Stone Field

by Christy Lenzi

  I see her. Just for a moment, I see Mother again, near the hawthorn trees. Her image shimmers in the air the way fire bends the image above its flames. Her black hair and pale face look like mine. I reach out to her. I want to tell her I’m sorry—

  But she’s gone. And instead the air fills with voices from the church as the congregation sings the first hymn. I only hear women’s voices. Most of the men have been conscripted. I imagine the men of Roubidoux who were singing hymns next to their wives and children last Sunday shooting guns at strangers now, just miles away in Springfield. Maybe Henry is, too.

  I walk to the church and open the door, quiet. Everyone’s standing for the hymn and no one sees me. I sit down in the empty back row. Lots of rows are empty—the only men in the church are the preacher, Mr. Lenox, and two farmers, old as Moses. Mr. Lenox, Lu, and Effie are right in front of me. When the hymn is over, everyone sits, and as Effie settles back into the pew, she catches sight of me out of the corner of her eye. She gives me her big smile right away, but when she sees my new sealskin clothes, her eyes grow wide.

  Reverend Preston paces back and forth in the front of the church. His eyes travel over the congregation, melting a path with his fiery stare. Most people glance away when he gets to them, because they’re afraid he’ll see straight into their souls and they’ll feel naked in front of the world. But I already know he can’t see that far inside of people. His eyes are focused on Heaven so much, I think it’s hard for them to adjust to things here below. He doesn’t even see me sitting here in the back row.

  When Reverend Preston thinks he has the lay of the land, he calls another hymn. I figure out quick which direction he’s headed. He gives hints with each new hymn he calls. The congregation sings melodies about their muck and mire. They shout out tunes of deadly sins and earthly temptations. They sing about being lowly worms and wretches, and they do it in pretty four-part harmony.

  Finally, they’re done with the singing, and Reverend Preston jumps into his sermon about Hell and the Devil. Soon, his preaching settles into a comfy rhythm like a creaky rocking chair going back and forth. Even the Amens and the Preach its that ring out from the congregation every once and again roll over me without a hitch. But the sudden whinny of a horse nearby makes me jump awake. Reverend Preston’s sermon keeps going, but there’s a rustling among the congregation. Everyone cranes their neck to look out the windows and whisper to each other. Women fidget and fan their hankies faster. Effie just stares straight ahead at Reverend Preston, who doesn’t stop preaching for a whipstitch. But at the sound of hooves clopping up the church steps, I twist in the pew and stare.

  Stonefield.

  Lord. He gallops right out of my thoughts and into the church on Reverend Preston’s horse, Faithful. Frank Louis and another man I don’t know follow him in on their horses. People gasp when they see them. Stonefield’s hair is wild and he’s not wearing a shirt. The pistol that belonged to the soldier he shot is stuffed between his back and his belt. The ink circles I drew on his skin are fading, but still plain to see. Reverend Preston’s voice stops all of a sudden, as if someone’s leaped out of the creaky rocking chair.

  Stonefield looks fierce as a wolf as he glances around the church, searching for me. But his eyes don’t find me, hidden in the back of the crowd in my strange clothes. I’m afraid to call out to him—afraid of what he will do to me.

  Stonefield, I say his name, silent. Stonefield, I was angry—

  But he doesn’t turn to me.

  Stonefield?

  He can’t seem to hear my voice. It’s like he’s gone to a far-off place.

  Stonefield!

  And then I remember his last words to me the day the soldiers came. May a curse fall upon us both. Oh God. He’s far away and I can’t find him because of the curse.

  “Well, glory hallelujah!” Frank shouts. His hair is greasy and falls in his face as he looks around the church. “Chief, I do believe we got here just in time to pass around the offering plate!”

  Stonefield nods. “You better get to it, then.”

  “Y’all got something to give to the needy? We had our property stolen away from us and our homes burned to the ground by them Yankees, and we’re mighty needy at the moment.” Frank hops from his horse and whisks off his hat, shoving it under the nose of an elderly woman in the front row. “Don’t be stingy, now!” He grins.

  The woman shrinks away.

  “Ain’t you got nothing in the world to give to the poor and desperate?” Frank presses the barrel of his heavy musket against the old woman’s knee, and she starts trembling. “You best find something, sweetheart, or you’ll be meeting your maker sooner than you thought!”

  She lets out a little cry and tears off her bonnet. With clumsy fingers, she pulls two fine green combs from her hair and drops them into Frank’s hat. Long silvery strands of hair tumble down her shoulders as she covers her face with her hands and cries.

  My stomach turns.

  As Frank and the other man force the congregation to hand over their property, Stonefield rides Faithful up to the pulpit, facing Reverend Preston. “I came to hear a sermon on hellfire and damnation. Your Good Book seems full of it. Isn’t that what you were preaching?”

  Reverend Preston doesn’t answer, but slowly closes his Bible.

  “Don’t let me stop you. Don’t you have a message from the Lord for a savage Indian heathen? Keep preaching!”

  Still, Reverend Preston frowns at him and doesn’t say a word.

  Stonefield leans over in his saddle and grabs the Bible from the preacher’s hands. He pulls out the pistol, lifts the Bible into the air, and shoots a bullet through the center.

  Everyone screams at the sound. Faithful shies and snorts.

  Stonefield slams the Bible onto the pulpit and tears the book open. Pointing with the pistol to the hole, he yells, “Right there! Preach it to me!”

  I hold my breath, wondering if Reverend Preston will read it or hold his tongue and get shot for it.

  He swallows and licks his lips. “‘Blessed—’”

  “Louder!”

  Reverend Preston winces. “‘Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.’”

  Silence. A dark cloud passes over Stonefield’s features. The bushwhackers stop passing Frank’s hat and turn to look at him. My body’s heavy as lead.

  Stonefield, please don’t. The wound on my arm throbs. Please hear me.

  But he doesn’t hear me. The curse has made us deaf to each other. He snatches the Bible away and fires another shot through it. “Read that!” he orders, throwing it open and pointing to the new bullet hole.

  Reverend Preston’s hands shake as he draws the book closer. “‘Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.’”

  I slump against the pew. My head’s spinning.

  Stonefield’s chest heaves, and his jaw clenches tight as he brings his fist down hard onto the open Bible. Grabbing as many pages as he can, he rips them from the book. He crumples them in his fist and throws them at the preacher’s face.

  “I told you to preach hellfire and damnation!” Stonefield shoots a third hole and slaps the pages open. “Now, read it!”

  Sweat drips from the end of Reverend Preston’s nose. “‘L-love…’” His shoulders slump. Glancing up at Stonefield, he reads in a faltering voice, “‘Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you…’”

  The topsy-turvy words are like blows to Stonefield. He flinches at each one. Reverend Preston’s Bible’s full of damnation, but Stonefield must be a bad shot—he’s missing every time.

  “‘… as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them…’”

  Stonefield, please listen.

  “‘… forgive, and ye shall be forgiven…’”

  Stonefield’s eyes turn glassy wet. He shakes his head and lifts the pistol. This time he points it at Reverend Preston.

  “Stonefield, no!” I cry.

  My voice shakes him, and he almost drops the gun
. His eyes find me.

  Please don’t.

  But if he hears my inner voice, I can’t tell. If he’s speaking silent words, they’re not reaching me.

  His face wrenches in pain. His eyes glisten wet as they roam over my unfamiliar clothes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of something colorful and frayed. Pieces fall to the floor. Then he flings them out toward me and they float to the ground. Feathers. My feathers that hung above our secret house.

  All broken.

  “Well looky here.” Frank Louis is staring at me with his hungry animal eyes, just like that time he spied on me while I was swimming in the creek.

  My hands tighten into fists.

  “Ain’t this the Dickinson gal?” He wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “I never thought I’d see a wild little vixen like her in a church meeting. Did you go and get religion, honey?”

  I stare bullets at him, wishing I could shoot his eyes out.

  “I think I’ll take her with us. I could use a little feminine company—know what I mean, Chief?” He laughs and reaches toward me.

  Reverend Preston’s voice is shaky but deep. “You will leave my wife alone.”

  Frank laughs. “Wife? This witchy little thing is your wife now?”

  The preacher’s words have turned Stonefield into a statue. He stares at me as if I’ve just shot him with a bullet.

  Frank steps toward me. “If I’m going to do some stealin’ from the house of the Lord today, I might as well steal me the preacher’s wife, too.”

  “No.” Stonefield’s voice is like God shouting the Commandments down from the mountain. Everyone stops moving and turns to look at him. “Not her.” He glares at me. “I don’t want her near me.”

  Frank swallows hard and then shrugs. His eyes glance over me to Lu. He brightens. “Ah, looky here. I believe this darkie used to take a shine to me. I guess her rich white daddy must own the church, or she’d be singing hymns from outside with the mules like the rest of her kind.”

  Lu’s whole body bristles. Her chin goes up like Effie’s does when she knows she’s right. “My heavenly Father’s the one who owns this church and He’s the one who wants me in it.”

  Frank laughs. “She’d look even more pretty if she didn’t talk so much, but we can fix that.”

  “Don’t you dare touch me!” Lu shouts.

  Stonefield isn’t looking at Lu. He’s staring at me. And before any of us realize what’s happening, Frank lunges toward us.

  Lu screams and grabs hold of Effie.

  Frank pushes Effie backward to the floor and throws Lu over his shoulder, nimble as a weasel. I grab hold of Frank’s leg and hang on with all my might to keep him and Lu there. He keeps walking, just like Papa used to do when Henry and me would each hug one of his legs and sit on his feet. The other, burly bushwhacker plucks me off like a tick and shoves me into Effie, who’s struggling to her feet. Her features are stretched wide with fear for Lu.

  Mr. Lenox doesn’t seem to notice the gun pointed at his head. He rushes at Frank, throwing punches. Frank aims his gun cool as cucumbers and shoots Mr. Lenox in the leg. Lu screams louder, and Effie catches her father as he falls against the pew.

  We search the faces of those around us for help, but the bushwhackers have their guns pointed at Reverend Preston and the old men. Mr. Lenox struggles to get up like a coon caught in a trap, but his leg’s bleeding bad. His face is ashen. I think he’d bite his own leg off to get free of it and save Lu if he could. But he can’t. Nobody else moves.

  The burly man helps Frank bind screaming Lu, tying her up and slinging her over his horse as if she’s a sack of corn.

  Stonefield’s eyes never leave me the whole time.

  “Please don’t,” I beg him.

  But instead of answering me, he grabs the preacher’s Bible and throws it hard. It whizzes past me and slams against the back wall of the church.

  As the pages flap, Reverend Preston lunges for Stonefield, to knock him from the horse.

  Stonefield pulls the trigger, and the preacher falls to the floor, bleeding from his shoulder.

  As everyone shouts and flees for cover, Stonefield turns and rides Faithful out of the church with Lu’s frightened screams trailing behind him.

  28

  Frank and the other bushwhacker gallop after Stonefield like a tornado. They’ve stolen some of the horses that were tied up outside the church and have driven off the rest so no one can give chase. Reverend Preston’s collapsed behind the pulpit, and Mr. Lenox is fading, too.

  Effie presses her father’s bleeding wound with her coat and ties it up around him tight with the sleeves. She shouts orders for another woman to do the same for Reverend Preston. Everyone but Effie is sobbing and helpless and doesn’t know what to do. But I know what to do. I run to the door.

  “Yes!” Effie calls to me. “Catrina, run to the depot in Rolla—tell the outpost to send soldiers after the men to save Lu.”

  I do run to save Lu. But not to the depot to get the soldiers who want to kill Stonefield. I know where he is hiding. I run to the cave.

  There’s no flutter of gold wings or rustling of leaves in the thickets this time. I slow my steps and peer through the tangle of bushes that guard the hidden ravine. It’s already noon, though I ran as fast as I could. Sweat drips down the back of my neck; I’m out of breath.

  I hear the men before I see them. Three men I don’t know and the bushwhacker from the church gather around a small copper still, making moonshine near the stream. Stonefield’s not with them. Neither are Frank and Lu. Maybe they’re in the cave—I strain to see through the dark opening, but I can’t tell. Right then, Frank swings his legs out over the ledge and jumps to the ground. He walks over to the still to join the bushwhackers.

  He stokes the fire under the still while the others cut wood, bring water from the stream, and wash out jars. They’re busy as ants at a picnic and don’t even notice when Napoleon comes up to the bushes to sniff me.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper as he wags his tail. “Go home to Papa.” But I know he’s here because he wants to be with Stonefield, like I do.

  The men are getting noisy. Looks like they’ve already finished a run of whiskey making, because most of them are on their way to getting drunk, and they’ve started on another. Frank is Roubidoux’s coppersmith and owns his own still—most likely he made this one. An older, heavyset man with a shiny bald head rubs his hands together and stares at a clear fruit jar as it fills up with moonshine trickling from the end of a copper pipe. Frank pours some yeast and a sack of sugar into a barrel of corn mash. He’s mixing it up to ferment and distill into more alcohol.

  “We’ll let this here mash set and bubble for a couple days,” Frank says. “When it’s got the kick of a mule colt, it’ll be ready to cook!”

  The man with the shiny head raises the jar of whiskey. “This batch is nearing its last run. This here’s just low wine of no account—” He’s about to dump it out when Frank pounces on him.

  “Are you fritter minded, Joe? That there white lightning is crystal clear, double run, and three times twisted!” His feathers ruffled, Frank pours some into a tin cup and fetches his gunpowder horn to pour some of that in, too. Joe almost pops his buttons as he watches Frank light fire to a stick and dip the end of it into the cup. The whiskey-gunpowder mixture bursts into flame, and Frank’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “See?”

  Joe huffs, then takes a swig from the fruit jar. His eyebrows rise, and he stands there, blinking. Finally, he gives a little cough and says in a weak voice, “You call that whiskey?”

  Frank bends over double and laughs. “Well, it sure ain’t gravy!” He slaps his thigh.

  I want to shove the whiskey gunpowder down Frank’s throat and light it. I want to hit his handsome face over and over and over with my fists until his outsides are as ugly as his insides. I want to call out for Stonefield. But I don’t do any of those things. What has he done to Lu? Where are they? I make up my mind to
climb through the thicket and sneak over to the cave while they’re not paying attention. But soon as I reach out to part the bushes, something hard pokes me between my shoulder blades and I hear the sound of a gun being cocked.

  “Turn around real slow-like, or there’ll be a new face in Hell tomorrow,” the owner of the gun drawls in a deep voice.

  I do as I’m told. Before me stands a great bear of a man. “Hey, fellas!” he shouts. “I found me a little rabbit hiding in the bushes!”

  “Well, bring it down. We’ll cook it for dinner!” Frank answers.

  The man pushes me down the slope, through thorns and thistles that tear at my sealskin clothes. Frank’s grin looks like it’s too big for his face. “She couldn’t stay away after all.”

  Joe snorts. “You better hope she don’t have fangs and claws like your nigger gal. The womenfolk don’t seem to care so much for your good looks once they get to know you.”

  Frank has a big red slash mark down the side of his face. Lu.

  A sound of movement comes from the woods. Stonefield looks like a wild man walking out of the trees. His dark wavy hair sticks out in all directions. He wrestles a soldier’s army cap down over it and walks toward us real stiff. But when he sees me, it’s like I’m a ghost come to haunt him. He turns pale and stops dead. His face twists up like he’s in pain.

  “I don’t want her here.” He turns and heads to the cave.

  “Stonefield!” I cry. “Wait. We haven’t spoken in so long. And now—your words—they hurt.”

  “‘I am not bound to please thee with my answers.’”

  Hearing him speak in his old way of quoting Shakespeare, but in this strange distant voice, cuts me deep to the bone.

  He spits in the dirt. “I’m a savage, remember? Like you said, ‘You know how people feel about Creek Indians.’ You and Henry and the damned ‘people’ have made it clear that I don’t belong with you and that I don’t belong here.”

  His words spark my anger again and my own words bubble up before I can stop them. “What do you expect, stealing the preacher’s horse and riding it into the church. Then you go and shoot people and steal Lu away. No wonder they think you’re a savage!”