Cousin Elk: A Short Story
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I remember that August Sunday as though it was yesterday. The events play through my mind, over and over again. The day started just like any other summer day. Mama woke me up early to eat a solid breakfast of fresh eggs (the very ones I had gathered from the coop with Papa the evening before), sliced ham, and fresh milk with the cream still on the top. Once I had finished my breakfast and drank all of my milk, I went with Mama and Papa to Sunday church. I couldn’t wait for church to be over so I could go outside and play and I was fidgety the entire service. As soon as we returned home and Mama had gotten me out of my Sunday dress and into my shorts, I hurried out of the door to spend the rest of the day playing.
I found Charlie in our usual spot—behind the wood shed near the old barn. He had already started to build a fort with leaves and old logs that we used for firewood in the winter. It was a grand fort, at least for a couple of kids to have built, and we pretended that day to be soldiers, guarding our fort with our rifles made of twigs and our swords made of pointy sticks. We fought off invaders in valiant battles in which neither of us ever got injured. We always were victorious and we were commended for our courage and bravery.
Mama called us in for lunch at precisely noon, just when we were finishing a giant battle to defend our fort. We ran inside, let Mama wipe our dirty, sweaty faces, and sat down to eat our usual homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Things seemed to be going perfectly normal that day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. We finished our lunch and ran back out to play some more. The sun was hot in the August sky and the gnats were out in full force. We never noticed the elements, though, and we paid no attention to our thirst or hunger. We played and pretended and were in another world—a world without problems, without worries or cares.
When the sun began to sink in the western sky and its rays reached beyond the line of trees just above the horizon, Charlie’s Ma called out for him to return home. Disappointed, we left our fort intact for more adventures the next day and Charlie ran across the field to his house. I walked home slowly, dragging my feet in the dirt, trying to enjoy my last few paces of freedom before returning indoors for the night.
When I walked in through the screen door, I could hear Mama humming a hymn from church that morning. She had fixed my bath water already and told me to hurry along and get in so it wouldn’t get cold. I hated getting washed but it was always nice to get into the warm, clean water after a day of playing in the sun. Mama bathed me from head to toe and had to scrub extra hard to get the dirt off because we had played so vigorously.
“How was your day with Charlie?” she asked me, trying to make small conversation.
“It was fun,” I replied. “We played soldiers and Charlie built an awesome fort. We fought battles and managed to keep all of the intruders away.”
“That sounds like a great time,” she said, sweetly.
I loved talking with Mama because she always listened so well. Now that I am an old woman, I truly appreciate those bath times with her. Mama told me stories of her day as well. Although none of it was as interesting as my day had been, I listened to her all the same. When she had managed to get most of the dirt off of my fingers and toes and wash the gnats from my hair, she dried me off and dressed me in my nighty for bed. As she brushed my long blond hair to get the knots out, she began humming a beautiful hymn that lulled and relaxed me. I began to get into bed but Mama reminded me that I hadn’t said my prayers yet. I knelt by the side of my bed and clasped my hands together and Mama and I said our bedtime prayers.
“Dear God in Heaven, thank you for your many blessing today and every day. Amen.”
We finished our usual prayer and I added to the end something extra that night.
“And thank you that Charlie’s Pa hasn’t come home in such a long time. Amen.” I finished my prayer and looked at Mama for approval. She smiled at me and hurried me into bed, tucked me in, and said goodnight. As she walked out of the door, she blew out the candle, leaving only the moonlight which filtered through the window to light my room.
I sang the hymn Mama had been humming in my head as I drifted off to sleep that night. I didn’t hear the commotion until Mama came into my room and told Charlie, in a whisper, to get into my bed and lay still until the danger was gone. She pulled back the covers and I looked up at her. She had a look of complete terror on her face and I saw tears streaming down her cheeks. Charlie got in beside me and Mama covered both of us up over our heads. She reminded us again to be very quiet and very still until she came back in and told us everything was safe.
“Hi,” whispered Charlie.
“Hi,” I whispered in return.
We laid there in my bed as still and as quiet as possible, with only the sound of our breathing under the covers filling the room. I didn’t know what was happening but I knew it was something terrible, and my heart ached for Charlie. I could hear him softly crying to himself and I reached out and grabbed his hand. We stayed like this for what felt like a long time, and I could hear noises from the house next door. It sounded like Charlie’s Ma and Pa were yelling and it sounded like his Pa was very angry and drunk. His Ma stopped yelling and I could hear what sounded like pleading and crying. The next sound I heard was the worst sound of all. It was the loud crack of a gun being fired. I had only heard it before when Papa would go out to kill a coyote or some other unwanted animal. I heard the gunshot and then there was silence. A few minutes passed and I was terrified. I gripped Charlie’s hand tighter and closed my eyes hard. My heart felt like it was beating in my head and I couldn’t think. After the sound of the second gunshot, there was only silence coming from the house next door.
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That fateful Sunday lives on in my mind. I got my wish that Charlie would come and stay with us for a long time. He never did go home again. When I was old enough to know the truth about that night, Mama sat me down and explained to me that Charlie’s Ma had told him to come over to our house and stay hidden in my bed so that his Pa couldn’t find him and hurt him. After Charlie ran out of the back door of his house and came to our house, his Ma and Pa started fighting. His Pa had suffered a heat stroke earlier in the day and managed to walk all the way from his family’s farm to Charlie’s house, carrying a shotgun. When he arrived, he was simply out of his mind, as Mama told me, and he threatened to kill both Mrs. Eva and Charlie. That’s when Charlie’s Ma told him to run. She never let Mr. Elk come into the house and they stood, with him on the front porch and her in the doorway, arguing for a short time. Then he pointed the gun at her and said he was going to kill her. At that moment, she fell to her knees and pleaded with him not to do what he was about to do. She could see in his eyes that he wasn’t going to stop until she was gone so she put her hand over her heart and turned her eyes up towards Heaven and said one last prayer.
“As she was praying,” Mama said, “Elk shot the gun and the bullet when right through her hand and into her heart, killing her instantly.”
Mama said there was no better way to go than in conversation with the Lord. After Mr. Elk had killed Mrs. Eva, he walked into the house and looked around for Charlie. When he couldn’t find him, he went into Mrs. Eva’s bedroom and lay down in her bed. He put the shotgun, barrel facing him, on his chest and pulled the trigger with his big toe. Mama said that the murder-suicide of Elk and Eva Young was the talk of the town for years afterward. Shortly after the funeral, I noticed a white dove flying around the house next door. Mama said it was the spirit of Mrs. Eva, watching over Charlie forevermore.
The white dove never left the house next door, although Charlie had grown old and moved away, and the house was now abandoned. As I look out of the old screen door, I remember a time that was more innocent, more precious—a time when we were all young and unaltered by the evils of this world. It was because of a man named Elk that it all changed.
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About the Author
J. G. McNease is an administrative professional by day a
nd an avid writer by night. In 2011, she received her Masters of Social Work degree from Louisiana State University in her hometown of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Her educational background, passion for the human condition, and Christian faith, among other things, have a significant influence on her writing and storytelling. Along with Cousin Elk, J. G. McNease has written several other short stories, including The Woman in the Zebra Hat, and she published her debut novel, The Last Navigator, in May of 2013.
J. G. McNease currently lives, works, and writes in north Florida with her husband, Kyle, and Great Weimar, Annie. Learn more about J. G. McNease’s life and works at jgmcnease.wordpress.com and PrognosisHope.com.
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