The Darkest Blue

by Hildie McQueen

  “True.” Grayson pulled his mount to a stop. “There he is.” He pointed off to the west. “Looks to be fine.” Grayson pulled his horse around and galloped in the opposite direction toward his home.

  Ashley maintained a steady but slow pace, not in a hurry to return home it seemed. Bronson looked for any sign of injury or anger.

  Had he been to see Grace? From what Bronson could tell, Ashley didn’t look any different. Eyes straight ahead, scowl in place. Same ol’ Ash.

  Bronson thought about Grace Dawson. The only reason she remained single was that her father, Sheriff Dawson, was overprotective and scared away anyone that even dared look at his beautiful daughter. Like his mother had said, she was spirited and bright. He’d enjoyed any conversation they’d had when crossing paths over the years. Yes, she’d make a fine match for his brother.

  He was glad for Ashley if the woman retuned his feelings. But at the same time, it was major cause for worry. After all, Sheriff Dawson had arrested Ashley several times over the years for nothing more than suspicions and would not hesitate to find any reason to do so again if he found out Ashley was courting his daughter.

  Ashley drew closer and didn’t slow the wagon, continuing towards their home. His dark blue eyes narrowed at Bronson when he pulled alongside. “Did Ma send you to come find me?”

  “Nope, not yet anyway. Came of my own accord. I needed fresh air. Been in the books all afternoon.” Bronson took a deep breath. “We did well on the last cattle drive. I’ll be depositing everyone’s share in the bank in a couple days.”

  Ashley’s shoulders lowered. “That’s good to hear.”

  “When you moving into the house you built?”

  “I’m not sure, two weeks, maybe,” Ashley replied and reined the horses to a slower gait. “I’m gonna tell Ma tonight that I’m moving in a couple weeks and let her get used to the idea.”

  “She’ll accept it. Especially with you courting and all.”

  “I’m not courting. Don’t know what Grace is thinkin’. I’m going to live alone in the house. Whatever this is with Grace can only be temporary.” His shoulders rounded. “She deserves better.”

  “Yeah, well, I heard you kissed her.” Bronson grinned at his brother’s coloring. “Sounds like courtin’ to me.”

  “Once Miles Dawson gets wind, he’s coming after me with guns blazing.” Ashley shook his head. “If I was even a bit smarter, I’d find a way out of taking her to the fair on Saturday.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. He won’t kill you. At least, I don’t think he will.” Bronson laughed when Ashley gave him an incredulous look. “Give it a chance, Ash. It may not be as bad as all that.”

  Ashley shrugged. “She’s wasting her time.”

  “Why? When are you going to let go of the past? Move forward and plan a future. How long are you going to hold on to whatever it is haunting you?”

  “Sometimes the past refuses to let go. Believe me, if I could, I would. Ain’t no use in planning a future when the past keeps rearing its ugly head.”

  Bronson allowed for a brief respite in the conversation. They rode for a few minutes in silence, the sun falling into the horizon behind them. Twilight brought new sounds and cooler air. The songs of crickets played around them. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Sometimes I think the situation is beyond help and the best thing would be for me to go far away. With the money from this drive I could travel, maybe seeing other things would help.”

  “You can’t run away from yourself or the past that haunts you, brother.”

  “True. That’s what keeps me from leaving. What makes me want to finally stop backing down and face this once and for all.” Ashley’s tormented gaze met Bronson’s. “You know what, brother? You may be able to help me. Come to the bunkhouse after supper, we’ll talk.”

  *****

  “It makes little sense for you to move into a house all alone. At least in the bunkhouse you are just a quick walk away. No, I won’t allow it.” Elizabeth Cole frowned at Ashley, blinking her shiny eyes. His father reached for his wife’s hand, as her tears threatened to spill. “Sweetheart, Ashley is thirty-two years old. It’s only natural he wants to be independent. You can’t forbid it, as he’s not asking permission. He’s letting us know.”

  Of all the brothers, Ashley knew it would be hardest for his mother to let him go. Although she loved her sons equally, they had a special bond. He and his mother spent many evening alone together, just sitting in a quiet silence, sharing time. He’d miss her, would miss their closeness.

  Yes, he was her favorite and he expected a fight from her. The burden of being her favorite. It was to the point that everyone, his father included, tolerated it. Ashley stood and went around the table and hugged his mother. “Ma, I’m still on Cole lands. Plan to come for dinner as often as I do now.”

  “But why the hurry? Can’t you wait until things are more settled between you and Grace?”

  The muscle in his jaw tightened at the mention of Grace’s name. “There is nothing between us, Ma.”

  “Maybe not yet. But the girl has stars in her eyes when she looks at you.” His mother cupped his cheek. “It’s obvious she’s infatuated.”

  He looked into his mother’s eyes doing his best to ignore the pleading. “Ma, I want your permission to go, but if you don’t grant it, I’m moving anyway. It’s time.”

  Her gaze slid to his father for an instant. “You’re right, I’m being silly.” She patted his jaw. “I love you so much, my darling boy.”

  It was entertaining to see the twins perform synchronized eye rolls at his mother’s attentions to him. “You are my sunshine,” she whispered. He winked at them over her shoulder when she hugged him and the twins gave each other incredulous looks.

  “Ma, you barely blinked when I moved out.” Grayson pulled a hand through his hair. “As a matter of fact, I think you half kicked my behind out the door.”

  “It was time for you to move out, Grayson. You were running wild and it was a good thing Nora came into your life and helped settle you down. Besides, I loved Nora instantly and knew she would take good care of you.”

  Elizabeth smiled at Nora who reached for Grayson’s hand. “I know your mother was sad to see you go, nonetheless.”

  “Yes, I was. Just as I am going to be sad when my last baby leaves the nest.” She directed a soft look at Bronson. “I’m not sure, but I may just have to keep you.”

  Bronson let out a breath. “May not be a choice, Ma. All the women left in Alder Gulch are married, eighty, or twelve.”

  “Goodness Bronson, the things you say.” Their mother laughed. “There’s one for you, I’m sure.”

  After dinner and a couple hours of family conversation, Ashley was finally able to leave and head to the bunkhouse. He waited for Bronson on the porch while his father played on the guitar, both sitting in comfortable companionship with only the strums of the music between them. When his brother came outside, Hank Cole directed a questioning look at them.

  “If you two are planning to fight again, I’m not breaking you up this time.”

  Ashley frowned at Bronson. It was true they fought more than got along. But he loved his brother and would never hesitate to stand up for Bronson. It was strange how things changed. Now, he was considering sharing a part of his life with him no one else in the family was aware of. “Nah, Pa, Bronson is coming to the bunkhouse to have a drink of whiskey with me.”

  “Don’t let your mother see you drunk.” His father looked to Bronson, whose eyebrows hitched. “If you drink too much, stay in the bunkhouse until tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bronson went down the stairs and they fell into step. Once they were out of earshot, Bronson looked at Ashley. “Why’d you say I was drinkin’? Now he’s going to smell my breath tomorrow and give me the ‘don’t drink more than you can handle’ lecture.”

  “Good, then it’ll keep you from running your mouth about what I’m telling you tonight.”

 
Bronson became somber. “How bad is it, Ash?”

  Ashley’s reply was a deep sigh.

  “Dang it. It’s bad.”

  They arrived in the bunkhouse and then, as if in accord, without speaking, grabbed old blankets and wrapped them around their shoulders. They went outside and sat on two weathered stools. Ashley poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to Bronson. “Drink, you’ll need it. Hell, I do if I’m going to talk about this.”

  Ashley swallowed the liquid in one gulp and refilled his glass and looked towards the family home. “Grayson almost fainted when he drank some a few weeks back. It was funny. He barely made it past one drink and began to slur his words and stumble.”

  “He’s never been much of a drinker.” Bronson chuckled and took a swallow.

  Ashley watched his younger brother drink his whiskey and hold out his glass for a refill. “Give me one to nurse while I listen.”

  After looking up to the starry sky for fortification, Ashley took a strengthening breath and opened his mouth. Instead of words, the sound of hitched breathing made Bronson’s gaze snap to him. “Take your time, Ash. I’m not judging you and it’s okay if you cry. I’m your brother, I love you. I’m here.”

  Ashley blinked back tears and inhaled past the congestion in his nose. “I am not sure I can talk about it.” An errant tear spilled and he swiped at his face with the back of his hand, glad to see Bronson kept his attention on the ground.

  His mind instantly rewound to the precise moment his life changed just over three years earlier. He took a long breath and began to speak. At first, his words were stilted by the emotions choking his throat but then it became easier.

  The stench of gunpowder and death made even the strongest retch. Cries for help echoed in his ears. Whether real or imagined he no longer could tell. Private Smith, the last one of his small platoon to remain alive, dragged himself towards Ashley and he rushed to help Smith get to cover. The sting of the bullet sinking into his flesh did not stop Ashley from grabbing the back of Smith’s shirt. Ashley fell onto the ground and crawled backward, pulling Smith from direct line of fire.

  Silence came over the field, the Indians retreated. Reinforcements came. They would live.

  Tides turned, those supposed to help them did not.

  The gunshot echoed through Ashley when Roberts shot Smith. His head lulled to the side toward them.

  “Tie up the insubordinate bastard,” Captain Ford commanded with a sneer. “Back at camp, he’ll learn to never question me again.”

  Seconds later, Ashley was flipped onto his stomach. He turned his face to the side on the heated sand. A searing pain pierced from the wounded arm when Roberts wrenched it around and bound both wrists behind his back.

  The men hoisted Ashley onto his horse. They untied his hands and looped the rope around his wrists and the horn of the saddle. Roberts ensured he was unable to move, tying a second rope around his waist and the saddle as well.

  They headed away from the battle site, all the while the tingling in Ashley’s fingers and hands turned into throbbing from the tightness of the rope at his wrists. Although his right eye was swollen shut from the fight with Roberts, Ashley fought to pry it open in an effort to track where they went.

  The motion of the horse and lack of blood made everything spin, his stomach lurching in response. God, he was going to die, here in the middle of nowhere with two men who hadn’t even bothered to bury Smith or the rest of the dead men. Ashley thought of his parents and how they’d react to his own death, if they were even contacted.

  The horse slowed and he leaned to the side to empty the contents of his stomach.

  Hours later when darkness threatened, Ashley resigned himself to the task of remaining conscious. His horse was tethered to Roberts’ and he focused on the man’s back, the hatred burning inside gave him some sense of accomplishment.

  The captain sat tall in the saddle with shoulders squared and spoke to Corporal Roberts in low tones.

  Both laughed at whatever was said and then the corporal turned to him, the unreadable flatness in his eyes made Ashley’s stomach sink.

  By the time they arrived at camp two days later, Ashley’s wrists were in shreds from the ropes, his mouth blistered and dry, and he’d given up attempting to lift his head. He was yanked from the horse and landed on his shoulder so hard he managed to groan past the parchedness of his throat.

  “Corporal Ashley Cole will be court martialed once proven guilty for causing the death of Private David Smith. I will personally complete the report regarding the murder,” Captain Ford informed the soldiers surrounding them. “Justice will be done in the senseless death of the young soldier who had a wife and child.”

  His head was lifted from the ground by the hair and Ashley could barely bring forward a sound of protest. Captain Ford’s eyes met his briefly before, once again, he spoke to the others. “He will remain a prisoner until I give the order. Tie him to a tree.” He released Ashley’s hair and his head thumped against the hard ground.

  Soldiers half dragged Ashley to a tree, punching and kicking him repeatedly along the way. “Murderer. Bastard. Traitor.” Each word was accompanied with a punishing blow. He tried to talk, tell them he was innocent, but the words ran together, more mumbles than actual speech. As they continued the assault, all strength left and he could only moan at the harder strikes until he thought he’d black out. Or die.

  Once secured to a tree, someone placed a cup of water in his hand. His left arm useless now, Ashley managed to bring the water to his mouth with his right hand and drank every drop. He held out the cup. “More, please.” The reply was a backhand across the face.

  “You’ll stay alive only because the captain says so. If you killed Smith, that’s more than you deserve.” The soldier walked away leaving him limp in the growing pool of blood, his cheek cut open by the man’s ring.

  How many days passed he did not know, the scorching sun rose followed by frigid nights, each blending into the next. Ashley stopped trying to keep track through the haze of hunger and thirst. It was all he could do to focus on breathing. On staying alive.

  Each day, it became harder to believe he was still alive. Some days, he wondered if he didn’t deserve worse for his inability to save the younger man’s life. He’d failed Smith. His friend was dead because he did not protect him. Although his finger was not on the trigger when Smith was shot, he was just as guilty. Should have fought harder, hit harder, kept from being overcome.

  Night fell and Ashley, now only secured by an ankle chain, curled into a ball in an attempt to keep warm. His only cover, a dirty sack, did little to keep him warm. He shook so hard from the cold it was impossible to sleep. When the wind picked up, piercing him, he crawled as close as he could behind the trunk of the tree, but it did little to keep the bitter cold from tearing through his thin clothing.

  “Here.” A soldier on guard duty neared and threw a tattered blanket at him. “Might as well make it through the night since Captain Ford said tomorrow’s your court martial.”

  At sunrise, Ashley sat against the tree watching the goings-on. A soldier came toward him with a plate of food and a cup of water. His first meal in three days. His mouth watered and he could not keep from staring at the man, willing him to move faster.

  He’d learned not to speak as it usually earned him punches or kicks. Most of the soldiers he’d been friends with had left after the news came they were being disbanded. Those that remained behind did so only because they had nowhere to go. They were not the same men he served with. At least not after being under Captain Ford’s influence. Only the worst of them remained. A group of men who no longer fought, but instead, led by Captain Ford, wasted their days drinking and talking of battles, not seeming to care they no longer served their country. From what he’d overheard, they were waiting for orders to disband the regiment, but until then, they remained, not wanting to venture out alone and run into Indians and the possibility of a fight.

  The soldier stood l
ooking down at him and slammed the plate onto the ground next to Ashley and dirt fell over the meager portions. Ashley didn’t care. Hunger gnawed at his guts and he needed the strength. He grabbed the food with his right hand and shoved it into his mouth while the soldier laughed. “You’re worse than a dog.”

  The soldier grabbed the plate from him and hit him across the face with it with so much force food flew out of his mouth. Ashley cradled his jaw, not able to defend himself from the kick to his gut. The meager portion he’d just eaten threatened to come up from the hard blow. He held his bound hands up toward his aggressor in a feeble attempt to defend himself from an additional beating.

  “Leave him be.” Roberts stood at a distance. He leaned on a fence and watched. He walked closer. “That’s enough.”

  The soldier wandered off and Ashley waited to see if Roberts would say something.

  Instead, the corporal walked off without a backward glance. Moments later, he returned with another plate of food. This time, the plate held more than a fair share. “Eat.”

  Roberts stood guard nearby while he gobbled the offering. When Ashley was done, Roberts picked up the empty plate and, without a word, walked away.

  Later that day, two soldiers yanked him towards a small shack. He was shoved atop a horse, tied to the saddle, and Roberts led him away from camp. Ashley panned the surroundings for a possible escape route. He needed to attempt to flee. Even if he managed to get away, how far could he get in his current condition?

  Captain Ford ordered his execution, he was sure of it. Corporal Roberts was going to kill him. There would be no court martial. The orders they’d been waiting on would come and he’d be reported dead. Captain Ford had no intention of moving on with a prisoner in tow.

  When the horses slowed, the corporal looked to Ashley. “I can’t do more for you than this.” He leaned over and freed Ashley’s wrists, his eyes were dead when meeting Ashley’s. “You didn’t kill Smith. You don’t deserve to die for it.” The corporal hit the horse with his crop, sending the animal into a trot with Ashley atop.