Authors: J. R. Biery
Jackson looked toward the house, torn between chasing the
raiders and going back inside to check on Hattie. “We were at the Stoddard’s
ranch a couple of days ago. I’m pretty sure that’s not where they’re staying
these days.”
The men exchanged looks when Jackson continued to stare at
the house. “Well, at least this time we know there’s no point in going for the
sheriff. Pair up, Hank with me. Men let’s ride.”
Jackson circled the house, then took the road toward town
and the Dawson’s place. Hank started to argue, but then fell into place beside
him. When they crossed the tracks of four horses, Jackson dismounted to study
them. The only thing he could tell for sure was that one horse carried a
heavier rider, the tracks were deeper and the smaller pony had a nail missing
in a shoe. They rode almost up to the front door of the Dawson’s house before
the tracks veered off.
Cautiously, Jackson rode on into town, following the tracks
until they were hidden among dozens of others on the dusty trail. “Hank, do you
think you can find Tony, see if he saw or heard anything.”
“Looks like you may need a back-up.” He nodded toward the
horses tied up at the saloon. It was Sunday, but it was customary for the
saloon to open after church, since it catered to a different crowd.
“If I do, looks like the sheriff is here to give a hand.” He
pointed out the sheriff’s wall-eyed pinto tied up beside the other four.
“Okay, boss, once I get him, we’ll come back, just in case.”
Jackson nodded, focused on the saloon door. He dismounted,
tying up in front of the Thompson’s store. He eased up onto the boardwalk and
peered into the dusky quiet of the saloon. At a front table sat Sheriff Tate
and a nervous, ugly cowhand, a man Jackson remembered hassling Hattie on the
day he brought her home. He couldn’t tell anything about the other three, until
one lifted his drink and Jackson held his breath. The man clearly was missing
his middle finger on his right hand.
So Hogue and Sweat were two of the ones who had shot horses
and torn up his place. They were clearly friends of the sheriff and had two new
men riding with them. The heavy man could be Silas Sweat, but the man’s long
black hair and beard gave him no resemblance to the four-fingered drinker.
Jackson eased the gun back into the holster as he realized
there was no way to approach them, one against five. Certainly, no reason to
see the sheriff to report and complain about the raid, he had probably just
heard about it from the raiders. Asking his father-in-law for help was
pointless. He had reason to believe it was Charlie Dawson behind this raid, the
earlier rustling, and the harassment of Hattie and her father, as well as the
other ranchers. They would pay, but not now, not here in town.
Carefully, he backed off the walkway and mounted up. In
minutes, he was waiting beneath an elm tree in the Mexican section of Star.
Hank rode up with a rumpled looking Tony. The younger cowhand had the good
grace to look embarrassed.
“I did what you asked, boss, checked around for strangers.
There are four men who have set up out at the Eastman place.”
“Eastman?”
“Yeah, he was one of the small squatters just west of town.
He had a really bad run of luck last year. First rustlers, then his barn
burned, then he lost his crops to a prairie fire. When he couldn’t pay his
taxes, the bank foreclosed. Not sure who owns the place, but these four have
moved in out there.”
“Well, see if you can find out names. I’m pretty sure one is
Rafe Hogue, then there’s a four-fingered man, pretty sure he was Silas or Able
Sweat.”
“Missing a middle-finger?”
“The very one. They were drinking with Sheriff Tate.” He
started to add that their trail lead from the Dawson’s place, but he didn’t. To
accuse a man as powerful as Charlie Dawson, even when he had reason, could be a
costly mistake for all of them.
“What’s the next move, boss?”
“Tony, you’ll stick close, keep an eye on these men on the
Eastman’s ranch. The rest of us will ride armed. If they cross onto Harper land
again, we’ll shoot first, then ask questions.”
“We could ride in with you, take them on now,” Hank said.
Jackson shook his head. “Believe me I want to. But this
isn’t Deadwood or Tombstone City. Folks don’t expect gunfights on the streets
of Star and I don’t want to be the one to start one, do you?”
Hank shook his head. “No, but I sure want those coyotes
dead.”
Jackson remembered the terror stricken girl who had touched
his cheek and told him she was good, to go ahead. “No one wants them dead more
than me. We’ll get every one of them. But we’ll do it legal. For now, we’ll
wait.”
When he was once again on Harper land, Jackson fired the two
short bursts of rifle fire that was the agreed upon signal. The men poured into
the ranch yard as he rode in. He met them at the paddock.
“Some of you will have to drag these horses down to the
gully and cover them. We don’t want coyotes or wolves this close to the house.
Hank and a few of you can tackle getting the chicken coop nailed back together.
I’ll repair the gate and porch fencing,” Jackson said.
“No one saw four horsemen. Don’t you want us to go back out
scouting?” Cliff asked.
“No need. I found their trail; they’re holed up at the
Eastman ranch. A place like the Stoddard’s that had far too much bad luck, and
then got foreclosed on by the bank.”
Cliff stared at him hard. “You saw who they were?”
“Yeah, I saw them drinking with our friend the sheriff. Rafe
Hogue and one of the Sweats, probably Able, along with two I’ve never seen. One
oversized with long black hair and a black beard, and the other on the runt
side.”
“I suppose you saw their horses too?”
“A black, seventeen hands at least, probably carrying the
fat man. A brown mustang, a dun quarter horse and a small, flea-bitten gray
that has a shoe on the right front leg that’s missing a nail.”
The men exchanged hard looks. “That’s a pretty close look,
boss.”
“Tony is staying in town, keeping an eye on their movements
and trying to give us a heads up. I believe it’s the best way to handle
things.”
“Why don’t we just ride out, shoot them full of holes like
they did those strawberry ponies?” Cliff demanded.
“Nothing would please me more. But with the law on their
side, we need to catch them in the act.”
“So we just stay home and clean up the mess.”
“And, keep an eye on the cattle and the ranch. The priority
is the safety of the people here, especially Hattie and J.D.”
“You can count on us, boss.”
Supper was a silent affair, the broken furniture in the
living room keeping everyone’s spirits low. They ate beans, fresh corn, and
buttered corn bread with green onions and no one complained. Tired and hungry,
they were glad to have a hot meal
Hattie was somber, still wearing the skirt and blue blouse
from church, holding J.D. who was frightened by all the tension in the air. He
clung to her and rejected all offers of other arms or laps. Hattie no longer
appeared frightened, but she appeared sad, hurt by all the destruction and the
dead animals. He knew she would normally have changed back into her everyday
clothes. Maybe it was knowing that all her clothes were gone, that she would
always be wearing Donna’s that gave her face such a down-turned expression.
After supper, the men all got busy with their tasks; Jackson
hammered the boards into place and rehung the gate on the porch. Hattie carried
the quilt from the bed and the sewing basket into the front room. The tall
table had been set upright, the Bible back on top. Although the settee had been
slashed on the seat, the back and both arms, its horse hair stuffing still
rested firmly inside and none of its wood was broken. It was as though the
raiders were going through the motions, but not really expecting to find
anything since they hadn’t removed the stuffing like they had on the bed.
She began with the encyclopedia of needlework, reading again
the section on mending. She chose the denim from the scrap bag, cutting pieces
to work beneath the edges of the rips in the upholstery. Then using the curved
needle and a red thread to match the fabric, she slowly whip stitched the edges
together over the reinforcing cloth. Her first real difficulty came when she
had to make a knot at the end of the seam. J.D. sat beside her on the folded
quilt, his back and sitting skills stronger every day. He looked up at her and
she had to smile at his studious expression. Knowing it might show, she made
the usual double loop, passing the needle through the last loop and then bit
off the end of the thread after running it down the length of the seam. At her
smile of satisfaction, J.D. laughed out loud.
Hattie stabbed the needle into the slashed sofa nearest her
and scooped the laughing baby into her arms. Leaning down to kiss him, she was
delighted when he raised up to kiss her back. As she held him in the circle of
her arms he stretched up against her. “Big boy, momma’s big boy,” she teased
and he laughed again.
Jackson stepped into the house staring at the pair on the
quilt. The baby stood on wobbly legs, weaving in the arms of his smiling wife.
Despite the rage that still rushed through him at the violation of his home and
the killing of his stock, he felt his own lips tug into a smile as they both
turned to smile at him.
He stopped for a moment to hug and kiss both, then turned to
examine the chair. Although its upholstery hadn’t been slashed, one leg and the
bottom side rails had both been broken. While the boy played between them, both
continued to work. Hattie darned one of the arms, just as she had repaired the
long rip in the seat.
Then stretching her back, careful not to move her feet, she
cut and placed the denim in the tear of the backrest and the remaining arm.
J.D. had stopped babbling and lay with his head under her skirt, one hand on
her ankle. Jackson finished working the broken leg loose from the chair and the
broken rail from the rear leg and smiled at her. “He always figures out what
I’d like to do, and then does it for me.”
Hattie looked down, moving her skirt just enough to reveal
the sleeping baby. “I hope the lord will forgive us for the work this day.” She
added as she returned needle and thread to the basket.
“I was always taught that no new work was to be done, only
cooking and light mending. I’d say that’s all that any of us have done.” He put
down the hammer on the seat of the mended couch, then bent to lift the limp
baby.
Rubye stood in the open door of her room. “Did you call me?”
Hattie shook her head, again reaching to stretch her back.
“No, I forgot to ask, but was your room all right?”
The older woman nodded. “Can’t say the same for the rest of
the house. Took forever to clean up the spilled food and grease in the kitchen.
The pantry is a real mess. James and I put up some of it, but they dumped your
spice jars and we figured you would want to see to that tomorrow.”
“Thank you, I will. Did they mess up anything in the
cellar?”
“No, I don’t believe they knew to look there. Don’t worry
about rising early, James and I will see to breakfast and the men.”
“Thank you, Rubye, goodnight,” Hattie and Jackson said,
smiling at each other because they had spoken the same words at the same time.
Hattie followed Jackson and J.D., holding the basket to her
side as she leaned to blow out the lamp on the dinner table.
Wordlessly, Jackson blew out the lamp on the dresser and
took her hand. In the dark bedroom, they undressed each other, and then
soundlessly fell into each other’s arms. Afterward, they talked in whispers.
“I’m sorry about how I reacted, when we came home.”
“I thought you were going to faint again.”
She shook her head. “It was the vultures, the destruction,
it reminded me of riding up to our ranch and finding the dog shot…” her voice cracked,
“…and Dad bleeding, beaten unconscious. I just couldn’t bear reliving all of
it.”
She realized she was weeping again when he pulled her into
his arms, kissing her cheeks as he cooed to her, kissing her eyelids and
finally her mouth. She felt as though he were drinking her sorrow with her
tears.
Coming up for air, she shook her head. “I’m not usually an
emotional or weepy woman. You must think me a real goose.” She turned so her
back was to him. “I didn’t cry, after, after … I just couldn’t let go. I guess
I knew if I fell apart, there would be no one to care for Dad, look after the
animals that were left on the place. Then when I learned I was pregnant, I was
so full of rage and hate.”
“Hattie, you don’t need to explain.”
“They came back to our place once, did I tell you that,” she
added sitting up.
“No, I didn’t know.”
“I was ready with the rifle. I hit one of them; I figure it
was Silas since he was walking with a limp at the store. Another I barked with
splinters from the porch post. But I didn’t hit Rafe. He’s the one, the one I
have to kill. He ….” Her voice trailed away.
Each word was like a knife to him but he knew it was like
any festering wound, she needed to talk to let all the poisonous hurt drain
away. God grant him the strength to hear it all. “You can tell me,” he whispered,
his voice raw from swallowing back the rage and tears.
She shook her head, “I’ve wallowed in pity long enough Mr.
Harper.” She relaxed back into his arms.
“Why, why do you think they did this?” Hattie asked.
He rubbed a hand lazily over her bare back, loving the
soothing feel of her silky, damp skin. “I think someone sent them to do it.
They did it because they wanted to punish us for the wedding.”
“Wedding?” she laughed. “You mean the shotgun wedding where
we both were threatened with being expelled from church, pulled before the
preacher, and forced to marry.”
Jackson shook his head, nuzzling her neck until she curved,
spooning into his body. “Are you sorry to be Mrs. Harper?” he whispered,
nibbling at her ear.
Hattie snuggled closer, trying to capture the hands that
continued to skim over her skin, then boldly cupped her breasts and smoothed
the softness of her stomach and lower.
She gasped as he entered her again. “No, Mr. Harper, I’m not
sorry.”
<><><>
Hattie knew she should still feel sad, but it was a
beautiful day and with Rubye and James both to help, all the chores were
finished by mid-morning. She sat with the cracked spice jars and the swept up
pile of spices on a newspaper. For the first time this morning, she felt the
bitter frustration she had experienced yesterday. If there was one thing she
didn’t cotton to, it was being a victim. After the night she was attacked, she
had vowed not to be again. But if Jackson and all his men couldn’t prevent
raiders from doing this, then neither could she, and being angry about
something that couldn’t be changed was a waste of time. At least today she had
her father’s belt and gun around her waist and the rifle loaded and above the
fireplace. If they came today, she would be ready.
She listened to J.D. pounding on an empty pot with a wooden
spoon in the space between the kitchen and dining table. Patiently Hattie
fitted pieces together until she had two lids ready to glue and three bottles
that had cracks or corners knocked off waiting for the porcelain sealer. She
smiled as Rubye told J.D. he was a great drummer, only to hear him pound even
louder. Carefully, she applied the glue and set each piece aside to carefully
dry.
The spices were a different problem. After several minutes,
she decided picking out dill or cinnamon might be doable, but it would
definitely take more time than she had. She removed the three big nutmeg pieces
and put them in their intact jar. J.D. was already getting restless. He had
managed to turn the pot over and she rose to hand him his wooden toys so he
could drop them in the pot and then pull them out to drop again. Quickly she
moved to the kitchen where she found the tea sieve and then returned to sorting
spices. She folded the corner of the paper, then poured them all through the
sieve onto a new sheet of newspaper. With the ones remaining, Hattie shook the
sieve for a few more minutes, then pulled the lighter dill from the top of the
little basket. She next put the bark fragments into the newly glued cinnamon
jar with the bigger bark curls, and finished by returning the cloves to their
own jar. Three down.
J.D. was complaining loudly and it was Rubye who moved, this
time dumping the pot and turning it back over. The tall, gaunt woman stood bent
over the boy, then handed him his wooden spoon. When he did nothing, she gave
it one good rap, then handed him the spoon again. Hattie smiled as he began to
bang away.
This time she went for the flour sifter, removed it from the
flour bin in the pantry and carried it to the table. Again she shook the
remaining spices together and poured them through the finer screen. Once again
she shook the sifter, holding the newspaper underneath. This time she collected
star anise in the top layer, black peppercorns in the next, and red pepper
flakes in the third layer.
Unfortunately the pile remaining was all powder. She hated
to waste anything, but even the best cookbook in the world would probably not
have powdered cumin, mustard, turmeric, mace, and cayenne, all in one recipe.
She took a break to change and feed the tired baby, asking Rubye if she had any
ideas.
Rubye smiled as she removed the cornbread from the skillet.
“Nope, I can’t believe you were able to sort out so much with just two
strainers.”
J.D. leaned back and stared up at her. Hattie smiled. “Did
you just think what I did?” He smiled before going back to nursing.
As soon as he was full, Hattie put J.D. back to work with
his toys and the pot and carefully put up all the refilled jars and strainers.
After wiping down and setting the table, she folded the last newspaper with all
the powder inside. She moved the remaining jars and dusted her hands. Finally
she folded and tore six small squares of newspaper. Then she carefully folded a
cone from the last newspaper sheet. Carefully she poured the spices in the
cone. She pinched the tight end shut and slowly and carefully tapped on the
side until she saw the top layer was uniform in color, then holding the cone
over the first square, she released it until the color changed, pinched it,
then moved to the next square, to repeat all the steps. Men began to filter in
and Rubye set food on the table, but Hattie continued until the last layer was
emptied onto its square. Jackson had entered and stood behind her as she finished
up.