden sided restaurant with broad black shutters was filled with enterprising individuals, as well as horsemen and town'sfolk about their days tasks. It wasn't until he stepped inside that he felt like a fugitive on display.

The waitress was hot around the ankles with nettings that bunched at her feet and a skirt that almost touched the floor. Her stomach was plump and round so that her breast rested on them like a layered perch. Her waistband was covered by an apron that had been swiped wet with grease, and her hair a mesh of matting, gray and fine so that the pins showed where she tacked the threads in place.

"What'll it be?" she tossed a napkin onto the table, along with a fork and spoon.

"Whatever the morning special is will do me well," he replied with an optimistic smile that gleaned others in his direction. Some of the faces were perplexed, filled with complacency and dread, conjuring the months to come. There was talk about a man named Farragut, and a Union campaign that had its sites on the city, after it had ran its course through Baton Rouge. There was as much opposition about it as was the intrusion of way-wards to the town. With so much confusion there were families taking to the far reaches of the countryside, with others feeling safer being nestled beneath the view of the county Courthouse, which sat on a ridge, the cities highest point, where cobblestones had been placed along the streets to steady the wagons from shifting with a horse's gate. It was an intimidating overlook that wouldn't make it an easy target with so many hilltops and waterways in between.

There were others who said the enemy would be crushed, and they were aiming to do it on any level that it existed, even though battle still loomed in the distance.

The plump lady stared at him for a moment, but not long enough to consider him too much. "There's confederate camps and skirmishes along the river no matter the direction you take," she said as though a warning would be appreciated.

"That's all right," he replied. "I'll just be passing through..," he paused, "with a side order of bacon if you please."

Three men at a nearby table caroused with a laugh, overhearing the conversation.

The waitress plopped a ceramic cup down and poured from the vat of coffee, indifferent to the many things she had seen.

"Like I was saying, people in the backwoods don't take too kindly to strangers," she gave an additional warning.

Daniel turned to the men and caught wind of their reaction, and then placed a stack of coins in her hand.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll be sure to steer clear of both."

Then one of the men, a squatty fellow with a long face and sagging jowls, began to boast about a pair they had sent down river, tarred and feathered for offending their doctor friend, having died a few days later after boils had developed from the summer heat.

Daniel sat and listened without objection until he had finished his meal, barely voicing a word that wasn't required. Afterwards, he felt his share of being watched, while he gathered up the wares needed for the journey from the corner merchant, which included a small buggy and a red quarter horse.

Some of the homes were prominent, adorning the hillsides like decorations atop a Christmas tree, with official looking columns and verandas that crowned the upper floors. Other people that were not so fortunate, seemed to only prosper in the warm season, toiling with the land that was hard enough from the winters chill to lend some temporary rest from their worries and strife.

So far the struggle warranted little concern, outside the reaches of town where he had only passed as many as could be counted on one hand, with his thumbs gripped securely around the reins. When the sun had finally melted into the bayou, as sapphire swells glowed with the orange hues, he had the warmth of a campfire, where the country stretched for miles along the wet patches of open earth. The sounds were those of a horse's breath, and the stir of owls and creatures with eyes that lit up the reeds, like the stars that were obscured by the oblong puffs that glided dimly above him. He laid on the damp ground, the sky of little comfort, covered in a widow's blanket with the immense feel of loneliness. The near emptied bottle was his companion, and so he slipped the time-piece from his pocket, trying to catch a glimpse of its black hands that ticked slowly in the flickering light, judging the distance gained until he fell asleep.

The morning came early, like the hounds that sniffed the grass and bellowed as they splashed across the marsh to the narrow lane. At once he jerked from a miserable sleep and sat up, confused. It was an unsettling way to face the dawn, like a pelicans mouth gaping for a fish when there was none, understanding all too well, that it was him on the opposite end of the line; the lure of scented bait in the swarms of marshy air.

Suddenly there were voices, and leather hats upon saddles where the light fleshed out their faces. Gleaming also were the shiny black barrels of rifles, and vests with slots full of paper cartridges, where sporting was their craft. And it appeared with bearded kerchiefs, as though readied to lynch for a hanging, that he had banked on some else's land.

"Get up!" the voice cracked as the horses skidded two feet before him and stopped, blowing hard from their nostrils, and making his own horse shift.

"Easy now," replied Daniel with his hands up, stumbling to stand as the dogs went to tear at his pants. He tried kicking them off, but they relentlessly chewed at his calves, bearing into his skin until one of the men shot a round upward.

The bluish and black spotted hounds backed off with the burst, but were growling with the taste still wet on their tongues.

Daniel's right leg was stinging and he could feel the blood pooling around the shim of his boot.

The man that had fired the shot lowered his barrel towards the mare's front legs, but still pointing.

"How do, stranger? Don't believe we've been properly introduced," the words lapped like fluid gibberish, in a quick flat dialect that Daniel barely understood.

He made the effort to be peaceable, despite his unfair advantage. "The name's Stone," he said with a wavering voice, suddenly feeling without cause and deliberating any possible reaction.

"Well, Stone," the man replied. His eyes were dark narrow slits, and his face was sunken beneath his cheekbones that were covered by a beard and mustache that blended as one.

"This here is Birch," he leaned his head sideways to motion to the stubby armed man still taking aim. Then he added, "And I'm Po," he smirked, as he swung a leg over the horse and dismounted.

Daniel turned to glance at his own horse that was still hitched to the one seatter wagon that was halfway stuck in the mud. The horse was nervous and its eyelids flicked at the flies and the dogs.

Daniel nodded and gestured a hand forward, but there was no welcomed response. "Just needed a rest from the road," he replied. "I'll be on my way now."

Po walked over to the wagon and looked at the small crates inside.

"Nothing but supplies really," Daniel suggested, wishing he hadn't left his rifle on the seat.

Po discerned the situation without disturbing its contents, and braced his foot against the wagon wheel that was bogged down in the grassy strip of mud.

"Looks like we've got ourselves in a bind," he added as he turned to Birch, who was now at ease on his own horse, with his rifle still facing forward.

Birch laughed as he scratched his neck with his free hand and sneered to expose some brown tangled teeth.

"Sure do," he overstated his case, with a grin too broad for any feel of reassurance.

"Oh that," said Daniel. "It'll come loose. Say, you fella's don't know where I could get a hot meal, do you? It's been a couple of days since I've had as much."

Po considered him as he paced back and forth a few times, and then put his hand to his forehead. "Yep. Do know what it's like to be hungry. Know what it's like to eat grubs, too."

Birch laughed as though in agreement. "Don't reckon he's ever tasted the likes, do ya?"

Po urged him on, "Oh hell, I don't know. Might as well ask the sonofabitch, cause I don't believe we brought any fixin's with us. Lest' you have some I don't know about. Do you have some fixin's up there, Birch?"

Birch laughed again in a mimicking manner. "Nope, Po. I don't have no fixin's. Bet he'd pay us for what we find, though. I could probably scrounge up a worm or two. Think he'd give us a penny for a worm?"

Daniel put his hands down and adjusted his glasses that were resting crooked on his nose. His hat was still on the ground and his hair was wet with twigs and dried-up grass.

"I'm not looking to cause any trouble," he replied. "I'm headed west is all, and you two don't have to bother. I'll make due on my own." He turned to walk towards the wagon.

There was a click as the barrel of Po's rifle dropped open. "No hurry," he replied as he took his time, packing in a fresh cartridge and then snapping it shut again. "You see, this here is private property. Been in our family for generations."

Daniel turned back towards him, the palm of his hand now firm against the stock of his own gun. "Then I guess I'd best settle up, before I go."

Birch cocked his rifle, and Daniel loosened the grip from his own gun. In an instant, Po shoved the end of his rifle hard into his lower back. Daniel fell to the ground, but made it to his feet again and waved his hands as if he didn't want any more problems.

Po laughed with arrogance as though he might let him off the hook and then considered, "Before you just go riding off, I've gotta know something. Just where is it that you're from and where do ya think you're goin'?"

Daniel studied their faces and didn't appreciate the probing, but he tried again to appeal to any sense of reasoning that remained.

"East to west," he replied, "If it's all the same. Besides, I said I'd be willing to pay you something for last night."

Po took immense delight in shoving the end of his gun into his back again, and this time Daniel almost stumbled forward, as Birch got down from his horse.

"He's from the east and heading west," he jeered to his counterpart. "Now don't that tell us a lot about him?"

Daniel tried to straighten his back, but before he could reason a defense, he had been hammered in the back of the head by the butt of the gun.

Absently, he fell to the ground and tried to regain from the shock. He swung at Birch, but was against the ground with his face being mashed in the mud. He struggled to breathe as it plugged his nostrils. Then Daniel pounded his fist into Birch's right ear and it was streaming blood. Then he thrashed the heel of his boot into Po's chest and it sent him backwards. Before he could get up again, Birch slammed his head with his rifle again. Daniel staggered for a moment until everything went black. His glasses flew off with the brute force and landed in some nearby reeds, as he landed once again in the mud, but unable to move as blood poured from the gash on the back of his head.

Heavy muttering and breathy words followed, but were barely audible against the earth's vibrations.

"Do you think he's dead?" questioned Birch, as he tugged and pulled at his pockets and vests.

"Damn well, better be. But you can shoot him if you want to," added Po. "Just be sure to get it all. Gators can have what's left."

The dogs jumped around and sniffed, barking in excitement, and as the wagon was up-righted their trail followed.

As evening approached, storm clouds moved swiftly across the darkening sky. Shards of lightning streaked about and ignited the air. Rain splashed up from the ground in hard pellets that splashed against the side of his face. When he had mustered enough strength to rise up, his right hand pressed into something round beneath the weight of mud. He grasped his hand around it and opened his palm, the rain washing away the residue of demise. It was the Cutters watch. All else was gone. He strained his eyes to see, and the throbbing in his head was so intense that he was almost nerved to lie back down. The thunder rose and then faded with a sharp crack of lightning that sent a silvery illumination against a bank of grass.

He stood up, his feet now bare and sinking into the muddied mire, and retrieved his glasses. His face was so gritty that he held his face to the sky, letting the rain rinse hard upon his brow and wondering if the winds would whip so that he might be swept away. Then he watched the pellets of ice, springing up from the ground, as the wind seemed to be moving him whether he wanted to go or not. He glanced at his watch and pondered the irony of his dilemma.

"Got a long ways to go and only time to get me there," he said sarcastically.

Then he crossed the dirt lane that now had streams rushing down its gullies and pocket holes. There was an open field, with waves of grass so high that it swayed prickly and cold against his shoulders. As he pushed his way through, feeling each step that left curiosities beneath his feet, he began to see the roof of a barn take shape in the distance.

"Suppose I'll be moseyin' along this field here to see what other nice folks I can meet," he scoffed to himself again. Then he pushed his efforts towards the light that blinked with the sweeping blows of wind that wailed against him like phantom bats on an outing.

There were mysteries to be uncovered here, but he was void of reason to discover them, lest he be devoured before the night was through.

a generous game

From the weathered plantation house a light shown dimly from a downstairs window, where a woman stared boldly at the face on the mantel. It was an attractive frame, mahogany stained with carved vines that covered its corners. The black and white picture appeared more faded than before, perhaps from too much heat or that she couldn't remember clearly enough from the passage of time. Regardless, her eyes pierced with raged showed little remorse as she took it in her hand and flung it across the room. It landed next to the overturned end table on the floor, amongst the pillows that had been torn from the navy settee.

Emmett, a boy of thirteen, tall and lanky with curly blonde hair, ran into the living room.

"What happened, Mama?" he asked. "I thought the house was struck by lightning!"

She turned to him, swiping the disheveled brown hair away from her eyes, and pinned it back in place. There were no tears resonating from the pain.

"I'm just tired of the arrangement is all," she huffed. "Go on to bed now and never mind my undoing."

He knew at times like these that it was best to leave her alone. Somehow she managed to work through her madness like a caged animal, having finally been let loose after being pent up for too long a time. Theirs was a relationship of understanding, with simple words and knowing nods. All would be well enough in the morning, so he headed back down the hallway, passing the staircase that led to the upstairs rooms.

Suddenly, the dogs started howling and barking at some disturbance. She ranted to the front door and shoved it open, as the screen door beat against the side of the house and began yelling at them. "Shut up before I beat you every last one with a big stick! Good for nothin' muts!"

Then she picked up an open gallon sized tin, half-filled with white paint, and threw it at them. Most of it splashed onto the porch and down the front steps as the dogs tarried after the noise. She stood for a moment and reached back inside the house, where a single barreled shotgun leaned against the casing. As soon as she took it by hand, a man sized shadow slipped inside the barn. The dogs, a mix of border collies and hounds, disappeared behind him, baying on with a fever.

Emmett rushed out the front door and gripped the gun by the barrel.

"Let me go, Mama! I'm a better shot," he pleaded.

She pried his narrow fingers from the barrel and argued.

"Nothin' doin'! If one of us is gonna hang for this, it's gonna be me!"

He didn't budge, but was absolute in his position as he tried to pull it from her again, twisting the stock as though to force her hands loose.

"I'm not gonna let you do it..," he insisted once more. "You don't know who it is!"

She steadied her voice for a moment and took a deep breath, speaking above a whisper. "It's somebody prowlin' around," she reasoned. "No tellin' what they're up to. Now go on back inside!"

At once, he did as commanded by returning inside the house, but only to get a lantern and a large cleaver from the kitchen.

Slowly she crept down the front steps barefoot, the puddle of paint swelling between her toes until her feet touched the soppy grass.

"Come out with your hands up," she yelled, "or I swear I'll shoot you deader than dead. You no good sonofabitch!"

There was nothing. She looked around the area and was afraid to venture any further. Then she heard Emmett running up behind her with the lantern. The rain had let up into a drizzle, but the fog was heavy upon the ground. There was no response at first as the dogs continued to growl, and then a horse bucked at the wooden planks of its stall and neighed violently, shaking the side of the barn as it bolted from the opening with the rider on its back.

Startled, she fired one shot and the man went down, falling from the saddle like a fly from a window stoop. He rolled onto the grass and the horse circled the yard saddle-less, before returning to the barn.

Her hands were shaking as the steam drew upward from the barrel and she handed the gun to Emmett, taking the lantern instead. "Stay here," she insisted. "I'm gonna get a closer look."

Emmett remained behind only by a few paces as his mother shined the light on the thief, as he held onto the gun

and the cleaver in the event that both were needed.

"Please miss..," the man groaned. "I'm not armed. Robbers took me on the road." Daniel tried to peek up, but the flame was so bright that it blinded his view, and he was choking and wheezing for air.

She hesitated to go near him, but then another shroud of lightning blanketed the sky. It was obvious he had taken a beating, besides the tumble from the horse. His shoulder was hemorrhaging from the wound, and his shirt was drenched, matted with blood and shredded at the seams.

"Come on then and let's get you inside," she postured to think about it, but then bent down to help him up. "But I'm warning you, you're not out of danger yet!"

Emmett continued to aim the gun at the stranger, as he walked a straight line behind them.

"One wrong move, and your ass is one black buckeye!" he added with a deepened voice, as his mother glanced at him in surprise.

Before they made it to the porch, the rain came down again in torrents, whipping at their backs as she strained to support him while the dogs darted back and forth, hindering their pace and sniffing around their feet.

Once inside, they trailed a wet path mingled with paint into the living room where she let him drop onto the settee.

With the pillows on the floor, it was hard as wood beneath his back, but he didn't complain, only from the pain that started at his collar bone and throbbed the length of his arm.

"Go get a blanket and hurry now," she said to Emmett as she inspected the torn ligaments and muscle.

"I was taken by bandits," Daniel moaned again, making every effort to communicate clearly.

She took the quilt from Emmett and tossed it over his legs and then pointed to a knife that was stabbed into the knot of a log on the hearth. "Heat up that knife in the fireplace. We're gonna be needin' it," she said.

Emmett picked up the cleaver and held it to the flame, when Daniel caught sight of it. With a stuttering thrust, he arched up and complained, "Oh, hell no!"

She turned to the boy in disbelief and repeated, "The knife over there on the hearth, son. And for goodness sake, put that thing back in the kitchen!"

Daniel gave a sigh of relief as he eased back down and tried not to agonize too much, while Emmett followed his mother's orders.

"Don't try anything stupid now," she warned him again. "I'll be right back."

She stood and headed into the kitchen, with nary a word in return. Then she poured some water into a kettle and grabbed a couple of dish clothes. Emmett had just placed the meat cleaver onto the cutting board on the counter when they both returned to the task at hand.

As Emmett stoked the fire and heated the blade of the knife inside the flame to sterilize it, she placed a kettle of water onto a hook to boil.

Daniel tried to shift his body and winced as he spoke. "I don't mean you no harm."

She looked at him only slightly and took the knife from Emmett, raising the blade to touch it. It was hot to the touch and she quickly put her finger in her mouth to soothe the burn. Then she placed the knife onto one of the cloths and turned to him.

"I'm not at all surprised," she said sarcastically, as she poked around at the wound. "It's a wonder you made it this far. It's a mean bunch that lives up the road and I feared you were one of 'em."

His shirt was soaked in blood where his sleeve was torn, but it didn't seem as bad as she had expected.

"It's gotta come off," she said flatly.

Daniel got concerned and questioned hastily, "My arm?!"

She smirked in amusement, "No, dammit. Your shirt."

He nodded his head as she unbuttoned the front and lifted him up enough to remove it. Then she handed the bloodied rag to Emmett as he gave her a couple of dampened cloths. She blotted down the wound and then picked up the knife again.

Daniel was nervous and it was heard in his voice. "Are you sure you know how to use that?" he asked.

She grinned for the first time and replied, "Let's hope so, because I'm all the help you're gonna get."

He turned his head and gritted his teeth as she pricked inside the shaft of skin.

"It's unsightly, but I do believe you'll live," she said while wiping her brow and giving him a chance to exhale.

"By the way, I'm Annabelle," she said flatly with her thick southern accent.

Daniel took a deep breath and then clenched his muscles tightly, before she moved in again.

"The pleasure's all mine," he clenched his teeth and his butt in agony. "Daniel.., Stone," he replied in a high pitched whimper.

She attempted to conceal a laugh as she dug a little deeper at the wound.

"Ahh! What are you trying to do, make the hole bigger?!" he exclaimed out of exhaustion.

She laughed, allowing her guard down somewhat, as she laid the knife on the sofa table behind her. "You're one lucky trespasser," she smiled as beads of sweat streamed from both their foreheads.

Then she took the dampened cloth and wiped it, smoothing it across his forehead and chin. The side of his face was swollen and bruised and his eyes were bloodshot and weary. She continued to pat down the wound even though it was sensitive to the touch. Then she dipped the cloth into the kettle and wrung it out, cleaning his neck and chest.

He noticed the way her wet skin illuminated against the backdrop of flames, and the gold in her brown hair that lit with the stems of fire. Her blouse was buttoned to the crease of her breast, but her nipples were pressed round and hard against the clinging wet pale fabric.

There was concern in her eyes when she caught him watching her, with each stroke of the cloth that lapped across his chest, he breathed in as though every inch was a nerve. His eyes followed her every move, and his thoughts too hidden behind his discomfort to show what he was thinking.

She removed his glasses. "Bet you can't see a damn thing without those," she spat the words knowingly, as she pondered curiously.

For the first time he grinned and closed his eyes, "Damn near blind," he responded as Emmett handed her a ladle of water.

She placed it against his lips and he sipped from the side. Then he continued to breathe slow and deep until he was halfway relaxed, while she tied some shreds of cloth around his wound.

"What are you doin' around these parts, anyway?" she asked.

Daniel pulled his hand to his face and felt the bruise on his cheek that was swollen, before resting his hand on his head. His hair was still thick with blood and mud, and he imagined how he must look to her.

"Prospecting," he replied.

Annabelle stood up and wiped her hands down the pleat of her skirt, which was weighted down with the rain, and coated with his blood.

"Boy, did somebody send you in the wrong direction," she replied. "Not much of anything gleams in Louisiana."

"It was never meant to be my destination," he spoke out of frustration, disturbed by the days' events.

She took his glasses from the floor and wiped them with a cloth and then put them back on. "Life is just full of twists and turns," she said empathetically as she began to pick up the pillows from the floor and tossed them onto a winged back embroidered chair.

Though still in pain, he was moved by her nurturing nature. He noticed the angle of her face with its rounded soft features, and luminous green eyes. She had a slender frame and her hair, half-way loose and disheveled, swayed when she bent down.

Emmett had been quiet and quick to his mother's direction. All was well for the moment, but it seemed odd the way that this stranger was staring at her. So he propped his arms over the back of the settee and watched him watching her.

Daniel tried clearing his throat, realizing that he had been caught, but didn't seem diverted by the added attention.

"Sounds like you've had your feel of the land as well," he said as he glanced around the room that looked like a brawl had taken place in it.

Annabelle got up and began picking up the area, and placed the picture back on the mantel, even though the glass had been cracked into.

"The land, the air, the people.., you name it," she admitted.

"Mostly the life, though. You spend your days dreamin' of somethin' better, but they slip away into nothin' really."

He tried to sit up, to feel some strength left within him, but his weakness was evident.

Then she grabbed a couple of the pillows and wedged her hand behind his back, helping him to lean forward as she propped them behind him.

"That should be better. I'll get some elixir for the pain," she said as she went into the kitchen and started mixing some ingredients from various bottles into a tin. Emmett followed behind her.

"What are we gonna do with him?" he asked, still too untrusting to have him remain.

She kept her voice low so that Daniel couldn't hear. "I think he's gonna be just fine, but we're gonna let him sleep here tonight. He should be able to leave on his own tomorrow."

Emmett peered around the corner into the living area and then back to his mother. "Good idea. I'll keep a watch on him," he said.

She agreed that they would take turns in shifts, so that they could both get some sleep just to be safe. Then she told Emmett to go outside and check on the horses, while she walked back into the living room with the herbal remedy in hand.

Annabelle went over to the sofa and handed Daniel the tin.

"Drink this," she said. "It'll help you to rest."

He took a swig, holding onto the bottle and looked around at the formal setting still in disarray. She began gathering up the soiled linens.

"Looks like your hands got up and left you," he remarked, although it sounded more like a question.

Her eyes followed his. "It's all my undoin'," she replied matter-of-factly.

Daniel nodded, satisfied with the answer for now, but asked what her husband might think if he came home and found him lying there in his condition.

She didn't answer him right away, but let him ponder the thought while she tidied up the room a little more. Then she replied that it wasn't too likely to happen, since he had passed away five years ago and left her with the legacy of her mother-in-law, who by the way, sympathized with no one. She explained how she was off to help generate funds for the war effort, but could return at any time.

Daniel's expression changed altogether, and he gave an insincere smile, thinking about the possibilities, and yet delegating his response.

"I appreciate you nursing my wound. You are most kind," he said.

She left the room for a moment and came back with another blanket and tossed it over his upper torso, leaving the rest for him to do on his own. Then she stood back and refrained from speaking to him more than seemed necessary.

"Look" she said firmly, "you can stay tonight and I'll show you a way out of here in the morning. But it's best you know we sleep with our eyes open."

He adjusted the blanket, and draped it around his waist and then patted his pillow in place as it became soiled and dirty from his wounds.

"You don't need to miss any sleep over me, Annabelle," he said in too eager a manner.

"Yeah, well," she replied. "I'm a quick judge of character and I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, even though you did try to steal my horse."

Daniel appeared embarrassed, but not too ashamed when he teased, "If I had known it was yours, I would've went next door."

Annabelle poked at the fire, removed the kettle and sat it down on the hearth. She placed the knife inside her apron pocket.

"If you had, you'd be dead for sure. Get some rest now," she smiled defiantly as she headed for the front door.

"Much obliged," his voice rang out, as Emmett stomped his way inside.

There was words between them before the boy he went and settled into the wing-backed chair. Then he sat there, with his feet up and gave Daniel a stern stare.

As the hours went by Daniel had succumbed to a deep sleep, where all of his thoughts of the days events played on his mind. Everything seemed distorted, surreal and his subconscious allowed him to remain there, to feel the emotions, the anger and the relentless pursuit of trying to rise above it all. He kept attempting to rise higher still.., but his thoughts couldn't take him there, until suddenly he began to plummet as though the security beneath him had all but dissolved and he fell rapidly.., until his body jolted awake and his eyes opened. He looked around and Emmett was asleep, his head cocked against the arm of the chair and snoring.

It was getting close for her time to keep watch, as Annabelle sat in front of the dressing table, combing out her long dirty blonde hair with brownish strands that conformed like an aura around her face. Her nightgown was sheer white layers, with a rounded swooped collar that cupped her breasts, and made her look ghostly and willing next to the dimly lit oil lamp that burned on the table beside her.

The rifle was propped against the side of the table when the door to the bedroom creaked open.

It was Daniel, standing there in the doorway, with his arm propped against it. His ribs were shadowed dark from being bruised, and his pants hung low against his stomach so that his pelvic bones showed. He was muscular with broad shoulders and looked full of strength, even though he was dirty from the battle. He didn't seem as pained as before, but stood there as though entranced by the vision before him, and not too eager to speak.

Slowly, she placed the silver plated brush down and reached for the rifle as she dragged the wooden stock slowly across the floor. Then she lazily cupped the barrel with her left hand and aimed it at him.

"You make yourself at home real easy, now don't you?" she affirmed with a smooth calm drawl, as she cocked it from where she sat.

Daniel took a deep breath and stepped back, but held onto the casing for support as he shifted his weight onto one leg.

"I just wanted to thank you again for taking me in like this is all," he replied in a nervous gesture.

She held the gun steady and her voice was unwavering with a hint of sarcasm when she replied, "Why, it's the least I could do. After all, I am the one that shot you, remember?"

Daniel nodded with a nervous grin as he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Then he gently mumbled to himself, "It's a generous game she plays.., generous indeed."

He stumbled his way back into the living area, shifted around on the settee and tried to fall asleep, with a whirl of pain upon his chest and more waiting for him in the morning.

skirt's and all

It was an uncomfortable greeting at first, but set in motion just the same. She acted as though nothing had come between the cordiality that ensued. Annabelle had prepared a simple breakfast of biscuits, eggs and gravy, which Daniel had eaten ravenously until his plate had been wiped clean with the remains. Then he sipped at his coffee, glad that she had taken the time to prepare as much. Although she hadn't actually joined them at the table, but stayed busy doing menials around the room.

Emmett, however, had fueled as many questions as Daniel could muster the courage to answer. The boy had combed his way through the meal as well, and made it obvious that he was enjoying the company.

The travels that Daniel had concocted for the journey ahead seemed the sort of treasure hunt a boy his age would create fantasies of his own about, as he had spent many hours turning the grounds outside of the house with an axe pick in search of buried glass jars with hidden money. Emmett had discovered as much as twenty three dollars altogether the previous summer that his father must have buried in hindsight, and once had uncovered an old platelet tin that contained a tarnished silver ring band and two metal buttons. He had never gotten any direct answers from his Grandmother concerning the find, but figured that if she had buried them at some point in her life, they must have been intended to stay there, forgotten like the old plow shear that was wedged beneath the mildewed hay in the barn loft. It hadn't seen the sun or dry air in so long that the wooden handle had half rotted off and the blade near rusted into.

Daniel took delight in the eager way the boy expressed himself, and Annabelle tried not to smile at the fondness that was developing between them. They had sat and talked for more than an hour, when Annabelle could sense how tired Daniel had become. It was with so much effort that he had gotten to the table in the first place, that she wondered how he ever made it to her room the night before. Then she settled on the thought that he must have been sleep walking and confused about being in her home.

His hair was still caked with muddy streaks that had since dried, and his back and chest were sorely scraped and bruised so that she knew more rest was needed. In an attempt to speed his healing she applied more ointment to the wound on his shoulder and wrapped a sling made from a flour mill sack around his arm, so as to keep it elevated. There had been very little talk about plans for the day, but she had taken the initiative to recover some of her deceased husbands' old clothes; a pair of trousers, cotton shirt and jacket, along with long-handles and boots, for him to get changed into. There was a vase of warm water in a guest room on the main floor, where he would be able to wash and shave if he so desired.

"Well, this is the most satisfied my stomach's been in a long time," he boasted about the breakfast. "It's the best food I've ever had," and thanked her with a wink.

Annabelle was discovering her tolerance for people again, and this one she still questioned, but they helped him to the guest room anyway and allowed him to sleep off his worries for a spell.

It was later in the afternoon that he awoke, and made himself presentable, though awkward without end. He was pushing his way around with a cane stick he had found beside the bed, and had unwrapped the sling from his arm, as it only hindered his movements. His shoulder still ached, but hardly any more than his ego would allow.

Beyond the front hallway was the screen door that led to the side porch. Annabelle and Emmett had been busy making amends for all that was out of place. She had since cleaned up the living room from any sign of disturbance, and Emmett had cleaned the damp paint from the steps and floor. All the while, laundry had been washed and was being hung up to dry. It was chilly out, as the cold wind whipped at his face and fingers when he stepped outside.

Annabelle didn't see him at first, until the dogs started barking again. She had been so involved in her duties, and trying to keep the blue sweater tied to ward off the chill, that she was taken off guard when he walked around to the side yard where she was. It was as though another man had come calling, with some dignity about him and more height to his deliberated step.

"Tarry on, my fair maiden. Can I give you hand with this? I can use my free arm at least," he teased with a bow as he leaned most of his weight onto the cane.

"I see it all fits," she was pleased the clothes were put to good use, as she strung another towel to the line of rope. Then she stopped what she was doing to take a gander at him as he stepped in closer.

His hair was now a clean dark blonde that was one long layer to his shoulders. He had pulled it back into a ponytail and the beard and mustache were gone. And though the trim wasn't an entirely close shave, his face took on a definition she hadn't noticed before. In fact, she tried not to blush when he ducked beneath the line and joined her on the other side.

Her hair was pinned up, but long wispy strides blew across her face and lips. He reached over and removed one gently that was clinging against her cheek and she turned away, despite her impulse to remain. The dogs got excited, not knowing if his company was welcome and went to growling at his knees.

"Shoo!" yelled Annabelle as she scatted them away and they hurried back a short distance and then plopped down in the grass. Two of the smaller ones ran to the front porch, as though keeping guard.

Daniel had watched them tear way fearfully at the sound of her voice, and her authority was evident.

"I do appreciate it," he said. "I'm likely to flog the next one that comes tearing towards me with this cane. Damn near have a leg full of bites already."

"You don't?" she questioned in surprise.

"Afraid so," he nodded and then looked hastily to the sky, not wanting to show his anger. "Mauled by man and beast, now all I've got to do is settle up with both."

"I wouldn't advise it," she shook her head and picked up the empty basket. "You lived to tell about it, and that's enough. Besides, I know a safer way out where you can go unnoticed."

At that, a loud thump sounded in the barn and the Shepherds went running to it.

"Emmett!" she yelled, and hurried to see what had happened.

Shafts of light streaked through the open slits in the barn wall, and the dust in the air floated like mites and molecules in whirling circles. Annabelle covered her mouth and coughed, and Emmett stood proudly in the loft with his hair and wool jacket covered in hay.

"What on earth were you thinking, son?" she asked him as the rusted plow shear was halfway stabbed into the dirt floor where it landed, as the handle rattled like a tinged violins bow.

Daniel made it inside where he could see the predicament, and Emmett only marveled at the view.

"You looked so different that I hardly knowed it was you!" he shouted.

"What do you mean, Emmett? That thing hasn't gotten any use left and we've already talked about it!" his mother insisted.

For the moment, he acted as if she hadn't spoken at all and looked directly at Daniel.

"It's a big tool, isn't it? See.., I've got the idea that I can get what's overgrown cleaned up and when Grandmamere comes home, she'll think you did it and let you stay. That way you can teach me to play cards! I'll be a good hand in no time!"

Daniel smiled with some satisfaction at his insight. He could tell that the boy was desperate for some company, and was encouraged by his liking to him.

Annabelle gasped. "You come down from there, right now!" she insisted. "We're gonna do as I said, and I suppose now is the time!"

Then she turned on one heel and hurried back toward the house. A few minutes later she had returned with a basket and her rifle. She thrust the basket into Emmett's arms and said, "Come on! We'd best go now before you go making any more plans!"

Daniel didn't know where they were going. He didn't understand why she had gotten so upset. They boy had meant well, but even he didn't say a word in complaint as they traipsed through the field of burrs and wheat straw. He did his best to keep up the pace as he labored over the lumpy path that Annabelle beat clear with the gun barrel, swiping at the grass as the air shifted upward, skirts and all.

Once they made it to the top of a hill that had gradually crested for three-quarters of a mile, she stopped. Short for breath and in need of some perspective, the house was just a gray tree-lined dot in the distance. Emmett sat the basket down and shrugged his arms as though at a loss and picked at the grass, while Daniel strained the last few steps to a flat boulder. He laid back on it and heaved.

"I didn't mean to press you so hard," Annabelle apologized, though she barely looked him in the eye when she spoke.

Daniel was still trying to catch his breath, coughing as he might and said, "You're just doing as you see it best for the boy, I'm sure."

Across the valley, where the barn roof emerged from the grass like something afloat, was a flock of birds that landed and perched on its ridge.

"Doesn't look half bad from here, does it?" she asked, although it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

"Didn't look half bad from down there," he smiled and leaned up on his elbows, trying not to laugh as it cut at his sides when he did.

She looked at him with a gentler more tired nod, and pushed his leg. He bellowed out like one of the dogs and she laughed, feeling glad for his companionship, and then the smile diminished with the passing clouds.

He sat up and nudged his arm against her, looking her square on and said, "You know.., you're beautiful when your face lights up like that."

There was hardly much to say in response. She had never been told as much before, and the compliment came unguarded.

"And you're nothing more than a flatterer, Daniel Stone," she dismissed him as quickly.

He had snapped off a strand of grass and began to whittle it between his teeth. Then he spit it out.

"Nope," he responded and stood back up, but this time extending his good hand down to help her up.

"You could call me a lot of things," he continued, "heaven knows I've been called worse.., but flatterer's not one of them. I call it the way I see it. Like it or not."

She took his hand and stood as well, accepting his words like punishment, with a simple. "Thank you, then."

Twigs crackled and thrashed against the ground as Emmett came running up. He had found the trail that led to the small shanty.

"We'd best go on," she replied as she bent down and took the gun, and then teased, "But don't go getting any peculiar ideas. Just because you hit a soft spot doesn't make me your slave for life."

"As you wish," he extended a hand forward for her to lead the way, feeling more thoughtful about the position he was in. Then they continued on, but at a slower stride, as Emmett skipped ahead.

Annabelle asked him about the winters in Wisconsin and if he had family there.

He replied, "I've got a brother who's a Minister. It consumes his life. And then another brother that keeps a store. Spends most of his time thinking about all the other places he'd rather be."

"Do they have families?" she questioned, all the while studying his face, but not wanting to make it obvious.

"Sure do," he said. "How about you, beyond Emmett and your in-law?"

"It's just me and Emmett really," she replied. "There's kin on Emmett's side, but I never cared much for 'em," she paused to see what Emmett was pointing to.

They were on a piney ridge and in the thicket of trees and bushy palms, and at the base of the slope was a red coyote dragging away a rabbit, or some kind of fresh kill. The dogs had picked up the scent and had scurried down the bank, barking as they went. Emmett tossed up his hands and found a cypress stump to stand on, and watched with interest at the chase and quarrel.

"We'd best stay put until they come back," she explained. "As much of a nuisance as they are, it's risky to go on without 'em."

Daniel agreed and was glad for another chance to rest. He was feeling stronger in the crisp moist air than he had earlier, but the soreness lingered.

"I'm not really from around here," she said and continued to explain that she was raised in one of the southernmost parts of Georgia, and was the daughter of sharecroppers. She had four other brothers and sisters that had all worked together as a family to harvest cotton, when a bout of scarlet fever hit. She said that they were too poor to go see a doctor and once her mother came down with the fever, it had claimed all but herself the same summer.

"I was sixteen at the time and was walking down the road when Emmett's father and his mother stopped by the way. They were going to Savannah for some holiday," she said. "Fourth of July, I believe. Anyway, it wasn't that I was lost, but I needed to tell someone about my Daddy. He had just up and died while digging a place of burial for my little sister. Suppose his heart gave out from too much grief."

By this time, the dogs had returned with panting tongues from having given the coyote a good run, and Emmett was rewarding them with pats on the heads for such hard work and talking to them with high pitched sentiments. Daniel laughed and shook his head, and Annie agreed with a smile. Then they continued along the overgrown trail again.

Daniel took a speculative glance down from where she was walking beside him, even more curious about the woman that was leading him astray.

"How did his father die?" he asked.

She was hesitant to reveal so much at first, but considered it to be irrelevant either way. She would be sending him up the river soon enough, so it wouldn't hurt to share about her past, and felt good in the simplicity of having conversation.

"Consumption," she said briskly, ready to change the subject again. "There was nothing we could do once he started coughing up blood."

Daniel stopped and began shaking his foot around as though something was bothering him. She paused to see what was wrong, as he pulled up his pants leg. There were bite marks in several places where the skin was marred and blue.

Annabelle thought the boots must have been bothering him, but when she looked down at his calve and saw the lacerations, swollen red and filled with pus, she was practically bothered to tears.

"I don't know what kind of dogs they were," he sighed wearily. "Hounds from hell, I suppose. Blue and black spotted with silvery white eyes that pierced right through," he replied.

Emmett went over and crouched down on the ground. "Yuk! That's gotta hurt worse than peekons stuck in your heels!"

Annabelle dismissed his remark and stomped at the dogs to scat their noses away from his wounds.

"Fasse!... Go away dogs!" she shied with a warning, as though cajun was part of her natural dialect. Then she said, "Catahoula's Loyal to their masters, but 'll tear into anything else. Anyway, you need something on that since it's all festered up. It could become gangrenous if not."

He judged it with a sigh and lowered the cuff. There was nothing that he could do about it himself, so he just bore the longevity of the strides.

"Do you miss him?" he asked her a few minutes later.

"Not like I should, I suppose. Thing is that I was never really sure why he married me," she paused. "I don't know if it was pity, loneliness, or if he was just plain horny."

Daniel scoffed, and began to walk on, somewhat surprised, but already had a taste of her sensibilities. "Suppose a man could be guilty of the three and then have all his needs met at once."

She turned toward him with a mischievous laugh and wanted to throw dirt at him, but she simply carried on instead, like the deed was commonplace.

"You've probably done as much yourself," she said in response and pretended not to care about the answer.

"Not yet, anyway," he replied.

Then she told him about the trouble with her mother-in-law, Myra, and how they were never close. Emmett only reminded her of what was lost, since he resembled his father with an uncanny likeness. Only his ways were more a mirror of someone else, perhaps the missing links from her childhood, or maybe he was just altogether different, the way that people can grow so opposite and still share the same blood.

Daniel wondered why she stayed there, but even she didn't know the answer to that, except for the security of protecting her son from all else that was uncertain.

"Besides," she said "you came well prepared and look how far you got."

"I'm still traveling, little lady, and my luck could change by tomorrow," he replied, even though he hardly believed it himself without his belongings, a compass, some money, or the map. It was more or less hopeful thinking.

There was an uneven way that she glanced at him when she said, "Why you talk as if I'm some debutante just now discovering the ways of the world, but there is no naivety here. And I've as yet to see anything good fall right from the sky."

Rather than to risk offending her, he stood in place and watched as she went a few steps ahead, allowing some distance between them. There was something about her that intrigued him to the core, and a part of him wanted to hold her, to absorb her hurt and then release it into the air, but that wasn't likely to happen, especially since they had reached the shanty.

It was a house of limbs and misshapen boards that appeared as though it floated on the broken stretch of stream. The marsh was thick with fat vines and roots that entangled it like a wooden snare. And though there was no visible sign of anyone living there, it still wasn't the kind of place where he wanted to bed down.

It had lopsided posts for support, and Emmett was the first to step onto the pier that was wobbly and missing some planks. It seemed stable enough to him when he turned to demonstrate his bravery, and then it all but collapsed beneath him. He grabbed onto the side rail as his legs kicked about in the water, wet to his waist and losing his grip.

Daniel hurried over and anchored a strong hold to his arm, as he was hoisted him back onto the decking.

"Easy does it," he said as Emmett's upper body plopped onto the part of the pier that was still standing. "You just got ahead of yourself, that's all."

His clothes were now soaked. The temperature was still cold for winter and he was shivering at the knees like a wet dog.

Annabelle took off her sweater and draped it over him, scolding him at the same time. "You've got to be more careful, son. This place is breeding ground for Caimon and Mocassin's, you know that!"

He accepted her embrace as his teeth chattered, while Daniel made his way past to the door that hung crooked on its hinges. Then he used the cane to push the door, which creaked halfway open until it wedged against a raised board on the floor. Inside was a cast iron stove with ivy growing up its smoke stack, and the floor was partially covered with leaves that had weathered there for years. A crumpled up blanket, hard and crusty from the moisture and dirt, was lying on the floor in the corner. He moved it with the cane and several cockroaches scurried into the cracks.

Annabelle and Emmett had entered the room and were in disbelief at the wonder.

"So this is the plan?" Daniel asked without expressing his concern.

Annabelle was defensive. "It's a roof over your head if you need it and a good place to hide," she replied as though unsure of it herself.

He walked around and knocked on the floor with the cane, testing its vulnerability, and decided to release her from her worries.

"It'll do just fine," he turned to her with all the cordiality that said her assistance was appreciated.

Emmett shook his head, angry and confused, and sloshed his way out of the room and back across the pier that remained. Then he looked under the railing at the logs braced together, fixed above the water by ropes, yet still caught up in the vines.

"I found the raft!" he yelled. "It's fastened tight. I'll climb down and undo it."

Annabelle went outside to caution him, waving him on with her hands and speaking in a frustrated husky tone, "Just leave it for now, Emmett. I only said it was an easy way out. I didn't say he had to take it!"

Footsteps were heard behind her, and she turned to see Daniel scratching his chin, acting as though he hadn't overheard, but there was sarcasm in his voice.

"It'll be getting dark soon. Should I gather up some wood for the stove?" he questioned.

"No," she replied, embarrassed by the compromise and Emmett's added excitement. "I'm afraid someone would see the smoke. Besides we'd best get back before the boy catches fever, lest we should wind up having to feel our way home in the dark."

"I'm already hungry," said Emmett as the wind sent another chill in his direction.

She lifted the crumpled cloth from the top of the basket and handed him a round piece of bread.

"Here then," she replied and offered some to Daniel as well.

The sun had all but shown its shadow against the grassy bank, as it crept towards the woods like a silent wanderer. The air was bitter cold, but there was warmth within.

languid like silk

There were three words that came to mind when he rested his back in the comfort of the guest bed that night. The pity, he felt for himself for having left without a good cause, and for having lost so much along the way. The more he thought about it, all the wealth his mind could entertain couldn't shelter him from the loneliness. And being horny was just something that came and went like the morning, springing up and subsiding with the days dust. But there was something else about the need to feel as though a place existed, which might not have been a place at all. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he wanted to touch it and see if it was real. So he got up and went into the kitchen.

Part of knowing what to do, was having the notion to act on it when the restraints had all been pulled out from under you. There was a nudging, an inner voice that carried on without regard to its intent or mindful ways. Such thoughts would sometimes lead to reasoning, but not tonight. For this night they would be held in the view of another.

She was lining up the table with the plates for breakfast, preparing for a meal that was yet to come, and still another days light. It didn't make sense to the casual observer, but then again he had never considered himself to be more casual than the moment had lent itself. Beyond the line of forks and spoons were the napkins, carefully arranged so that a trace of remembrance remained. It was being thoughtfully planned so as to become special.

Her fingers, slender and long, twitched at the sound of his entrance. His footsteps were mere pads against the floor, but the strides had been obvious against the creaking floor. She turned to find him standing there, his shirt still open from having just put it on, and his pants unbuttoned at the waist. Was it some daring attempt at her good will, or was there something hidden behind the closed door and should she dare unlock it? These thoughts mingled in with the will to continue at a quicker pace and then go on to bed, but then she waited.

"You're still up," she mentioned the obvious.

"Yep," he replied as he leaned against the counter and watched, noting her progress as she moved about the room.

It was awkward that she hadn't since retired already, and she wondered what he must be thinking.

"Am I keeping you awake?... I've been trying like the dickens to get caught up on some things," she said as she grabbed a wet cloth and began wiping off the chairs.

He moved in closer and stood directly behind her. She stopped what she was doing as he placed his hand on her shoulder, as though to end the task she was so content on keeping busy at. She turned to him, both nervous and anxious, and glanced down at his feet that were bare against the faded floor.

"I need to repaint this floor," she said. "Perhaps I'll get started on it tomorrow," she tried to seem distracted.

He reached up and lifted her chin towards him and leaned in with a kiss, subtle and soft on her lips.

She welcomed him, but hesitated. "What are we doin'?" she questioned, like nothing good could come her way.

"Getting to know each other better," he breathed into her mouth and enveloped her with his arms, his chest pressing firm against her breast.

"How do I know this is right?" she questioned as her lips met the side of his mouth.

"You feel it," he said as he leaned her back against the table and one of the forks flung off onto the floor with an echoing thud.

"Shhh..," she whispered with a quivering laugh and pressed her way back up against his resistance. "Wait here for a few minutes and then come to my room."

He didn't say a word, but just stood there and waited, wanting more.

After some time had passed, he laid his glasses on the table and turned down the wick of the oil lamp. The rest of the house was dark, but there was glow from the shine of the moon that crested outside the long arched window at the length of the narrow hallway. He walked quietly so that the floor didn't creak as much and went to the bedroom that seeped a dim light from beneath the door. Then he took a couple of deep slow breaths and turned the knob.

Startled, but expecting him just the same, she turned from beside the four postered bed. A single candle burned on the dressing table and her hair was down, tousled into curvy strands of disarray, and resting on the bosom of her robe. It was shear and long, with a ruffle of fabric down the middle and untied at the waist. She wore nothing underneath, and his eyes were bewitched by her slim silhouette before the lighted flame. Then he closed the door and went to her.

His palm was warm and sweaty, and when he smoothed his hand beneath the collar, the robe slid to the floor, languid like silk. Her breasts were round and full, luminous by the flicker of light that danced across them. He moved his hands down and touched them, soft and warm, despite the cool dank air and began there, finding his way up her neck until they were both unclothed. Then they discovered each other in the darkness, enveloped by the bond that had crossed boundaries unseen to find them there.

The morning had a way of concealing itself, like the mesh of moss that dangled from the branches of the wide oak tree like a brides veil. The dogs had treed a raccoon and were barking so that it was forced to climb higher. Even the blackbirds flew away from the ruckus that was just beyond the bedroom window. Suddenly though, the dogs went tearing through the yard, as if a new development had emerged. Annabelle sat up and draped herself in a blanket as the panes of glass began to rattle. There were footsteps on the front porch.

She rushed over to Daniel and shook him awake. "Oh no," she said with fear and regret. "It's Myra!"

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed as he jumped up and pulled at his pants, still half-asleep, and jigged his way into them.

As soon as she pulled a dress over her head, she buttoned up the front and twisted her hair up with pins.

"You'd better stay put," she warned him with a peck on the cheek.

"For how long?" he asked, as he tucked the shirt into his pants, but she was already gone.

The old woman was dressed in a black fringed dress and wore a wide rimmed hat with a satin bow pressed against the side. Her expression was grim as the wrinkles were parched tight around her mouth that sagged with deep wrinkles and jowls. She didn't even bother to remove the pins from her hat as usual, as she plopped the five pound bag of sugar onto the floor of the kitchen. Then she saw the place setting for three, which seemed odd since she hadn't specifically told Annabelle that she would be returning that morning, and there wasn't anything cooking on the stove.

Annabelle was quick as she paced into the kitchen and said, "Myra I wasn't expecting you back so soon!"

The woman's disposition was already out of sorts, and now the sudden rise in temperament was lashed out with a French accent, "Of course. I can see, but who were you expecting?"

She glanced down at the table again and saw the eyeglasses. "Annabelle, what have you done?" she acknowledged her in a gaze of complete horror.

"It's not what it appears.., you must let me explain," she replied.

Myra paced the floor as though holding something in and then said, "I met the Lebet's on the road. You know the brothers, Birch and Po. They say a man from the north held them at gunpoint and stole from them, and they are looking for him this day." Then she walked over and picked up the eyeglasses, waved them in the air and stomped her foot with a shout, "Do you know of this man?!"

Annabelle was forced to answer before there was even a chance to explain anything about the situation.

"No, Myra!" she exclaimed. "I don't know the man you're speaking about."

"Dit mon la verite'!" (Tell me the truth!) she shouted and tossed the glasses onto the counter.

"Those belong to a friend, a very dear friend who was robbed and beaten along the road. He didn't do anything wrong," she tried to defend him.

Just then, Emmett came running across the living room and into the kitchen, fully dressed in his brown pants and shirt, and surprised by all of the uproar.

"Mamere!" he exclaimed, as though glad to see her, yet wondering why she was home already and so upset.

She went to him and put her arm around him, expressing concern in a way that caught him off guard. He pulled away from her tight hold around his shoulders and went to his mother. But before she could defend him, Daniel had entered the room. He was fully clothed with his boots on, having heard the commotion and ready to shed some light on the situation.

Annabelle shook her head as he walked up to her apologetically.

"Mais, jamais d'la view!" (Well, never in my life!) Myra exclaimed in disbelief.

She walked right up to him and looked his clothes over, up and down until she flicked his shirt possessively. "Se motchen!..," she fumed and then turned to Daniel as though he was too stupid to know the translation. "It's mine!"

Annabelle cut in, deeply offended, "Fait pas une esquandal!... (Don't make such a racket!)" and pranced right up to her face and added with tears in her eyes. "He was my husband!"

At that, Myra worked a black glove loose from her hand as she spat, "Je vas te passé une collotte! (I will pass you a slap!)" and she whipped it across her face.

"Co faire?! (Why?)" Annabelle stood there, wanting to hit back, but she didn't.

"E-ou' est-ce que tu deviens?" (Where are you from?), she glared at Daniel.

Daniel was confused as Annabelle replied, "It doesn't really matter where he's from. You won't believe him anyway."

She temporarily slowed her speech so that she could communicate her words clearly and profoundly. "A Yankee spy! Who broke into my home and took what is mine! I will tell the authorities of this!"

"You will do no such thing!" Annabelle protested. "You don't even know him enough to judge him! Why do you determine the worse before you've even let me explain?!"

"It is written all over you, like a cunja!" she yelped back.

Emmett went over and put his arm around Daniel. "He's a good man, Mamere. Don't do this!"

"What's a cunja?" asked Daniel.

"She thinks you put some kind of spell on me," Annabelle huffed with a cough.

"No Ma'am," Daniel replied, but Myra was already searching around for the gun, which she happened to find in Annabelle's bedroom and abruptly returned, aiming the weapon at his heart.

"Diable!" she spat, as though he was less than dirt.

Daniel looked to Annabelle, "If I didn't know any better I'd say she just called me the Devil!"

Suddenly, the gun went off and blasted a whole into the wall. Annabelle jerked it free as the womans hat fell off. Her hair was long, dark and grey and wiry, and she challenged her opposer, as she heaved as though on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"What you do now?!" she said with a testy tongue, as though she was up for the challenge, and patted her hand against her chest.

"Go on and give us some time to send him away. Don't speak of him to anyone, or I swear you'll never see us again!" Annabelle insisted.

"Bon Dieu! (The Good Lord)," she spat wearily, as though Annabelle had lost her mind. "Come Emmett, we'll go together!"

"No, Mamere. I'm stayin'" he insisted and stood next to Daniel.

"Ha!" she smirked with a breath of despite, picked up her hat and then left. The screen door flapped in the wind as the horse and carriage rode off with a firm crack of the whip.

Daniel pulled Annabelle to him in an embrace, as Emmett watched curiously, but was more afraid for his safety than anything else.

"We'd better get you out of here," he said as though there wasn't time to waste.

"I know, Emmett." Daniel replied and looked down to Annabelle.

"Go saddle the horse," said Annabelle "and gear it up well!"

"Okay, Mama," he replied and headed outside for the barn.

Annabelle was in tears as she rushed about the house frantically, stuffing food and bedding into an emptied pillowcase, along with a small square pipe tobacco tin she brought out from her bedroom. She put it up to Daniel's chest, as he put his glasses on to see what she was holding, frustrated and confused.

"Take it," she insisted. "You'll be needing it more than we will."

He opened the lid and saw the money inside, a wad of cash and coins, and he didn't want to accept.

Then there was the sound of approaching horses, that almost sounded like a stampede as they rushed the side of the house and then stopped. Emmett yelled.

As fast as she could, Annabelle ran over and flung the door open. Then she screamed as Birch had him by the hair of the head, and a razor sharp hunting knife, wedged by its point beneath his chin.

"No!" she screamed. "You let him go!"

At that, the man forced his way into the house and demanded to know where the Yankee was.

Daniel stepped out of the kitchen, holding the gun and forcing its reload. "There's no reason for this," he warned. "Just let the boy go, and state your business with me!"

Birch twisted his hair tighter within his grip and Emmett cried, as his feet crouched beneath him.

"Let go of the boy, dammit!" he cocked the shotgun and aimed. "And tell me what you want!"

"We found the map.., and now you gonna help us find the rest!" he sneered.

"What's he got to do with it?" questioned Daniel as his jaw tightened, the anger welling up.

"No Yank in his right mind gonna let a boy die over some gold. He's gonna make sure you stay in that right mind," he grinned broad and wicked and tugged on Emmet's hair some more, as he cried out from the tension.

Then the hounds were howling, long and slow gruffs that warned of impending danger, and the collies started snapping at Po as he tried kicking them away. The horse turned in circles and reared up nervously, and tried to stomp them away. Suddenly, Po whistled to Birch and he turned.

"What you want me to do, shoot 'em?" he yelled.

At that, Daniel aimed square at his temple, gauged the rifle and pulled the trigger. The blade fell to the floor and Emmett scrambled to his mother. As Birch fell backwards onto the porch, his blood splattered on the screen door.

Annabelle pulled Emmett behind the door and hugged him for dear life. Daniel paused for a moment to reload and then stepped onto the porch.

When Po saw his brother fall, he fired a shot towards Daniel and started to ride away. The bullet missed and cracked the side of a wooden barrel instead, but Daniel reached down and grabbed the knife, having flung it swift so that it stabbed him in the lower back. There was a yelp as the man slumped forward and then fell to the side, his foot was caught in the stirrup, and was dragged alongside the horse as it galloped away. Birch's horse followed, with saddlebags flapping against its side, and the dogs followed along, baying on behind them.

Annabelle and Emmett stepped past the bloodied body in the doorway and saw Daniel on the lawn, betwixt about the predicament. There wasn't much use in burying the one on the porch when the other would be discovered soon enough.

"You'd better hurry! They'll be coming for you!" Annabelle exclaimed, torn herself by what to do.

Daniel nodded and stepped back onto the porch, and looked at Emmett's neck, which was spared a snip of the blade. Then he crouched over Birch's body and began searching his pockets. He found a revolver, along with his map and stuffed them into the back of his pants.

"You'll have to take the river, they'll track you on the road," her heart went out to him, and her hands were shaking uncontrollable.

"Come with me," he said sincerely to her as he stood up. "We'll land the claim together and I'll take care of you both. I swear to it!"

Annabelle's chin was quivering. "I don't know, Daniel."

"What if they accuse you, Mama?! I say we go with him!" Emmett made a tight fist as though he was ready for a fight, although he merely didn't know how to express so much emotion.

"You talked me into it," she said out of haste. Then she rushed about the house, grabbing what was needed and then back to her bedroom. She pulled her pillow from her bed and stuffed the items inside her pillowcase, along with a small leather pouch she had taken from her dressing table. And as soon as she could get her boots on, they were away from the house and running through the field with what little they could carry.

"Do you think they'll catch up to us?" gaped Emmett out of concern as he led the way, jumping over prickly bushes and anything else that got in his path.

"Anything's possible," she urged him forward and picked up the pace as she looked over her shoulder. "But it's the one thing to keep your sights on!"

streams of mire

The unlucky squatter that tied up the limbs must have had sticks for brains, Daniel thought to himself, as he watched the water lap up over the sides like it might be swallowed up at any given moment. He had seen logs that floated better than this raft, and if he happened upon something more sturdy he would latch onto the opportunity. The night had been a laborious wonder of pooling it around with the ten foot pole as it scudded against the banks and limbs of the brackish water. None of them had slept, but had spent the time listening to the sounds that moved through the river, and the shadows that swelled long and blinked their eyes before lurking below its depths.

There were Cypress trees with trunks so broad and covered in Spanish moss that they looked like skeleton mounds that were stretched tall and anguished, mirroring the surface in a ghostly manner with inhabitants that groaned, "duck, duck.., duck, duck."

Emmett said they were only green tree frogs, but their warning was heeded as they kept low against the knotted pines and spoke only in whispers. However, as quiet as they could be, the water was calmer still and anything of ill effect would be heard. They had traveled for miles, and the only glow they had seen was from the moon that lit the water in the wider places. Nary a shot was heard, but there was some distant sound of drumming and an occasional explosion that made a thunderous applause. Then it faded more with every turn of the bend that pushed them further on.

Annabelle wished for a time when she could have made a better way of travel for them, and she worried that food would be a problem before they ever made it into Texas. So far no one had complained, but had nervous stomachs that would wait until the need for such became unbearable.

With the sun now brightening up the canopy above them, the mist was all but a vapor, and seemed as mystical as the birds that breeched the waters surface and then dissolved into the air. Cranes swooped low and plunged their beaks, bringing up crawfish and bluegills, and even they were being watched by the dark green lumps that pegged beneath the muddied swells.

Other streams converged into the whole, almost as much as the veins on a leaf, and because of it the air smelled fresh, like after a heavy rain. But now that all could be seen, there were mostly smiles of uncertainty passed between them. It was like they were all trying to feel some sort of contentment, when there was nothing positive to set their minds on with the brooding mood that lingered.

Emmett had stared at Daniel intensely for the past hour, trying to discern whether or not he was still his friend. He knew he had saved his life, but he had also never seen a man killed before, and now there were two. It had happened so fast that he wondered what more he might be capable of. After all, they had only known him for a few short days, which seemed to be growing longer with each breath. He had also witnessed the closeness between Daniel and his mother that was expressed at the house, but now seemed to gape the width of the river, lingering quiet and full of internal turmoil.

Annabelle patted him on the hand, knowing that he must be confused, and wanted to give him answers when there were none. She didn't know why she had taken to him so soon, other than there was some peculiarity about the two of them together that seemed to fit. She hadn't known when it would pass her way again. Desire had been a foreigner and she had never known what it felt like, to want someone like that, or to be so consumed by the beat of another's pulse to where it seemed to beat within her as well. Still, it didn't make sense to take that kind of risk, but it also didn't reason that she wanted him more now than before.

Daniel felt the eyes that penetrated him through, as he too was looking for answers. There didn't seem another route available at the present, and he hadn't noticed a boat or a homestead that would lend something better.

Annabelle wanted to put them all at ease, to make them feel this way of traveling wasn't without its rewards. So she began telling them about the alligator gar, buffalo fish and catfish that appeared beneath them, and how sweet the wild azaleas would smell if it were spring. Then ribs of water began seeping up through the cracks so that the vines of the raft were starting to loosen, causing one side to dip more than the other.

"Are we too much weight?" she asked.

Daniel took the pillowcase by the strap of belt that kept it tight on top, and pushed it more towards Emmett on the left. It leveled it out enough so that the water didn't lap as much. They were all partially wet, and it was cold out, but none were complaining. So Annabelle stayed as close to Emmett as possible, without causing any additional tilt, while Daniel kept to the forefront, stroking them along a gliding path.

"If we do hit something solid, this thing will buckle," Daniel turned to her as though asking her opinion of what to do before it happened.

"Won't be long before we're spotted. There's another city not too far from here and the river will be busy," she said. "We have to get off before we get too close."

Just then, Emmett saw a string line that trailed from the side of the bank into the water. There were soggy holes where someone's foot had anchored against the soil, but bare where the toe prints were mashed into an impression before it turned to sawgrass. He stared at the hedge of bushy palms and tree trunks, and saw a dark figure squeezed between the hull of two trees. As the raft neared the turn, it angled so that he could see a negro boy his own age, and the boy saw him.

"Sam si," he called out, loud enough for him to hear.

Annabelle hushed him to silence, until she saw the boy emerge from the cradle of trees. His pants were torn around the bottom like they had been sliced by walking through patches of thorns, and he wore a coat, brown and dirty with a patched quilt lining.

"Are you sure about this?" Daniel questioned and Annabelle nodded in agreement.

So Daniel swayed the raft to the edge of the bank.

"How's your Mama doing, Sams si?" asked Annabelle as though she knew them well.

"Ain't much she can do," the boy grinned through broken teeth. "Ain't got no money. Not for a train or nothin'."

"How about your Paw?" she asked.

"He done went to fight," he replied. "Says we won't have no freedom lest he done fight, so that where he be."

Emmett was glad to see him, as the boy tugged at the line in the water and brought up a nesting of crawfish. There were about thirteen in all.

"Good catch," replied Emmett.

"Sure nuff," he said and then asked, "What ya'll do on the water?"

"Never mind you that," said Annabelle, "just be sure not to tell anybody you saw us." She loosened the clasp of the belt on the pillowcase and wriggled the leather pouch from within it. Then she dug her fingers inside, and pulled out a ruby necklace with a pendant encircled with pearls and tossed it to him.

"Take it Sam si, and give it your Mama. She'll know what to do," she said.

At that the boys eyes got big, and he was tickled with delight to have been receiving as much.

"I do that," he replied. "Be careful now. These is streams of mire. Mama says, makes the feelin' go away once the blood gets cold, but makes 'un gator bait jus' the same."

Daniel grinned as he looked at Annabelle and shoved the pole into the bottom of the stream once more to get them underway again.

"Maybe we'll meet up again some day," waved Emmett with a smile.

"Maybe," shied the boy as he clamored up the hill with the netting in tow, "buts maybe not," he waved goodbye.

When they were a good ways in the distance, Annabelle told Daniel about the negro family and how they had been slaves of their farm, and that they had lived in the small house behind the barn, but she had treated them like family. Only she had warned them to leave once the war started and said that every man deserved a fighting chance.

Later on, they were in a marshy area, where algae formed a green skim across the water and cattails spiked up between the lily pads. There were lone trees that stood like barriers between the open spaces and willows that wept out over the water like stems beaded with rain drops. Annabelle was telling Daniel how they made jelly from the Mayhaws, and he commented about their striking trunks and peeling bark. Then there was the sound of a faint moan, and a man wailing from a ridge atop a grassy hill.

Emmett said, "Let's go back. I don't think we're going the right way anyway."

Daniel turned to Annabelle, "It's boggy swamp now. Are you sure this is it?"

Annabelle shook her head in disbelief at the deep voice crying out. Just in the narrowness of their vision was a clearing, a grove of pecan trees and beyond that a white plantation house. The negro man's hands were tied above his head where his palms met and were wrapped onto the limb of one of the trees. There was an older man, overweight with a tall black hat and a long tailed coat, sporting a whip that struck the negroes back again and again.

"Want me to do something about it?" asked Daniel, as he felt Emmett's piercing stare.

"No," replied Annabelle, "we're in enough trouble as it is. Could be that he's getting off easy, not that I've ever taken a notion to such. Be best if we turn around though, because I do believe we're lost."

"Hold up," he said as he tried to edge towards the side of the bank. "Maybe I can do him some good," he motioned for her to remain silent, as he reached for the gun.

Then he tried to maneuver the raft, but they spun around several times before realizing that the movement was causing too much of a rippling affect across the water. Some egrets took flight and disappeared into the fog of steamy smoke stacks that flumed above the trees, just beyond a bridge that coved across the water. It was formed of red bricks and block pylons for support, and built wide for passage.

Suddenly there was a wail with a screech from the man with the whip in the distance, and then there was the sound of running through the leaves and wooded hillside, until the negro's bare feet met the stream. His pants were shredded along the bottom, and his dirty tinged shirt was ripped and bloodied from the punishment. Once he was in the water, he stopped momentarily and heaved in their direction.

Daniel gave him a nod that he should keep going about his business and Annabelle yelped, "Run!"

At that the man continued across the river, swimming where it was necessary, until he met the other side of the bank. From there he continued on, sighing as he went.

"Might be a good time to get off," said Daniel, as he jumped down in waist high water and pulled them into the reeds. It made a good camouflage with the exception of the indentation of grass.

"I think we should go alone," said Annabelle of herself and Emmett, as she pulled her skirts up to her waist and stepped onto the bank.

Daniel thought about it and removed his eyeglasses to wipe them on his shirt. The palms of his hands were blistered and smudged with gritty dirt that was caked under his fingernails. He was tired and it showed.

"I can't stay with the raft," he said. "I'd be a sitting decoy."

"What about the bridge?" suggested Emmett. "You could hide out beneath it until we get back. Besides that, nobody talks like you around here."

"He's right," Annabelle agreed. "If we can get a hitch, we'll stop on the bridge and you can climb in the back. It would be better if I took it from here."

"Okay then, but try to be quick without being obvious. We don't know how fast word carries," he grabbed the pillowcase and unlatched the belt.

Annabelle took the leather pouch, along with the tin of dollars and tied on an apron, shoving them both into the pocket.

"I don't know this town," she said, "but I do know that we'll make it opposite this river and leave the rest behind us."

Daniel nodded and looked at them both squarely, as his eyes told them all would be well. "I believe in you Emmett," he smiled "and I believe in your Mama too. Just do as she says now."

"Always do," he replied, glad to be off the raft and hoping to get some food.

Annabelle kissed her fingers and then placed them on Daniel's cheek. "We won't be long," she assured him. They walked up the bank and through the woods.

There was a small white house that sat on cylinder blocks. The yard was a hodgepodge of thinned out grass where the chickens and goats had turned it up, along with a mule that was tied to a lead on a roundabout wagon wheel. It kicked when the chickens pranced beneath its feet, as if in frustration. As Annabelle and Emmett attempted the lawn, she knew how it felt as the chickens ran towards them.

"I don't have anything for you," she said softly as though it might cause them to scatter, but they continued to strut about them with some noise, as if they had gone many days without being fed.

"Skinny for chickens, aren't they?" he asked.

"So are the goats and the mule," she replied as the back door swung open and three kids ran out, two of which were girls.

"Who are you?" the oldest one asked as though company had come calling.

"Just act like family," whispered Annabelle to Emmett, as she rolled her shoulders back, "and don't tell 'em your real name."

Then a woman with stringy black hair and holding an infant on her hip, stood in the doorway and wondered at the guests.

"We're from a small community down the river a ways, and are in need of some livestock," she said. "Would you be so kind as to spare us a few? We'll pay you more than what they're worth," she smiled, hoping for some compassion in return.

The woman's blouse was covered in spital and the baby started crying and tugging at her hair, as it bounced on her hip. "They're a bit slight for eating, but come on in and we'll talk about it. Just let me put this baby down first."

Annabelle nodded and bent down to tie the loose strings on Emmett's boots, reminding him to stay outside with the kids, while she bargained with the woman. When she got back up, her leather pouch was laying on the ground and she was already up the steps and entering the house. One of the girls, with ash-blonde hair and taller than Emmett by a couple of inches, picked up the pouch and handed it to him.

"You dropped this," she said and offered it back. "What is it, marbles?"

"Nope," said Emmett. "It's treasure. Stole it off a band of pirates."

The two girls giggled, while the boy, still a toddler looked up at the new friend.

"What's your name?" the oldest girl asked.

"Jack," lied Emmett. "Say," he pondered, "do you have any marbles?"

"I've got more than that," smiled the girl, "come on inside the shed and I'll show you my stash." Then she held her finger to her mouth, "But you better keep quiet about it, it's a secret."

"Okay," replied Emmett as he shrugged his shoulders, and they all ran to the small two room stall that was constructed of weathered boards with knot holes in it.

There was hay stacked up where the red mare couldn't get to it, and a wooden crate with an open panel beneath. The girl slid the panel open and took out a metal pail, where inside was a ribbon tied around an assortment of colored candy sticks, a mismatched deck of playing cards, some jacks, a book with drawings of naked women, and a small nap sack of glass marbles. Emmett was allowed to hold each of them in his hands and was most interested in the jacks.

"How'd you get all of these?" he asked as though she must be the luckiest kid alive.

"I'm a gypsy," she replied, "and a magician gave them to me as gifts for a kiss."

The younger sister snickered and the toddler boy just wanted one of the candy sticks.

"What would you trade me in exchange?" she questioned with a grin and batted her eyes.

Emmett's face turned several shades of red as he reached inside his pocket and took out the leather pouch. He held it up to the light and peeked inside, before pulling out a diamond ring. It had seven stones in all with a white gold band that matched. He allowed her to put it on.

"Are they real?" she asked as they sparkled in the sunlight, with her thumb pressed beneath her knuckle. And when she released it, the ring swung loose around her finger, but she didn't care. It seemed a marriage of sorts.

"I'll tell you what," she eyed him as though ready to deal. "You give me this ring, and you can pick any three of these on one condition."

Emmett was all ears. "Uh, what's the condition?"

"You have to seal it with a kiss."

The smaller girl went running to the house as though to tattle, and the little boy followed.

"Okay," he said, "but we'd better hurry."

Within the hour the deal had been sealed, and added to it was a red quarter-horse mare, a brown mule with a white streak down its nose, a wagon with a sack of flour and two empty barrels, along with a small wooden cage of chickens.

Daniel had been waiting under the bridge for what seemed like an eternity, sitting on the musty pylons and swatting away the gnats that swarmed about his face. There had already been a couple of carriages that had passed overhead, but neither had stopped. He was beginning to worry whether or not they had decided to go on without him when another one approached. The planks shifted with the weight as the plodding echoed from below, shaking the dirt from the crevices and into his hair. He looked up and waited, until it stopped.

Emmett jumped down from the wagon and looked over the side, with his hair dangling down in ringlets like a puppet.

"Come on," he urged as though he was now in charge. "Time's a wastin."

Daniel grabbed the pillowcase and hoisted it atop the bridge, as he climbed onto it from the bank. Annabelle looked back at him and smiled, proud of herself, and gave him a wink.

Quickly, he climbed into the back and opened the pillowcase, pulled out a blanket and then covered himself with it. Finally he thought, concealed by the darkness that he might be able to get some sleep.

As Annabelle lapped at the reins the horse and the mule rode on, heading west and to parts unknown. Emmett reached into his bulging pocket and pulled out the candy sticks, tied with the ribbon. He started licking one and twisting it between his lips like he had never had such before.

"Where'd you get that?" he heard Daniel ask from beneath the blanket, and his mother wondered it as well.

"Don't worry," Emmett tucked one behind him and slid it into Daniel's hand. "I got one for you, too."

Annabelle laughed for the first time in days. "I do hope you gave her something for that in return," she teased.

"Oh, I did Mama," and he broke off a piece of the candy cane and put it to her mouth.

a pair of ostriches

The rat-a-tat sound of the rain beating down on the tin roof of the farmhouse was as soothing as it was useful. The day before had been barraged by a beleaguered pious excuse for a human being, even if he was an old man. Osprey needed the rest and he longed for it like the warmth of the bed covers, pulled tight against his ears so that not another sound was heard. Only it wouldn't be as easy as that and he knew it, especially with a house full of several more children added to his own.

It had began with a day at the mission, organizing donated food and clothes for the needy in their community, interrupted by the widow O'Neal's unnerving dilemma. She had arrived in the huddle of the doorway with her five children, along with what they could haul in the back of heir wagon. She was distraught and in tears when she told him about her Landlord, having tossed them out onto the street for not being able to meet the rent on their small log cabin. It had disturbed him to no end how a person could be so cruel to a family in their time of desperation.

Aside from the idle eyes of the women that looked on at their dismay, he had decided to take them to his home temporarily while he tried to iron out the situation. However, his attempts did little to persuade the old man otherwise, as he was as firm in his action as in any other business decision he might make.

His wife, Lila, did her duty as a hostess by making them feel as welcome as possible. Having arranged pallets of extra quilts on the floor for the children to sleep on, there was little else that could be done. Funds were tight that came through the church and on any given Sunday there was hardly enough to grow on. So even though his heart was in it, Osprey couldn't guarantee a personal note on another home, and so he had spent hours milling over the possibilities of how to resolve the situation. There was only one idea that came to merit, and that was to build her a house himself.

As soon as the rain let up, he would climb out of bed and go pay Lloyd a visit. Maybe between the two of them they would be able to conjure up enough support within the congregation to make it a joint effort, but he doubted it. Things never set too well when it came to expecting more from others than they were willing to give. If it wasn't time, it was money, and the lack of popularity for the two was causing too much unrest.

Lila had compared it to one person being the sower and another bringing the seed, but even the birds gathered for themselves. So the opposition was rivaled against the ability to do for oneself, and Osprey's back was covered by the singular fact that he was the only one willing to do the job.

"Make me a plate and I'll eat it," he had teased Lila the day before, as she had labored the morning stretching a meal into two.

It had consisted of brown beans and cornbread with some leftover ham from breakfast, but it was good and he was grateful. After all, it wasn't easy working magic when an additional six showed up for dinner, but she always did her best to keep back a cupboard of canned vegetables from the summer. Without it, they would have never survived the winters.

Soon everyone was awake and tried as he might to shift his weight beneath the blanket and cover his head with the pillow, the ordeal had already begun. There was scuffling and running and trampling up and down the stairs to no end. It was as if the children were ripping the house apart strip by strip, and among all of the commotion was the nagging voices of Lila and Mrs. O'Neal, yelling for all to behave.

So he finally decided that he would go ahead and pay that visit to Lloyd at the store. They would be needing some more staples for later anyway, and he was getting efficient at running the errands.

On the way there, he stopped the horses to gaze at the view above the mountains of the Chippewa Valley. The moisture sat in the tops of the trees and concealed the hill peaks, and the clouds were thick, some white but most with deepened gray billows that appeared to have rolled into position to support the sun, which pierced through them in voluminous transparent rays that shod the earth. The tips of limbs and snow reflected where it landed, sending shimmers of light across the blanketed white plain. He wanted to stand in it, to absorb some of the light and somehow fuel the flame that had grown dim. He stepped down from the wagon and walked over to a stretch of timbers where the light hid their cover behind the bright veil, and he stood in the stream that was well lit and stretched out his arms to welcome its warmth. Then it was as though the woods had awakened again, as the squirrels began to scurry about and birds made their songs. And he decided in that moment, that despite all of his trials and many shortcomings, it was a majestic place to be.

The door of the store was locked and not a sign of anyone was inside. There was a sack of flour ripped open on the floor and about the stepladder was a mess. No one had bothered to clean it up or open the doors that morning, so he hurried the miles over to his brothers home.

It was a simple home of logs and wide bands of white chinking. There was a front porch the length of it and smoke lofting up from the chimney. All seemed peaceful enough from the outside, but inside was all manner of disarray. There were clothes strolled about the floor space so that it was difficult to walk without having to step over them. Wooden toys and books were mishandled about by the two-year-old boy that plopped them about the main room, and was aggravating his brother and sister. Lloyd's wife Judith, plump and boisterous by nature, was fussing about the cake that had burned while she slapped at the dark smoke that rose from the oven door.

"Come on in," she waved to Osprey," who was already making himself at home and wishing he had stayed put. "Now I'm going to have to start from scratch again," she sighed in disappointment.

"That's a pity," he replied, "but I'll still eat it burnt, as long as it's something sweet."

She laughed from her belly mockingly, as though he probably would eat it that way, and the small affect of laughter sent the children into a more jovial mood as the boy of ten started jumping around the room, blowing through a harmonica as the other two followed his lead.

"Quiet it down in there, dammit!" the voice sounded more like it came from something stuck in a hard place. "Sounds like a damn train is rambling through the house!"

"Hark.., he speaks." Osprey replied to Judith with a twitch of one eye that said he would make his own way to the back room.

Embarrassed by his tone and foul language, she went and grabbed the boy by his forearm and started popping him on the behind as he complained.

Inside the room, Lloyd was propped against four pillows and was staring at the clutter of emptied dishes on the floor beside the bed. Although he was glad to see his brother, he was bothered by the fact that he hadn't heard him come in.

"Went by the store. Looks like you dusted the place good," he said.

"Don't be poking fun at my expense," he smirked. "Despite how it looks, I really did myself in this time."

"Back again?" Osprey questioned the obvious.

"Took a turn for the worse," he shook his head and chuckled it all in. "Been laid up for two days now. Wondered when you'd get wise of it."

"Didn't know till this morning," he replied. "Looks like you're being fed good though," he nodded to the pile of crusty plates and winced.

"If I up and die of something around here, it won't be of starvation. "That's for damn sure," he rolled his eyes and scratched at his greasy head.

Osprey pulled a wooden chair over next to the bed as the legs scraped across the floor and then straddled it. They had talked about the O'Neal's for a while and how they might get a fair price on lumber from the local mill when Lloyd drew a blank. Instead he just laid there looking up, as if it had been the one thing that had consumed his thoughts for the past couple of days.

"You know," he said while letting his depression show, "sometimes I just stare at the ceiling and think this is all I've got to look forward to at the end of the day. Seems like after you live in a place your whole life that friend's would come calling."

"You've got Judith and the kids," Osprey tried to be positive.

"I know, but sometimes it's a sore comfort is all," he complained.

"I hear ya, but I don't necessarily agree. You see, sometimes God has to put us on our backs so that we'll have to look up," he said with a sudden wind of charisma.

Lloyd didn't say much for a minute or so, before he got around to the real issue at hand. "Haven't you ever wanted for something better?"

"Sure, there's been times when I've wanted more maybe, but I wouldn't trade what I have to get it," his answer was more of an understated awareness than anything else.

"Yeah," he replied, "maybe it is as simple as that, but you know how you're always having to press for the impossible, like the wheel is working against you.., well, sometimes it just seems like we're no better off around here than a pair of ostriches."

Osprey stood up and placed the chair back against the wall.

"May be the case," he said firmly and with a steadiness to his voice, "but it'll be the day before I'll go around with my head stuck in the mud."

Then he walked to the door as Lloyd's little girl, Wembly, an eight year-old with strawberry blonde hair and a face dotted with freckles came running past him and bounced up on the bed, causing him to whine at the jolt.

"Take care now," Osprey patted the door jamb. "And take the cue from these young 'uns, the sooner you're on your feet again, the better off we'll all be."

"I heard that," he replied as the girl curled up tight beneath his arm.

That night Osprey had taken a seat on the floor of the living room of his own house, strumming his guitar and singing, "Amazing Grace," to the children. His three children, along with the O'Neals' were spread about on blankets, listening intently, as he thumbed the last chord slowly.

"I bet you all didn't know that the man who wrote this song was a slave trader," he said.

Osprey's oldest son, Michael, with thick black hair, spoke up. "Then how could he write about grace?"

Osprey replied, "Because it was the grace of God that saved him from the chains he had put on others. That's what it's all about really, grace enough to save us from ourselves."

His younger son, Jonathan, with smooth rounded features and a bashful stutter questioned, "Do.., do you think the slaves in the South know about Gods' grace?"

Osprey answered, "Well, if they don't they are about to. The Union Army is going to win this war. We have to. It's on the side of right. Then each man can account for himself."

One of the O'Neal boys, Andrew, cut in. "What if a man doesn't want to fight for what is right?"

Osprey replied, "Then he has already suffered defeat."

Jonathan wanted to know if that was the case with Uncle Daniel. But just then, Michael, angry about the accusation, pounded him across the head with his pillow.

"You don't talk that way about him! He's gone off to strike it rich. It's got nothing to do with the war. Isn't that right, Pops?" he blurted out.

Osprey only wished that it were true. So he kept his answer to the point, as he didn't want to confuse them anymore than was necessary.

"You boys don't need to be arguing about it," he replied. "Wherever Daniel is, you can be sure that he's bound to cross enemy lines sooner or later. So it's best that you include him in your prayers. Maybe that way, the grace of God can find him, too."

golden, but perilous

The rippled lines in the hedge of sandstone were like the veins in the glass marbles, streaked across time like layers of sediment upon which concealed truth. The haze of warmth spread broad and wide against the skyline that mirrored the valley and ebbed bright the sun. There were indications of glass in the stone which refracted in the rays that pierced against the shafts of light, and embellished the walls like strains of silk against a velvety lining.

"Have you ever seen anything like it, Mama?" asked Emmett as he forced the fist of marbles back into his pocket.

Her arm was lapped around his shoulders like a coveted claim, breathing in the dry air that made her feel light as a feather in the openness of wonder. "No, Emmett, I never knew such existed," she smiled and then closed her eyes to it, captivating the stilled picture.

The angling bush told a story of its own as the wind had twisted its limbs and bore it low against the ground. The sidewinder and scorpions were no strangers to its allure, and the holes were deep and narrow, wedged beneath the sand. Daniel had envisioned it many times, but the particulars were not the same. The land stretched so wide, cradled beneath the hill caps, that it seemed a stark image, to be as miniscule as the wiry patches that bushed from the ground. In fact, he wondered how they would keep good cover without being seen by the suspicious eye.

It had taken weeks to get this far and New Mexico's territory was brimming with thieves of every shape and size. It had already been the second time that scouts had tried to con them out of their belongings, but Daniel wasn't about to be had again. Every cent that Annabelle had to her name was used to buy the double-seatter wagon and two horses that took them away from the bayou country. It had been a test of will and character to make the long haul with little else but bread and water. Daniel had figured that just as soon as they settled into the meager homestead, he would begin trapping.

It was a two room adobe hut, which hosted the thorny shrub as a welcome mat and they all felt lucky to have found it. They were finally in the oasis of sandy earth with rocks piled upon rocks, and yet pristine palaces never rumored such promises of gold. It was no wonder that scoundrels from far and wide had fought the devil for the same chance at it, and Daniel felt a sense of pride to have arrived there, and yet compelled to forgo the dilly dallying and make himself at home.

Convinced that they were in the right place, he at once began unloading the wagon of their belongings and water barrels. Emmett was all the help he needed, and Annabelle had a place picked out for everything.

"It'll sure be nice to sleep under a roof for a change," she said as though making plans. "Looks like nobody's lived here in a long time."

Daniel looked around eagerly to find that it was suitable enough, "Yep, and where they left off, we've got plenty."

The small room beyond the main area had a draped opening of a long leather skin that was shredded into strips and tacked in place. He rubbed his hand along the length of it, combing the feel of it between his fingers.

"I like it," said Emmett. "Do you think we could make some riding pants of our own?"

Daniel nodded with the pleasantry of his find. "The hunting is good. Deer, antelope, bison and even sheep."

Annabelle looked over at Emmett and gave him a wink, glad they had weathered the stormy trail to get there.

Daniel was already inside the room, shifting a firm grip around the stump of a bedpost that had ropes woven across the inside frame. It was still sturdy.

Annabelle walked up behind him, wrapped her arms around his back and smoothed her hands inside his shirt, and rubbed his stomach.

"Just imagine, if we caught us some of those sheep, we'd have some downing for the bed in no time."

He turned around and kissed her warm on the mouth. "We'll have it all. Just you wait and see. You never will know for sure what all I'll be bringing home."

"Home," she grinned, "I do like the sound of it."

Then she pulled away from his grasp and stepped back through the opening. There was a wooden counter against one wall and an adobe recess for a fireplace, with some blackened wood among its ashes. She looked around and then back to Daniel, with an obvious scoff.

"And if you think you're just going to leave me here to dust the walls, you've got another thing coming," she demanded.

Emmett headed outside, but said to Daniel, "I'd keep the gun away from her if I was you."

"Emmett!" she protested as she walked outside behind him and stood against the wagon.

Daniel teased, "That's not a bad idea. She'd probably shoot at anything that came within a ten foot range."

"You can poke fun at my expense, but you can't take my gun," she insisted. "That is out of the question."

Daniel put his arm around her and whispered into her ear. "Okay then," and kissed her on the cheek.

Emmett laughed and looked away, now familiar with their affection and growing more comfortable with it. Then they all admired the view of the colors in the red and brown sandstone that blistered off the sun. It was brilliant indeed, and within the openness of their journey, the three had become a family.

"Let's go explorin' some," said Emmett, as he was less concerned with bedding down.

Daniel put his arm around Annabelle's shoulders and pulled her into him.

"Everything should keep for a while, and we won't wander too far," he said.

"Go on ahead then, and see where the stream winds up," she replied. "We'll need to refill those barrels."

However, she already believed that she had the answer for what they needed. There was a cage on stilts beside the small dwelling, constructed of sticks and vines. Some worn burlap sacks had been soiled into the ground, but she managed to pull one loose and shook it about. Then she went back to the wagon to get the two chickens, a black rooster and a red hen that remained.

The sound of rushing water was getting ever closer as Emmett hurried ahead of Daniel. Within a short distance the stream had widened as the water washed over the heaps of rounded stones. Daniel only had to glance at Emmett before he was already shaking off his boots and ambling to jump in. He had laid the pistol on the ground and let his pants drop, until his bared behind was the last thing Emmett saw before he plunged into the water.

Daniel yelped at the coolness of the water, but dove underneath and came up shaking his head in the light that glistened across the surface.

"Aren't you coming in?" he yelled.

"No. I'll go next," he replied cautiously. "One of us better keep watch!"

Daniel looked around, swirling his legs about in the water that swelled around his shoulders. "Ain't nothing to worry about, boy! There's nobody here but us and the birds." He pointed to a hawk perched on a high limb above them.

"Jump on it. It's mighty fine!" he urged again.

Emmett looked upward towards the winged creature and decided to let his caution go there, high amidst the branches, where anything moving around below would cause it to stir.

It was the first chance for release that he had had since they left home. So he too unclothed and waded his way in until it was waist deep, feeling the icy cold current that made him tingle all over. But once he had gotten used to it, he thought of it more as a way to search for lost treasure, hidden beneath the rocks as he dove beneath and opened his eyes. A school of brim swam past, where he had seen flickers of light along the bottom. He reached down and hoisted a rock up out of the water and tossed it onto the bank, and then dove back down to forage underneath. After he had scooped up a handful of small round stones, he rose to the surface and held them in the light.

"Look," he said "and tell me what you think they are?"

Daniel swirled his body around and glided over to where he was. Then he took the assortment of wet stones and swished them around in his palm, allowing the mud to sift through his fingers. The shimmer was specks of silvery gold and copper.

"Fools gold," he replied. "But you know what they say?"

"What?" asked Emmett, disappointed with his find, but eager to know the difference just he same.

"Where there's fools gold, there's bound to be the real thing close by," added Daniel.

Emmett was content with his evaluation, and went back to searching the depths, and Daniel met the edge of the bank and climbed out, deciding it was time to get dressed. A few minutes later Emmett was beside him, pulling on his boots when Daniel shifted his hand over and showed the boy his own discovery.

"Look what I found."

Emmett stared at the stone shaped tip of a spear, still sharp around its edges and jagged.

"Are there more?" he asked.

"Yep.., but let's not worry your mother about it none, all right?" he stated in a concerned way that told Emmett it was for the best.

Emmett suddenly looked worried, and he started walking back towards the woods.

"Let's go and get her. We should have her here, too. Besides that, she likes to fish," he suggested.

"Good idea," Daniel replied. "First though, we need to find a way to catch 'em."

A short while later they did return, with the burlap sack and used it as netting. Annabelle had dropped crumbles of bread that bobbed around on the surface of the water for some time before the fish were trusting enough to get that close. She laughed until her sides hurt from the agony of watching Daniel struggle with the net, splashing around, twisting and slapping at the water with the net, getting soaked from head to toe at his many failed attempts with the ones that got away. Finally though, he had managed to catch three medium sized trout, feeling satisfied and exhausted, as Emmett carried them back in a silver tin bucket.

That evening, Annabelle had cooked the fish over the indoor flame and afterwards, Emmett had fallen asleep on the floor. He was snoring loudly and Daniel had joked about how tired he must have been, while he led Annabelle through the leather flaps into the bedroom and laid her down on a blanket that covered the woven frame. Then he nestled up beside her and stroked her hair, as she spoke openly about her thoughts.

"You know, my Daddy used to call me Annie, but I like Belle better. Don't you think it's more modern than Annabelle?" she asked in a carefree manner.

Daniel thought about it. "Belle's a good name. A fresh start, a new name. I like it.., but what about your last name?"

"It's presently Dufrene," she said with an auspiciously exaggerated tone.

"Not for long, it ain't," he retorted. "Tell you what, Belle, soon as we stake our claim, I'm gonna do right by you little lady."

"I'll hold you to that," she rolled over onto her side, "Mr. Stone."

"Anything you say, Belle Stone," he kissed her on the lips, gentle like a breath of air.

"Tell me again about the Tres Montosas," she whispered flirtatiously between the fold of his lips, still curious about what the next day held.

"Well," he said as he drew back with a sigh and dwelled over the legend that played continually on his mind. "It's three little mountains, where at it's base lies hidden a fortune in gold. And they say it's guarded by the ghost of a Spanish cavalier."

Annabelle pecked him gently on the side of his mouth with her lips and whispered again in a low voice. "It's okay," she teased. "I'm not the lit bit superstitious."

He returned her affection with another quick kiss on her mouth and grinned. "Well, you've heard of Coronado and the Seven Cities of Cobola, haven't you?"

She shook her head gingerly and toyed with his ear, gliding her finger down alongside it until it met the scoop of his collarbone.

He smiled playfully again, nibbled on her finger and then cupped her hand in his.

"Well," he continued, "it was a natural fortress for the Navajo's..."

"Um," she replied with excited wit, "sounds golden.., but perilous."

"More than that," he shook his head with a grin. "Anyway, the Navajo's had this sacred well."

"Nava.., who?" she kissed his lips again softly and turned his head in her direction, unbuttoning her blouse at the same time.

"Hey," he replied, stirred by her reaction and the intensity of warmth that swelled within him, "why don't you say something to me again in French."

"Does it matter what?" she teased.

"Nope," he replied as their eyes were drawing each other closer into the moment.

"Grande Beede, quoi d' autre?" (What else, big clumsy man?) she cooed with her voice and then leaned in and tugged at his bottom lip with her own, and the conversation never went further than that.

chambers, dark and musky

The desert sand was a mystery to the unknown prospector. It held secrets under every rock and crevice that only those with wisdom knew, and this wisdom was gained by the experience of those who had gone on before. Only few had made it back to tell the tale, and none so far had lived beyond that.

The lizard and the liar both had forked tongues, and the journeymen found evidence in what was gained, and not what was believed. Yet neither were amble enough to see through their foolishness that what was gained was a quart of salt, lest he discover it had no value at all. The legends said otherwise.

It was a cloudy day to say the least, but it didn't keep the sun from rising high above the parched grasses to gleam a path through stone. They had stopped to let the horse and mule drink some water, and Daniel explained that the legend had marked the end of the trail for one conquistador in the year of 1540.

He told them that while exploring the area along the Rio Grande River, some of the men ventured away from the main expedition looking for food and encampment from the Navajos. As legend had it, one of the Spanish cavaliers became infatuated with the daughter of an Indian chief. After convincing the others to go back and tell Coronado of their findings, he stayed behind to explore some more and gain the confidence of the Indian tribe. Once he had impressed them with his firearm, along with his ability as a marksman, the chief allowed his daughter to go hunting with the Spaniard.

One day when they had drank all of the water they were carrying with them, he asked her where they got their water when they were far from camp. She swore him to secrecy and led him to their sacred well. As he went to refill his watering bag, he noticed the sun reflecting off of the gold nuggets in the water. That night, he returned to the well alone, and gathered up all of the gold that he could carry back to Coronado. Then he marked a cross on the side of a nearby cliff and started to fill the spring with fragments of rock. He didn't know that the Indian chief hadn't fully trusted him, where he was caught off guard and killed in the darkness.

The Indian had dumped his body into the spring and told the chief what had happened. Soon after, the Navajos returned and filled the well in with rocks and said it was no longer sacred and could be used no more. So the tribe moved their camp elsewhere, without even noticing the cross the Spaniard had left on the face of the cliff.

Emmett had heard the story already, and it was of sore comfort to know that no one so far had returned from the expedition alive. He shifted the weight of his body against the wall of an escarpment they had continued the trek upon, and wondered how much of it was actually true.

"How do you know it's still there?" he asked Daniel, as some of the loose sand and stone slid away from the side of the mountain.

Daniel reached out an arm and grabbed him steadily, holding onto the lead of the horse. Then he paused to catch his breath.

"Because nobody's found it since," he replied. "Only I've got a notion it's those set of mountains beyond that ridge over there."

He pointed to an area grown over with brush and twisted vines where three small hills appeared to emerge in the distance.

Annabelle stopped just short of the ledge behind him, trying to keep up the pace and already distraught from another days journey. Her blue dress was covered in dirt and wet stains soaked her underarms, not to mention the perspiration on her neck and chest. She made a scowl and swiped a gritty palm across her face to keep the loose hair from dangling, which left a streaked impression there.

"I swear this one better be it, Daniel Stone, or I'll be digging a well on my own and tossing you in it," she demanded.

Daniel turned to see that she had just smeared red clay across her cheeks and he laughed.

"And what is so funny now?!" she yelled.

He leaned in close and attempted to wipe it off with his shirt sleeve. "If Coronado was around today, he might mistake you for that old Indian chiefs daughter."

Emmett, now steady on the path, extended his tin of water towards her.

"Here, Mama. Have a sip," he said with sympathy.

She reached out and snatched it, glaring at Daniel in the process.

"It's a good thing I can't see myself," she replied annoyed and embarrassed. "I'd probably find a good place to crawl away and hide."

Daniel swung his head back and forth. "There's nothing prettier this side of the Rio Grande, I'd swear on it."

"Yeah well, what about the other side?" she mocked.

"You're beauty just can't be matched," he laughed again, and it felt good to make her feel better about herself, although he too was already frustrated from the long haul.

She smiled, despite her dilemma and pouted, "I'm just slowing you down."

"What?" he turned to her in with only mild aggravation. "I'd carry you on my back if I thought we'd get there any faster."

Her eyes filled up with tears, but she turned her head and raised her chin so that it wouldn't be so obvious.

"I asked you to stop about three hours ago and you said we would, but we haven't yet," her voice was as wavy as the heat coming off the rocks.

Daniel instantly felt like a heel, but frustrated just the same and noticing that Emmett was sure to rise to her defense.

"I've got a pebble in my shoe," she continued to complain, "and something's been trying to make its way up my skirt for the past mile."

So Daniel stopped the mule that had their goods strapped tight to its back and handed Emmett the lead. Then he bent down and said, "Let's have a look." And as he shook the hemline of her skirt, a small black scorpion dropped out.

Her voice curdled with a shriek in dismay and Emmett quickly slid over to have a look.

"That could've stung you, Mama," he said out of a concern and held Daniel in contempt.

With the edge of his boot, Daniel nudged it off the side of the cliff and it disappeared into a crack. Then he stood up and braced her by the shoulders and stared firmly into her eyes.

"I'm sorry you're having to suffer so, but just you wait until we land that claim. I'll take you all the way to San Francisco and buy you the best damn dress money can buy!" he encouraged her.

She put on a pretend smile, despite her temporary discomfort and wiped the tears away.

"Then will you make us respectable?" she looked hopeful for a response.

He paused for a moment and glanced back at the valley below.

"Dammit, Belle, we are respectable, and don't you doubt for a minute that I don't respect you. Anyone who saw the three of us would know we belong together. Now all we have to do it get over to the next ridge and see what's waiting for us. I promise you can rest for a spell then," he demanded.

So she gripped a hand firm against the rock and pressed her way past him, stepping around Emmet, while taking the mule by the strap to lead the way.

Emmett looked up at Daniel, who wiped his brow and gave him a wink, as though having gained the simple argument.

It took two and a half more hours before they reached what he thought to be the Tres Montosas. However, the vines and brush covered the face of the cliffs so that it was hard to see nay visible markings. They had walked its perimeter and pulled back branches until their arms itched from the briars, but Emmett had climbed around until he found an opening in the side of the mountain, formed by the inset of two boulders resting on top of the other.

Daniel slipped himself in first, with a warning for them to wait until he found it vacant, and what he found was a space that crested around seven feet high and then tapered back down on an uneven slant. Annabelle and Emmett joined him inside and helped him inspect the series of chambers, dark and musky with a sweet odor that smelled of a fragrant spice.

"Ceremonial," he said, as he uncovered a clay piece of pottery, vascular in shape with a misshapen spout. He raised it to his nose and determined that it was herbal leaves with a blend of cinnamon and oil.

Emmett had already wandered into the second chamber, dimly lit and afraid to venture much farther, but he saw a strand of dark feathers matted against the moist dirt floor. As he pulled it loose, he found that the feathers dangled by pieces of string that were tied to the face of a hard leather circle.

Daniel had wandered into the room as well, having been inspecting the walls with his hands, that were striped with gray and white veins.

"Looks like you found a shield," he commented. "Probably belonged to an Indian once."

Emmett was proud of his find and sat it against the wall as he took a small hand pick from the loop of Daniel's belt and began to dig around on the floor of the narrow space, but more intriguing still, was a tunnel of squatting height. Daniel knelt to its level and peered inside. It was much cooler and too dark to see with the day having already shifted to the hours of evening. The light had mostly diminished so that mostly shadows were visible in contrast.

Daniel took the pick from Emmett and motioned for him to go outside and retrieve the other, while he slid flat on his back into the tunnel and began hacking away at the ceiling. It came crumbling down into chunks of rock, hard and yet held its position enough for him to get out in time, as the dust filled the chamber.

With the sound of it Annabelle turned the corner, seeing him cough as the dust rose around him, and uncertain about what to do.

"I'm okay," he reassured her. "Only we're gonna need some light in here."

Annabelle peered dubiously into the darkened space as though something wild might slither out. "I can get the lantern," she said as she headed back outside, and remained there long enough for the dust to settle.

There was a loud clap of thunder and then lightning that ignited the air and left goosebumps on their arms and stroked the dimming sky. Emmett had been persuading the mule to draw nearer to the wall as he jerked at the leather saddle strap, but the mule was cantankerous. So Annabelle went and took him by the bit as its lips quivered about in fear, and forced him along, having secured him to the thickness of a stumped base of a root bed. She could see the hairs raised along Emmett's arms and rubbed her hand against his skin.

"Don't know what he thinks he found, but we'd best show some encouragement," she offered as she unclasped the lantern from the saddle strap, and gave him the other hand pick.

Emmett nodded and returned to the chamber, where Daniel was pushing his arm through the rubbish of tunnel rock and heaped up a pile of the more solid chunks.

Annabelle approached him with the lantern and lit the path down over the rocks. As he ran his finger along the smoother broken surface, she could see the shimmer of green and pink in with the ivory beige specks that flaked off in the dirt.

"What do you think it is?" she asked, both curious and impressed with his effort and ready to join in.

"Sure as hell ain't gold, but it might be opals," he glanced up to her with a sly faced grin and angled the rock under the light.

"What if it is, Daniel?" her eyes lit up. "What do you think it's worth?"

Daniel began to beat it against a harder stone and then started picking away at it to see if it might reveal more detail.

"Don't know exactly, but wouldn't hurt to get what we can. It has been found around these parts, and the more we take out of here, the better off we'll be."

She agreed with a nod and took the other hand pick and began using it to pull the debris from the tunnel, stacking up the rock while Daniel worked to catch his breath. He had breathed in too much dust, and he had a dry nagging cough that had worn on him laboriously.

"Fetch him some water, Emmett," she turned with a motion and the boy obeyed.

When he had reached the opening again, the mule was shifting its feet against the sand as though pressing mites into it.

"What's wrong there?" he questioned as the sky lit up again and another shadow danced alongside the top of the adjoining mountain. It was eerie, and his shoulders shook at the electricity from the air and the movement that he saw recede into stone.

Quickly, he grabbed a flask of water from inside the strapped packing and stepped backwards into the opening, getting the water to Daniel and posing the question. "Do you really believe in spirits?" he asked nervously, though he tried not to let it show.

"What of it?" he asked as he drank the water that muddied down his chin and neck.

Annabelle stopped what she was doing and turned to him herself, feeling oddly uneasy about such pondering.

"It's just that, I thought I saw something is all. Lightning like it is, could just be my imagination," he turned back towards the other chamber as if keeping an eye over his shoulder for the possibility of an intruding apparition.

Annabelle knew that she had to give him an explanation, but she feared they could be trespassing instead.

"There are spirits, Emmett" she said, "both good and evil. However, I don't think that we've done enough wrong that the bad should overtake us. But what did you see to be exact?"

"Shadows along the ridge that disappeared into the mountain, and a strange chill that came over me. The pack-horse saw it too."

Daniel wasn't too sure, but he knew that getting spooked wouldn't help them to remain anywhere safe. "Could be birds, like an eagle or a hawk, heading for cover. Might even be bats, but let's not go assuming the worst. If we are being watched, we need to stay alert to anything unusual.., a falling rock, crackling sounds against the ground, or that mule getting too full of piss and vinegar."

"I'll guard the opening," he offered, as he hoisted the rifle over his shoulder and became as brave as he could be in that moment.

"That would be good," replied Daniel. "We'll have to stay put all night, so we might as well do what we can while we're here."

Annabelle agreed and she went to sit with her son for a short time, until the rain began to strike the side of the mountain. Then she joined Daniel and helped gather the best shaped stones, until the late hours of the night.

When they had finally tired from exhaustion and could do no more, Daniel saw that her bottom lip was trembling and there were tears in her eyes. Emmett had fallen asleep with the gun by his side, and they cuddled in the coolness of the damp spray that blew inside the opening.

"Why the tears?" he asked, as he brushed the hair away from her face and nuzzled her head against his chest.

"I'm not afraid," she admitted, "it's just that nothing this good has ever happened to us before."

"It's been a hard day," he sighed and was practically in tears himself from all of the energy that had been unleashed, and the unwillingness to allow sleep to set in.

She sat up and stared at him hard, pressing the words for all it was worth. "Should anything happen, let's not live with any regret," she insisted.

"Nothing's going to happen," he tried to reassure her. "You can rest easy, and I'll make sure you both are safe."

"Let's not regret any of it," she pressed in again, beaconing for an answer with her eyes, demanding it even.

"Okay then. Whatever you say," he agreed and pulled her back into his chest. "Just relax and know that I love you."

"I love you, too," she replied and closed her eyes, absorbing all that she could from the strength that remained.

Above the ridgeline, an owl shrieked like the shredding tear of something sacred, being ripped by the motion of its wings from an outstretched swoop to the tip of a tree limb. At the base of the tree was a boulder that bowed out over the ledge, and shielded the Comanche from the dark rain.

sorted ruins

Two in the pen were better than two on the roof, and now they were dangling by a thread from their spurs as their wings flopped down over the doorway. The heads were gone and the blood was smeared across the front of the dwelling. It was an omen and a bad one at that.

The fierceness of the storm had driven them back so that they had to camp another night before returning to the sorted ruins. The elements had remained unchanged so far and it hadn't turned the day in their favor. The wagon, billowing with smoke, sent gusts of vapor above the mountains peak that sloped into the base of the river.

Daniel cursed at what was left of a wagon wheel and saw that the barrels had been charred to ashes. "Best keep what we've got and move on. No use going inside.., could be a trap."

Annabelle shook her head in frantic worry. Never before had she considered a threat posed so hostile, and she sensed that it was only a matter of time before the natives returned.

"What'll we do for water?" she asked.

"We'll have to go along the river for now," he urged them along.

Emmett merely listened and was too afraid to express his opinion that others might hear, like watchers in the trees and the insects that carried signals to the silent. So were his thoughts sending out warnings to any who might oppose them and weary of an attack.

Annabelle led the horse along the path in the woods and didn't look back. "Don't you think they'll be expecting us along through here."

"Probably, but what other choice do we have?" he turned back to her, pulling the mule by the bit and about to swat it for its spite.

"We're going to have to get to an unsuspecting ridge, or somewhere that you two can hide out while I get us some game. Otherwise, we'll have nothing for the miles in between. Besides that, we'll be needing some furs for trading. It's all we've got," he insisted.

"What about the opals?" whispered Emmett, eyeing the limbs of the surrounding trees.

"We can't use them until we make it to the city. Then we'll have to find a buyer and hope they're of value," he said as it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Annabelle could hear the discouragement in his voice and said, "You don't have to quit because of us.., we can still stake a claim just like you set out to do. Maybe we should find someplace else to settle for a while, away from this territory."

"Nope," he shook his head in disagreement. "Settling is what you do when you don't know what else to do, and many have lost their scalps trying to do as much. If we had been back there, they could have gotten us in our sleep. We have to be careful from here on out, and not think too peaceably of the land. I can already tell, that it is littered with ghosts and the makings of 'em."

"Let's just go back home," said Emmett. "We can get in Grandmamere's good graces. She'll take us back!"

"No, son!" Annabelle turned around and forced a stern eye that said there was no compromise. "There's no going back. We'll forge our way through here, and that's a promise."

Emmett looked away at the ground and tightened his jaw so that no tears escaped from fear. "Okay," he replied. "I won't bring it up again."

"Good," she answered with a stout grip on the horses rein. "Do you want to ride?" she questioned.

He gave a nod and she helped him onto the saddle. It gave him a different perspective higher up and he could see above the brush in the wooded areas, even though he also felt like a target.

Around mid-day they had traveled so long that they needed to stop by the rivers edge to allow the horses to drink. The land had changed so that with one curvy turn the river would veer north east, and the mountains were increasing in size and the thickness of green pines made them dense.

"We'll have to move out westward now, or we'll end up in the Dakotas," he said as Annabelle and Emmett judged it the same, taking in the mountain air and grateful they had made it that far.

Then Daniel dipped his hands into the water to wash off his face and neck, while Emmett leaned over the bank and pursed his open mouth into the current. It was cool against his gums and the day had warmed so that he wanted to take a dip. He looked up at Daniel who already knew what he was thinking, but instead motioned for him to wait. Annabelle had slipped away out of sight and he didn't know where she had went to.

"Probably just wanted some privacy," said Emmett in his mothers defense. So they waited there and rested until more time had passed than either were comfortable with.

The water rippled over the rocks like a sparkling clean washboard. It had been three days since she had had the chance to soak herself in anything buy dry dirt, and it might be several more days before they came across another river bed. So she unbuttoned her blouse and slinked out of her skirt, with the cotton white undergarments remaining against her pale bare skin. Then she left the clothes on the ground, along with her rifle, and stepped barefoot down the slope of sandy soil and rocks that slipped beneath the water. It felt icy and when she brought her foot back out of the water it was reddened from the cold, but she took a deep breath and buckled it in as she waded into the deep that swelled up to her breast and then dipped. And just as quickly, she sprang back up, drenched with a chill that left her trembling as she sloshed her way back over to the bank. Then she picked up her skirt and wrapped it tight around her shoulders as though to absorb the wetness, and then shifted it down around her legs, patting herself dry and slipped it back on. Her hairpin had come loose in the water and her hair was dangling wet. She just wanted to hurry and get dressed before Daniel and Emmett came looking for her, so she gathered up her blouse and slipped her arms into it, as the wet undergarment streamlined her slender frame. Then there was an instinctive notion to glance across the opposite side of the river.

Some squirrels scurried from the limb above her and the brown macaws lifted away at the disruption. At once, she reached down and grabbed the rifle and aimed it, her blouse half buttoned and a ribbon of hair coiled wet against her face. The Comanche, with his long black hair and piercing eyes, only stood beside the tree he had stepped out from and glared in her direction. His leathery expression was not one of fear, but of daring, with the feathers spiking above his stance so that he looked formidable, and she dared not move.

Then there was the sound of Daniel and Emmett, with the trotting of the horse and mule along the path and then they stopped. She turned quickly to see that it was them and when she swung back around, the Comanche was gone. It was as if he had disappeared back into the trees and was still observing them from some place unseen.

"What are you doing, Belle?" questioned Daniel cautiously as he scanned the area with his eyes and wondered about the gun.

"You didn't see him?" her heart was racing and she was breathing hard, with her fingers still trembling at the trigger.

"No," he replied and went to help her up to the leveled path with the horses. "Was it an Indian?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, too anxious to stay still, but lowered the gun enough to pull on her boots and she struggled up the hill.

"What did he look like, Mama?" asked Emmett, as he took the gun from her, yet wanting to clear away from the area, rather than seeing for himself.

"Defiant," she said in a harsh breath. "You should've seen him. He wasn't afraid of me or my gun. Despised the very likes of me, I could tell it!"

Daniel hoisted her onto the horse and draped his jacket around her shoulders. "You just can't go pointing a gun at 'em, Belle," he insinuated. "There's no telling how he took it!"

Then he grabbed the shotgun away from Emmett and packed it onto the mule, grabbing it by the bit and forcing it onward.

She hadn't spoken to him after that for another two hours, and he didn't warrant the need for conversation.

Eventually, they came to a ridgeline where the valley spread green beneath them and about twenty or more odd buffalo grazed on the tall grass. Emmett had never seen beasts as big in his natural born days, but he knew to keep quiet and lay low against the ground, while Annabelle concealed the horses away from the side of the slope.

"We've gotta nail it square in the head," Daniel whispered to Emmett as he squinted an eye above the barrel and scoped the distance.

"Give it all you got," said Emmett with all the insightfulness he could muster, anxious and wondering how they would ever handle such an undertaking.

At once, the burst rang out across the sky, rocketing the quiet as the herd stampeded away. But the one, with knotted brown fur and long broad horns, swung its head from side to side until its forearms collapsed beneath the weight of its struggle, and was left sprawled out on its side.

"Yip, yip!" he yelled, as Emmett turned toward his mother, who gave him a thumbs up and was smiling for the first time that day.

Daniel was so proud of the kill that he went scrambling down the slope to where the buffalo laid. A few minutes later they had joined them, along with the mare and mule as they pondered over the possibilities.

"We can only take enough for a day or two. It'll spoil beyond that," he reasoned.

"We'll need to cook it tough enough for jerky," said Annabelle, realizing that they would have to work fast. "We've got enough salt to preserve it."

"Good," he grinned in her direction as he took the jagged knife from his boots and plugged it beneath its rubbery stomach. "I'm gonna need your help," he nodded to Emmett, who was ready to get his hands in place as the blood gushed onto the ground. Then there was a waving movement along the inside of its protruding stomach that bowed out, and shot out a great burst of air from its backside with a harrowing groan.

"Poo yee," wailed Emmett as he caught wind of the stench and had to step back a few paces to catch his breath.

Even Annabelle was taken back by it and turned around to keep from laughing directly at them, as her shoulders shook from not being able to keep her composure.

Only Daniel buried his nose against his sleeve until the nauseous feeling passed. He was more concerned with the organs that had dropped into his hands and wanted to rid the buffalo of its hide while daylight still burned. Then once he had quartered away the sections of meat, there was interest growing with some buzzards that circled the sky above them.

That night, they camped close by while he scraped at the hide and removed the fat, while Annabelle cut the meat into strips and cooked it over a campfire. Being obscure seemed no longer as much of an issue as was the need for survival.

"Bet these skins will bring us a fair price in Santa Fe. By then, we should be able to add to it." Daniel reasoned, as he stretched it out over some limbs that allowed it to drape close to the heat from the fire.

Emmett was thumbing through his deck of cards next to the fire and thinking about earlier that day.

"Whomp..," he exaggerated the sound with his lips, as he patted the cards face down on the ground and laughed, picking up a game of Solitaire.

Daniel just eyed him speculatively with a grin, and reached over the flame and grabbed a strip of the meat from the top of the heated stones. It was so hot that he had to juggle it between his palms until it cooled enough to taste the tip of it.

"He sure does taste better than he smells," he glanced down at the boy who laughed out loud with a ruckus.

Annabelle joined in as well. "Don't bust a gut over it, we do owe it a homage of some sort. After all, that buffalo did us a grand favor."

"And so did his friends for leaving him behind," he jeered over to Emmett with his elbow, as he plopped down beside him.

Annabelle scoffed them off with a smile and began removing some of the meat from the flames that had cooked through.

"Have yet to understand," said Daniel, "how this here boy managed to get a deck of playing cards."

"Somebody must have wanted me to have 'em," he laughed off a nervous smile as he gathered the cards together and began to shuffle them.

Annabelle walked over to him and bent down, offering a sliver of meat to his mouth. "And I bet you sure wanted her to have something, too," she eyed him with a knowing sneer.

All the while Daniel was content on allowing their secrets to remain among them, knowing that any interference would only predicate matters that were already delicate enough. Then he grabbed the deck from the boys hands and began to sort them out.

"Are you in, Belle?" he asked, as she made her way back to the roast.

"No," she replied "you two have your fun, you deserve it."

Twilight had a way of creeping in like the coral snake that looped its curvy spine from the branch of the Redwood sapling. Amidst the leaves and raw limbs that protruded from the forest as though pointing, spindly and sharp towards the sleeping, were the host of strangers, four in all, with bands of wrath about their heads and arrows ready.

Annabelle and Emmett scarcely moved a muscle that didn't twitch with the shrieks of the owl. She had protectively covered him with her arm as they laid upon the open ground.

Daniel leaned with his back arched against the stone, his shoulders aching from his head being slumped for too long, but the dreaming was deep. There was a box before him, gold and shimmering in a brilliant light. A fanciful bird, with beautiful colors of sapphire and emerald hues flew from the box and into the stream of light. Beyond the box was the river, rolling and rumbling as it churned to boiling depths.

He wanted to look closer.., to see what made the water so troubled. If he could only get to the other side a white bird awaited him with the answer Then an arrow landed beside him and the bird flew away.

He startled at the sounds of her broken voice, screaming as they pulled her away. He kicked violently as he tore at the face that murmured expletives unknown, but harshly understood. The rifle was but an object that had been carried away with the two of them on the backs of the horse and the mule, as they were forced into the woods.

"Annabelle!" he yelled, though he was gasping for his next breath as he fought with both hands.

"Daniel!" screamed the voice that faded behind the limbs that slapped at the daylight.

It was a struggle to grip onto the axe-pick as he managed to stab it into the rib of the one, as his blood spilled down the handle, but another was forthcoming, and his eyes grew dark after that.

visions of light

Again there were tears, but these had no meaning. The confusion came and went like the whiffs of smoke that waved about his nostrils. It burned to breathe so that he choked from the aroma, but he couldn't move. His hands were roped on his bared stomach and his hair had been cut and tossed into a pile beside the thick boned squaw. Her lips were pursed as she pulled at his pants until they slid past his ankles.

"What do you think you're doing to me?" he groaned as he rolled his head to one side.

Something was missing, like a hole had been gauged through his chest where his heart once laid, but it was too hard to feel. There was the pounding rhythm of drumming beyond the hut and chanting that he wished would stop. He could barely move his legs, and his shoulders felt weighted, as though he was sinking beneath water with a solid cover that came down over him. The light grew dim and flickered between his eyelids, but there was clarity in the vision that intensified ghostlike into realities realm. He was being stalked by a hunter of men, where in his hand was a blood tipped spear and he was cloaked in skins, patchy and yellow from where the kill was still fresh. The stench was that of human flesh being marred by flames. He wanted to escape before it came too close and smothered him. He looked for the light with a maddening glare that caused his eyes to roll back into his head.., and in his thoughts appeared two doves, one smaller than the other with gentle eyes, and as quickly as they came, disappeared into the light.

The pain was an unbearable heat that licked the base of his spine and heated his back as though over a cooker. The sensation was beginning to come back into his hands and feet that were bound by rope, and the strain to free himself was that of a stuck pig above a roast, only when his eyes flashed open, he was no longer dreaming.

Around him stood the clan of Apache's, in ceremonial headdress jutted with owl feathers, and their leathery dark bodies coated in white paint so that they appeared as spirits from the dead amused by the peril of his naked state. Some of their faces were covered by a black cloth, where their eyes glimmered in the hollows of the cut-outs. It was as if they had to mask the atrocity of that which they were inflicting upon him. As they pounded at their round leather shields that dangled more feathers, and waved them towards the moon and yipped an eerie song, he knew they were using it as a way to contrive more power, and the mood of the gathering only intensified with the heat.

He yelled out from the pit of his stomach, a guttural cry and tried to jerk free, but he was secured too tightly, and adorned about the warriors were their weapons, in which there was little hope of escape.

Then suddenly out of nowhere, a disruptive yelp was heard from a distant scout that flogged his horse with a stone threaded bola and whipped from side to side, with a fierceness to outrun the enemy. Then with the sand kicking up into a thick cloud behind him was the Federal Army, mounting the backs of a hundred or more horses. The gunfire was heavy as they blasted their way into the camp, torching the huts, taking anything of value and driving out the squaws and children, and forcing them to gather in an opening beside the camp as they gunned down the warriors.

Daniel began to yell with what strength remained, as he writhed above the flames that lapped below him, "Help!... Help!"

Within a matter of seconds, a soldier having spotted his predicament, stopped in his path and shielded his nose with his coat sleeve from the foul odor that arose with the smoke.

"Do you want a bullet, or do you want down from there?" he questioned, ready to put him out of his misery if need be.

Daniel had never been so glad to see a soldier in his life. His lips were blistered and his mouth was parched dry, but he replied, "Down Please get me down!"

The soldier, a Spanish American, sitting high in his saddle, gave the horse a full turn and spoke in a domineering accent, "You're Union now, or you're a dead man. Choose!"

"Union," he moaned, and now thought privy to any undertaking other than his own.

The soldier dismounted and kicked sand onto the pit until it diminished the flames. Then he drew out a knife and severed quickly at the ropes until first his legs were free and then his arms.

Daniel stood again with his feet on the ground, as the flesh on his backside still simmered with blisters, and he winced in pain as he tried to make a show of ability. A rider fell beside him with an arrow to the back of his neck. Some of the blood splattered onto his shoulder as the fighting exploded around them. He needed to react, he was unclothed in battle and he pointed down to the soldier that was dead.

"I need his clothes," he questioned hastily, as though permission was required.

"Go ahead," the man nodded, as he speared an Apache elder with the end of his bayonet. "He won't be needing 'em anymore."

With every effort of his life, Daniel tugged at the dead mans boots until they came off, and then grappled to undress him and clothe himself. The hair on his head was in patches, but the navy uniform cap covered the signs of loss, with the exception of his face being stained from tears. Then he latched onto the weapons at hand, a bowie knife and bayonet and then caught a glimpse of the Spanish American, who was now in the trenches of losing his own life. He packed the barrel with a fresh cartridge and fired, having covered his back as the young scout buckled beneath his horse. There was a nod of appreciation for a job well done, and Daniel motioned towards the burning camp and the women and children huddled together in an opening, temporarily forgetting about his pain in the rush of adrenaline.

"They took my wife and son!" he yelled, and wanted to search the camp while there was still time.

"Go on then, and kill as many as you can!" The soldier gave his permission, while he went about the fighting and subduing the enemy count.

It was later that night when they had traveled the bumpy terrain for miles, all the while pulling the clan of Apache squaws and children along behind, with their hands linked with ropes, that the sense of regret finally hit him.

He had not been able to find them among the bodies within the camp, which only led him to believe something much worse was at hand for Annabelle and Emmett. Unless he was able to search them out, the bullet would have been better, because with the lump in his throat that wouldn't allow him to swallow came the most bitter taste of revenge.

Juan, the Spanish American soldier, had since introduced himself and rode alongside Daniel as though he was his own find from the raid. Having a sense of pride for adding to their accompaniment, he considered it his duty to fill him in on the details of war.

"The fighting is better at night," he said, as some of the children were crying as the women warned them to silence in their native tongue.

However, Daniel only nodded his consent, for he absently feared having to look at the Apaches in the sunlight, as his hatred was welling deep.

path of blinding sand

A course of action was needed, but none had been gained. The opposing party was on his side, but the boundaries were the enforcement of his regiment, and their sympathy waned like the muddied arcs of the river basin. Enough had been said along the way that told him no one veered short of Captains orders, and the consensual advice he had been given was that his beloved were better off dead than camped with a band of Apaches. They had already seen their share of losses, and many had been desensitized to the pain over bitter bloodshed. The squaws and children had since been escorted away by another detachment, and his only hope was in the silence that pierced his thoughts like the tormenting wind.

One of the soldiers had given him a frock coat, and it did help to trap some warmth against his back, although the fabrics scraped like grainy threads across his blistered skin, which were now open wounds. At times he would sweat with a fever, but he tried not to let it show for the insults could be measured by the mile.

Every man was as strong as the challenge to move forward, and the arrogance of his counterparts would make him have to prove himself worthy to be among them. In his mind he wanted to damn them all to hell for cursing him behind his back, and their occasional snorts in mockery of his becoming Indian roast, as they would have it.

Most of the men in his outfit were New Mexicans, and along with their behavior came a crude taste for weakness. Even though Juan had become a friend of sorts, he was still short of respect, and considered Daniel to be another notch on his collar from the raid. It was only after two more days of traveling that he had finally seen the likes of them scared shitless, that he had voiced as much out loud, when surrounded by troops on either side, as they watched the Texan army move along a parallel ridge.

Their faces looked panicked as an occasional artillery shell was fired and the artillerist were unable to place their guns on the sandy terrain that shifted beneath them.

Daniel had held his stead throughout the battle in a path of blinding sand, as he watched soldiers fall under the fire of his rifle. The emotions that came from the wounded were somehow vented by the blood that rushed about his reflexes, as he reacted instinctively under the pressure. Afterwards, he understood how the duties of soldiering came to be, but the nights were filled with dread from the vexation of endless dreaming and the dying that haunted him when his eyes were closed.

The days felt like a myriad of mistakes, as though falling into a tunnel headlong and plummeting deeper into darkness. If the morning had presented wings, he surely would have taken them and mounted up to search the foothills for Annabelle and Emmett. It was the one thing that forced him the distance to fight against all reason for a war he had thus far found no honor in, and had made him a prisoner to its cause. For a cold February morning, the morale of the men was that of heightened awareness when they had finally reached Valverde.

The hills rolled over the dry plains with bushy pines and patches of grass, and the rocky canyon heads jutted above the Rio Grande. However, there was no feeling of satisfaction whatsoever, only that of barren dread when the Colonel, with his short dark hair, hard sullen face and oversized ears, stopped the troops and ordered most of the men back to Fort Craig.

As the other troops departed under his command, Daniel, along with the remaining infantry, was ordered to form a picket line along the west riverbank. Later that night, some of them were sitting around a campfire drinking whiskey from a bottle that was being passed to him by Juan.

"Gracias," he replied flatly and took a long swig, as the others around him carried on in Spanish.

It was then that one of the Captains, which was also the leader of the New Mexican company of scouts and spies, concocted a bizarre scheme against a herd of cattle that was gathered on the other side of the river. Daniel watched in wonder as he commanded two of his men to strap a pair of howitzer shells to the backs of a pair of elderly mules.

"This 'll keep the Confederates from having steaks-on-the-hoof!" the Captain replied in a drunken laughter, while the others jeered about and slapped at the dark.

Then he lit the shell fuses and headed the mules across the shallow river towards the Texans' cattle. But as soon as they did, the mules turned around and began following the Captain and his helpers. As fast as they could run, they headed back to the safety of their own lines as the shells exploded far behind them, making mince-meat of the mules, as the laughter sprayed around him.

Failing to feel the amusement of such, Daniel merely expressed his cynicism with another swig from the bottle, "trouble sparks on every hand."

"Yeah," replied Juan with a laugh, "But this one had it coming."

Daniel shook his head with a doubtful smirk, "It's all ass backwards if you're askin' me, but he might as well pile on the agony while he can. I'm sure we'll be payin' for it in the morning."

"I know what you mean," he stuffed some tobacco into a pipe and lit it, "it already smells like death warmed over."

Daniel agreed, and felt like he was in mourning, as the smoke spiraled up above the hilltops, and above the drunken bouts of cursing and dancing to the ears of the enemy, in uneven rhythms and patriotic songs.

monumental stone

The vapor from the water met the frosty air, which formed a brooding cloud above the surface that was ominous as the sound of pounding hooves approaching made the ground tremble.

He sat without remorse for what the day held, nor did he hold it in account for his actions. He would only take what life was needed to sustain his own, and by way of the sword he would perish if the hour called. It was the only way he could justify the recompense for such, for little was gained by knowing the outcome. Too many things were uncertain, and there were too many gaps to broaden the chain of what he believed. Only there were two words that summed up his existence and they were troubled waters. The body count would be high, he could tell this already by the mounts that possessed their horses like items of tack. There was no way to discern the difference between another days pursuit and the judgment that would come. However he looked at it, it mattered little to be optimistic, for whatever happened was as anything set aside. If it was his day to die, then there was nothing he could to do change it.

Opposite the river was a Confederate General, having the fortitude to gamble at the bit with his pint of whiskey. His face was angular and there was a wild look in his eyes as he judged the competition, sizing them up as the number continued to grow. Then he started a body of Texans up the east bank of the river, aiming towards the ford at the Valverde side of the river.

Daniel had prepared himself for the moment only by the content of his rifle barrel and a haversack of supplies. He would use what had been given him with the mortality that he had and work with the humble remains. With the added days of facial hair, he resembled any other soldier that he stood shoulder to shoulder with, and kept his hands fitted firmly on the bayonet. Some of the other soldiers prayed silently to themselves, or breathed warm air into their hands as they awaited the command.

Then the hushed silence was broken as Colonel Canby gave the fierce imperative, "Onward march!"

At once, four companies of the Calvary went splashing across the stream, as the group of infantry and artillery followed. Daniel moved with the minion of flashing steel up the west side of the river in an attempt to block the Confederate crossing.

There was a cottonwood grove on the east bank where an advanced unit of Texans were ready to oppose them when the opportunity lent itself.

Quickly, the infantry and artillery moved into position. And with an outcry of screams of fury from gutsy voices, they charged at the ensuing Confederates. Daniel shifted with the shells that popped beside him, while men and horses went down in the gunfire. He would swiftly work to readjust his load as the enemy got ever closer. The cries and moans of those around him pierced the air, and some stood dazed before their bodies hit the ground. The explosions rattled his ears so that it became a deafening racket that caused his head and heart to pound, as the corpses became obstacles beneath his feet.

All of his strength was willed in the direction he turned to fight back the men that were bearing down on him. With each man defeated came another in his place, as he propelled the end of his bayonet into one of then out again.

They had maneuvered and battled their way across the stream until, while their troops had managed to force the Confederates away from the river. It felt good to see them flee into some nearby sand hills, but then more artillerist were placed into position and commenced firing along the west bank. Daniel breathed deep into his hands and then clenched his teeth to prepare for the onset.

Without a second to lose, he was engaged in the fight as canister landed around him and blasted some out of position. He wrestled against the blades of pointed steel as the war deepened the rage within him, as he growled with fury and struggled to take out everyone who attempted him with either bayonet or bullet.

Hours into the battle, a troop of Texas Mounted Volunteers rushed forward as men charged with full fury. Then they were followed by a Confederate light howitzer battery, which seemed a poor attempt at retaking the cottonwood grove, as they exchanged artillery fire and men were blasted off their saddles as metal landed around him. A few minutes later and with a glimpse across the river, he was given a motion to gather around with the other Union reinforcements along the west bank of the river. And they were joined with a company of Colorado Volunteers that seemed to arrive for just that moment.

There was barely enough time for Daniel to reassemble with his group, as Juan appeared on horseback within the eight companies of New Mexicans that splashed upstream. They felt somewhat encouraged since the numbers of mounted soldiers had decreased significantly as they waded the cold waters. That was until they saw some dismounted Texans in some woods not far from the grove. All ill feeling of anticipation came over him for what was to follow.

For a brief moment, he had hoped that it was all over. After being so worn down and beaten that it hurt to lift the bayonet again, he used whatever strength he could muster and poised his weary arms for battle. Blood trails down his hands and face, and no man was proud of the predicament at hand. The other soldiers were cursing to no end, until they saw the range of force that was about to charge in their direction and then all became quiet.

They appeared like something darkly spiritual and ancient upon the sandy ridge, sporting nine-foot-long wooden lances with wide steel blades that refracted in the sunlight. Daniel wondered how any of them would survive it, as it seemed like something medieval from another place and time. Then they began to charge at full gallop.

Some of the men were suddenly panicked as the fear of such overtook them. Their horses stirred at the sight as they started to turn back when one of the Captains yelled, "They are Texans. Give them hell!"

In a fierce bayonet charge, Daniel clenched his jaws tight and tried not to feel the pain as the front line was squashed. Both men and horses met the ground, with some of the horsemen being lifted from their saddles by the bayonets, and then flung back down as though their lives were meaningless. An even greater number fell before the lances could reach them, by bullets, hand to hand combat and clubs. And when the wave finally reached Daniel, he dodged a lance, which plugged the ground as he fired and the man stumbled on top of him. He pushed him off with all his strength and tried not to fall from the saddle. And while many were scrambling to whatever safety they could find, he had no choice but to continue to fight.

As the battle continued behind him, a Confederate General had become ill, and it appeared that he had too much to drink, which seemed a luxury to have the elixir in battle. He was being escorted to the back of a horse-drawn ambulance as he took another swig of whiskey. Daniel only wished he had a taste of as much to dull the pain.

Meanwhile, another confident and stern-jawed commander, moved into position to take his place, but with the shift of authority it caused some confusion, and most of his men wouldn't even obey his orders. Daniel thought this might work to their benefit, but he was wrong, as his other regiments crossed the river to join in on the assault. Then a double counterattack was launched upon impact.

Added to his misery was another two hundred Texans, which had formed together behind some other high ridges, and suddenly emerged as they charged down the slope. Daniel fought with all his might as his arm was slashed and a man grabbed him by the face from behind and tried to pull him from his force. He twisted hard and fast and stabbed him in the gut and his expression made Daniel want to vomit, but he continued on with ending lives among the Federal cavalrymen and New Mexicans, as he fought against the onslaught with as many others getting wounded or killed. It seemed the battle would never end, and only seemed to intensify more late that afternoon when a mass of yelling dismounted Texans came running across the plain toward the Federals. They looked crazed and deranged, but obeying orders just the same, as they fought hard with broken bones and shattered teeth that marred the remains.

They continued to take heavy losses under the firestorm that met them, but continued to rush forward until they were within Union lines, and began firing their pistols at point-blank range. Some of the men were clubbing each other with the butts of their rifles, when Daniel took a hard blow to the back, which knocked him down. Then he got back to his feet as another man slashed him across the face with a bowie knife. The blood ran down his chin and neck as he grabbed the mans wrist and wrestled with the knife, until he had gripped it by his side. Then another soldier aimed a pistol in the mans ribs and fired.

The mass of confusion was overwhelming as two of the New Mexican companies supporting the artillery abandoned their positions, all the while two commanders were killed by simultaneously shooting each other. Then outside the ring of fire, and above the mayhem of the dying and the cries of the wounded, they heard their Colonel yell, "Retreat! Retreat at once! Retreat!"

It was still a struggle to withdrawal, and the fury was intense, when the troops finally went splashing back across the river, but there were still explosions ripping the air. As shells from those who had been captured were fired, there were still men and horses being killed as their bodies floated slowly downstream. The Texans were full of hostility and ruthless in their pursuit of the retreating men, but Daniel made it across in the ford of the river just in time.

Then their Federal Commander stopped and wiped his brow on the arm of his jacket. Then he hoisted the defeater's flag high and waved it back and forth yelling, "Truce! I ask for a truce to recover the Federal dead and wounded! Truce!"

Even though it meant this battle in particular would be over for them now, Daniel only felt remorse for the watery grave before him. Then the Confederate Colonel, agreed to the requests with a wave of his arm, as he ordered his men back and away from the banks of the river.

"Halt! Cease Fire! A truce has been made! Halt! Cease fire!" he commanded with continued fueled breath, until they listened.

Finally, the Confederates stopped firing their weapons, and began to cheer instead, as they tossed their hats into the air and chanted their insults at the Union soldiers.

"Yankees go home! Yankees go home! Yeller-bellied cowards! Rebels win!" they screamed, all the while laughing with mockery at their loss.

Daniel was among those who were ordered to wade into the rigid water to retrieve the dead. And among the rising sound of voices ridiculing their defeat, were the moans of those in pain as the water ran red beneath him, as others were swept downstream, caught up in the currents and never to be heard from again. An occasional victory shot was fired as the sounds grew fainter, as he inhaled with difficulty to catch his breath. One of his eardrums had been shattered from a blast and the pounding in his inner ear had increased. Then he reached down for the shoulder of a soldier that was face down in the water. When he turned him over, he saw that his eyes were wide open, staring at him with a blankness as the blood streamed from his mouth. There was no motion or movement, only death in the rigid stream. It was in that same moment that he saw a reflection of himself, every bit as full of life as the soldier had once been just a few minutes before, with his own war wounds and the blood that covered his chin and neck, and though he was still standing, but felt every bit as dead.

When he went to lift the body, it was with difficulty, as he struggled over the rocks while the current tried to pull them downstream. The back of the New Mexicans head had been bashed with a club, and he had to pull him by his arms to the muddied bank. Then he bent down and hoisted the body over his shoulder, wavering to stand as an occasional rock landed beside him. With a sense of surrealness, he felt that his own soul had too drifted away, somewhere along those monumental stones, like the corpse that weighed heavy upon him.

festive as a lark

Osprey and Lila greeted the attendees at the door, where a banner hung above them which read, "ANNUAL FALL FESTIVAL". Inside a band played loudly as men and women danced about, some with partners, and others simply enjoying the music as several children joined in. On one side of the room was a podium with a gavel placed on top, where various bric-a-brac, wall hangings, and canned goods were arranged on chairs and on the floor for auction.

Lloyd went and stood near the band contemplatively and watched others dance about with an occasional smirk on his face as an odd couple or two whirled past.

On the other side of the room, near the entrance, were a couple of long tables lined with food, as Judith helped the other women arrange their dishes. When she wasn't looking some children feasted on chocolate cake mischievously. As Judith caught them at random, she would scat them away, shaking her head in dismay.

Then Osprey walked through the room as people respectfully cleared the way for him to get to the podium. He gave a nod to the head fiddler and the band stopped playing. He addressed the crowd. As a man of charisma, he obtained their full attention.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here tonight for the Annual Fall Festival and I would like tot extend my warmest welcome to you each and every one."

An old man that spoke with a wisp stepped to the forefront of the group with a stagger. He saluted Osprey as his voice echoed among the others.

"It's good to be here, brother!"

Everyone laughed, including Osprey.

"Very well then," he continued, eager to get on with the program. "I can see the merriment has already begun for many of you. However, as you well know, tonight isn't just about getting together and having a good time. Although that is all part of this yearly event, and don't get me wrong, we all enjoy the band, but there is a more serious cause at hand. That is why I'm appealing to you before the auction begins. We're here for a much greater purpose than you can see right now, and that is why the proceeds from tonight will go directly to benefit a family among us, who has a very special need."

There was some whispering among them and Judith spoke out, addressing Osprey directly.

"Why, these are some of the best items that came from our homes! I thought we were going to buy new hymnals with the money!"

A few of the women joined her in the protest, while one of the men voiced his opinion.

"Is it anybody we know, Pastor? What's it going to be used for?"

Osprey cleared his throat and calmed the crowd with the baying of his hands.

"I ask you each and every one. Is it the duty of the church to care only about the needs of the church itself, or for the members, which make up the body of the church?"

There was some confusion among them. Osprey walked away from the podium and got down on their level, where he could casually make sincere eye contact as he felt necessary. He shook the hand of a stout young man in his early twenties, standing alongside his sweetheart.

"Hey there, Jimmy. How did your crops yield for you this past harvest?" He extended his hand out, but went to squeezing his shoulder instead.

"My, that's a good right arm you've got there!"

The man nodded in agreement, but before he could say anything in response Osprey continued on.

"Say, how's your brother doing? Have you gotten word from him yet? You were mighty fortunate that he took your place in the war. We never know what tomorrow holds, do we?"

Jimmy stood there still perplexed by the question, as Osprey moved on to someone else.

He went over to Hugh from the local lumber mill and patted him on the back. Hugh gave a shy smile and diverted his eyes away from him.

"You're a good man, Hugh," he said. "Just have a look at your family. It's a fine family. Why, you're young sprouts will be off and married before you know it. You've got a good place to spend your later years though, don't you? It's a mighty fine farm you've got there."

Hugh only nodded with a slight retreat, as Osprey moved on to his brother Lloyd.

Osprey greeted him with a frisk on the head, but Lloyd loosened his grasp and cordially pushed him away with his hands, expecting to be embarrassed.

"How's it going, brother?" he asked. "Is your back healing up nice?"

Lloyd nodded and turned away, glancing up at the ceiling with a whistle to alleviate the attention from himself. So Osprey made his way over to Judith.

"What's a woman like you doing with a man like that?"

Everyone laughed.

Judith too, looked away and rolled her eyes at the irony of what she knew was coming.

"He's got his good points though. Minds the store so we all have a place to buy what we need. And I've seen him put a smile on your face a time or two. It's good to have a man like that around, isn't it?"

She scoffed, "Well!..."

Osprey turned to the crowd, standing now in the midst of them and spoke louder to the whole.

"It could be tough times ahead for all of us. Anything could happen with this war going on. Some of our own people won't be coming back. Hey.., who are we kidding?"

He paused to look around at some of the attendee's faces.

"It didn't take the war to take one of our own, but he's gone nonetheless.., and what remains is a woman without a husband, four young children without a father, and now the family is without a home. And I ask you.., what does that make them among us? Lepers? Surely, you all are capable of more than this! Why I've seen the way you look at them when they walk by, but then you turn the other way! It's times like these that we should all be pulling together! Why, it's times like these when respectable people shouldn't have to look for good people to be around. As far as I'm concerned they should come running!"

Mrs. O'Neal stepped to the back of the room and placed a shaky hand over her mouth, as her children gathered up around her.

Hugh spoke up. "That wood you're wanting I bet I can beat that price on having it milled!"

Osprey smiled with a nod of his head. "Thank you."

Another man, a Lumberjack, spoke out. "I put in a long day of logging as it is, but I'd be willing to add a couple of hours to that each day!"

"That's the spirit!"

A few men began speaking out at random. "You can count me in!... Yeah, me too!"

Osprey nodded his head at the response he was getting.

"I knew you people hadn't lost heart." He nodded to the band, and the fiddler started up.

"Let's all enjoy the music! The auction will begin in an hour!"

He clapped his hands to the rhythm and began talking to some of the men who approached him.

Lloyd, scratching his chin next to the band, could see the widow in the corner. She still looked like an outcast, with some of the other women joining Judith at the tables. A sly grin overcame his face and he walked up to Mrs. O'Neal, grabbed her by the hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. She was blushing as she removed her nervous hand from her mouth. And after a moment or two, she began to get into the rhythm as Lloyd swung her around and about as he slapped at one knee. The others cleared the floor.

From the opposite side of the room, Judith paused from her conversation as she looked their way in a horrific gaze. Her mouth dropped open and three children made off with the chocolate cake.

Later that night, Lloyd sat on the steps of the porch holding a steaming cup of coffee between both hands as an occasional cool wind blew. Though an old rocker moved in the breeze and his hair rustled, he remained fixed on the tree line in the distance which made its shadow against the glow of the moon. The front door opened and Judith made her presence known, with a shawl draped tight around her nightgown and shivering from the initial cold.

"Don't you know what hour it is? I swear by the way you've been acting that you just don't want the night to end," she said, clearly disgusted by the scenario.

"No matter," he shrugged her off. "I'll be up in a bit."

She started to turn, but then stopped.

"Whatever possessed you to carry on like that anyway? You were dancin' around, festive as a lark, like some old fool!"

Lloyd snickered to himself at the suggestion.

"Oh, I don't know. She just looked like she needed it.., if a person really needs such a thing," he added.

She got smug. "Well, everybody will be talking about it tomorrow. I don't know if I can rightly show my face in church."

He was still lost in his own thoughts, unmoved by her insults and half-cocky.

"It's the first time I've danced since I was a kid.., or even had the notion to. It did my spirit some good, it did," he replied.

She blew some steam in his direction. "You're talking nonsense. Come on in and get some sleep."

He remained fixed on the trees. "Nope. You've been frigid for way too long. Go on to bed, woman. I don't want this good feeling to spoil."

She stewed at his remark and slammed the door shut, bolting it with a piece of wood. He shook his head and took another sip of coffee.

The next morning, he remained home from church and when the day was almost done, Osprey had come for a visit. Lloyd was sitting out by a walnut tree, nipping away at a sapling with a pocket knife. He had already packed a paisley garment bag with his most needed items, and Judith had been beside herself. There was not an attempt to convince him otherwise, he had already signed the papers as was headed to Virginia.

"There's a purpose I can tend to. Judith can keep the store and with the help of a couple of good men, I'm sure you'll fare all right with the O'Neal house."

Osprey understood the sincerity of his actions, and knew how his brother wanted a change. "It takes a capable man to volunteer for such," he said. "It's not easy to stay put when men are dying by the tens of thousands out there, but I'll hold out a while longer and look out for your boys."

Lloyd stood up and thanked him for understanding with a firm squeeze of his hand and forearm."

"I really do love my family," he replied with a rugged swallow.

"I know you do," he smiled with a sense of pride, "and they know it too."

houses of clay

It was an odd thing to be bound to walls that had no ceiling. Much like an octopus in the summer that spreads his arms out on dry land, but there is no place that he can move. He feels the warmth of the sun on his limbs and the sky smiles upon him, but the warmth only smothers out the air that he needs to breathe, the oxygen in his skin that comes from the water that is still too far from reach. He counts them, all the ways, and the possibilities are there, but seemingly difficult. Still there is something to reason in all there is, that his ability lies within him, confined only to the shell of his thinking. For in his mind he is floating aimlessly out to sea, away from the heat that causes him to thirst for what he can no long have, far from the brutality of battle and the harshness of men's ways, and closer to the depths that carry him away from it all, where he can forget that he ever imagined.

The seasons had changed so that the call of winter had kept him bound for another two years. It was the fall of 1864 and the terrain was still New Mexican soil as the garrison of soldiers approached Fort Sumter.

The land, though barren for distances beyond his counting, had continued to roll like waves on the ocean and the shrubs were dots of sea foam. Daniel wanted to breathe in the ocean instead of the dry desert air, but freedom hadn't lent him its cord yet, and his Federal uniform was stuck to him like the boots that had worn thin beneath his feet. He adjusted his hips in the saddle and arched his back so that his shoulders protruded proud enough as though to announce he was unconquerable. He knew there would be another contest of will and shrewdness of character at stake and he despised any thoughts of losing.

The wooden gates opened as he strode alongside the other twenty some odd soldiers within the garrison. Inside the fort was a town'ship constructed of adobe walls that looked like houses of clay, worrisome in structure, separating the soldiers from the prisoners of war.

Juan, still his surviving comrade through battles and skirmishes, looked over to him and spoke. "Mi casa es su casa, amigo," he teased, which meant welcome home.

"I've bedded down in worse," replied Daniel.

"Jus' don't letting the Captain hear it. Is not so bad. You got food and some festivities, a siesta every now and again. Then you get to kick your boots off and watch the chica's."

Daniel appeared disinterested as he looked ahead. "I think I'll just bide my time until this damn war is over," he replied.

"Amigo," he replied, "you got to see for yourself. Been a coons age since you seen a pretty lady. I heard there is Chiricahua's, Lipan's and the Mescalero squaws. And oh yeah, some Espanol' mama's too. They to the wash. It beats the war any day. And you get a place to bunk each night."

Daniel still wasn't convinced as he nodded to the Guardsmen who kept a watchful eye on them as they passed by. His hair was now bluntly cut below his ears and his beard had been trimmed so that it took the shape of his chin. His mustache was thick and flared upward on the tips, and his face and hands were a reddish tan from the sun and wind. Once inside, he lowered the bill of his hat and judged the stares with a piercing gate.

Once they had dismounted their horses, some of the soldiers led them to a nearby corral. Then they were escorted to their living quarters and told that they would have to remain inside the fort until further instruction. The rooms were scarcely furnished with simple bunks and wooden crates that were used for tables. Some of the soldiers were playing cards in the quarter he was assigned to, and none of the five were ambiguous to his arrival. But within a few minutes of exchanging offhanded remarks, he was busy at his game.

Later that evening, after dining on succotash and Johnny-cakes from sawbuck tables, some of the men were strumming instruments outside and sweeping winded lips across a harmonica. Several of the soldiers had taken to their bottles and danced about haplessly in the street. New Mexican women were busy standing over barrels of hot soapy water, scrubbing the men's uniforms and hanging them out to dry. Those that were not busy performing tasks were enjoying the leisurely side of the fort. Daniel continued to walk about until he found the area that held the Indians, who more than out-numbered the rest as they tried to make the best of reservation life.

Some of the women tended children, as others were still at work making utensils and woven basketry. Some of the tribesmen were gathered into groups according to their clan, and the changes in clothing and design made the distinguishing obvious. There was tension between tribes, but most tried to make due with what had been dealt them.

Daniel leaned over the wooden fence that divided the reservation and lit up a cigar. Though there were people all about, he was clearly alone. Juan walked up and stood beside him with a fifth of whiskey. He took a swig and passed it over to Daniel.

"See? I told you it was better," he said.

Daniel obliged with the bottle and drank it slowly, as though savoring the taste. Then there was the sound of a ruckus on the rise, accompanied with cheering, laughter, and the neighing of a horse. They went to join the others to see what it was about.

In the midst of the Apache camp, surrounded by small make-shift rancherias, was an open arena where an Apache woman, slim with long black hair, raced around on horseback. Shifting her weight from side to side with each bend and stride of the horse, they moved as one, as she stooped down to quickly hit a leather ball with a stick. The ball hit an Apache warrior in the chest and bounced off. The crowd that was gathered around, both Indians and soldiers, were amused at the display.

Daniel laughed as Juan nudged him, while the Apache warrior stepped forward in an attempt to restore his dignity. He ran and turned at every angle, slapping at the horse as he tried to pull the woman from it, but someone tossed the ball back into the ring and she swung again, hitting it and out-maneuvering the tribesman. The crowd cheered. Then the warrior moved in quickly, sweeping around with a roll to the ground as he grabbed her leg. She tumbled from the horse into the dirt, but jumped up and mounted it again. This time the ball was airborne as she swung, but missed.

When a child tossed it back into the ring, she swung low and the stick hit the warrior in the thigh. In his humiliation, he rushed towards the horse, but she met his challenge as she turned to race towards him. Ambling backwards, he fell into a four-foot deep pit that was covered over with sticks. The crowd went crazy with laugher and cheering. She bounced down from the horse and still trying to catch her breath, looked around at her audience with a confident smile. Some of the children tossed green leaves around her, and when she turned towards the group of soldiers, her eyes met Daniel's. For a moment he thought she looked familiar, but she wasn't sure. Then she headed towards her people instead, where a toddler ran up to her, and an older woman stepped out from the structure, holding a pail of water with thick wrists and a broad face that churned an expression when she saw him. She splashed some of the water onto her daughter and nodded her approval, then she turned back towards the doorway that concealed her from his glare.

"She is pretty, no?" questioned Juan with the nudge of his elbow, and then glanced around to see who else was there.

"A ruffian girl, is all. I just want to have a word with her, then she's all yours," he replied as he walked over to the fence where she was combing out her horses mane.

She ignored him as she continued to comb with more vigor.

"Do you speak English?" he asked.

She didn't look up, but replied in a manner of distaste, "They teach us to live in a white man's jail."

"Maybe it won't be for too much longer, but I'm glad you talk so well, because I just wanted to ask you something," he said as he glanced around to see if there was any unwanted attention headed his way. Then he asked her about Annabelle and Emmett, describing their likeness and asking if she had seen or heard of them.

She shook her head no, and with little concern as she placed the pail of water beneath the spotted horses mouth.

"Sure about that?" he asked again. "Beyond here the land spreads far."

"I know," she spat the words at him. "You took it from us!"

At that, the toddler boy ran into the rancheria and the older woman came out, raising her voice in Apache as she ordered her daughter to speak.

"She said to tell you that she already tried to do away with you once. She said next time she will succeed," she mouthed the words with some hard satisfaction.

"Why did she do that?" he asked. "Ask the old woman why she wants to kill me?"

"Because they take Apaches, and we take back!" she looked him stern in the eyes and he finally understood.

"You mean the white woman and boy? Did they kill Apaches?" he insisted with some eagerness to his voice.

The old woman walked over to the fence and began to slap at Daniel, as one would a gnat. "Ske-da-dale!"

Then the warrior was headed in his direction, ready to take on the intrusion if necessary when some of the soldiers began to yell for Daniel to mind his own business. So he turned and walked back to the opposite end of the dirt lane, and joined the group of soldiers who were playing cards around a campfire. An older man, with red locks in his beard and a creased forehead made some wise-cracks.

"You could squeeze milk from a cactus with a lot less hurt.., and it'd taste a whole lot sweeter. I could've told you that!" He laughed, and the other men joined in.

Daniel ignored them all, pushed his way past some fiddlers and returned to the retirement of his quarters, content with the knowledge that they could still be out there, having survived as well.

Within a few days he had learned about a plan of escape that some of the Indians were devising, with the help of two of the guardsmen. It was supposed to be underwraps, as some of the soldiers were planning to take advantage of the predicament and plot their own reprieve. Daniel had thought long and hard about it, as he considered the cost and weighed his options. Juan had been against it altogether, but wasn't about to let on to those in authority. After all, he was enjoying camp life and saw it as an opportunity to climb up in rank, once he had captured the traitors of course.

The half-moon was bright on that evening and the stars were scattered above the compound where all was still and quiet. Only those on duty stood guard at the gates, as the soldiers slept within the comfort of their confines, when the disruptive blast of a bugle was sounded. At once, there was havoc as men jumped up from their rest, grabbed their guns and prepared for whatever caused the alarm. As Daniel pulled on his frock coat and headed out the door, he ran towards the stable, along with the other soldiers that mounted horses.

A voice sounded out among them. "Apaches have escaped! Bring back the women and children! Engage at will! Apaches have abandoned fort!"

Some of them held out lanterns that lit up the path where the shadows loomed behind them. It was hard to see anything at all as they raced across the rough terrain. Horses stumbled into holes and over large rocks, but the mass of men pressed on towards the hillside with arrogance leading the way. However, most of the Apaches had already disappeared into the mountains with an occasional shot being fired with a rider having gone down.

Daniel ribbed the horse with a firm kick as he headed into an area behind a steep slope of rock. One of the Apache women was lagging behind as she tried to make it to the top, but kept slipping back. Daniel jumped down and grabbed her by the leg, as he pulled her down to the ground and turned her towards him. It was another old woman who shrieked out of fear for what he might do to her. He shined the light of the lantern in her face and could see the terror in her eyes. He could hear the screams behind him and the gunshots being fired as others tried to outrun the horses.

"Shhh!" he pressed his hand against her mouth. "Get on out of here and be quiet about it!" he said as he shoved her towards the slope. She looked back hesitantly and worked at making it up the slope. A few heads appeared over the top of the mountain and he turned and rode away, yelling as he went.

"It's a lost cause this way! Nothing but tumble weeds and dirt!"

A couple of riders turned in another direction and pursued every movement that beat against the sand. Daniel returned to the fort, as he watched the soldiers struggle with the captured women and children that were forced onto horseback.

Then he laid in his bunk and thought about the night before the Apaches had taken Annabelle and Emmett from him. If he could but touch the silkiness of her hair as her head was pressed against his chest. He remembered how she had felt so safe in his arms, safe enough to go to sleep. The words haunted him so that there was no rest. He thought about the ones that had disappeared into the darkness, with their secrets perhaps, and yet a sword waiting on the other side.

He would bide his time instead. The war was bound to be over soon and then he could face the light of day with the freedom to roam.., and maybe then know peace.

when carolers call

Another year had passed until the cold of winter had become a memorable occasion for the Christmas Eve of 1865. The war had ended and most of the wounded had returned home to their families. For many it was bittersweet with the loss of a loved one, but for Osprey and his family, the celebration came from being thankful for the Christ-child and the blessing of open hearts that had gathered there.

Among the cluttered living room of gifts and wrappings, was the Christmas tree with homemade ornaments of ginger spice, popcorn rings, cinnamon sticks, and lace trimmings. Judith and her children were among them, as well as the O'Neal family, Lila and their two sons and daughter. All had grown so much over the brief years that there were now young teens and adults, among the adolescences. They were singing Christmas carols and exchanging gifts when Ospreys daughter, Sara, opened a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Inside was a hand-made rag doll, and at once she went to hug her Aunt Judith.

"I just love her," she said. "I'll name her Judy because you made her!"

Judith blushed at the sentiment, and welcomed her nieces hug, as her own daughter compared her orange-haired doll in a like-wise manner. Then Judith waved a hand at her oldest boy, Charles, who was trying to squeeze a tune from a bagpipe that only groaned a winded squeal.

"Pipe it down some, there'll be time to practice later!" she said.

Osprey laughed, as he urged the awkward lad to play on. "After all, making a joyful noise can be as sweet to Gods' ears as the most delicate of song birds."

"Carry on then," she rolled her eyes in his direction, and then handed a plump wrapped gift to Osprey.

Osprey pretended that it had weighted down his arms, as he opened the brown wrap and saw the bits of red candied fruit that ribbed the dark crust in a circular design.

"Well I declare!" he comprised a smile that was half-way a tease. "What would Christmas be without another scrumptious fruitcake!"

Lila joined in, but modestly, and Judith took it as an insult.

"I would have you two to know that it took several weeks to put that together. It's a vintage process, passed down through the ages. But if you'd prefer not to get another one next year, I can certainly see to that!"

Osprey's lighthearted disposition never changed as he got up and gave her a frisky hug against her will, with a warm peck on the cheek.

"Why, I'll bet it outdoes 'em all. We'll just be sure to eat it first!" he laughed.

Lila waved him off and instructed Judith to hit him if she needed to, while she placed it on the kitchen table with the pile of others, which numbered about twenty in all.

Then there was a steady knock at the door.

Osprey, who was rough-housing with one of the boys and enjoying the Christmas cheer, started to get up.

"Another well-wisher at this hour? Guess you just never know when caroler's call," he said.

Lila headed for the door instead. "I'll see who it is," she replied. "We'll be needing another log on the fire."

The cool front swept through the house and blew out a lantern on the wall as Lila opened the door. Snow was swirling about the figure that stood before her, garbed in a coat made from bear skins with a frumpy furry hat to match. He had long wiry hair with an overgrown mustache and beard, and carried a scent that caused the dogs to bark, even though they were fenced in with the goats. Lila was clearly taken off-guard and somewhat startled as she looked away hesitantly.

"Can I help you?" she asked loudly so that Osprey could hear her concern.

The man stepped forward as Osprey re-ignited the lantern, casting some light onto his face. It was Daniel. He extended his arms towards Lila.

"Now, is that any way to welcome a member of the family? I told you I'd be back," he said.

Lila turned to Osprey in her astonishment. Osprey walked to the door as though in disbelief at the sight before him. Then he grabbed his brother around the neck and gave him a steadfast embrace, before pulling him inside, as Lila closed the door behind them.

Judith's mouth was wide open and the girls ran to hide. Even the boys shied away from him at first, and the young adults were more curious as they all got reacquainted with the changed faces. When Daniel took his hat off and coat, he was wearing a tattered Federal uniform that reeked of wild game and sweat. Judith got up and retreated to the back of the house and Lila headed to the kitchen, where she returned with a thick slice of fruitcake on a plate and a glass of milk. She handed it to Daniel.

"There's plenty more where that came from," she smiled.

She noticed his hands. His fingernails were long and caked with dirt. He took the piece of cake and shoved it into his mouth whole, as though half-starved, and then chased it down with the milk. The boys watched in amazement.

Osprey's eyes welled up with tears as he took a wooden stool and moved in close to his brother. He tossed his hands up and then rested a finger on his mouth before questioning him, practically at a loss for words.

"So, what have you been doing with yourself all of this time?" questioned Osprey, somewhat hardened from the years and lack of correspondence.

Though curious to listen, Lila walked back into the kitchen to ease some discomfort. The boys, however, crouched around Osprey and strained forward to hear. But Daniel, studying their faces, stroked at his beard for a moment and sat back in the chair. Then he began to speak, but not as the Daniel they once endeared, but as a stranger struggling to retain his sanity while remaining civil.

"Well, at first I went to Mississippi. Yep, I managed to dodge Vicksburg. Then there was Belle and Emmett. Never met a finer boy since..," he watched the expressions of his nephews turn to disappointment. "Then there was the war.., it sort of got in the way of all my plans"

Lila returned with a plate of ham and vegetables. She placed it on his lap and he looked up to her.

"Mighty obliged," he said, as he stared down at the food and then back to Osprey and the boys.

"Say, you all wouldn't mind if I helped myself. It's been a long time since I've seen food this good," he pointed towards it.

Osprey got up and moved the stool away, motioning for the boys to give him some privacy while he figured out what to do next.

"No. Not at all," he responded. "Go right ahead and enjoy it. We've got from now on to hear all about your journeys. No need trying to fit it all in at once."

Daniel began eating the food, still ravenous, when Judith re-entered the room, but with a handkerchief in her hand. She dabbed her eyes and then rested her hand on his shoulder.

"For goodness sake, I hardly recognized you, but I'm glad you're back," she smiled.

Daniel only nodded, still unaware that Lloyd was not among them, when he glanced over to Osprey, who still had tears in his eyes.

"Where is Lloyd?" he asked, as though he was finally beginning to understand the gravity of the question that tugged at everyone in the room.

There was silence. Then Osprey, perplexed about the timing of such, answered with a calm voice.

"He went to serve our country two years ago, and he didn't come back," Osprey smiled with a heavy weight upon his chest.

Daniel suddenly felt like something was about to burst inside of him, and he tried to keep his voice steady, but the anger was evident. "Now why in Sam Hill would he go and do that?"

Osprey turned to Lila, who at once led everyone else into the kitchen, only Judith once again, retreated to the comfort of a back room.

He stood up, as though to challenge his brother for a response. Osprey tried to reassure him that it was something he had wanted to do. Then he told him about Lloyd's duty at Gettysburg, and the letters he had sent home before he had died. It had happened through a simple exchange of gunfire across a picket line, where many had suffered the cause.

"I was going to go myself, but when the news came back it was just too hard on the women. So I remained to help comfort the widows, and also to hold memorials for the dead," he said in a grueling way that showed he was partly disgusted with himself for as much.

"I've wondered since if my being there could have made a difference, of if I would have ended up taking as many lives as I would've attempted to save," he added, though still unclear about what it all was doing to Daniel's thinking, as he didn't seem to digest the information in any predictable way.

"I could use a drink. That's it," Daniel responded as he went to grab his coat, and pulled his hat down over his head. 'There's nothing like a stiff drink to warm me up inside."

"It's Christmas Eve," Osprey tried to appeal to him, "and besides that, getting corned won't make you feel better about it in the morning. Why don't you stay and rest for a while, until you can see things different at least."

But Daniel suddenly felt like the space was too confined, so he opened the front door and tromped down the porch steps and into the snow without further explanation, ignoring his brother's pleas and heading nowhere.

The slanted roof of the small tavern was weighted down with snow, but the glow from the inside made it appear warm and inviting. Daniel walked up to a hitching post where four other horses were drinking from the icy water in the trough before them, and they stirred at the sight of him. Then he swung open the wooden planked door of the tavern and walked inside.

Two men were drinking at the bar as the bartender was leaning over the counter in conversation. There was nothing fancy about the inside, just a solid piece of walnut for the counter and some chipped bar stools for the handful of locals that were spread out. There was a rustic black piano with yellowed keys and dusty sheet music resting on its ledge, where no one had played it in a while. And at a nearby table, two burly lumberjacks were playing a game of cards. When they saw Daniel, the talking stopped and they saw him as an intrusion.

He ignored them and took a seat at the bar, shuffling the stool around and trying to get comfortable in the heavy coat when the bartender, with matted brown hair and an apron, approached him.

"Can we help you with something?" he eased in with a deep voice that said he didn't want any trouble.

Daniel pulled a roll of money from his pocket, slid a few of the dollars loose and placed them on the counter. "Yes you can," he replied. "I'll have a shot of whiskey, and a couple of bottles. Just keep 'em coming."

The old man looked at him with speculation, but poured the drink and placed it before him, as he swiped the money from the counter.

Daniel gulped it down at once and breathed, "Make it a double this time," as he looked around at the disgruntled faces.

The bartender placed a half-emptied bottle of whiskey next to his glass. So Daniel pushed the glass away and helped himself to it.

The two lumberjacks observed him from their table as they continued on with their game. One of the men at the bar, an older fellow with a gray beard, slim face and a woolen hat, nudged the one beside him as he opened his mouth with blunt speech.

"Where did you come from?" he asked.

Daniel took another swig and wiped his mouth on his fur covered arm and then smiled. "Now boys, is that any way to greet a stranger? After all, we haven't been properly introduced."

The old man turned to the other, with the full attention of the lumberjacks.

"Did you get a load of this? He thinks we're strangers, but I do believe I've seen him before. Sure wasn't down south though, because I don't recall seeing any grizzlies around Chickamauga," he laughed out of earnest.

The other man laughed as well, but the bartender gave a look as though he didn't appreciate the probing.

Then one of the lumberjacks put a word in.

"Give him a rest. It's obvious he came a long way to get here. Let the man enjoy his shine!" he voiced loudly.

Daniel turned in his direction and raised his bottle to him. "Here.. here," he replied. "No harm done. I can speak for myself."

Then he turned to the old fellow with the loud mouth and said, "It don't really matter where I came from. Because I always end up in the same shitty place, staring down the plug-ugly likes of you."

The man stood up and beat his fist on the bar, one of his legs were missing and he almost fell over, until he picked up his cane and pointed it at Daniel.

"You listen to me! I didn't fight the war twice over to take this from some scalawag sonofabitch like you!" he yelled at the intrusion.

Daniel stood up and took his coat off, getting ready to fight the man and yet revealing the tattered blue uniform underneath.

"Neither did I!" He yelled as he pounded his chest with both fist, and his emotions were building to vent his anger.

The two lumberjacks, both middle-aged and wooly, and yet sympathetic to them both, got up from the table and approached him.

"Let's just put an end to it while we're still ahead and call it a night. How about it?" one of them said, and then added. "Do you need some help to the door?"

Daniel was fidgeting and making spastic motions with his head as he looked around at the men, who could tell that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

The bartender got two full bottles of whiskey from beneath the counter and sat them down with force.

"That ought to fix his flint," he glared in a dominating manner as he eyed the old man, and then back at Daniel.

"Just take 'em and go," he added, short of any pleasantry.

"They're on me," and he placed the dollar bills beside them.

Daniel looked around for a moment longer as he considered his options. Then he grabbed the two bottles, along with his coat and headed for the door. When the lumberjack closed the door behind him, he could hear the wooden bolt jam as it slid across the frame. They had locked him out.

After standing there for a time with the bottles, he turned to the horses that were already nervous and trying to back up, but limited by the reins. So he sat the bottles down on the ground and heaved his coat forward at them and laughed. The more upset the horses got, the more he began waving it about in random as they reared up, kicking and neighing until they broke free from their restraints. Segments of the hitching post rail was dragged away behind them, as he howled about hysterically at the sight.

At once, the tavern door was pulled open in the noisey commotion and the men came out. Just as soon as one of the lumberjacks was able to grab Daniel by the arms, the old man warbled about on one foot as he started flogging him with his cane. Daniel tried to fight back, but was beaten brutish by the outraged men and was left bleeding and unconscious in the snow.

flies and the like

Christmas morning was a numbing blur as he wandered aimlessly down the town's street. A covered wagon on sled runners with a family inside passed by, and the kids, looking out of the back canvas, laughed at him. Then another team of horses bridling an open sleigh rode up, with a young attractive couple dressed in their Sunday best. They stopped and the man, with a pleasant face, a trimmed mustache, and a stove-pipe hat, addressed him.

Daniel stopped treading the snow and turned in his direction. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his right ear caked in dry blood, and his lips were split from the chapping and crusted over.

"Hey there, buddy!" the fellow spoke out of kindness. "Have you lost your way?"

"Haven't we all?" he grumbled and began walking heavy footed again.

They headed up closer until the horses made a slow trot beside him. The woman, wearing a cabriolet bonnet that was covered by a red hooded cloak, only smiled at Daniel with considerable pity as her husband continued.

"Say, you do look familiar..," he thought about it, "resembling the likeness of a Stone, you do. Why, land sakes, is it you after all of these years?... Daniel Stone?" he asked with all curiosity, as the lady seemed impressed by his knowledge.

Daniel looked again, but only briefly and ashamed. "Nah," he waved the man on. "I stopped being him a long time ago."

The man was confused as he looked to his wife, who merely raised an eyebrow and they rode away.

Further along the road, Osprey appeared in a country cutter sled, pulled by a mare and galloping towards him from the distance. Daniel turned around when the snow began to pile around his feet and once he saw that it was Osprey, began to stagger off towards a group of trees that lined some woods.

Osprey halted the horse as the sled slowed up, jumped down and began chasing after him. Tromping through the damp thickness that was a foot deep, Daniel tried to go faster, but his legs started to give out when Osprey had grabbed him by the arm and pulled him around to face him.

"What are you doing to yourself?!" he shouted. "And what are you doing to us for that matter? You go all this time without as much as a word and then you just take off! Surely, you know there's no other place on earth where you're more welcome than in our home!"

Suddenly, Daniel's expression began to change, and all of the anger was resonating through his clenched fist, while his eyes welled up from the strain.

"Look at me!" he shouted back. "I don't know what I'm doing! I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't know where I'm going and I don't even care if I make it there. What does that say about me?! Is that the kind of person you want around your family? As far as I'm concerned, I'm not your brother anymore. Hell, I'm not anybody."

He turned to walk away, but Osprey was now infuriated. With all of his might, he rushed his brother by the back of his coat and tackled him to the sunken earth. Then he flipped him over with a wadded up fist and hit him square on the chin. Daniel just rolled over and cupped his hands over his face.

"What's wrong?!" Osprey pounded his fist into the snow and started to hit him again with a threat.

"Is there not any fight left in you?! Why don't you get up and take it like a man? You'd never let me whip you before!" he shouted in disgust.

Daniel raised up to sitting and began sobbing out loud. "Because I'm less than a man! I'm not even human! Is that what you want to hear?"

Osprey grabbed the bear skin hat from his head and shoved it in his face. "Well take a look at yourself, how about it?!" he insisted. "You're wearing an animal! You look like you crawled out from under some rock and quite frankly, you smell like it! When was the last time you washed yourself or cut your hair?!"

Daniel continued to sob into his hands, without looking up at Osprey, who now stood over him. Then he realized just how broken he was, and unable to defend himself and his diminished will. So he reached down and helped him up.

"Come on and let's get you home," he said as they headed towards the sleigh. "After you get cleaned up and get a good nights sleep, you'll see things different. And we can talk about whatever ails you, just like we used to."

Then he stopped and eyed him directly, with a sincerity that pierced him to the core. "You're my brother and I still love you.., no matter what you've done."

And the snow began to whip up around them like the things that mattered little, against the strides that brought them closer to home.

He had slept for several hours before he came to and realized he was sitting in a pool of water. It was a washtub tin, and his legs hung over the sides in a way that made him feel stuck, but was a welcome relief as Osprey scrubbed at the arches of his back, that were scarred with burns from the top of his shoulders, all the way down his legs. Most of his body had been afflicted, but they didn't mention a thing about it, and knew that he would talk in good time.

"How'd I get in here?" he questioned, as the warm soap suds ran down the side of his face from his newly cut hair. Then he reached up and rubbed at the beard that was no longer there.

"With a whole lot of help," remarked Osprey, as he called for Lila to assist him once again.

She had left the room for a few minutes and cried at the sight of his marred skin, and came back, trying her best to mask the tears. When she walked over from the table, Daniel realized he was in the middle of the kitchen, and he became aware of how naked he was.

"Don't worry," she said as she patted a towel gently around his head. "The kids are staying over at Judith's, and I've kept my eyes shut the whole time."

Then she gave Osprey a wink, but he only glanced upward with a naïve whistle at her in response.

Daniel merely nodded and without the strength to stand, allowed them both to lean in and hoist him out, with their shoulders braced snug beneath his armpits. Osprey draped a sheet around his middle just as quickly and tucked it snug against his hip as they led him to the boys room.

There was a spool turned bed and the covers were already pulled down, and they helped him onto the mattress and wedged the bedding against the length of his body.

"You're running a fever," Lila said to him in a reassuring way, "and probably no doubt pneumonia, but I'm going to give you some soup that will help to clear up those air passages."

Daniel nodded again, and didn't try to protest her help. He only closed his eyes for a moment and let the warmth of an added blanket subside the chills. Then she left the room and he was alone with Osprey, who sat by the bedside in a slat-backed rocker.

"I've got all the time in the world," he said. "You can rest or we can talk. I'll let you do the choosing."

After he had eaten some chicken broth and sipped on some chamomile tea, they did talk, but not about all the things he wanted to say, but about how he felt. He told Osprey about his journeys down South and meeting Annabelle and Emmett. Then he explained their predicament in New Mexico when they had all been taken captive by the Apaches, and how afterwards he had been forced to join the Federal pursuit. Then there was the battle at Valverde, where the river ran red with the blood of its victims, while fording it to retrieve the dead. It was then that he had lost himself, as he found more solace in the dead than in the living, as he could no longer carry the guilt from having killed so many, and more so from not being able to rescue the ones he had loved.

"So that did it for you, huh?" asked Osprey, but in a way that fueled a response, whether he was willing to give in or not. "I guess it was easy to give up after that, to quit caring.., to just wander around like a dead man, but you're not dead. Not while there's still breath in your body."

Daniel turned away, as though the life was draining out of him. "I don't know why Mother gave me the biblical name," he said. "Hell knows I'm comin'."

Osprey got up from the rocker and leaned over his brother with a pointed finger at his bottom lip, and said vehemently, "You'd better watch it! Death and life are in the power of the tongue! And you remember that the next time you're fording some river bed, or any cross lane that just might take you into the afterlife."

"You don't understand," he complained with tired eyes that had grown weary from so much struggle. "I tried to find them after the war was over. It was no use. Wherever I looked, I came up empty.., just as I am now.., empty."

"They why don't you fill up on some good for a change," Osprey instigated. "For heaven's sake, brother, you've tried death.., you've tasted it even and you see where it's brought you.., why don't you give life a chance?"

Daniel looked at his brother and his eyes watered up as he strained to keep them open. He breathed in deep a couple of times and then laid there very still, as he was losing strength again.

"I tried her once and she left me bitter..," was all he could say in response.

"Well try again, why don't you?" Osprey tried to give him a new sense of being. "You once had a zeal for adventure about you. You were searching and searching"

"I was searching for her. It was Annabelle," he raised a weak hand to stop him from carrying on about it, as he answered in a faint voice. "I just didn't know it then."

"What about the treasure?" questioned Osprey, as though grabbing for anything that might pull at him.

"It dulls in comparison," he replied. Then he took a deep swallow and turned back to his brother once again, as though the urge to express his innermost thoughts was right on the tip of his tongue.

"Sometimes I think we're no better off than flies and the like. We're made to enjoy some simple pleasure, before the life gets squashed out of us, and another rises up to take our place."

Osprey looked at him, but his expression had suddenly became harsh. He was disturbed by such dark thinking, but he knew that another day might bring a more favorable position.

So rather than arguing about the foreboding nature he couldn't change, he simply stood and said, "You're wrong about that." Then he walked out of the room.

among the unmentionables

What ebbed above the mountaintop was more than just the play of the wind and snow that gathered about its peaks, as the sun danced an iridescence that lit up the rooftop of tin metal sheeting. With a three-inch nail, he fastened it down tight with the hammer, and all else paled at the shimmering glow. It had taken days of grind and sweat to meet the ridgeline to the corners, but the sense of satisfaction was well worth it. He had been milling over his options for weeks and had finally settled upon the ideal of sailing. There was work to be done, and if he planned it right there would be enough time to rise up through the ranks enough to become a ship's captain, and perhaps to be able to settle easy in his later years. The tendency to climb came from the challenges of youth, but had stayed with him long enough to see him through. He had learned the satisfaction in the diligence of the completion of something, and it had seemed a final test. In a matter of days, the widow and what young-ones remained would be moving into the new home. It felt pleasing that he had helped to restore some good between the pages of his ravaged life.

Daniel counted the ways that he had adopted his plan. Short of looking for a ship's mate, would be the trip to shoreline. From freight to anything that needed transporting, he would be the man for the job, and out of it would come a sojourn independence from whatever ailed him. It would be a breaking away of sorts with a poor mans bread of expectancy, like eating the air on promise of supply until something better took its place. With it came the revelation of what he partly knew already, that he was destined to live by the sea, even if it meant charting her at high tide.

From the countenance of things came a new sense of being, just like Osprey had assured him, once his senses had been restored. It had taken him from morning up to sun down to realize that he was more than just the harshness he had endured. He could feel the gravity of his questions, even though so many were left unanswered, and he liked it that way. It said that he was human, a mere mortal, and that there was life in him still yet to be reasoned.

So far the day had two things in common, and none of which he wanted to disclose to his brother at this time. He knew that he would be leaving again soon, and Osprey had been there for him in a way that no one ever had, and he endeared him as a friend, even more so than a brother. He had taken leave for a while to get some more timber to close in the underpinning of the house, which would only need a coat of paint in addition. There was a knowing that came with the understanding of who he was, that he discovered didn't have to do with another person or place, but resided within himself. If that ideal was okay, then the rest was bound to turn out all right as well.

His hands were feeling sore from having struck the hammer for so long, but his arms were lean and he was stronger than he had been in the past. He had learned to let go and to save what he could from the best of both worlds, in which the two could no longer unite. If he had ever felt a need to cry, it had been left in the distance of what he had vowed was among the unmentionables.

With the sun now hot against the back of his head, he wiped his face into his shirt that was ringed with sweat. The breeze carried the hint of cargo approaching, as the sound made vibrations against the rafters. He jumped down from the single level pitch roof and shook his head at the grass. A cat, calico with black patches got up and ran away, as Osprey came up the road.

The wagon bed was loaded down with boards and chinking, but his eyes were none the sorer for the sack of sandwiches on the seat next to him. Osprey eased up on the horses and got down with the sack in hand.

"Looks fine from the road coming in," he replied out of respect. "Lydia O'Neal will be mighty pleased. She will!" He handed him the sandwich.

Daniel agreed with a bite that filled his cheeks so that there wasn't room to talk in response, before drinking water from a clear canning jar.

"Them's good for runners," he pointed at the left over sheets of tin, "if you can prime 'em just right."

"We'll hold onto 'em then, and maybe store 'em out behind the house," he answered, well aware of the news he had with him.

Daniel had shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth when Osprey was inclined to open the satchel. He pulled out a filing rasp and handed it to Daniel, and then paused.

"I know there's some things we're not supposed to talk about, but sometimes the damndest of things happen that makes a person have to go and bring them up. Right when you're in the middle of this finely engineered project, I have to go and unravel all of your plans."

He pulled out a letter in a white envelope from the inside pocket and placed it in his hand. Daniel's expression was one of astonishment when he read the return address, which was from Ms. Annabelle Dufrene of San Francisco, California. "I don't know just how it winded up here, or if it's some queer kind of joke, but it was sent more than three months ago so you'd better have a look," he added.

Daniel's mouth was open when he ripped the seal and found another envelope inside, which said that should one Daniel Stone ever receive such, that the nature of its contents were entirely personal, and to be opened only by the addressee.

"Go ahead," urged his brother. "It can't hurt to look inside."

So Daniel sat down first on the damp green grass and started to open it. Then he stood back up, until finally he had the letter out of its sleeve and was skimming over the words.

"Good God," he glanced over to his brother, his eyes now engaged from the sting of fresh tears, and he swallowed to keep his voice from quivering. "Do you know what this means?"

"Yes," he smiled with an overwhelming good feeling of joy, "I believe I do."

At once, Daniel shouted so that his voice rang out above the rooftop, as he turned about and shot his arms towards the sky, "Whew hoo!... They made it!... Hot diggity damn!"

The spirit was contagious, as Osprey grabbed his brother by the arm and danced around with him like nothing else mattered. Then after they settled down for a spell, Osprey urged him to read the rest of what she had to say. So Daniel took the letter and poured over the words for quite some time before he looked back over to Osprey, who was anxious to hear all about it. But Daniel, though happy and feeling release from the years of anguish, was not altogether pleased with the results.

"She waited for me, hoping that I would somehow make it there Her heart was always with me, but she is marrying another." He replied in a peculiar pinch.

"Well," Osprey sighed. "The first part sounded real good." Then he stared at his brother for a few seconds and headed back for the wagon.

"Say," he said. "I'll be needing some help with these timbers."

Daniel was still paused in his thoughts when he said out of haste. "You know, I've been thinking about it a lot, and I'd already decided to get hired on as a crewman, anyway. Sea life does have it's benefits."

Osprey nodded in agreement, and pulled at one of the timbers, ready for Daniel to hoist the other end.

"It does indeed," he gave a cordial response that said it was no big deal.

"Supposin' I did venture all the way to San Francisco, what's to say she isn't married when I get there?" he questioned matter-of-factly.

Osprey only shrugged his shoulders as Daniel lifted the other and over the side of the wagon. "I reckon' there is some bliss in never knowing. After all," he said, "ignorance is bliss, or so I've heard it told anyway."

Daniel let his end drop onto the ground, and threw his hands up in the air and paced. "It'd take a month or more to sail that distance, and besides that, the train doesn't run that far."

"Central Pacific is laying the miles down daily..," but it'd probably get you half-way at best," he remarked with a sigh as though weary about the dilemma.

"It would mean I'd have to hold off on finishing the widow's house. She might not like it without a yellow coat of paint," he swung his head from side to side as though a pity.

"I'm sure it'll take care of itself," smiled Osprey, but Daniel had already climbed into the drivers seat of the wagon and had a firm grip on the reins.

"Just where do you think you're going?" yelled Osprey with hands flailing diplomatically, but knowing the wiser.

"Got some packing to do, brother!" he yelled, "so either get in or get left behind!"

Osprey ran along behind the wagon as Daniel steered the horses around in the grass.

"Slow up," he shouted. "I'm too old to have to run that fast!"

He pulled up to halt the horses as they blew frustration through their nostrils. As Osprey climbed onto the wooden bench, Daniel looked over to him and grinned, "Nearly took a day out of a century, but I knew you'd come around."

"Yeah, yeah," panted Osprey as he worked to catch his breath, but all the merrier for it. "Just keep your hind end steady on the seat and we ought to make it home in one piece."

At that, Daniel yelped the horses on with a crack at the reins, as some of the timbers went spilling out of the back.

sea dwelling comforts

The waves broke before him like a brick and mortar wall being chiseled away at his feet, where a new surface was to emerge. The sand was thick, but it felt good between his toes, and the water a mere reflection of something broader before him. It was like being cast into a role that he had always wanted to play, but the vicinity had changed and his reality was in pursuit. Only if it weren't for the locals behind him, a well guarded establishment, he would have felt alone, but instead beamed like a tower that was ten feet tall. No words could express his gratitude for the fresh ocean air, with its salty spray and camphoric aroma that saturated his skin to the core of his being. It was easier to see the life all around him now that his heart was in full movement again.

A delicate stride had been taken, and now the outcome would one day reason his future, and as far as he could see, it was surely bright. A man could learn to like such living, especially from the sounds of sea dwelling comforts.

Above him was the menagerie of an orchestra, beating out the noise with the flaps of their wings and the gibberish of their calls that swallowed up the sky. The city was festooned with characters from every walk of life and the cultures seemed to merge like a delicately patched quilt, along the hills of Victorian crafted rooftops, stitched over time, and yet dressed for such a morning. The apparel made him feel welcome, part of civilization again, even if it was shallow attire. Gentlemen escorted their ladies along the floral trimmed streets with fanciful hats that flared their signatures against the azure.

Daniel propped against the stilt footing of a pier and released the coil of his trouser legs to pull his boots back on. He was wearing a chestnut colored matching suit with a beige shirt beneath and knotted silk tie. His hair had been combed back and his mustache, with a simple curl on both sides and long hanging side-burns, made him appear dapper. He adjusted his spectacles, picked up his leather duffle, and went to find the street address that was written on the letter.

The temptress and her seamstress were two in the same. If the silhouette in the mirror didn't match the image in her head, then there was no use in tightening the corset so that she could no longer breathe. Appearing beautiful had its price, but fortunately she could afford the casualties of the day, even if it meant being frugal with the remains. There were two different suitors that were now calling on a steady basis, however, one hadn't known about the other until a few days hence, and she believed he would have rivaled for her affection on the spot.

However, there was one that usually stood between the opposing parties when it came to his mothers interest. Now a strapping young man, Emmett carried himself like a gentleman, with squared shoulders and handsomely chiseled features that caught the glances of attractive ladies, but he was already spoken for. The relationship had developed over eight months of which, he had already proposed and she gladly accepted. His mother had insisted on a prolonged engagement however, so that he might finish his business education and gain his bearings before settling down. He reluctantly agreed, although his fiancé, Ruby, with brilliant red hair and a fire to match, had pushed the issue on more than one occasion.

Annabelle, although fond of her sons decision, just didn't like the idea of his getting married before she herself had wed. When it came down to it, she felt the years were slipping by like the sun-flowers that the locusts withered away at with her youth. They had once been seeded and protected by the sun, only to be plucked away and left on the ground that had become barren the following year, except that they did thrive in the desert once. Though a land of emotions laid waste, like a tunnel where the sand slipped through, measuring the time since lost, she was trying to bloom again.

When she slipped the velvet glove over her hand, it was plush and smooth, contrary to the tender roughness of what had once seemed so warm against her face. She still thought of Daniel, even though she had tried to put him away like so many things from her past. She had endeared the thought that he would search the world over to find her, and had felt sure that he would have made it to the coast by now. Despite the years of waiting, there was no hardness of heart. She had simply vowed to move on, to perhaps take a chance that fate would find her again along life's way.

The day of decision had finally come for her, when Clive Adams gave his ultimatum. She had since broken off with her other acquaintance and had committed to the relationship. He was the kind of man that could make things happen. He was honorable and kind, but wise in his affairs which had brought him a great deal of financial security. His hair was thick with salt and peppered strands that ribbed with the tonic that gave him a sleek appearance. He was also fifteen years her senior, but she didn't seem to mind the age difference. He could offer her peace of mind and friendship, without the struggles that could pose unwanted challenges in her later years, and she did enjoy his company. A good conversationalist, he had impressed many with his political views and was willing to provide the funding for his support. It was also his support that had kept her Bed and Breakfast Inn afloat when it was fledgling.

Annabelle had used most of the money from the opals to buy a three-story Victorian styled house that she had maintained by renting out the rooms. The income had been steady enough to earn a living the first couple of years, but since Clive had invested his energy into showing her how to manage it, she had since reaped the rewards. Word of mouth had spread and it had become a showpiece of fine furnishings, as well as a hospitable place to stay, and now she had three staff hands to meet its upkeep.

The Coventry that had helped her when she first arrived had given her wise counsel, and had continued to be a source of confidence and strength. It was why she had penned the letter. She didn't know that it would ever make its destination, or meet the hands of its intended, but it was a way to attempt closure from her past and move on. The words were necessary. The war was over and life had to go on, and she could no longer search her dreams for answers that never came forth.

For years she had wrapped every need around the hugs she gave to Emmett, and in return gained the nimbleness to not lose hope, but now a dependency had grown so that Emmett kept his future plans at bay. He feared that she would be too lonely without him.

So this would be the best decision for them both. If she went ahead and married, then he could go ahead and prosper in life the way that he deserved to. Perhaps she too would eventually find contentment in the simplistic decision. She was going to let Clive know of her answer after the morning service.

The church bells had a familiar clang, hollowed out drones at a distance that somehow made him feel closer to home. On the street corner was a merchant scouting tickets to a prized fight, and before him a white trimmed building on a hill with green painted doors and the steeple. It didn't make much sense why one seemed more appealing than the next, other than he had traveled so far and just maybe he was in need of some more optimism. He had went to the doorstep of the elegant home that was merely a handsome hotel. People came and went in those places with the changing of the day, so that when no one replied at the front desk, he assumed she too must have been passing through.

An encouraging word was needed to ease the hour, to settle the thoughts of doubt that troubled his mind. He had never missed the sense of family so much and the need to belong. The man pressed on with the tickets, waving them high towards his face, but Daniel hardly noticed as he walked up the pathway that led to the double-doors.

Once inside, the choir was singing something quaint that he didn't know the words to and the congregation joined in. He took off his hat and stood within the back row, acknowledging those around him with an obscure nod. The singing seemed informal and pure, like the foam that rose above the waves after being beat upon by the wind. The chords were simple and sweet, despite the myriad of uneven voices. Daniel added a low rumbling hum that caused a head or two to turn in his direction so he cleared his throat instead. As soon as they had finished singing, the Minister stood at the pulpit and welcomed the guest. Daniel was the stranger among them, but wanted to remain obscure, but then there was something odd about the mixture.

The air smelled of sea mist and fisherman's clothes, but it was as though something fresh and sweet had rippled its way past the monotone silence and pressed against his chest. It was like having been thirsty and gaining a sense of satisfaction at the same time, and he suddenly knew that everything was going to be all right. It seemed he had traveled the world over to that one place where everything needed to make sense. It was tranquil salt, like the resin that gives the earth its flavor.

Then a lady several rows up was dismissing herself from the pew. A dollop of brownish blonde curls lolled beneath her velvet-rimmed hat, as she spoke something softly to the gentlemen beside her and sneezed. She was beautiful in a blue silk dress with a white chemisette that scooped the low necked bodice. As though embarrassed, she dabbed at her nose with a lacey handkerchief and turned in his direction. Her face was powdered lightly to perfection and her lips were full and stained red. Her green eyes shifted upward when she passed the last row, and she appeared startled as though he looked familiar, but continued through the narrow foyer and out the green doors.

It was her. It had to be Belle. He had finally found her in all of her glory, and she was a vision to behold.

His palms suddenly began to sweat and his heart sped to a rapid pulse. It was the kind of feeling that twisted his stomach up in knots. He wondered if she even knew it was him, or if it would even matter at this point, as it had dawned on him that the man she was sitting with could very well be her husband.

He got up and walked out behind her. She was standing in the grass next to the steps as though she needed to catch her breath. Without knowing exactly how to approach her, he headed down the steps.

She could hear his footsteps, but was afraid to turn in his direction, afraid that she was seeing things, a mirage from having wished him to appear for so long, and yet nervous that she might see him clearly.

When he reached the last step, he stopped. At first he cautioned her response, then he reached out and rested his hand against her back. There was a slight shiver to her shoulders when she twisted around to see him. The same eyes that appeared so delicate, swelled with a knowing sense of warm sentiment.

"It is you," she said and reached out to touch the side of his face.

Daniel marveled at the lovely creature before him, having wanted so many nights to feel her touch again, and his bottom lip began to quiver nervously.

"I looked everywhere, but here..," he replied in a deep way that said it was true.

He took her velvet hand and cupped it in his own and then kissed her hand politely. There was so much to say, but the most important came to mind.

"Is it possible that you are still free to marry?" he questioned as though searching her soul, and hoping the answer was in his favor.

"I am.., Daniel Stone," she leaned forward with a smile and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

Then he grabbed onto her waist and pulled her into him with an embrace that lasted, as long as it took for the surrealness of the moment to settle in.

roses still gather

Much had transpired over the years so that there was no longer a reason to question the order of things. It was simply enough to know that it was well with his world and hers. They had taken delight in the everyday so that every moment became a special memory, threaded in the middle of everything that made it tangible enough to stick.

Some people were called to notable discoveries, while others provided the relief that another needed to carry on. It was in this way that the two functioned best. The needing of another to share life with was the basis of knowledge that made their universe work. Just like light and darkness had its place, so did the casualties that bonded its unbroken cords.

There were choirs for singing, but the only songs that meant the most were in the sounds that began from sun up to sun down, echoing the rhythm of the living. There was dancing and music along the Fisherman's wharf, where lovers played and toiled over the possibilities. And then there were sounds unheard to the casual ear, which echoed against the heartstrings.

When Daniel looked back over the troubles they had endured in New Mexico, he had come to understand much. They had talked about that fateful day in passing, as though it had happened to someone else, like a distant relative or people that they once knew.

Annabelle had said that even the Apache's had to sleep, and it was then that she intended to make sure they wouldn't be able to follow after them. The details were as sketchy as an artists trying to make something colorful from charcoal. He reasoned that some things were just too hard for the mind to comprehend it even happened at all, and perhaps they were better off for having left as much unsaid, and among the ashes.

She and Emmett had made it to the rocky ridge, where they had hid out until they saw the Federal Army passing through and could see that Daniel was among them. She knew that there was nothing else she could do, other than to wait out the war, but not in the desert. A few days later they had made it to an overland pass that led onto the U.S. Mail Route, where they were offered the accompaniment of traveling alongside a Butterfield stagecoach to California. So it was in this way that Annabelle and Emmett had survived that fateful day, as he had survived the war, but they had found their way back together nonetheless, even though he had crossed the western transcontinental divide again to get there.

Sometimes they spent the evenings along the coast line, where they had recited their wedding vows, and other times they rested as one under the shade bonnet of a tree in the backyard. The things which came to mind the most, was in comparing what was resplendent in the others eyes. At times they were amused at the benefit of strangers, but it never seemed more commonplace than in their home. It all had the affect of a subtle garden, where the roses still gather, in spite of their many thorns to make an elegant bouquet.

Among the images he endeared, was a sense of wisdom that came to him when he was alone and had the notion to journal his impressions. He had journeyed the way most thinkers laid their plans, but what ended up mattering the most was altogether different than what he had set out to accomplish. What he had gained could be measured only in hindsight, for it was there that he laid his claim.

It's in the one thing that holds you captive for that moment, when the breath of life comes and blows upon you, winds so strong they could carry you away, but they're soft like velvet and gentle to the touch, the way a mountain impresses the senses to go higher, to see above the fortress and gather up together on the other side. A day in disbelief, a day suspended, a day joined by the hand of another.., until the day ends.

About the Author

Anita Melillo lives in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, Tony. In addition to writing, she has a nursing career, and both she and her husband are volunteer firefighters in the town they reside in. Anita also has a great love for nature, off-roading on forest trails, motorcycle riding with her spouse, and enjoys traveling. One of her greatest passions in life has always been writing.

Her inspiration for writing, "Ford At Valverde," derived from her love of history and the civil war era. She was raised in the South and has always had a fascination with other places, traditions, and cultures. This work embodies her deep sense of attempting to resonate with other readers desires for self exploration and adventure, while reaching for a more meaningful life.

She has also written another fictional novel, entitled, "The Great Empty," which is an outback adventure and a coming of age story. There will be a sequel to this available soon entitled, "Villages North of Here." She is presently at work on another novel, which is a psycological suspense thriller.

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If you would like to contact the author, you may do so at:

Email: AnitaMelillo@gmail.com

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