Eye for an Eye

by Mark C. Jackson

  “Biscuits?”

  Jonathan slumps at the fire, motionless. I sit across from him, his face lowered into a deep shadow. I cannot see his eyes.

  Only his mouth moves.

  “Biscuits?”

  I see no biscuits on the fire but I smell them and am as hungry as I have ever been in my life.

  Around us the forest is light, every leaf shimmers a brilliant green. Katydids sing. White-skin ancestors, ghosts in old, foreign clothes, stand among trees, murmuring words I do not understand. A young man kneels in silence wearing a gold cross around his neck.

  “Biscuits?”

  Jonathan stands, wearing a war shirt, breach clout, and bear claw necklace. Two black scalps hang loose off a coup ring. They flutter in a slight breeze. At his waist, a tomahawk and knife are tucked into a deerskin wrap. His face is painted red for victory.

  He holds a pan out over the fire.

  “Biscuits?”

  I slowly shake my head.

  “Zeb, I do believe it’s the first ya ever refused ’em.”

  My brother smiles, turns, and with fireflies dancing through the air before him, disappears into the forest.

  CHAPTER 7

  The morning sun shone through an open doorway, cutting in half the shadow that lay across the bed. I sat up and leaned against the hand-hewn wall of the log cabin. Outside, someone chopped wood and by the sound of the light cut then double split, I knew the young woman swung the axe. Her name was Anna, the daughter of Doctor Joseph Keynes. They were my saviors.

  I reached down and stroked the dog beside the bed. A young terrier with some coyote in him, his name was Rascal and he had stayed with me since the day I was found. Two weeks after the bushwhacking my shoulder was healing, with the wound almost closed and less infected. The swelling on my head had lessened and begun scarring though a small cut had been left open to allow for draining. I was given a bottle to ease all my pains but chose to be sparing as not to dull my thinking.

  A fire burned low in the fireplace with raccoon stew slow cooking in a Dutch oven. I was not partial to eating raccoon nor did I like the sweet smell but my strength was returning and needed nourishment. I would certainly not turn it away. The day before, the other dog, an old beagle named Juber, had run a mother and one of her young up a tree not too far from the cabin. The doctor shot them down, gutted, skinned, and quartered both raccoons. He scraped the skins clean, stretched them around wood frames, and set them outside to dry in the sun. Though he was maybe in his fifties, he did not struggle. Each movement of his hands was deliberate and exact. Watching him work reminded me of Jonathan and the care he took working our furs.

  As I regained my mental sharpness, little had passed between the doctor and me. We had not talked much about what happened, about why I was left for dead. I did not raise the fact that their cabin was certainly within earshot of our camp. Though I was grateful for their kindness, I often wondered why they took so long finding my brother and me.

  The chopping stopped and Anna appeared at the door. With her curly, blonde hair tied back, slight freckles showed across her forehead, cheeks, and nose. Tiny beads of sweat moistened her upper lip. Her blue eyes lit up bright when she saw I was awake and she walked on into the cabin. Those last two weeks I had grown extremely fond of her, though I tried not to show it so much. Other than her father, I seemed to be the first man in a while to draw all of her attention.

  “You must be hungry, Mr. Creed! I have huckleberry jam and butter with hot biscuits. When you’re back from the privy, I’ll have you a plate.” She smiled and bent to tend the fire. With a white smock belted at her waist, black work pants hung loose on her hips, making her look younger than nineteen. She turned back and smiled again, knowing I would still be watching her.

  “Papa’s gone to Boonville to do some doctoring, should be back ’fore dark.” She paused. “Maybe today’s the day to go and see your brother? I know you’re still hurting an’ all, but I can help you.”

  She turned away again and I got myself dressed. The smock and deerskin pants I was told had been burned as they were covered in blood. With all my other belongings stolen, I wore traditional long pants and a button-down shirt. Once in fashion back east, they were the doctor’s old clothes. Though they fit well, I did not feel comfortable wearing them.

  The privy was around back of the cabin behind a small shed and a corral overgrown with thorn brush. I sat in darkness and wondered if I was ready to see Jonathan. Before, when asked if I wanted to go to his grave, I refused. I had not lost my ability to walk. I had lost my nerve and losing one’s nerve was like dying.

  Anna came to check on me, as she did every morning. “You still alive in there or you fall down the hole?” She laughed as I answered no. “Well then, your breakfast is getting cold. But you take your time, hear?” Through a narrow gap in the sideboards, I saw her stand very still with her head cocked a bit, as if she was listening for my thoughts. She slowly walked away.

  I sat for a long while staring through the boards down the empty path, past the thorn brush and on to the cabin. I go back to the mountains and no one need ever know the truth of how Jonathan died, keeping my shame buried deep. I head on down the river to find the two bastards and kill them. Maybe, I live out my days on the Lower Missouri with Anna.

  It was a simple decision with lasting consequences.

  I finished my duties and strolled back to the cabin, my wounds hurting a little less than the morning before. The hint of cedar smoke drifting through the trees guided me back to Anna. “Reckon I’m ready to go an’ see my brother’s grave,” I announced, walking through the cabin door to sit down for breakfast. She smiled and for once did not say a thing.

  Juber ran ahead chasing rabbits and raccoons, real or imagined. Rascal stayed by my side and quiet. Anna talked, her voice dancing ahead of us on the trail. It seemed I was not to get a word in edgewise. No matter, her chatter eased the increasing pain in my shoulder and dizziness from the heat of the mid-afternoon sun.

  We came up a rise to look out over a wide, horseshoe bend of the Missouri River. Cotton clouds sailed through a piercing blue sky, drawing shadows across the land. Several barges and boats, black specks on the water, plied their way up and down the great river. To the north, below Arrow Rock, the creek Jonathan and I traveled up cut through a thin forest connecting the two sides of the horseshoe creating Jameson Island. From where Anna and I stood, the marked trail dropped down a brushy slope and disappeared into the trees. Gazing out across the forest, creek, and trail, I realized how vulnerable we had been, in plain sight to anyone coming and going, by boat or by foot. Jonathan and I were bushwhacked in true fashion and by our own fault.

  I followed Anna down the trail with slow, deliberate steps, not wanting to show my weakness. Looking back, she stopped and let me catch her. By noon in late summer, the Missouri forest was hot and sultry and I was sweating like an old mule. I could go no farther and sat down.

  Anna kneeled next to me. “You take your sweet time, Zebadiah Creed. Even if night comes along, I can find us a way back. I’ve grown up in this country and I know every rock and tree and bush, even in the dark.” She gave me water from a bladder bag then brushed the hair out of my eyes. “I know it’s hard coming here. But you must, for yourself and for your brother’s sake.” I winced as she laid her hand on my wounded shoulder. “And for the men who did this to you.” With her arm around my waist, she helped me to stand and we walked on.

  The smell of mint filled the air and the back of my throat became sickly dry. We took a turn off the trail. With the clearing and creek beyond, there stood the dogwood tree where Jonathan and I were tied up. Bloodstains covered the brown bark. At the other end of the clearing, near the cold ashes of our fire, two graves lay side by side.

  “Papa used to bring me fishing here,” Anna paused, glancing at the banks of the creek and clearing, then over to the graves. “A long time ago.”

  “Which one’s which?”

  “Your brother
’s on the left. When we buried them, we didn’t know their names. Still don’t know the fellow we found over yonder in the trees. Poor man, you know his face and all. Then the critters must have gotten to him. Or the dogs . . .”

  “Jeffery, his name was Jeffery. Jonathan killed him with his tomahawk, after Jeffery’s gun misfired.” I could hardly talk. Rascal was by my side and with a whimper began nuzzling my shaking hand.

  Anna took my other hand. Her long, slender fingers and palm felt dry, cool, comfortable, and strong.

  “Did you want to say something, a prayer maybe?”

  I closed my eyes and began to sing, softly, under my breath. A song I had not sung for many years, since my mother’s death. I thought I had forgotten the words, forgotten the Indian in me, the way of the warrior. I raised both my arms up to the sky and sang aloud.

  Letting go of Anna’s hand, I began to dance. Rascal barked and raced around me as I slowly circled both graves, picking up fistfuls of dirt and tossing them into the air. Puffs of dust swirled around me, with more dust stirred up by my dancing. Anna stepped back and watched me with a look of wonder. Faster and faster I danced, spinning in tight circles, not so much singing as crying my song, Jonathan’s song, of pain and love, death and forgiveness.

  I collapsed to the ground in a pouring sweat and lay there for a long while, staring up at the blue sky and passing clouds of the late afternoon. A cool breeze rustled through the branches and leaves of the bloodstained dogwood. Katydids began to sing.

  The day will move past into the evening and onto tomorrow. Whether or not I rise from this ground and walk on, these dead men will lay buried here forever.

  Rascal gently licked my face. Anna stayed her distance. I rubbed my eyes and blinked away the last of my tears.

  Anna spoke, “Oh, heavenly Father, bless this man and shine new light o’er his pain and loss. Bless his brother and lead him safely to your side in Heaven.” She paused and opened her eyes, then closed them quick. “And if you see fit, forgive the men that did these deeds for though they are sinners, they are men with hearts.” Through tears, she looked at me with sadness a woman so young should not know.

  I could not bring myself to repeat her amen.

  CHAPTER 8

  Juber busted out of the brush, a gray fox racing ahead of his howls. We were over the rise traveling the trail south, taking our time to leave Arrow Rock in shade and the early dark of the lower forest behind. Rascal ran the fox back into the brush. Juber followed with another howl and would have chased the fox all night had Anna not whistled sharply. Both dogs came to a halt and sat down where they were.

  “You handle them well.”

  “They know they’re dogs.”

  She poured water from the bladder bag into my cupped hands so they could drink. In the waning light, I caught her smile.

  Anna and I walked on a ways, up another rise, and stood out in the open facing west. The fiery sun touched distant hills on the horizon and the last hint of day was gone.

  “Red skies at night,” I murmured.

  “Bring a sailor’s delight! How do you know this?”

  “Something from my childhood, I suppose.”

  One by one, the evening stars showed themselves to us. Anna moved close and took my hand. In the deepening twilight, her eyes shone. I felt a stirring I had not felt in a long while, a strong sense of warmth and trust. Something I sensed earlier, as I lay dying. She caressed me with her healing touch and comforted me through the grief from losing my brother.

  She eased closer, hesitating, waiting for me.

  I let go of her hand. With her arms around my waist, she gently laid her head upon my chest and let out a deep sigh.

  I ran my fingers through her curls and kissed the top of her head. Brushing a cheek with my fingertips, I found tears.

  “When I first saw you, I thought you dead. We brought you up to the cabin, and you were so bad off. I prayed and prayed that you would live. Then, taking care of you these last weeks and helping you to heal . . .”

  We held each other, silent except for our breathing. She noticed me glance up to a glorious sky and broke our embrace.

  “No moon tonight.” Anna whispered, “The stars will see us home.”

  The cabin was dark and the door shut, as we had left it. The raccoon stew still simmered above hot coals. Anna lit two tallow candles and rekindled the fire. With the sweet smell still in the air, I opened the door wide and stepped back out on the porch. The song of the katydids had followed us up from the creek, singing clear and loud.

  I fed both dogs dried deer meat and took a piece for myself then fetched fresh water from the well. Exhausted, I sat down at the table and watched her prepare our supper. She looked up from the pot and smiled then laid out three bowls and cups.

  “Papa should have been home by now,” she said with a frown and ladled her and me stew, keeping her father’s bowl empty. “He’s done this before you know, leaving me here alone at night while he’s ministering.”

  “I thought he was a doctor.”

  “He is but he also does a little preaching on the side.”

  I took a bite of the stew. It was hot and tasted good. “I haven’t had raccoon like this.”

  “Secret’s leaving it simmer all day long then scraping the grease off the top and adding onions and rosemary. I learned to cook when we lived in Baltimore, on the Chesapeake. Oh my, I forgot your favorite.” She went to the fire, fetched warm biscuits from the morning, and placed them between us.

  We ate in silence, with both of us sending glances across the table. When we finished, Anna gathered up my empty bowl and cup in one hand, and with the other stroked my hair and beard.

  “Second helping?”

  I shook my head. She placed the dishes into the cleaning pot then shooed both dogs outside to the porch and shut the door.

  “Your sore head is healing quite nice. How’s your shoulder feel?”

  I raised my arm and rotated it some. The dull ache where the ball had been removed, I feared, would never go away.

  “Healin’ up quite nice. Your touch is magic, my dear Anna.”

  With a deep blush, she smiled. “I’ll get Papa’s dogwood salve.” She went to a shelf covered with various jars and pulled one from the back. “This is from the tree we saw today, by the creek, the only one of its kind for miles. The bark stimulates your skin to leave less of a scar. Now, Mr. Creed, if you will please remove your shirt?”

  Anna set the jar on the table, sat down, and pushed a chair up to face me. I hesitated. She reached over and unbuttoned the top button.

  “This is no time to be modest.” She continued unbuttoning until the shirt hung open.

  “Your Papa’s been awful good to me, no?”

  “Zebadiah, I am the daughter of a doctor and am obliged to help you heal same as him. He doesn’t need to be here for this. Besides, him being this late, he won’t be back ’til morning.”

  She stood and from behind, placed her arms around my neck and reached down. I leaned forward. She slowly removed my shirt, her fingertips barely caressing the skin of my chest and back.

  “I will wash this tomorrow, along with those pants.” She paused and looked me up and down. “And you’re getting a bath!”

  Though I was given one a few days after my arrival, it seemed I had not bathed in months.

  I sat still as Anna touched a finger to the dark concoction and dabbed it onto my shoulder wound. My skin tingled then began to burn. I smelled the tree I had been tied to. It felt as if my bare skin lay against its rough, bloodstained bark. Then warmth began to spread, from my shoulder down through my arm. She leaned in and gently dabbed my left cheek.

  “Why the cut on your face? It’s as if he marked you for some reason.”

  “Don’t know. But when we meet again, I’ll do the same to him.”

  “Shhh, Zebadiah, no talk of that now. You are safe with me.” She dabbed the side of my head, her hand shaking ever so slightly. Soon my face and even my hair b
urned.

  Anna laughed and wiped her hands on a towel and with another wiped the wounds clean of salve. “Earlier you could not handle this. Now this will heal you. It’s too late for the other scars on your chest I’m afraid, someday you must tell me of them.”

  I placed my hand on her cheek and kissed her forehead.

  “Someday . . .”

  I felt in her a longing, through to her innocent soul. Truth bared naked. I closed my eyes and we kissed.

  Deep, we kissed. With a brush of her breast against my hand and the touch of our knees slipped up between each other’s legs, I leaned into Anna with a passion. She trembled and pulled away to catch her breath. Flush with excitement, she looked down at my britches and smiled. I drew her in and we stood, holding each other, pressed close; feeling our bodies as a man and a woman. We kissed again, long and hard.

  I stopped and tried to back away. She frowned and moved closer, caressing my old scars, tracing them with her fingers. I brushed curls from her shadowed face. She stared up at me as if she were dreaming. We held each other for a long while, until the fire burned down and the flames of the tallow candles flickered low. Not one word was spoken and not one tear was shed.

  Anna slowly undressed and eased into her sleeping gown as she did every evening, this time making sure I saw her bare breasts, the flatness of her stomach. Without looking my way, she climbed into her bed.

  I let the dogs back in, undressed, and climbed into my bed.

  As we lay in the dark, with only the coals of the fire glowing and our breathing heard, she whispered from across the room, “ ’Night, Zebadiah Creed.”

  “ ’Night to you, Anna, goodnight, my dear.”

  “Zebadiah?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Come lie with me?” Her breathing stopped.

  I stared up into shadowed crossbeams that held the cabin together. Rascal lay asleep at my feet.

  “It ain’t right yet.”

  Anna sighed, as if relieved. Soon her breathing was shallow and steady.

  Twice I stood beside her bed watching her sleep, wanting desperately to touch her, to lie with her, and did nothing.