The Devil Between Us

by S. C. Wilson

“How am I supposed to look like a man?” She bit her bottom lip.

  “We can work out those details later. Will you go?”

  “What if it’s a bad place?”

  “It might be and it might not…I don’t know. Why don’t you go down and see? Just go look and then come back here and decide what you want to do. You can always go back down. Why don’t you sleep on it, and we can talk about it some more in the morning.”

  A coughing fit took Frieda’s voice away. When she pulled her handkerchief from her mouth, both women tried to disguise their alarm at what they saw. Blood splattered the rag, a small shotgun spray of red.

  The talk of leaving troubled Jessica. She tossed and turned in bed, restless. The distress followed her when she finally found sleep. Her eyelids fluttered and a loud moan escaped her lips. Wicked figures from her past found her hiding in the hay. They gave chase. Jessica ran in the darkness, filled with a terror she never knew possible. She woke with a start, sweat-soaked, bile rising in her throat. She stared at the dark ceiling, trying to get the disturbing nightmare out of her mind. Her wandering thoughts turned to Frieda and their conversation from the night before. She replayed Frieda’s words over and over, dissecting them while weighing the pros and cons.

  The more Jessica thought about it, the more the idea made sense. She knew better than anyone bad men did indeed exist. The thought of living in a strange town where she wouldn’t fit in frightened her, but the idea of living alone on the mountain with no human contact was equally as daunting.

  By dawn, she had reached a decision.

  While feeding Frieda breakfast, Jessica announced her intentions. “I’ll do it when the time comes, but then and only then. I’m only going down to look and then I’m coming back here.”

  Frieda sighed. The lined features on her face relaxed, her relief obvious. “I need you to get into my trunk. Take out Nathaniel’s shirts and my old dresses and bring me the tanned outfit underneath,” Frieda said, pointing past Jessica.

  In all the years Jessica had been there, she had never looked in the weathered trunk sitting at the foot of the bed. She knew whatever was in the trunk was important to Frieda, and that it had something to do with her past. Jessica had respected her privacy. Now, she did as she was told and opened it. Two neatly folded outfits were placed on top of the clothing. Her breath caught from the sight. She knew whose they were, but she didn’t bring attention to them. Not wanting to upset Frieda, Jessica sat Patrick’s clothing aside with the utmost care. Beneath the remaining shirts and dresses lay a beautiful outfit made of buckskin adorned with fringe running down the sides of the sleeves and pants. The clothing appeared as if it had never been worn.

  “My friends made them for Nathaniel and presented them to him on the day we left the village,” Frieda said in between coughs. “He just never was comfortable wearing such an outfit. I want you to have it and wear it when you go. I know you’re not that big up top, but still you’re gonna have to do something to hide your chest.”

  “Hide my chest?” Jessica crossed her arms over her bosom.

  “Yes. Cut up one of my dresses and wrap it around your chest. A man can’t have chesty bulges. There’s something else you’ll need, too. Fetch me that tin off the shelf,” Frieda said as she pointed to it.

  Jessica handed the tin to Frieda and watched as the woman struggled to open it. It was sad to see someone who had always been so strong become frustrated with her own hands. They wouldn’t cooperate for such a small undertaking. Jessica took it gently and opened it with one deft twist.

  “Thank you, dear. Over the years, I did have some luck.” Frieda shook several gold nuggets from the tin onto her palm. “I never needed to exchange them for money. No need for it around here. Underneath my bed, dead center, remove the loose floorboards and you will find more.” She placed the small nuggets in Jessica’s hand, saying, “Take one of these when you go. Hide it. Use the money I have first. You don’t want to do anything with the gold unless you have to.”

  As the old woman handed her the gold, Jessica noticed how emaciated Frieda had become. She must have seen these changes before, as she had been bathing her for some time. The talk of her leaving and going to Ely finally forced her mind to accept the reality of the situation. Jessica fought back tears and forced a smile, appreciative of the gifts. She had no idea of their true value.

  It was the beginning of March when Frieda revealed her plan to Jessica. From the moment it was hatched, Jessica spent every day perfecting the scheme. She attempted to adopt the mannerisms of a man, recalling how her brother Daniel had carried himself. Her muscular physique, gained by extremely rugged mountain living, helped provide the illusion of masculinity.

  During the day, she practiced speaking in a lower tone. When she was alone, she said random things aloud to get in the habit of doing so. “The sky is blue, the grass is green, and snow is white.” Over and over she chanted, deep-voiced, the forest her backdrop, and the trees her audience.

  Jessica couldn’t help but think about Toby. She remembered the time she was hiding up in a tree and Toby was trying to get his own voice to change. He had sounded so silly at the time and Jessica had laughed at him. She had so many regrets about picking on him. She would give anything to see him one more time, to tell him how sorry she was and how much she loved him.

  In the following weeks, Frieda made suggestions, hoping to fine-tune their plan. As Jessica let the thoughts turn in her mind, she stewed, still unsure if she could even pull off such a masquerade.

  “Tell me about Ely,” Jessica asked one evening, trying to get a handle on what she was getting herself into.

  “Well, it’s not really a town like you might be thinking of. It’s just a trading post or at least it was the last time I was there. They were just starting construction on a couple more buildings back then, so by now I reckon there’s more than the trading post.”

  Frieda went on to explain it would take her six days to make the journey. She’d made the trip with Nathaniel a couple times when they needed supplies. Once he died, she never again left the mountain.

  “It is only possible to cross the river when the spring rains stop. During the summer months. It’s the only time of year the water level lowers in the river. Any other time the water would be over your head. When the moon grows half-full, it will be time to leave. By the time you get to the crossing, the light of a full moon will light your way, but you need to cross in the dead of night.”

  “Why at night?” Jessica asked.

  “No one can ever see you making the crossing. If anybody saw the river could be crossed, they would invade our mountain. They would come and decimate the lands as they always do. Only cross in the privacy of night. That’s why you gotta wait for the full moon.”

  Jessica nodded.

  “Start out by following the stream. Follow it to the lake, and then you’ll see six tall sycamores side by side to the east. The space in the middle of the tree line marks the path. Once you get on the path, you’ll notice trees along the way that have special markings pointing out the route. Look carefully for them every fifty yards or so. Nathaniel and I notched them years ago so they may be hard to find, but they are there.”

  “What do they look like?”

  “They look like antler rubs. No rhyme or reason to ‘em. The key is to look at the bottom of the marks. They point in the direction you need to go.”

  “Do you think after all these years that the path is still there?”

  “I’m sure it’s overgrown by now, so pay close attention and find those marked trees. That will keep you heading in the right direction. As soon as the sun begins to set, it will be time to look for a place to rest for the night. Every morning when the sun comes up, make sure you start out in that direction. Follow the river south when you get there. The most important thing is to keep that river on your left and to never lose sight of it for any reason. Stay well hidden under the trees. For all I know folks could be living along the other side of the rive
r by now.”

  “I’ll make sure no one sees me.”

  “By late afternoon on the fifth day, you need to watch for the crossing. A crooked tree will mark it. You’ll be able tell it wasn’t naturally made that way. It’s oddly bent at the trunk. Directly across the river from it is another tree, same kind of bent trunk. This will be the only spot to cross. Stay between the two trees or you’ll be swept away.”

  “I have to be honest. That scares me,” Jessica said, eyes wide.

  “Just go slow and feel with your feet. You’ll be fine. Keep your leg up against the ledge on the north side of the river. Once you cross, rest until the sun comes up. Then, continue walking ahead and eventually you’ll come to Ely. Take as many beaver pelts with you as you can carry and sell them at the trading post. That will give you some extra funds to start with. Remember, only one piece of gold goes with you, but don’t do anything with it until you need to. Like I said, I haven’t been there in years and I have no idea what you can expect. Beaver pelts are one thing, but gold is something else altogether. You don’t want to do anything to bring unwanted attention to yourself if you don’t have to. So be careful if you do anything with the gold.”

  By the end of May, Frieda’s health had deteriorated to the point in which all rational thought frequently left her, sometimes for days on end. Jessica stayed by her side. Some days the woman who raised her from a young age no longer recognized her. On good, lucid days, they talked about the ‘plan’ and enjoyed each other’s company. They knew they didn’t have long together, and they wanted to be as prepared as possible for when the time came.

  Jessica did a trial run to see what she would look like dressed as a man. She took one of Frieda’s old dresses out of the trunk, the buckskin outfit, and Frieda’s hat. She went outside and placed everything on the stump chair out on the porch. She cut the dress into long strips, which she wrapped tightly around her chest. The fabric concealed her breasts as Frieda had said it would. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as Jessica had expected. She put on her shirt, buttoned to the top, and then donned the pants and the coat. Her long locks she tucked away, hidden under Frieda’s hat.

  She walked to the bed where Frieda was sleeping and waited for the fragile woman to wake.

  Frieda blinked hard when she woke, trying to focus on the outline of the figure by her bedside.

  “It’s me, Jessica,” she said in her practiced low tone. “I’ve fixed you some squirrel stew.”

  Frieda ventured a small bite from the offered spoon. “Mmm,” she said, enjoying the savory taste. Frieda’s watery eyes traveled up and down Jessica’s buckskin clad figure. She nodded in approval. “I know you don’t want to look like that, but it makes me feel like nothing will happen to you down there.”

  “Do you think I will fool people?”

  “I do. If I didn’t know any better I would think I was looking at a young man. Thank you for doing this for me.”

  “I still can’t believe I’m going to do it.” Jessica eased onto the bed beside Frieda. She felt the older woman’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not good, but here until the Great Spirit comes. Don’t think I’m going to be around for your birthday this year. Hard to believe you’re turning eighteen. Where has the time gone?”

  “Don’t say that. You’re gonna be just fine.”

  “All right, if you say so, child.” Frieda smiled.

  Frieda ate more of the warm stew, trying her best in between bites to assure Jessica she’d have a successful journey. She tired quickly. Stew broth ran down her chin as she rested back on the pillow.

  Jessica wiped it away with her handkerchief. “You get some rest.”

  Frieda spent the next few days in and out of awareness. Lost in a fog of confusion, she called out to people who weren’t there. Sometimes she would yell for Patrick, other times for her late husband. Jessica continued her round-the-clock care, always trying to comfort and calm Frieda. Whenever she asked about Patrick, Jessica told her he was fine, merely sleeping in the loft above. Surely this one small lie could be overlooked given the circumstances, she thought.

  Jessica was sleeping on a chair, head on Frieda’s bed, when Frieda cried out, “Where’s my daughter? I can’t find her. She is lost in the woods! Help! Help me!”

  Jessica stroked the frightened woman’s forehead. “It’s all right. Shhh,” she said, trying to soothe her companion. Frieda had never mentioned a daughter. Jessica wondered if it was the delirium talking, or if there was something in Frieda’s life too painful to talk about. She didn’t have time to give it much thought, because Frieda grabbed her arm.

  “There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. I thought you were lost in the woods. Don’t run off again.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke.

  The sentiment behind Frieda’s words was not lost on Jessica. She couldn’t hold back her own tears. She had never known for certain until that moment Frieda had considered her a daughter all these years.

  Jessica kissed the frail woman’s brow. “I love you,” she said, voice trembling. “You mean the world to me. Always have.”

  “I love you too, dear, always and forever. I’m so tired.” Frieda’s voice was fading.

  “You can go with the Great Spirit. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine. You get some rest now.” Jessica hugged her. It was a moment Jessica would carry in her heart until the day she died.

  Jessica continued to sit vigil over Frieda and listened as her breathing changed into a ragged gurgle from somewhere deep within her chest. Over the course of hours, it slowed and quieted to a tiny wheeze. Jessica remained close by, watching over the woman who had cared for her so lovingly over the years.

  Jessica thought back to the times as a young girl when Frieda had sat watch over her bedside in the same way. Only now did she really appreciate how difficult those times must have been for her, especially after all of the loss Frieda had endured herself.

  Frieda had been able to open not only her home to Jessica, but her heart as well. She taught her not only how to survive, but to become a strong, independent woman. That Frieda didn’t take her back down the mountain and hand her off to someone else was a true testament to her character.

  The rise and fall of Frieda’s chest finally stopped. Jessica sobbed and continued to sit, holding the hand long after the delicate fingers had turned cold. It was a devastating loss for Jessica—a feeling she had not experienced since before coming to live at the cabin. Her heart was being ripped from her chest. Without Frieda, she didn’t know how she would ever cope. Time lost all meaning as Jessica sat next to Frieda. Holding the lifeless, contorted hand, she swallowed hard. A lump caught in her throat as she tried to speak.

  “Frieda…there are no words I can say to tell you how much you’ve meant to me. You took me in and cared for me as your own. You taught me so much and I owe my life to you. I am the person I am today because of you. I was so lucky to have been found by you and I just wish we had more time together. I’m going to miss you—more than you can imagine. I know someday I’ll see you again, and I’ll get to meet Nathaniel and Patrick. I feel that somehow you’re with my family too. I can see you with them. I’m sure they’re thanking you for taking such good care of me. It gives me some comfort knowing you are all together. We are all a family and someday we’ll all be together again. I love you.”

  Jessica kissed Frieda’s hand before tenderly placing it on the bed. After one final kiss to the forehead, now free of the lines creasing its brow hours earlier, Jessica rose and removed the bearskin hanging from the wall at the head of the bed. As gently as she could, she picked Frieda up in her arms. The woman, who had been so strong, was now so light, wasted away from weeks of illness. She placed the body carefully on the pelt.

  She took one last look, and then gingerly wrapped the body of the woman who had meant so much to her in the hide. Frieda had been fifty-nine years old. Jessica went outside and dug a hole underneath the large sycamore next to Nathaniel
’s grave. With the utmost care, she carried Frieda’s body outside and lovingly placed the beloved bundle in the hole.

  After replacing the soil, she stood staring at the newly mounded pile, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had no idea how in the world she was supposed to go on now. Jessica hauled small rocks from the stream to the grave. She made trip after trip, working nonstop, not finishing until the sun began to set. Satisfied she had enough, she knelt down once again, carefully arranging the rocks. Once the last stone was in place, there was only one thing left to do.

  She returned to cabin and got into Frieda’s trunk once more. She took out one of Nathaniel’s shirts, and tore off one of the sleeves. She made her way back to the grave where she tied the piece of fabric to a branch and stuck it in the ground, marking the spot so that the Great Spirit would know where to find Frieda. After hearing Frieda talk all of these years, it was important for her to carry on the ritual Frieda had continued after her devastating loss in Indiana all those years ago. Jessica stared at the ground even after the sun had fled and the shadows swallowed it. At least she’s no longer suffering.

  At peace knowing Frieda was once again beside her beloved Nathaniel, Jessica washed up in the stream. As she splashed cold water on her face, she chanced a glance at the moon growing larger with each passing night. She knew there was nothing holding her back now from embarking on the plan she and Frieda had cooked up together.

  Her stomach turned, and her breathing quickened in a surge of fear of the unknown, of the great big world out there. But then Jessica felt another new emotion surge within her: anticipation of what the future may bring.

  Chapter Eleven

  Frieda’s passing devastated Jessica. In an effort to keep her mind off the deep sorrow threatening to drown her, she focused instead on the things that needed to be finished around the cabin. Mending the leaking roof was not only helpful for keeping tears at bay, but it was also an ideal time to practice her lower pitched voice. Repeatedly she chanted random, nonsensical sentences, rehearsing verbiage in her new tone. Before long, Jessica no longer had to remind herself to speak in a lower tone.