Fated Memories

by Judith Ann McDowell

  “I didn’t mean it that way, Eathen. I told you back then nothin’ happened between Dave and me, and as for Jessie not bein’ yours, you know better. What I meant to say is no one’s perfect. You, least of all.”

  “I never said I was perfect, Charlotte. Hell, I’d be the last person on this goddamn earth to claim that!” Eathen threw his arms wide. “But even you can’t say, in all honesty, you’re proud to have a half-breed in this family!”

  “No, Eathen, I can’t say I’m proud of Tia’s heritage. Livin’ in Montana all these long years, I guess I’ve become just as jaded against the Indians as everyone else. Wrong as that is.”

  “Explain to me, if you can,” Eathen challenged her, “why it’s wrong to feel superior to a race of people who have to be housed and fed by the government just to keep them alive.”

  “Seems to me it was the government who got everything whacked outta line in the first place. Maybe if they’d left well enough alone, the Indians could feed and house themselves.”

  “What we did is called progress, Charlotte!” Eathen enunciated each word as though speaking to a child. “We made this land a better place to live.”

  “For who?” Charlotte yelled, turning to stare at him.

  “Oh hell!” Eathen threw up his hand in defeat. “There’s no reasonin’ with you, now that you’ve seen that damn kid. The next thing you’ll be wantin’ me to do’s go with you back to Boston to visit her. Well,” he breathed the word on a bitter laugh, “I can tell you right now, Charlotte, don’t waste your breath, `cause it won’t happen!”

  “I already knew you’d never acknowledge Jessie’s child. I think she knew it too. Otherwise, she wouldn’t’ve takin’ her own life.” She dropped her face in her hands, unable to withstand the pressure any longer.

  “That can’t be put on us.” Eathen turned towards the door. “We lost Jessie the moment she met that son-of-a-bitch who ruined her.”

  The slamming of the front door echoed through the room. When she looked up, she saw Hattie watching her, her eyes filled with the same soul-searing pain as Charlotte’s. Without a word, she reached out to the one person there for her.

  “Come on, chile,” Hattie pulled another chair over close and gathered Charlotte into her arms. “You jes’ hole on ter me. We’s gwing ter git thoo dis mizry tergether.”

  “He can’t even lend me his strength…here in our…own home,” Charlotte gulped the words. “I thought I was gonna die up there all alone without him. If it hadn’t been for John,” Charlotte bit down on her lower lip, fighting for control, “I don’t think I coulda made it.”

  “Miz Charlotte, now lissin to me.” Hattie cupped Charlotte’s chin in her hand, mopping her tears with the bottom of her apron. “He doan mean ter bes cole. His heart bes brekin’ jes’ lak yo’s, but he kain shares it wid you right now.”

  “I looked at her layin’ in that casket and I almost went to my knees, Hattie,” she sobbed. “I needed him more’n I’ve ever needed anyone in my life! He shoulda been there, Hattie,” Charlotte pressed a hand over her mouth, “shoulda been there.”

  “Ah know it bes hard, chile. Ah knows. But der ain’ nuthin’ disyere fambly coulda did any diffunt. Miss Jessie wuz allus haid-strong.” Hattie sniffed. “Specially affer Mist’ Eathen hiahed dat Indian boy ter wuk fer him.”

  “I shoulda seen it comin’. Don’t you understand?” Charlotte beat her fists on her knees. “Even you tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen. Eathen’s right, as her mother, it shoulda been my place to protect her.”

  “Doan go blamin’ yo’seff fer dat, Miz Charlotte.” Hattie shook her head back and forth. “Miss Jessie wuz Mist’ Eathen’s chile too, an’ he din’ knows anythin’ wuz a-gwing on needer.”

  For the first time since she had arrived back at the ranch, Charlotte smiled. “Thank you, Hattie. I needed to hear that. I’m not strong enough to carry this burden all alone.” Her chin trembled at her words. “Not anymore.”

  “Anythin’ dat’s ter haby fer you, jes’ gives it ter me,” Hattie squared her large shoulders. “Ah’ll cah’i yo’ load!”

  “I’m sure you would, Hattie.” Charlotte smiled through her tears. “And right now, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Ain’ none of dis yo’ fault, Miz Charlotte. De fault bes wid dat Indian boy,” Hattie blew her nose into her already, stained apron. “He bes de one dat ruint our baby chile an’ put her in her grabe.”

  “We can’t fault him for all this either, Hattie.” Charlotte swiped a hand beneath her eyes. “They fell in love, and as hard as it might be for the rest of us to understand, that’s just what happened.” She lifted her feet off the large ottoman.

  “Miz Charlotte.” Hattie reached out her hand, halting her as Charlotte leaned forward in the chair. “Ah found sumpin’ dat b’longed ter Miss Jessie.”

  “What is it?” Charlotte asked, as Hattie sat twisting her apron.

  “It bes kinder lak dat lil book you ust ter writes in affer you foun’ out ‘bout Mist’ Eathen’s other womens.”

  “You mean a diary?” Charlotte cocked her head to one side.

  “Ah guess dat’s whut it bes.” Hattie shrugged her shoulders. “Effen you’d lak, Ah’ll go an’ gits it fer you right now.”

  “Yes, Hattie, please. I’ll be right here.”

  Hattie braced one hand on the arm of the chair, hefting herself to her feet. “Ah’s sceered Mist’ Eathen mout buhns it or sumpin’.”

  “Thank you, Hattie. I appreciate that. And you’re right. If he’d seen it, he probably woulda destroyed it.”

  “Ah’ll bes right back.” Hattie patted her hand.

  Leaning back in her chair, Charlotte lifted her feet back on to the ottoman as she waited to see what Jessie’s most private thoughts and feelings might tell her. When she looked up, Hattie stood beside her with Jessie’s diary clutched in her hands.

  “Ah hopes dese wuds doan brek yo’ heart any mo’n it bes broken awready,” Hattie whispered, the hot tears falling unchecked down her broad face.

  “I have to know what happened.” Charlotte took the book from Hattie’s trembling hands. “Now that she’s gone, readin’ her diary’s the only way I can know the whole story.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cut Bank, Montana 1903

  The snow had all but disappeared now from the foothills, melted by the warm temperatures and rain rare for this time of year. Here and there, a single crocus could be seen poking its head up out of the little patches of crusted snow that still lingered. Dressed in a sturdy coat of dark blue, its presence added a touch of color, as did the robins with their orange breasts, which swooped down from the trees to catch the lazy worms not yet fully awake from their winter’s nap.

  Walking out onto the front porch, Charlotte looked up to see a rider astride a large appaloosa in the front yard. To her surprise, she saw the rider was a young Indian man.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I am looking for work,” the young man replied, sitting his horse a short distance away from her.

  “You’ll need to talk to my husband. I’m on my way now to find him. You can get down and walk with me, if you like.”

  Dismounting, he fell in beside her. Neither spoke as they continued on their way to the corrals, shooing chickens out of their path as they walked. As they moved around the barn, she spied Eathen talking to some of the hands.

  “There’s my husband now.” She halted the young man beside her. “Eathen,” she called out to him, “this man’s lookin’ for work, so I brought him out to see you. After you’re through, I need to talk to you up at the house.”

  “I’ll be there in a little while.” Eathen glanced at her then turned his attention back to the hands. A few minutes later, he walked over to talk to the man Charlotte had left standing by the barn. Surprise crossed his face as he drew near. “What can you do?” Eathen asked his voice cold and impartial. “This is a workin’ ranch. Everybody here pulls his own weight.”


  ”I am very good with horses,” the man told him. “I can break them to a saddle without breaking their spirits.”

  “Hey, Mister Eathen,” Tom spoke up, a broad grin covering his thin face, “why don’t you see what he can do with ole shit-for-brains, here?” He nodded to a large black stallion tied to the fence. “If he’s as good as he seems to think he is, it could save the rest of us a lotta busted bones.”

  “Don’t be a wiseass, Tom,” Eathen warned him. “It’ll take more’n one man to break that wild son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I will break him,” the young man stated in a clear voice.

  Eathen rubbed his chin, watching the man standing in front of him, then he smiled. “All right, if you can break that spirited bastard, you got yourself a job.”

  “Gather round, boys.” Tom swung his arm in a wide arch. “We’re fixin’ to see a show.”

  Charlotte, who had already begun walking away, stopped when she heard what Eathen said. Retracing her steps, she walked over to stand beside her husband. “Eathen, do you think this is a good idea? That horse could kill him.”

  “He’s the one who thinks he can do what none of the rest of us can.” Eathen touched a match to a long cheroot he held between his fingers. “He breaks his neck: he’s just got hisself to blame.”

  All eyes watched as the young Indian wrapped his horse’s reins around a fence post. Turning, he walked through the open gate, all the while speaking in a language no one present could understand.

  The big horse stepped back, snorting, his ears pinned flat against his head and his nostrils flaring. The Indian stopped a short distance away and, holding out his hand, palm down, stood very still. Neither moved as each measured the other. Then to the disbelief of all who watched, the horse walked forward as far as his tether would allow sniffing the Indian’s hand. The man walked closer, loosened the reins and lifted the halter from the horse’s face.

  “You better get the hell outta there, you stupid bastard!” Eathen yelled, throwing his half-smoked cigar into the dust. “That big son-of-a-bitch knows he’s loose! He’s gonna charge!”

  “Do not move,” the young man raised one hand, his black eyes never leaving those of the skittish horse. With ease, he ran his hand down the horse’s back then up over his neck, all the while speaking in a calm, quiet voice.

  The stallion remained still, his ears perked, no longer pinned against his broad head.

  “I never saw anything to top this in all my born days.” Eathen stooped to retrieve his still smoldering cigar.

  “How’s he doin’ that?” Charlotte asked, as stunned at what she witnessed as the man who stood beside her.

  “Damned if I know. It’s almost like he’s got him in a trance or somethin’.”

  To the surprise of everyone present, the Indian reached up taking a fistful of the horse’s long mane, then in one fluid motion, swung himself onto his broad back. For a long moment, no one moved as man and horse remained still. Then, as though wakening from a deep sleep, the big horse took off at a full gallop around the enclosure.

  “Open the gate so he can run!” the Indian called out.

  “Mister Eathen,” Tom ran forward, “none of us’ll ever lay eyes on that horse again if we open that gate!”

  “Open it!” Eathen clamped the cigar between his teeth. “After what I just witnessed, he won’t be worth a shit to the rest of us anyway.”

  “All right, but remember what I said. That redskin’ll be back in the hills fore you know what the hell’s happened. Only now,” Tom swung the gate wide before stepping back out of the way, “he’ll be ridin’ the best damn horse he’s ever laid eyes on!”

  Seeing his escape, the horse ran towards the opening.

  At a slight touch on her arm, Charlotte turned to find Jessie standing beside her.

  “Who is that?” Jessie breathed, her deep blue eyes staring after horse and rider as they tore across the prairie.

  Without taking her eyes from the man in question, Charlotte replied, “He’s a young Indian who came to the ranch lookin’ for work. Only now,” she laughed, brushing the long, dark red hair back from her daughter’s flushed face, “I don’t think he needs our help anymore.”

  “He’s beautiful,” Jessie whispered.

  “Yeah, he would’ve sired some beautiful foals.” Eathen placed an arm around her slender waist, draping his other arm over Charlotte’s shoulders as they walked towards the house. “But,” he glanced down, winking at Charlotte, “I think that’s out of the question now.”

  Not bothering to correct him, Jessie declared, “In other words, you think the Indian’s stolen him!”

  “Hell yes, I think he’s stolen him!” Eathen growled. “He’s an Indian, ain’t he?”

  “If that’s how you feel,” Jessie squinted up at him, “why’d you let him get close to the stallion in the first place?”

  “He said he could break him.” Eathen dropped his arm from Charlotte’s shoulder and, shading his eyes, tried to peer through the dust still hanging over the prairie. “I told him if he could break that wild bastard, I’d give him a job.”

  “Do you mean to keep your word?” Jessie watched her father out of the corner of her eye, her heart pumping with anticipation.

  “Jessie, he’s already back in the hills offerin’ that horse to the highest bidder.”

  “But if by some chance he does come back, are you gonna give him a job workin’ here on the ranch, like you said you would?”

  “Why sure, Jessie,” Eathen pulled her against his hip. “Just as soon as he sobers up.”

  “Good! Because here he comes!” Jessie shouted.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Eathen breathed, as the young man rode towards them.

  The Indian gave Jessie but a brief glance, his surprise well-hidden, at seeing a girl dressed in jeans. He gave the man still staring at him his full attention. “He will be a good horse now.” With fondness, he slapped the horse against the side of his long neck. “He should sire many fine ponies for you.”

  “Yeah.” Eathen nodded.

  “Do I still have a job?”

  “I said if you could break him, I’d give you a job,” Eathen growled. “I’m a man of my word.”

  “What’s your name?” Jessie asked.

  A slight smile touched his wide mouth at her boldness. “My name is Two Spirits.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Two Spirits. My name’s Jessie Thornton.” She stared up at the dark young man with long black hair that was held at bay by a leather thong tied about his forehead, and held out her hand.

  Still smiling, he leaned down, gripping her hand and forcing his eyes away from her full pink mouth.

  The moment their hands touched, Jessie felt something strange and wonderful.

  Eathen felt a cold chill pass over him. With a roughness in his voice usually reserved for his men, he growled, “Jessie, I think it’s time you headed to the house with your mother. I’m sure Hattie can use your help gettin’ supper ready.” He pulled Jessie away from the corrals and gave her a slight push in Charlotte’s direction.

  “Come on, Jessie. Your father’s right.” Charlotte linked their hands together. “Hattie’s probably lookin’ out the window, watchin’ for us right now.”

  “You go ahead, Mother,” she pulled her hand free; “I’ll be along in a minute.”

  “All right, but don’t be long.” Charlotte pushed up the sleeves of her white cotton shirt. “You know how Hattie gets when she’s kept waitin’.”

  “Tell her I’m on my way.” Jessie’s voice held an impatient edge as she turned her attention back to her father and the young Indian.

  “After you rub him down,” Eathen said, “go ahead and put him in a stall with some hay. The boys’ll show you where to bunk down.”

  As Two Spirits pulled the horse’s reins to the side, Eathen turned back to him. “One more thing; I can’t promise how well you’re gonna fit in around here. You’ll be the first Indian ever hired on this ranch. I’ll t
ell you one thing though,” Eathen looked him in his eyes, “if any trouble starts, you’ll be the one to go. You might wanta remember that.”

  Nodding, the young man continued on his way to the barn. Slipping from the horse’s lathered back; he let him stand untethered while he gathered handsful of grass. As Two Spirits came back into his view, the horse tossed his head, emitting a soft whiny.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” Jake, one of the ranch hands, growled walking towards him.

  “I am going to rub him down. He has ridden hard. He is very lathered,” Two Spirits told him, rubbing the horse with vigorous strokes.

  Without a word, Jake disappeared into the barn. A moment later he returned with a rough blanket. “This is what you rub down the horses here with. Grass can’t absorb sweat. All you’re gonna accomplish is makin’ him sick with the chills.”

  “The grass will not make him sick,” Two Spirits explained with patience. “When the wild horses are left on their own, they roll in the grass to wipe moisture away.”

  “Look, injun,” Jake slapped the grass from his hand, “this ain’t just any horse. He’s a prize stallion. The boss’s gonna expand his herd with a lotta fine foals with him. You keep your Indian ideas to yourself and do things the way you’re told. Otherwise,” he cocked his shaggy-haired head to the side, his heavy dark brows lifting, “we’ll send you back to the hills where you belong.”

  Without a word, Two Spirits bent down, picked the blanket up off the ground to rub it against the horse’s flanks.

  “Now you got it,” Jake laughed, slapping Two Spirits on the back before walking away. “You just do as you’re told,” he called back over his shoulder, “and maybe we’ll let you stay around awhile.”

  As soon as the man walked from his sight, Two Spirits threw the rough blanket to the ground and picked up the grass to begin a through rubdown.