It was early, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon and he slipped out past the campfires and through the small entrance to the outer chamber. He knelt near one of the pits and stared into it. The sections were neatly marked and he could see that one of the pits held a small skeleton. Next to it was a spear and what appeared to be the remains of woven grass moccasins. He stared at the hole and tried to forget the dream.
A few minutes later, Madge’s bony hand on his shoulder caused him to flinch. Jacob had stopped crying; perhaps he had been lulled back to sleep.
“Mind’se, you are troubled by your dreams. A burden shared can be a burden halved. Will you share with me what yours is?”
David fought the tears welling up inside him. “It was just a dream.” He wiped at his eyes with the back of his shirt. It smelled and was stiff with dirt. He needed to wash it soon.
“It was more than a dream, Mind’se, it was about what happened at the farmhouse and how Erin died, wasn’t it?”
The old woman was persistent. She had watched David for weeks and knew that whatever had happened in that farmhouse was eating at him. He pushed himself so hard, helping out wherever needed and sinking into his cot each night exhausted from work that would have tired a full-grown man. It was as if he were trying to atone for something.
“I...yes...I.” He couldn’t even put the words to it, “It was my fault. Erin died and it was my fault.”
Madge sighed and tugged at him until he turned and faced her. She met his eyes with her soft brown, liquid ones, “Do you trust me?”
“Uh, yeah, I mean, I guess so.”
Her face was solemn, “Tell me what happened and I will tell you the truth of it. If you were responsible, then you must unburden yourself Mind’se. Do you trust me to be objective, to tell you honestly what I think?”
He had held it in his heart for far too long and it came spilling out then, the memory of that afternoon tearing from him in great gasps of pain and guilt.
“I wanted to explore the farmhouse. I had done it dozens of times in town, there in Clinton. I’d seen bodies, even found some houses where people were living and they’d just told me to go away or given me a can of food and told me to not come back. We were in the middle of nowhere, so I figured, ‘why not?’ right?”
The boy’s tears poured forth as fast as his words. “Erin wasn’t far behind me but she headed for the farmhouse and I headed for the barn. I had wanted to find a small shovel. I saw one, but it was mounted high and I was trying to find something to climb on. Before I could do that, I heard Erin scream.”
David gulped; his cheeks wet with tears and wiped his nose on his shirt. Madge reached out and patted his shoulder, “Go on.”
“I went in through the back, as quiet as I could and I was scared, real scared. I wanted to run, but I knew she didn’t have a gun, nothing to fight back with. And I know those soldiers, the ones Jess and Erin got away from. They did bad things...they,” he looked down at the ground, unable to even speak it out loud.
“They did terrible things. Yes.” Madge’s answer was soft and forthright. “You were brave to go in, Mind’se.”
“I killed one of them.” He looked scared then, his eyes darting to her face and searching for any recrimination but there was none. “I’m not sorry I killed him. But it didn’t matter ‘cause Erin still died. She saw him aiming at me and ran towards him.”
His voice rose in pitch, “She died trying to save me. What if all they were gonna do was take her back with them? If I had run back to Jess, warned her, we could have stopped them together.”
“Oh, Mind’se...David, you are...” the old woman’s eyes filled with tears, “You are not to blame, my brave one. You did what was right and what was brave. You did what a warrior would do.”
She placed her thin, bony hands on each side of his head, stroking his tangled unkempt hair. How long had this child been without parents to love and protect him? And how had he risen to the occasion, willing to take so much on and expect so much from himself?
“You are not to blame,” she repeated firmly, “They would have taken her to a place far worse. They would have done unspeakable things to her and they would have killed her in the end. Never blame yourself again for this.”
Behind her, Jess had appeared at the rock entrance. She had heard it all, the details she had dreaded asking about and yet wished she had known. To hear how it had all played out was as much of a relief as it was painful. She knew she had blamed him, in some small corner of her heart, and been afraid to ask for fear she would truly hate him if she knew the truth of it. Instead, she found she was relieved. He had tried to protect Erin, just as she had given her life to protect him in return. Madge had said they were a family and she was right. They were. She placed her hand on David’s shoulder, startling him. Madge looked up at her, her old face lined with wrinkles, a question in her eyes.
“Madge is right, David.” She said, tears in her own eyes, her voice unsteady. “Family protects family. That’s what you did for Erin and that is what she chose to do for you. We are a family. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
It was a healing moment for all of them. The days and weeks that followed slowly became happy ones as the odd, mismatched band grew to know each other better and make new, gentler memories.
One of the other anthropologists had been an avid bow hunter and Madge had his bow and arrows. They were composed of an ultra-modern, lightweight substance and she encouraged Jess and David to practice with targets daily.
After watching him practice, she clucked in approval to Jess, “Min’-dse is grown beyond his years, he knows when to be quiet and listen and watch. His aim improves each day.”
By the end of their second week at the cave the boy insisted on carrying the bow and arrows with him everywhere. As Jess and Madge fished on the edge of the lake early one morning he moved quietly along the southern edge and disappeared into the forest. Quincy followed silently behind.
Tina watched him go, “He been practicin’ walking so he don’t make any sound at all.” Madge just smiled and patted Tina’s head, running her bony hands through the little girl’s short, brown curls. The months the two children had spent alone had left the small child with a mane of filthy, matted, dreadlocked hair. They had finally given up on getting the worst of the mats out and cut it short the week before. Tina had cried during the entire ordeal. But at least now they could keep it under control.
Madge kept the little girl busy pulling grass and collecting plants while Jess fished. She had fashioned her own fur-lined sling for Jacob and cooed and sang to him. This gave Jess a relief from the constant care.
She was surprised, since up to this point, Jacob would tolerate no one holding him but Jess. He still screamed if David or Tina tried to pick him up, but with Madge he was content unless he needed to nurse.
Madge pointed at different plants and explained their uses to Tina, who despite her young age, listened and watched intently. Jess pulled out three good-sized small-mouthed bass and dumped them into a bucket of water. They kept a lid on it to prevent the fish from jumping back out. Jacob squawked in hunger and Madge had just handed him to Jess when they heard a loud ‘whoop’ and Quincy let out one sharp double-bark.
“I got one! I got one! Oh wow! I got one!” they could hear David’s voice in the distance; he couldn’t have been more than a hundred yards away. Jacob squalled in frustration as Jess paused and looked into the woods. A deer? With only a bow and arrow? No way. She looked at Madge, who smiled smugly, and waved her fingers at Jess to go ahead and feed the baby.
“Three is enough fish for now,” she said, reeling in the line, “Besides, it’s around ten, they’ll be moving towards deeper waters now. You sit and feed Mi'-da-in-ga and I’ll go help Min’-dse, who is living up to his name so well.” She beckoned to Tina, “Ni’-da-wi, come, we will help your brother dress his first kill.” She took the little girl’s hand and they quickly disappeared into the trees.
It was
past noon when all three of them re-appeared, Quincy leading the way. The little dog’s tail wagged furiously, and from the blood on her muzzle, she had already had a fresh treat. David was strutting. His small chest jutted forward, his shoulders were high and his back straight, his eyes shining with pride. Madge was grinning too, proud as a mother hen. They had rigged a bower of sorts and they dragged the deer carcass behind them. It was partially dressed, and Jess blinked at the surreal scene. Before her were one old woman, two little kids, one dead deer, and one hell of a lot of blood caking them and the mutt running circles around their feet. The corners of her mouth curled up, damned if he hadn’t gotten that deer after all. And with only a bow and arrow!
Lunch was an abbreviated observance. They ate quickly and got to work skinning and butchering the enormous buck. Jess’s stomach roiled a bit, and David actually looked as if he were about to be sick.
He gulped hard and got back to work. That seemed to impress Madge even more than the kill. They set up the meat in a smoke hut just ten yards south of the cave. Madge’s team member had built it two years ago and had supplemented their packaged food with fresh out of season deer during the past two dig seasons.
Little of the deer went to waste, and Madge even knew how to preserve the hide, which Jess paid special attention to. Later that winter it would come in handy during the cold nights. They were finally finished by late afternoon and David and Madge prepared the bass, stuffed with wood sorrel, wild carrot and other fresh edibles that Madge and Tina had gathered. They feasted on the succulent fish and as they finished Madge turned to David and made a small bow in his direction, with great formality, “Min’-dse, you have lived up to your name truly this day. The spirit of this great deer was sacrificed so that we might all live. Will you tell us now of how you accomplished this great deed?”
Story time, as Madge called it, had become a daily theme for the little group. Usually Madge would tell them a story about her ancestors, other times she encouraged Jess or David to tell a story that they knew. Jess soon found herself remembering the tales from the Grimm’s Brothers and Hans Christian Anderson. David would often share a portion of Harry Potter, especially the first three books. His mother had grown up with the series, attending the movies into her teens and been excited to share them with him. The nightly story time had begun to include props and theatrics, and everyone looked forward to what performance the evening would bring.
He grinned, “Okay, sure.” He looked around, thought for a minute, and then stood before beginning, “I walked into the dark forest, quietly, without making a sound. I had seen the deer before and I had followed his tracks a few days ago. I knew if I walked quietly he wouldn’t know I was there and I’d have the best chance at a good, clean shot.” He looked around at the small group, and Jess nodded to him encouragingly. “So I walked about a hundred yards in and found a good place to keep a lookout, somewhere I knew the deer would come by if he wanted to go drink from the lake. I sat for a long time, I was about to give up when Quincy whined quietly. I looked down at her and she was pointing, with her foot, and when I looked at where she was pointing it was the deer! I had the bow and arrow ready in my hands and I raised it up, took aim, made sure, and then let the arrow fly!” He yelled then, “And THWACK! It hit him in his chest!”
Jacob woke with a fitful cry from the yell, nuzzled at Jess’s breast, and fell back asleep. David looked sheepish until Jess grinned at him, “You did great, David, really, and you were amazing. I never thought an arrow could kill a big deer like that.”
The boy lit up, glowing with pride. He went on to describe how Madge helped him send a prayer of thanks to the deer’s spirit for giving its life for them. Night had fallen by now and the fire was a lone light in thick darkness. As they settled down for the night, dampening the fire and snuggling under blankets, Jess heard David yawn and comment, “I really think we need at least one more deer to get us through winter, though.” The fire crackled quietly, Tina burrowed under the blanket in a small ball against her big brother. They were safe, well-fed, and happy.
Far, far away, guns cracked off shots and bullets tore through flesh and bone. But the little band heard none of this, only the crackle of the fire and the occasional hoot of a nearby owl.
Christmas Presents and Shotguns
“All weddings, except those with shotguns in evidence, are wonderful.” – Liz Smith
“Ohhh! Brrrr!” Carrie closed the door to the house behind her and handed Joseph the basket of eggs. “I hate the cold!” She rubbed her arms vigorously and pushed past Chris to get near the stove. Chris kept his distance. The last few weeks, Carrie had been a bit off. It felt as if she had drawn a perimeter which included a warning alarm in case anyone got too close. Snappy and tense, she had projected a clear warning to stay away.
The instant he let it slip he knew there would be trouble. It was just one small, tiny little snort. But out it came and he immediately regretted it. She turned on him, “Oh, and what are you laughing about?”
Man oh man, women should come with early warning systems. Or a manual at least. How would it read?
The human female, as she enters the beginning of her monthly menstrual cycle is a dangerous and unpredictable creature. The utmost care and concern must be shown at this time towards the female. The employment of calming methods, such as the introduction of chocolate at moments of extreme duress, coupled with a shift in attitude toward a more submissive posture from the male of the species, will avoid conflict. Under no circumstances should you engage in an argument with a pre-menstrual female. Avoidance and flight are perfectly acceptable solutions enabling one to escape with all reproductive parts intact.
Chris saw that Carrie was now glaring...at him...and tapping her foot, expecting an answer. He realized two things at once. One, he had just stood there like an idiot for about a minute, fantasizing about a manual that unfortunately did not exist. And two, he had some stupid shit-eating grin on his face, which looked as if it was further adding to her anger.
“I...uh...”
“Yes?” The yes sounded like a hiss and he knew he was in deep kimchee. Hmmm, maybe the truth would be best.
“I just thought it was funny ‘cause you and Liza and Joseph are from New York and it gets really cold there. Winter down here is a walk in the park, right?”
His brain tuned out the words, but not the vision of her angry face yelling at him. He just stood there, let her yell, and waited until she had stalked off. It was the same response you might see from a deer that freezes, dead in the sights of a hunter, hoping beyond all hope that the hunter will somehow not see him, or perhaps take pity on him and let him go. No such luck, at least, not for this human animal. God, how he wished there was a manual.
“Boy,” Fenton snorted close by his ear, “Haven’t you got a lick of sense?”
“Sir?”
“Never say what’s on your mind to a woman in that state of mind. Might as well commit, what’s that word...mahi mahi?”
Liza chimed in, “Mahi-mahi is a fish, Gramps. You mean hara-kiri, or seppuku, which was the ritual disembowelment reserved only for samurai...”
“Got it, Liz. Thanks.” Chris interrupted, head hurting from another female voice. No matter that it was a friendly one. “Gramps, if this is PMS, she’s been having it for weeks. It’s like everything I say or do irritates her.”
“Give it time, son, give it time. Only God knows the minds of women, and I gotta wonder if even he doesn’t get confused off and on.” Fenton thought of Molly, dead for more than thirty years, and smiled wryly, “I can remember bein’ in hot water a time or two, myself.” Seemed like after they took out all her reproductive parts, it wasn’t regular at all, she’d get mad anytime anywhere, or be preternaturally calm, you never could tell.
They cooked lunch and sat down at the table together, even Carrie, who just sat and simmered at one end. Not much was said as they passed sandwich fixings around the table and enjoyed the rich flavor of the pulled pork. One o
f the largest pigs, Butt Roast, had been slaughtered, cleaned and cured a few weeks ago when the temperatures dipped down into the 40s.
It had been a toss-up between who would be slaughtered, Butt Roast or Applewood Bacon, until they weighed them. Butt Roast tipped the scales at 225 pounds and Applewood Bacon had only weighed 202. He was slated for an early spring slaughter. Chris had been amused to discover that they named the pigs after food. It made sense, though.
One of the other pigs name was Pork Chop and another Ham Hock. It kept the endgame in plain sight. These creatures weren’t pets, they were food.
Chris kept stealing glances at Carrie and looking at just the wrong times. After the third glance she startled everyone by shouting, “What?!”
“Nothing!” Chris snapped back. God, he felt like an idiot. What in the hell was he doing wrong, anyway? Why was she so pissed at him?
Fenton cleared his throat, scowled at his eldest grandchild, and asked Chris, “You said something about going into town today?”
“Yes sir. I mean...Gramps.” He usually got it right, but in moments of high stress, like he’d been having for the past three weeks, he fell back on the crisp and forceful “Sir!” he’d learned as a conscript. “I was planning on a little Christmas shopping and figured I’d get in some bartering with that hog.”
Liza chimed in, “I’ll go with you, Chris. I’ve got books to trade.” She tried not to look too eager, but Chris knew she was hoping to visit Carl Owens, a friend from school and fellow book geek. They would trade books all right, and some gropes and kisses as well if he wasn’t mistaken. Carl was two years older and he had been visiting often in the last few months. He had helped out on the farm during harvest. He was a nice kid.
“It’s settled then,” Chris said, “Liza and I will go, and...”
“What about me?” Carrie looked resentful, “Did you even think of asking what I want? I mean, I...”
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