In a swift motion, Jeb pulled out a pistol and leveled it at her head. It glimmered, a stark contrast to his shabby clothes and matted hair.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you sold my property, and where you hid the money. I’d think you’d got at least three dollars an acre. Nice compensationary for all my years of suffering, dontcha think?”
Zillia bit her lip until the bitter taste of blood tickled her tongue. Jeb had no legal right to the money. Mr. Alders had gone over every dot and line to be sure. She couldn’t tell her stepfather where she had hidden the gold, the money was all she had for her and Orrie’s future.
A whimper from the door made her heart pound faster. Orrie stood in his pajamas, his golden curls standing on end like dandelion puffs. “Zilly, who’s that?”
“Is that my boy?” Jeb lowered his pistol a fraction of an inch. “Jeb Junior, is that you?”
“His name is Orrie, you know that.” Zillia’s fear boiled into rage. “And he’s your son by blood only. I’ve been his only family for three years. You have no claim.”
Jeb swung around to face her, darkness seeping into his face. “No claim? No claim, to my own boy?” He staggered over to Orrie and grabbed the little boy’s arm.
“Don’t you touch him.” Zillia darted towards him.
Jeb snapped around to face her. “Don’t move. Unless you want to go fetch that gold.”
Orrie’s face melted and tears puddled in his eyes. “Ow! You’re hurting!”
“Jeb, please let him go. I’ll get you the money. Please!”
Jeb gestured with the gun. “Hurry up,” he grunted.
She rushed through the door, Orrie’s sobs following her. Stay calm. Maybe he’ll be happy with the money and leave.
Jeb stepped over so he could watch her through the doorway. “Keep your hands out!” he barked. “Don’t want you pulling out a gun on me or nothin’.”
Zillia raised her hands in the air and went to the bedside, where Mama’s old chest was ready to be moved out in the morning. “The money is in here,” she called over her shoulder.
Jeb yanked Orrie into the room behind her. His hot breath poured down over her shoulder. “Well, open it.”
She pulled up the heavy lid and dug through the last few things in the trunk, mostly stained aprons and house dresses Mama never would have worn in public. Underneath was the flour sack, heavy with its twenty ten dollar gold pieces. She pulled it out and dropped it on the floor. “There it is. Take it, and leave us alone.”
A dark light flared in Jeb’s eyes. He let go of Orrie to open the bag with one hand while clutching his gun in the other.
Orrie stumbled to Zillia and tugged at her skirts, still sobbing. “It’s going to be all right,” she murmured to her brother while she rubbed his back.
Jeb counted the coins once, then twice. “Finally, something’s goin’ right for ol’ Jeb.” He dropped the gold back into the bag and wrapped the twine around it tightly. “After all these years.”
“Now for you,” he turned back to Zillia. “You’re the problem, ain’t ya? Always have been.” He leveled his gun back at her. “The minute I ride outta here you’ll be off to town to blab all about mean ol’ Jeb. Even though it’s my rightful money.”
“No, I won’t tell anyone!” Zillia pressed her hand against her heart, sure he could hear it. “Please, Jeb, just leave us alone!”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t ya? But that,” he pointed a dirty finger at Orrie. “That’s my boy. And I’m taking him with me. I know you won’t keep your mouth shut, you never could. You always tattle-taled everything, didn’t ya? Now it’s over. I’m gonna shut that mouth up forever.”
He pulled a length of rope from his pocket and waved it at her. “Go back to the kitchen.”
“What are you going to do?” Zillia stepped back into the kitchen without taking her eyes of the man.
“What I should’ve done three years ago. What I would have done sooner if I hadn’t landed in jail. Grab that skillet from the corner over there.”
The kettle she used to hold bacon fat. Forgotten in the scurry of packing. She picked it up and held it out to him. “What do you want with this old thing?”
He tossed the rope over to her. “Wrap one end around the handle, then tie the other end around your ankle.”
The coarse rope stung her fingers while she obeyed. Take care of Orrie, take care of Orrie. This time, she couldn’t pray the words out loud. Tears burned the corners of her eyes, but she would not let Jeb see her cry.
She finished and stood up, holding the heavy kettle. A few feet of rope hung slack to her ankle.
Jeb nodded toward the door. “Now, let’s get outside. You always did like the river, didn’t ya?”
Zillia’s eyes widened. He’s going to shoot me and throw me in. “No, Jeb, you can’t do this. Please!” What could I bribe him with? What does he care about the most? “If they find out, they’ll hang you.”
“No one knows I’m back, and I’m taking the little brat with me. Most folks round here think I’m still in jail or dead anyways.”
The tears came, and this time she couldn’t hold them in. Her knees wobbled, and she fought to stay on her feet.
Orrie’s chin trembled. His mouth opened to wail along with her.
Jeb slapped the little boy across the face, and a bright red spot bloomed on the chubby cheek. “Shut up, kid. You’re gonna learn to behave around your pa.”
Jeb’s head was turned towards Orrie, and for an instant he’d lowered the gun.
Zillia hefted the kettle, the same pan that she’d used for the afterbirth after Orrie was born. One of the only things Jeb had left behind three years ago. She swung the cast iron with every ounce of strength towards Jeb’s head.
Jeb pulled up his shoulder just in time to fend off the blow, but she still heard bones crunch. Lowering his head, he charged at her like a wild pig and knocked her to the floor.
The front door burst open, and a dark figure in a long coat rushed towards Jeb. The man pulled her stepfather away from her and flung him against the wall.
“Zillia, are you hurt?” Wylder held his hand out to her.
“Jeb is armed, watch out!” Zillia struggled to get up.
Wylder swung around while Jeb fumbled for his weapon. Wylder stomped down on his skittering fingers.
Jeb bellowed in pain.
Wylder twisted Jeb’s arm back behind his back. “Attacking women and children now, Jeb?” he hissed. “I guess abandoning them wasn’t enough for you?”
Never had Zillia seen Wylder in such a state. A deadly anger swam below a cool mask plastered across his handsome face.
Zillia pulled the rope from her ankle and flung it to the floor, where it lay like a limp snake.
Wylder picked it up and trussed Jeb’s hands behind his back. “I should kill you now.”
No, no. As much as Zillia hated the man tied up in front of her, she didn’t want Wylder to have blood on his hands. He wasn’t that kind of person.
“You’re a lucky man, Jeb,” Wylder continued to tighten the rope around her stepfather’s shoulders and arms. “I wouldn’t want Orrie to see his father’s death. God will be your judge.”
Jeb said nothing, but his eyes shot venomous darts at both of them.
“Are you all right?” Wylder reached out to help her once again.
“Y—yes.” Zillia struggled to her feet. Sore places announced themselves all over her body.
“I’m going to need you to come with me to town,” Wylder said. “You’ll have to drive the wagon while I make sure this piece of filth keeps quiet. We’ll get the doctor to check you over when we get there. Do you think you can manage?”
Zillia nodded. “Wylder...”
He reached out and cupped her chin with his hand. “Just breathe for now.” He smiled his lopsided smile. “Everything’s going to be all right. Go get the wagon ready. Don’t think about anything else.”
She took Orrie’s hand. “Did
you hear that? Let’s go on an adventure, Orrie.”
Orrie turned up a face still streaked with tears. Trust filled his eyes. “Can we send the bad man away?”
“Yes, Orrie. He will never bother us again.”
###
Wylder pounded on the door of the sheriff’s house. “Sheriff, it’s an emergency.”
The door creaked open and the sheriff stepped out in his long johns. “I hope this is good.” He followed Wylder out to the wagon and held up his lantern. “Well, well, well. Jeb Bowen. And Zillia Bright. Interesting party you’ve brought to me, Mr. Eckhart. I’m sure you have a bedtime story to go along with it?”
Wylder nodded. “That I do, Sheriff, but I’d be more comfortable telling it if this man were in a cell.”
“Let me get some pants.” The sheriff disappeared back into his house.
An hour later, Jeb was safely locked away. After Zillia had told her story, the sheriff scooted back his chair. “It won’t be a hanging offence, and more’s the pity. But since your young man here,” he pointed to Wylder, “witnessed the attack, Mr. Bowen will be in jail for a very long time. You won’t have to worry about him again.”
“No, she won’t.” Wylder’s eyes held a intensity Zillia had never seen. “Will that be all you need from us tonight?”
“Yep.” The sheriff smiled down at Orrie, who had fallen asleep on Zillia’s lap. “Make sure these folks get home.”
Wylder scooped Orrie up gently with one arm, and took Zillia’s hand with his free one. “That I’ll do, sheriff. We’re heading to the doctor’s next.”
Zillia sighed. “I’m fine. Can we please just go home, Wylder? I’m so tired.”
Wylder searched her face for a moment. “All right.”
Once outside, he placed the sleeping boy on a pile of flour sacks in the wagon.
He climbed next to Zillia. After twisting the reins around his hands, he pulled her fingers into the tangle and held them tight. He didn’t say anything.
And she didn’t try to pull away, just held on, as though for dear life.
Stars burned through tree branches. Unseen creatures played their symphony in praise of the night. Wylder murmured something. At first, Zillia thought he was praying, but a melody soon emerged.
“Let every flower, every star
be blessed,
Let every traveler coming far
find rest”
The words came in a clear tenor, which rose and fell over the rattling wagon wheels and the jingle of the tack. Words of a song unfamiliar to Zillia. This must be a song he wrote, for God, like Soonie told me about. A peace settled over her, like she had never felt. And a knowledge. God is here. With us. Her eyes widened, and she wanted to ask Wylder if he felt the same way. His eyes shone in the moonlight, and a tear trickled down his cheek. He knows.
Zillia snuggled into Wylder’s shoulder and closed her eyes. He drew a sharp breath, then arranged the reins so he could pull her closer.
“Let the light of God
pour into your heart,
and find blessings and peace, this night.”
16 Light of Day
“Zilly, I want breakfast now.”
Pain. Not piercing, but in dull patches all over her body. Zillia sat up and clutched her head. “Orrie, you’d want breakfast on judgement day, even if Gabriel blew his horn.”
Her arm was peppered with bruises, in colors she’d never seen before. She stared at it for a moment. Then she remembered. “The buyers are going to be here this morning!”
She jumped out of bed and yanked her dress down from the hook beside it. Spots pricked the air in front of her eyes. Swaying for a moment, she finally had to sink down on the bed again.
“You coming?” Orrie pushed his head through the crook of her arm and peered up at her.
“Yes, yes. I’m coming.”
After taking several extra moments to get dressed, Zillia finally made it into the kitchen. She stared at the floor in dismay. Furniture was overturned and out of place. Muddy footprints covered the floor, and grease from the skillet had splattered everything in the room. The buyer will just have to understand. If they’ll give me a few extra days, maybe I can get it cleaned up.
Fortunately, the covered dish on top of the pie safe hadn’t been disturbed. She pulled out one of the biscuits she had put aside for their breakfast and plunked it down in front of Orrie. “Here you go.”
He scrunched up his face. “Can I have butter?”
“May I have butter?” Zillia reminded him. She went into the pantry to find the container.
Waves of panic, leftover from the night before, swept over her. If Wylder hadn’t come—
She’d be at bottom the river right now, the sunlight filtering through the water’s surface and into her sightless eyes. “I can’t think about this.” She leaned against the pantry shelf and took a deep breath. For whatever reason, Wylder had come. I have today.
Was it all a dream? After the third time of having to sit and collect herself, she stood and shook her head. Not today. She could work through this later. The buyers would arrive at any time.
While smoothing her hair, an envelope on the mantelpiece caught her eye. “Where did this come from?” Zillia flattened out the crinkled, stained paper.
“Wylder put it there,” Orrie said.
“Oh. So that’s what brought him out last night.” Whatever the letter was about, it had saved her life. She squinted at the return address but the writing had been smudged in its travels. “I don’t know who it’s from, Orrie.”
She opened the inside paper. The script was fancy and small, but she knew it in an instant. Her heart skipped a beat.
“My Dearest Zillia,
We have wondered and worried for you and your mother this long while. It is with great sadness we learned of Marjorie’s death, from Mrs. Gerta Fowler. We do not understand why you couldn’t write of this news with your own hand.
Grandfather Thomas is well and sends you his love. Aunt Clara’s sons have gone to University and she has begged for you to bring the baby and come to live here, in Alexandria. We shudder to imagine the difficult times you must have gone through in the past few years. If we had only known, we would have sent for you much sooner.
Please come on the swiftest train,
Your Grandmother Bright.”
Two ten dollar bills fell into Zillia’s hand. She stared at the money. The date on the letter stated January 15th, 1889.
They must have written this when I lived with Mrs. Fowler. Why did it take so long to get here? And why didn’t Mrs. Fowler tell me she had written to them? The letter could have been lost somewhere along the route, and then found again. As for the second question-- Mrs. Fowler probably didn’t want me to be disappointed if no answer came.
Could she go back to the world of corsets and bustles, of gloves every day and curtsies and afternoon tea? She inhaled sharply. Do I want to live with people who rejected my mother for so long?
Orrie touched the paper. “What’s it say, Zilly?”
Her brother deserved a good life, with warm clothes and plenty of food and the care her eastern relatives could afford to give. But how would he do in fancy schools, forced to wear starched collars and pantaloons? She almost laughed out loud at the thought of her little ragamuffin as a city slicker.
Gruff barked from the yard. Several horses clattered up into the yard. She hobbled to the door.
Confusion fluttered through her heart when she caught sight of the three riders. She knew Mr. Alder brought the paperwork, but why...
Wylder dismounted and reached her side first. “Are you all right?” he studied her face. From the hollows under his eyes, she knew he had stayed and guarded the property throughout the night.
“I will be.” She looked away. “I’m trying not think about it.”
His hand settled on her shoulder. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
She stumbled and clutched at his coat. And now she was sobbing. Deep, racking so
bs that came from a place inside of herself, where she had stored all her fears and sadness the last three years. A place locked up tight. Now the dam broke open, and the torrent flowed through.
Wylder held her awkwardly at first, and then his arms grew tighter and he stroked her hair, the way she did for Orrie when he was sad.
Boots crunched the gravel. Grandpa Walt and Mr. Alder must have moved off to tie their horses up.
Finally, her sobs turned into hiccups and she drew back.
Wylder wiped her tears away with his thumb and smiled down at her. “Better?”
Zillia nodded. Even through her tears, she saw a gleam in his eye. It had been there the night of the dance, the day he fished her out of the river. On Sundays when she saw him at church. Wylder loved her. Loved her more than for friendship, loved her despite her faults, despite her situation.
“L—look at you.” Zillia rubbed the large damp spot that had formed on his coat. “You’re a mess. And me! I must be a fright! The buyer will be here at any second! Oh, what will they think of me?”
Ulysses and Granpa Walt began to chuckle, and Wylder’s mouth turned up at the corners below his moustache.
“Sorry for laughing.” Grandpa Walt put his hand on her shoulder. “We are the buyers.”
Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. “What did you say?”
“Grandma Louise and I have always wanted to live closer to the river. With a little work, this house would be warmer, and it’s bigger than our cabin. We still have two growing boys to raise. We’ve been saving back a long time, and were looking at another spot, but when you decided to sell, we just couldn’t let it go to a stranger. We wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Who will buy your homestead?” was all Zillia could think to say.
“I am,” Wylder replied. “It’s a cozy place, and good soil. It’s time I start running my own farm. That’s why I went to work at the lumber camp, so I could put some money down on the place.”
“How wonderful!” Zillia felt like throwing her arms around his neck, but she had made quite enough of a spectacle already. “You’ve been wanting that your whole life.”
The River Girl's Song: Texas Women of Spirit, Book 1 Page 13