Fletcher Stone knew that Philip frequented Mulligan’s after leaving his office for the day. Philip took his drink and approached Fletcher knowing he must have some news.
“I have found her,” Fletcher told Philip. He smiled, showing a display of rotten teeth.
Philip was jolted into a reality he had thought left him. The thought of Molly made his heart skip and he knew that he had not buried all his feelings. Fletcher handed him a paper with an address written on it. She was in Connecticut.
“Have you spoken to her?” Philip wanted to know details.
Fletcher shook his head.
“She did not say anything because I did not speak with her. I just asked around and found out this is the lady you are looking for.” He did not want to continue but he wanted to warn him. He would still be paid the same.
“She is married now, you know.”
The words cut Philip deeply. How could she have married? Even though he had gone on with his life he could not think of her with another man. The thought devastated him. He felt jealous and guilty at the same time. He loved his wife yet Molly was his heart. He looked at the address on the paper. He took it and folded it putting it into his breast pocket.
“Thank you,” he said to Fletcher. He began to get up. He wanted to get home and rethink everything that had transpired.
“Not so fast,” Fletcher said. “Remember that I need to be paid.”
Philip looked at him; resentful of the news he had given. He did however owe him his fee.
“Of course, forgive me.” Philip paid him $500 in cash and left the establishment.
~
Philip was relieved to see that Rose was not at home when he arrived. He went to their room closing the door behind him. He took out the folded piece of paper. The thought crossed his mind to get on a horse and ride to Connecticut. That was ludicrous and he knew it. He began to wrinkle the paper before he discarded it. For some reason he could not. Instead he walked over to a board that was loose beneath the rug in the middle of the room. Under the board was a small wooden box. He had owned this box since early childhood. It contained those things that boys consider precious. He had half a locket from his sister. She had given it to him when they were children. She had made him vow that he would never discard it.
In this box of treasures was the letter from Molly. He took it out and read it again. He folded the two together and replaced the box in its hiding spot. He was the only one who owned a key to this box. He put the key back into his vest pocket. He decided as he replaced the board that these memories, precious as they were, would stay locked away. He was not sure why he was keeping the memoirs of Molly. He would never be unfaithful to Rose. She was a good woman and he loved her deeply. She was kind and thoughtful to Philip. She was a wonderful companion and they were starting a family.
He replaced the board and the memories of a life in the past. Rose would have his faithful affections. She would have his devotion.
~
I looked down at Jack who had been resting his head on my chest. He had dozed off. Sometimes he did that when I was telling a story. I had learned not to take offense. He liked to read what I had written more than when I told him the story. I carefully got out of bed. He had his arm and leg wrapped around me. He was in a deep enough sleep that I did not disturb him.
I was unable to sleep knowing that it would not be too long until I had to face the music with Jack. I decided to put the story on the computer since the night was a wash for me as far as sleeping was concerned.
~16~
Life Behind the “8” Ball
I was able to sleep for part of the night. I did not manage to get much rest and I woke long before Jack. I was editing what I had written the night before when I heard him begin to stir. He did not relish the morning as I did. He grumbled as he staggered out of bed. His radar was focused toward the coffee pot.
He stopped on the way to give me his silent ‘good morning.’
I had pulled my hair up before going to bed to keep it from my face while I slept. He came from behind me. He loosened my hair until it fell softly on my shoulders. He massaged my head for a short time. Then from behind he gave me a hug. He cupped my breast in his hand. This was kind of ritual with him when I was writing.
This was our unspoken language. I knew by his actions that he was letting me know I did not need to move and he would get my morning coffee. I was appreciative of his presence. He understood my writer’s trance. He was not jealous of the demands my story entailed. He understood and appreciated that the height of creativity is to totally succumb to the characters and the story.
When I wrote and surrendered myself to the powers that be. They would become a creative obsession. I was just the instrument they needed to tell their own story. They will call to you during the night and stay with you throughout the day until you put it in writing. They have all the characteristics of a new lover who has an insatiable appetite that needs to be pleased.
As he put the coffee in front of me I was nearly done. I sat back and took a sip and looked at Jack. I reached across to pat his slight beard, which I found very sexy. He was not wearing a shirt and his hair was going every which way on his head. He looked adorable. I gave him a ‘come hither’ smile. To my surprise and disappointment he did not respond the way I would have liked. Instead he gave me a serious look and I dreaded the following conversation, which was inevitable.
“Darcy, where are we going?”
“Jack, I thought we were not going …”
He interrupted me, “Come on Darcy, you really try my patience.” He took a sip of coffee. “You are sitting here last night telling me stories of passion and yearning.” He leaned forward. “You are writing about forbidden love and deception. So I know you are capable of understanding. Why can’t you see that we have something special? And, we can have it, without complications.”
I was surprised at how much he did hear last night. He must have grasped the whole story.
“But, there are complications, Jack. What was wrong with our relationship the way it is now? You are young and progressive, why marriage Jack? Do you know how many men would love to have me say these things to them? Do you know how many would love to know that marriage is not the ultimate goal?” I pleaded my case.
“That is very lame, Darcy, and I am not even going there.”
“I just don’t know why it has to be this way. Things were perfect, Jack.”
“Because that is the way it is, Darcy. That is the way relationships are. You of all people should be aware that they never stay the same. They either reach new levels or they dissolve.” He added his legal view. “We also live in a society where there is a sense of legal security and trust. That would be marriage; the final commitment.”
I was trapped in the conversation and I had to continue, there was no way around it now. Jack was extremely patient. However, once any disagreement reached this level he would not back away. As much as he had an aversion to arguing if he needed to resolve things he did not stop until there we had come to some kind of solution.
“Jack we were having a great time. We respect each other. You have been the highlight of my life. You know I love you. You know I adore you. It is just that I cannot see where this will go on forever. In time you will change your mind.”
“Oh, so we are back to that shit about the age thing again?” He was almost shouting.
“Come on Jack, do you really think that as a man you will not lose interest as I age? You are always surrounded with women, much younger than me. In time it will be the ruination of us.”
Jack was so frustrated that he hit the table with his closed fist.
“I am so tired of paying the price for what Larry did to you. When are you going to give it up?” He stood up to give his closing argument. I could see it coming. I could see the hurt in his eyes as well as the frustration. I felt badly about both.
“This is just great, Darcy! I really thought you gave me more credit than that. I
thought you knew what kind of man I am. I have two strikes against me, two things that I have earned by just being a man. I cannot win.” He looked at me shaking his head. “I am not Larry and you are worth being faithful to.”
He was pacing as though he were in the courtroom.
“You just go ahead, sweetheart. You keep women like yourself from knowing their full potential. You feed right into that macho shithead attitude about the trophy wife.” He ran his fingers though his uncombed hair. “For Christ’s sake, you will probably outlive me!”
He had grabbed his shirt and was headed for the door.
“Just keep writing your bullshit about love. It is all fiction to you, isn’t it? You have no idea what passion really is when it is staring you in the face.” He began to leave but came back for a final blow.
“You know what you are? You are just afraid, scared as hell, because you do not have control over the final chapter in our ‘real’ lives.” He looked at me with a very confused look. He was a skilled debater, so his lack of success in convincing me must have frustrated him tremendously.
“But, you know you really have written it, haven’t you?”
He paced like a caged animal and I could see that he no longer wanted to be in the same room with me. He donned his shirt and left the house. He had the last word, which was his intention.
He jumped on my bike and started the engine. Before I could reach the door he was gone. I had no idea where he would go, or when he would return.
I looked at Cosette who always left the room when we argued.
“He took the bike!” was all I could say in my hurt and frustration.
Cosette buried her snout under her front paws and cried.
~17~
The Dream of Running Wolf
When I arrived at the home of Tiponi he looked especially rested. He was eager to speak with me.
“Today, I will share with you the dream of Running Wolf.”
This really helped to take the edge off the fight with Jack. I was feeling very fragile. At least there would be a bright spot in the day. I was sure that what Tiponi was about to share with me would be the pivotal point to the story. It would make it all come together for me. I sat with my recorder on so that I did not miss any detail. This was one of the many moments I was anxious to share with Tiponi.
~
The caravan was well into the Plaines. One of the wagons had hit an unusually big boulder and was in need of repair. The caravan had come to a halt while the repairs were taking place. Jonathan Simmons rode to the wagon of Sarah and Robert to inform them of the delay.
Sarah had been inside the wagon feeling ill. She had not been feeling well for several weeks. Rebecca suspected that Sarah had conceived. For that she was grateful.
Rebecca became restless during the delay. She wanted desperately to stretch her legs. She was also taken by the beautiful full sky above. It seemed to be larger than she had ever remembered seeing it before.
“I would like to get down and walk a bit,” she said to Robert.
He jumped from his seat to assist her in leaving the wagon.
“Don’t wander off too far Rebecca. Mr. Simmons made it very clear that we would be leaving within the hour no matter who was here. Beside that, this land is covered with Crow. They are known to be quite fierce.”
“I understand,” Rebecca replied. “I will be careful,” she promised.
Had Jonathan Simmons seen her he would have beckoned her back to the wagon. He was busy with the wheel that was in need of repair. Robert looked in on Sarah.
Rebecca stood for a moment. When she felt sure that both Robert and Jonathan were otherwise occupied she seized the opportunity. She looked twice to be sure they were busy. She then walked off and began to run. She ran to the top of the hill and spread her arms out as though they were wings.
She could see a river in the valley below. She ran to it and took off her boots and began to wade in the shallow water. She skipped through the water in a childlike manner. She was so grateful to finally be alone. It had been something she had promised herself since they left Boston. She looked around and took in a deep breath of her serenity. The exhilarating feeling made her forget for a moment the terrible loss she had just experienced. It felt wonderful. For the moment she was free.
She left the riverbank and walked barefoot in the tall grass. Rebecca walked for about fifteen minutes. She was not aware of how far she had wandered.
It was unusually warm for a fall day. She removed the white over-blouse. She felt much more comfortable in the sleeveless blouse that was made of light cotton. She pulled up her hair in her hand to relieve her neck from the warm afternoon sun.
She was looking around the vast prairie and mountains when her vision was blocked by something that seemed to be shining in her eyes. She was blinded for a moment. When it was gone, she looked around. She was startled when she looked to her right. On a high bluff she saw the tall figure of a man. He was holding something in his hand that was causing a blinding glare. She thought it was a mirror.
As she looked to the west the light of the setting sun was behind the figure. She could only make out a silhouette. He was far away but she could see he was undoubtedly large in statue. He appeared to have a bare chest and pants that were almost the color of his skin. He was darker than she. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized that he might be an Indian. When he turned she was certain. She saw the feathers attached to the long hair that was blowing in the wind. She looked around. He seemed to be alone. Her heart began to beat quickly and she knew she must return quickly to the safety of her wagon. She scanned the area to see if there were more. She did not see anyone except for him. When she looked back to where she had seen him standing, he had vanished.
Rebecca sensed the danger much too late. She could hear the sound of horses behind her. Just a moment before there was stillness. She could not figure out where they had been before they had begun to chase her. She had not seen anyone in the prairie.
She turned and began to run, dropping the over-blouse that was in her hand. The sound was much closer and she knew she would not make it back to the camp. She looked back just as she saw one of the three men jump off his horse and grab her, bringing her down to the ground. She felt her face scrape against the earth. Her teeth were forced into the soil leaving her with a mouth full of dirt. She tired to spit it out while attempting to fight her attacker. It was useless. The man was much stronger.
Within minutes her hands were tied behind her. She was screaming as he took a sweaty bandana from his head and secured it around her mouth. The taste was making her sick and she thought she would gag. She kicked and screamed. The cloth around her mouth muffled her squealing. She kept making as much noise as she could in a vain attempt to alert Robert or anyone who would come to her aid.
There were three white men. They were laughing as one of them lifted her upon a horse. There was a man of about forty with a large belly who was giving most of the orders. There was a younger man who had jumped on Rebecca. He was probably the strongest. There was a third man who was tall and thin but did not say very much.
She grunted as they attempted to make her sit on the horse. She was fighting them and would not mount the animal. They laid her across the animal with her face to the side of the horse, slapping her backside. When she moved it hurt her ribs. She knew if she struggled too much she would only fall causing more injury. She decided it would be wise to be still, at least until she could figure out some way of escape. Also, if she lay immobile she could hear the conversation.
“If this is what he wants, we had better deliver her,” the pot-bellied man said. Rebecca assumed they were referring to the Indian she had seen at the top of the hill.
“He must like them feisty,” the other man added as he laughed.
They rode far enough away from the wagon train and stopped. The tall one stopped her horse. He pulled Rebecca down from the back of the animal with little regard for her comfort. He stepped over to
her and took her face in his filthy hand.
“You got a husband who will be lookin’ for you?” he asked Rebecca.
Rebecca nodded hoping that would deter them.
The younger boy looked at Rebecca. If there was a kind man among them, it was he. She looked into his eyes pleading for compassion. He would be her only hope.
“I would have guessed that she has a man, women don’t travel west alone. Hope that injun is not hoping for any virgin. This one looks like she’s got some miles on her,” the fat man said as he laughed.
He began to remove his belt and unzip his trousers.
“But, before we deliver the goods, whatda say we have our fun?” He snickered as he approached Rebecca.
The young boy began to feel sorry for Rebecca. He could see how frightened she was. He was moved by the terror in her eyes.
The heavy man had dropped his pants. She looked away in repulsion at his ugly body. She had never seen a man naked. She began to cry with fear. She shook with fright. Beads of sweat were rolling down her face. The older man was waiting for his son to violate Rebecca. She closed her eyes not wanting to see her fate.
“Well, what are you waiting for, son. Get on with it so I can have my turn.”
The young man did not move. He stood and looked at Rebecca who was sobbing and trying to move away. Her eyes were shut hoping they would all disappear.
“Hell, son if you are not going to take advantage of this then I will do it myself.”
“Jed you can have a turn after me,” he bellowed.
Rebecca opened her eyes to the sudden sound of a gunshot. The young man had fired his weapon into the air. He was pointing his smoking gun at his father. The look on his face told everyone that he would have killed.
“What has come over you, boy? I just wanted to have some fun.” He tried to reason with the youth thinking he had taken leave of his senses. “Look at her. When did you see a woman lookin this good in these here parts lately?”
The Spirits of Nature Page 11