Follow The Stone

by John Locke

  I fetched a flask from my saddlebag and handed it to Paul. He took a long pull, then closed his eyes and sat quietly a minute, enjoyin’ the glow a good bourbon will give a man. After a time he said, “Can you spare another sip?”

  “It’s yours to finish,” I said.

  “You sure?”

  “When I get to Dodge, I s’pect I’ll enjoy enough whiskey for ten men.”

  He nodded. “I envy your destination. Been a long time since I had to kick the shit off my boots to enter a real city.”

  He sipped his bourbon.

  “Damn fine whiskey,” he said.

  “Ought to be,” I said. “It’s from Kentucky.”

  “Do tell.”

  A couple of skinny chickens were scratchin’ the ground in front of us, out of habit, I guessed, since there didn’t appear to be any seed there. I noticed Paul’s horse was gone.

  “You got a shovel somewhere?” I asked. “And a pick?”

  “Sorry to say I don’t,” he said. “I mean, I got a shovel.”

  “Well, that’s somethin’,” I said.

  “But it’s broke,” he said.

  I gave him a look. “Well then you ain’t got a shovel.”

  “It’s a fine shovel,” he said. “It’s just broke.”

  I wondered if maybe Paul had been isolated too long.

  “How broke is it?” I said.

  “The handle’s fine.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “But it’s in two pieces. I’m usin’ it to hold our cook pot.”

  “Why on earth would you bust a perfectly good shovel for that?”

  “’Cause the metal part broke into three pieces the year before.”

  He’d taken me all around the bush with worthless conversation and never scared up a rabbit’s worth of sense. I couldn’t tell if he was purposely stupid or just plain stupid. Truth is, I didn’t know Paul that well. I’d only met him a few hours the day I brought Molly to meet him. She had two papers with her that had been signed by the Maynard Justice of the Peace. I let her and Paul spend three hours together while I took a nap. Then I got her off to the side and asked if she wanted to go through with the marriage. She weren’t overly excited about it, but said, “I guess.” I told her she had to be sure before I’d leave her there with a man neither of us knew.

  “I guess I’m sure,” she said.

  So I had Paul sign the papers in front of me, and accordin’ to what was written on ’em, that made ’em married. I gave one page to Paul, and filed the other at an attorney’s office in Maynard later that day.

  “Do you have any other sorts of tools I can use?”

  “For what?”

  “To bury a woman.”

  “Not a woman that big,” Paul said.

  “What difference does it make how big she is? You’ve either got some tools I can use or you don’t.”

  He took another sip.

  “Well then, I don’t,” he said.

  About that time Phoebe came stompin’ out of the sod shack. She stormed up to me and slapped my face as hard as it’s ever been slapped.

  “Whoa,” Paul said. “That’s one angry bitch.”

  Rose and Molly had followed Phoebe out the door and came to a stop behind her.

  “Where’s Monique?” I said, rubbbin’ my jaw.

  “Napping,” Rose said.

  To Phoebe I said, “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “You shot Molly?”

  Molly held her hand up so I could see the little circle scar on the fleshy web between her thumb and forefinger.

  “It’s healed right nicely,” I said. “Can’t hardly tell.”

  Molly shrugged.

  “What would possess you to shoot a woman in the hand?” Phoebe said. “She paid you to escort her all the way from Rolla and you shot her?”

  “Well, she was wound pretty tight, and wouldn’t follow my instructions,” I said. “I feared she’d get us killed. And would have, had I not thought of a way to get her attention.”

  She looked at Molly, then back at me.

  “Have you shot other women then?”

  “A few.”

  Phoebe glared at me. “If that’s the case I wonder how close you came to shooting me.”

  How close indeed, I thought.

  With all of ’em standin’ there, starin’ at me, I chose that time to change the subject.

  “We can’t bury Scarlett here,” I said.

  “What?”

  “We’ll have to take her with us.”

  “What are you talking about? Take her where?”

  “To Newton.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “The ground around here is awful hard. Unless you got a pick and shovel in your bag I don’t know about, we’ve got no tools to dig a hole with.”

  Phoebe was about to say somethin’, but Paul spoke first. “I’ll trade you a hole for that lean-to. I could make good use of that wood.”

  “You got a hole somewhere?”

  “Nope. But I know where one is.”

  “Is it close?”

  “It ain’t far.”

  “Is it big enough and deep enough to bury Scarlett?”

  He thought about it, then allowed, “We might have to fold her funny. But between the two of us we can probably wedge her in, if we kick her hard enough.”

  “What?” Phoebe said.

  “I’ve got some rocks and remnant sod we can toss on top of her,” Paul said.

  It weren’t the most elaborate way to send a fine woman like Scarlett to her final reward, but draggin’ her behind a horse for six days weren’t much better.

  “It’s unseemly,” Phoebe said.

  It was unseemly. Then again, we were on the prairie, where life and death is often unseemly. I waited a moment before lookin’ at Phoebe.

  “What do you think?” I said.

  I knew Phoebe was angry, but I also knew she had a side to her that was so practical it had taken me by surprise the previous night when she considered usin’ a child’s grave for firewood. I didn’t know how she might respond to this business of foldin’ and kickin’ Scarlett into a crazy sodbuster’s hole. She was still upset with me about shootin’ Molly, but this was a completely different subject, and I think she realized that among our group she was carryin’ the banner for what was acceptable and what wasn’t.

  She said, “I don’t see what other choice we have.”

  I looked at Paul. “Then let’s do ’er.”

  I was glad Monique was nappin’. With any luck, Paul and I could get Scarlett buried before Monique found out about it. Then we could fetch her and the others, and speak some proper words over her grave.

  I said, “Phoebe, will you and Rose go inside and keep an eye on Monique while we bury Scarlett?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me and said, “I suppose if we don’t, you’ll shoot us.”

  45.

  I took no pleasure in buryin’ Scarlett.

  Paul’s hole had not been dug by someone anticipatin’ the death of another. It was a natural hole that was more like a small cave, or animal’s den. By lyin’ on my stomach, I could get my head and shoulders far enough in it to see there were no skunks or fox or bobcats currently livin’ there.

  The front part was plenty wide, but it tapered toward the back, where it had a drop off that went deeper than I could see. If we could get at least part of her body into that drop off area, we could seal the front with enough rocks and sod to discourage even the most determined varmints from gettin’ to her. I could only imagine the look on Monique or Phoebe’s face later today if we were headin’ to meet Shrug and came upon a raccoon or porcupine draggin’ off one of Scarlett’s body parts.

  Gettin’ Scarlett’s body deep enough into the hole to properly bury her required doin’ things to it that’ll keep me out of heaven for six lifetimes. I could only hope the good Lord would accept part of the blame for creatin’ such a large woman and allowin’ her to die near such a small hole. I’m not
the sort to criticize, but it seemed like bad plannin’ to me, and I might’ve yelled that comment skyward, or worse ones, while actually doin’ the deed.

  In any case, after two hours of excruciatin’ labor, it was done. I took two pieces of wood and some twine and made a cross and put it in the ground, knowin’ what Paul was thinkin’ as he watched me.

  “Paul, no matter how much wood you might require to get through the next few winters, if this cross ain’t here the next time I come through, I’m gonna shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “I won’t use the wood.”

  “I have your word?”

  “You do. But how can I keep someone else from usin’ it? This ain’t even my land!”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, Paul. It ain’t a fair burden to put on you, for sure. But someone’s gotta be responsible. It’s the least I can do for Scarlett. If you do the right thing and get shot anyway, maybe you can take some comfort knowin’ God will sort it out later.”

  We walked Earl’s horse back to Molly and Paul’s, and had him drag the lean-to right up to the side of their hut. We removed it from his back, tied him to it, then gathered the women and brought ’em back to the grave site, where we spoke some solemn words. Then we sang three hymns, which was all the hymns I knew.

  As we sang “Shall We Gather at the River,” somethin’ unusual happened. A red-tailed hawk flew over our heads, caught a puff of wind in its wings, and fanned them out to show the full majesty of its wingspan. Then it cut a wide arc in the sky, turned, and headed back toward us. A thing like that, so unexpected and beautiful, lifted our spirits and gave us hope that our dear Scarlett had been welcomed to the Pearly Gates with open arms. As the hawk passed low over our heads, he expelled a half-pound of bird shit that barely missed me, but hit Phoebe right between the eyes.

  She looked up in the sky and shouted, “Fine!” She grabbed what shit she could from her face and flung it skyward, yellin’, “Same to you!”

  We all laughed, includin’ Monique, despite her grief. On the way back to fetch our horses, Phoebe leaned in toward me and whispered, “Mr. Love? A word?”

  We let the others go on ahead of us. While waitin’ for ’em to get out of ear shot, I untied the bandana from my neck and wiped off as much bird shit as I could from Phoebe’s hair. When we were alone, she said, “Have you ever been inside Paul and Molly’s hut?”

  “Nope. I try to keep outside them type a’ houses.”

  “It is unlivable.”

  I nodded.

  “Ungodly.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Unbelievable. Unhealthy. Unholy. Un—”

  “I tried to tell you that.”

  “You did. But you didn’t come close to capturing the living conditions. When Molly found out they could have the lean-to, it was as if she’d received an inheritance. How could she stay with a man who’d allow her to live like that?”

  “Well, I’ve always said plains folk are a different breed. And to be fair, it ain’t all Paul’s fault they’re livin’ like that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s a hard luck man. Six years ago he had a yoke of oxen and a wagon that he traded for homestead rights to a nice piece of land in Maynard. He also had enough cash to make a down payment on two wagon loads of lumber, tools, and nails that he ordered from St. Joe, and financed the rest with a bank loan. With all that goin’ for him, he placed his ad for a mail order bride, and Molly answered it.”

  “What happened to his house?”

  “Well, lumber’s a valuable commodity on the plains,” I said. “Some thieves followed the shipment a few miles out of St. Joe, killed the drivers, and made off with the wagons, horses, and lumber.”

  “And what of the bank loan?”

  “Paul couldn’t pay it back. He lost his land and had to squat on this piece, and built a sod house so that when Molly showed up she’d have a place to live.”

  Her eyes clouded up. “That was a very noble thing for him to do,” she said.

  “That’s why I said she may have been the one to get the bargain.”

  “On the other hand, she came here expecting to live in town, in a nice new home made of wood. The fact that she agreed to stay and live like this—” she gestured to the scrub area all around us—“speaks to her nobility as well.”

  “It does for a fact,” I said. Then asked, “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

  “No.”

  I waited.

  She said, “When we get to Mr. Pickett’s so-called ranch…”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “If it turns out he’s living in a sod house, or in circumstances so harsh that a load of dead tree limbs leaking with the residue of human suffering can make a grown woman cry for joy—do not allow me to stay there.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “I’d rather live in the cave where Wayne found me.”

  46.

  Shrug and I had decided to meet up at Blackstrap Crick ’cause it was located a few miles from an old Indian trail that led all the way to Newton. It would’ve been too dangerous to travel just a few years earlier, but was relatively safe these days and offered the bonus of being mostly cleared.

  When we approached the dried up banks of Blackstrap Crick, we found Shrug and the women watin’ for us. Both groups ran toward each other, and when we collided, a lot of emotions passed back and forth, as well as stories about what had happened to each group. Gentry was pleased to see me, but after a quick hug and kiss, she ran off to hear Phoebe and Rose explain the details of what happened to Scarlett. That didn’t bother me. Gentry had shared a parlor with Scarlett for more than two years, and except for Monique, had been her best friend.

  The news about Scarlett brought down the spirits of the others, even as it lifted ours a bit to tell it. I suppose that’s how grief works. By sharin’ it with others, there’s less for us to carry. Of course it was one more nail in little Hannah’s heart. I wondered how much more her spirit could handle.

  To me, the most amazin’ part about reunitin’ with the others was seein’ what had become of Gentry’s face. She had turned into the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on! Phoebe, especially, couldn’t get over it.

  “What on earth was in that poultice?” she asked Rose, shortly after we started the next part of our journey.

  “A little of this and that,” Rose said.

  “Seriously, Rose, have you ever thought of patenting your formula and making it available back East? You could open a skin-care store. You’d make a fortune!”

  “As many times as Gentry’s already thanked me,” Rose said, “I wouldn’t have time to run a shop. Assuming the women of Philadelphia are half as grateful as she is.”

  “Too bad you’ve set your heart on bein’ a rancher’s wife in Newton, Kansas,” I said. “Otherwise, Rose would probably finance your business venture.”

  “I will,” Rose said. “If you decide not to marry your rancher fella. In fact, I have someone in mind who could help you run such a store.”

  “Maybe Mr. Pickett would like to become involved,” Phoebe said.

  “I wouldn’t partner with a rancher,” Rose said. “No offense.”

  “What do you have against ranchers?”

  “I’d rather not say. You’re about to be one, and I’d like us to stay friends.”

  “I’d like that, too,” Phoebe said. She paused, then said, “Who is it you have in mind to help with the store?”

  Rose said, “Let’s wait until we see what happens between you and Mr. Pickett. No sense in worrying about a helper for a store that hasn’t got an owner yet.”

  That night we made camp in my favorite spot in all of Kansas. Before the draught, this had been an oasis fit for a king. For miles around you’d find grass as high as a man’s head in every direction, save for the twenty-foot-wide trail that led to this open area. Here, a river used to flow into a wide pool, and trickled into a small brook lined with cottonwood, elm, and h
ackberry trees. On this trip the grass around us lay dead and flat, and the water had dried up. Even so, it would be the prettiest camp we’d make before Dodge City, and it was in this place Phoebe asked me why Rose didn’t care for ranchers.

  “If Rose wanted you to know, she’d a’ told you earlier,” I said.

  “Your loyalty to Rose runs deep,” she said.

  “I’m loyal to you, too.”

  “Not as loyal to me as to Rose, I suspect.”

  “Loyalty shouldn’t have to be measured between two friends,” I said. “Not if it runs both ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rose and I are loyal to each other.”

  “So?”

  “If she asked me somethin’ about you that you didn’t want revealed, I wouldn’t answer, and she wouldn’t press me to.”

  “You’re probably a good friend to have, then,” she said. “Apart from your Western ways.”

  “Apart from them,” I said.

  “In your opinion, would Rose make a good business partner?”

  I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “She proved her integrity by makin’ the offer.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s her poultice and her money. What can you provide that she can’t get from someone else back East who’s already runnin’ a successful skin care shop?”

  She thought about that a minute. “You think she might steal my idea?”

  I laughed again.