The Reaper's Song

by Lauraine Snelling

  Manda looked at the twenty-some head of horses that nearly filled the corral. “That’s a lot of hay and water.”

  “I know.” Zeb leaned on the corral rail. “I fixed the leak in the water trough so you don’t have to go in the pen. They might look peaceful right now, but they’re still wild horses.”

  “I know.” Her lower lip stuck out and a wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows.

  “Just reminding you.” He let the silence stretch. “I’m glad you chose to come live with us.”

  She brushed a strand of hair back from her cheek. “You better pick out a good stud if’n you want heavy workhorses.” She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. “My pa always wanted a good team.”

  “Dinner’s ready!”

  The two of them walked up to the house together. Manda matched her steps to his.

  Zeb arrived in Cincinnati on the morning of the third day. He had almost arrived later, since he’d given in to a desire to see his sister and had telegraphed her from Fargo to meet him at the Cincinnati station. He’d barely made his train in Fargo because of it.

  With the ease born of long practice, he scanned the crowd on the platform, looking to see if there was a familiar face. His gaze stopped for a moment at a woman who had turned the other way. Did he know her? More importantly, did she know him?

  He nearly knocked a child over in his haste to get to her side. By the time he’d righted the youngster, apologized, and looked up, the woman was gone. Then suddenly he heard a familiar voice.

  “Zeb! Zebulun MacCallister, I’m over here!”

  He looked toward the voice and saw Mary Martha standing on a bench by the wall, waving her handkerchief and ignoring the stares she’d earned. He quickly strode on over to his sister. “What’s the matter with you? You want everyone in the world to know I’m here?”

  “Poo, you don’t have to worry anymore.” She flung herself into his arms. “The Galloway brothers are dead and gone. I’d have written to you if I knew where you were. Your telegram was a real answer to prayer.” She hugged him close. “Ah, Zeb, we have missed you so. We weren’t even sure you were still alive.”

  “Wait a minute. Back up.” He looked down into her merry face. “You’ve lost me, so let’s go back to the beginning.”

  She locked her arm in his and led him into the station. “We can sit down for a few minutes here.”

  “Or we could find a place to eat. I’m starving.”

  She looked him up and down. “Don’t look like you’ve gained any weight since you left home. Mama would want to put some meat on your bones first thing.”

  “Mary Martha MacCallister.” The threat in his voice stopped her chatter.

  “Oh, all right. There’s a cafe right around the corner. Come on.”

  Once seated, she propped her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands. “Now, ask away.”

  “Did the Galloways ever inform the law that I’d shot their father?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. They wanted to get you themselves. Leastways that’s what I heard. They didn’t try to keep us apprised of their actions.”

  He glared at her teasing. “Thank God for that.” He let out a breath he’d been holding for three years. “So . . . when did they die? What happened to them?”

  “They got in a fight. One got killed outright, and the other died some time later. I never did get straight who was who.”

  “Who is left in the family?”

  “Their sister, Lubelle, but she’s loony and has been for years. Besides, she moved away last year when the missus died. They say the mother died of a broken heart. A’course I never thought any of them had any heart anyway, but . . .” She quit at the look he gave her.

  Mary Martha leaned forward, reaching for his hands. “Don’t you understand? You can come home now.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I have a farm and a family now and a whole herd of horses to train.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes flitted from sad to bright again. “But that doesn’t mean you can never come home. You can bring your family, and . . .” She stopped. “Family. How many children do you have?”

  “Two girls. One thirteen and one five. Another on the way.” He kept a straight face with difficulty.

  “I can tell we’re going to be here a long time for me to hear this story.”

  The waitress came to take their order.

  Zeb watched his sister as she debated over what to have. She’d grown from pretty to lovely, her cinnamon curls bound by a ribbon at the back of her head. The sparkle in her eyes looked to be a permanent fixture, but then that had always been the case. The forest green of her dress reminded him of summer in the mountains, and her laugh resembled a stream trickling down the rocks of the hillside. How he had missed her and was never so much aware of that ache as right now.

  When she looked back at him, he smiled and took her hand. “Now, what about you? Who did you marry, and how many young’uns are making our ma happy as a duck in a pond?”

  He watched her eyes dim and her mouth crumble. Her chin quivered. “None. He died before the wedding. Cholera took many, oh, about a year and a half ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” He stroked the back of her hands with his thumbs.

  They spent the next two hours catching up on their lives before Zeb paid the bill and they left.

  “Now where are you going?” Mary Martha asked.

  “I’m going out to buy my stallion. You’re getting on the next train home.”

  “So this is all the time I have with you?”

  His heart turned over at the look on her face. “I’m truly sorry, but I got to get that horse and head for home. Harvest is already started, and I got to be there soon as I can.”

  “I could come with you to get the horse.”

  He shook his head. “Where would you stay? What would you ride? I got enough money for one horse and that’s that.”

  “We could double.”

  Again he shook his head. “How about I send you money for a ticket to Dakota Territory come fall? I’ll have money again after harvest.”

  She clamped her jaw in a way he’d come to know meant she was digging in her heels. “Zebulun MacCallister, you mean you got me clear up here just to visit for an hour or two? You know what that ticket cost?”

  “I know. But I had to let you know I was alive and find out what was happening with the Galloways.”

  “I could have written you a letter.” She wore her stern mother face. “Mama too.”

  “Are you sorry you came?”

  Her face crumpled. “N-no. Just disappointed the time is so short.”

  “When does the next train south leave?”

  “At six.”

  “And you’ll be on it?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Good.” He walked her back to the train station and took her in his arms for a good-bye hug. “There she is again.”

  “Who?”

  “A woman who looks so familiar.”

  Mary Martha turned and looked around. “I don’t see anyone. Must be your imagination playing tricks.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “We will look forward to hearing from you. And it best be soon. Mama’s not getting any younger, you know. And Uncle Jed—well, your leaving kinda took the starch out of him, it did.” She sighed. “You could bring your family and come home where you belong.”

  “I’m not sure where I belong anymore.” He hugged her once again and gave her a push toward the doors. “Get on with you. I promise I’ll write.”

  He was back in town, returning his horse to the livery by midmorning the next day.

  “That’s a fine horse you got there.” The livery owner eyed the bay stallion as he took the reins of his own horse.

  “He’ll do.” Zeb held the lead line under the halter and stroked the horse’s sweaty neck.

  “You planning to raise horses?”

  Zeb nodded, not taking his attention away from his new animal. “Got me some mares just a’w
aitin’ for him.” He dug in his pocket. “How much do I owe you?” He paid what was asked and started to lead his horse back out of the yard.

  “Oh, there was a woman lookin’ fer ya. I near to forgot.”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  “That you’d be back today sometime.”

  “She leave a name?” If that sister of mine—why would she stay on? Something gone wrong? Questions raced through his mind like hounds after a rabbit.

  “Nope. Y’all have a good trip now.”

  Zeb led the stallion out of the yard and down the street. The freight yard where he’d board a boxcar for the trip west was only a couple blocks away. Even so, sweat made rivulets down his spine by the time they walked there.

  He loaded the horse into the boxcar assigned to him and made sure there was feed and water enough for the trip. He tested the two-by-sixes that fenced off one end of the boxcar and, satisfied that all was secure, headed back to the office. “Can someone keep an eye on him while I go get some food to take with me?”

  “Sure enough.” The man checked his pocket watch. “Should be ready to pull out in about two hours. Make sure you’re back by then, or we leave without you.”

  “Oh, I’ll be right back.”

  Zeb strode out to the street and turned the corner, heading for the general store he’d seen up the block.

  “Zebulun MacCallister?”

  He stopped at hearing his name called. People flowed around him on the board sidewalk as he looked to see who called him.

  “Zebulun MacCallister!” A woman dressed all in black beckoned from the door of a hotel.

  It wasn’t Mary Martha, that was for certain. But who else knew him here in Cincinnati? He tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am? Do I know you?”

  She lifted her chin, the veil covering her face rippling in the movement. Her whispered words were lost in the noise of the street around them.

  He leaned closer. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

  She took a step forward. “An old friend of yours has a message for you.”

  “Pardon me. What old friend?” If you’d just talk up, lady, I could answer you and be on my way. He tried to still the impatience welling up within him. If he wasn’t his mother’s son, he would have kept on walking. But a man didn’t ignore a woman or be rude.

  She took a step closer. “This one.” With a motion faster than a striking rattler, she raised her reticule and fired.

  “What the—?” He could feel something tear through his side, the force of it reeling him backward. “You shot me!”

  “That’s for my father and my brothers.” He reached for her arm, but she jerked away. The taunting voice continued. “We Galloways pay our debts. May your soul rot in hell.” A laugh that made his hair stand on end followed her words.

  “Mister, yer bleedin’,” a boy said from behind him. Then he shouted, “Someone help! This feller’s been shot!”

  Zeb clapped his hand to his side. He looked down to see warm blood oozing between his fingers.

  In that instant, the woman disappeared.

  Contrary to what Zeb’s sister thought, Lubelle Galloway was not in the loony bin.

  Zeb had plenty of time to dwell on that fact as the train rocked westward. During the days, the air coming between the slats of the cattle car felt like a blast furnace. He wished they could travel only at night.

  His fingers wandered again to the bandages wrapped around his chest, just like a tongue will do when there is a toothache. His side burned. No, “burned” wasn’t a strong enough word. It hurt like nothing he’d ever known before. He sat with his back against the slatted wall.

  The stallion leaned his head over the fencing and nosed Zeb’s good shoulder.

  “You’re a fine horse, Blaze, you know that?” Zeb reached up and scratched the white strip down the stallion’s face that earned him the name. The horse hung his head lower, making it as easy as possible for the man to keep scratching.

  Zeb finally dozed off, waking to see dawn pearling the horizon through the slats of the cattle car. He jerked awake—surprised that he had slept through an entire night. He heard the shriek of train wheels being shunted off the main track. Another screech of metal on metal, a jerk, and he could hear the engine disappearing down the track.

  He stood, blinking his eyes once and yet again. No, the blur was in himself. He leaned against the wall as a wave of dizziness crashed over him and receded, sucking out his strength as the ocean sucks at the sand.

  “Where are we?”

  Blaze snorted and stamped a big front hoof.

  Zeb dipped water out of the half-full barrel and splashed it over his head. He felt like crawling in the barrel and letting the cool water bathe his fiery side.

  His strength spent by the exertion, he slumped to the floor again and dozed fitfully. Visions of Lubelle Galloway following him across the plains brought him sweating out of his sleep during the hottest part of the day. Even with the doors open, there was no breeze.

  “Whyever did we get shunted out here like this?”

  But the crow flying over them had no answer either.

  Another sunset and the welcome relief of evening coolness settled about him. He waited for the train to move again. Why were they stopped for so long?

  Sometime in the night he heard a pounding on the door.

  “Mr. MacCallister? Mr. MacCallister!”

  Zeb shook his head and blinked. “I’m here.” He got to his feet and crossed to the big door, sliding it open.

  “Are you all right? I can’t believe they left you out here like this. Please accept my apologies.” The man, wearing a railroad uniform, swung a lantern at his side.

  “Can we get goin’ now?” Zeb cleared his throat.

  “Right away. Can I get you anything? Water? Food?”

  “Something to eat would be right neighborly. Where in tarnation are we?”

  “We’ll be in Minneapolis in an hour or two.”

  Zeb groaned. Another day on the train to reach Dakota Territory. What if Lubelle really was coming to see if she could finish the job? What if she followed him clear to Blessing? He had to keep Katy and the girls safe. He steadied himself at the clashing of metal and then a lurch.

  “Here you go, sir. Again, I’m sorry.” The man handed Zeb a packet and blew a whistle.

  With some more jockeying to get the cars in order, the train finally got a full head of steam and settled into the rocking that put Zeb back into that no-man’s land of half sleep and half wakefulness—the land where Galloway women and men banded together to search out one Zebulun MacCallister.

  “God, where is the justice?” he ground out between teeth clenched against the burning in his side. Far as he could tell, the pain was getting worse.

  “I sure do hope you’re taking better care of Katy and the girls, Lord, than you are of me.”

  Guilt made his heart burn. He was alive, wasn’t he? And fed? And watered? Watered was right; water was dripping in between the slats. When had the rain begun?

  When the painful journey finally ended and he led the stallion off the train at Blessing, all he could think of was to get home.

  “Man, he’s a beaut,” Manda breathed.

  “Stay out of his way!”

  “What’s got into you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You got a burr under yer saddle or some ’at?” She planted her hands on her hips, ready to take on the world. “You don’t look so hot.”

  “Just get out of the way.” Zeb spoke from between clenched teeth.

  Manda backed up, then followed a few paces behind as Zeb led the stallion into a box stall. “I put in hay and water. You want me to get oats?”

  No answer.

  She raised her voice. “I put—”

  “I . . . heard . . . you!” Each word made a separate statement.

  “Katy and Deborah are over to Bjorklunds. We din’t expect you back so soon.”

  A grunt was his only response.
r />   “A man came lookin’ to buy a team.” She waited. Nothing. “I told him to come back in ten years.”

  Still nothing.

  She stepped closer and looked over the door to the box stall. Zeb slumped with his forehead resting on the arched neck of the bay stallion.

  Manda tiptoed out of the barn. “Somethin’s really wrong,” she whispered to the sandy-haired dog who whimpered at her side. “I sure wish I knew what it was.” She sank down in the shade of the barn and hugged the dog to her.

  “Manda?”

  “Here.” She left off petting the dog and stood.

  “How about going after Katy?”

  “She’ll be back before dark.”

  “Well, you could go over there and tell her I’m home.”

  “I s’pose.”

  “Take your horse.”

  “A’course.” She looked at him carefully. “You look sick.”

  “Just do as I ask, please.”

  “All right, but Katy’s gonna be right disappointed you don’t come too.”

  Keeping himself upright with every bit of strength he could muster, he walked off to the house. In a few minutes he heard Manda’s horse loping out of the yard.

  Hurry! While his mind gave the right orders, his body refused to function at any more than a step at a time. He gathered food, his rifle, a change of clothes, and rolled them in his quilt. Get out of here before Lubelle comes. Like an army drummer leading the troops, his brain ticked away. Get out. Get out.

  Need shells. He groaned when he took down the tin that held his ammunition.

  He laid the letter he’d written the night before on the table as his last act of blessing.

  Saddling his horse brought the sweat already beading his forehead into running rivulets, like spring freshets in the mountains. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and only if he squinted could he narrow his vision to one horse, not two.

  He finally led Buster to a bench, and with one arm clenched to keep his side from erupting, he struggled into the saddle. He put his horse at a dead run to put as much distance as possible between him and home before Katy returned. He headed due north, not west as he’d said in the letter.