by Caryl McAdoo
The next afternoon as Levi directed his troupe through General Smith’s new town of Henderson to the spot where he wanted to camp, a strange thought wormed its way to the forefront.
As he, Rose, and Wallace worked at tending the stock and kindling a cook fire for Laura, he tried to dismiss the strange notion, but it wouldn’t go away.
After supper, while he and Rose gathered dead fall for the fire, the mournful wail of a fiddle floated on the cooling breeze, followed by the high tenor of a young man. He listened for a bit, then a dozen or more mixed mature voices joined in.
Rose grabbed his hand. “Come on, someone’s having church.”
He stepped back. “Go on if you want.”
She faced him. Words formed, but then realization came, and different ones were spoken. “I remember now. You and Rebecca had a big fight at that camp meeting because you wouldn’t get baptized.”
“It wasn’t a fight.”
“Maybe not, but if I’m thinking right, she seemed very upset. She was crying.”
“She cried a lot back then.”
Charley ran toward them, slid on the grass, and stopped at her leg. “Mama, they’re singing! Come on.” He grabbed her hand and tugged. “Hurry.”
She let the boy pull her away. Levi strolled back to the cook fire. Everyone left, even Wallace. Was that it? Was that why he had been acting so weird and avoiding him? Had his friend gone and found religion?
A drum joined the fiddle, and voices rose above them, both singing in unison. Levi had never heard a song like the chorus they sang; not at any church service Auntie ever dragged him to.
He eased toward the music. The closer he got, the more he liked the lively tune. Everyone clapped along with the drum beat. Without looking obvious, he took a few more steps here then a couple more there, getting closer.
Two dozen lamps hung in Henderson’s town square. Thirty or more folks stood around or sat on quilts smiling and singing and clapping while a young man sawed on a fiddle and an older man with a long snow white beard and hair beat on what looked to be a Comanche war drum.
It sounded so different from any church hymn. The same tune seemed to go on and on, not that he minded. That song ended, and the young man started another.
Levi liked that one even better. He inched closer then took another step. Looking over the folks, he spotted Rose, Laura and Wallace sitting together on a plank bench held up by a couple of stumps.
Charley, by his mother’s side, jumped to his feet and went to bobbing up and down in a small circle like he was riding a stick pony or doing some kind of war dance, except it wasn’t. Many of the standing crowd swayed together, and others did a little bounce in place.
The young man increased the tempo until he ended the song with a rapid flurry. He flung his arms into the air holding high his fiddle in one hand and bow in the other. “Bless the Lord, folks!”
“Praise the Lord!”
“Hallelujah!” Several around the square shouted praises to God.
“Amen!”
Levi retreated. He’d already heard enough preaching to last him a lifetime. He didn’t need anyone hollering at him about hell’s fire or how sharp the devil had honed his pitchfork. And definitely not that it all awaited him since that’s exactly where he was supposed to be heading. Daingerfield springs came to mind.
Wow, more than ten years ago. A preacher’s son lost at mumbley-peg and wouldn’t pay the wager. The boy’s father had attacked and embarrassed Levi calling him the cheat when his son was the lying cheat.
That had been the first time Uncle Henry took up for him. Levi snickered. And then Aunt Sue went to telling off the preacher, and Uncle had to pull her away.
He turned and walked into the shadows until the voices faded. Shame they couldn’t have sung some more songs.
It thrilled Rose when she spotted Levi at the edge of the gathering, but she hated it that he didn’t stay. That singing was some of the best she’d ever heard, and she so enjoyed hearing the message the young man shared.
She always had loved good preaching, and it had been so very long since she’d heard any. Best as she could figure, the thing to do for Levi was pray and trust the Lord with him.
One thing for certain, whatever kept him from drawing close to God couldn’t hold a candle to the Lord’s power. But like the song’s “Just As I Am” lyrics, she would take Levi just as he was. Whatever the state of his soul, if the way cleared for her, she’d embrace him in a heartbeat without any questions.
After a little too long of a prayer from the old man who’d been beating the drum, the good folks of Henderson drifted off into the night. Rose hefted Charley to her hip then headed back to camp. The white-haired drummer angled toward her. She didn’t really want to talk to the old man, she wanted to get back to Levi.
Glancing around, she spotted Wallace and Laura visiting with a middle-aged couple. Oh, well, didn’t seem to be any graceful way out.
The guy neared and smiled at Charley. He raised his eyebrows. “Evening. Your boy there; he half Comanche?”
“No, he is not. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“But you were with the people when he was born, weren’t you?” The man spoke in the Comanche tongue.
She didn’t know what to make of this guy. He seemed harmless enough, but how had he known where Charley was born? And what did it matter to him? “I prefer English if you please, and what is it to you, sir, where I was when my son was born?”
The man extended his hand toward Charley, and she turned sideways putting him out of reach. “Leave him alone.” She looked past the guy at Wallace still engaged in his conversation.
“I’m sorry.” He spoke in English. “Meant no offense or to startle you, ma’am, but I’ve been dreaming about this young man for years now.”
She didn’t know what to say. She’d heard about old men getting batty. Was he one of those guys? “You’ve been dreaming about my son? What did –”
“God has a plan for this boy. Would it be fine with you if I lay hands on him and blessed him?” He smiled. “I promise, I have no intentions to hurt him.”
Charley patted her cheek. “Let him, Mama. Him holy man.” The boy spoke in Comanche and stared at the odd fellow.
Wallace and Laura strolled her way. Well, help was coming if the guy tried something. She nodded and turned Charley back toward the man. “By all means, speak your blessings on my son.”
The man took the boy’s hand then closed his eyes. For a bit, he mumbled something in what sounded like bad Cherokee, what little she knew of that tongue.
He then opened his eyes and spoke in English. “The Lord bless you, young man. You will have a hard life, but a long life. At the end, you will choose the sweet and reject the bitter.” He smiled. “You will sing praises like the nightingale and dance like King David danced. Remember to always give God the glory. He’s jealous of His glory, Charles.”
The old fellow released Charley’s hand just as Wallace walked up. He glanced at the ranger. “Bless you, brother.” He turned and ambled away.
Wallace watched him for a second then looked at Rose. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know. He asked if he could bless Charley, said he’d been dreaming about him for a long time.”
Her son held up his finger at his partner. “Me know, Sarge.”
She laughed a little. “Oh, you do?” She leaned back so she could see his face. “What?”
“Him liked me dance.”
She laughed a lot this time. “I do, too.” She carried him back to camp and put him in the wagon then followed him in. Levi wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but she knew he was out there somewhere standing guard. While she waited for sleep, she played and replayed the old man’s words.
Most of it seemed harmless. Who didn’t have a hard life? And of course, everyone would choose the sweet over the bitter. He’d seen the boy dance. But how did he know Charley’s name or that she lived with the people when he was born?
&nb
sp; Maybe she should write it down while it was still fresh on her mind. She yawned and stretched her arms. Charley yawned after her and snuggled in.
It was a mystery. She dozed off contemplating its purpose.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
A bit before Levi figured he should, Wallace rolled from under the wagon, drew his buffalo robe tight, and moseyed out toward him like he didn’t have a care in the world. Halfway, he whistled softly over the frogs’ and crickets’ chorus. Levi returned the all clear.
“Anything?”
“No.”
Leaning against the pine tree, Wallace started the slow sweep, the method Henry had taught Levi then he’d passed on to his best friend so many years before. Levi scooted over and stared at him by the light of the almost full moon. He didn’t really look different, but sure had been acting different.
“I need to know something.”
Wallace didn’t look at him. “What’s that?”
“Can I still count on you in a fight?”
“What?” He faced him. “Why would you ask something stupid like that?”
“Didn’t you just find God?”
Wallace smiled. “Yes, I did, but that doesn’t change things. I’ve still got your back. Always.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And if you need to plug some hombre, you’ll not hesitate to pull the trigger?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Thou-shall-not-kill is one of the big ones.”
“I read about that, but I also read about God telling Moses to wipe out all the pagan sinners in the Promise Land, every man, woman, and child. He’s a tough old guy.” Wallace shrugged. “I figure Texas is our Promise Land, and the Lord knows we’ve got a passel of pagans running around.”
Levi stood. “Promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“If that ever changes, I want to be the first to know.”
Wallace jumped to his feet. It seemed his eyes glistened, and he looked like he wanted to hug him or something. “Partner, I’ll always have your back, no matter what.”
“Good.” He wanted to say more, but didn’t want Wallace to get mushy or preachy on him. He backed away a step, turned, and retreated to the wagon.
Charley slipped from his dream into the neither, snuggled in closer to his mother then returned to the place he was before. But now he rode Shooter instead of his filly, and the white-haired holy man galloped beside him. The grey stallion ate the prairie in long thundering strides and the holy man rode the black mustang.
The old man looked at him and smiled. “Charles Nightengale, good name for a great man. See you on the other side, Charley.” He saluted as the black changed into a great eagle that flew toward the clouds. The man turned and waved once before he disappeared into the night.
Charley sat up and held his hands out. “Come back.”
His mother raised her head. “What is it?”
“The holy man. Me and him ride fast on the prairie.” He rubbed his eyes. “The black mustang turn into eagle and him gone.”
She sat up and hugged him. “It was just a dream, lie back and tell me all about it.”
He let her pull him in tight. She tucked the buffalo robe around him. “Him say, ‘Charles Nightengale a good name for a great man.’”
“Well, he’s right; you are going to be a great man.”
“Then him say, ‘See you on the other side, Charley.’”
“Other side of what?”
“Don’t know. Me want talk, but he flew away on eagle.” He twisted her hair around his finger. “Me say, ‘Come back.’ Him not come.”
Rose held Charley close until his breathing slowed, and he relaxed. She shouldn’t have let that old man put his hands on her baby. Him beating on that war drum should have tipped her off. Probably some kind of shaman.
Why would he claim to have dreamed about her boy for years? Well, her son would definitely have a great example if everything ever worked out with her and Levi.
She tried to find sleep again, but after a while, got tired of trying and dismissed the effort. She eased away from Charley and slipped out. Pulling her shawl tight against the chill, she went to work on building the fire. Soon, a right nice one blazed, and a pot of coffee brewed.
Levi rolled out from under the wagon. “Couldn’t go back to sleep after Charley’s night horse, either?”
“Did you hear?”
“I heard him holler ‘come back’ plain enough. The rest, only a word or two.”
While the coffee made, she told him about the old man and all that he’d said then about Charley’s dream. She found the cups and retrieved two, poured them full. Gave one to Levi. “What do you think it means?”
He sipped once. “Kids have bad dreams. I never figured they mean anything, but what do I know?”
A lot, she thought, but didn’t say anymore about the dream or vision or whatever it was. Maybe Charley wouldn’t even remember it. She sat down next to Levi and leaned against his arm.
Halfway through her coffee, she nudged him. “They’re having another service this morning; hopefully, we can be gone before they start gathering.”
He laughed. “Don’t want to give the old boy another shot at Charley, huh?”
She bumped harder, but didn’t respond verbally. Of course, she didn’t want that scary old man around her baby. “He reminded me a lot of a shaman who lived on the other side of the Rio Bravo up in the mountains. Bold Eagle took us to see him a few times.”
She swallowed hard at the memory. “First time was early on. I was big and pregnant with Charley, but I’d picked up enough Comanche to understand pretty well what everyone said.”
She pressed in close. “The holy man was fascinated with my hair. He kept rubbing my head. After a while, he put his hand on my belly. His eyes glazed over, and he went to jabbering. I slapped him.” She tried to shake away the scene from her mind’s eye. “I thought Bold Eagle would kill me, but the shaman stopped him.”
Levi waited for the rest of the story, but she didn’t finish. “What did the guy say that made you slap him?”
She tossed her dregs toward the fire. “He said my baby was a devil.”
Levi laughed. “Well, he’s a little wild man, but I wouldn’t call him a devil.” She leaned in harder. He loved her being so close, and would love it all the more when he knew for sure she would be his permanently. “Did he say anything else?”
“Said I was worth many ponies, and that Bold Eagle shouldn’t kill me, that the chief would be walking the spirit world when my baby boy counted much coup.”
Levi wanted to put his arm around her, hug her tight and tell her everything would be fine with her and Charley, but that might lead to more than he or she was prepared to handle.
Besides, he learned a long time ago not to promise something he couldn’t deliver. Or could he? No one would have to know.
What was one more dead man? Hell wouldn’t be any hotter if he were to take care of Nightengale himself. He shook that thought away. He’d not curse himself or Rose by killing an innocent man.
Laura stuck her head out of the back of the wagon. “Hey, look who done beat the roosters up.”
Wallace strolled in leading the off mule. “Morning, folks, best get a move on. Grass will be growing under our feet in no time.”
While the girl fixed breakfast and Rose saw to the rest of the ladies’ chores, Levi helped Wallace with the stock. Before any of the church folks showed, his little troupe cleared the town center. A mile or so out, a small group of settlers milled outside of a rough-hewn cabin. As Levi rode past, the young fiddler from the night before spotted him and trotted toward him.
Levi reined in Shooter. “Can I help you?”
“No, sir.” He stuck out a piece of paper. “My grandfather wanted me to give this to you.”
Levi held his palm out. “Tell him thanks, but no thanks.”
“Sorry, sir, but I can’t tell
him anything. He died in the night. Yours’ was the last note he wrote.” He stepped closer and held it toward him a bit higher this time.
“Sorry for you loss, son.” Levi took it, folded it, and stuck it in his inside pocket with the flyers. “Enjoyed your fiddling last night.”
He backed away. “Thank you, sir, and bless you.”
As the day before, Wallace drove the wagon, and Rose and Charley rode with Levi, except the boy kept the filly doing double the distance of Shooter and Wallace’s gelding.
Chatting away about everything except what had just happened, she not once asked about the note. Had to have seen the young man give it to him. Nor did she mention Charley’s dream again.
He didn’t know what to think about any of it. His Aunt Sue might. Shame he was agnostic and not a died-in-the-wool atheist, then he could disavow it all. With what had been happening, he might not be able to ride the fence much longer.
After several miles of mulling the unanswerable question as to the reality of a creator, he decided to put the debate on hold.
High noon brought a short break for dinner, and as soon as he got Charley in his guard spot looking out for little Lacey, Levi nodded Wallace to the far side of a pine he’d stopped by.
His friend glanced around. “What is it? You see something?”
Levi smiled. “No, nothing like that. Only wondering how Laura and Lacey were holding up.”
“They’re doing fine, good. All the baby does is eat and sleep, and Laura claims she’s good as gold.”
“Excellent. We’ve made better than fifteen miles so far today. If we can keep it up and don’t take the ferry, we could be sticking our feet under Aunt Sue’s dinner table for some Thanksgiving turkey.” He shrugged. “She makes the best dressing this side of the Mississip.”
“How about pumpkin pie?”
“That, too.”
Wallace looked away, moved his mouth like doing some mental math. “Sounds good to me, but are you sure we’re that close?”