Love Me, Marietta

by Jennifer Wilde

  “They plan to take their time,” Marshall said. “They plan to keep it up until dawn.”

  “We’ve got to do something!” I cried.

  “Nothin’ we can do,” Hurley said grimly.

  Corrie was crying quietly. Em took her into her arms and led her away from the barricade and set her down, kneeling beside her, holding her. In the moonlight I could see Jeremy’s face, as hard as granite, expressionless. He handed his rifle to Chris, pulled the pistol from his waistband and started to climb over the barricade. Randolph grabbed his arm, restraining him.

  “No you don’t, lad. I ain’t gonna let you do it.”

  “Let go of my arm, Randolph.” His voice was hard, flinty.

  “I ain’t lettin’ you do it. Bobby’s my friend, lad. He’s like a brother to me, always has been. I’m goin’.”

  “The responsibility is mine. If you don’t let go of my arm I’ll break your bloody jaw.”

  That flinty voice was without emotion. He meant what he said. There could be no mistake about that. Randolph sighed, shook his head sadly and released his hold. Jeremy nodded curtly. Randolph’s mighty fist flew through the air with the weight and force of a sledgehammer, making a terrible thud as it slammed into Jeremy’s cheekbone. Jeremy crumpled, out cold. Hurley caught him before he could fall to the ground holding him under the arms, carefully lowering the limp body and stretching it out.

  “Sorry I had to do that,” Randolph remarked, extremely casual. “He always was a stubborn bastard. Take care of things, boys. I should be back ’fore too long.”

  He turned to look at Em, giving her a smile that was heartbreakingly shy and sheepish, almost self-deprecating. She kneeled there with her arms around Corrie and looked at him with solemn eyes, unable to smile back, unable to make a bright, careless remark. Randolph saluted her, seized a pistol, holding it high, and climbed over the logs. He moved silently into the water and seemed to merge with it, barely visible. I was watching carefully, but I didn’t see him leave the water and slip into the woods on the other side.

  The orange glow flickered in the distance, and there was another prolonged scream that rose and rose, growing shriller and shriller and finally splintering into silence. It began again seconds later, even more horrifying, breaking into racking sobs. I turned away, folding my arms tightly around my waist and trying not to be sick. Jeremy began to moan. He sat up and rubbed his cheekbone and then climbed to his feet.

  “He’s gone,” Chris said. “He had to do it, Jeremy.”

  “I know, Chris. He and Bobby were—very close.”

  “He’ll make it, Randy will. He’ll do the job and get back safely. Here, take some of this.”

  He handed Jeremy a canteen. Jeremy drank and then handed it back. There was a bad scrape on his cheekbone where the fist had slammed against it. Chris dampened a handkerchief and dabbed at the scrape. Jeremy winced, scowling. The screams had ceased for the moment. Roberts must have passed out from the pain. They would revive him. They intended to keep him alive as long as possible. We waited, silent, and the sky grew lighter. The shadows began to melt from black into a light gray-black.

  Em came over to where I was standing. She was in control of herself, but her cheeks were stark white, her hazel eyes dark with worry.

  “He’s so goddamned brave,” she said.

  “He’ll be all right, Em.”

  “The sonofabitch has to be a hero.”

  “That’s the kind of man he is. That’s one of the reasons you love him.”

  “I do, you know. Who’d have thought a great big hulk like that would ever make me feel this way. When I think of all the men I’ve known—” She sighed and shook her head. “Jesus, just my luck to fall in love with a lug like that, without a penny to his name.”

  Corrie had piled twigs and small limbs over the coals and was filling the coffeepot with water. Chris lighted the fire. The shadows were fading quickly now. The sky was a pale, pale violet gradually turning into light gray. The stars were gone. Pale tendrils of mist rose from the water, dissolving immediately. Minutes passed. The coffee began to boil.

  Another agonized scream broke the silence. It rose in the air and seemed to hang there with nerve-shattering clarity, followed by a second scream that was even more unnerving, more animal than human, the scream of a being in terrible, excruciating pain. A shot rang out, sharp and clear. The scream ended abruptly. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the woods on the other side were filled with angry, barbaric shouts.

  Em was holding my hand. I winced, certain she was going to crush my fingers, but I made no attempt to pull away. We both stared across the water at the dark line of trees. There was no movement, no sign of anyone. We waited, all of us, and it was not until he was halfway across the river that we saw Randolph. He swam the rest of the way with ease and climbed out of the water. His face was expressionless as he joined us behind the barricade.

  “It’s done,” he said. “I got him between the eyes. The demons had already—” He cut himself short, unable to continue.

  Em wrapped her arms around him. He hardly noticed.

  “The sky’s turnin’ pink,” Marshall said. “We’d better get ready. They’ll be headin’ over here any minute now.”

  Twenty-Six

  The waiting was the worst part. Every minute seemed to stretch out intolerably, and still they didn’t come. The mist evaporated, and the sky was a pale pinkish-orange that slowly bleached to white. Shapes and colors materialized, the gray trees turning grayish-brown, leaves turning green, thin sunlight growing stronger. The pink and orange faded completely. Dawn brightened into a clear, sunny morning, and already the heat was intense. We waited, staring across the river, and all was silent, all was still. Not a leaf trembled. The Karankawas might have been swallowed up by the night.

  The men stood with rifles aimed. The river flowed along the banks with a quiet gurgling sound. A bluejay sailed across it, scolding noisily. Em, Corrie, and I organized the powder horns and ammunition and lined the extra guns up on the oilskin, ready to pass them out, ready to reload. The sun rose higher, streaming bright yellow light over the bleached white sky. I wanted to believe they were gone. I wanted to believe they had satisfied their lust with Roberts and had turned back, but I knew that they were waiting, too. For what? It was morning now. Why didn’t they come?

  Another half-hour passed. Corrie insisted the men drink coffee and eat some of the meat Randolph had dried earlier. I thought I was going to scream. I couldn’t endure the suspense much longer. My nerves seemed to stretch tighter, tighter, ready to snap. I helped Corrie serve the coffee and meat, refusing to give in to the tension, presenting a calm demeanor that belied the jangling inside. I drank a cup of coffee myself when the men had finished and then picked up my pistol, checking it carefully.

  “I don’t know how much more of this I’m going to be able to take,” Em said, speaking low so the men wouldn’t hear. “I’m about to jump out of my skin, luv.”

  “So am I, Em, but we can’t let them down.”

  Em brushed sand from her pale blue skirt and nodded. We would both hold on and do our best to keep a brave front, if only for the sake of the men who needed our support. We both had stoical expressions and, on the surface, seemed totally unperturbed, as, indeed, did all the men. Randolph seemed almost nonchalant as he stood at the barricade with his rifle resting on the top log, his lids drooping lazily over impassive brown eyes. A thick golden brown wave fell across his brow. He reached up idly to push it back, yawning as he did so.

  “Reckon they intend to take their time,” he remarked. “Guess they ain’t in no hurry to get themselves slaughtered.”

  “They’re thinkin’ it over,” Hurley said. “Maybe they’ll decide it arn’t worth it.”

  “Wish they would,” Randolph replied. “Don’t imagine they will, though. They gotta at least make a show of standin’ up to us. Can’t go skulkin’ back to camp without a coupla wounded. Their squaws’d think they’d lost some o
f their manhood. Manhood’s real big with ’em, I hear. They gotta prove it constantly.”

  “Probably gets tedious as hell,” Marshall observed.

  “Dangerous, too,” Hurley added.

  They chatted casually as the sun beat down, growing even hotter as the morning wore on. All of us were perspiring freely. The banks were deep with shade from the trees, looking cool and inviting, but there was no shade here on the sandy half-acre that jutted out into the river. Swarms of tiny insects swooped over the surface of the river, making a soft buzzing noise, and birds called out in the woods, twittering merrily. Corrie stepped over to place her hand on Chris’ arm. He looked down at her with a gentle, reassuring smile, and Corrie smiled back, silently conveying her confidence in him. I found it incredibly poignant. They were so young, so innocent, and, together, represented all that love should be.

  “They’re beautiful together, aren’t they?” Em said quietly.

  I nodded as Chris touched Corrie’s cheek and leaned down to say something to her in a low, loving voice. They were so perfectly matched, I thought, Chris tall and stalwart, blond and stern and protective, Corrie dark and frail, lovely and trusting. They were beautiful indeed, like two halves of a whole, united at last.

  “Corrie’s very fortunate,” I said. “She’s known hardship and horror, far too much of it, but Chris will make her forget all that. He’ll take care of her and make her happy. Happiness—”

  I paused, letting the word trail into silence, pleased for Corrie and Chris yet inexplicably sad at the same time. Em sensed what I was feeling, and she understood instinctively.

  “You’ll find it, too, luv,” she promised. “Both of us will, and it’ll be all the finer because of what we’ve been through.”

  “Do you really believe that, Em?”

  “I have to believe it. Neither of us will ever know that innocent, trusting kind of love—I don’t think I was ever innocent—but we’ll have our day, luv.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said doubtfully.

  “I intend to make it happen for me. Last night when Randolph left I realized what I felt for him, and I vowed that if he got back I was going to hold on to him, hold on fast. He’s no prize, of course, but then neither am I. I’m going to hold on to him and make him the happiest man alive. The sonofabitch has no idea how happy he’s going to be.”

  Em glared at him almost defiantly, and, as though feeling the force of her glare, Randolph turned and grinned at her. She gave him a look of mock exasperation and shoved a long chestnut wave from her temple.

  “He doesn’t know it yet,” she confided, “but he’s going to settle down, and so am I. It’s high time—God knows I’ve done everything else. I’ve got a sneaky feeling I’m going to like it.”

  She sighed and fell silent, thoughtful now, and after a few moments passed, she looked up and gazed across the river with a deep frown.

  “I wish this were over,” she said. “I wish those bloody savages would attack and be done with it.”

  Another half-hour passed, the sun intensely hot, the woods silent, insects skimming over the water in humming swarms. All of us grew more and more restless. I fetched canteens and carried them around to all the men, serving Jeremy last. He drank sparingly and fastened the lid back on, handing me the canteen. His thin white shirt was damp with sweat. His brow was moist, wisps of hair sticking to it, and his cheekbone was discolored, a deep bluish-mauve. I sensed the tension in that tall, lean frame, even though he seemed to be completely relaxed.

  “Will they ever come?” I asked.

  “They’ll come,” he assured me.

  “Why—why are they waiting?”

  “I’m not sure, but I suspect they’re waiting for reinforcements.”

  His suspicion proved to be right, for not more than ten minutes later four long canoes were sighted upriver, gliding smoothly over the greenish-brown water and keeping close to the far bank. A warrior stood at either end of each canoe, guiding it with long, straight poles, four other warriors sitting in between. Chris and Randolph, Hurley and Marshall gripped their rifles, ready to shoot, but Jeremy shook his head curtly and told them to hold their fire. The canoes glided past silently, and not one of the Indians glanced in our direction. We might have been invisible. The canoes were made from tree trunks with the bark still on them, trimmed flat and hollowed out, the ends blunted. Coarse but serviceable, they seemed to move of their own volition, the warriors dipping their poles into the water only infrequently.

  As they passed, I stared in horrified fascination. The Karankawas were extremely tall, if one were to judge from those who stood immobile with the poles. They were well over six feet and powerfully built, their dark, copper-brown skin glistening in the sunlight. Coarse black hair fell to their shoulders in loose, shaggy locks, and their faces were broad and flat, features indiscernible, for each face was completely covered with black and white paint in a wide variety of hideous designs. Quivers of arrows were slung across their backs, and each warrior not poling held a long, sturdy bow. Even though they were on the other side of the river, only a few feet from the bank, I could smell the odor of rancid alligator grease.

  The canoes moved downstream, disappearing around a bend, and I shuddered. Never had I seen such terrifying creatures, and as I remembered the accounts of their savagery, as I remembered the flickering orange glow in the night and those shrill, agonized screams, it was hard to believe they were actually human. They seemed more like creatures from the depths of hell, fierce, barbaric demons who personified the darkest evil. A new terror possessed me, and I didn’t realize I was trembling until Jeremy placed his hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t fall apart now, lass,” he said gently. “We’re going to need you to load the guns.”

  “I—I’m not going to fall apart. I just—they’re so frightening—”

  “They’re merely men,” he told me, “smeared with paint and armed with primitive weapons. We’ll hold them off.”

  His fingers gripped my shoulder tightly, and as those blue eyes looked into mine I seemed to feel the strength in him entering me, strengthening me. The terror evaporated. I nodded, and he let go of my shoulder and touched me lightly on the cheek and turned back to face the river. Em was shaken, too, and her fingers trembled slightly as she lined the extra guns up again, keeping herself busy, trying not to think of what was about to happen. Tension seemed to crackle in the air as we waited those last few moments. When the first yell split the silence, we were almost relieved.

  The Indian rushed out of the woods, yelling, waving his bow, splashing in the water, his face painted black with white circles around his eyes. He turned toward the woods and raised his bow over his head. At least twenty more Indians came tearing out from the trees, hooting and howling, leaping into the water and charging across. Jeremy raised his rifle, fired. The first Indian let out a yowl and flew up into the air, vivid scarlet streams spurting from his chest. He fell into the water with a giant splash, and another Indian leaped over the body and charged on, his body flung sideways as Randolph’s bullet ripped into his chest.

  I grabbed a rifle and thrust it at Jeremy, took the first and began to reload it, trying to ignore the noise, the yowls, the steady explosions that seemed to burst my eardrums. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, just load the gun. Just load the gun. I took the powder horn and the rod and the barrel was so hot it scorched my fingers, but I didn’t even notice. I rammed the rod down and finished the job and thrust the rifle at Chris and began to load another, Em and Corrie working beside me, calm and efficient, much calmer than I was. Powder, rod, bullet, calm, keep calm, do it properly. There. I handed the rifle to Hurley and took up another, spilled powder and started to panic and refused to let it take hold of me.

  I loaded another rifle, another, another, paying no mind to the splashing and howling, the steady firing. The barricade was surrounded now, they were on all sides, and all five men were firing, firing, tossing their rifles down and grabbing fresh
ones. The air was thick with smoke, the smell of powder overwhelming. It couldn’t go on much longer. It couldn’t. I refused to believe it could continue much longer. I worked steadily, emotionally numb now, picking up a rifle, loading it, handing it to one of the men, grabbing another and loading it, my fingers burning, my eyes smarting from the smoke.

  Chris tossed his rifle down, and I got up and hurried over to him with the one I had just loaded. There was a twanging, zinging noise and an arrow flew past my head. Chris grabbed the rifle and shoved me down, and the air seemed to be full of arrows that plunged into the sand and sprouted on the logs as though by magic. One ripped through my skirt, pinning it to the sand. I pulled the cloth free and crawled back to the rifles and loaded another, another, no longer thinking, working mechanically as the smoke grew thicker and the screeching grew louder, much nearer now, shrill, demonic, punctuated by the explosions of rifles that never stopped.

  I rammed the rod home and shoved the rifle to Jeremy and grabbed up another and loaded it and saw the Indian leap over the barricade and land in the sand a few yards away. He screamed and raised his knife and started to hurl himself on Chris’ back. I aimed the rifle and fired. The butt rammed into my shoulder with a painful thud, and the barrel spat a bright orange-red streak that ripped into the Indian’s head. His head flew apart, and there was a grotesque bloody smear where his face had been. I paid it no mind. I had grabbed another rifle before he even hit the sand and loaded it quickly, calmly, and I tossed it to Hurley and saw two more savages leaping over the barricade.

  Randolph seized one of them, and they were rolling on the sand, thrashing and flailing. There was no time to watch, no time to worry. I loaded a rifle, and Marshall grabbed it and fired. The second Indian fell to his knees with a terrible screech and blood spewed and he flopped face forward. Three more Indians leaped over the barricade, and I realized vaguely that they were going to overpower us, we were going to be killed. Jeremy fired, and an Indian fell. Hurley was on the ground, a howling, screeching savage on top of him. Randolph wrested the knife from the brave he was fighting and plunged it into the Indian’s chest. Then he leaped up and grabbed the hair of the Indian on top of Hurley, yanked his head back and slit his throat.