Beth sat up, panting. Her arm ached, and she’d bruised her hand somehow.
I’m alive! I’m alive!
As she watched, a dark cloud formed above Smith’s body. Instead of solidifying, it shifted and wavered like smoke, before fading into nothingness.
Jane’s ghost smiled at her. It put its hands on its hips and nodded happily.
Behind her, she heard pounding footsteps on the road. She tensed, and then scrambled around, bringing the gun to bear.
She let out a relieved breath. Hickok raced down the road toward her.
He skidded to a stop a few feet from her. “Are you hurt?” he asked before dropping to one knee by Jane’s side. Shock and grief raged across his face.
“I’m fine,” Beth said.
Hickok rolled Jane’s body onto its back and felt for a pulse on her neck. He cursed softly. Then he sat back on his haunches. His voice cracked when he spoke.
“She’s gone,” he said. He bit his lip, as if fighting back tears.
“Mostly,” Jane said. “Her ghost’s here.” She gestured to where the ghost stood, smiling sadly at Hickok.
“Where?” Hickok turned wildly, looking all around. His gaze went right through the ghost not more than five feet from him.
“She’s right there,” Beth said, pointing.
He sighed. “Sorry,” he said. “You must be one of the special ones that can see them.”
Beth blinked as that sunk in. She stared at the ghost, wondering.
Calamity Jane’s ghost cupped her hands over her heart and pressed them in. Then she pointed at Hickok. She repeated the hands on her heart gesture.
Beth nodded. She turned to Hickok. “She says she loves you.”
He snorted softly, but the edges of his mouth still softened at the news.
“Tell her I love her, too,” he said at last.
The ghost nodded, and her face beamed with an almost heavenly glow.
“She knows,” Beth said.
Then the ghost drifted over to Smith’s body. She pointed at something. Insistently.
Beth scrambled to her knees and crawled over to it.
“What it is?” Hickok called.
“She wants me to get something,” Beth said. “Maybe the ledger?”
“I have the ledger,” he said. “Or at least the pages that prove the Governor’s been stealing the Army’s money.”
The ghost knelt and pointed at Jane’s Colt. Beth looked at the ghost to make sure, and it nodded. She gingerly picked up the gun.
The ghost pointed at the revolver, and then at Beth. She repeated the gestures several times.
“You...want me to have this?”
The ghost nodded.
With a deep breath, she squeezed the revolver tight. “Thank you.”
The ghost smiled.
And then slowly faded away.
“She still here?” Hickok asked. He scrambled to his feet and extended a hand to pull Beth up.
Beth shook her head. She didn’t relax her grip on the gun as she got up.
“She want you to have that?” he asked.
“I think so.”
He nodded. “Then I suppose you oughtta keep it.”
“Can I?” she asked. A gift from a ghost was gonna be trouble, but she didn’t feel she could refuse.
“C’mon,” he said and gestured back toward town. “We need to make sure everyone else is all right and get some help with these bodies.”
“Then what?”
“Then,” he said, “I teach you how to shoot. It’s what she would’ve wanted.”
Beth nodded solemnly. She gave the spot where Jane’s ghost had stood one last look before they started back to town. Hickok would need some time to grieve...but then, after he taught her to shoot...?
She’d have to find some trousers that fit.
~***~
Edward J. Knight’s wife has been bugging him to write more about Calamity’s Beth since she appeared in his novel Sidekick, the first novel in his Mythic West Universe. He loves writing adventure stories that don’t rely on idiot plots and also playing with historical figures in fantastic settings. The actual reported romance between Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok was the basis for this story. When he’s not writing, Edward J. Knight designs satellites by day and co-parents two young children by night. More of his work can be found at www.edwardjknight.com.
NOT A WHISPER
SARAH BARTSCH
Kate stopped mentioning the ghosts when people realized she meant it, she really heard their voices. The word spread how she’d gone mad, even her parents said it, so Kate stopped talking about the ghosts.
Then she stopped talking altogether.
Her words drowned, caught in her throat whenever she opened her mouth, forced the breath...even with her family. Especially with family. It hadn’t always been like this. She used to say everything that came to mind, and her voice itself functioned. She still spoke out loud in the deep forest where only the animals and trees listened, and she chatted up a storm with the strangers who passed through, each and every one. Traders, thieves, farmers, vagrant soldiers—she sought out conversations with strangers.
Today, Trader Efram headed out of town with his creaking cart, heavy with all sorts of sweets and spices, sparkling—but cheap—jewelry on display and fancy fabrics from foreign lands as well as the medicines Kate tried so hard to learn about. Once past the last couple farmholds, she knew he’d board up the sides and hide his goods before taking the road to Arlinn, the village where the green-eyed people lived.
Efram always put up with her incessant questioning with smiles, so she searched him out every time he came to the village. But this time she’d wandered, exploring the forest for days, and if the deer hadn’t wandered near the road, she would have missed her chance. He had kind blue eyes and sun-wrinkled skin making him seem much older than he really was, and he looked concerned as she approached.
“Katie, lass. What’s this I hear about you being a simpleton?” He stopped the horse and leaned to peer at her from the cart’s single seat, sun-bleached blue cushion fraying at the edges, his pudgy forearm resting on his knee. “I asked after you yesterday. I stopped some of the girls in town, who I thought were your friends, but they sounded...cruel. Said you were a crazy mute and the forest was stealing your soul. I told ‘em they got it wrong, that you talk to me all the time, but—”
“You got the truth, Efram. They aren’t my friends, just silly gossips.” Though she had been away from home for days with only plants and creatures for company. Her hair was snarled, her pointy elbows skinned, and dried mud splattered her clothes where it wasn’t completely caked-on. She bit her lip, and her throat tightened up.
“Is there trouble?” he asked. “Maybe I could help.”
A silent shake of her head answered no because the word refused to shake free. But a ghost nudged her, let her know Efram was a good guy. She tried again and said, “I’ll be fine.” His offer to help was sincere, and so she went further and decided to share her secret plan, eager to hear someone agree it was a great idea. “I’m fifteen in a few years, and then I’ll run off to join Archer’s Company.”
His reaction wasn’t right at all. He frowned. “Not sure that’s going to work out, kiddo.”
“No, no, you don’t understand! I know I’m skinny and short now, but I’m gonna grow tall like my parents soon—they’re both so huge—and I’m already great with my bow and I can throw knives—”
“You could be the best of the best, but it wouldn’t matter if your pop won’t let you go.”
“He doesn’t want...doesn’t need me when he’s got Ally.”
“Ah, yes. See, that’s the problem. The whole village is abuzz since your sister ran off.”
“She’d never...” But Kate hadn’t been home herself for nearly three days. What could have happened in the space of three days? “Sorry, Trader Efram. Thank you for... Safe travels to you, but I’ve got to go.”
She ran all the way
back and ended up so winded she couldn’t force words through her scratchy throat even if she’d wanted to. In town it was harder. Not only did people stare, but the ghosts were louder, there were more of them, and it got confusing. She wished she understood what they meant. They didn’t actually have voices most of the time, more like feelings and sometimes the words manifested like thoughts in her head—but they weren’t hers, and she knew it. She knew the difference. Her own thoughts came from a different place.
Her lungs burned and sweat stuck her filthy clothes to her body as she headed through the inn’s taproom. Her mother wasn’t there. A few pro drinkers had already taken their pre-lunch spots and glared at her as she passed, probably worried that without Ally to take over from their father, the inn would fail, and they’d have nowhere to go. One of those regulars grabbed her arm as she passed.
“Is it true? Your sister’s gone?”
Kate shrugged and squirmed loose.
“She was sweet on that minstrel a few weeks back, I remember.” He laughed. “Hell, everyone remembers! That girl is gettin’ all...uh...grown up.” For Kate he only gave a dismissive once-over and went back to contemplating his beer.
That couldn’t be it, though. She barely remembered the minstrel, and Ally wasn’t some bubbleheaded twit willing to give up her good life for a guy like him. She was the smart one. She knew minstrels had a girl in every town, the villages in between, and even a wife and babies back home in the city. They weren’t for serious. Catching up with him would just be beggin’ for a brutal rejection, everyone knew, especially the smart one herself, Ally.
“What do you have to say to explain yourself?”
Her mother had found her, and Kate just sighed.
“Right, right.” Her mother sighed in return. “Say nothing because you hate me.” As though Kate’s silence was a weapon to hurt her mother, which it wasn’t, but no amount of explanation would be enough. Even the ghosts who haunted the inn vehemently agreed with that, so she didn’t bother, and her mother went on. “Your sister’s been gone for almost two whole days, and I know she got the idea from you.”
Ally had run away, but it was Kate’s fault? She hadn’t seen her sister in a week, hadn’t spoken to her since the middle of winter, and it was nearly harvest. There was a time she and Ally were allies, whispering secrets to each other, a united front against their parents, but ever since Ally started helping Dad around the inn, learning the books and numbers and filling in to serve the drinks, she’d changed. The way things were now with all the praise she got and the future she was promised, she was less likely to leave than ever...
On her own.
The only explanation that made sense was not the minstrel, not some streak of moon-induced, bloody insanity. No. She’d been taken. Kate forced her throat to work. “Mama—”
“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do until Ally comes back—which she will, any day now—but until that happens, we’ve got to keep up appearances, which means you’ll start pulling your own weight and fill in for her.” Her mother grabbed at her waist, groped her hips and sighed. “Not only a dimwit but built like a boy, and that isn’t what keeps the men drinking. Eat more and try harder.”
Doubtful she’d be able to grow a woman’s body overnight on willpower and buttered bread alone, but her mother had a point. The men liked the way Ally looked, always watching her walk, dropping things so she’d bend over to pick them up while they ogled. They teased her and stayed late when she was there and spent more money since she started serving the drinks. Rees, the drifter, most of all, and Kate realized what had happened. Rees took Ally. He wasn’t from around here, showed up with a limp after serving in the Wind Wars, he’d said. Had the look of a soldier about him but didn’t try to settle down proper even after a couple years. No woman to keep him warm at night. No man, for that matter, and he’d watched Ally fierce enough to burn holes in her flesh.
So...was Kate right?
The ghosts didn’t answer one way or the other.
After cleaning up and changing clothes, Kate quietly served drinks and food and wiped down tables while Dad repeated the lie her mother had concocted: Ally went up the mountain to help their sick aunt and would be back in a few days or so. Nothing wrong here. No, the girl wasn’t disobeying her parents over a boy. How dare anyone suggest otherwise?
Rees appeared for dinner, sweaty and tired after helping out at the mill—or whatever odd job he had this week. Kate watched him and listened for the ghosts’ feelings about him, but they were too many, distracted and conflicted like they often were inside buildings. He ordered the same as most other customers, pig roast and greens and a beer to wash it down, and nothing suggested he’d stolen a girl in the past few days. He didn’t want extra food to take home. He stayed after eating to swap stories with his friends, who liked him—even admired him—and from the outside she could see why no one would suspect him when he was so charismatic and friendly and relaxed.
But when he left, she followed. Patrons still filled the tables, were lined up along the bar, and her father would be furious with her, but Kate was the only one who realized Rees took Ally. She had to go. The ghosts agreed once she was out in the dark street and she could sense them clearer. She would track the unsuspecting kidnapper to his lair, and the spirits urged her on, the faint hint of a whisper drawing her closer to Ally. Over the years she learned that while sometimes the ghosts didn’t have all the answers or weren’t sure... They never lied.
Ally was nearby and needed help.
But Rees just went home. He lived in a room at Widow Carigie’s big stone house right in the center of town where the street lamps lit the way through the dark and certainly not where Kate expected him to keep her sister captive. Of course, if no one suspected him and even Kate doubted this was the place, then maybe it was the perfect hiding spot. A light came on in a second story window, and she climbed the wall beside the house to get a peek inside. There Rees chewed on a piece of jerky as he set about patching a hole in his trousers in the faint lamplight. Alone. The damp night air seeped into her stiff muscles as she waited and watched while Rees finished sewing the one patch and started on another.
Ally was close, the ghosts chanted in the back of her head. But not in Rees’ room. Where else could she be? Was there a basement under the big house? The walled garden might have a tool shed or...
“What are you doing?”
Startled, Kate fell off the wall. She landed at Dad’s feet, her wrist bent too far, too hard a slam against the paving stones, but she didn’t shout. Dad looked around, ashamed of his crazy daughter. “I left the inn to follow you, and we’ve got to get back before your mother notices, you hear me? Get up and let’s go.” She struggled to her feet, cradling her aching arm, but Dad carried on. “Why do you keep trying to hurt me and your mother? Both you girls, so irresponsible, going out of your way to be difficult. I left people waiting to come after you, important customers who deserve respect, and you don’t even care enough to say you’re sorry.”
Kate was sorry. It was embarrassing how guilty she felt, and now she’d hurt herself, too. How was she going to help out in the inn one-handed? But she’d come this far, and Ally needed her, so she sucked in a deep breath, pushed Dad down, and ran for Widow Carigie’s door where she knocked with her good hand, pounded, and held her breath until Widow Carigie finally appeared.
The woman hesitated to open the door wide until she saw it was Kate waiting. Widow was still fairly young but rich and well respected throughout the town. Word was she turned away suitor after suitor, stating they weren’t good enough to replace her husband, and Kate imagined growing up to be like her someday, strong enough to say what she meant and hold out for what she really wanted no matter what other people thought.
Widow hunkered down to look Kate in the eye and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What is it, honey?”
But standing there now, Widow’s expectant eyes focused on her, Kate’s throat squeezed tight. If she said th
e wrong thing or admitted to hearing the ghosts, Widow Carigie would look at her the way everyone else did, and she wasn’t sure she could bear that.
Dad came up behind her and apologized. “She’s a handful of a child. I’m sorry for bothering you at this hour for no reason. Come on, Kate.”
“Looks to me like she thinks there’s a reason. Come on, sweetie, tell me what’s happened.”
Her throat eased up as she relaxed a little, but Dad beat her to it. “She’s always upset about something, the sensitive little thing, but she doesn’t talk anymore. I know you’ve heard. Everyone knows this girl’s gone quiet.” Then he grabbed her shoulders and turned her away.
“It looks like she’s hurt,” Widow mentioned.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Then Widow stood and backed away, unable—or unwilling—to stop Dad from dragging Kate all the way home without a good reason. Kate had to explain what was happening, why she needed to stay, but Dad was guiding her away, hampered by reluctant steps, and Widow Carigie closed her door, shutting them out before Kate finally shouted. “The ghosts say Ally’s here!”
Dad jerked her arm and started walking faster. “I knew it. I knew you could talk this whole time.”
And Widow Carigie didn’t come out. Maybe she hadn’t heard? Or more likely she didn’t believe Crazy Kate was worth listening to, just like everyone else. Kate bowed her head, watching her feet tackle the cobblestones faster and faster as Dad raced to get back to the inn before they were both in worse trouble.
But then footsteps clattered up behind them.
“What ghosts?” Widow caught up. She’d run after them because she had listened. “Isn’t Ally the girl who ran off?”
“My sister.”
Dad snorted. “Don’t waste your—”
Widow glared at her father and spoke directly to Kate. “What ghosts?”
“I hear them—always have, I guess—speaking to me. They don’t use words or voices, exactly, but they tell me the truth, and they say Ally didn’t run off, she was taken. To your house.”
Dad shook her arm. “She’s sick in the head, this girl, pretending to be mute half the time and saying she hears things that aren’t there.”
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