Nathanial

by J. B. Richard

  Nate felt like he could breathe again.

  “Nobody’s watching.” Deputy grinned. There was a glint of ornery in his eyes.

  They were about to get into trouble for something, because Nate couldn’t say no to his best friend. Whatever it was, he was all in. Then he recalled Pa’s threat of taking down his pants and slapping his bare ass.

  It was too late. Deputy kicked his pony. No time for Nate to change his mind. Deputy’s horse leaped forward into a run.

  “Race ya home.” The dare flew over Deputy’s shoulder and into Nate’s ears.

  No way would Nate lose a horse race. He was too good of a rider to get bested. He sank his boot heels into the appaloosa’s sides and madly kicked. The gelding stretched his legs, neck thrusting forward, ears pinned back, and caught that paint in no time. Neck and neck, they tore along the wood line, tails flapping in the wind. Nate squeezed the reins and shrank tighter, shoulders hunched, skimming the air, maybe going a mite faster. They were almost to the house.

  Deputy wasn’t letting up, so Nate kept kicking. The horses ran faster. Into the yard they flew, heading toward the barn. Thirty yards and closing in quick on the corral fence. Nate wasn’t afraid. How many times had he made a jump just like this one?

  Deputy skidded his horse to a halt. Nate was going to win with a celebratory liftoff and really show his bud. All of a sudden, the appaloosa threw its head down, forelegs out straight, plowing the dirt in an effort to stop. They hit the fence. Nate went airborne, high over the top rail, doing flips. Sky then ground, sky then ground. Then he smacked the dirt with a god-awful thud, his face leading the way as his elbows and knees shredded across the rugged ground, tearing his clothing.

  When he stopped rolling, Nate couldn’t move a muscle. He could cry, and he did at the top of his lungs. His skin where he’d dragged across the lumpy dirt burned like hell. His face was bleeding, as were his arms and legs. His one arm wouldn’t lift. It just hung there, and his hip had a big, bad heartbeat pounding inside it.

  “Ma!” Deputy hollered. He hunkered beside Nate. There were tears in his friend’s eyes.

  Not only was Nate hurt badly, but they were going to be in all kinds of trouble. They’d been warned about how to treat that horse, all horses really. Pa was serious when it came to taking care of his bay and Nate’s mustang. Nate liked to jump fences, but he knew better. Likely, Pa would tear the rest of his hide off. Deputy was probably afraid the same would happen to him.

  Ma ran out of the house on the heels of Mrs. Huckabee. Both women gasped. Nate lay bleeding and crying in the middle of the corral. The trail through the dirt and the horse standing freely on the opposite side of the fence told a gruesome story.

  When Ma bent over him, her eyes were flooded with tears. Tears and a spark of anger that reddened her face, almost matching her hair. “Deputy, go get Nolan and the doctor.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shot off.

  A few minutes later, Pa arrived, followed closely by the marshal, and Nate was still lying in the dirt, crying. Pa’s face was pruned as hard as bark, his neck veins pulsing. He scooped Nate off the ground, carrying him into the house with the other adults bunched around in case Pa needed assistance of any kind. Nate expected to hear it. Instead, he got silence. Pa must have been seething, boiling under the surface where it wasn’t so noticeable.

  “I’m sorry.” Nate wiped at his eyes as Pa sat him on the table and began stripping off his shirt. Pain tore through his weak arm as Pa lifted that sleeve, and Nate let out with a high-pitched yelp. Fresh tears sprang from his eyes, blurring his vision.

  The door opened, and in ran Deputy, Tate a hustling step behind. Following those two was a man carrying a little black bag. The doctor looked over Nate’s cuts and bruises as Ma and Mrs. Huckabee fetched hot water and towels to wipe off the blood and dirt.

  “You’ll need stitches, and that arm is very badly bruised. You’re lucky it’s not broken.” The doctor had a sour look on his face. He appeared to be just as unhappy as everyone else in the room. Perhaps he was too familiar with Deputy’s shenanigans.

  Nate had followed along. Racing had sounded like a good idea until now.

  He wailed the entire time the doc sewed. Pa and the marshal held Nate down, one over his shoulders, the other holding tight to his feet. Ma and Mrs. Huckabee fashioned a sling, per doctor’s instructions. Nate was bandaged up but still hurting something awful when Pa carried him up to bed. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, but he could barely keep his eyes open.

  Pa pulled back the quilt, then gently laid him between the sheets. “Why’d ya do it?” His voice wasn’t hard like when he was mad. Disappointment was what Nate heard.

  Nate shrugged the arm that wasn’t throbbing. He liked to go fast on his horse and thought he’d try out Jesse’s new steed against what Nate knew about his mustang. It had been meant for fun. No one was supposed to get hurt.

  “Son, if anything happened to you …” Pa wearily shook his head. “You had me scared. Pissed off and scared.”

  “Don’t worry, Pa. I inherited that tough Crosson hide.”

  Pa grinned. “Suppose ya have.”

  Nate closed his eyes and it was strange, but his getting a new baby sister or brother popped into his head. Maybe he wouldn’t be Pa’s favorite anymore, and that would hurt, but he was Nolan Crosson’s son. Nothing could change that.

  “Nathanial.”

  Nate opened his lids.

  Pa was holding the door half open. “You’ll have extra chores to do at home.” The door clicked shut behind him.

  When Nate woke, voices drifted in the window from the porch below. Squeals and giggles made him lift his head off the soft pillow. He cringed with the least little movement, nearly in tears before his feet touched the floor, but he wanted to join the fun. Missing out wasn’t something he intended to do, even if it killed him. And the way his arm was screaming with pain, it just might. It took him awhile on his gimpy leg and he stopped to take a few deep breaths, but he did make it downstairs.

  That’s where he was when Ma walked inside, a pitcher of tea in her hands. She smiled sadly when she saw him. It was a look of pure, sweet pity. She kissed his head. “Nolan.” She called Pa.

  Pa carried Nate out and sat him on the steps where Deputy sat churning ice cream.

  “We’re gonna catch lightnin’ bugs later.” That was Deputy’s way of asking if Nate thought he would be able to help.

  Nate wasn’t so sure. He’d try. He hadn’t been taught to be a quitter.

  “Nathanial, why don’t you read something for us? Your ma’s been bragging about how good you are. I wish Deputy liked to read.” Constance Huckabee disappeared into the house and returned a few minutes later, carrying several books.

  Nate was happy to oblige. He loved to read. He opened the pages of Through the Looking-Glass. Tate joined them, and everyone sat quietly as Nate turned page after page. He was on the fourth chapter when Deputy announced their treat was ready. Nate laid aside the book. They all ate ice cream and talked. Then, at Deputy’s urging, Nate pushed up and gimped behind the other little ones, all trying to snatch a firefly out of the evening air. He was too slow to catch even the low-flying ones, but it was fun anyway.

  “Nate,” Ma called. She had a plate in her hands. He had missed supper but wasn’t really that hungry. He hadn’t even eaten all his ice cream. But to make Ma happy, he sat on the porch and picked at the food until she was satisfied.

  “How’s your arm feelin’?” Pa sat next to him.

  Nate didn’t want his folks to take him home early, and they would if they didn’t believe him well enough for all the activity happening tomorrow.

  “Hurts a little.” It actually hurt like the devil, but he wasn’t about to complain. He didn’t mention his hip either.

  “What about your leg?” Pa eyed the bloodstains on the knees of Nate’s pants.

  He should have known that Pa wouldn’t forget a thing like that. He didn’t miss anything.

  “It�
��s okay.” And the truth was it didn’t ache near as bad as his arm, so he hardly noticed it until he took a step.

  No more was said, and Nate leaned back against a porch post, resting his head. The kids were running all over the yard and putting their catches into a glass jar Deputy’s ma had given them. Nate yawned. He had slept most of the day away, and still, he was doggone tired.

  Stars began to come awake in the darkening sky. The moon was full, and everything around Nate seemed peaceful. He was glad he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of that nosy couple today.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nate woke in bed. Pa must have carried him inside last night. Deputy was sprawled out next to him, soundly sleeping, his mouth hanging wide. Drool had formed a puddle on his pillow. Nate thought for a second about rubbing Deputy’s face in the spit.

  The door swung open, and Tate strolled in with a big, cheery grin on his face. “Time to git up, lazybones. You boys are gonna miss the horse race.” He roused Deputy by rubbing his head into the wet pillow. Exactly what Nate had been thinking about doing. He grinned.

  Deputy groaned and, with one hand, weakly pushed at Tate to leave him.

  The horse race was the first event. The start of the whole shebang.

  Nate pushed back the quilt. No way did he want to miss Tate’s race. He rode an all-red horse that had long legs and ran like the wind. Nate eased himself to the edge of the bed with a few stifled moans. His leg was awful stiff, and the bruise had turned a darker shade of purple. His arm wasn’t thumping yet, but the day was young.

  Deputy sat up all sleepy-eyed, his hair mussed in every direction, and he wiped the spit off his cheek.

  Tate chuckled. “Yous two git dressed and git breakfast. I’ll be waitin’ at the startin’ line. Don’t be late.” He was gone as quick as he’d come in.

  Deputy was no good at helping Nate get his shirt on. He kept bumping Nate’s arm, making him ouch.

  “Ma!” Nate called.

  It only took her a few minutes, and he was dressed. Everyone was at the table when they took their seats. Breakfast was served and cleaned up in no time. Nate didn’t fuss about how much Ma had put on his plate. He knew her ways. He had to eat good food, a full meal, or she wouldn’t let him have sweets at the celebration. And he lived to satisfy his sweet tooth.

  They left the house as a group. There was a cheeriness to everyone’s voice. Everybody was smiling. Deputy was skipping along in front, his little brother a few steps behind, doing the same. Pa was carrying Elizabeth, and Ma had her arm strung around Pa’s. Her health had been much improved since they had settled in at the Huckabees’.

  Mrs. Huckabee held Ada on her hip while Pa and the marshal took bets on the race. Mr. Tyson had entered one of his horses, a black filly said to be thoroughbred.

  Nate hobbled at a fast pace, trying to keep up with Deputy. His sore leg wasn’t cooperating, and he stumbled off the edge of the boardwalk into the street, one arm swinging to keep him from hitting the dirt. Smacking himself up again wouldn’t help any of his aches. A hand slapped against his back, stopping him from falling. Nate looked up, expecting Pa to be there. Instead, it was the city lady. Nate took a quick glance around. The prim dude wasn’t with her.

  Nate jerked away, sending a jab of pain through his stove-up arm. He stumbled forward, bumping into Pa.

  “Ma’am, I’m gonna ask ya to leave my family alone.” There was irritation in Pa’s tone. This was to be a day without worry or headache or bother. A holiday that, as a family, they could just enjoy being together.

  “Hello.” She didn’t extend a hand. “I’m Deloris Fletcher,” she said as though the name should mean something to them.

  Nate wasn’t familiar with anyone with that name.

  Pa tipped his hat. “Is there something I can do for ya?”

  Ma and the Huckabees were all bunched around, waiting, listening.

  “I believe there is. My husband and I have traveled west, searching for our nephew. We’ve been through every dusty little town between here and Missouri. The only reason we’ve stayed here so long is that I think he is my sister’s child.” She pointedly looked at Nate.

  Ma gasped. Mrs. Huckabee grabbed her arm, steadying her.

  Nate clung to Pa’s sleeve.

  “Don’t approach my son again.” Pa turned, nudging Nate along.

  “I’m not sure he is your son. From what I’ve been told, he was adopted.” Her nose was in the air. “I’ve already asked to see the paperwork.”

  Pa abruptly halted. The marshal was quick to his side.

  “Let it drop, Nolan.” Huckabee gave Pa a push, and they all moved off down the street toward the starting line.

  Nate glanced over his shoulder. She was still intently watching him as if he were the prize in some strange game. It scared him. He kept a tight hold on Pa’s arm. Pa must have sensed the spine-tingling prickles running through him. He handed Elizabeth to Ma, then scooped Nate up and sat him on his shoulders.

  “You got the best seat in the house.” Pa patted Nate’s knee. “You let me worry about her.”

  “I don’t know her or her husband,” Nate stated, trying to hide the shake in his voice.

  He knew Tate and the marshal had done some investigating. But then he had hurt himself, and he and Pa never got to talk over the details. Could he really be that woman’s nephew? And what exactly did that mean? They’d been searching, and people only looked for things they wanted, valued. But how could that be? They didn’t know him. He’d never once been around them.

  “Her husband’s name is Lem. Do you recall ever hearing either name?”

  Nate’s past was filled with lots of bad people. Most of them, he’d rather forget. He would have remembered those two. They were too wealthy for the likes of men Nate used to ride with when he was with his old pa. The Fletchers were the kind of folks that Jim Younger and his gang would have robbed, not hobnobbed with.

  “No, sir. I ain’t ever met them before.”

  “Forget it,” Pa said. “We’re gonna have a jim-dandy of a day, and nothing’s gonna ruin it.”

  Pa was right, of course. Why let circumstances or other people tramp down your mood? There was always a way out, a way up. No reason to sulk or stew on it. They would go on about their day and just forget those rotten Fletchers.

  So what? She’d read over his adoption papers. She’d also learn he was born to an outlaw, a notorious one, and, like many others who had found out, she would probably never look his way again. He wasn’t high society. This had to be a case of mistaken identity. Tomorrow, they’d head home, and he would never think about the Fletchers again.

  “What would you like to do after Tate’s race?” Pa patted Nate’s leg.

  “Ride the carousel.” Nate was quick to speak up.

  “All right, then.”

  They found an open spot along the crowded boardwalk near the starting ribbon. They all bunched in. A red ribbon was stretched tight across the width of the street, marking where the horses should line up. Deputy was already cheering on Tate. All the horses pranced nervously.

  Nate was thankful Pa had put him up on his shoulders. Perhaps his leg wouldn’t get bumped. There were people everywhere, shoulder to shoulder. They must be five deep along the whole length of the street. Lots of people passed by, trying to find a hole that would allow them a good view of the race. Ma stood close to Pa and held Elizabeth on her hip. The marshal and his wife were standing on the other side of her. They all watched as the riders jerked the reins, lining up their horses.

  Nate cupped a hand around his mouth. “Go git ‘em, Tate.”

  Tate gave them all a confident wave.

  The starting pistol fired. The line of horses sprang forward, taking off at a run, breaking through the red ribbon. Shouts and cheers rose from the onlookers. The street roared with voices, everyone elevating the name of their chosen rider. They all clapped loudly for Tate, except Nate, whose right arm was still in its sling. Tate’s horse pulled a length ahead of the others,
dust flying off the heels of the horses. Down the street they flew, almost to the finish.

  Nate felt Pa jerk under him. The sudden tug twisted Nate, and he squirmed so he could stay facing the race. Nate brushed off the distraction of the moving crowd, figuring someone had bumped Pa.

  Tyson’s horse had gained on Tate. It was gonna be close.

  “Tate won!” Nate threw his one arm up.

  Deputy was bouncing. Everyone cheered. Some clapped or shook hands. A few exchanged dollar bills. The marshal gave a sharp whistle.

  Pa was quiet. Nate looked down. Pa was eye to eye with Lem Fletcher, and he had a mean grip on Pa’s arm.

  “How did he get hurt?” Fletcher demanded as though Nate’s welfare were his personal business.

  No one in their right mind laid a hand on Pa. He wasn’t one to be pushed, nor was he tolerant of being questioned about his own affairs.

  “Git your hands off me.” There was a definite edge in Pa’s tone, a stern, icy warning, his stature stiff, and there wasn’t a friendly line on his face.

  The marshal stepped between them, shoving Fletcher off.

  Pa lifted Nate over his head, setting his feet on the planks. “Kate, you and Constance take the children. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

  Nate wanted to go congratulate Tate, but he didn’t feel okay to leave Pa’s side. Not that Pa needed his help. Quite the opposite. Nate felt safest with Pa.

  Fletcher was in Pa’s face, not as tall, not by six inches, but he held himself in an austere manner that made one believe he was a big man in a different world, wherever he’d come from. “I understand my wife spoke to you earlier and explained why we’re here.” He thrust a tintype toward Pa. “The woman on the right, do you know her?”

  Pa pushed the picture back at Fletcher. “Can’t say that I do.”

  “Well, let me enlighten you. Her name is Lucinda.”

  Nate stiffened. His grip on Ma tightened. This couldn’t be. That name he knew. So did Ma, and she began to pull him away from there.