Authors: Abbie Williams
“Lorie,” he said painfully. “You were so young, sweetheart.”
I didn’t want him to pity me because of what I told him. I wanted him to know, because it was a part of me, albeit a dark and twisted one. Words I had never spoken to anyone burst forth.
“Deirdre kept me from taking my own life, which I would have done, but for her, and the notion that surely I would die and go to hell if I killed myself. But I thought of it, often. You can’t know how it feels to be free of that, out here on the prairie, living again, no longer a prisoner there.”
“I understand, I truly do. I spent a good deal of time wishing to die myself,” Sawyer told me, and I hugged him harder at those words. He asked quietly, “What of your friend? Is she yet there?”
“She died,” I whispered. “A year ago she was caught. She had stopped bleeding every month. She was terrified to tell Ginny, terrified to go to the doctor. We knew of a woman who lived on the docks who sold a tea…to bring on the child…”
“What happened?” he whispered, his lips against the side of my forehead.
“I meant to help her, Sawyer, I would have done anything to save her. I loved her. The night after she told me, I snuck from Ginny’s, to the docks in St. Louis, and I found the old woman, I bought the tea.” My heart stuttered but I kept talking, “And then…it was dark, getting to late evening…and someone caught my arm. It was him…Sam Rainey…”
“The man who cut you?” Sawyer’s voice was both shocked and full of venom; I knew that if Sam Rainey was unfortunate enough to be near us in this moment, Sawyer would make him regret it. The thought brought me a certain amount of comfort.
I nodded. “He threatened me and I fear…I know he would have done far worse, but for the fact that he wasn’t alone. Union Jack was with him, and I got away that night, but only because Sam let me. He said…he said I couldn’t escape him forever.” I shuddered again, though the day was hot.
“You are a brave woman. Mark my words,” Sawyer told me. “I hope you know it.”
“It doesn’t seem so to me,” I said, though I did appreciate his words, sincerely spoken. “But worse, far worse…was the next day. I brought back the tea and we brewed it, and Deirdre drank it…it was to bring on the child. She…oh God, Sawyer, it killed her. She bled and bled, and grew fevered.”
“I’m so sorry,” he told me. “You are not to blame.”
“But I brought her the tea. Ginny found out…it was horrible…” I brought both fists to my eyes, an ancient gesture of attempt to block away the sights from my mind, though it had never worked. They came anyway.
“You are not to blame, sweetheart,” he said again, low but insistent. “Though I am sorry you lost her, I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t even know where they took her to bury,” I said, withdrawing my fists and leaning back into him. Just the thought of having to stop touching him was more than I could bear. Sawyer sensed this and held me close and secure.
“I hope you know,” he said gently, before pausing, collecting his thoughts. I sensed his desire to speak his words with delicacy. He said, “I hope you know that you may always tell me these things. I am not easily shocked, and you must never feel as though something you tell me would offend me. I despise that you had to live through such things. I wish I could run backward through time and save you from it.”
“Sawyer,” I whispered. “I know you would.”
After a time he continued, “After the War, I spent so much time wondering why we’re here upon the earth. I would think back to Sunday school, sitting with Ethan and Jere, and the Carters, and there we’d laugh and then get our palms struck. The pastor’s wife told us what she believed. But I could never quite swallow what old Mrs. Wheeler dished out. She could never quite explain the things I really wanted answered, such as what it looked like in heaven. Or why people had to die to go there.”
“Mama used to say we wouldn’t appreciate life, if not for death,” I whispered, eyes closed. “If you lived always, nothing would be precious to you.”
“I have heard that too,” he said, and there was a slight catch in his throat.
“I used to ask my daddy the same question, about why we’re here,” I said.
Sawyer caressed the back of my hand gently with his long thumb, a slow, repeated motion, the way I’d seen him stroke Whistler’s neck.
“What did he say?” he asked then, his voice soft.
I closed my eyes and saw my father. Sometimes, at Ginny’s, I would not be able to picture him clearly, nor Mama, and I would fall over a cliff of panic. But here, with Sawyer and my new family, I found their faces restored to me, gone but not forgotten, so long as I lived.
“He said we were put here to love, that there is nothing else worth dying for. Or living for.”
“He was right,” Sawyer whispered, and he cradled my hand before drawing it to his heart and holding it tightly there. I could feel the powerful beating and my own heart responded in kind as I looked up at him, unable to tear my eyes away. He was truly beautiful. I didn’t dare blink for fear he’d vanish like an apparition. His golden-green eyes rested upon mine and he smiled at me, so tenderly, as the cord that bound our hearts, our souls, pulsed and throbbed. No words were necessary, not when our eyes held in such a way.
Malcolm was on the horizon then, riding our way. Sawyer lifted my hand and held it to his cheek before kissing my palm, and with the greatest of reluctance, I slipped back to my own side of the seat.
I took a turn on Whistler, staying near the wagon as Malcolm chattered at Sawyer. I rode between Angus and Boyd, who were speculating on who was best to teach me a few novice lessons on the Winchester.
“Well, Boyd is the best shot by far,” Gus said. “In the War, he could squeeze off two shots before another man loaded the second round. I can’t even imagine having to muzzle-load, not anymore.”
“I recall my lips would be a-burning with having to tear those papers, load that shot,” Boyd said. “An’ the goddamn Enfields got so hot, didn’t shoot as straight as the Henrys the Federals had. Lucky any of us survived. Jesus.”
“Now this here is a fine weapon,” Gus continued, indicating his Winchester. “If we’d had these years ago…”
“You see, it’s a lever action, so’s you can squeeze off a couple a shots before you reload. We’ll let you take a couple a practice shots this evening, I reckon.”
From the wagon Malcolm contributed, “I shoot it right nice, Lorie, an’ you’ll get the hang of it.”
“It does kick, though, so you must mind your shoulder,” Sawyer told me, and I looked up at him. His brows were knitted with concern. “It could bruise you.”
“Mayhap a bit,” Boyd allowed. “But you’ll toughen up, Lorie-girl.”
“It’s more that you learn to hold it properly,” Angus added. “Have you ever shot a firearm?”
I shook my head. “That was one thing my brothers did not teach me, though I begged. Mama just about had fits that I learned to ride so well. It wasn’t ladylike, she thought. She would have never allowed me to shoot a rifle.” I considered a moment and then allowed, “Though I believe she would understand now.”
“It’s a good skill,” Boyd agreed. “Even for a lady.”
After we’d set up camp, hours later as the sun was reclining westward, all four of them spent time debating at what I could shoot, and how we’d gauge accuracy.
“A row of bottles would be right nice!” Malcolm suggested, hopping about as he always did. I was sitting cross-legged on the grass, watching as Sawyer and Boyd, after much dickering, set up the iron grate and balanced atop it several empty tins Angus had rooted from the wagon. Angus walked over to me, carrying his Winchester in the crook of his arm. He helped me to my feet.
“Now, Lorie, if you hit the grate, you won’t hurt it, but you’ll aim for the tins. It’s a bit lower than I’d like, but we’ll start you at about ten yards, give or take,” he said.
Sawyer and Boyd left off the tins and jogged over to us, Boyd pretending to take aim at the row they had created. Malcolm was attempting to stand on his hands, yards behind us.
“Now, take this in your hands and feel the heft of it,” Angus said, passing the rifle to me. “Keep the muzzle pointed at the ground, for now. It’s loaded, so you must always take care. Never point it inadvertently at someone.”
I nodded seriously. I was wearing Malcolm’s clothes, my hair pulled back into a braid. The evening sunlight fell over our shoulders from behind as I took the firearm; it was much heavier than I had anticipated. The barrel dipped low and I overcompensated, swinging it up too high. Boyd laughed and pretended to duck for cover. I bit my bottom lip in concentration and managed to hold it properly, though I kept my fingers from the trigger.
“Now, balance the barrel in your left hand, thus,” Angus said, indicating. He stood to my right side, pantomiming motions. “Your right will clutch the receiver, just here. Good,” he added, as I caught it properly. “After you aim, you squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it, just squeeze gently. Catch the stock into your shoulder, there,” again I followed his instructions minutely, drawing it to my right shoulder. I could sense Sawyer’s tension, from just to my left, though I knew he was only worried I would be hurt.
“Don’t shoot yet, just practice aiming. You sight down the barrel, just so,” Angus went on, approving as I closed one eye and practiced aiming. The rifle was heavy, but I was determined to shoot it at least a few times. “Make sure to hold aim square in the middle of those cans, keeping your breath steady.”
“It’ll be loud,” Sawyer warned. “Your ears will ring, after.”
“All right, now take aim. That’s good, just so. Remember don’t pull the trigger, squeeze it…” Angus reminded me.
“Now?” I asked.
“Brace yourselves, boys!” Boyd whooped, and I let out all of my breath, aimed as squarely as I could, and squeezed the trigger.
The report of the bullet was deafening and the stock slammed into my shoulder much harder than I’d expected. But through it all, I heard the sharp
ping
of a can being hit.
“Good hit!” Malcolm sang out, though my ears were indeed ringing. It sounded as though Malcolm was speaking through a layer of wool.
Boyd yelled, “That can had nothing on you, Lorie-girl!”
I grinned, letting the barrel tip to the ground, noting that one of the cans was blown clean off the grate, yards behind it now.
“Well shot,” Angus said.
“Did it hit you hard?” Sawyer asked, and he looked so concerned that I smiled at him tenderly, shaking my head. His lips softened then and he added, “It was a good shot.”
“There’s three more!” Boyd said, rubbing his hands together. “See if you can blow ’em away too!”
I shot five more rounds and hit two additional tins, and was deemed a novice rifleman. My shoulder did indeed ache, but I was proud of myself. Angus showed me how to load and unload, and I practiced chambering a round. By the time we headed back to the fire, it was well into evening. Malcolm caught my arm and kept me with him as the men walked ahead, pointing at the heavens and saying, “Look at that big dipper in the sky, Lorie, the big ol’ dipper.” He was in his hoop snake mood, silly bordering on boisterous. “I’m a-gonna get me a drink from it!”
I looked up, seeing the familiar constellation sprawled across the heavens. Perhaps it was because my ears were yet hollowed out and echoing with ringing, or that I had not slept properly in nights, but a rushing dizziness gripped me like a fist, swimming across my vision, blurring the stars. It was so sudden that before I could stop the motion, I reeled and felt myself fall. Malcolm made a sound of alarm and didn’t quite let me hit the ground. There was a frightful spinning within my skull, so strong that fear overrode my embarrassment. Sawyer was there in an instant, helping me to sit. My eyes were closed but I could sense the concern and distress flowing from him, though his hands were steady and warm around my shoulders.
“What happened?” he demanded of Malcolm.
“It wasn’t me! She just fell!” the boy insisted. “Lorie, you all right? What happened?”
I kept my face in my hands, unbalanced. Angus and Boyd were there too, everyone worried about me.
“Lorie, tell me,” Sawyer implored then, low, and he was scared, I could tell, keeping his voice calm with effort.
I drew a breath and looked up, focusing on the far horizon for a moment, then immediately seeking Sawyer’s eyes. In the gloaming light, his were begging me to tell him that I was all right. I explained, “I looked up and was suddenly so dizzy. I’m all right. I am,” I added, when he was not reassured.
“You just fell to the ground,” Malcolm said, kneeling at my side too. “Like your knees just done give out.”
“You’re tired,” Sawyer said. “You need rest.”
Angus said, “Come, let’s get you fed, and then I believe Sawyer is right. You need to sleep.”
I retired as soon as I’d eaten, my head still reeling. The pain frightened me desperately, but I assured them I was feeling much better, though I knew Sawyer did not believe me; he was too adept at reading my thoughts. I longed so for his arms, to be held to his chest. Sitting near him on the wagon had been a gift, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t even close to how much more I wanted and needed. It was physically painful to go into my tent without him being able to join me.
I’ll be right here, sweetheart, right here. Lorie, I’m so worried,
his eyes told me as I stood to bid everyone good-night.
I’m all right,
I tried to reassure him
.
I lay in my shift upon my bedding, listening to them talk in quiet murmurs, as my head spun and swam. I felt alternately hot and chilled, and though I meant to stay awake to see if Sawyer was the one to stay outside my tent, I fell into a restless and fitful sleep. Into my dreams, a dark figure came prowling, stumbling behind me, muttering.
He was just beyond the edge of my vision as I peered desperately into the dimness of my dreamscape. I was at the docks in St. Louis again, seeking old lady Cross and her murderous tea. Sam’s hand was brutally tight around my arm, biting into my flesh and scraping over my bones, and suddenly we weren’t at the docks but in the very camp where I lay sleeping, the sounds of the prairie amplified by a sudden breeze.