Disclaimer:
Characters and situations from Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years belong to Hallmark Entertainment and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This story or the new characters created by the author are not to be published on any ftp site, newsgroup, mailing list, fanzine or elsewhere without the express permission of the author.
Dedication: For Sara who taught me about journeys, for Bri who taught me about souls, and for Darcie who taught me about friendship.
Cottonwood
Prairie sentinel
Straight and tall
Arms reaching
Skyward in prayer
Silver rustlings
Harbinger of storms to come
Roots reaching
Tied to the earth
Cooling shade
Living, growing, breathing life
Great medicine
Chan Wakan
Holy tree.
***
All alone in the dark
No walls no windows
Trying hard to define
Heaven from hell
Standing out in the rain
With just one shadow
Nothing to see or believe
Beyond myself
See my life going by
Each moment I'm alive
I keep reaching out, holding on, hoping
Somewhere in my life
There's one light burning
I feel it like my heart beating inside
Somewhere in my life
There's one light burning
All alone with my fears
No words are spoken
A story yet to be told
Locked in my mind
Hope is somewhere ahead
Shining brightly
But the past is always following close behind
See my life going by, each moment I'm alive
I keep reaching out, holding on, hoping
Somewhere in my life
There's one light burning
I feel it like my heart beating inside
Somewhere in my life
There's one light burning
Glowing in your eyes
Lighting up the skies
Leading the way
One light burning . . .
Ritchie Sambora
***
A hawk screamed in the distance, and Call watched it circle ever higher in the shimmering heat till it disappeared at last in the blinding sun. Each hoof fall released a puff of dust from the parched earth as he guided the Hell Bitch down the tangled, brush-laden slope to the river's edge. Dismounting among the silent trees, he knelt and reached for a drink. A slight sound caught his attention and he stopped, his hand halfway to his mouth. Forgetting his thirst, he released the water, letting it trickle through his fingers as he strained to listen. He remained motionless, aware that a blackbird, singing noisily only moments before, had gone silent. The bird flushed suddenly from its perch, screeching an angry protest at having been disturbed, and Call froze, searching the water's edge for any movement.
The first shot ricocheted from a boulder beside him, and he dove behind the nearest tree trunk, cursing the fact that his sawed-off was in the scabbard on the Hell Bitch's saddle several yards away. He was unarmed except for the Colt. He waited eternal minutes, straining to hear over the sound of the water.
A twig snapped directly behind him, followed by the click of a hammer being drawn back. Call reached for his gun.
"I wouldn't do that if I was you. Drop it."
Call tossed the Colt into the weeds.
"The belt too."
He unbuckled it slowly, letting it drop at his feet.
"Now, put yer hands in the air and turn around."
Call did as he was told and found himself staring into the business end of a 45.
The big man gestured at Call with his gun. "Keep yer hands where I can see 'em. Cole, I got 'im," he yelled over his shoulder. "Over here."
A sudden shot echoed in the stillness, and the armed man watched in shock as Call crumpled forward on the ground, a bright red stain spreading under his head.
A second gunman descended the steep bank.
"Aw, whadja go and do that for, Cole? I thought we robbed 'em first and killed 'em later. Besides, you said I got to shoot the next one."
"Shut up, Roy, this ain't just any sodbuster. Don't you know who this is?"
Roy took off his hat and scratched his head. "No-o."
"This here's the famous Newt Call."
Roy stared down at the still form. "Not no more, he ain't," he said, rolling him over with his foot. "I reckon he's dead. Look at all the blood."
Cole glanced at the body on the ground and holstered his weapon.
Roy shot a stream of tobacco through a gap in his teeth and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Who's Newt Call, anyways?"
"Bounty hunter that killed Billy, last year. Been hopin' t' meet up with him so's I could even the score."
"Well, you done it, Cole. You killed 'im. You reckon he was after us?"
"Yeah, I reckon."
"It ain't fair, Cole, I wanted to kill this one."
"Don't fret it none, Roy, you'll likely get another chance."
"Think so?"
"Yeah." Cole squatted beside his victim and proceeded to go through his pockets. "Nothin' here. Come on; let's see what he's got in his saddle bags."
Roy crossed the few paces to the Hell Bitch and reached for her bridle as he pulled Call's sawed-off from the scabbard. The horse shied and ripped her reins free of his fumbling hands, galloping off in a cloud of dust. Roy scrambled up the bank. "I'll get her, Cole; let me get her."
"Let her go, Roy; we'll catch her upstream a ways."
Roy plodded back down the bank and rummaged in the weeds until he found the Colt.
"Here, I'll take that," Cole said, snatching it out of his partner's grasp and sticking it in his belt.
Roy propped the sawed-off on his shoulder and looked back down the slope. "Reckon the buzzards'll make short work of him."
Cole nodded. "Bounty hunters are scavengers. He don't deserve no better." He took a watch from his pocket and flipped it open. He smiled as he listened to the tune it played before snapping it shut and replacing it in his pants pocket. "Killin' always makes me hungry. C'mon, Roy, let's go find us somethin' to eat."
Roy snickered. "Makes me want a woman. What say after we eat we go find us one?"
Cole grinned. "If we're lucky, we might find us both at the same time."
***
The Hell Bitch stood cropping the dry grass on the riverbank next to Call's body. She nuzzled his neck, blowing her breath in his face with a soft snort. She nickered and nudged him once and then again, pushing him over onto his side.
Call coughed and opened his eyes. He rolled onto his stomach and tried to get up, but fell back, moaning in pain, his damp shirt sticking to him with sweat and blood. Finally, he managed to push himself up onto his knees. The world spun, and he shook his head to clear his vision. Searing pain doubled him over, and he retched in agony. He lay still until the nausea subsided. Blood and sweat trickled down his face, and he wiped his eyes, his fingers grazing the gaping wound in his temple where the bullet had torn his flesh. Jerking his hand away, he gazed in confusion at his bloody fingers.
Call ran his tongue over his parched lips. Keeping his eyes closed against the water's blinding glare, he half crawled, half dragged himself to the river's edge. He drank, then pushed back onto his haunches and rose unsteadily to his feet.
An ancient cottonwood, time-rotted and wind-broken, lay moldering on the riverbank, and Call climbed onto the trunk whistling softly for the Hell Bitch. She whinnied and ran to him, and he reached for her dragging reins and looped them around the pommel, then leaned his head against her neck as he waited for another wave of nausea to subside. He grasped the saddle horn with both hands, trying and failing several times before he got his foot in the stirrup. He rested for a moment and then heaved himself up onto the mare's broad back where he swayed dizzily, willing himself to remain conscious as he urged her up out of the draw.
Above the tree line, the sun blazed mercilessly down on his bare head, and Call wiped his bloody brow on his sleeve, wondering vaguely where he'd lost his hat. The few clouds in the distance held little promise of relief from the searing badlands heat.
He faded in and out of consciousness, falling forward on the Hell Bitch's neck. Several times he slipped to one side, but always she would stop and wait for him to right himself before she continued, picking her way through the sagebrush.
Craving water, Call untied his canteen, realizing with a sickening jolt that he'd forgotten to fill it at the river. The few drops left inside did nothing to slake his thirst and he dropped his arm, the canteen slipping out of his limp grasp.
The burning sand shimmered in the late afternoon heat, and several times Call, in his confusion, was sure they were on the shores of a great lake. But always, relief turned to disappointment and mounting, unquenchable thirst.
The miles passed with the hours. Surely, it wasn't far now --he'd see the lights of home, and Hannah would be waiting.
At last, the sun set in a ball of orange flame on the horizon. They plodded on for some time in the gathering darkness, Call dozing to the Hell Bitch's steady rhythm. When he woke, she was standing still. Off to his right, he saw a cabin with a light burning in the window. His head began to spin again, and he slipped from the saddle and knew no more.
***
A slight movement fanned the air against Call's face, and he awoke. He wondered where he was as he tried to focus his eyes on the unfamiliar surroundings.
A young woman in a faded gingham apron suddenly loomed over him. She reached out and lifted a stained cloth from his forehead, replacing it with a fresh one.
Call's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. "Who're you?"
"Let go of my arm," said the woman quietly.
The outward display of calm was deceptive, Call realized. There was a fine trembling going on inside her, although she was doing her best to hide it. He saw her other hand reach into the folds of her skirt -- for a weapon maybe? He released her abruptly.
"Where am I? How'd I get here?"
The woman visibly relaxed.
"Just rest easy now. You've had a close call; you've been out for a long time."
Call pulled the rag off his head and sat up, looking around him.
"How long?"
"Two days. You rode in night before last, both you and your horse looking the worse for wear. I found you passed out under her belly out there in the yard."
"The Hell Bitch. Where is she?"
"Hell Bitch! Strange name for a horse. She's fine. She's out in the corral. I would have put her in the barn only . . . I don't have a barn anymore."
Her voice was not unfriendly as she said, "My name's Annie, Annie Peterson. What's yours?"
"Call."
Call put a hand to his pounding head, and lay back, noticing the soft bed. He couldn't remember the last time his backside had felt a real mattress.
"Call. Do you have a first name?"
"Just Call."
"Very well . . . Call."
Call studied the small woman's profile as she poured water from a jug on the sideboard. Her delicate features were balanced by the proud tilt of her chin, the very erect posture. He judged her to be about his same age, give or take a year or two.
She set the cup of water on an upturned box next to the bed where he could reach it. "You must have ridden a long way; both you and the horse were mighty thirsty."
"How'd you get me in here?" Call pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around warily. "There someone else here?"
"I'm not surprised you don't remember. You were raving out of your head, but I managed to get you on your feet, and you staggered in, leaning on me."
Call looked away, embarrassed, but she didn't seem to notice.
"Any idea who shot you?"
"Couple of bounties I was trailin'.
"They knew you were after them."
"One might have. The other one's pretty slow."
"There were two of them? Who were they? What were their names?"
"The Barlow gang, what's left of it: Cole and his cousin, Roy."
Annie's face blanched, and she sagged against the dry sink, sending a pan and some spoons clattering to the floor. She quickly grabbed a rag and bent down to clean up the mess.
Call winced and sat up again. "You all right?"
"I'm fine." Annie finished sopping up the spill and rose to stand at the sink again, her back to Call.
"You know the Barlows?"
Annie glanced over her shoulder at him, but she didn't turn around. "They were here."
"When?"
"A few months ago."
Call swung his legs unsteadily over the side of the bed. "Those're some pretty bad boys robbed a stage over Fort Benton way the Wells Fargo payroll run. Stole two thousand dollars. Killed the driver and all the passengers just for the fun of it. I've been after them for a while." He regarded her in concern. "What'd they want with you?"
Slowly, Annie turned to face him. "Seth -- my husband -- he was out by the barn when they rode up that afternoon. He motioned me to go back inside the house, but I stood on the porch and listened." Her hands worked in her apron. "Seth asked them what they wanted, and they said they just wanted to water their horses and get something to eat."
She walked to the window and stood looking out at the barnyard where a few chickens scratched half-heartedly at the parched soil. "They came up to the house. I had a pot of stew on the stove, and I dished them up some."
Annie hugged herself tightly, one hand moving restlessly along the opposite arm. "We didn't mind sharing; they seemed really hungry; they scraped their first bowls clean and asked for seconds. The one called Cole kept looking around the cabin while he ate. All of a sudden, he stood up and drew his gun on us. That's when he told the big one to take Seth outside."
She fell silent, and Call waited for her to collect herself. After a moment she continued. "He tied me up, and then he went through the house. He took everything we had of any value, including the engraved pocket watch I gave Seth for a wedding present. It played "Beautiful Dreamer," she said wistfully. "It's always been my favorite song." A sad smile touched the corners of her mouth, then faded.
"I heard them ride out. I didn't know where Seth was. I kept calling to him, thinking he'd come and untie me. Then I smelled smoke, and I could hear the roar of the flames from the barn."
Tears welled in Annie's eyes as she struggled to maintain her composure. "I don't know if he was alive. Maybe I could have saved him if I could have just gotten loose and gone to him. But I couldn't. I had to lie there, and I couldn't do anything." Tears trickled silently down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the hem of her apron. "Our neighbor, Bill Andrews, came as soon as he saw the smoke. But by then it was too late."
Annie was silent for a moment, and then a shudder convulsed her thin shoulders. "Seth was in the barn, and they burned it down around him."
Call looked away. "I'm sorry."
Annie sighed and turned back to the window. "He's buried on that hill, yonder, where there's a good view of the ranch: the house we built, and the fences, the fields he plowed. He loved this place. He loved the trees -- especially that big cottonwood down by the creek. He always loved the shade it gave and the way it rustled in the wind when a storm was coming." She sighed again. "It seems so strange. It's still here, but Seth is gone."
When she turned around, her eyes glinted coldly in the fading light. "Mr. Call, you're a bounty hunter; I hope you find those men. And when you find them, I hope you kill them."
Call nodded. "Might come to that."
"I won't rest easy until they're caught . . . and punished."
Annie lit a candle and placed it carefully on the windowsill. Untying her apron, she draped it over a chair by the bare wood table before crossing to a curtain in one corner of the room. She stepped into the small alcove and pulled the curtain closed behind her. When she didn't reappear, Call lay back on the bed, pondering all that he had just heard.
***
Call spent a restless night. A south wind sprang up, rattling the windowpanes and the door, and the shutters knocked against the wall, sounding for all the world like heavy boot tread coming across the yard. He keenly felt the lack of his sawed-off and pistol, and got up to see if Annie had any weapons lying about. He found a fully loaded Winchester propped against the mantelpiece, and was just turning to take it back to his bed, when he stumbled over a log on the floor. He cursed under his breath, and almost immediately he heard Annie at the curtain.
"What is it? Is everything all right?" she asked, appearing in her nightgown and wrapper, her feet bare against the cold wood floor, her pale eyes shadowed with sleep.
"Everything's fine; you go back to bed," he told her.
"Think they'll be back?"
"Don't know. Never can tell."
Annie looked long and hard at him and the gun in his hands before pulling the curtain closed again.
Call tried to rest, but sleep eluded him, and he lay wide-awake till the first light of dawn glinted pink against the window glass. The candle on the sill guttered and went out. When he heard Annie stirring in the next room, he rose and went out, crossing the yard to the corral.
The Hell Bitch nickered when she saw him and pawed the ground, impatient for her feed. Call tended to her needs, as well as those of Annie's team of bays and the milk cow.
The savory smells of bacon and coffee greeted him when he reentered the cabin. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Annie bustled about the kitchen in a clean calico, seeing to the turning of the bacon and the other breakfast preparations. She waited while Call dumped an armload of firewood in the box next to the stove, then waved him to the table and joined him there.
She folded her hands to say a brief blessing over the food; Call bowed his head till she was finished. She passed him the bacon and some biscuits she had just taken out of the oven, and for a while they ate in silence. Then Call cleared his throat.
"I want to thank you for what you did. Don't know what I would have done . . ." he struggled with the words. "I'm surprised you took me in after what happened here."
"I'm not in the habit of turning the sick and injured away from my door." Annie shrugged. "Besides, you were very weak -- half out of your head -- and you were unarmed. And I had the Winchester just in case."
Call recalled seeing her hand go to the pocket of her skirt the evening before. His Derringer was missing out of his boot, and he was pretty sure he knew where it was.
Annie passed him some butter, and he spread it thickly on the warm biscuits. "Been meanin' to ask you somethin'."
"All right. What is it?"
"Why didn't the Barlows take your bays? They're known horse thieves, and that's a mighty nice team you've got out there."
Annie handed him the crabapple jelly. "Just lucky, I guess. Seth had been plowing with them and left them in the far pasture. They must have been out of sight behind the trees. I'm sure they would have taken them if they had known we had them."
"No doubt."
"I'm rather fond of Jake and Lucky. We brought them from St. Louis. We used up most of our savings to buy them."
Call spread some jelly on a biscuit . "You still have family back there?"
"Not anymore. My father died several years ago, and my mother never really recovered from his loss. She died a few months before we came out here."
"Any brothers and sisters?"
"Annie shook her head. "I was an only child."
"How 'bout Seth?"
"His mother is a widow. She's been frail for some time now. Seth and his brothers were never close."
The conversation lagged. Call concentrated on his bacon. "You plannin' on spendin' the winter here alone?" he ventured finally.
"Yes, this place was Seth's dream. I feel close to him here. Sarah and Bill Andrews think I should go back east, but there's nothing left there for me now."
Call cleared his throat. "Might be safer for you, is all."
Annie shook her head. "I love Montana the wild beauty, the wide-open spaces. I can breathe here. I have freedoms I never dreamed of in the city. No, I'm staying."
Call was reminded of another independent-minded woman. Hannah had thought Montana was a good place to be a woman too.
Annie got up to fetch the coffee pot and refilled his cup. She didn't sit down again, but set about heating some water for the dishes.
Call watched her in silence. He finished his coffee and got up from the table. "Seen a few things need fixin'. I'll tend to 'em before I go."
Annie turned from the sink. "You mustn't overdo, Mr. Call; you've been through a great deal."
"You can call me Call. And I'm fine. Don't need no one fussin' over me."
She flashed him a smile. "Very well. Thank you, Call. I confess; the work's been piling up on me around here."
Call nodded and went out. The firewood he'd brought in had been the last of the pile. A couple of seasoned logs lay near the blackened remnants of the barn, and he found a reasonably sharp axe and went to work.
Annie tended her garden, carrying bucket after bucket from the creek to pour on the ripening plants.
It was another warm day, and as he stopped to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, Call glanced up to find Annie leaning on her hoe and watching him as she too mopped her brow. She smiled and waved, then turned back to her work.
By late morning, he had finished stacking the wood and turned his attention to the broken boards on the corral. There wasn't much lumber about the place, but he managed to find a few pieces from the barn that were merely scorched. They'd do fine.
It felt good to be working with his hands again, Call realized. He hadn't built anything since the ranch. But that was gone now all of it just like Annie's barn. Nothing was permanent nothing and no one.
The August sun beat down in waves, and the crickets hummed in the yellow grass as Call finished his work and put Seth's tools carefully back in the shed.
Pulling his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, he followed the creek past the house to where it widened into a quiet pool near a stand of young willows. Grasshoppers skittered away in all directions as he plunked down on the bank to remove his boots. He stood and stripped off his trousers and waded in. As he sank into the cool water, he heard a slight sound above him and whirled around.
Annie had appeared from out of nowhere. She laughed at his expression.
"Oh, did I startle you? I knew I'd find you here. Seth always came here to cool off after a hot afternoon's work." She laid a pile of folded clothing on the bank. "Here's some of his things you can put on. I'll wash yours out, and you can have them back just as soon as they're dry." She gathered up his shirt and pants and left him.
Call climbed out of the water, determined to keep a loaded weapon where he could reach it in a hurry. It wouldn't do to be caught unarmed by the wrong person.
***
Annie killed a chicken for their supper. Call offered to do it for her, but she insisted that she was used to it. There weren't many hens left, and Call wondered how Annie intended to feed herself through the long winter months to come. The produce from her garden would never be enough.
Call suggested Annie loan him the rifle. "I could go huntin' tomorrow -- lay in some provisions for you before I go."
"Yes, of course." Annie busied herself clearing the table. She smiled wistfully. "I hate to think about you leaving; it's been good to have you here. It gets lonely. It's not so bad during the day; I have plenty of chores. But the evenings are long."
"I expect so."
"Seth and I used to read in the evenings. We brought a few books with us from Missouri, and occasionally we got our hands on a newspaper." Annie lit the lamp and placed it on the table. "Do you like to read, Mr. . . . er, Call?" she asked, catching herself just in time. She didn't wait for an answer. "I could read aloud if you like. Seth liked for me to read to him. He said my voice reminded him of trickling water." She fell silent, remembering.
After a moment, she glanced at Call. He hadn't refused. Her face brightened, and she jumped up and went behind the curtain, returning with a couple of worn volumes.
Call was hesitant, but finally he pulled a chair close to the fire and sat straddling the back, looking ill at ease.
Annie seated herself near the lamp and opened one of her books. "I'm reading Pilgrim's Progress. Are you familiar with it?"
"Don't read much. I'm not much for a lot of words."
Annie laid the first volume aside and picked up the other one. "Perhaps some poetry then. Poets don't use a lot of words."
Call shrugged.
"These are by the English poet, Lord Byron." Annie turned the pages slowly. "Here's one." She began to read.
'When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,'
Call listened to Annie's sweet voice rise and fall as he watched the reflection of the firelight dance on her bent head. A few tendrils of her light blonde hair had escaped the tight knot at the nape of her neck and strayed down her collar, softening the starched fabric of her dress.
'Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold.
Sorrow to this.
In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.'
"Oh, my, that was much too morbid," Annie apologized. "Let me try to find something lighter." She turned a few more pages. "Let's try this one; it's one of my favorites."
'She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes, and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes.'
Hannah's dark eyes.
'One shade more, one ray the less
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face.'
Hannah's beautiful hair. Call drew a tightened breath as the old, familiar pain claimed him once more. Without warning, his memories dragged him back to a hot July night when he and Hannah had driven out to the ranch after supper. The cabin was not yet finished, so they'd made love in the tall grass where the corral would be built, then lay wrapped in each other's embrace, watching the stars peep out one by one in a darkening sky.
'And on that cheek and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.'
Annie glanced at him over the top of the book. Noticing the expression on his face, she closed it and laid it down.
"Is something the matter?"
"What?" It was barely a whisper. He shook his head. "No. Reminded me of someone, is all."
"Someone close to you?"
"My wife."
"You're married?"
"She died."
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
Call shrugged. "It was a long time ago." He got up and swung the chair back to its place.
"Her name was Hannah."
Call's eyes widened in surprise. "How'd you know that?"
"You were calling for her while you were out."
Call turned away. "I'll be sayin' good night."
Annie followed him to the door. "You'd be welcome to stay inside."
"If it's all the same to you, I'd be more comfortable in the shed."
Annie nodded and stood back to let him pass.
Call paused at the door and turned back to face her. "Might be best if I was armed; a man feels naked without a weapon. You got one I could use?"
Annie hesitated for a moment, then put her hand in her pocket and slowly drew out the Derringer. Call glanced at it lying on her palm. "You best keep that with you. Got anything else?"
She turned to the sideboard and pulled out a drawer. When she turned back, she had a colt in her hand.
Call took it from her. Looking it over carefully, he sighted down the barrel, then flipped it open, twirling the cylinder. It was fully loaded. He snapped it shut. "It'll do."
Annie nodded. "Good night, then," she said, closing the door softly behind him. The light inside the cabin dimmed and went out, replaced by the candle in the window.
The cottonwood leaves rustled slightly in the gentle night air as Call stood in the yard looking up at the stars. Hannah's presence lingered, and he stood there remembering another dark night when he had come home late. Cold and dead-tired, he'd crept into the house and into their bed. Hannah had stirred and murmured his name, then rolled over and curved into his back, warming him as he drifted off to sleep with the smell of her sweet in his nostrils and her love wrapped around him, cocooning him from the world outside.
As quickly as the sweet memory came, it was replaced by a fresh stab of reality. Call took a final look around the quiet yard and crossed to the shed. He untied his bedroll from his saddle and spread it out on the floor.
***
Early the next morning, Call was in the corral saddling the Hell Bitch when Annie came out of the house. He paused momentarily to take in the sight of her dressed in men's pants: too large, but cinched tightly around her waist with a leather belt. She wore boots and a loose shirt, and she carried a large basket slung over one arm. He watched her set it down and begin saddling one of the bays.
"Nice outfit."
Annie looked down at her clothes and laughed. "Oh, these are Seth's. I thought they would be more appropriate for riding than my dresses."
Call turned his attention back to the Hell Bitch's girth strap. "Goin' someplace?"
"I thought I'd go with you."
Call didn't look up. "That so? Why?"
"It's a beautiful day. I feel like an outing. If you wouldn't mind the company, I'd like to come along."
Call shrugged. "Suit yourself. Likely to be a long day. Huntin' ain't no picnic."
"I won't be any trouble; you'll see."
Call looked at her skeptically before sliding the rifle into his scabbard. "Best be goin' then; we're burnin' daylight."
"But you haven't eaten. What about breakfast?"
"I'm not hungry."
Annie didn't argue with him. "Very well, we can eat later," she said as she distributed the contents of her basket evenly between her saddlebags. They were soon on their way, Call leading the other bay by the bridle. They'd be needing a pack animal if their hunt was successful.
Early clouds burned off to a brilliant morning, the temperature climbing steadily as they followed the creek several miles across the plains to the river, reaching it when the sun was directly overhead. Pulling up on the bank, they dismounted, leaving the horses to graze, and Annie spread their lunch out in the shade.
When they had finished eating, Call leaned back against a tree trunk, one elbow propped on his bent knee, lulled by the sun's warm rays and the sound of the water.
Annie sat looking up at the soft clouds as they drifted overhead. She glanced shyly at Call. "Have you ever tried to see pictures in the clouds? Look at that one," she said, pointing to a large specimen. "It looks like a cow. See? It's got horns and everything. And that one over there looks just like a top hat, doesn't it? Now, you try one."
Call shook his head. "I can't . . ."
"Yes, you can! Look. That one on the horizon looks like a sheep. See how puffy it is?"
Call followed her point. "If you say so."
Annie laughed at him. "Try it, please?"
Call's face twitched into a smile at her childlike enthusiasm, and finally he eased back on his elbows and scanned the sky. "Well," he said, "there's one that looks just like a cloud."
Annie picked up a leftover biscuit and threw it at him. "You're impossible!"
Call laughed as he dodged the biscuit.
Sitting there looking at one another, Call was struck by Annie's delicate beauty, with her blue eyes laughing at him and the sun glinting off her soft blonde hair. He wondered what she would look like with it down around her shoulders and found himself wanting to loose it from the tight pins that imprisoned it.
Annie blushed under his gaze and looked away. She rocked herself gently as she looked at the river. "You know, there's nothing more beautiful than the sun sparkling on the water." She turned back to him. "Don't you think?"
Call glanced at the river. "If you say so."
Annie put her hands on her hips and regarded him. "All right, then, what's more beautiful than that? You tell me."
Call fought down the urge to say 'you'. "Nothin', I guess," he finally answered her.
"You're certainly a man of few words; I'll say that for you. Whew, I'm getting warm!" Annie unbuttoned the cuffs of Seth's shirt and rolled them up to her elbows. Call watched her bring one sleeve up to her face and sniff the fabric. Her face clouded over. She glanced at him, her eyes filled with tears. "This shirt still smells like Seth." She gently stroked the worn sleeve. "I miss him so much. There's an ache in my heart that won't go away."
Call picked at the corner of the blanket. "Some people say it goes away with time, but mine never has."
"Oh, Call, I'm so sorry. Of course, you miss Hannah. Here I am acting like I'm the only one who has ever lost someone." She wiped her eyes. "Tell me about her; what was she like?"
Call's face darkened, and he looked away. "I . . . I can't. I've never talked about her to anyone."
"Maybe it would help if you did."
He didn't respond.
Annie reached for his hand and was surprised when he didn't pull away. "Tell me, how did she die?" she asked him gently.
The muscles in his throat tightened. It was difficult to breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook away the memory of the Mercantile blazing in the night, closed his mind to the sound of the flames and his own screams. "There was a fire." He remembered Mosby's arms pinning him to the ground. "I couldn't get to her. I tried to save her, but I couldn't. It was too late."
Annie put her hands over her mouth. "My God! Just like Seth!"
Call pushed up off the ground and stood with his back to her.
Annie arose and went to him, taking his hand in hers once more. "Call, you aren't responsible for her death."
This time he pulled away. He held up his hand between them. His voice was heavy with pain. "It's just -- you don't understand."
She didn't understand. It was his fault. Josiah had wanted Hannah to go back east. If it hadn't been for him, she would have gone. She'd be safe . . . If it weren't for him.
"Sometimes bad things happen to those we love. We can't always protect them. Some things are beyond our control."
And bringing Tavish and his gang into town. Had that been beyond his control? His mouth tightened.
"Call, listen to me. You would have saved her if it had been humanly possible. I know you did all you could."
Call turned back to face her. "You weren't there. You don't . . . you don't even know me. You don't know what kind of man I am."
Annie came a step nearer, her eyes searching his face. "It's true that we haven't known each other for very long. But I do know what kind of man you are, Call. I've seen how you are with the horses . . . how you are with me. You're gentle and kind. You care. Why, any other man would have been long gone by now, without so much as a backward glance. Yet, you're still here because I need you. Aren't you? I trust you, Call, and I never thought I'd trust anyone after . . ."
Call almost smiled at the irony. Hannah had trusted him too. And it had cost her her life.
She gently touched his cheek. "I know that Hannah was a lucky woman to have you."
Call snorted. Lucky? "All I know is, anyone who gets too close to me ends up dyin'." It was true: everyone he had ever loved had died. It didn't pay to get too close to anyone; it wasn't worth the pain. "Death is reality," he said bitterly. "It's truth. It's life you can't trust. Only a fool would believe in life."
"You don't really believe that."
Call turned his intense gaze on her for a moment, then looked away.
"Call, life may not last, but love does. It's forever. Those we love, even if we've lost them, are always with us. They live on in our hearts."
He swallowed hard. Hannah's death was an open wound, festering inside him. The pain threatened to choke him.
"What's past is past," Annie continued, "and we can't do anything to change that. But we have to go on. That's what Hannah would tell you if she was here. For her sake you have to go on living." Annie took his face gently between her hands and made him look at her. "Life is precious. Everyday is a gift. Never forget that." She gazed into his eyes for a long moment before returning to the blanket to pack up their lunch things.
Call stood staring at the rippling water. There was so much he couldn't tell her so much he couldn't let go of. He'd never faced the demons in his past. He'd run. Hell, he was still running.
***
The afternoon progressed, the light breeze becoming a hot wind that rattled the leaves in the bushes along the river and sent little eddies of dust swirling about the horse's feet. They rode in single file, Call scanning the tree line for game.
Rounding the next bend, Call dropped his hand to signal Annie, and she pulled Lucky up short behind him. Two large bucks in early velvet stood grazing where the shade was deepest, as yet unaware of their presence. Dismounting slowly, Call pulled the rifle from his scabbard, crouched and took careful aim. His shot dropped the nearer animal. Together, they rode forward to load their kill onto the packhorse. It would be enough meat to last Annie for several months.
The day had turned overcast and sultry, and the late afternoon sun disappeared, overrun by scuttling clouds that turned darker and more threatening as they piled up against the horizon. Thunder rumbled intermittently in the distance. The horses were skittish and spooked easily. Lucky shied at a tumbleweed that blew across his path. He bolted, and thundered off across the prairie. Call spurred the Hellbitch into a gallop, and catching up to the panicked animal, was able to grab the reins and subdue him.
One look at Annie's face convinced Call of her riding inexperience -- the headstrong gelding was clearly too much for her to handle in his present agitated state. Bringing their mounts together, he scooped her out of her saddle and onto the mare behind him, and Annie wrapped trembling arms around him and held on tightly, "It'll be all right," he soothed her. "It's not far now. We'll be home soon." He glanced at the sky, hoping they made it before the rain started.
Back at the ranch, Call handed Annie down by the cabin door and led the bays over to the shed. He hung the deer carcass inside, then unsaddled the horses and turned them into the corral before heading for the cabin.
"I've got some stew on the stove; it'll be ready in a few minutes," Annie said when she saw him come in. "Oh, I left the bedroom window open. I'd better close it; it's really starting to blow out there."
"I'll get it."
Call pushed open to the drape that separated Annie's sleeping quarters from the rest of the cabin. He glanced around the tiny room. Fresh muslin curtains danced before the stiff breeze coming from the half-open window. A canning jar tied with a blue hair ribbon held a bouquet of late summer wildflowers on the dresser, her cherished poetry book open beside it. A colorful quilt covered the bed, its carefully pieced squares a testament to hours of painstaking work, and Call imagined Annie in the firelight, her bright head bent over her sewing, her supple fingers carefully working each stitch. The room had a woman's touch, reminding him of another time and place.
Call swallowed hard it had been so long. Pushing away his memories, he stepped to the small window and lowered the sash.
When he emerged, Annie was putting her lit candle in the window, just as she had every evening since he'd come. She turned to find his gaze on her. "I know he's not coming back, but I always put a candle in the window when Seth was out somewhere, to show him the way home . . . to help him find his way in the dark. I guess it's hard for me to give that up. You know?" Her blue eyes filled with tears.
She turned back to the stove, but Call saw her hand steal surreptitiously to her face, and he knew she was crying silently. He longed to comfort her somehow, to put his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right. Several times he started to go to her, but he held back, unsure what her response would be.
At last, Annie took a deep breath. "Would you mind going out to the root cellar while I'm dishing this up?" she said, not looking directly at him. "There's a basket of lovely wild plums that Mrs. Andrews brought over. I thought I'd stir up a cake for tomorrow."
The moment was past. Call gave her a slight nod and headed outdoors. It wouldn't hurt to give her a few moments alone.
The pungent odor of damp earth rose up to meet his nostrils as he swung open the heavy cellar door. As his eyes adjusted in the dim light, he noted with satisfaction that Annie had been busy; jars of fruit and preserves lined the shelves, soon to be joined by the harvest of her small, but faithfully-tended garden. If he kept her supplied with fresh meat, it might be enough to keep her through the winter.
The basket of plums sat on the floor next to a sack of potatoes. He had to move a rake and some empty bushel baskets to get to it. He picked up the fruit and was turning around when he noticed some tattered bits of cloth littering the floor around his feet. Field mice had obviously found an old rag and chewed it up for nesting material. Curiously, though, he could see cloth sticking up out of the earthen floor. He knelt and pulled gently on it, and the soft dirt fell away, exposing a lumpy canvas sack. Carefully, he opened the top and peered inside. He whistled softly. Scraping at the loose dirt with his hands, he uncovered several more identical sacks in the shallow trough. He hesitated for a moment; then with a quick glance over his shoulder at the open door, he replaced the sack and scraped the dirt back over the hole, tamping it down firmly.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Annie seemed nervous and preoccupied. She jumped at the Hellbitch's squeal from the corral.
"I best see to the horses," Call said as he pushed back his chair and headed for the door.
An eerie calm hung over the ranch. The wind had died down, and there was a greenish tinge to the evening sky. The horses snorted nervously as they circled the corral. Call stood by the fence and called out soothingly to the mare. She hesitated and regarded him only briefly before resuming her frenzied pacing.
And then the storm returned. The wind began first, powerful gusts lashing the giant cottonwood, stripping its branches and littering the ground with debris as thunder rumbled -- in the distance at first, then louder, closer.
A spattering of rain hit the hard-packed earth of the yard, big drops that filled the air with the smell of dust and water.
Call sensed as much as heard the riders come into the yard.
"Hello, boys," he said as he turned slowly to face Cole and Roy Barlow. "I been expectin' you."
Roy turned wide eyes on Cole. "Cole it's Call; he's a ghost! You shot him, Cole. He was dead! I saw him!"
"Shut up, Roy. Like I told you before, ain't no such things as ghosts. Mr. Call here is very much alive."
"You shoulda let me kill him, Cole," Roy pouted. "I'd a shot him so full of holes, he'd a leaked all his blood out on the ground."
"You'll get your chance, Roy," Cole assured his cousin. He leaned forward in the saddle. "Call, you don't look happy to see us."
Call shrugged. "I don't much care for folks that try to kill me."
Cole drew Call's sawed-off shotgun from his scabbard. "You bastard, Call, you deserve to die. You killed my brother, Billy."
"Just takin' him in for bounty, is all. Ain't my fault he wouldn't come peaceable-like."
Thunder rumbled ominously. As the rain began in earnest, Call had to raise his voice to be heard over the downpour and the howling wind. "I know why you're here. Seems you left somethin' behind on your last visit."
Roy held his hat on with one hand, brandishing his firearm with the other. "Cole," he bawled, "I think he found the gold!"
"That true, Call? You been pokin' your nose in places where it don't belong?" Cole raised the sawed-off and drew back the hammer. "Seems you were lucky that day at the river, Call. Well, your luck just ran out."
Lightning split the sky in a jagged tear over their heads, and Cole's horse reared, pitching him onto the ground as Roy fought for control of his own mount.
Call seized his chance. With a single, fluid movement, he drew and fired.
Roy's face registered shock and disbelief as his gun fell from his hand, and he looked down at the bloodied front of his shirt before toppling from his horse.
The wind roared around them as lightning struck the massive cottonwood tree. With a deafening crack, a huge section of the tree sheered off. Cole cried out and scrambled to regain his footing, but its branches caught him as it fell, crushing him beneath its vast weight.
With his gun still at the ready, Call braced himself against the fierce wind, waiting for Cole to emerge from the tangle of foliage. When he didn't, Call picked up his sawed-off and approached with caution. The rain lashed down on Cole's dead face, his eyes staring unseeing into the darkening sky.
As the rain came down in torrents, a wild-eyed Annie rushed into Call's arms, and he saw the rampant fear in her eyes, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she clung to him, soaked to the skin. Call brought one hand up to cup her chin and looked down into her upturned face, pale in the pouring rain. As he smoothed back her wet hair, he saw the jagged purple scar in her hairline. "What'd they do to you, anyways?"
She stared down at the dead outlaw. "That's not important. It's all over now."
***
The next morning the tang of the torn cottonwood trunk hung strong in the air over the yard. Call stared up at the ruined tree, the leaves on its remaining branches whispered together in the slight breeze. The Lakota believed the tree had great medicine, calling it Chan Wakan, the sundance tree, the ever-living one. In some way its medicine had saved him too.
Annie came out while he was saddling the Hellbitch. She placed a packet of food in his saddlebag, then stood stroking the mare's forelock, crooning softly to her.
Call checked the ropes securing the dead bounties to their horses. "At least they can't hurt no one else." He patted the bags of gold in his saddlebag. "I expect Wells Fargo will be real happy to see their money again."
"I imagine there'll be a sizeable reward."
"I reckon. It oughta be split amongst the victims' families -- like you. I'll see to it."
"You're a good man, Call, a fair man. And you seem to know quite a bit about the law and about justice. You'd make a fine lawman."
"I was one . . . once." Call's voice was tinged with regret.
"You will be again."
Call tightened the girth strap, then turned to look at her. "I'll be back to help you lay in some stores for the winter hay for the horses, things like that." He caressed her face, his touch lingering on her lips. Then he kissed her gently on the forehead. Removing the medallion he wore under his shirt, he slipped it over her head. "The Lakota gave me this. They told me whoever wore it would be protected."
She fingered the soft feathers and smiled up at him through her tears. "I'll miss you."
Call gathered the Hellbitch's reins and swung up into the saddle.
Annie handed him the reins of the other two horses. "Goodbye, Call."
Over the top of the next rise, Call saw a lone rider approaching. The man pulled up his mount and tipped his hat. "I'm Bill Andrews, and who might you be, stranger?"
"Name's Call."
"Looks like you've had yourself some trouble. Who're these unfortunate souls?" Bill asked, indicating the bodies.
"The Hawkins gang. They're wanted for robbery and murder in these parts. They're the ones that killed your neighbor, Seth Peterson."
"My Lord! Those are the men who killed the Petersons?" He glared at the corpses. I'm glad they had the misfortune to run into you, Mr. Call." Bill Andrews removed his hat and wiped the sweat off his bald head. "Too bad it's too late for Seth and Annie; they were real nice folks. It was a terrible thing findin' them like that . . . a terrible thing. It's like those bastards took pleasure in the killin'."
"What are you sayin'? I just left Annie back at her place. She's fine."
Mr. Andrews looked confused. "I don't know what you mean, son. I buried Seth and Annie myself up yonder." He pointed to a small hill about a hundred yards to the east. "You can see for yourself if you want."
Call stared at him in disbelief. Then, leaving the two horses with their grizzly load behind, Call urged the Hellbitch to the base of the hill, dismounted, and climbed to the top where identical wooden crosses stood side by side. A slight movement caught his attention. The Indian necklace he had given to Annie lay draped over the top of one of the markers, its feathers fluttering in the breeze. He lifted the talisman, gently stroking the soft feathers, then took off his hat and knelt down to read the rudely carved letters:
Seth Peterson, May 18, 1880
Annie Peterson May 18, 1880
Tears burned behind his eyes as he carefully laid the talisman on the grave. Then, replacing his hat, he got to his feet and descended the hill. He turned his mount back toward the ranch.
As he came into the yard, all was quiet. He half expected to see Annie coming out to meet him, wiping her hands on her apron, wondering why he'd returned.
He dismounted by the cabin, walked to the door, and turned the handle. The door creaked open slowly.
The cabin was empty.
Call stepped hesitantly across the threshold. In spite of the bright summer day, the interior was cool and dark. No welcoming fire burned in the stove. The kitchen table was bare. There was no life, no warmth. There was nothing.
Call's boots echoed as he crossed the silent room. He pushed back the curtain to the sleeping alcove. All that remained of the soft, feminine room he remembered were the ruffled curtains, moving silently in the breeze from the open window. Call lowered the sash and turned to go. Noticing some dark spots on the floor, he knelt to examine them more closely. The boards had been scrubbed, but there was no mistaking what it was.
Call touched the stains gently. His sense of loss overwhelmed him, and he bowed his head, remembering and mourning the woman he had known, her bright presence forever dimmed.
Deeply shaken, Call left the cabin. Outside, he took several deep breaths to steady himself, then mounted up and rode to the far end of the yard.
Reining in his mare, he sat looking back at the cabin where a candle now burned brightly in the window.
"Goodbye, Annie."
The End
11/2003
***
Author's Notes:
Poetry:
Cottonwood: by Debra E., 2003
When We Two Parted: by George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron. 17881824
She Walks in Beauty: by George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron. 17881824
Research:
Lakota holy man, Eagle Voice, describes the sundance tree as the Chan Wakan, the holy tree, and the Ever-Living One. Two men and two women, all known for their virtue and generosity, were chosen to search for the Chan Wakan. The cottonwood tree had to be tall, straight, and slender, with a small fork near the top. After the tree was selected and cut down it was to remain untouched by human hands, for it was sacred. The dancing area was arranged as a sacred hoop around the tree. Before the tree was raised the people made offerings to it. It was painted red, a sacred color, and then raised into place. The Sacred Tree was planted. During the sundance the dancers pierce their bodies with buffalo hide thongs attached to the holy tree. The dance is a grueling test of their commitment, but if they are successful they will be blessed with a vision. Their suffering and sacrifice is given as an offering to the Creator, and the offering is given through the holy tree. There is a common thread to these rituals that transcends time and culture, and is probably older than civilization itself. Consider that Christ's sacrifice and suffering also took place upon a tree, a tree shaped into a cross. "...where this black road of difficulties crosses the good red road of spirit at the center of the hoop of the world, that place is very holy..."
The religious connotations of trees to the Lakota and other Plains Indians is something that has been kept alive throughout the centuries, and is still with us today. At Bear Butte, on the northeast corner of the Black Hills, Native Americans still tie prayer ribbons to trees as part of their religious practices. Years ago in Southwest Montana, my wife and I came across an old ponderosa pine that was adorned with prayer ribbons. A nearby sign stated that the tree was over 400 years old and had been venerated for centuries by local Native Americans. According to Ben Rhod, the prayer ribbons represent man's way of interacting with, and taking part in the prayers of the tree, which are always viewed as being in prayer in Native American culture. "We as people should emulate the tree," he said. "A tree always holds its arms up to the sky. It's always in prayer. If we emulate the tree in our real lives we see how hard it is to stand with a prayer. I don't know of any Native American people who don't know that the trees are always praying-because they are wakan.
Each tribe has their own way of expressing it, but it comes back to the same thing. "We put prayer ribbons on trees because life is ongoing. The tree is growing, the tree is praying. The wind moves the prayer ribbons. The relationship between that movement and the movement of the earth is related to the wind. Life is moving. When it stops it's dead. And that tree is praying every day as it moves in the wind. When you put a prayer into that prayer ribbon, it spreads it all across the earth." The idea that trees are beings in prayer, and that they serve as a link between heaven and earth, may shed some light on the practice of tree burials, which were practiced by the Lakota and other Great Plains peoples. Instead of burying their dead underground, the Lakota most commonly prepared the body for the journey to the other world, then wrapped it in a bundle, which was placed in a tree, or scaffold. There the body, cradled in the swaying tree branches, was offered to the wind, and sun, and sky, until it had all been returned, and nothing remained of it. Weathered old burial trees may still be found occasionally on the Great Plains today.
From: 'The Significance of Trees in Lakota Thought' by Andrew Smith
***
"We consider the cottonwood very sacred, because long ago it was the cottonwood who taught us how to make our tipis, for the leaf of the tree is an exact pattern of the tipi, and this we learned when some of our old men were watching little children making play houses from these leaves. Another reason is that if you cut an upper limb of this tree crosswise, there you will see in the grain a perfect five-pointed star, which to us represents the presence of the Great Spirit. Also, even in the lightest breeze you can hear the voice of the cottonwood tree. This we understand is its prayer to the Great Spirit, for not only men, but all things and all beings pray to Him continually in differing ways."
From 'Black Elk Speaks' by Black Elk: Lakota holy man
