Soul of a Crow

by Abbie Williams

  He thought, I am here. We are safe, and I am here.

  “Sawyer,” I whispered, words fleeing like frightened birds from my lips as I tried to explain, “I want us to stay here, and I know we cannot.” Because the time would come creeping, all too soon, when we would be forced to leave this space, bid farewell to these beautiful first hours we had existed as man and wife, and move forward into the unknown. My breath came faster, in short, erratic gasps. My heart seemed to want to hurl itself free of my body.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed, encasing me even more securely into his arms. He said quietly, “I know, mo mhuirnín milis, I know.”

  “I cannot bear to be apart from you. Even the thought is beyond bearing. Please never leave me alone. Never leave me alone, Sawyer.” I knew it was unfair to speak this way, when he had as much control over life as did I, but my words rushed out in panicked and passionate bursts; I was unable to stop them.

  “Lorie,” he said firmly. He drew back and said with quiet resolve, “Look at my eyes, darlin’, look at me.” I obeyed, and his gaze was somber upon mine as he said, “I will do everything in my power to keep us safe. I will never leave you. You know this.”

  At his words, the roiling waters of panic at last subsided, ebbing back to a place where I could control them, refusing to consider the many horrible ways in which life could rip us apart.

  “You are overtired,” he acknowledged, tenderly kissing my cheek. “Your eyes are shadowed. You sleep, my sweet love, and I’ll get us something to eat.”

  He lifted my chin and kissed my lips, before tucking the blanket about me. His touch lingered upon my jaw, and I managed a smile.

  “I’ll be back directly,” he said, rising and stretching, his powerful naked body such a sight to behold in the sunset light. I went up on my elbow to admire him, and he winked at me as he donned his trousers and ducked outside. I heard Whistler nickering at him in welcome, and his affectionate, teasing response, “Did you wonder where we were all day, my girl?”

  I pictured him petting her face and kissing her nose, and with those comforting thoughts in mind, I slept.

  * * *

  When next I woke the night was deep and our campfire burned outside with a cheerful crackle. I was naked, tucked neatly into the blankets. I sat and ran my fingers along the heavy length of my hair, rife with snarls. I could hear Boyd and Malcolm chattering with Sawyer, and my heart swelled with gladness.

  “Lorie-love, we’re out here,” Sawyer called, as he surely heard me rustling around.

  “Thank you for filling the basin,” I returned, noticing the reflected gleam of the fire’s glow upon the fresh water within it, an arm’s length from the bed.

  “Heya, Lorie-Lorie!” Malcolm called exuberantly. The boy went on, “Boyd said you an’ Sawyer’d be tuckered out after last night, so’s—” Malcolm’s words were interrupted by the sounds of scuffling and his issuing of a squeak, and then Boyd uttered, “Jesus Christ, boy!”

  I smothered my laughter.

  Sawyer ducked inside, retying the entrance and squatting at the foot of the bed in the dimness of the firelight filtering through the canvas, smiling at me in the way he had that set my heart to throbbing rather than simply beating. His voice was even more throaty than usual as he said tenderly, “I love how you look, all warm and tumbled from sleeping. Are you hungry, my wife?”

  I kicked free of the covers and moved swiftly into his arms, where he caught me close, laughing a little. My arms laced around him, my breasts flattened against the muslin of his shirt. He smelled of the fire and of roasting meat, his hair loose down his back. I whispered into his ear, “Just for you.”

  He rocked me side to side and kissed my neck, whispering, “I must be in a dream. And I must be the most selfish bastard who ever lived, to keep taking advantage of the gift of you this way.”

  I murmured in his ear, “I won’t hear any such nonsense. You are anything but selfish and unless you mean to fight me away from you –”

  In response, he kissed me quite absolutely. He whispered, “All evening, while you slept, your scent was upon my skin, I could very nearly taste you, and I love it so. I had not thought it possible to need you more than I already do.” His thumbs stroked my lips, my cheekbones. He clasped my right hand and brought it to his thrusting heart.

  I pulled him immediately closer, thrilling to his words, working to open the fastening on his trousers. He shivered and sank his fingers into my hair, tipping me into his kiss. I tugged the shirt over his arms, caressing the ridges of muscle there, and those across his chest.

  “Hurry,” I begged in a whisper, as he quickly freed himself from the last of his clothing. I added, “I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

  He laughed at that, lavishing my neck with kisses as his hand moved swiftly downward over my belly. He whispered, “I’ll try to promise the same.”

  I curled my fingers around his length and he groaned, taking me instantly to the bedding, studying my face as he held himself poised above, just at the point of entry. I urged insistently closer, lifting my hips, and he groaned a second time, prompting my hushed giggles. He grinned and gently took my chin between his teeth, linking our fingers as he joined our bodies, sliding at once deeply within; my subsequent moans were caught between us and again we were so willingly lost to the rest of the world, wrapped in each other.

  * * *

  “Lorissa Davis, that has a fine ring to it,” Boyd said later, as the four of us sat around the fire feasting on delicious venison, roasted to a perfect crackling turn. “Sounds right nice.”

  I smiled at his words, my mouth too full to respond. In all my life, food had never tasted better than this night’s.

  Sawyer leaned and kissed my cheek, agreeing, “It does, at that.”

  “Lorie, did you love all of your surprises, did you?” Malcolm demanded, his lips decorated with bits of char; one of his teeth was also inadvertently blackened, giving him a comical appearance, and I grinned, with complete love, as he went on lauding his work, “I lit all the lanterns, an’ picked the flowers, an’ decorated Whistler-girl.”

  “I loved every bit, it was all so wonderful,” I told him. “You are surely the sweetest boy who ever lived.”

  Boyd made a tut-tut sound of disapproval, raising his eyebrows at me and indicating himself with one thumb.

  “And you as well,” I told him, smiling.

  Malcolm explained, “We stayed away all night an’ all day as so the two of you could –”

  Boyd yelped, “Boy!” and leaned to kick at Malcolm’s ankle. Malcolm giggled and kicked back at his brother. Boyd rolled his eyes at us and said, “I understand now why Daddy was so damn hesitant to talk to us boys about…certain things. Christ, I recall he took Beau an’ me aside an’ stumbled over an explanation that had more to do with horses…” and he snorted a laugh before finishing, “Horses mating.”

  We were all laughing then. Enjoying our amusement, Boyd went on, with relish, “Here was me an’ Beau, thinking of all the times we’d watched the horses being bred, an’ the impressive an’ sobering size of a horse’s pecker—beg pardon, Lorie—both of us imagining all manner of indecent things. Then Daddy threw us into another tizzy when he said somethin’ about making sure that a woman was…” He was almost laughing too hard to continue, but he managed, saying, “About making sure a woman was pleasured during lovemaking, as well.”

  “I can just see him,” Sawyer said; he agreed, “And sound advice.”

  Boyd continued, “Beau whispered to me, ‘But we ain’t near the size,’ an’ then we figured we’d never be able to bring a woman pleasure.”

  “Mine sure ain’t near big as a horse’s,” Malcolm said seriously, the only one of us not swept away in mirth, provoking further hilarity.

  “No one’s is, kid,” Sawyer managed to say, though I gave him a saucy look at those words.

  “What woman would want a man with a wink the size of a horse’s, anyway?” Malcolm demanded, a slightly horrified angle
to his eyebrows; he appeared further distressed at our increased laughter.

  “Oh Jesus,” Boyd finally muttered, wiping his eyes with the knuckles of both thumbs. “So, being the responsible fella I am, I tried to explain to the boy here about –”

  “Womenfolk an’ what they may expect of me, someday,” Malcolm finished dutifully, his eyes on the flames. It seemed that Boyd’s lesson had been taken to heart.

  Sawyer said to Boyd, “I can only just imagine what you had to say on the matter.”

  “It sounds right embarrassing, that’s what,” Malcolm said, looking to me with his dark eyes wide and sincere. I thought of the talk we had shared while he brushed my hair, and with effort I stifled my laughter, though Boyd and Sawyer were almost on their sides at his words. Malcolm disregarded them and said innocently, “I don’t understand how it all begins, Lorie, Boyd weren’t clear on that. Do I tell a woman it’s time an’ then it’s time? She’ll let me…do that to her?”

  “I tried…I tried…to draw a picture…in the dirt…” Boyd wheezed, attempting to speak amidst his laughter. “I never…knew a picture in the dirt…could be so…lewd…”

  Sawyer could hardly breathe.

  “Hush, you two,” I scolded. I said to Malcolm, “When you meet the right woman, as we spoke of, it won’t be embarrassing. It will be beautiful. You’ll see. It will all make sense.”

  The boy’s dark eyebrows knitted together, but he nodded. I slapped at Sawyer’s shoulder; he was choking on laughter, bent forward, same as Boyd. I added, “Don’t pay attention to these two. You ask me, Malcolm.”

  And that was enough for the boy, for tonight. He smiled and said agreeably, “Aw right.” His trust for me was apparent in his tone, and my heart hitched.

  “You are in trouble,” I informed Sawyer, poking him to emphasize my words.

  “Ha, that’s right, Lorie-girl, you tell him. I feel strongly that a proper wife oughta be a good nag,” Boyd teased, at last able to draw a decent breath, though he looked at Malcolm and his shoulders shook once more. He finally concluded, “Aw, boy, you’s a Carter. Ladies ain’t ever been able to resist us. You’ll be right as rain.”

  “Lorie-honey, don’t be mad,” Sawyer said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Malcolm knows we understand.”

  Malcolm’s eyes twinkled. He moved closer to my side and rested his head endearingly upon me. He said, “No, I don’t. They was being mean to me.”

  “Oh, so that’s the way of it,” Sawyer teased. He rose slowly and backed away from the fire, then curled forward menacingly and beckoned to Malcolm. “C’mon, kid, let’s wrestle.”

  Malcolm whooped and bounded for Sawyer, dropping into a crouch and feinting with his fists. They circled while Boyd squinted one eye and lit a smoke, saying, “Money’s on the boy, old friend. You do appear right wore out after last night an’ all day today.”

  At that Sawyer was laughing again and Malcolm, seeing his advantage, dove for him. Sawyer sidestepped neatly.

  “Get him, Malcolm!” I encouraged, laughing.

  Malcolm leaped to grab one of Sawyer’s forearms, clinging for all he was worth. Sawyer flipped the boy over his shoulder and held him upside-down, while Malcolm struggled and yelped, “Ain’t fair! Let me down!”

  Sawyer spun him instead, while Malcolm shrieked with laughter.

  “All right, that’s enough, I can’t see straight,” my husband yielded at last. He let Malcolm to the ground where they both collapsed and lay flat, staring up at the stars.

  “Oh, the world is a-spinning an’ spinning,” Malcolm groaned.

  “I remember now why I don’t do this,” Sawyer said, closing his eyes before deciding, “No, that’s worse.”

  “Lorie, more venison?” Boyd asked, and I nodded eagerly. “We’ll just let them two sleep out here under the sky.”

  I went to stand between them, still eating, poking my bare toes against Sawyer’s ribs. He looked up at me and grinned, tucking both wrists beneath his head. I told him, “I used to spin like that.”

  He invited, “Come here, sweetheart. The stars are shining just for you.”

  I sat and arranged my skirt, then lay down and snuggled close to him upon the ground; my fingers were greasy with the venison I held, and Sawyer appropriated it for a bite. Malcolm moved at once to my far side and nestled against me.

  “Lorie, you was my girl first,” the boy murmured.

  Boyd sighed as though much put-upon and at last joined us, blowing a trail of most remarkable smoke rings up at the glittering sky; he had tried a few nights back to teach Malcolm the delicate technique, at the boy’s incessant begging, all without success; Malcolm had gone into an instant coughing fit after the first drag. The air tonight was completely static, clear as creek water in the springtime. Boyd removed his tobacco roll and whispered, in keeping with the quiet of the empty prairie, “By God, I’m excited to start over.”

  “Me, too,” Malcolm whispered, and my heart clenched as he said softly, “Even if we ain’t got Gus with us no more. I surely miss him.”

  Sawyer held me closer at once. He said softly, “I miss the stories he’d tell. He knew so many. He knew what we’d been like as boys.”

  “There ain’t many can claim that,” Boyd agreed.

  “Lookee there!” Malcolm cried, pointing.

  We looked in time to see the white streak of light across the heavens, sudden as a lightning flash and gone almost as instantly.

  Boyd said, low, “Mama used to say that stars were souls, an’ when you saw a shooting star it meant a new soul was bound for the earth, for another go-round at life. I suppose Reverend Wheeler woulda disagreed, but Mama always claimed that.”

  “I recall her saying so,” Sawyer said. “I remember looking up at them during the War and thinking that there were so many souls becoming stars, all around us. It seemed unending and my thoughts would run so dark.”

  “Mine as well, old friend,” Boyd said. “I thought that there surely couldn’t be enough stars to go around back in them bleak days.”

  “Which ones belong to our family’s souls?” Malcolm whispered. In his voice was a sense of awe, magic inspired by the solitude of the night and the majesty of the heavens sprawling above our four bodies. He snuggled closer to me.

  “I think,” Boyd began, pausing to consider. He continued in all seriousness, “I think perhaps that group right yonder.” He indicated with the burning tip of his smoke. “That bunch of stars in the northwest there, all crowded together. That reminds me of our family at a picnic, everyone in someone’s business. Mama would be that bright one, near the front, an’ look, Sawyer, them two close together, like twins. That’s Eth an’ Jere, for certain.”

  “I see ’em,” Malcolm said reverently. “Just so. They’s all together, ain’t they? You s’pose they wonder what’s a-going on down here?”

  Boyd said, with calm certainty, “’Course they’s together. Gus is with them now, too, look yonder,” and tears filled my eyes for the second time. I pressed my face to Sawyer as Boyd whispered, “When the night is so clear an’ fine, like it is right now, I’d wager they gather an’ maybe look back to the Earth for a spell.”

  “I hope Mama an’ Daddy’s proud of me,” Malcolm said softly.

  Sawyer leaned carefully over me and patted Malcolm. He said, “No doubt of that, kid.”

  “Daddy’s surely laughing about what I tried to teach you today,” Boyd said. He concluded, with sweet sincerity, “Just wait, boy, we’ll find us fine, pretty wives in Minnesota. We’ll have stars shooting to Earth every year, more young’uns than you could shake a stick at.”

  Sawyer moved his hand from Malcolm to gently cup my belly. He softly kissed my temple and whispered, “For us, as well,” and my tears overspilled, one part pain, all other parts love.

  - 11 -

  Hold up there.”

  Boyd’s voice, laced with concern, roused me from sleep. I blinked, requiring a moment to regain my bearings; I did not usually doze in the back of t
he wagon. A half dozen feet above my gaze was the wagon’s ribcage, the slender, curving wooden arches over which the canvas cover stretched, peacefully backlit with late-day sunshine, and there was nothing to suggest overt trouble, but I rolled to one elbow, attempting to determine what had caused Boyd to issue such an abrupt order.

  On the wagon seat and only a few feet from where I lay, Sawyer drew back on the reins, halting the team, and called, “What is it?”

  “Juney’s limping,” Malcolm explained, flanking the wagon to the right, where Juniper was tethered and had been following alongside. I heard Boyd and Malcolm dismount; seconds later, Sawyer jumped nimbly to the ground.

  I had woken at dawn, a few mornings past, with the return of my monthly cycle, cramped and bleeding, and subsequently rooted out the cloth bindings I used specifically for such purposes, wearing them now beneath my shift. As I was tired and uncomfortable, Sawyer fashioned a makeshift pallet, thick with quilts, and I had indulged in stealing afternoon naps, allowing myself the luxury; despite the intermittent ruts and bumps of the trail, I was quite content in the back of the wagon, studying the sunlit patterns on the translucent, if dirt-smudged, ivory canvas, lulled by the rise and fall of the men’s voices as they chatted.

  “What’s the matter with him, blacksmith?” Boyd asked Sawyer as I climbed down to join them. Malcolm, who had been riding Whistler, held her lead line in a loop around his elbow and cupped Juniper’s big square jaws, patting him, murmuring endearments.

  Sawyer ran his hand down Juniper’s right front foreleg, which the animal was favoring, lifting the hoof and balancing it against his thighs. He examined it minutely and said, “It isn’t any wonder he was limping. There’s swelling in the fetlock and pastern, both, and his leg is warmer than the day should warrant.”

  “An abscess,” I understood, and Sawyer nodded immediate agreement. He murmured, “You’ve a good eye.”