The Haunting of Autumn Lake

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Well, hey there, pretty Autumn Lake.”

  Instantly the hair on the back of Autumn’s neck prickled. At the sound of Riley Wimber’s voice, Autumn’s stomach began to churn.

  “Good mornin’, Riley,” she said, however, looking up to see Riley Wimber, his brother Fletcher, and Carter Owens standing in front of her. She straightened her posture and tried to look unaffected as the three young men surrounded her on the walkway in front of Doctor Sullivan’s house.

  “You been in to see that shot-up, filthy ol’ cowboy again today?” Riley asked, nodding toward the window at Autumn’s back—the window looking in on the patient room where Gentry James was convalescing.

  “Yes,” Autumn answered. “It’s our Christian duty to tend to those in need.”

  “And just what is that cowboy in need of, Autumn, honey?” Riley said in a lowered voice. “Whatcha been doin’ with him all the long hours you spend with him? You been givin’ him a taste of somethin’ besides your Christian duty?”

  Autumn gasped as Riley reached out and placed one of his hands over her right breast.

  Slapping his hand away, she gritted her teeth and threatened, “Don’t you dare to touch me, Riley Wimber! My daddy will—”

  “Your daddy would beat me near to death? Is that what you were gonna say, Autumn?” Riley interrupted. “Well, if he done that, we both know he’d hang…or get shipped off to prison in the least…and you wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruinin’ his life like that, would you now?”

  Again Riley reached out, this time with both hands, and placed his palms at Autumn’s bosom. She couldn’t believe he was molesting her, right here in the middle of town! Right there where anyone could see! Tears welled in her eyes, for the sense of his hands touching her where no one ever should touch was horrifying.

  “Hey, Riley,” Fletcher mumbled. “Maybe you ought not to be—”

  “Shut up,” Riley growled. “She likes when I touch her. Don’t you, Autumn?”

  Gentry took only enough time to pull on his boots—and that was only because he knew he’d need them to kick the life out of the man molesting Autumn Lake on the walkway outside the window. In the next moment, he was out the door, storming around to the walkway in front of the old doctor’s house.

  Reaching out to take hold of the young man’s shoulder, Gentry pulled him away from Autumn. “Get your hands off her, you dirty son of a…” he growled, finishing the phrase as his fist met with the man’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Gentry raged as he took hold of the front of the young man’s shirt and pulled him to his feet. “You don’t touch her like that, boy! You don’t touch her at all!” Landing another brutal punch to the young man’s face once more, he watched, infuriated, as the man stumbled and fell again.

  “Get up, you son of a—” But Gentry’s breath was knocked from him as one of the other young men landed a boot heel to his stomach. He caught the man’s foot, however, twisting it as hard as he could and sending the second dog to the ground.

  “Don’t you touch my brother, you dirty drifter!” the third young man, who wasn’t more than a boy, said as he kicked Gentry in the left thigh.

  The pain from the cracking open of the still-healing gunshot wound at his thigh was excruciating! It weakened Gentry as well, and he crumbled to his knees in time to feel a boot at his left shoulder. He felt the wound at his shoulder crack too but somehow managed to reach out with his right arm and sweep the younger boy off his feet.

  “Stop it!” he heard Autumn scream. “Fletcher! Carter! Stop it! He’s wounded! Stop!”

  But Gentry’s rage was provoked. He couldn’t believe what he’d seen out the window—those three men trapping Autumn the way they had—the one brazenly fondling her like she was some saloon tramp!

  Therefore, as the youngest boy struggled to get up, Gentry simply reached out and pushed his head to the boardwalk, crushing his face to the wood and scraping up his flesh as much as he could.

  “Don’t you touch him, Riley Wimber!” he heard Autumn cry out. He looked up in time to see her step between himself and an advancing, bloody-nosed Riley Wimber.

  “Autumn…move!” Gentry panted as he struggled to stand. “I’m gonna wipe this town up with these dirty bastards!”

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  Autumn felt relief flood her body at the sound of her father’s voice. “Daddy!” she cried, throwing herself against him. His embrace was warm, powerful, and protective. She was safe now—and so was Gentry.

  “Daddy, Riley and his brother…and Carter didn’t help at all,” she wept. “And then Gentry came out to help me and—”

  “This cowboy is trouble, Mr. Lake,” Riley Wimber interjected.

  Autumn left the protection of her father’s arms, spun around, strode to Riley, and slapped him as hard as she could across one cheek. “Don’t you even speak!” she cried. Then turning back to father, she said, “Daddy…Riley and Fletcher…well, just Riley, I guess…they…they…”

  “They what, sugar pea?” Ransom Lake asked as he helped Gentry James to his feet.

  “We was just tryin’ to keep Autumn from this dirty drifter,” Riley accused, pointing to Gentry.

  “Why you lyin’ son of a…” Gentry said, lunching toward Riley again.

  “Hey! Hey!” Ransom hollered, taking hold of Gentry’s arm and reeling him in. “What happened here?”

  “I’ll tell you what happened, Ransom,” Gentry growled. “These boys here were molestin’ your daughter…that’s what happened.”

  “What?” Ransom bellowed. “Autumn! What is goin’ on? What happened?”

  “I didn’t do nothin’, Mr. Lake,” Carter Owens said. “It was all Riley and Fletch.”

  “Me?” Fletcher exclaimed. “I ain’t hangin’ for what you done, Riley! You’re on your own!”

  But Gentry James’s fist to Fletcher’s jaw sent him hurtling to the ground to find Gentry’s boot at his throat.

  “You didn’t do nothin’ to help, now did you, boy?” Gentry asked, panting.

  Autumn could see the blood seeping into Gentry’s underdrawers at his thigh. The wound at his shoulder was bleeding too. The sight of his pain sent more tears flowing over her cheeks than the knowledge of what Riley had done to her did.

  “Daddy, he’s bleedin’,” she said, going to Gentry and attempting to look at the wound at his shoulder. Gentry angrily pushed her hands away, however.

  “What did these boys do, Autumn?” Ransom Lake asked.

  Autumn turned to face Riley and the others. “They…they…Daddy…they tried to…well, Riley actually did. He…he…” But she couldn’t find the words for what Riley had done to her—for what his brother and Carter Owens had allowed him to do.

  “They backed her up against the window here, and that one there,” Gentry growled, pointing to Riley, “that one there put his hands on her…on Autumn’s…on her bosoms.”

  “What?” Ransom barked as his eyes narrowed and a fierce frown furrowed his brow as he stared at Riley Wimber. “What?”

  “Mr. Lake…he’s a liar!” Riley argued. “He’s nothin’ but a filthy cowboy and a liar! I didn’t do nothin’! I swear it! Me and the boys was just havin’ a friendly visit with—”

  Riley’s words were silenced, and Autumn’s hands flew to her mouth as the power of Ransom Lake’s fist met with Riley’s jaw.

  As Riley hit the boardwalk, Ransom Lake aggressed toward him and rumbled, “Well, the apple sure don’t fall far from the tree. You’re as bad a seed as your daddy is, Riley Wimber! How such bad men could come from the likes of Vaughn Wimber, I’ll never know. But you and your daddy…”

  Autumn brushed tears from her cheeks as she watched her father begin beating on Riley Wimber. Over and over he hit him—all the while going on and on about what Riley’s father had done to Autumn’s mother years and years before—about how he’d better never even look Autumn’s way again unless he wanted to find himself six feet under and pushing
up daisies.

  Like everyone else in town, Autumn knew that if there were one man in the world a body didn’t want to cross, it was Ransom Lake. She watched as her father pulled Riley to his feet and instructed Carter and Fletcher to drag him home to his mama and to tell Nate Wimber that he’s lucky his son was returned still breathing.

  By the time Carter and Fletcher had begun dragging a beaten and bloodied Riley home, quite a crowd had gathered around in the street and on the boardwalk.

  “What happened, Ransom?” Dan Valmont asked as Ransom stood wiping the blood from his knuckles on a handkerchief Aunt Myra had handed him.

  Ransom shook his head. “That Riley Wimber…he’s a no-good boy,” Ransom mumbled, his anger still obvious. “He backed Autumn up against this wall here and went to doin’ things a man ought not to do to a woman who ain’t his wife.”

  Autumn heard her Aunt Myra gasp and began to weep again as Myra reached out and gathered her into her arms. “Oh, honey! I’m so sorry! Those Wimber boys…they’re as bad as they come, it seems.”

  “This young man here come out and was goin’ around with the bad ones when I came up on it all,” Ransom said. He nodded to Gentry. “I thank you for that, Gentry James. You’re a good man. I knew it the first time I seen you.”

  “I couldn’t…I couldn’t stand up to them though, Mr. Lake,” Gentry panted. “I guess I just ain’t myself yet.”

  “Doctor Sullivan!” Autumn cried, rushing to the old doctor as he stepped out of his house to investigate the ruckus. “Mr. James has been hurt again! I need you to tend to him right away! Please hurry!”

  “I’m fine,” Gentry mumbled, a deep frown furrowing his brow.

  “You’re not fine!” Autumn argued, rushing to Doctor Sullivan, taking hold of his hand, and quickly leading him to Gentry. “See? He’s bleeding again!”

  Ransom Lake’s eyes narrowed as he watched old Doc Sullivan inspect the cowboy’s reinjured wounds. Something he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time was seeping into his soul. He looked to Autumn, sickened at what had happened to her at the hand of Riley Wimber. His stomach churned with nausea, and a deep, painful guilt at not having been nearby to protect her made him want to vomit. But he looked at Gentry James too—studied the young cowboy who had dashed out careless of his health—or his attire, for that matter—to champion and protect Autumn.

  A vision began to form in his mind, and a whisper began to echo in his ears. Oh, he’d seen how taken Autumn was with the wounded cowboy convalescing at Doc Sullivan’s place. He and Vaden were too aware of anything and everything about their children not to have noticed it. Still, Gentry James was a cowboy, and Ransom and Vaden both knew cowboys were very often drifters who didn’t stay in one place all too long.

  But now—now the vision had formed in his mind. The whispering was still echoing in his ears—and Ransom Lake had learned long ago not to ignore his own soul.

  Thus, he asked, “Doc? Is he gonna be all right after this?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Doc Sullivan said. “I’ll put some new stitches in and clean him up good to avoid any new infection…but he’ll be fine.”

  “All righty then,” Ransom mumbled. He inhaled a deep breath of resolve. Then he put a hand on Gentry’s good shoulder. “I know you’ve been plannin’ on ridin’ up to Denver to collect your wages when you’re well enough, son,” he began, “but I’d like to know if you’d be willin’ to winter over at our place…help me out with the upcomin’ pumpkin harvest and such. It’s a heap of hard work, but I figure you oughta be mended up well enough when the time comes.”

  “Well, thank you for the offer, Mr. Lake…but I really think I oughta—” Gentry began.

  “I think it’s time you rested up somewhere outside of town,” Ransom interrupted, however. “And I’d like to do somethin’ to thank you for watchin’ out for my girl. We could use the help this year. My sons all got their own lives to tend…and this is my biggest crop of pumpkins yet. It’ll take me, Vaden, Autumn, and then some to get ’em all hauled in and on the train. I’d really appreciate the help…if you’re willin’. And I’ll pay you well.”

  “I’m afraid this altercation is gonna set you back a piece, Mr. James,” Doctor Sullivan said. “I think your ribs are bruised now as well, and I don’t think you’re gonna be ready to ride all the way to Denver any time soon. And by the time you are…the weather ’tween here and there will be pretty precarious.”

  “I ain’t offerin’ it out of any feelin’ of obligation,” Ransom assured the young cowboy, for he could see his pride was bruised as well as his ribs. “I was gonna have to hire me some local boys to help out anyhow. And believe me, I’d rather have a man of good character workin’ for me than any of the idiots I’ve seen today.”

  Autumn noticed the townsfolk were returning to their own business. Her Aunt Myra and Uncle Dan were still there, of course. Tawny Johnson and several other girls were standing off to one side, looking Gentry James up and down as if he were a prize stallion. But otherwise, everyone had returned to whatever they’d been doing before the ruckus—and Autumn was glad.

  She was trying not to hope too hard that Gentry would agree to help her father through the winter—but how could she not hope for it? She’d been so torn between the bliss of being in Gentry’s company and the agony of knowing he would soon leave—never to be heard from again. And now—now her father was unknowingly attempting to make her dreams come true, at least through the winter.

  Autumn held her breath as Gentry glanced to her for a moment—his eyes narrowing. Then, turning back to her father, he said, “I appreciate the offer, Ransom…but I ain’t no charity case. I can make my own way, with or without my wages from the cattle drive.”

  Autumn’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach with a thud. He wouldn’t stay. His pride was too wounded—more wounded than his body, it seemed.

  “Oh, I know that, son,” Ransom said, however. “But I really need the help. And I think you could use some healin’ up.”

  Autumn saw her Uncle Dan lean in toward Gentry then. “Ransom Lake don’t give a compliment he don’t mean, young feller,” he said quietly. “And I can tell you, without his sons to help out this year…well, I can give a hand, but I ain’t as young as I once was.” Uncle Dan paused, glanced to Autumn, and winked. “And you wouldn’t want to see poor little Autumn here, aluggin’ those big ol’ pumpkins to the wagons and boxcars all by her lonesome, now would ya? Or her mama? Harvestin’ pumpkins is hard work, you know.”

  “I’m not just bein’ charitable, Gentry,” Ransom said. “I need the help. Come spring you can go off cowboyin’ at whatever ranch will have you. But I’d sure appreciate the help ’til then.”

  “Well,” Gentry mumbled. Autumn bit her lip—held her breath—praying he would accept her father’s offer and stay on through the winter. Gentry looked to Doctor Sullivan. “Doc…you really think I need some more time?”

  Doctor Sullivan smiled and nodded. “I’m figurin’ if you’d been up to your healed self, them Wimber boys wouldn’t have been breathin’ by the time Ransom arrived. So, yes…I do think you need some more time before you go gallopin’ off somewheres else.”

  Gentry looked to Autumn then. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just didn’t have all my strength about me. I can’t believe they kicked me around like a rag doll.”

  “Boy! Are you blind?” Aunt Myra exclaimed then. “I seen the whole thing through the window of the general store across the way. You mighta killed Riley Wimber if you weren’t so shot up! Don’t you be belittlin’ what you done for my Autumn princess,” she said, putting an arm around Autumn’s shoulders. “And you get in that wagon with Ransom and Autumn, and you head out to their place so Vaden can fatten you up a bit. Ransom needs the help. Autumn and Vaden help Dan and me in the store so much these days that it leaves Ransom to do all by himself what he used to have four men do. So you gather up your things from Doc Sullivan’s and head on out with Ransom and Autumn.” Autumn smiled as she watc
hed her Aunt Myra untie her apron and hand it to her Uncle Dan. “As for me, I’m on my way over to have me a little visit with Rachel Wimber. Vaughn’s probably rollin’ in the grave at what his grandsons did today!”

  “Now, Myra,” Dan warned as his wife straightened her skirt and began marching toward the Wimber place, “you hold your tongue, woman! And I don’t wanna hear about no cat fightin’!”

  Aunt Myra waved in a gesture that she would behave, and Uncle Dan chuckled. “Well, Rachel Wimber’s in for it now.”

  “You comin’, son?” Ransom asked Gentry.

  Gentry looked to Autumn. She could see his damaged pride—his uncertainty.

  Smiling, she said, “Mama’s making apple crisp tonight, Mr. James,” she said, hoping to lure him. “And there’s plenty of cider for supper…and warm bread, fresh from the oven…sweet butter and plum preserves too.”

  Gentry’s mouth began to water at the thought of such good food. He hadn’t had warm bread for a coon’s age. And plum preserves? He figured he’d never had them—and if he had, he didn’t know it. But even more tempting than the good food waiting at the Lake place was the chance to see Autumn Lake one last time before he rode on. She did something to him. She made him want to see a ghost riding out through a cornfield. She made him want to go hunting for acorns, to sit outside under the harvest moon and listen to the crickets chirping good-bye to summer. Most of all, she made him feel alive in a way he’d never felt alive before.

  He wondered for a moment if she were real. He wondered if maybe he really had died when those rustlers had shot him up—and Autumn Lake was just a part of heaven somehow. Yet the renewed pain in his leg and shoulder reminded him that he wasn’t dead. And that meant the girl was real and living—warm and beautiful—and probably tasted just like all those delicious apple things her mother made.