Yellow Rock (3 page)

“I think they’re going to give you away as a gift. But what would they want with me? Why an old lady? I don’t know how much longer I can keep up,” Granny whined, her steps already staggering. When she fell behind, it pulled the rope tight between her and the Indian she was tethered to. He’d yanked hard against the rope, causing her to fall forward on her knees. It was the first time Granny screamed, which was met with another swift tug on the rope.

“I don’t want to be anybody’s gift,” Willow breathed, taking Granny’s hand and helping her back to her feet. Granny moaned, catching her attention. “Oh, my, look at all those Indians. I had no idea there would be so many…”

A village appeared on the skyline. The smell of smoke, the sound horses, dogs and an occasional strange human voice filtered through the air. The closer they came to the village, the more Willow’s heart raced until stars danced in her vision. There had to be nearly as many Indians here than used to occupy entire plantation of Blanford. The thought of so many, burned her with a new and stronger sense of doom. Willow stumbled behind the man pulling hear as a few of the villagers took interest enough to stop and watch the procession as they entered between rows and rows of mud-like huts, but their cold, dark stares forced Willow to look down at the dirt rolling under her feet with fear so great she had to find some way to escape it.

***

Hell’s Creek, Arizona Territory

“We sure appreciate your kindness, mister,” the man who’d introduced himself as John Wiles reached out for a handshake. Dutch shook his hand and then turned to untie Fatty from the post.

“It was nothing. How’s your wife?” The man nodded his head toward the saloon. His wife sat slumped on the bench, telling Dutch all he needed to know.

  “I don’t know. I think she’ll be alright, eventually. Willow Blanford was like daughter to Memaw. Not knowing if she’s alive or dead has taken a heap out of her.”

Dutch shook his head. Why anyone would think a new life could be forged in the harsh conditions of the Arizona Territory was beyond him. The desert and its natives have been after his soul for a while. Still, the pain these people were dealing with touched him. Not wanting to see them suffer further, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the money he’d planned on using for boots.

“Here, take this to help with your travels.”

John Wiles shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, but no thank you. We’ve got plenty. More than we should. On our way out, the colonel had run us down and gave us a bag full of Willow Blandford’s monies. I promised him I’d deliver it to her.”

Dutch patted John on the shoulder. “If I hear of anything regarding this woman, where might I get word to you?”

“We’ve made some arrangements here for a spell, and then we’ll be travelin’ to California. The mining camps there are showing lots of promise and it sounds like there’s enough work there to keep a man busy. Besides that, I told Willow that’s where we’d be and I’m hoping maybe someday she’ll find us.”

“The good Lord be willing. It was nice meeting you, John Wiles.”

“She sure could use a man like you, mister. A good man.” Dutch smiled, but he doubted a fine southern lady would tolerate living his rough lifestyle for long. He shook the old man’s hand.

“Take care of yourself and take special care of your woman.”

Dutch led Fatty away from the couple to head toward the general store. He passed another crowd of men, only this time Everett, the self-enacted lawman was organizing a posse. Dutch chuckled. The men volunteering couldn’t find their way out of a potato sack, let alone a string of wagons out in the wilds, Still, it was none of his business.

“You in, Dutch?” Everett called out above the scores of heads.

He cringed. “Nope, I’m buying boots and getting myself out of Hell’s Creek. I have enough Indian problems without going and looking for more.”

“Well, that attack was awfully close to your mountain. You know full-well we need you, and your talent with a gun,” he said.

“I only use my bullets on rattlesnakes these days, but thanks anyway.”

“There’s a Negro offering a healthy sum of money for a reward if we bring Willow Blanford to him dead or alive.”

“Everett, we both know how that will turn out and I have no use for blood money. Thanks again.”

“Of course you don’t. Not if you’re already sitting on a giant gold nest upon that mountain, hey Dutch?” But this southern gal is the daughter of a wealthy Confederate colonel and is said to be very easy on the eyes. Sure you’re still not interested?”

With that, all the men turned to look at him, he could feel their accusations clear to his bones. None of these men were successful miners and every single one of them looked to have treachery burning in their beady little eyes. The muscles along his neck vibrated with annoyance. Yeah, he was sitting on something, and if he refused to help out on this fool’s errand, then his reluctance might fuel their curiosity about his mine further. Knowing he’d have to help to keep these men from asking anymore questions and possibly rampaging his claim, he threw his arms up defeated. At least this way, he could keep his eye on them.

“Fine. I’ll help. Besides, I’ve seen you fellas shoot. There’s not a one of you that could hit a coyote if he was busy humping your leg. I suppose I can’t let you walk straight into an Apache ambush. Count me in.”

Clem walked up and reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “I feel better about this knowing you’re on board. Maybe while we’re so close to your mountain, you can show us green horns a thing or two about prospecting,” Clem said with a wink.

“Like I’ve told Ilene, I don’t have anything to show.”

Clem grinned, shooting him an all-knowing wink, and that set those muscles to twitch again.

*** 

“Stop sharing your food with me, Willow. There’s barely enough to keep one body alive, let alone two. Just take the food and let this old lady meet her maker in peace.”

Willow’s hand shook as she attempted to hand Granny Parker the last piece of dried meat. The old woman hadn’t eaten all day. When Granny suddenly darted her hand out to reach for it, Willow flinched so hard her teeth rattled.

“God almighty. Why you flinching from me, girl? What have those Indians been doin’ to you?” Granny asked, squinting at her.

“N-nothing. I c-can handle those Yanks.”

“Yanks? Those are some funny looking Yanks. Those are Indians, Willow.”

Granny squinted in accusation. “Have those monsters been touching you?”

Willow wrapped her arms around herself, trying to figure out why she’d called the Indians Yankees. Confusion ached a sore and knotted pit in her gut. Feeling out of control, she rubbed her hands hard against her arms but she couldn’t feel anything-nothing at all. It was almost like she was already dead. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was confused because she was already blessedly dead.

“Answer me, Willow. Did they touch you?”

Willow’s mind screamed and echoed inside. How could she admit what had just happened to her? Her breathing came fast and hard as the world turned grey and then darkened before her eyes.

“God-forsaken heathens. I say we both stop eatin’ their rotten meat and let the good Lord take us while there’s something left of our souls to take.” Willow flinched at Granny’s sudden outburst, then pulled her knees up under her chin. She rocked herself back and forth, listening to Granny rant on about the unholy acts of men. Still, it wasn’t fair she hadn’t had food. Granny was so thin…

There was John Wiles, stealing more of the colonel’s wine from the cellar…

“I-I don’t know, Granny. If you’re still hungry, there’s a nice loaf of bread in the fire and some grape wine in the cellar. All I have to do is go downstairs and get it for you. We better eat it before the colonel burns the house down.”

Granny sat up on her elbows, her long grey hair spilling down around her shoulders. “What do you mean, there’s bread and wine. What the hell is wrong with you? There ain’t no bread or wine out here in Hell, and your father is long-gone.”

Willow stared at Granny momentarily confused, then shook the fog from her head. What on earth had made her say such a thing? One minute she was contemplating starving to death with Granny, and the next minute she was standing inside the Blanford Plantation kitchen with a loaf of bread still steaming in front of her. Granny clicked her tongue while shaking her head at her.

“Those Indians did more than just touch you, didn’t they? You’re acting like a cracked nut.”

Willow stopped the rocking. Her chest squeezing so tight it forced her mouth open to inhale air into her lungs. She couldn’t even describe what those men had done to her. Every time she thought about it, her thoughts scrambled in her brain and this world would just shut down.

Instead of a nice, deep breath, like she intended, a scream so loud that it sounded like it come from the depths of hell rushed out, causing Granny to back herself up all the way to the other side of the hut.

“Stop that Willow. You’ll bring those heathens in here. Stop that this instant!”

Willow only vaguely heard the old lady’s warning when she was yanked to her feet by her hair and then back-handed by the man who’d just violated her before. It was the same man who stole her hair. His face was crisscrossed in scars and his jaw was disfigured from an old injury. She buckled at the knees, stricken with a terror so deep, she couldn’t fight against it.

The Indian who could speak English entered the hut and yelled something in their language that made her captor let go of her hair and follow him out the crude opening. She laid right where she fell, afraid to even move. Everything, everywhere pulsed with pain with every thumping heartbeat. The shivering that developed right after made her think of the unexpected snow storm of early spring. It almost never snows at Blanford, but she was only eight years old and she’d ran out into the courtyard without her shoes. She’d suffered from the flu afterwards while the colonel criticized that her recklessness would bring about her own death. Where was death now? Why wouldn’t it come?

Willow snuggled against a new well of warmth, only to open eyes to find another morning had arrived with Granny’s arms wrapped around her. They’d somehow managed to curl up together like two newborns on the dirt floor. The sun, warm and bright, snaked its way through the many holes of the mud and stick hut and danced along the dirt walls like ghostly flames.

“Stop your sniveling, Willow Blanford. This house is nothing but sticks and stones. Let it burn,” she said, pulling herself away from Granny to sit herself up. The old lady still laid in the fetal position and needed to wake up. The Yankees were on the way and surely, they’d want this hut. She needed to get the old lady up.

“Wake up. Wake up,” Willow said, gently nudging the body. Granny wasn’t moving or breathing. Before Willow could comprehend anything else, the disfigured man yelled something and she jumped to her feet. He took her by the wrist and pulled her out into the center of the village where he roughly tied her arms behind her back.

Within moments, Granny’s limp body was drug from the hut. The Indian forced her to stand and when she did, he thrust a heavy earthen pot into her arms. She wobbled as she walked, struggling to hold onto the pot as she made her way toward Willow. She stopped to catch her breath and the Indian kicked dirt at her. Willow cried out for Granny’s rough treatment, but that only incited the man to shout at the elder Parker woman even more and then poke at her with a stick to get her to move faster.

As Granny stood before Willow, she acted confused as what to do with the pot of water until the Indian grabbed the container from her and tossed the pot’s entire contents at Willow.

Willow inhaled sharply at the shock of the icy water splashing against raw skin. The Indian then forced a root into Granny’s shaky hand and immediately the old woman began rub the root over Willow’s arms. It created a waxy, soapy film that seeped into every scrape and bruise and Willow flinched, not able to keep from crying out from the pain and the humiliation of it.

“Quiet!” Granny ordered, as she rubbed the root harder, taking her frustration out on her. Willow closed her eyes against them all, forcing herself to disengage her mind from the humiliation and the pain. Granny then began to wash and pull at her hair, but she was no longer aware of anything except sitting on a porch swing at Blanford.

Then one of the men shook Willow back into this world while another shook the dirt from her dress. The dress was held out beyond her reach, they laughed and teased her with it before tossing it at her. Willow wasted no time in putting it on, ignoring the pain it caused. When she looked back at the Indian, he seemed to want gratitude for returning her clothing, but her defenses sparked, and she refused to give it to him. When he lifted his hand to slap at her, one of the scruffy village dogs jumped up from out of nowhere and bit down his arm, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh. So surprised at the sudden attack, and the look of horror on the Indian’s face, Willow started to laugh. The man held his arm then glared at her with something other than hatred. It was more like fear, but she wondered if she just imagined it. The one who could speak English stepped up.

“That’s enough!”

The anger in this other man was palpable, and made every inch of her withdraw back into her protective shell. Willow began to violently shake while her mind once again slipped somewhere where he couldn’t reach. When this man grabbed her arm, she wasn’t sure what else she should do besides stare at the mud below.