A Broken Time

by Anna Oney

  “Yeah, okay,” he’d replied, shrugging. “Sure.”

  “Nock your arrow. And keep your bow arm steady,” she’d instructed beside him. “Take a breath,” she’d said, breathing with him. “And set the arrow loose.”

  Blythe had missed the target by seven inches, which, in Fawn’s opinion, wasn’t that bad for a beginner.

  “I forgot to tell you,” she’d said, patting his shoulder. “The shot doesn’t end at the release. You must always follow through with your draw hand. It should continue backwards until it reaches here,” she’d motioned beneath his earlobe. “Got it?”

  “Got it!” he’d enthusiastically replied. “I’ll be just as good as you in no time.”

  “Doubt it,” she’d said and chuckled, motioning for him to draw another arrow. “Very much so.”

  By the end of Blythe’s first week of training, Fawn started catching him staring at her out of her peripheral vison. It didn’t matter how forceful or harsh her tone was when she corrected his stance or lifted his bow arm to the height of his shoulders. She could always count on that stare when Blythe should’ve been paying attention to what she was telling him. It appeared as though he simply couldn’t keep his eyes off her, which had been simultaneously annoying and endearing.

  ***

  Fawn hadn’t had any alone time with Griffin since her arrival to his orchard. Her great-uncle’s days were spent looking after the children who had been left in their care. Griffin didn’t seem to mind the company, as she’d overheard him confess on many occasions that he’d been alone for far too long. The children had added meaning to the eighty-seven-year-old’s life.

  When she wasn’t training with Blythe, Fawn kept herself secluded from everyone. Her way of coping with any loss was to separate herself from others who were grieving, which, she knew, wasn’t fair to Marie, or her nieces and nephews. She was selfish when it came to her grief. Watching others suffer kept the tragedy fresh.

  The dreams she’d experienced about Gran presented a question that she couldn’t shake from her mind. Why hadn’t her father mentioned that he’d had a sibling that died at birth? Fawn and her siblings evidently had an aunt or uncle they’d never gotten to meet.

  In a hunched position, wearing her straw gardening hat, Fawn busied herself with clearing Juniper’s hooves of debris with a pick. Peering up from her task, she spotted Griffin approaching the entrance to the barn. He carried two fishing poles and a chirping, wooden flip-up lid container filled with crickets.

  “I’m in need of a fishing partner,” he said, raising his arms slightly. He cracked a smile. “You think you can handle the job?”

  “What about the kids?” she asked, easing Juniper’s leg to the ground. “Laken and Blythe aren’t due back here for another two hours or so.”

  “Fenton and Marie said they’d be happy to look after the kids while we catch them some supper,” he replied, handing her a fishing pole. “Dean’s feeling better, too, so a chunk of Davlyn’s time has been freed up.”

  Juniper swished her tail, grazing Fawn’s arm.

  “Okay, sure,” she replied, running her palm down the curve of Juniper’s back. “Lead the way.”

  Griffin and Fawn strolled down a slender footpath that began in the woods behind the barn. Griffin led the way with Fawn trailing close behind him. After a long while, they emerged in a clearing. A secluded beach with a dock stretched twenty feet over the water.

  Upon their arrival, turtles that had been sunbathing on floating logs plopped into the murky water. A lonely canoe, its bow secured to the dock post by a stretch of rope, danced with the waves rushing to shore. Ducks quacked and sped across the top of the water before taking flight. A rocky shoreline with gravel in shades of grey and white greeted them. Waves lapped to shore, rocking the knobby driftwood back and forth at the water’s edge.

  Griffin and Fawn’s feet crunched along the wet gravel before they stepped onto the dock. After they got into the canoe, they rowed toward their destination. Griffin spoke of his favorite spot to catch fish. He brought her to a, “runway,” as he liked to call it. Numerous cypress trees shrouded in Spanish moss lined either side of the glistening water. Small fish weaved in and out of a maze of cypress tree roots. Fawn was mesmerized by their quick, fluid movements until Griffin splashed her in the face. The sudden chill sent a rigor throughout her body.

  “You’ll fall in if you’re not careful,” he said and chuckled.

  Using the sleeve of her blouse, Fawn wiped her face free of the cool droplets of water.

  “Did,” Fawn began and paused as she baited her hook with a squirming-legged cricket. “Did Gran ever tell Daddy about her baby that died?”

  Griffin’s fingers stilled around the body of a stressed cricket trying to free itself. Narrowing his eyes, Griffin looked up from his hook.

  “H-how,” he stammered, gripping the cricket tighter. “How would you know about that?”

  “Well, I,” she replied, plopping her fishing line into the water. “I’ve been having these dreams about Gran . . . and visitors.”

  “My God,” he whispered, wiping his fingers covered with cricket guts on his britches. “It’s happening again. I remember Emma telling me about some gnarly dreams she had about Wakiza. Now you’re having them about her?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said you’ve had visitors, too?” he asked. He took her nod as confirmation and continued. “Who’ve you seen?”

  “Grandpa Tom and Reed. Oh, and Stella, and this girl named Joy. Reesa said our cousins, Winston, Maddox, and Lyle, helped her and the kids escape.” She gripped her fishing pole tighter as the line got a nibble and splayed ripples over the water. “Daddy never said anything about losing a sibling. I was just wondering if he ever knew.”

  “Samuel was pretty young when Emma lost the baby,” he replied, keeping his focus on the water. “You know,” he said, his voice unsteady. He turned away from Fawn, swiping a finger below his eye. “Emma was sentimental about a lot of things. I know why she’d take Samuel to pray before that willow tree, and it wasn’t just because Wakiza and Stella died there.”

  “Oh,” she said, paying no attention to her bobbing line.

  “She buried that baby beside Stella seven steps from that exact tree.”

  Fawn nearly dropped her fishing pole into the water upon hearing the news.

  But that, she thought, shaking her head. That would mean . . .

  “Do you,” she began and cleared her throat. “Do you happen to know the baby’s name?”

  “If Emma named the poor thing, she kept it a secret between herself and Tom. She didn’t like talking about it. Everybody knew she blamed herself. I never understood what my sister went through until I lost Shelby. But I know Shelby wouldn’t have had it any other way. She was glad to give her life for Hunter.”

  Fawn thought back to her encounter with the ruggedly handsome cowboy she’d met in the woods.

  “Reed,” she said. “Did Gran ever say anything about breaking his heart?”

  Griffin snatched his line from the water. A brim in distress flapped at the end.

  “One day,” he replied, removing the hook from the brim’s lip. “We went fishing at the creek.” He stowed the fish in the container he’d brought to hold their catches. “I knew something had happened between them. I just didn’t know what. By lunch time I had gained enough courage to ask.”

  “And?” she urged, pulling her line from the water. The small-mouthed fish had gobbled up her bait. She smacked her lips. “I guess I’m a bit rusty.”

  “Emma said she gave Reed hope for the two of them when, in reality, there was none,” he replied, baiting his hook. “She said that was the cruelest thing she had ever done.”

  ***

  At sunset, she and Griffin emerged from the woods behind the barn carrying their catches. Griffin had caught eight brim and two catfish. Fawn had only managed to catch three crappies.

  “I bet the kids will have fun cleaning these fishes,” Griff
in said as they cleared the porch steps.

  “Sure, they will,” Fawn replied and laughed, trailing behind him.

  Inside the house, the children listened to Marie read from a book before the fireplace in the sitting room. Noelle braided a young girl’s hair in the far corner. Fawn could hear Dean and Davlyn’s laughter coming from upstairs. The normalcy and levity of the household brought a smile to the corner of her mouth.

  Fawn and Griffin took a right through the dining room and headed for the kitchen. She set her crappie next to Griffin’s fish on the counter in front of the small window overlooking the lake. The vroom of an engine had Fawn on edge. She stared through the window as Blythe sped past in an ATV.

  “Something’s wrong,” Griffin said beside her.

  Fawn’s skirt flared out behind her as she rushed for the front door. She noticed Griffin reach behind the woodstove for his shotgun. She opened the door just as Blythe’s ATV came to a squealing halt. Despite the crisp, frigid air, his forehead was slick with sweat. He stormed up the porch steps, the barrel of his automatic rifle stuck out behind his left shoulder, the strap secured across his chest.

  “Get the kids to the cellar,” he said, locking eyes with Fawn. “Now!”

  Blythe peered behind him at Fenton and Harland as they emerged from the barn and exchanged worried looks.

  “Hide!” Blythe shouted.

  “Blythe, what’s—” she began as he grabbed hold of her arms and shook her.

  “Now, Fawn,” he said, closing his fingers around her wrist. “You, too.”

  He dragged her behind him as she struggled to match his stride. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Fenton and Harland disappearing into the woods. Blythe and Fawn met Griffin in the foyer, holding his shotgun.

  “What’s happened?” Griffin asked, peering at Blythe’s grip on Fawn’s wrist.

  “Kids!” Blythe called, bringing Fawn to his side. “Get to the cellar. Soldiers,” he began, cutting his eyes to Fawn. “They’re right behind me.”

  Blythe slung his rifle from around his back and transferred it to Fawn’s.

  “B-but,” Fawn protested, attempting to hand the rifle back to Blythe. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” he answered, looking from Fawn to the children coming up behind her. “I’m not important. You and these kids,” he said, stroking the side of her face, “are what’s important.”

  Dean and Davlyn had descended the stairs and joined their kin. Everyone scrambled to rush the children into the depths of the cellar. Noelle and Marie were the last to enter the cellar before Fawn. A distressing thought came to her mind as she cleared the first step. All the kids were accounted for, but two.

  Where are Reesa and Basiel?

  Reesa and Basiel had developed a bond over the last month and a half as they were the closest in age. Fawn had often caught them canoeing around the back of the orchard, picking fruit together, or helping Griffin prepare his winter garden.

  “Get downstairs,” Blythe said, nudging Fawn backward. “I can hear their ATVs. Griffin and I are the only people that can be up here.”

  “Reesa and Basiel,” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. “They’re not here.”

  Blythe lowered the latch toward Fawn’s head, prompting her to clear the remainder of the steps. She peered upward just as he was about to shut the door.

  “Stay put. Stay safe. Don’t make a sound,” he hissed, locking them inside.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Watching the light fade from Fawn’s face as he shut the door was hard for Blythe. He tried his hardest to remember her sapphire eyes. He feared that was the last time he’d see them. He covered the latch with the rug and turned to Griffin. Snatching the shotgun from the old man’s hands, brought a disquieted look to Griffin’s face. Griffin stared after Blythe as he stowed the shotgun behind the woodstove.

  “What if we need that?” Griffin asked, reaching for his weapon. Blythe lightly shoved the old man against his chest.

  “I need you to sit in that rocking chair before the fireplace,” Blythe said, making sure the latch was completely shielded from view. “Look as tired and sickly as possible.”

  “But—” Griffin began.

  “No buts,” Blythe interrupted, dragging Griffin forward by the wrist. “Asher will be here any minute.”

  The cardinal had given Blythe the scoop on Asher’s arrival. The bird had given her word that when the next generation’s warrior had claimed Wakiza’s spear, she’d bring the wrath of her fellow spirits with her. The cardinal hadn’t offered any explanation as to what she meant by, “next generation’s warrior,” or who these other spirts were. Given Blythe’s past experience with the cardinal, that wouldn’t have been her style.

  Blythe couldn’t tell Fawn who was merely seconds away from driving up to Griffin’s orchard. If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to close the lid of the cellar with her inside. Griffin settled himself in the rocking chair before the crackling fireplace and Blythe covered his lap with a blanket he found over the back of a chair.

  Blythe made a silent prayer that Reesa and Basiel would stay gone for the duration of Asher’s visit. The rumble of their ATV came to a screeching halt before the porch steps. Blythe came to the front door to welcome them inside when a muffled bout of laughter came from outside the side door across from the foyer.

  Reesa and Basiel playfully nudged each other’s shoulder as they walked through the door.

  “Blythe?” Reesa began, tipping head questioningly.

  Blythe closed the front door and draped a finger over his lips. The patter of Asher and his men’s feet began ascending the steps outside. There was no time to open the latch in the kitchen. He rushed to the closet at the side of the stairs and waved a hand for Reesa and Basiel to follow. Like the cardinal, Blythe didn’t offer any explanation as he shoved them both inside.

  “Don’t move or make a sound,” he whispered.

  Three knocks came from the front door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  As far as Reesa could tell, Blythe had stowed her and Basiel inside the closet just as a group of people came walking up Griffin’s front porch steps. She could hear the shuffle of at least four men’s feet against her uncle’s hardwood floor. She recognized Asher’s voice immediately. The man liked to talk. At Back Wood it was as if the Commander enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

  “Blythe, my boy,” Asher said near the closet door. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  Reesa heard a firm pat. She assumed it was Asher patting Blythe’s back. Asher liked doing that to. Every time she’d witnessed him patting someone’s back, she saw it as a way he exerted dominance over that individual.

  “Yes, sir, it has,” Blythe replied. “Why have you come?” he blurted out, and then quickly added, “if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I wanted to personally thank the man who has so kindly been providing my soldiers with fresh fruit.”

  The footsteps continued slowly, before pausing at the closet door. Reesa and Basiel backed into the back wall as someone leaned against the door. Basiel clasped a trembling hand over his mouth, prompting Reesa to do the same. She heard the patter of the soldiers’ feet advancing forward. The closet door creaked as the person pushed against it to follow the others into the sitting room. Every movement she and Basiel made seemed so loud to her. Even their breathing. Did they really breathe that loud?

  Gardening tools, trimming shears, and dust surrounded them. There was barely enough room for one person. Basiel draped his arm across Reesa’s shoulders, startling her. Her hand went straight for the handle of a shovel to her right. A tingling surge of energy passed through her. A force came between the two teenagers, separating them. Basiel steadied himself by clinging to the wall. Shakily, Reesa looked to the lance of Wakiza’s spear that she clung to. She did a double take, as she’d believed she had grasped a shovel.

  A creak in the floor brought Reesa and Basiel’s gazes downward. Shadows of a distinct
ive pair of footprints stood between them.

  “Reesa,” Basiel said, his voice barely a whisper. “Are you seeing this?”

  Basiel side-stepped into the opposite wall, knocking trimming shears from their hook. The shears seemed to fall in slow motion as she and Basiel reached for them at the same time. The shears stabbed at the floor and bounced twice before sticking the landing. The clang of rusted metal made Reesa cringe.

  Her stomach dropped as Asher’s voice called from the sitting room.

  “Who’s in the closet?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The forcefulness with which Blythe had relieved Griffin of his shotgun had cast a dark cloud over his attitude. Nobody spoke to Griffin that way. Nobody. Especially when it came to defending his home and the people in it. He liked Blythe, for the most part, but the young fellow tended to forget his place. If Blythe didn’t realize that Griffin was the man of the house, they were going to have a problem.

  Rocking in a chair before the fireplace, Griffin struggled to keep his composure as Blythe led the man who had murdered his people into the sitting room. Two soldiers accompanied Asher. Their stout bodies disrupted the flame’s shadows dancing across the rug in front of the fireplace. Grinding his teeth, Griffin looked them up and down. He would’ve blown these invaders away with his shotgun before they entered his home, but he had to play it smart. The lives of his great-nieces and -nephews in the cellar depended on the actions of him and Blythe.

  “Mr. Griffin, I presume?” Asher said, stepping fully into the firelight. “I’m the one and only Commander Byron Asher.”

  The one and only, Griffin thought. Give me a break. Asher offered his hand for Griffin to take.

  “I apologize for not being able to think of your last name. You’re known around Stagecoach as Mr. Griffin the Fruit Guy.”

  “Oh,” Griffin replied, tightening his hold on Asher’s hand. “That’s okay. My family name is Clery.”

  Griffin heard Blythe take in a gulp of air beside him. Asher tipped his head to the right. He gave Griffin’s hand another pump, and then set it loose.