Nicademus: The Wild Ones

by Sienna Mynx

  Her skin glistened, slick with soap water. She used a large sponge to run it over her curves and down to the delta between her thighs. The thatch of curly hairs over her pussy was lathered in suds. And her body, though built to be slender and petite, had full woman curves from her heart shaped hips that tapered down with thick thighs and shapely legs. When she bent down to soap the sponge in the bath water her breasts swayed a little. Her skin tone was dark, and even darker were her nipples, like ripe blackberries. She was graceful, and delicate in ways he knew of few women. Not a scar, a blemish, or any sign of imperfection. He wondered if she felt as soft as she looked.

  With one eye pressed to the tiny slit between the door, he watched her. Riveted. Secretly he willed her to do a full turn, and display all of her beauty to him. But she did not.

  Having stolen enough of her privacy he drew away. Instead of the trap of the cot he went to the door and stepped out into the night. He needed to cool off. His blood felt feverish in his veins, and his dick bulked between his legs. The night air was so crisp he almost turned to fetch his shirt. He rubbed his arms and walked the length of her porch.

  Jeremiah looked east toward the town, again curious about how these people ran it. He wasn’t ignorant to all things, but he was raised to believe that people of color—brown people in particular—were inferior, unable to complete any task without be giving explicit instructions. During the war he ran across a few runaways, and even a few Negro soldiers, but never had any interaction with them. Never thought to.

  Part of him itched to learn more. More about a world not trapped by ignorance, but one where a beauty like Annabelle was free to just be. Going over to the edge of the porch he held his side as he carefully sat down, and his head turned upward toward the full moon. He heard the soft creak of the door behind him open once more, and knew she was with him. Closing his eyes, he forced the image of her naked body that was emblazoned on his brain away.

  “What’cha doin out here? Come inside. Now!”

  “Just getting some air,” he said.

  “Now!” she demanded.

  Jeremiah smiled and struggled but managed to stand. He returned inside. But his smile soon faded. His beautiful songbird had changed. She was dressed like a whore. “What are you wearing?” he asked.

  She frowned at him. “I have to go to work, stupid. I’m wearing a dress. You can’t go outside, Jeremy. Someone might see you!”

  “What work do you do?” he asked, circling her. She wore a corset that lifted her lovely breasts, trapped beneath a bright red satin dress. The hem was inappropriately high to the front, with stockings with garters you could see. Her hair was out of the braids and very thick and crinkly about her face. She had put a small black-feathered hat in it.

  “Are you a whore?” he blurted out.

  She slapped him. Not hard, but her strike was fast and targeted. Violence from her lovely, healing hand startled him.

  “I’m no whore! I ain’t neva done it with a man … I don’t do those nasty things. I … I sing. At Blue Moon, I’s the singer. How the hell do you think I can afford those potatoes and beans you done ate up?”

  “I didn’t mean to offend, it’s just you look—”

  “Never mind how I look. You stay on the cot and away from the door. I will be back before sunrise if’in I can. If not, you stay inside!”

  She grabbed her sheer shawl and put it around her shoulders. What he wanted to say was that she looked beautiful. But he knew that wouldn’t be received the right way. Damn it. With no other way to object, he stood mute as she walked out of the door.

  The outlaw’s words stung. During the long walk into town she kept hearing his question in her head. Why should she care what he thought of her? She couldn’t understand the answer. She had never felt anything like the interest she felt for that scoundrel. And that was dangerous. Hell, lying to Red Sun and Ms. Kitty was blasphemous. Annabelle had to figure out what to do.

  “Hi, beautiful,” a man spoke.

  She spun with her gun in her hand in the direction of the voice. She was jumpy. Had reason to be, on a night walk into town. More than once, one of the men had lain in wait and tried to be amorous. Most of the drunks of the town weren’t dumb enough to risk Red Sun’s wrath though. She didn’t take the outlaw’s horse for fear the soldiers might recognize the saddle.

  “Henry? That you?” she asked

  Henry rode up on his horse. Damn, the animal was as quiet as he was. He walked it by her side. “Thought I’d come and offer you a ride. Seen you under this moon and I had to just watch you a spell. Most beautiful sight is you, Annabelle.”

  “Aah,” she smiled. “That sound like poetry.”

  Henry grinned.

  “Too bad I don’t like poetry,” she sassed and kept walking.

  Henry laughed. He leaned on his horse and peered down at her. “Don’t be so mean. You get that pretty dress all dusty walking to the Blue Moon. Let me give you a ride,” he insisted.

  She looked up at him once more. Several of the girls at Blue Moon wanted Henry. He was important, just being born the sheriff’s son. So she understood the fascination. He winked. She rolled her eyes heavenward and offered her hand. Henry was strong. He pulled her up effortlessly and she sat sideways in front of him. His arms went around her as he steered the horse.

  “You know you sing like an angel. Why don’t you come to church and join the choir?” he asked.

  “You know why,” she answered. She kept her eyes trained on the town.

  “I don’t. I think if you come you will see worshiping the lord—”

  “He ain’t my lord, or yours. He some white man lord taught to you through slavery. That’s what Red Sun say.”

  Henry stopped the horse. Annabelle looked over at him, her face close to his. “That’s ignorant Annabelle, and it’s wrong. Read the Bible. It ain’t a book about color, it’s a book about salvation, and all of us need it. Red Sun is old and stuck in his tribal ways, so is my pa. But you and I are different. Our children will be different. And that’s because we know different. Do you understand?” he asked.

  “I ain’t neva havin’ children with you,” she frowned.

  He smiled. “Why, Miss Annabelle, neva say neva.” He clucked his tongue and the horse began to trot on. She managed to hide her smile. She liked Henry, and maybe if she was yearning for a family life she’d choose him as her man. But he was right: they were different. She wanted to see the world. Be a healer like her pa. And making babies and sitting on the church pew with him wasn’t in her plan.

  **

  Jeremiah pushed open the door to Annabelle’s room. The sweet aroma of lavender greeted him. He stepped inside the darkness, his eyes having adjusted. Her bed was made. The water in the tin-bathing tub was murky from her bath, and the sponge floated on top. Nothing really personal could be found from a cursory glance. Still, his desire to know more of her churned in his gut. So he opened her drawers and fiddled through her things. He found in the bottom drawer something wrapped tightly with cowhide and a string. Jeremiah took it over to her bed and sat down. He opened it and removed several papers. One of them was a certificate of freedom given to Hezekiah Jefferson. He knew of these papers. He remembered when his father freed old man Jessup after years of service. Jessup stayed and worked for them but proudly showed anyone who came calling his papers as a free man. He looked for a certificate for Annabelle’s mother but found none. He did find a photograph of her father. He wore tribal clothes. It must have been taken by someone who came into contact with the Chickasaw because there were other photos of tribesmen. Jeremiah focused on the one of her father. He looked proud, next to a man in a feathered headdress. His dark skin, high cheekbones, and piercing eyes were all Annabelle.

  The other papers he found were in a different language. So he gathered it all back up, tied it the way he found it, and put it back at the bottom of her drawer. He heard someone at the door. He froze. Instinctually he knew it wasn’t Annabelle. And he had only seconds to
act.

  Jessiemae pushed the door open. When Annabelle rode into the saloon with Henry she fumed with jealousy. She envied her with such passion she couldn’t think straight. Everyone thought she was so special. Hell, the Indian built her that fine cabin on the edge of town, and he slept in a tent at the back of the saloon, or with Ms. Kitty. Why was it Annabelle got so many things?

  Determined, she headed to Annabelle’s and let herself inside. The place was quiet and still. Jessiemae kept her gun ready. If she found that outlaw she’d drag him into town and show everyone what Annabelle had done. Little Miss Princess wouldn’t be so pure and high and mighty then, she was sure.

  From under the skirt of the bed he could see into the cabin. A woman entered. He saw her feet, and the hem of her dress. She was silent and careful with her steps. Jeremiah strained his sight to track her.

  “Come out! I got a gun. You surprise me and I’ll put lead in your belly. I promise,” she said. Jeremiah remained still. He had barely made it under the bed before she walked inside. “Where you?” the woman asked.

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t breathe. Hell, he didn’t even have his guns to protect himself. Though he’d never shoot a woman.

  She came into the room and stood at the door. He stared at her feet and waited for her to discover him. After a long pause she walked over to one of the closet doors in the room and opened it, and then another. Annabelle had two closet spaces.

  “Where he go?” the woman huffed in frustration.

  Jeremiah pressed his lips together. He didn’t make a move but sweat beaded over his brow and his body was racked with tremors. Lying flat on his stomach put unneeded pressure on his torso and he wasn’t fully healed. The woman came over to the bed and sat on it and he nearly wheezed in agony. The springs beneath the mattress dipped and pressed into his back. How long was she going to stay, and why hadn’t she checked under the bed?

  Staring straight ahead he heard the whisper of scurrying legs. A long-legged black spider came up out of a crack in the wood in the floor. It scurried right over to his hand and climbed on it. He wasn’t afraid of much. Hell, he’d come face to face with a grizzly and survived. But spiders always gave him the jitters. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried to ignore its presence. Pain in his side and gut, body shaking with restraint, and a hairy spider on his hand had him on the verge of exploding. If this woman didn’t leave soon he’d flip the bed and stomp the spider to death.

  Minutes ticked on, and on. The spider sat on his hand and stared at him with its tiny black beady eyes. Minutes ticked on and on. The girl on the bed shifted her weight but made no effort to leave. Minutes ticked on and on. He felt stifled, constricted, his breathing shortened, and nausea began to bubble in his throat.

  “Shucks!” the girl said. She was up and storming out of the cabin. As soon as the door closed Jeremiah flipped his hand and crushed the spider. He crawled out from under the bed and wheezed down a few deep breaths. Exhausted from the ordeal he managed to climb up on the bed and stretch out. If the girl returned he didn’t give a shit. He was done with this game. Annabelle’s scent filled his nose from her soft pillow. He closed his eyes and drifted with her on his mind.

  **

  Annabelle didn’t let Henry bring her home. She walked back watching the sunrise. By the time she reached her land her legs and feet hurt. Not because of the walk but from the dancing and singing that had carried on all night. She also had to work the tables and help Ma Sweets in the kitchen. The men were all worked up with playing card games, and whoring with no end in sight. She just wanted her bed. But when she walked inside and saw the door to her room open and his cot empty, she froze. She removed her Colt and closed her front door.

  “Jeremy?” she said.

  He didn’t answer. She took several cautious steps toward the room with her gun ready; inside she found him sprawled out on her bed. Shocked to her core she nearly dropped her weapon. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. Annabelle rolled her eyes. The cot wasn’t comfortable. She knew this. And he had to be sore from the injury. She believed this. But still she did not invite him to such a privilege. Her anger softened at the sounds of his snores. She shook her head and went inside. She changed from her clothes, glancing several times to see if he noticed. He was asleep. He didn’t.

  Jeremiah peeked out of one eye. He heard her when she came in. He was too groggy to respond, but when she arrived at the door and asked the question he decided to avoid the confrontation. He was curious as to what she’d do in return. And he soon found out. Annabelle stripped down to nothing. She found a thin gown to drop over her curves and then walked over to the bed. He closed his eyes and felt the bed dip. And when he peeked again he discovered her lying next to him. She had turned over to her side, giving him her back. They lay there together for several minutes before he trusted that she was asleep.

  Unable to resist he reached and touched her hair. It felt coarse and wiry between his fingers. He liked the difference.

  “Touch me again and I’ll put a bullet in ya,” she yawned.

  Jeremiah dropped his hand away. Annabelle turned over and faced him. “Next time you want to lay in my bed, ask me,” she said.

  “I wanted to,” he confessed.

  “Wanted to what?” she asked and blinked at him with those lovely eyes of hers.

  Should he touch her? Kiss her? He grappled with the ache in his dick from her lying so close. She didn’t fear his presence. She should. It had been two long years since he had had the pleasure of a woman. The first year of the war boys like him were forced to be men quick. And one of the lessons the men taught them was the pleasure of pussy. He lost his virginity to a whore and sought them out eagerly as they moved through towns. But he lost his appetite for the chase when he also saw innocent women dragged from their families and forced into sex with his commanding officers.

  “Go on, say it,” she teased. “You wanted to what?”

  He opened his mouth to speak but didn’t. He had no reply. She stared at him for a moment, and then closed her eyes. He lay on his side staring at her face, watching her sleep. And soon he joined her. It was the best sleep he’d had in a long time.

  **

  Resigned to the task of healing and letting her play nurse, he fell into her routine with relative ease. The evenings were never theirs. Typically she arrived late and he pretended to be asleep in her bed. She never told him he had to return to the cot. And he never touched her when she joined him after a night of singing in the saloon. Though he would stare at her for hours burning with desire to do so.

  She walked out on the porch and sat down next to him. He needed to talk to her so he waited. “I told you not to come out here. What if someone seen ya?” she asked. He glanced up. Her round eyes glistened with concern, not anger. She closed the door. “Jessiemae been snooping around again. I caught her just the other day watching the cabin. We needs to be careful.”

  “I am careful,” he replied.

  “You feelin’ okay?” she asked.

  “I’m almost as right as rain, thanks to you,” he answered.

  The smile she gave him softened her eyes and features. “I didn’t do much.”

  “I’ll be leaving out of here in a day or so,” he said. “I’m all healed up.”

  “I figured you would,” she chuckled. Her gaze shifted to the crescent moon. “You going to rob more banks, outlaw?”

  “I never robbed a bank,” he replied.

  Confused, she tilted her head to get a better look at him in the moonlight. He was so much more handsome now. His hair was the color of oats, smoothed to a yellow shine and tucked behind his ears. She had to keep from touching it to see if it felt like hers, or thin and soft like Red Sun’s.

  And those eyes of his were hard to gaze into for long. She made to speak but stopped. She just stared for a moment. Then tried again, “I thought—”

  “I robbed a man, a man that robbed my family first
. Stole from my pa and burned his life’s work to the ground. The only home I ever knew, with my family inside went up in flames and I come home from the war to find nothing left but their graves.”

  “I’m sorry that happened to your family. I’m sorry.”

  “I thought it would feel good to take back what’s mine,” he confessed. “All I got is more blood on my hands, not peace.”

  “Revenge never gives you peace. Red Sun thinks it gives it to you, but I knows first-hand it don’t. Peace is forgiveness. And forgiveness is hard to come by.”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “No. Nothing can erase the pain of what I lost. Not even forgiveness.”

  Annabelle nodded. “I lost a lot too.”

  “Your father? Your mother?”

  “Mmm … yes. My ma and pa before the war, she ran from her plantation in Tennessee. He was a freed man. She weren’t. They couldn’t be together and I was in her belly at the time. They knew she’d be sold, and I’d be sold off too. My pa wouldn’t let them take us. No way. So they run. They hitched on a train, in one of the cars all the way through Arkansas and then spent weeks on their feet. Escaping the boomers. Getting real good at it. But ma was exhausted easily and growing bigger so they had to find somewhere to hide. That’s when they run into our tribe. Chickasaw. A shaman called Onsi, which means eagle and responsibility, found them giving birth by the creek. He helped bring me into the world. He married my pa and ma and I was born free,” she smiled.