by Ralph Cotton
“It’s beautiful,” Julie whispered, turning it and seeing the name Sudie engraved in fancy letters.
“I meant to give it to her the day I left the territory and went to Washington. It was—” The colonel stopped, unsure of how to phrase his words.
“A going-away present,” Julie said quietly, looking back down at the silver rose, then raising her face back to the colonel with a bittersweet smile.
“Well, yes . . . exactly,” said the colonel, knowing she could have called it something else. “Thank you for understanding,” he added. “I want you to know, I would’ve come and brought you home with me, back when you first wrote to me. Why did you turn me down?”
“It wasn’t meant to be right then, Colonel,” Julie said. “It wasn’t meant to be until now.” She clutched the silver rose in her hand and remained quiet for a moment, her eyes closed, as if collecting her emotions. Then she opened her eyes and said in the same quiet voice, “Colonel, I realize how things stood between you and my mother. I know how she lived.”
“Julie,” said the colonel, “you know how Sudie lived, but I don’t think you know that it wasn’t that way between the two of us. There was something between us. I wasn’t just another face behind the curtain.”
“You needn’t try to clean up my or my ma’s life, Colonel,” Julie said. “I didn’t come looking for that. All my life I have wanted to find you, to see you. I can’t even explain why. I suppose just to hear you say something to me, something that anybody’s pa might say to them, except, hearing you say it, I would tell myself, that’s my pa talking to me.”
“And it is your pa talking, Julie,” said the colonel, deeply touched by her simple words. He moved forward and brushed a strand of hair from her face with his fingertips. He felt his own eyes well up. “I did something while you and Shep waited for me at the restaurant. I hope you find it agreeable.” He paused for only a second, then continued. “I hired Fortney, the attorney, to do whatever he has to do to legally make you a Wilder.”
Julie looked delighted, yet stunned. “Oh, Colonel, you needn’t do that for me,” she said, although the very idea of having a last name made her heart soar. “I know who I am, and that you are my pa. Nobody can take that away from me, not ever.”
“I feel the same, Daughter,” said the colonel, “but since you are a Wilder, let’s make it formal.
“From now on, you are Julie Wilder, daughter of Sudie and Colonel Bertrim Wilder.” He beamed.
“But, Colonel,” Julie remarked, “hearing it said like that makes it sound as if you and my ma were married.”
“Then so be it,” said the colonel. “Let folks make of it what they will. You are mine and Sudie’s daughter. Under different circumstances, perhaps your mother and I might have been—”
“Please, Colonel.” Julie stopped him. “I told you, you don’t have to say things like that for my sake. I’m a big girl.” She offered a wan smile.
The colonel gazed deep into her dark eyes, and saw so clearly those traits of his own, so much so that he knew it would be futile to try to convince her. “All right then,” he said with a slight sigh. “I won’t mention how things were with your mother and me, ever again. But remember this: There was more between her and me. That’s why the silver rose.”
Julie nodded and gazed lovingly at the necklace and medallion in her hand.
“Welcome to the family,” the colonel added softly. “The Wilders of Virginia—what few of us are left—are fortunate to have you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Julie whispered, a bit overcome, still studying the silver rose. “There were never any fine, pretty things in my ma’s life. I wish she’d seen this.”
“Perhaps this day she has,” the colonel offered softly, seeing the features and reflections in Julie of both himself and the young woman who’d mothered his only child. “I thank God she had you in her life,” he whispered. “You were all of those fine and pretty things.”
He closed her hand gently yet firmly around Julie’s hand, closing it over the medallion and necklace. The two sat in silence for a moment until the colonel said in a lighter tone, “Now then, Daughter Julie Wilder, the next words out of your mouth better not be, ‘Yes, Colonel.’ ” He smiled and said, “It better be, ‘Yes, Pa.’ Is that going to be all right with you?” Opening her hand, he took the necklace between his weathered fingers. He opened the clasp, reached out, strung the necklace around her throat and fastened the clasp behind her neck.
Julie felt a tear run warm down her cheek. “Yes, Pa,” she whispered, touching the silver rose ever so lightly. She raised the medallion from the front of her dusty shirt and let it slip down out of sight into her bosom.
From over by the horses, old Shep said, “Colonel, there’s a single rider up in the hills, coming down. The dust we saw a while ago on the flatlands is back up too. What do you make of it?”
Before standing and ending the conversation with his daughter, the colonel looked to her for approval. “Are we all right, Julie?” he asked.
She smiled and nodded. “We’re getting there, Pa.”
The two stood and walked over beside Shep. “I don’t know what to make of it,” the colonel said, gazing out to where the thin spiral of dust drifted sidelong on the early spring breeze. He spotted the distant figure on horseback farther up on the hillside move in and out of the shelter of trees and rock.
“This is rough country to be afoot in,” Julie offered.
“It is indeed,” said the colonel. “I’m thinking we need to ride back and see who this is on foot. It could be somebody in sore circumstance, needing help.”
Before the colonel had finished talking, Shep had begun reaching out to unhitch the horses. “We’ll ride wide of the worn trail, Comanche style,” the colonel said to Julie, “just in case there’s trouble brewing.” He gave her a thin smile. “We never let the other party see us as well as we see them.”
“Right, Pa,” Julie said, liking the feel of calling him her father, liking the feel of having a last name like everybody else. Taking the reins to the buckskin from Shep she started to step up into the saddle.
“I don’t suppose it would do any good for me to ask you to stay here and wait for us, would it, Daughter?” the colonel asked.
Julie gave him a firm smile. “Not a bit, Pa,” she said.
“That’s what I thought,” the colonel chuckled, taking his reins from Shep and stepping up into his saddle.
Jed Shawler did not realize one of the militiamen was on his trail until he found himself rolling and tumbling the last few yards down the hillside to the wide plains. There he pulled himself to his feet and clung to the trunk of a cottonwood tree where he stood panting and looking back up along the hill trail. When he spotted the lone rider coming down the trail, a rifle propped up from his lap, the boy knew that the horror of this day had not yet ended for him.
In a broken, sobbing voice, Jed said under his panting breath, “Forgive me, Ma . . . I’m so sorry. Forgive me, Pa. Forgive me Avrial, Marty, Davey. I shoulda stayed with you!”
It had come to him in a jolt as he’d fled the scene of the carnage, that it would have better had he stayed and died along with his brothers and his parents. Yet, what had he done? He’d thrown down his rifle, turned and run, like only a coward would do, he chastised himself.
Staring up along the hill trail where the rider had disappeared for a moment into the trees and rocks, Jed ran his shirtsleeve across his cold face. Only a craven coward . . . , said a voice inside him. But before that voice could finish denouncing him, Jed saw the rider move back into sight, and a new voice cried out, Run! Hurry
Jed had pushed himself away from the tree trunk and now ran with all of his waning strength, with no direction in mind, no plan for staying alive beyond his next stumbling steps onto a dry dusty trail cutting through the rolling grassy plains.
For the next twenty minutes he ran, limp and spent, stumbling, falling. Each time he struggled back to his feet and continued
running. When he managed a blurry look back at the hillside, although he no longer saw the rider, he knew the man was there, hunting him like an animal.
Dizzy, nearly mindless, his eyes watering in the chilled air, his breath pounding thick and tight in his chest, Jed felt almost relieved when he spilled headlong into the strong arms of who he thought must surely be his killer. “No, no!” he managed to say in a raspy, failing voice. He flayed out at Shepherd Watson with his powerless fists, convinced in his addled state that somehow the rider had circled around and found him.
“Whoa now, easy now, young fellow,” said Shep, swinging the boy around effortlessly until he held him from behind. “Who are you running so hard from anyhow?”
Jed went limp and Shep lowered him into a sitting position. He turned to the colonel as Julie ran over from her horse with a canteen of water. “Colonel! I recognize this boy; he’s one of the Shawlers. He’s acting like the devil is snapping at his tail. What do you say we do here?” Shep asked, knowing beforehand what the colonel would do.
“I’ve never known any of the Shawlers to have trouble with anybody,” said the colonel. “Get him off this trail, and keep out of sight.” He looked off along the trail and up into the hill line, judging the distance. “My old soldier’s nose tells me we’ll be having company most any time.”
Chapter 5
Goff Aimes knew that the distance between himself and the Shawler boy had grown less and less. From higher up on the hillside he’d seen the boy stagger, fall and pull himself up the side of a tree trunk a half hour earlier. The boy was too tired to have made it much farther, he thought, nudging his horse along beside the fresh boot prints in the dust. He gave a dark grin and jacked a round up into his rifle chamber. Here goes . . .
“All right, boy, the fun’s all over,” Aimes called out across the tall grass and into the sparse beginnings of a young woodlands alongside the trail. “I’d play some more if I just had the time.”
He stopped his horse and listened closely for any sound from the wild grass or woodlands. Hearing none, he nudged his horse forward, slumped and comfortable in his saddle until he came to the spot where the Shawler boy’s boot prints ran right into Shepherd Watson’s.
“Whoa,” Aimes said under his breath, looking around quickly. Seeing the hoofprints of the three horses a few yards to his right, he had bolted upright in his saddle and grasped his rifle with both hands. “I don’t know who you are, but you are providing aid and comfort to an enemy of the Free Kansas Militia!” he called out, hoping to raise a target, a voice, something.
“An enemy?” the colonel called out from the sparse woodlands. “What has this boy done to incur the wrath of you buzzards?”
A dark sly grin came to Aimes’ face, recognizing the colonel’s voice. “Careful how you bad-mouth us, Colonel. This war is going more and more our way.” As he spoke he nudged his horse around in the direction of the colonel’s voice. “As for the boy, he’s a livestock thief who has been slicking calves, chickens and anything he can get his hands on, and giving it to Southern Regulars.”
“Bull!” said the colonel. “There’s no Southern troops within a hundred miles of here; hasn’t been all winter.”
“Then you’re taking this boy’s side against our militia, are you, Colonel?” Aimes inquired coolly.
“I don’t even know his side,” said the colonel. “The shape he’s in, nobody might ever know his side. I found him unconscious in the middle of the trail. I’ll take him to Umberton, let the Union garrison commander decide if he’s done any wrong.”
“I just can’t allow you to do that, Colonel,” said Aimes, raising the rifle to his shoulder. He had listened to the colonel long enough to single out his position. He quietly pulled back his rifle hammer. “Step out where I can see you; maybe we can talk more about it.”
“Shep?” the colonel called from behind his tree.
Behind Aimes, on the other side of the trail in the tall grass, another rifle cocked, this one making no attempt at keeping quiet.
“I’ve got him sighted dead-center, Colonel,” Shep called out in reply, “just awaiting your order.”
“I didn’t come here looking for a fight, Colonel,” Aimes said, suddenly sounding nervous and pressed.
“I figured as much,” said the colonel. “You came looking for easy pickings. But what you’ve found is a hornet’s nest.” He leveled his rifle against the side of the tree and centered it onto Aimes’ chest. “Lower the rifle and drop it to the ground.”
“Now, come on, Colonel,” said Aimes. “There’s no need in all this. Can’t I just—”
“Sergeant Watson!” the colonel called out. “Prepare to fire!”
“Yes, sir, with pleasure,” Shepherd Watson shouted back to him.
Sergeant Watson . . . ? Shep . . . ? Aimes began to sweat. These old fools were crazy. His eyes darted back and forth; his rifle lowered down the side of his horse and dropped to the ground. “All right, Colonel, see? I dropped it,” he said, raising his hands chest high. “No harm done. I’m gonna just back this horse and head out of—”
“Now raise your sidearm from its holster and drop it too,” the colonel commanded.
“Jesus!” Aimes protested under his breath, but he raised his pistol with two fingers and let it drop beside his rifle. “Colonel, this is a bad mistake. Captain Plantz ain’t going to take this kindly.”
“Get that saddle out from under you,” the colonel demanded.
“What?” Aimes said in disbelief. “You’re stealing my horse! You’ll hang for this, Colonel.”
“I’m not stealing it,” said the colonel, watching Aimes step down grudgingly from his saddle. “It’ll be waiting for you three miles along the plains trail.”
“But, Colonel,” Aimes started to protest.
“Start walking back the way you came, Aimes,” the colonel called out, cutting him short. “You can head back this way once you know we’re gone.”
“You’re going to hear from us, Colonel,” Aimes warned him, stepping backward, his hands still raised.
“Keep talking that way, we’ll shoot you where you stand and not have to worry about it,” the colonel called out. Beside the colonel, crouched down beside the half-conscious Shawler boy with a wet bandanna in her hand, Julie looked up at her father with apprehension in her eyes. “Pa, is he going to bring the army or the rest of his bunch down on us?”
“Let him try,” the colonel said. “I know this boy is no thief. I’ll stake my honor on him. Whatever Aimes and the militia have done to him, I’m betting the last thing they’ll want to do is take this run-in with me to a Union garrison commander.”
“But what about the militia?” Julie persisted, reaching back down to the Shawler boy and patting the cool wet bandanna to his forehead.
“The militia could be a different story, Daughter,” the colonel said, a troubled look coming to his weathered eyes. “They are a treacherous bunch. But they are cowards who ride at night, hiding their faces behind a flour sack. Give in to the likes of them, it won’t matter who wins this blasted war; nobody on either side will ever live free again.”
Julie nodded. “We best get this boy somewhere, cool him out and get some more water in him.”
“Right you are,” said the colonel, craning his neck, gazing out to make sure Aimes had begun walking away along the plains trail.
From across the trail, Shepherd Watson saw the colonel and called out, “He’s leaving, Colonel. I can still see him. I’m keeping an eye on him.”
The colonel turned and gave his daughter a proud look. “Old Shep and I still know how to raise our bark if need be.”
“So I see,” Julie said, returning his smile, yet not completely comfortable with her father and Watson letting the militiaman walk away. But then, what would she have done, she asked herself, not liking the harsh reality that her answer brought to mind.
Would she have killed him, had it been her choice? She considered it but only for a fleeting moment. No, she de
cided, dismissing the matter. She wouldn’t have killed him. Julie knew she did not have it in her soul to deliberately pull the trigger and watch a man fall dead by her hand.
“Are you all right, Daughter?” the colonel asked, seeing her expression turn grim.
“Uh, yes, Pa,” said Julie snapping out of her dark thoughts.
“I know this is all ugly and coarse,” the colonel said in a softer tone. “These hooded riders are what a war spawns after a while.” He stooped down beside her and added, “But don’t worry. We’ll soon be out of bloody Kansas. Once we’re back east, we’ll have put all of this madness far behind us.”
Before the two had stood up from beside the exhausted boy, Shep came walking toward them, leading their horses in one hand and carrying his repeater rifle in the other. “I watched Aimes till he was all the way out and over a low rise,” Shep said. “It’ll take him a while before he gets back here. We’ll be gone by then.”
“Good work, Sergeant Watson,” said the colonel.
Shep beamed with pride and handed the colonel the reins to his horse. “Just following orders, sir,” he said with military bearing.
Julie and Shep pulled Jed Shawler to his feet and pushed him up into Julie’s saddle. Shep held the wobbling boy in place until Julie climbed up behind him, reached around and took her rein, letting Jed lie back in her arms. “Where—Where are you taking me?” Jed asked in a weak voice.
“Shhh, you just rest,” Julie said. “We’re taking you somewhere safe.”
“But my family . . .” Jed’s words trailed as he slumped against Julie and allowed himself to drift back out of consciousness again.
In the afternoon, Delbert Reese and Nez Peerly had reined their horses to a halt at a place where the hill trail began to spill out and down onto the plains when Peerly raised a hand and said, “There comes that sorry sumbitch, right there!” He pointed ahead across the tall wild grass at Goff Aimes as Aimes and his horse rose and fell on the rolling terrain, like a ship at sea.