The Carroll Farm Fight

by Greg Hunt

  “Them caves up there ain’t a fit place for no young girls,” the old woman said yet again. That one idea was stuck in her brain, and seemed about the only thing left in there. “Bad things was bound to happen . . .”

  Becky looked at her mother, seeming to understand, then turned to look at Mel. He could only imagine how her heart must be breaking now, and an absolutely helpless feeling overwhelmed him. He could fight and shoot and do all the hard things a man had to do sometimes to protect himself and those he cared about, but it seemed like there was nothing he could do now to help this girl deal with her pain.

  “She was this way when I came through before. This whole thing must have been too much for her, and something broke in her mind. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you how bad things were here while we were still up in the hills. But I guess I should have, so you’d have a little time to get ready.”

  “No, it’s okay, Mel,” Becky said, reaching out to touch his arm lightly. “You did right. It would have been one more worry.”

  “We’ll take care of her, and your sister, too. We’ll do the best we can.”

  Becky had Mel carry Rochelle down to the bank of the river where there was water. Then he wandered away to give them their privacy. Becky bathed in the river while the old woman bathed and tended to her unconscious daughter with touching tenderness, talking to her all the while, as if Rochelle understood every word. When they called him back, Henrietta Adderly had come up with a white dress from someplace, and managed to clothe her daughter in it. The tattered, filthy rags she’d had on during the trip down from the cave were cast aside on the riverbank. The white dress was dingy and dirty, but Mel could tell that it had once been a fine and special garment. Mel’s throat tightened and his eyes went blurry when the old woman explained that it had been her own wedding dress. She was saving it for Rochelle’s wedding day.

  “Don’t worry, Mama,” Becky said consolingly. “She’ll still wear it at her wedding someday. And maybe so will I.”

  Mel had to admire Becky Adderly for how she had collected herself together in the midst of all these terrible circumstances. Home and farm lay in total ruins around her, and everyone she cared about was now dead, damaged, or gone. How could a child of thirteen or fourteen have so much come at her so quickly, and still keep her wits about her? In all their lives, Becky and Mel had never exchanged more than a handful of words, and before he led her out of the cave and back home, he felt as if he scarcely knew her. But now he recognized the true strength in her.

  Becky crawled into the ruins of the barn and spent some solitary time with her father’s body, although the stench drifting out of there by now was almost more than Mel could stand, even from the outside. Mel roamed out into the woods to forage and hunt, and came back with enough to feed them for the night.

  They buried Ezekiel Adderly in the little family cemetery, up a grassy slope from where the house had been. Mel dug a shallow grave with a plank pulled from the barn, vowing to return someday with a shovel and do a more fitting job of it. There were no tools to build a coffin but he lined the hole with more random lumber from the fallen barn. Hauling the body up the hillside and into the hole was the hardest part. The stink of the rotting corpse that old Ezekiel’s fleeing soul had left behind was nearly unbearable.

  He had the hole filled in by the time Becky and her mother returned with wildflowers for the grave. Mel carried Rochelle up to the family cemetery, and held her in his arms while they said good-bye to Ezekiel. It didn’t seem fitting to lay her on the ground through all this, as if she was little more than another corpse, waiting her turn.

  None of them knew the right words to say, but Becky and her mother sang some hymns, their voices blending with surprising harmony and beauty. Mel knew every word and note they sang, but didn’t spoil their familiar harmony by trying to join in. “Amazing Grace,” “Take Me Home to Beulah Land,” “Through the Dark to Jesus’s Arms,” and “Death’s Sweet Victory.” All familiar funeral standards that seemed to add a touch of dignity and finality to the moment.

  At one point Mel looked down at Rochelle, and it seemed like he saw her lips moving slightly, as if she was joining in the chorus for her father. His heart leaped for an instant, but then she fell still again, not making a sound. Her eyelids seemed to flutter and he imagined that she might be trying to look at him. But how could he tell for sure through the bruising on her swollen face?

  It all seemed so strange and incomprehensible to Mel. He had traveled so far, put himself in all sorts of danger, fought and nearly died, to see, to save, and hopefully to marry, this young woman. Now he stood holding her in his arms, warm and soft, even wearing a wedding dress for heaven’s sake, but somehow she seemed farther away than she had been when he first determined to leave his farm and come in search of her. In his mind he cobbled together a simple clumsy prayer for her, as well as for her mother and sister, but he felt like he did a sorry job of it. It probably wasn’t deserving of much of the Lord’s attention, given everything else that was happening around these parts right now.

  Afterward they turned and walked away, Becky clinging to her mother and sobbing. Mel followed, still carrying Rochelle, a dozen thoughts and feelings racing through his mind.

  “That was some fine singing you did over the grave,” Mel said at last. “I’m sure Mister Zeke would have been proud of the two of you.”

  “Our family always sang together,” Becky said. “Jaipeth had the purest tenor voice you’d ever want to hear, and Ro could sing either alto or soprano, depending on the song.”

  It bothered Mel that Becky was speaking as if that was all in the past, and the people she mentioned were already gone.

  “Seemed to me Rochelle was trying to join in back there at the grave,” Mel offered. “And for a second, it seemed like she was trying to look up at me. Prob’ly just my imagination.”

  “Maybe trying to get a peek at the daddy,” Henrietta offered.

  “Ma’am?”

  “At the daddy,” she repeated.

  “You mean her daddy?”

  “No, no. At the daddy of that new little soul she’s carrying around inside of her.”

  “Becky, what’s she talking about?” Mel said.

  “You’re not the only one who held their tongue on the way down from the hills,” Becky admitted, turning to look at him. “By rights it’s Rochelle that should tell you. But there’s no arguing that you should know, one way or t’other. So now it’s out.”

  For a moment, Mel was too stunned to speak.

  “When she missed her time last month, she was so scared she couldn’t keep it to herself. She told me, and I told Mama, and Mama told Daddy. After that it didn’t take them long to find out from her the when and where and who.”

  “My Ezekiel was coming for you, boy,” Henrietta Adderly said with pride and resolve. “He put a fresh load in the shotgun, and he figured to leave soon as the mare foaled. But then them soldiers come, and all the rest happened.”

  “I aimed to marry her, anyway, Miss Henrietta,” Mel said quietly, “even if I didn’t know about the baby.” He looked down at Rochelle and said, “I did. I swear to it.” Rochelle did not react in any way, nor did the old woman. Mel decided it was time to let things stand as they were, and continued to follow Becky and her mother to the barn.

  The sun slid down into the band of trees to the west, and full darkness approached. Mel knew that he had to arrange someplace for them to spend the night. Crawling back into the sanctuary of the fallen barn was no longer reasonable. The stench of death was too much to deal with, and old Ezekiel’s spirit, if it hadn’t yet moved on to some better place, might get angry about the intrusion. Or it might still be angry about his defiled daughter.

  Fresh dead spirits, so people said, weren’t something you wanted to mess around with. They didn’t have the sense and emotions of real living people, and they hadn’t had the time to get used to how they were now. Some didn’t even know they were dead yet, or hadn’t accepted i
t. Others were just mad as hell about the whole thing, and ready to take it out on anybody who was handy.

  He wondered what it might be like if Rochelle died and he came across her spirit before it traveled on to the heavenly realms. Would she know him? Would she know that he had loved her and wanted to do right by her? Or would she just be another lonely, scary, disconnected soul, angry, resentful of the living, and desperate to cross over to some better place?

  He pushed those thoughts out of his mind, realizing that no good could come of them. Mel wasn’t sure what sort of damage a spirit might do to a living person, and he didn’t want to find out.

  Mel made a lean-to by propping up one plank wall of a demolished chicken coop. In the growing darkness they all crowded under it, bone tired, and the three women shared the filthy blanket that Mel had wrapped Rochelle in when he took her from the cave. Mel lay on the ground outside the shelter with one pistol ready in each hand, folded atop his chest. Within seconds the old woman began to snore, a droning nasal rumble that alternated in pitch as the air entered in, then left, her chest. Beside her Rochelle was the same, laying as they put her, like a corpse that still breathed.

  Becky lay on the outside, an arm’s length from Mel, sniffling softly, uttering an occasional quiet sob. Mel let her alone, understanding that she needed some time to let out all the stored-up fear and grief that she held inside. After a time, she fell still, and Mel thought she had gone to sleep.

  “I’m scared they’ll come back,” Becky said quietly, unexpectedly, as if sharing a secret with the night. Mel had been nearly out, and it took a moment for him to come back awake. “They might be out of food, or they might think they can take me and Ro back. Or they might come looking for revenge ’cause of what you did to their friends.”

  “They could come back,” Mel agreed. “But they’d know that this time a fight was waiting for them if they did. I don’t ’spect they’d have the stomach for that. It’s why they’re up there hiding now, ’cause they ran away from the fighting.”

  “Even so, they might still stay around these parts and turn into outlaws. There’s enough of them to cause a lot of trouble to the folks still left in these parts. And what better place to hide out in than those hills and caves?”

  “They don’t have time enough left to be a bother to anyone. I’ve made up my mind about it.”

  The moon was perched high in the western sky when Mel woke next. Becky lay close beside him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder, holding his arm in both of hers, snuggled up tight for warmth and safety, Mel figured. He was surprised that she hadn’t roused him because he wasn’t used to sleeping with anyone. He only allowed the dog, back when he had one, to sleep on the foot of his cot on the coldest nights when the fire had burned down and his feet were cold.

  Somewhere in the distance a bobcat snarled, three abrupt, chilling screams, each slightly higher in pitch than the one before. Mel had learned young that a bobcat was an evil-tempered critter, and not to be taken lightly unless you had the means and will to fight to the death. But the screams were far enough away not to be worrisome. Closer around there was only the usual nighttime racket of crickets and frogs, welcome sounds because they meant that there was no other threat close by.

  It annoyed him that he had slept so deeply. Anyone could have slipped up on them, and sleeping with a pistol in each hand wouldn’t be much help if he didn’t wake up in time to use them. By the time he closed his eyes last night he felt so completely exhausted that he figured a black bear could have come sniffing and growling and grumbling around them, and he might not know it until the critter started licking supper crumbs off his face.

  After these few days of danger and discomfort, it was hard to imagine bedding down on a fresh straw tick, between clean blankets, with a feather pillow for his head, feeling safe and not needing to keep one ear cocked for the next threat to happen along. He figured it would feel as good as gold coins in his pocket or a new gun.

  But those pleasures were still a ways off for him.

  Moonlight bathed the landscape of the devastated farm, so bright that he could clearly make out the mound of the fresh grave fifty yards away up the hillside. He would make good time on his way back to the Meat Holler cave.

  Mel shook Becky’s shoulder lightly and whispered her name, hoping not to rouse the old woman sleeping nearby.

  “Mmmm?” the girl responded, still half asleep.

  “Wake up, girl,” Mel said softly. He pushed her gently away from him so things would be proper. “It’s time for me to head back up there and finish this business.”

  Becky raised her head from the comfort of Mel’s shoulder and drew back slightly so she could look at his face. In the moonlight she looked like a child. Her hair was tangled like a handful of straw, and her eyes were full of alarm.

  “Now? Tonight?” she asked.

  “There’s no use waiting,” Mel said. “Your daddy named me his blood avenger. I never heard of it then, but now I have an idea what he meant. Men like those up yonder got no right to keep their lives.”

  He pulled back away so he could see her face more clearly. “Are you comfortable with handguns, Becky? Do you know how to aim and fire one?”

  “Daddy taught us.”

  “All right, I’m leaving one here with you, loaded and ready to shoot. If they come back, keep the gun out of sight until they’re close so you have a better chance of hitting someone. At first light, you and your mama put Rochelle on the travois and hide out in the woods someplace close about. Within hollering distance. I should be back by midday.”

  “And if . . .” The girl hesitated, her voice breaking. “If you don’t never . . . I mean . . .”

  “If I don’t make it back,” Mel told her, trying to sound calm, “then you’ll have to make do as best you can. Head toward a neighbor’s place, or up the post road toward Cable Springs. Don’t try to stay here, at least not until the sheriff and some of the local men can clean that bunch out.”

  Mel rolled away, stood up, and stretched the stiffness out of his body. He showed Becky how to cock and fire the handgun he had given her, then turned it over to her. He shouldered the heavy pack that held the rest of his arsenal.

  “If it comes a shower, make sure the loads in that gun stay dry,” he instructed. “There’s a piece of canvas up in the barn that’ll do fine for that.”

  “I’ve lived around guns all my life, mister. I guess I know a couple of things about ’em.” Becky mustered a smile, and Mel gave her one back. He looked her up and down, holding the loaded revolver in her hand like it belonged there, and thought maybe she wasn’t quite the child he had been thinking she was.

  “Now you listen to me, Mel Carroll. If things start to go bad for you up there, get away and come on back here. There ain’t no law, God’s nor man’s, that says you’ve got to finish this thing today, or any other day, for that matter.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mel said, grinning slightly.

  “Mama and Ro and me need you, mister,” Becky said insistently. “You might or might not get this thing done. From what I saw, those men up there ain’t much. But you saved us, and now we sorta belong to you. Whether you like it or not. So you make sure you come on back. A live, ordinary man’s a lot more use to us than a dead Bible hero.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mel repeated.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The lookout posted outside the cave sat with his back against the stone wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. Both of his hands rested on the long battered musket that lay across his lap. His head lolled forward, and his blue cap was pulled low over his eyes.

  In the dim predawn light the thick ribbon of blood that flowed from the slash across his neck down into his shirt was hardly noticeable.

  He was a handsome young fellow, about Mel’s own age. Mel guessed that he had probably done pretty well with the girls back home, wherever home had been. He had the soft look of a town boy, and was probably the apple of his mother’s eye. The tw
o mistakes that had brought him to this sorry end were probably the biggest he had made in his young life. The first was to run away from the army and take up with this lot. And the second had been to harm, or at least allow his companions to harm, the young women in these parts.

  Mel was hidden in a patch of weeds a few feet from the sentry whose neck he had sliced nearly an hour before. He had been dead asleep when Mel crept silently up to him in the dark, and now he was just dead. Wherever he was right now, heaven, hell, or someplace closer about, he was probably still pondering what happened and how he woke up dead.

  Mel had spent much of that hour considering when and how to deal with the deserters. When the first gray of morning light began to reveal a little of the cave’s interior, he would begin.

  In this early, predawn time, an eerie stillness had taken over the woods around him. The nighttime animals and insects had settled into their hidden resting places in anticipation of the new day, and those that lived their lives in the daylight were not yet active. Even the birds hadn’t stirred.

  He had no doubt that the revenge he was about to inflict, or at least make a try for, was right and justified. Hadn’t Ezekiel Adderly himself appointed Mel his Blood Avenger? He was pretty sure that was something straight out of the Bible, and if there was anybody in these parts who knew about God’s will and what his Holy Word sometimes required of a man, it was that stern, unforgiving old parson. Yet Mel couldn’t ignore the creeping notion that there was a dark and evil side to this business as well, and that somehow the devil also had his hand in it.

  This was a terrible thing he was about to do. Some would probably call it straight-out murder. And that didn’t take into account the reckless risk he was taking with his own life. He wondered how the men in those armies manage to do it day after day.

  He tried hard to hold onto his cold hatred toward the men in the cave for what they had done. No doubt some were evil through and through, but during normal times the rest were probably normal men like him, not going out of their way to harm anybody if they didn’t need to.