by J. Lee Butts
Lifted my head and gazed up through the tree boughs toward Heaven and added, “With you as my witness, Father, I do hereby swear that the men responsible for this act of mindless cruelty will pay with their lives.”
Bent over, picked up a handful of dirt, and as I dribbled it back onto the graves, said, “In the midst of all life we are in death. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life. May they rest in peace.”
Carl stuffed his hat back on, then said, “Amen, by God. Now, what we gonna do about these kids?”
9
“OH, SWEET JESUS, BABY’S COMIN’ RIGHT NOW.”
THE DISPOSITION OF Harvey’s children had completely escaped my consideration. Made me feel a lot better when John Henry perked up and said, “On my way here, I passed a house not more’n five miles back to the east. Seen smoke comin’ outta the chimney, so I figure it’d be safe to assume there’s gotta be people livin’ there.”
“What’ve you got in mind?” I said.
“Well, there’s a good chance those folks might know who these children belong with, now that their parents are no longer amongst the livin’. Figure if we ask the right way, bet they’d be willin’ to take the kids in and see to it they get reunited with the families of the poor dead folks we just got though a-plantin’ under this big ole sycamore.”
After about half a minute’s worth of consideration, got me to thinking that I liked John Henry’s suggestion and thoughtful reasoning in the matter. Figured as how acting on his advice had the potential for taking the unwanted load of a pair of orphaned towheads off the overburdened plates of us Indian country manhunters.
So I said, “Sounds good, John Henry. Should be able to run the kids over that way, then get back on the trail ’fore Blackheart and his bunch have got too much more of a jump on us.”
Carl punched something of a tiny hole in my balloon when he popped up and said, “Done wasted nigh on two days, Hayden. What with disposin’ of the bodies like we did and all. Way they were a-blowin’ and goin’, evil sons a bitches coulda done murdered a dozen other innocent people by now. Need to get ourselves on the trail again right this instant—young’uns or not.”
’Course he was right. Thought on that problem about another minute, then said, “Tell you what, Carl, why don’t you and Nate head on out after Blackheart and his bunch of thieves and killers. John Henry and I’ll run the Harveys’ children over to the neighbor place, then hoof it after you boys quick as we can. All you’ll have to do is leave plenty of sign for us to follow. Barrin’ any kind of unexpected delay, we should catch up with you no later than noon tomorrow.”
Nate and Carl glanced at one another, grinned, and headed for their animals. Those boys got saddled up quicker than double-geared lightning. Had kicked away so fast, my head was still spinning as they topped the hills off to the west, waved their hats one last time, then disappeared.
“Damn,” John Henry muttered. “You sure didn’t get much guff over that assignment.”
“Nope,” I said. “Ole Carl’s not real comfortable around kids. If you’d a-seen him trying to change that little boy’s dirtied britches, you’d know what I mean. Man acts like baby shit is something akin to rattlesnake venom. Guess he figured it’d be a lot less trouble to tackle a gang of crazed man killers than have to deal with a four-year-old girl and her infant brother.”
Well, with the beautiful Matilda’s help, we gathered up everything we thought the kids might need from the ransacked house, stuffed it all in a pasteboard valise salvaged from the wreckage, and headed east. Little girl rode with John Henry. It was my first indication that women, no matter what their age, found the man just downright irresistible. I toted the boy.
Took our time because of the human load we carried and, less than an hour later, we arrived out front of a ramshackle dog-run house that looked about twice the size of Harvey’s place. Dwelling appeared to have been built years prior, abandoned at some point, and only recently reinhabited again.
Squawking flock of scrawny chickens scattered as we reined our animals up near the home’s set of rickety, warped front steps. Kitchen was on one side of a large open porch—living area. Sleeping quarters on the other. Outbuildings, rail fencing, in fact the entire home place in general sported a tired, disused, neglected appearance. Whole affair was in sore need of attention from a good carpenter.
Appearing somewhat out of place, an inviting, freshly painted, slat-bottomed swing, large enough for two, maybe three, people, dangled from a spanking new set of chains attached to a roof rafter on one side of the spacious veranda. A light breeze had the seat moving back and forth on its own, as though ghosts had taken a seat and watched over our arrival.
Shaggy, mottled-yellow dog, the size of a small pony, lay stretched out in a splotch of creeping shade beneath the swing. Beast raised his massive head, flopped a ragged tail, but made no move to get up, much less bother to announce our arrival.
Didn’t matter. Our booted feet had barely touched the ground when a couple stepped from the kitchen door and eased up to the edge of their ramshackle porch. A bit atypical for the Nations, the man was black, the woman Indian and heavy with child. Poor girl looked like she carried a babe the size of a number-ten washtub. Remember thinking to myself that if it had been me, I wouldn’t have left the house without carrying a shotgun along. Just never knew who might ride up on you out in the Nations.
Back in those days, most folks outside the Indian country probably never even realized that there may have been between six and seven thousand freed black slaves living there. Those folks had once been the property of local tribal members, but chose to stay in the Indian country after the Great War. A good many Freedmen were adopted into the tribes at the behest of the federal government. Those not adopted were supposed to be relocated to other areas of the country.
But the mandated removals seldom occurred due to the government’s failure to enforce their own rules. As a consequence, the vast majority of Freedmen chose to continue living in the midst of their Indian friends. And some decided to establish their own towns rather than take a chance among whites that they felt might be prone to mistreat, abuse, perhaps murder them and their children. Given many of the events of the dreaded Reconstruction, no one in their right mind should ever blame those good Freedmen for their actions.
Mr. Harvey’s closest neighbor obviously chose to stay put, and had even taken an Indian girl as his wife. Strained, anxious-looking gent appeared no older than twenty at the most; his wife was quite a bit younger—perhaps only fifteen or sixteen. Haggard-looking pair brought to mind sorely put-upon folks that hadn’t slept for days, or changed their clothing for weeks on end.
Girl had a pinched, deeply pained expression etched into her dark, striking face. She approached the edge of the porch and carried the enormous burden in her belly with both grasping hands.
“Afternoon, folks,” I said. “Name’s Tilden. Hayden Tilden. Deputy U.S. Marshal out of Fort Smith. This is my friend and fellow deputy, John Henry Slate. Wondered if we might . . .”
Didn’t even get a chance to finish what I wanted to say before the girl’s worried-looking husband raised both hands as though in supplication, then said, “Either a you . . . gennamens . . . know anythin’ ’bout bringin’ babies into dis here cruel ole world?” The obvious desperation in his tired, cracking voice was nigh on to heartbreaking.
If God had come down out of Heaven and slapped me nekkid right on the spot, I wouldn’t have been any more flabbergasted than I was by that feller’s astonishing request. Question came as such a surprise, about all me and John Henry could manage to do was stand there, each of us with a dirty-faced child clutched in our arms, and stare at the poor goober like he’d lost his mind.
Then, as if a scorching blue lightning bolt had forked across the heavens and hit dead center in the middle of the woman’s head, she snapped over at the waist like a carpenter’s rule that’d just been folded up. Her
childlike hand snatched at her panic-stricken husband’s muscular arm, and she hissed, “Baby’s comin’ now, Jonah.”
God Almighty, she went to jerking on him so hard, I thought for a second she just might tear her shocked mate’s limb right out of its socket.
He cast wide-eyed, beseeching looks toward heaven, raised his free arm as though begging, then zeroed in on me and said, “You’ve gotta do somethin’, please. My wife’s ’bout to birth our child right this minute. And, Lord help me, I don’t know shit from scrambled eggs ’bout this kinda thang.”
“Well, what’d you have in mind?” I asked.
“Come on inside and he’p me. This is our first chile. I ain’t got the slightest damned idea what I’m ’sposed to do. Had in mind to send over to the Harvey place for help but, as you can readily see, ain’t got no one around as I could send.”
Shook my head in disbelief, then said, “You didn’t have any prior plans for this event, friend?”
“Yessir. Did indeed. Uh-huh. My very own mama had agreed to make the journey over from Okmulgee for the birthin’. But this chile’s decided to march his little ole self out about a month early. Don’t have no way to get in touch with her.”
Turned to hand Matilda’s brother off to John Henry. About that time the poor, heifer-sized girl squealed like a gut-shot panther. Scared hell out of the horses. They pawed at the dirt. Shook their heads for a spell. Then, when she kept screaming like a lunch whistle at a sawmill, they humped up and went to crow-hopping around the yard. Kids set to bawling like somebody had gone and pinched the tar out of them.
Racket that pregnant gal let loose made the hair on my arms stand up on top of rippling waves of crawling chicken flesh. Dog yelped like he’d been kicked, then jumped to his fist-sized feet and headed for the comforting shelter of parts unknown out in the tall grass.
Of a sudden, the poor shrieking woman dipped over like she might topple off the porch headfirst into the chicken-manure-covered yard. Just in the nick of time, she grabbed a support pillar from the porch’s overhang. Between that and the flusterated aid of her shocked mate, she finally got herself about halfway erect again.
Wild-eyed, she shot a strangled gaze in my direction and nailed me to the spot, as sure as if I’d been driven into the ground like a tent peg. “My water broke ’bout half hour ago, Mr. Marshal. Baby’s been a-tryin’ to come out ever since. Think maybe his time’s now. He’s comin’ sure as summertime follows the spring.”
As John Henry took the Harveys’ youngest child from me, he eyeballed the poor girl and said, “Cain’t it wait till we could maybe fetch a doctor, ma’am? Hell, Okmulgee’s only twenty-five miles or so over yonder way. Maybe I could get on over there and find a . . .”
Woman let out another unearthly screech that I swear could’ve blistered paint off a St. Louis bank’s fireproof vault door. She stood spraddle-legged and hugged her sagging middle. Through gritted teeth, she growled, “Don’t you understand what I’m sayin’? After ten years in missionary schools, my English is about as good as you’re likely to find out here in this wilderness. Ain’t no waitin’ left. Baby’s done made up his mind. He’s comin’ out. Anyone gonna help me, or do you all intend to just stand there lookin’ stupid?”
Guess we let our stunned faces hang out for a bit too long. She grimaced, turned, and waddled toward the side of the house where I figured the beds were most likely located. Grabbed at the doorframe, then disappeared into the interior darkness on the other side of the open doorway.
We could hear her ricocheting off furniture and glass breaking as she continued to yell for her bewildered husband. Then there was a resounding thump when she must’ve gone down hard, and of course that set her to screeching even louder.
“You’re gonna have to watch the Harveys’ whipper-snappers for a spell, John Henry,” I said. “I’ll see if I can’t help these folks out.”
Slate flopped down into the swing with a young’un under each arm. Tried not to, but I had to smile. He looked like a confused farmer on his way to town for market day with a squealing shoat under each arm.
Shucked my pistol belt. Dropped it in the swing seat right next to him. Was rolling up one sleeve when he flashed a weak smile and said, “You be a-knowin’ anythin’ ’bout ’bringin’ babies into this cold, cruel world there, Mistah Tilden?”
Still working on one of my uncooperative arm covers when I glanced down at him again. Smile had turned into a big, toothy grin, as if he was really enjoying the fact that I’d stumbled my way into an unexpected form of hellish discomfort.
“Not a damned thing, as a matter of pure fact,” I muttered. “My wife, Elizabeth, has delivered two of ’em so far. But I ’uz out here in the wild places both times. Have to reckon as how this is just God’s way of forcin’ me to catch up on my absences. But, hell, John, how difficult can birthin’ babies be? Little children gettin’ born happens every day. Most natural thing in the world. Leastways, that’s what I keep hearin’.”
He threw his head back, and I thought he was about to bust out laughing, but he only snickered a bit. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard, too. Soon as you’ve seen to it that this lady’s child gets into the world safe and sound, well, then you can come on back outside. Tell me how easy it all was. Cain’t wait to hear the whole tale. And, oh, yeah, glad it’s you and not me.”
Woman’s disconcerted husband and I found her down on hands and knees crawling toward a sagging bed in the corner of the home’s farthest room. Cramped, stifling, eight-by-ten-foot cubicle sported a much-abused oak chest of drawers, bedside table, rocker, and a single, closed window. We helped her to her feet. A body could barely turn around in there. Three people had trouble breathing the muggy, unmoving, oppressive air.
As though touched by an invisible hand from the past, and as clear as a bucket of ice-cold, fresh-fallen rainwater pitched across my naked back, the realization of what had to be done suddenly came to me in a flash of understanding. The long-forgotten memory of my younger sister Rachael’s birth sliced its way across my fevered brain. Out of nowhere, I recalled hiding behind a door and watching my father as he prepared for the delivery.
Jesus, I thought, we’re in for a rough night and then some.
10
“. . . HE’S ALL GRAY LIKE HE’S BEEN DEAD FOR A WEEK.”
GRABBED THE STRUGGLING, near-hysterical girl by the elbow and helped her back to her feet. Turned to her husband and snapped, “Get that window opened, Jonah. Throw a clean blanket over this bed, then boil up as much water as you can.”
The clearly perturbed man floundered around like a chicken with its head wrung off. Looked like he was in the midst of some kind of palsied seizure as he jerked the window open, then pulled what looked like an unused wedding quilt from the bottom drawer of their oak chest. He gingerly spread the coverlet over the rumpled bedding, and finally thundered his way toward the kitchen without so much as looking back. Could hear him banging pots and pans around as I helped ease the girl into a more comfortable, reclining positon.
She flopped onto her back hard, then, with trembling fingers, made a grab for the wooden rails that held a corn-shuck mattress in place. Immediately drew her knees up, grunted, and set to trying to force the baby out. Rivulets of steaming sweat beaded up on her pain-twisted face and forehead. Ropy veins popped out along either side of her neck.
Soon as she relaxed for a bit, I patted her on the arm and said, “Gotta get you outta this dress, ma’am.”
With eyes so brown they were almost black, she stared at me like I’d surely gone slap crazy. For several seconds her breathing came in short, labored bursts.
In an effort to put her more at ease, I said, “What’s your name, missus?”
Could see the terrified confusion etched into her bewildered face. Finally, she gasped, “Mary. Mary Two Wolves. Mary Two Wolves Matthews.”
“Good. Now, can you tell me where there’s another blanket, Mary? I’ll cover you over as best I can.”
She gritted her
teeth as another wave of pain racked her overtaxed body. Sweat and tears mingled and ran onto the pillow beneath her mass of already drenched hair.
“Under the bed,” she grunted, “but hurry. Please. You gotta hurry, mister.”
Dropped to my knees and rooted one arm around beneath her bed, then yanked out a coarse, threadbare cavalry blanket. Pushed Mary Two Wolves’ skirt up above trembling knees, and spread the blanket gentlelike over her parted thighs.
Stepped outside the door of the stifling room for a second and started to fire up a panatela while she disrobed. Got the stogie to my lips. Got a good clinch on it with my teeth. Scratched the match to life on the doorframe, then bit clean through that stick of tobacco when Mary Two Wolves let out a shriek that sounded like something you’d expect to hear from afflicted souls being tortured in Satan’s fiery, smoldering pit.
Yelled for her husband to bring me a pan of hot water and some soap damned quick. Pitched my stogie away and headed back into the bedroom to try and do what I could for the tormented girl. Plain, cotton dress she’d been wearing a few minutes earlier was clutched to her chest. Ragged, rapid-fire breathing sounded like a Gatling gun going off. I rolled up my shirtsleeves, eased down on the foot of the bed, and, as tenderly as I could, placed a hand on one of her trembling knees.
She kinda jerked like I’d surprised her, but relaxed a bit when, in as soothing a voice as I could muster, I said, “Promise I won’t look ’less I find the need, Mary. Please forgive the intrusion, but I’m gonna have to reach under the blanket and feel around some to see if I can tell how things are goin’. That okay with you?”
With dark eyes scrunched closed, she jerked her head up a time or two. “Yes. Yes. I understand. Go on ahead. Do whatever you have to.”
About then, her jittery husband showed up carrying a pan of steaming water and a bar of lye soap. He held the pan while I washed off, quick as I could. Offered me a towel but, to be totally truthful, the tattered piece of rag didn’t look all that clean.