Chapter Five: Healing Up
I was shocked to see Simon sitting at the kitchen table with Uncle Hayes. “Good morning,” Uncle Hayes told me. He watched me wipe sleep out of my eyes and wipe a few wrinkles out of the brown dress I had decided to wear for the day. The dress wasn’t very pretty but it was warm and appropriate; in a harsh environment, practicality defeated the need to remain stylish.
“Mr. Johnson…you’re up,” I said and slowly walked into the kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee, and sat down next to Uncle Hayes. I wasn’t sure what to say or do? All I knew to do was drink a cup of coffee and wait.
Simon glanced down at his shoulder. His left arm was hanging in a cloth sling Uncle Hayes had made. “I feel better, ma’am. My strength is coming back.”
“Maybe so,” Uncle Hayes so and nodded his head at the front door, “but that storm outside isn’t letting up, no sir. Worst storm I’ve seen in years. Looks like we’re going to be sitting still for at least another full day. Storm could ease off during the night, but I doubt it.”
Simon took a sip of coffee and then studied the bowl of beans sitting before him and then eyed a plate of fresh bakes biscuits Uncle Hayes had baked. “Ma’am, you need to eat.”
Uncle Hayes agreed. He pointed to a bowl of beans he had sat out for me. “Niece, you do need to eat. And make sure you eat plenty of my biscuits too. Sure are good this morning.”
Beans and biscuits, I thought to myself, breakfast for royalty. “I’m ready to become a bean,” I sighed. But the icy winds and freezing snow suddenly reminded me how blessed I was to be inside a warm cabin with food to eat. “I’m very grateful, Uncle Hayes. Thank you.”
Uncle Hayes pointed up. “Thank the Lord, not me. He’s the one who is feeding us.”
I closed my eyes, whispered a thankful prayer, and took a biscuit. “Mr. Johnson, I was wondering what you’re going to do about a horse?” I asked.
Simon took a bite of beans. “I’ll buy me another horse,” he assured me. “My money isn’t missing. I sure appreciate that.”
“A man who steals isn’t worth salt,” Uncle Hayes told Simon. “I built this cabin with my own hands and everything you see was bought with money earned with sweat and blisters. It may not be much but it’s honest.”
Simon glanced around the cabin. “My folks owned a ranch. When I was younger my Pa passed the ranch on to me and moved my mother to Texas.” Anger flushed through Simon’s eyes. “My Pa…well…he didn’t exactly pass the ranch on to me. You see, he took my mother and left because he was scared of Albert Gilmer. Lots of folks were scared of that snake. But not me. I refused to leave and give up the ranch. My brother, well, he took my folks to Texas and came back.” Simon put down his spoon. “My brother was a brave man. I was proud to ride with him. Can’t say that about too many men.”
“A good man is a good friend,” Uncle Hayes told Simon.
Simon nodded his head. “My brother had a hard fist, a quick hand, a strong heart…but a kind soul. He’d give the shirt off his back to a stranger and sit with a sick horse for days. He always gave of himself and never asked for nothing back.” Simon’s voice became heavy. “He always talked about being with Jesus up there in the sky someplace…reckons he’s there now.”
Uncle Hayes reached out and took a biscuit. “I’m sure he is,” he told Simon. “A man talks about Jesus because he knows who Jesus is. If he knows who Jesus is then you better believe Jesus knows who he is. I reckon that’s what it comes down to in the end.”
Simon looked at Uncle Hayes. I could tell he liked my Uncle. “You have a good way with your words.”
Uncle Hayes took a bite of his biscuit. “I’m only a piece of dust floating across the land…here one day, gone the next. I sure ain’t one of them fancy poets. Now, my niece, she has a way with words. She reads all of them fancy books. At least that’s what her folks told me in a letter.” Uncle Hayes tipped me a smile and wink.
“I…yes, I enjoy reading,” I told Simon and blushed a little.
Simon turned his attention to me. “What do you read?” he asked me. We had nothing but time and Simon was in no rush to challenge his health in the snow. A decent conversation over a warm breakfast was good medicine.
“Oh,” I said and looked down at my bowl of beans, “books.” I wasn’t prepared to tell a gunfighter that I read romance novels full of daring knights battling cruel kings in order to save a fair princess. I wasn’t prepared to tell Simon that I adored stories about charming men walking the streets of London, saving poor, beautiful damsels in distress. And I sure wasn’t going to reveal to a man who had killed twenty men that I dreamed of living in Boston as the wife of a rich man who would carry me around the world on the wings of beautiful, daring adventures.
“I liked that book ‘Don Quixote’,” Simon told me. “I thought the main character was loose in the saddle, but he sure gave me a good laugh.”
“You’ve read…Don Quixote?” I asked in a shocked voice.
“Ma’am, my folks made sure my brother and me went to school,” Simon told me. “I reckon I don’t talk like one of those men who went east to attend school, but I can read and write.”
“Oh no…what I mean is…” I stumbled over my words. “I…it just seems that…”
“What my niece means is that the folks in Flat Brush aren’t exactly scholars,” Uncle Hayes helped me out. “First impressions stick. Don’t they, Niece?”
I blushed. “I’m afraid they do.” I dared to look at Simon. “You showed up shot by two deadly men. I have to admit that this land doesn’t exactly invite intelligent people to live on it.”
“There’s good people living on this land,” Simon assured me. “I’ve known some mighty good men, ma’am. Some of those men dated to fight for what belonged to them and was gunned down…others fought and lived. This land is being carved by the blood of brave men and the blood of cowards. I reckon someday they’ll write a few books about the men of this land and the battles that took place.” Simon lowered his eyes. “Someday…the good will finally win.”
“Someday,” Uncle Hayes agreed. He studied Simon. “Say, if you don’t mind talking about it, can you tell me about this Albert Gilmer fella?”
Simon raised his eyes. “My brother and me fought Albert Gilmer for seven years,” he said and slowly took a sip of coffee as the winds howled and the snow fell. “My brother and me fought alone at first, but soon more men…brave men…began to join us. Albert Gilmer began to back down, but…his son came for me one night and I put a bullet through his chest. After that Albert Gilmer waged a constant war. He wasted his fortune hiring as man guns as he could. The town of ‘Green Hills’ turned bloody. On one side you had Albert Gilmer and his men and on the other side you had me, my brother, and our men.”
“You fought for seven years?” I asked amazed. “That’s a very long time.”
“Yes ma’am, we fought for seven long years. You see, when Albert Gilmer realized his hired guns weren’t enough, he changed tactics. He kept his hired guns around town and every once and a while ran hard at our ranches and cattle when the nights were dark, but he mostly began buying judges, sheriffs, politicians, anyone who could help him steal our land.” Simon took another sip of coffee. “Albert Gilmer wasted his fortune on hired guns like I mentioned, so he had to run cattle and grab a hold of his wealth again before he could start buying people.”
“Your wife…was she dead by this time?” Uncle Hayes asked. My eyes grew wide. I expected the question to send Simon into a fit of fury. Instead, the man simply nodded his head.
“Two years after the war started Albert Gilmer sent ten men to kill me in the middle of the night. His men arrived and began shooting up the ranch house. My brother and me, well, we held them back good and right…right proud.” Simon closed his eyes. “I was standing at the front window in the living room reloading my rifle when a bullet hit my left arm. Lori…was hunched down behind the couch. When she saw me get hit…she started to run to me…I yelled at her to stay away from t
he window…but she didn’t listen…”
“It’s okay,” Uncle Hayes told Simon. “You don’t have to say another word.”
Simon kept his eyes closed. “My brother and me, we killed every man who came for me that night, including Albert Gilmer’s son. His son was the one who shot and killed my wife.”
“Goodness,” I whispered, “how awful this land must be to take such an innocent life…such a sweet love…and destroy it.”
“Not the land,” Uncle Hayes told me, “the heart of man. This land can’t pick up a gun and fire it and this land don’t turn a man into what he becomes. A man chooses to become who he is, Niece.”
“Maybe so,” I told Uncle Hayes, “but an innocent woman was shot and killed and for what?” I shook my head in disgust. “A monster killed your wife…you killed the monster…but it never ends. Now you’re after two monsters who killed your brother. This land is sour. It sours the hearts of all men.”
Before anyone could answer a hard knock hit the front door. Simon spun around in his chair. “My guns,” he told Uncle Hayes in a quick voice. “Go into the bedroom and get them.”
Uncle Hayes nodded his head, stood up, hurried into the bedroom, and returned with a gun belt and two guns. He laid the gun belt down onto the table, hurried over to the fireplace, took down the rifle, and looked at the front door. “Who is knocking on my door in this storm?” he yelled.
“Bertha!” a frozen voice yelled back. “Now let me in before I freeze to death!”
“Bertha?” Uncle Hayes asked. He lowered the rifle in his hands and looked at Simon. “Get into the bedroom.” Simon nodded his head and escaped into the bedroom and closed the door. “Not a word,” Uncle Hayes told me and opened the front door.
Bertha stepped inside wearing a thick fur hat, a fur coat, and fur boots. He was drenched with snow but appeared to be okay. “Move,” she told Uncle Hayes, brushed him aside with a hard hand, and rushed to the fireplace and began warming her face.
“Bertha,” Uncle Hayes said and closed the door, “did you walk all the way from town? That’s a might good walk.”
“I rode my old mule,” Bertha explained. She looked at me. “Child, get this old woman a cup of coffee.”
“Of course,” I said and hurried to the chore.
Uncle Hayes stared at Bertha. “Bertha, you didn’t come out into this storm for a social visit.”
“I sure didn’t,” Bertha snapped. “If Hank Norris finds out I’ve come to see you he’ll kill me like he’s planning to kill you.”
Uncle Hayes cast an uneasy eye at me and then leaned on his rifle. “What’s the mud in the dirt, Bertha?” he asked.
Bertha continued to warm her hands. I ran a hot cup of coffee over to her and stepped back. Bertha took a sip of the coffee and looked at Uncle Hayes. “You took a bottle of whiskey from Nate’s home, didn’t you?”
“I left a gold piece for the bottle,” Uncle Hayes defended his action.
“Yeah, that’s how Nate knew it was you who took the whiskey,” Bertha fussed. She took another sip of coffee. “Now, folks around here know you don’t touch the bottle and you know Nate has a loose tongue when he does. So last night he starts talking about his missing whiskey bottle in my store, right in front of Hank Norris. He was drunker than anything I’d ever seen and wouldn’t hush his mouth. He kept asking me why you would take a bottle of whiskey from his place? Well,” Bertha said and finished off her coffee and asked me for seconds, “it didn’t take Hank Norris long to figure out something smelled fishy.”
Uncle Hayes continued to lean on his rifle and listen. I hurried into the kitchen and poured more coffee into Bertha’s cup and took it back to her. “Is Hank Norris planning to come here?” I asked scared. I backed up to Uncle Hayes and glanced at the bedroom door.
“He sure is,” Bertha announced. “Last night he sent Billy Rinken out here to look around. Billy reported back that he heard Simon Johnson’s voice from inside this here cabin. Hank Norris is town right now waiting for his boys to ride into town with all his hired killers.” Bertha worked on her coffee. “Hank Norris was in town last night because his boys were drunk out at his ranch and he couldn’t get no sleep. Billy was down at the saloon drinking it up for free while Nate fussed to me about the bottle of whiskey you took. You fellas sure have caused a mess of things.”
Uncle Hayes leaned off his rifle and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at me long and hard. “We got about three hours, maybe less. Go get your coat on, Niece. We’re leaving.”
“Smart,” Bertha told Uncle Hayes. “Take that girl and start moving east. Use the old hunting trial. Not even Hank Norris knows about that trail.”
“Good thinking,” Uncle Hayes told Bertha. “You’ll be coming with us, I suppose?”
“No,” Bertha said. “I’m going to go sit with my sister for a day. Hank Norris won’t think nothing of it once he finds out I’ve been sitting with my sister.” Bertha finished off her coffee, handed me the empty cup, and opened the front door. “I like you,” she told Uncle Hayes. “You’re a right nice man. I’d hate to see you get gunned down.” And with those words, Bertha went back out into the snow and left.
“Niece,” Uncle Hayes said in an urgent voice, “I’m finished in these parts. Looks like I’ll be taking you back to Tennessee myself. Now, let’s get my gold and get while we still have air in our lungs to get.”
Chapter Five: Trail of Doubt
Simon watched Uncle Hayes gather all his gold. To both our surprises Uncle Hayes had more gold hidden in his cabin than anyone could possibly realize. “You’re a very wealthy man,” Simon told Uncle Hayes.
“I struck a healthy vein. I’ve about bled the vein dry, though. Oh, I could squeeze out some more gold, but the gold I have is enough to fulfill a promise as well as carry me to my grave,” Uncle Hayes told Simon and hurried out into the snow with two large bags of gold to tie to his mule along with numerous other bags.
Simon rubbed his left shoulder with his right hand. “Ma’am, I don’t like running, but I’m in no shape to go gun-to-gun when I’m outnumbered either. I hope you won’t think of me as being yellow.”
I grabbed my two suitcases and walked over to the front door. “Mr. Johnson, you’re not a coward in my book. You’re a man who understands that staying in this cabin means certain death. Now, you have your coat on and your guns. It’s time to go. Uncle Hayes just carried out his last two bags of gold. We’ve tied food and water to the mule, put out the fire with lots of water to make it look like we’ve been gone a while, allowed the front door to stand open for the last hour to drain the heat out, and now we’re ready to leave.”
Simon studied the howling winds. “The winds will erase our tracks,” he said in a sure voice and focused his attention on Uncle Hayes. Uncle Hayes was tying his gold down onto Old Jack. The poor mule looked like a traveling store. “I guess we’re ready,” he said and stepped out into the snow. “Leave the front door open.”
I turned around, gave one last look at Uncle Hayes cabin, felt my heartbreak, and then walked outside into the snow and wind. The wind grabbed at my bonnet and ripped at my coat with cruel claws. The snow was deep and difficult to walk through. The cold was punishing and deadly. How in the world were we going to survive? “Uncle Hayes,” I called over the wind, “we won’t survive this storm. Hank Norris is sure to catch up to us.”
“Not if we make it to the old hunting trail,” Uncle Hayes said in a sure voice and checked the ropes holding down the supplies and gold he had tied down on Old Jack. “The old hunting trial is northeast of us a ways, about a two-hour walk. Hank Norris and his boys won’t be making good time in this snow. If we keep a good pace we’ll be able to reach the trail and vanish into the land.” Uncle Hayes looked at Simon. “Can you walk without falling back on me?”
“Don’t worry about me old timer,” Simon assured Uncle Hayes.
Uncle Hayes nodded his head, grabbed a rope attached to his mule, and pointed northeast. “Let’s get to moving,�
�� he said and started off through the snow.
“Oh,” I said and squeezed the handles on my two suitcases, “this is so horrible.” I drew in a deep breath of icy air, searched the snow, and began walking after Uncle Hayes. Simon followed behind me. “Dear Lord Jesus, please help us,” I prayed.
Uncle Hayes pulled his mule through the snow. The mule, cold and fussy, fought with Uncle Hayes and then finally settled down into a slow walk. Uncle Hayes fussed at the mule. “Now ain’t the time to go being stubborn, you ornery old bag of wind.” I could barely hear Uncle Hayes fussing at the mule because of the wind. What I made out made me wonder why Uncle Hayes even kept his mule? I guessed a man just needed an old friend to have and fuss at.
“Mr. Johnson, are you okay?” I asked stepping through the snow one careful foot at a time. I turned my head and was shocked to see Simon only two feet behind me. He looked at me with eyes that went right through my heart. The man I saw wasn’t a killer. The man I saw walking through the snow was a man living inside of a broken, angry, heart. “How is your shoulder?”
“I’m fine, ma’am,” Simon assured me breathing white streams of smoke out of his mouth. “I’ve handled worse storms than this.”
“I’m glad,” I told Simon feeling my feet quickly turning into ice. I forced my head around and focused on Uncle Hayes. I let my mouth become silent and set my mind on walking through the snow. I tried to think warm thoughts and even attempted to hum a Christian Hymn, but failed. The icy winds were punishing, making every word spoken or ever song hummed nearly impossible to complete. After about an hour of walking, I collapsed down onto a snow-covered log. “I can’t go any further…I have to rest,” I called out.
Uncle Hayes stopped walking, turned, and looked at me and then said: “I guess we can take ten minutes.” Uncle Hayes tied his mule to a tree and then broken off a low hanging tree limb. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m going to sweep our tracks off the trail as much as I can. This wind is sure helping us, but there ain’t no sense in being lazy. No sir.”
Amanda's New Beginning: Contemporary Romance Page 4