Vestige of Legacy

by Sara Blackard

  An ear-piercing cry interrupted the moment. Samara lifted Zach up to her shoulder and patted his back. The little guy cried even harder, his scream of pain in her ear making her wonder if she’d be able to hear when he was done crying. She stood and bounced him, patting him on the back. He screamed even louder, his face turning bright red in anger. What was she doing wrong? Why wouldn’t he calm down?

  “Here, let me try.” Orlando stood and gently took Zach from her. Orlando pushed Zach’s legs up under his little body and patted him on the back. When that didn’t calm the baby down, Orlando turned the baby over so his stomach lay across Orlando’s arm. As Orlando gently rubbed Zach’s back, the baby calmed and fell into a fitful sleep.

  “How is it you can get him to calm down every single time when he just screams louder with me?” Samara gathered up the blanket, unease threatening the joy she’d found with Orlando.

  “I’m not sure.” Orlando shrugged as he stroked Zach’s red curls that clung to his head in sweaty waves. “It’s not you, Samara. Maybe I get him in the right position.”

  Samara supposed that made sense. Orlando’s hands and arms were bigger than hers. Maybe they were more comfortable. Samara smiled hesitantly at Orlando.

  “I guess we better head back. He’s going to want a bottle soon.” Samara worried about the next feeding. So far she hadn’t been very successful at getting him to eat.

  Orlando strode back to the cabin. She wadded the blanket within her arms and followed slowly. No matter what Orlando said, Samara knew the truth. She wasn’t good at this mothering business. How could she be? Her own mother had been killed much too early to pass any true knowledge on to her. Samara bowed her head in defeat as she trudged along. It would just be a matter of time before Orlando realized it as well.

  Heart-wrenching crying came from the front room where Zach was supposed to be sleeping, ripping Orlando out of his dream and pushing him to a sitting position. He reached across the bed, only to find it empty. Then the desperate words whispered in the front room reached his ears.

  “Shh, shh. Please, Zach, shh.” The strain Samara felt was evident in how her shushing quivered.

  Orlando groaned and rolled out of bed. He paused in the doorway, relishing the view of Samara in her nightgown. The low flames from the fire silhouetted her body through the thin cotton. Her auburn hair cascaded down her back. If it wasn’t for the harrowed expression on her face, Orlando could stand there all night and watch her. Or pull her into the bedroom so he could bury his hands into her hair and tell her how beautiful she was. Another scream punctuated the air and pulled Orlando out of his daydream. Orlando stepped into the room, startling Samara.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t get him to calm down.” Samara’s voice was tight, and her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

  Orlando stepped up to her, dug his hand into her hair, and kissed her on the neck. “You’re beautiful.”

  She huffed and leaned into him. “Not likely.” Her voice wavered. “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Why does he hate me?”

  “He doesn’t hate you, Samara. I think he’s in pain. Here, let me have a turn with him.” Orlando kissed her again on the cheek and took Zach from her arms. The baby pulled his legs up as he wailed. Orlando massaged Zach’s belly, putting pressure as he rubbed. Zach started calming down. “See how he’s pulling his legs up?” Samara nodded, her arms crossed protectively in front of her chest. “I think the cow’s milk is upsetting his stomach.”

  Samara reached a shaky hand out and pushed Zach’s red hair off of his forehead. “But look at him. You’ve had him for like two minutes, and he’s already calmed. I’ve been out here for two hours, and he’s screamed the entire time.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I just hold him the right way.” Orlando shrugged.

  Samara cringed. “I just… I… I can’t do this, Orlando. I’m not mom material. I can’t… I don’t even know what to do.” A tear escaped from the corner of her eye as she jerked her hand away from Zach.

  “I don’t know what to do either, Samara, but I promise you, we can figure this out together.”

  She shook her head, the red curls bouncing around her shoulders. She squeezed her eyes shut and scrubbed her hands over her face. Orlando’s heart rate increased with her panicked movements. He placed his hand on the side of her face, rubbing the tear off her cheek. “Listen, you’re exhausted. Why don’t you go in to bed, and I’ll take care of him for a bit. Maybe after some sleep, you’ll feel better.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she nodded her head. Orlando pulled her close and kissed her softly. Her lips trembled as she kissed him back.

  “I love you, Samara, and I know you’re going to be a great mother. We just have to get through this rough patch,” Orlando whispered.

  She peered into his eyes, the dark circles beneath hers making her red-rimmed lids appear more weary. The look she gave him was so similar to the guarded expressions he’d worked hard to erase that worry threaded through his heart. She nodded and turned away, her feet dragging as she made her way to the bedroom. Orlando sighed as he looked at the baby sleeping contently in his arms. He’d help Samara see she was a good mother. He just had to figure out how to fix Zach’s tummy, then taking care of him wouldn’t be so taxing. Orlando sat in the rocker and gently pushed it into motion. He glanced at the stuffed bookshelves along the wall. He’d scour every medical book he had if it meant he could alleviate Zach’s discomfort and bolster Samara’s confidence as a mother. He’d do anything to heal his little family.

  Samara speared the clean diaper onto the clothesline, her arms weighing a ton in her exhaustion. Zach wailed in the basket she had set up with blankets so she could get the clothes washed and hung while Orlando left to hunt. She never imagined the non-stop crying of an infant could cause such mental instability. If the military knew the effectiveness of this particular torture method, they could break prisoners into exposing secrets within hours. She lifted her leaden arms and hung another diaper, her eyelids drooping.

  I need coffee. There was no way she could function without some caffeine. She stirred the next load of clothes simmering in the wash pot and headed for the cabin with a sigh, wishing she could’ve brought back a washing machine with her. She filled the coffeepot full of water, ground the coffee beans, threw them in the bottom of the pot, and set it in the coals that still burned hot from the morning’s fire. She sagged into a chair at the table and supported her head on her hand, staring blankly into the fireplace.

  Samara jolted awake as the drone of Zach’s crying transformed into a new shriek. She pushed from the chair and stumbled out the door. To her horror, a chicken sat on Zach’s chest, pecking at the baby. Samara screamed and waved her hands as she rushed to the basket. She scooped Zach up, frantically pulling his blankets and gown aside. A sob wrenched from her throat at the sight of an angry red welt on his cheek and chest.

  “Oh, baby,” Samara sobbed as she pulled him to her. “I’m so sorry.”

  What have I done? Samara whirled around as the beat of horse’s feet approached fast. She wasn’t cut out for this. She couldn’t be a mother. She’d fallen asleep and left her baby outside for goodness sake! Relief and dread battled within her as Orlando raced into the yard, jumping from his horse. Orlando could take care of Zach just fine without her. She should leave before she hurt him worse. She looked down at the beautiful baby boy in her arms, her heart shattering into a million pieces. She knew something would happen to rip this happiness away. She didn’t deserve this baby, this family. For their sake, she had to leave before she did any more damage.

  A terrified scream ripped through the air and Orlando kicked Loco into a gallop. He had hesitated leaving to hunt that morning, not wanting to saddle Samara with Zach, who had renewed his crying upon waking. However, the dwindling stock of meat had pushed him out the door alone, knowing a screaming baby would keep all game away and make hunting impossible. He’d hurried, choosing to get a few rabbits instead of a bigger an
imal. Now he wondered if he should’ve left at all.

  He careened into the yard, dismounting before Loco had come to a stop. Samara turned to him, a look of horror etched upon her tearstained face. She clutched Zach to her as she quickly closed the distance between them.

  She thrust the baby to him. “You have to help him. The chicken… the chicken got him.”

  Orlando examined the small scratch on the baby’s face. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

  Samara paced in front of him, pulling her hair at her temples. “It’s all my fault. I left him. How could I do that, just leave him outside like that?”

  “You probably didn’t mean to.” Orlando could tell she was coming unhinged. How was he going to fix this while encouraging her?

  “I… he… I…” Samara’s hand shakily rubbed her collar. “What kind of mom forgets her baby outside and falls asleep inside?”

  “An exhausted one.” Orlando draped his arm across Samara’s shoulder, bouncing the baby with the other arm. “You’ve gotten hardly any sleep these last few nights. It’s no wonder you fell asleep.”

  Samara shook her head hard and moved away from Orlando. She pinned her arms to her stomach, her chin trembling. “I can’t do this, Orlando. Obviously I’m not meant to be a mother. What if the chicken had pecked his eye out? Or a coyote could have come and eaten him?”

  “Samara, you can’t let one mistake determine that you aren’t meant to be a mother.” Orlando prayed he’d say the right thing. “I see a woman who hasn’t gotten any sleep the last few nights, working hard to keep up on the chores while taking care of a baby who can’t stop crying. You have to give yourself some leeway here.”

  Samara’s head shook frantically. “He could be blind because of me.”

  “But he’s not. He just has a little scratch that we’ll put some balm on. God protected him, Samara. He’s going to be fine.” Samara backed up a step and stared at her garden, avoiding eye contact. Orlando’s mouth went dry, and his heartbeat picked up. “I think if we get a couple of sheep over here and switch his milk to sheep’s milk, it might help with his upset tummy. I was planning on riding over to where the sheep are and bringing a few back. Why don’t you two come with me? Maybe the motion of the horse will calm him.”

  Samara’s eyes sharpened as she looked at him, her mind whirling behind her tired expression. “I don’t think I could stay awake on a horse.”

  “We’ll ride double then.” Orlando liked the idea of holding his family close as they rode through the forest.

  “What if…” Samara looked away and pulled rhythmically on a piece of her hair. She took a shaky breath and continued, “What if I stayed here? I could finish the laundry real fast and then sleep. Zach does better with you anyway.”

  Orlando stared at her, trying to figure out what she was thinking. He guessed that traipsing through the forest wouldn’t help her exhaustion. Maybe having some space from the baby would help her clear her mind of doubt. But what if something happened and he wasn’t here to help her?

  “I don’t like leaving you alone for that long.” Orlando knew the words were ridiculous the instant they sprang from his mouth, but he couldn’t stop them from flowing forth.

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll be perfectly fine here.” Samara smiled at him, though the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. “I survived on the streets of Philly, Orlando, beat the snot out of that pompous Elk jerk. I think I can handle a day on my own. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  Indecision warred within him. He knew it would be impossible for her to be with him all the time. She’d have to be comfortable staying home without him; it came with living in the Rocky Mountain wilderness. That didn’t mean he had to like it. He noticed the droop in her shoulders and the dark bruises fatigue had left under her eyes. He couldn’t be selfish. She needed sleep if she was ever going to feel like she could succeed at being a mother.

  “Alright.” Orlando rolled the unease off his shoulders. “Help me get a pack loaded for Zach. Then me and him will head out, and you can sleep.”

  Samara’s sigh of relief as she headed into the cabin was so big Orlando wondered how her body didn’t collapse under her. Though doubt still churned in his belly, he knew she needed some space from the crying. Needed some uninterrupted sleep so she wouldn’t be teetering on the edge of losing control. He could give her this, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t hustle as all get out to round up a couple of ewes and get back. He marched over to where they’d stacked the clean diapers and started gathering a supply to put in his pack. It also didn’t mean he wouldn’t be banging on God’s gate for Samara the entire time he was gone as well. She needed more than just a peaceful afternoon so she could sleep. She needed the peace that surpasses every circumstance, the peace that can only come from God. Orlando wasn’t going to stop praying until she found it.

  Chapter 21

  Apprehension sat heavy in Orlando’s gut, sinking deep into the marrow of his bones. He shouldn’t have left Samara alone. His soul fairly screamed in agony as he’d mounted up and rode away. How was he to show her his trust if he didn’t… well, trust? So he’d left, praying the Lord would watch over her, hoping his worry was for nothing.

  Yet, the instant he’d gotten to the flock and Onootee, faster than he’d ever travelled that narrow winding trail, he’d made sure all was fine, picked out some ewes with udders still heavy with milk, whistled for Zeus, and took off for home. He knew the flock would be fine with the other dog and the two shepherds to keep watch. If Samara wanted to insist on staying home, Zeus would stay with her, whether she liked it or not. He also planned to spend a fair amount of time convincing her that sticking together, no matter how capable she was, would be the best for everyone, but mostly for his own sanity.

  Orlando rode into the homestead, anxious to see Samara. When her deep auburn hair didn’t appear among the stalks of corn or between the clothes hanging on the line, Orlando rode up to the cabin. Though the chickens clucked and the birds sang, an eerie quiet hung over the area as he dismounted, as if all life had been sucked from the spot.

  “Samara?” Orlando called, marching to the door and pushing it open.

  Silence rushed out to him, smothering him. Even the baby remained quiet where he was strapped to Orlando’s chest. Orlando raced across the vacant front room to look in their bedroom. Emptiness welcomed him, embracing him in its frigid arms. As Orlando turned to check the barn, a sheet of paper lying on the bed caught his attention. The two steps it took to reach the bed felt like he’d traversed a canyon. His heart raced and hands shook as he lifted it and read:

  Orlando,

  I know this may be the coward’s way out, but I couldn’t leave with you here.

  All air whooshed from Orlando’s lungs, and suddenly his head began to spin. She’d left him. The realization knocked the strength from his knees, and he sat with a thud onto the bed. Why? screamed through his head as he brought his hand to his eyes, squeezing them tight to keep the burn of tears from escaping. He breathed deeply and continued reading.

  I can’t stay knowing that whatever it is inside me that keeps me from happiness, that keeps haunting me, will eventually destroy us all as well. Look what happened to poor Zach. It’s only a matter of time before I do something worse. You are a good man and don’t deserve to be tainted by me. Thank you for rescuing me, for being a calm peace in the midst of my storm.

  Love, Samara.

  That was it? Orlando stood and stomped into the front room. She thought of him as a calm peace? He continued outside and rushed to the barn. Orlando threw open the barn door. He’d show her a calm peace.

  Midnight was gone. Good. He turned back to the doorway, cutting for sign and easily finding the horse’s tracks with the distinct circled shoe he’d fashioned to help the horse after her hoof had been injured.

  Orlando marched to Loco, a new determination burning in his soul. He would sacrifice anything to keep her with him. Could that be the problem? Was she not happy here in the isolate
d wilderness?

  “Zeus, where’s Samara? Find Samara.” Orlando’s voice was low and steady, hiding the emotions that raged within.

  Could he leave the only home he’d ever known to keep her happy? Orlando thought about the filth and noise of Denver, a city still in its infancy, and shuddered. It didn’t matter how much the press of people made his skin crawl and the stench of the hordes curdled in his nose. If Samara needed crowds and bustle and her ridiculous fancy coffee to be happy, he’d make a new life for them in the thick of it and rejoice.

  Samara honestly thought he’d eventually not want her, that she would do something to turn him away? Orlando laughed a rueful sound. The day he didn’t want Samara was the day music died. And since the Good Book claimed even the rocks sang out to God, Orlando figured that day would never come. No, Samara was stuck with him, and as soon as he tracked her contrary hide down, he fixed on making sure she had a firm understanding of that.

  Zeus put his nose to the ground and circled a spot in the trail. Orlando dismounted, petting Zeus on the side when he whined. Orlando examined the tracks, his blood running cold. Moccasin-tracks distorted the hoof prints, scuffing the dirt in a struggle. Someone had intercepted Orlando’s wife. At the sight of blood pooled on the side of the trail next to her dulcimer case, a depression in dirt where a small body had landed, Orlando’s wrath burned hot. Someone had dug up the hatchet of peace Orlando strived to live by when they chose to take his wife. Orlando narrowed his eyes, prepared to accept the declaration of war.

  Samara’s first thought as she awoke was that somehow in her trek through the Colorado wilderness, she’d found a jackhammer that insisted on banging on her head. Had she fallen off Midnight in her idiotic attempt to escape quickly? When she couldn’t get the saddle on, she decided in her brilliant thought process that bareback would work just as well, if not better, than messing with the saddle. Fifteen minutes from home, she’d realized the folly of her thoughts as her thighs burned so hot with pain she wondered if she’d walk again, and her inability to balance well without the stirrups was laughable. It was inevitable that she’d fall off. She just hoped Midnight had stuck around.