Absolution River (3 page)

Several hours into the drive he became very hungry and pulled over on the deserted country road somewhere around Big Fork. He stopped and stared up at the sun and closed his eyes feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. He took a deep breath and exhaled. He had always loved nature and the bounty that it provided him. It was quiet and he always felt at peace. His time in solitary, though he enjoyed its peace and quiet, was difficult because it kept him from this place.

Turning the truck off he took his pack out of the bed. He had not bathed in several days and decided to walk into the wilderness for a while to find some cool water and perhaps trap some food. Parking the truck on a dirt side path just off the main county road, he slammed the old rusted door and left it behind.

After walking for maybe two hours he found a creek and stripped down. As he was always a cautious man he hid his pack and clothes behind a thick row of bushes. He sat down in the ice-cold water and washed himself. He sat in the small circular part of the creek and closed his eyes. Thinking of the past and giving no thought to the future. In his experience people spent too much time focusing on where they were going and not where they were.

He put his dirty clothes back on and began to set some snare traps throughout the forest. He returned and started a fire. The bedroll was thin and provided little comfort, but it was better than nothing. Laying down on it, he looked up into the trees and felt the warm breeze on his clean skin. The trees swayed back and forth and he began to breathe in rhythm with their movement. The drifter could sit for hours, days, and weeks without saying a word and being content in that fact. With his silence he could hear something in the woods and knew he would eat tonight.

He cooked the small squirrel on the fire he had prepared and shortly after the sun went down he fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning he gathered his things and began his walk back to the truck. He wasn’t sure where he was going but desired to see where the road would lead him. Throwing his pack into the truck bed he got into the driver’s seat. The key turned and produced no result. The battery was dead and he knew there would be no way to get it jumped. He put his head on the steering wheel and decided that fate had already chosen his path.

He once again grabbed his pack, threw it over his shoulders, and walked back into the wilderness. At this point he decided he wasn’t going to walk back out.

VI

There are many remote places in America. In these places you will find men who look for solitude and peace. Most of these men were damaged and broken by the life given to them. They look for solace in the nowhere place. Most do not find it, tormented by the past and the unachievable contentment. A man often looks to those around him for support and counsel but there are a select few who must find desolate parts of their world to resolve their own guilt and sadness.

Eli Franklin Marshall was one of these men. Alone out in the wilderness since some forty years ago when he went in the search for his salvation. It had been a long struggle for Eli before he threw his pack on his back and walked out of the city streets of Kalispell with no particular place to go but away.

Eli and his wife Margaret along with their two girls were the picturesque couple. They were married young and had children young. Eli worked in the mill and Margaret stayed at home to watch over the girls. Every day was paradise for Eli and he could not have asked for more. On his way home, much like any other day, he parked the car in the driveway of their split-level home just five minutes from the mill. Just returning from the local watering hole for a beer with the guys, he was famished and ready for the great meal that his wife always prepared, as was the custom in those days.

The house was unusually quiet, as he was used to his children running out of the front door in their beautiful sundresses, each hugging daddy’s legs. Peculiar, he thought, but his wife must have had the children doing their homework.

As he entered the front door it was apparent that it had been broken open and he immediately was on guard. Eli was an infantryman who had stormed the beaches of Normandy. When he sensed that there was something wrong, his demeanor would turn on a dime and he would thrust himself into the role he played all those years ago. This was what he had done as he moved through the house noticing the bookshelves turned over and the furniture in disarray.

In the distance he could hear movement. Shuffling and moaning was heard near the patio sliding glass door off the kitchen. He went slowly, knowing what he would see and having the knowledge he would not be able to cope. At that moment he realized that he had so much to lose. Crawling through the patio glass door, as it was opened, was his wife. She fell there bloodied and broken between the inside of the house and the out. He went out of his body at that moment, not knowing what to do, and his eyes instantly revealed his worst nightmare coming alive. His stare growing dark and sad, as it forever would be. He knelt down and he noticed her dress had been ripped and blood had soaked most of her abdomen and legs. From this he knew she had been raped.

“Oh baby no!” Eli cried in a soft whimper as he grabbed her head and held it close to his chest. He sat there, stroked her head softly, and looked into her eyes. She had already accepted her fate, and the sadness she had was for her husband, that he would have to live with what had happened.

She began to say something in short, throaty noises, and she began to seize up. Tears flowed down his face, he saw her life leave her body, and he began to convulse slightly, not knowing how to deal with losing his most prized possession. She was kind and caring, and she always had the right answer even if it were difficult to hear. She was their moral compass and a lighthouse for the world around them. When her light went out and he could see her pass on, the room seemed to get darker. The clouds moved in around him and he felt an uncontrollable sense of disorientation and grief. As he held her he looked up and his eyes were overflowing with tears. He screamed louder than he ever had, even in the blaze of gunfire during his breach of the German frontline.

He sat there for a few minutes and laid her head down on the ground and placed her arms on her chest. He was being so careful. He then put his rough carpenter hands over her eyes and closed them for the final time. He got up, now with a blank stare, realizing he didn’t know where his children were.

Wondering why his wife had been trying to get to the backyard, he moved there in a frenzy to see if his girls were okay. They had to be okay, how would he handle losing them too? As he ran to the yard he saw his girls on the seesaw that he had made. One girl was on one side and one girl on the other. He was about fifty feet away but they did not look right. He stood there foreseeing the outcome and something broke within him. As if his spirit could not accept the tragedy and the world that he thought he knew no longer existed. He ran up to his girls who looked like they had been put there as stage props. His hands went to his head and his wails resounded through the neighborhood. Going to his knees he wept uncontrollably. Who could have done this? What could have done this? He couldn’t bear to feel the coldness of their skin. He went inside and sat on the front porch for hours just staring at the big tree in the front yard.

After all of the funeral services had concluded and the dead end investigations closed, he tried to return to what was left of his life. At work his friends would notice him staring out into the mountains during every break and lunch. He didn’t say much anymore to his friends and when he went home he would pour himself a big drink of whiskey and drink until the heaviness of his eyes outweighed his grief, and like usual, pass out on the dining room table. Even the thought of lying in his bed without his wife was a possibility his mind could not comprehend. He could not protect her so he did not deserve comfort.

One day Eli simply stopped showing up to work. The house had been sold and all of his possessions had been donated. His friends stopped by and were in awe, though not shocked at what had happened to their friend. If they had been paying attention and looked off into the distance they would look at Eli taking one last look at his home from the edge of the wilderness. Eli looked for a few seconds because it would be the last he would see it, and so he turned into the forest, never to return.

Some forty years later Eli sat down on an old stump in the woods near the cabin he built. He was waiting for some traps, sitting quietly among the old trees, listening and hoping for a good meal that night. Over time Eli had become very good at living alone out in the woods. He was beginning to tire as the sun began to come down under the mountains and decided to call it a day. As he rose from the stump he noticed orange flags marking what seemed like a grid. He thought he must have been getting old, because he knew everything that happened within at least a hundred acres of his property. He immediately knew what the flags were for, but it was for another day and his mind wandered too easily to be concerned about these matters presently.

He had sort of a limp from an accident quite a few years back and with no medical attention anywhere in sight, a small injury can become a lasting one. Eli wasn’t in any hurry, as he had nowhere to go and no one to meet. After walking along a trail he could traverse blind, a cabin came into view. It was small but it suited him just fine. A large fireplace dominated the single room building and the fire was still smoldering from this morning. He grabbed a few logs on his way in, as the fall nights were beginning to get chilly. Inside of the home he had furniture made of the wood from out his front door, and it was all done by hand and with precision. Some from the city might pay a handsome price for furniture Eli built out of necessity. There was a bookshelf full to the brim, a small kitchenette, and a dinner table with one chair. The fireplace was the centerpiece and covered nearly the entire back half of the cabin. Along the mantle were photos of his old life, friends from the war long gone, and one of his father. The photos were worn and only he could see what they displayed. There were no pictures of his wife and children because that would be a pain he need not be reminded of.

He had also constructed a large comfortable chair made of spruce and animal skins in which he spent most of his time sitting in front of the fire. He rarely spent time in the cabin but the winters were harsh in this part of the country and many of those cold nights were spent there. He placed the logs on the fire, and they should’ve lasted through at least part of the night, when he would have to wake from shivers and place a few more onto the ash. He took a seat, pulled out some beef jerky he had been storing for winter, took a few bites, and washed it down with some whiskey he also stored in large quantities. Not long after he sat he was fast asleep.

VII

Arch came home from the mill, where he stopped by once a week to ensure operations were going smoothly. Normally he spent his time out with the timber and his men to make sure they weren’t cutting corners and costing him money. He got into the by-the-hour motel he was staying around eleven at night.

Charlene, his regular, was standing just outside his door. “You looking for some sugar, sugar?”

She was not an attractive woman even in her prime, and nearing forty her sole occupation in life was to get just enough money for the next fix. She wore a dress that was entirely too small and she looked very cheap, but that was how Arch liked it, he liked everything cheap.

“Not now, whore,” said Arch as loud as one could muster after coming down from his typical cocaine binge.

“Mm hmm, fine suga’, last you see any a this” said Charlene as a matter of fact.

Arch knew this not to be true and he slammed the door in her face. His demeanor worsened when he looked at the inside of his room. Fast food containers and empty liquor bottles were strewn about and he was so exhausted he didn’t even care. He fell flat on his face on the dirty, very used mattress of the cheap motel. Another moment of lucidity came across him right before closing his eyes.
Is this all there is?
Not caring that he still had his dirty boots and clothes on he looked for the light switch blindly. As he turned he eyed a bible, “placed by the Gideons,” he read. He pondered on it a moment and immediately threw it across the room, and not long after, his eyes were closed and he was dreaming of horrible things.

VIII

The Deer Lodge Prison was business as usual for the next several days. Anders was back to his usual duties in the solitary confinement wing. He worked the graveyard shift because the pay was a few pennies more an hour and he needed all the money he could get to support his newborn baby girl. The morning shift arrived and he began to transfer over his duties and give a de-brief to the incoming guard of the night’s activities.

“Pretty quiet last night, Tom,” said Anders to the morning shift guard. “All except cell three, the prisoner was making quite a bit of noise and he was banging his head against the door for at least an hour.”

“Oh yeah?” said Tom with a chuckle.

“Yeah. I talked to him about the weather and read the paper to him a bit. Sometimes a man just needs to be acknowledged. You can go a long time in this place without feeling like you exist, you know?” said Anders in a sad tone.

“You care too much man, I’d a just left him in there and turned up the tube,” said Tom.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. But then again, maybe the guys in here just never got a chance to be heard. Maybe their crime was a means of calling for help. A Hail Mary to the world.,” said Anders.

“Uh, yeah buddy, whatever you say. Just collecting a paycheck here, you know, checking that box,” said Tom.

“Ha, yeah Tom, suppose you’re right,” said Anders to Tom agreeably.

“Everything else good though?”

“Yep, all good, have a good shift,” said Anders with a smile as he exited the outer cell door.

“Hey Anders?” said Tom.

“Yes Tom.”

“Captain wants to see you.”

“Uh, okay, sure, I’ll head there right now,” said Anders.

“Oh, and Anders.”

“Yes Tom,” said Anders, now thoroughly distracted. The captain had never personally called him, mainly because the captain didn’t ever personally want to see him.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Tom, genuinely concerned.

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Anders as he was already exiting the outer cell door.

Anders went to the locker room, which resided in the outer area of the prison away from the main inmate population. He took his time knowing the inevitable and already trying to decide what he would say or do. Not only that, but he was going to need a new job, nothing paid this well anywhere near his home, and as he looked in the mirror at his skin, he immediately knew why he was being called. He removed his uniform for what he thought was the last time and folded it neatly, placing his nameplate on top of the pile of clothing. “Anders,” not even my real name, he thought while closing the locker door slowly.

The world was not a kind place to Native Americans back then and he knew his jig was up. Someone had told the Captain or he had done some research. Either way it was back to some hard labor job and the uncertainty common for those from the res.

Anders knocked on the captain’s door.

“Enter,” said the captain in a monotone.

Anders entered and waited for the request to have a seat. The captain took his time letting Anders sweat a bit and they both knew this. He was looking out the window to the rear of the office, which oversaw the yard where all the prisoners were currently in their morning hour outside. He had a half eaten donut on the table, jelly, and a cup of the coffee next to it. The mug had the words, “Every Day Should Begin with a Smile,” on it with a big smiley face, and Anders rolled his eyes when he saw it. The captain had his uniform top off and slung over the back of the ridiculously extravagant desk chair. His hands were behind his back in a parade rest position.

“Have a seat,” said the captain. “Stalking Wolf. That’s your real name right? Stalking Wolf.”

The captain didn’t give a chance for an answer.

“You Indians got some real interesting names, like you needed to make yourselves feel better after us whites took over.” said the captain. “Well you know, I’ve been keeping my eye on you a lot lately, and you know what I learned?”

The captain didn’t give a chance for an answer.

“You’re a good guard. Nothing heroic or great, but you filled the uniform and you kept the men in line.”

“Thank you sir,” said Anders, still holding on hope for a good outcome, trying to sneak in a reply, some semblance of a man-to-man talk.

“You know Anders, I come off as a hard-ass, I know it. But the reality is, how else do you run a prison? The scum of the Earth come through these doors day in and day out,” said the captain in a grandiose tone.

“Yes sir,” said Anders.

“But I have to let you go.”

Anders was hit with a brick. He knew this was coming but just hearing it made it such a reality, one he could never prepare himself for.

“The other guards don’t want someone from the res taking their jobs. They have friends, good God fearing white friends who are unemployed, and we don’t want a strike on our hands, now do we? You understand, I’m sure,” stated the captain.

Anders stepped out of the prison and walked to his beat up olive green Pinto. He opened the creaky door to the car and before he sat down, he looked back at the monstrosity that was Deer Lodge Prison. He sat in the driver seat praying that the car would start, and thankfully it did. He pulled a left onto the state highway for a three-hour drive back to the Flathead res where his family lived. Normally he’d stay in town in one of the small motels during his workweek and then commute, but now he would be going back a little earlier.

He pulled into the res late that night and walked into the double wide where he and his wife lived with their newborn. He tried not to wake her up but she was sitting there with his baby girl at the kitchen counter. His beautiful wife Aponi, which means forest water, smiled at him.

Anders placed his bag on the couch in the living room, walked over to the kitchen, put his elbows down on the counter, and covered his face with his hands.

“Why are you back so early?” his wife asked in the kindest, most innocent whisper he had ever heard, and he almost wanted to just break down right there. With her free hand she stroked Stalking Wolf’s short black hair.

“They let me go, baby,” said Anders in a sound of defeat.

“What? No, how could they?” said Aponi in a slightly louder tone of concern.

“The captain found out I’m from here, and that, as they say, is that,” said Anders.

“And you just let him fire you,” said Aponi much louder now and with great frustration.

“What was I supposed to do, just lean over the desk and crack that stupid coffee mug of his over his head and go about my work?” said Anders.

Aponi settled down and looked down to the newborn and frowned. She then looked at her husband with eyes of great respect and admiration.

“You were a great warrior my husband, you have so many talents and I love you. I know that you will find something else,” said his wife as she smiled at him again with so much love he couldn’t help but crack a grin. Her love was so great for him and their family that it overflowed into everyone around her. He was so grateful that she was on his side.

Anders looked over at the mantel above the couch, and the faint glow of light from the kitchen shined onto a photo of Stalking Wolf with three other soldiers, with arms over each other, smiling. In the background of the photo you could see a village burning and green highlands all around.