Showdown at Possum Trot

by David Watts

  She struggled again with increased force and he slapped her hard. She relaxed, whimpering, sobbing. Chest heaving.

  “See how that works?” he said as if whispering a secret to a confidant. “I will have the pleasure of violating his eldest daughter and he will not even know about it. That’s the very best part.”

  She gasped and began crying out loud.

  “Cry harder, girl. It will make my pleasure all the more. And now the best part,” he said. “Now for your pretty little cherry.”

  He struggled with her undergarments and briefly lost control of her wrists just long enough for her to separate her hands and desperately search the desktop blindly for anything of use. She felt a stack of papers which scattered to the floor, a cigar box which pushed away, a bottle of ink, then her fingertips glanced against something round and hard.

  Her panties were at her knees. She clasped her thighs together but he was beginning to force his hands between them to massage her sex. She squirmed away, one direction then another, trying to prevent him from entering her, crying out each time he returned to soften his target.

  She stretched her arm in the direction of the object she found but his pressures brought her whole body back. She saw clearly, in vivid images, what was going to happen next. It was so horrific and so repulsive that without thinking to do so, she bit him in the shoulder.

  “Bitch,” he shouted.

  He rose up to disentangle himself freeing her to slide her body to the side, grasp the paperweight and smash it as hard as she could into the side of his head.

  It stunned him. He shook like he was having an epileptic fit, tried to regain composure, staggered to the side, eyes rolling uncontrollably. . . still conscious, a mean look of mayhem and fire exploded over his face. It was very clear he intended to tear her apart.

  She rose on her elbows. He moved to recover himself, reached out for her once again, his hand pausing and vibrating over her, his body contorting in a desperate attempt to remain coherent, but suddenly he lost control and slumped to the floor.

  She stood, pulled up her underclothings, pulled down her dress and fled down the stairs and out the door.

  The whores watched her go. They almost applauded but they couldn’t take the risk.

  *****

  Faith Charles returned home. She looked haggled, mussed up, and a little unsteady on her feet. She had a bruise on her left cheek and her hair was in tangles falling to her shoulders.

  Her family looked at her with alarm.

  “Daddy,” she said. “I have to talk to you in private.”

  She took him to the storage room where they keep the fresh vegetables and condiments and sat him on a stool.

  “First thing,” she said. “You have to promise me you will do nothing, nothing at all, until you have heard everything I have to say. And then you have to tell me what you’re going to do.”

  Jackson nodded.

  “Be sure now.”

  He nodded again.

  Faith began to weep. “I was foolish, father,” she said. “I thought I could earn a little money for the family, make things easier on us all. I guess I was susceptible.”

  “A noble idea,” said Jackson.

  She laughed with a touch of cynicism. “Noble, but naive.”

  Jackson raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

  She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.” She reached out and touched him on the sleeve. “I want you not to go off in a huff until you let this news settle on you for a day or two.”

  “The tension is killing me,” he said.

  “I know. I know, father. It’s hard to say what I have to tell you and the only reason I can say anything at all is that—now listen to this—I’m okay. I am not harmed. I. . . have lost nothing.” She shook him with both hands on his shoulders. “Okay?”

  “Okay. What happened?”

  Faith leaned back. “You saw Horse sitting next to me at the church gathering.”

  “That I did and. . .”

  She held up her hand to stop him. “I know what you are going to say and I don’t. . . I can’t bear to hear it. I have to just push my way through this.”

  Jackson nodded but his face was stern.

  “He offered me a job.” Like a flash her hand shot up for she saw her father’s reaction even as it was about to form. She turned her head away.

  He groaned, shifted on his stool and pursed his lips.

  “It was just going to be a trial, you know, waiting tables, maybe singing a little bit.” She put her hand down. “Now hear me all the rest of the way through before you say anything because you have to know. . .” her voice tightened and grew louder, “. . . THE WHOLE STORY.”

  She paused, breathed deeply.

  “But it turned sour later in the day. Basically. . . he attacked me. He tried to rape me but I fought him off, father. I fought HIM OFF.”

  She grabbed his face with both hands and put her face close to his. “He tried to rape me but HE DID NOT SUCCEED! He did not penetrate me. I am still. . . still okay.”

  “And that’s the only reason I can tell you this. Because all of this was just a set up. A snare to trap you. For if he was successful in. . . in raping me”—she swallowed hard at the sound of her own words—“and you found out about it, and in your rage did something foolish, he could shoot you dead and claim self defense—don’t you see? All of this—all of this, was about the Rusty Bucket and competition, and greed over his loss of money!”

  “So you mustn’t confront him, father, mustn’t take a gun and leave this house. Daddy, the attack was bad enough. I don’t want to lose you too!”

  She threw her arms around him and she sobbed and sobbed. Jackson put his arms around his beautiful firstborn. “Everything will be all right,” he said.

  “We have to protect ourselves, daddy. He’s after us.”

  “We are strong,” he said.

  “And we are still intact,” she said. “We are whole. I’m okay.”

  “Cry, my love,” he said. “Cry, but never break.”

  *****

  Two hours later, Jackson strapped on his six gun and left the house. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going.

  *****

  As Jake, Galen, Crissy and Sabo sat down to dinner a knock came at the door.

  It was Sanchez. He removed his tattered hat and brushed the dust from his shirt. His face was streaked with the quality of mud that sweat makes when mixed with the dirt of a very hard ride.

  “Miss Lily sent me,” he said.

  EIGHTEEN

  Sanchez sat at the table gratefully eating what was offered. In between bites he told his story.

  “Three men on horseback showed up at the farm,” he said. “The Missus was in the front yard tending vegetables. I was in the barn but I came to the door when I heard them coming. I could hear what they had to say.”

  “Had you seen them before?” asked Jake.

  “No. Never. But I heard one of them call the other J. J.”

  Jake nodded. “I know who they are. What did they want?”

  Sanchez swallowed his last morsel of chicken and gravy and leaned back in his chair. “They wanted the farm,” he said.

  Jake tapped the table with his fingers. He looked at Galen. Galen raised his eyebrows.

  “They were asking lots of questions,” Sanchez continued, “about how large it was, were the property lines were, if the well was making good water. They asked how much she wanted for the farm and she said it wasn’t for sale.”

  Jake scowled “I know how this story goes. This is the point where it turns into a cock fight.”

  “Right,” said Sanchez. “They told her she had to sell, or they would come and take it away from her. They gave her twenty-four hours to make up her mind. Said they would be back to make the offer.”

  Jake looked at Galen. Galen nodded.

  “Okay,” Jake said. “We know what comes next.”

  Galen tilted
his head to one side and shifted the butter knife so it separated from the rest.

  The two men looked at each other as if to say the force of history they always expected would rise to this point was here and now.

  Jake turned to Crissy. “There’s going to be a gunfight,” he said. “Before or during that time the women will be targets for capture, hostage or a lot worse. Tomorrow we’ll hitch up the wagon, load it up with provisions, take it over to Lily’s and send you two down to my cousin in San Antonio.”

  Crissy looked frightened.

  “You okay?” said Jake.

  Crissy nodded.

  He turned back to Sanchez. “Can you handle a rifle?”

  “Yes I can.”

  “You go with the women and protect them with your life if necessary.”

  He dipped his head briefly. “It will be a privilege.”

  “Women can shoot a gun, too,” Crissy said.

  “Okay,” Jake said. “I’m going back with Sanchez in case anything happens tonight. The rest of you bring the wagon over early tomorrow morning and we’ll get this show on the road.”

  He looked at Galen.

  Galen smiled. “If you’re askin’,” Galen said., “I’ve been ready for this a long time.”

  *****

  An hour later another knock came at the door at Sheriff Jake Paxton’s place.

  “Jake just left,” Galen said, and he explained the situation out at Lily’s and why Jake had gone over to protect her.

  “There’s big trouble in Possum Trot tonight,” the caller said.

  “Better tell me about it,” said Galen.

  Jackson Charles came in and told Galen the story of Faith and Horse.

  Galen listened intently without comment. When he was done he put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “You get back to your family,” he said. “They need your protection. Use that gun you have strapped to your side not to chase down Horse, you’re gonna lose that battle. You have to pick the one you might win—keep your family safe.”

  Jackson nodded.

  “But be ready tomorrow,” Galen said.

  “What for?”

  “For anything.”

  Jackson wasn’t satisfied. “I will,” he said, “but what about Horse? I started out tonight to kill the bastard. I got half way across the street and stopped. Every bone in my body wanted to empty my gun in him but the only thing that kept me from charging into the Angel Dust right then and shooting up the place was a promise I made to Faith.” He grabbed Galen’s shirt. “You’ve gotta stand in for me, Galen. That man needs to die.”

  “Smart woman, that daughter of yours. Good thing you listened. But don’t you worry none about Horse, Jackson. Right now, he’s a keg of gunpowder about to be lit up.”

  *****

  The night was a troubled night, one that passed achingly, as if straining to pull itself from one sticky moment to the next. A rising half moon. No wind. The stillness amplified the articulations of the nocturnal: crickets hidden under grasses, night owl in the far pine, a feral cat slipping through the sage.

  The house was quiet but alert, laced with the tensions of the awake, spasms of the heart consoling itself in the enlarging hours.

  Crissy’ bright eyes were wide open, almost glowing in the haze of diminished light. Her mind was in the clench of a rising desperation. The future had been made suddenly insecure. All could be lost. Yet tonight, though Galen was apart from her, he was only a few steps away.

  She listened for him through the walls, training her ears only his direction.

  She imagined the distance between them suddenly penetrable, the house collapsing in on itself until the walls parted, doors unhinged, stairs contracted like the fluted bellows of an accordion until she was there, sitting by his side. What would it take to make this happen?

  True, the margin between them had thinned a little recently, yet something that felt like standing on ceremony still was the rule.

  She rolled over in bed and watched the moon through her window. She hoped it would reassure her but the moon was broken. She turned back. She could let the evening pass on its own without intervention, let the moon run its fractured path through the evening hours, hoping Galen might rise and come to her side. But he’d never done that before. Would he now?

  She understood more of his reasons after Jake’s talk, but by knowing this much she also knew the unrelenting tug of his hesitation. It would not easily change.

  Her thinking circulated around her like hummingbirds darting. And still she was in her bed, he in his.

  There was only one way. It was up to her.

  She rose from her bed, stood still a moment taking a deep breath, then went to her door and descended the stair to the main floor of the house, moving with the scraps of courage she’d pieced together out of desperation and desire to stand against the loss that surely would happen if she did nothing. The limitations of her short life were never more conscious to her. If something bad was going to happen to either one of them why miss this one last opportunity? Missing would be worse than whatever consequence might come.

  She knocked lightly on Galen’s door and entered without hesitation. A shaft of angular moonlight illuminated her body with sharp contrasts where the hills of her and the ridges of her gave over to valleys and troughs. She was aware of her breath rising and falling through the moonbeams as her body moved a little with each inhalation and sigh. She felt his stare upon her like the pressure of autumn leaves driven by a steady wind, the way in conversation one sometimes is aware of the crush of the eyes more than the melody of the voice.

  She waited there, let him absorb her beauty completely, taking what the moon would give him, etched out of darkness and creamy light.

  She reached with crossed arms to grasp the straps of her gown and slowly lift it over her face, as if an updraft of a sudden breeze had caught her unawares, the hem now fluttering at her thighs.

  She paused there, then extended her arms fully over her head, transferring the alternate strap to her left hand and, as if sliding away the protection that keeps dust from falling upon an ancient Egyptian treasure, the sheet rippling over the shapes under it like water over stone, her gown drifted slowly up and off to the side.

  She let it crumple to the floor.

  Eyes shut, she offered her nakedness to the enlarging pores of his eyes, aware of her rapid heart, unafraid.

  Then she walked to his bedside, lifted the covers and slipped in beside him. She felt his breath, the ballistic ripples of a massive heart beating. . .

  “It’s time,” she whispered. “Galen, it’s time.”

  NINETEEN

  Galen was up with the dawn. Sabo already had refreshments laid out. Galen gobbled coffee and cornbread, loaded the wagon with food supplies, water, and Crissy’s duffle bag, hitched the horses and leashed Major to the back.

  The air was motionless. Suspended within it were aromas of sage and prairie clover released overnight from the slow breathing of pastures and fields, the orange glow of sunrise dropping like a patina of luminous dust upon the land. The stillness contained a quality of tension, as if the day, reluctant to get moving, resisted starting so early, and the body, not yet smooth in its motions, drew back to the contented bed of the previous night. Inertia held its moment like a wall, waiting to be pushed aside by the rituals of the day. Galen didn’t give it a second thought. All this was predestined. His will simply took over as they stepped up into the wagon and struck out for Lily’s and whatever it was the day would give them.

  Crissy sat next to him on the spring seat and linked elbows with his, leaning against his shoulder. Behind them the farm, ahead of them, mostly unknown. The progress of the morning no different than any other, yet the two riders noticed everything: how the scrub oaks leaned over the trail, how the cattle were stirring, how the fence rows represented hours of labor from those who created them, marking a patchwork of order in the chaos of an open frontier. Where were these fence-builders now as they passed by, early
at the edge of day?

  Directly, they came to a rise in the road and a gentle turn off to the right that brought them to Lily’s farm. Crissy had never seen the place. What presented itself to her was a small farmhouse with an upstairs dormer, a rock fence surrounding the front yard, a well off to one side, covered by a roof and bucket crank, a barn up the hill a little off to the right and a shed for the chickens behind the house.

  Jake and Lily came out as they arrived and loaded Lily’s things in the wagon.

  “No time to waste,” said Jake.

  Sanchez brought his 30-30 lever action and placed it in the wagon bed.

  “Hold on a minute,” Jake said, and disappeared back into the house, returning with a double barrel 10 gage and a box of shells.

  Lily laughed. “That old rag?”

  He placed it in the bed alongside Sanchez’s rifle.

  “Tell Oliver thanks in advance for putting up with my renegades,” Jake said, and then he watched them rise up over the hill, disappearing down the other side. Nothing left but a little cloud of dust where they used to be.

  Galen stood in the yard and surveyed the property.

  “Making plans?” said Jake.

  “Like to know my options,” he said. He noticed that the barn was dug into the hillside so that at the backside the ground reached the second level. A little path curved around to the back for loading hay into the loft. There was a well house adjacent to the well, presumably used as a cool room for eggs and produce. A smoke house perched out back near the chickens and there was an old stone structure, probably the original home, lying in ruins up the hill beyond the barn.