Authors: Kat Flannery
He could see the mountains through the tree tops. He'd return soon and claim what was stolen from him years ago. He patted his thigh where he'd sewn an extra piece into the pant leg for his money. He needed more. One more kill. The man will pay triple next time. One more victim and he'd have the amount he'd need to fulfill his promise. He caressed the feather in his hair.
He no longer wanted to kill the witch women. The softness of their skin, the smell of their hair—he'd never forget. He open and closed his hands. He could still feel their blood run down his arm after he sliced their throats. He could hear the quiet moan that seeped from supple lips as life wafted from their lungs. Sweat bubbled on his forehead and his stomach roiled. He bowed his head and inhaled until he collected himself. He scowled and hid behind the evil mask he'd perfected.
He sat up tall in the saddle.
I am Otakatay, one who kills many
.
He was vile and grim. He sat for a long moment listening to the squirrels rustle in the trees. Branches cracked as a fox bolted into his den. The muggy air filled his lungs leaving the familiar taste of pinecones, horse and earth on his tongue. Here, within the depth of the forest he felt welcome.
He clicked his tongue, urging Wakina on.
The river was quiet, and the chickadees chirping in the trees indicated it was safe to stop for a drink. He dismounted and released Wakina and watched as he made his way toward the rushing water. The horse trotted toward him with a black boot protruding from his mouth.
He pulled it from Wakina's strong teeth. The boot was old, the leather creased and soft from wear. He flipped it upside down. Two holes the size of his baby finger dripped water. The heel was worn down, smooth and shiny.
He thought of the crazy girl with the braid. This must be her boot. He scanned the area for the other one and spotted it by a rock. Both boots were wet and in need of repair. He often wondered why the wasichu didn't wear moccasins. The soft leather moulded the feet and kept them warm. He hung the boots on a branch to dry out. The girl would come back for them.
She was feisty, that one. He didn't understand why she wasn't afraid of him. Why hadn't she run the first time he'd told her to go? Most people never hung around long enough to be told to leave, but she did. And she even wanted to know his name.
His features softened for a moment before he tightened his mouth and narrowed his eyes. He pushed any warm thoughts from his mind. The notion of even one kind thought toward a wasichu was enough to make him sick. He swatted at the boots hanging from the tree, until they tumbled to the ground.
Wakina snorted.
"I will not help a wasichu," he said to him.
Wakina snorted louder and bared his teeth.
He glared at his horse. There was no pity left within him. No remorse for the things he'd done. He couldn't be the soft, timid boy who would sit on his Ina's lap and listen to stories. That person was no more. He was gone and would never return.
Wakina walked over, picked up one of the boots and placed it gently on a rock sitting in the sun.
"Do not touch the other boot, Wakina."
The horse snuffed at him, picked up the other boot and placed it next to its partner.
Otakatay strode toward the rock.
Wakina blocked his path.
He grabbed the reins, and looked straight into his eyes. "You, Wakina, I will eat one day if you keep this up."
He left the boots where they were and went back into the forest in search of a new camp.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elwood paced the length of the dining room. He pulled out his pocket watch. Two o'clock.
"Damn it, Nora should've been here an hour ago to play cards with Joe."
She'd said after lunch. He clicked the watch closed and shoved it into his pocket. He glanced out the window, but there was still no sign of the dark-haired girl.
He eyed the liquor cabinet in the corner. Wine, whiskey and bourbon called to him. He hadn't had a drink since this morning and he'd been hankering for one the last hour. His stomach lurched. He'd been up half the night drinking and thinking about Nora and what it would be like to have her as his wife.
He'd grown restless at the mine, and he was bored with the women at the saloon. He wanted a wife and Nora was the one. She'd add immeasurably to the wealth he'd already obtained. The best part about his plan was he'd be able to take her whenever the need arose, and she wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it.
He pulled on the collar of his shirt and undid the top button. Red and Levi were due back from the saloon any minute. The two men went everywhere with him. They were an extra pair of guns when he needed them and they helped keep order at the mine. He needed to collect on a few homesteads, and he'd be taking them with him.
Jess Chandler owed him more than the rest of the farmers he'd sold to. The crazy crow was a good shot and damn near put a bullet in him last time he'd been out to her place. He'd set her straight today. He'd bring old Savage and the boys. The mutt would attack anyone Elwood commanded him to, and Red could clip a whiskey bottle a hundred yards away. Elwood would love to see that devil woman thrashing on the ground with a chunk of her throat missing or a bullet in her chest.
He peered out the window once more and groaned. There was still no sign of Nora.
"Joe," he hollered. "Joe, come on in here."
The boy had been sitting in the lobby, waiting for Nora.
The shuffle of Joe's feet grew louder as he got closer.
"Yes, Pa. Yes, Pa."
Joe stood in the doorway wearing a blue shirt buttoned wrong and tucked into his denims. His rounded back was more prominent today, and the sadly buttoned shirt did nothing to hide it. His dirty-blonde hair stuck out in all directions, while crumbs from the cookie he'd been eating gathered at the sides of his mouth.
"Look at you." He motioned with his chin. "You're a mess."
He walked toward him.
"Damn it, boy, why can't you clean yourself up?" He raised his hand and the boy flinched.
He chuckled. The kid was afraid him. A rush of excitement bolted through his veins, and he brought his arm back down to his side. Some days he had to show the kid who was in charge. He'd done enough damage that it didn't much matter what he did to him anymore. Joe usually followed the rules, but when he didn't, Elwood had a way of reminding him.
He loved seeing the fear in Joe's blue eyes and the way he'd withdraw whenever Elwood was mad. The kid was useless around the mine, and most days he was locked in his room.
"Do you remember when Miss Rushton said she was stopping by?"
"I like Nora. I like Nora." He swayed his head.
"Yeah, I get that." Elwood went back to glance out the window. Why wasn't she here? He wanted to make sure they had dinner together. "Damn woman."
"Nora's not a damn woman. Damn woman. She isn't a witch, a witch either." Joe stopped, a loud moan came from his wet lips and his eyes rolled back.
Elwood turned from the window. "Ah, hell."
He grabbed Joe's arm, brought him to a chair and shoved him into the rose-colored fabric. He was getting mighty tired of these episodes and considered leaving the kid in the middle of nowhere. Be rid of the invalid for good. Spit dripped from Joe's mouth, and his whole body twitched. Elwood took his time removing his expensive suit coat which he placed neatly on a chair.
"I need a drink." He rummaged through the liquor cabinet.
Joe's arms were rigid, and his fingernails dug into his palms. The front of his shirt was wet, and a high pitched sound hummed from his lips. His boots tapped on the floor and grated on Elwood's nerves so that he knocked over a bottle of Champagne.
"Where's the damn whiskey?" He pulled out a dusty bottle of scotch and decided that would do.
Joe was still in the full effects of his fit.
Not bothered by it at all, Elwood uncorked the scotch, smelled the bottle and poured himself a drink.
The boys crippled legs bounced up and down in perfect cadence. Damn, this was taking forever. When this happened at the mine, he'd make sure he was nowhere near the kid. He downed the alcohol, poured himself another glass and walked toward Joe. He glared at him and gave his leg a little kick. The boy continued to shake, his body stiff.
He'd had enough. Elwood brought his leg back to kick him again, a little harder this time when he heard voices coming into the dining room.
He swallowed the remaining scotch and knelt in front of Joe when a man and woman entered the room.
"Son, come out of it. Daddy's here," Elwood crooned.
"Oh, dear." The woman rushed toward them. "Is your boy okay?"
"He suffers from fits." Elwood frowned and made his eyes water. "I hope he comes out of it soon."
"Oh, you poor thing."
June came into the room, a bag in each hand. She dropped them when she saw Joe. "How long has he been like this?"
"He just started. I've been trying to make him comfortable." Elwood feigned concern.
"Did you call for Doctor Spencer?" June asked.
Elwood hadn't even thought to call for the doctor. He masked his irritation. "No, I didn't have time. I didn't want to leave my boy."
June glared at him before she focused on Joe. "Dear, can you hear me?" She rubbed his shaking arms and started singing Mary had a Little Lamb, with compassion showing in her old eyes.
Elwood wanted to leave. He had better things to do than sit with the damn kid, especially after that episode. He wanted nothing to do with cleaning Joe up either. He eyed the scotch on the mantel. He could use another drink.
When he thought it couldn't get any worse, a crowd gathered. He had to keep from pressing his fingers into Joe's arm. The kid did this stuff all the time back at the mine. Hell, he was a constant nuisance and most times Elwood left him alone to deal with the aftermath by himself.
A bystander brought a chair for June to sit on.
"Try to make him comfortable," another person said and a woman wearing a black skirt covered with an apron brought in a blanket and laid it across Joe's restless legs.
Elwood eyed the liquor cabinet.
Joe's legs stopped twitching and his body gradually relaxed. He opened his eyes, glassy and dazed.
"Joe, can you hear me?" June rubbed his hand. "Are you all right?"
The boys eyes filled with tears, and it took all the strength Elwood had in him not to slap the kid across the face.
"Could someone get the boy a glass of lemonade, please?" June asked.
"My head hurts, my head hurts," Joe slurred.
"Would you like me to go for the doctor?" A young man asked.
"He'll be right as rain in a few minutes. Happens all the time," Elwood said as he ignored June's glare and grabbed the Scotch. He downed two glasses before the woman came back with Joe's lemonade.
The crowd disbursed after wishing Joe well. Elwood couldn't stand to be near the kid any longer.
"Seein' as how the boy's come out of it, I've got business to attend to." He left June and Joe in the dining room.
He walked around the back of the hotel to check on Savage. He picked up the chewed piece of rope. Savage was gone.
"Damn mutt. I should've shot him years ago." He whistled for Savage to come. "But the bastard does come in handy now and then."
He wanted to take him along while he collected payment from certain farmers, especially that crotchety Jess Chandler. She had a way of ruffling his feathers. Her and that damn shotgun. She won't mess with Savage, that's for sure. The vicious dog was feared by most men. He whistled again.
"Savage, where in hell are you?"
He scanned the edge of the forest and the street out front. There was no sign of him and he didn't have time to wait. His palm itched for some cash and his throat needed some whiskey. He'd take care of the dog when he got back. He'd make sure the son of a bitch never ran off again.
He glanced back one more time before he headed to the saloon to round up his men. The bloody dog would feel his whip when he found him. He laughed and weaved his way through the people on the boardwalk.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nora's boots were placed on a rock beside the river. The one she'd sat on while dipping her feet into the cool water earlier. Hands on her hips, she scrutinized the area. She'd tossed her boots to the side, close to the water's edge, but not onto the rock.
Wondering how her boots got there, she pivoted on her heel and searched the area around her. She spotted a large footprint in the mud.
The Indian!
She ran her fingertips along the edge of the print and thought about the stranger she'd met this morning.
He had scared her half to death, coming up behind her the way he did. Goodness, he even made her vomit. Her cheeks glowed, embarrassed by how easily she'd spooked, but it wasn't until she looked at him that she was truly shaken. He was huge. A beast of a man—wide, jagged, rough and mean. Someone she didn't want to remember that was for sure, or run into twice.
She quickly searched the trees around her. Shades of green and brown blurred as she scanned the outlining area of the forest. Thinking of the Indian made her nervous. She swore she could feel his dark eyes upon her even now, and the hair on her arms rose. In his presence, she sensed danger and, worse yet, death. But there was something else. She could feel it, deep within her soul. Curiosity pushed her to find out more.
I'm crazy. He's dangerous.
People didn't behave horrible for no reason. She thought of Savage, Elwood's dog. The signs were all over the animal that someone had mistreated him and she'd bet it was the rich miner. The black fur was matted, bald in places and his snout was deformed. She figured he'd been kicked or beaten with a stick and that was why he was so mean. The dog was born an innocent pup, as the stranger was once an innocent baby, but through circumstances beyond their control both of their paths had turned in the wrong direction.
What in the stranger's life had caused him to become so hateful? What pushed him to be cruel enough to threaten an innocent woman?
Determined to find out, she made a vow to look for the man tomorrow. If he was still around she'd do her best to befriend him, if he didn't kill her first.
She picked up her boots, still damp and sat down on the rock. While tying them, she listened to the rushing water and wondered where the river was going in such a hurry. If she had a boat she'd ride out the currents to see where they'd take her. She'd never been on a boat, but she imagined the wind in her hair. Not a care would enter her mind. There would be no running, no hiding and no disappointing her father.
If I had a friend, we'd go together.
A tear formed in the corner of her eye and she blinked it away. Friends weren't going to be popping up anytime soon. Willow Creek's women had long ago given up on befriending the blacksmith's daughter, thanks to Pa. Because of his selfishness, most of the women would rather talk behind her back than to her face. She cringed. During the first few months after moving here, the women came to call bringing pies and scones, but sadly she'd turned them all away. Even though she'd done so with a smile and a polite thank you, they never returned.
She shrugged.
"Yes, well it's not meant to be, and I can't sit around feeling sorry for myself, now can I?"
There was no answer, but she didn't expect one. She stood and straightened her skirt. Her shoulders slumped as the bereft feeling she'd known so well eased within her soul to nestle there, familiar and warm.
Nora walked down the boardwalk from the hotel. Poor Joe. The boy was resting after a bad fit this afternoon. Her chest constricted. She couldn't ease the seizures, or the mind, but she wished she could heal his legs. She battled with herself each time she saw his deformed limbs, wanting to help him. The boy didn't deserve to have so many problems.
When she asked, Elwood told her Joe had been born that way, but Nora wasn't too sure. Joe's legs were knurled and his calves pointed outward when he stood. But it was the hunch on his back that made her second-guess his father. If Joe had been born crippled, his hump would be much larger than it was now.
She shook her head. She shouldn't be thinking such horrible thoughts, but Joe had planted himself inside her heart, and she wanted to protect him. She considered him a friend.
Friend.
The word stuck in her mind and a smile spread across her face.
Joe was the one person who hadn't judged her. He allowed her to be who she really was, not someone she was told to be. Not a girl locked in a cabin with hopes and dreams, and a gift. She accepted him for his differences as he accepted Nora for hers.
She'd mended his thumb earlier and he never questioned her. He may have thought she was a witch, she grimaced, but when she explained things to him, he understood and promised to keep her secret. Even though Joe had a simple mind, she knew without a doubt the boy wouldn't tell a soul about the episode behind the hotel.
She glanced back at the building. If she'd come earlier, Joe might not have had the fit and they'd be sitting on the porch playing Old Maid. Nora felt terrible for making him wait. She would come back tomorrow and hope he'd be well enough to see her.
She took the path behind the stores home. The aroma of coal stoves heating up dinners wafted toward her. Smoke filtered up from the chimneys and dissolved into the gray sky. Her pace quickened. Pa would be home soon.
What was she going to make for dinner? There wasn't much in the tiny cupboards to cook and Pa had drunk away all their money. She sighed. He needed help, and she had to make him see that he was destroying his life as well as hers.
She climbed through the window and closed it quietly behind her. In the kitchen, she skimmed through their meager supplies, not bothering to take down the box that held her mother's jewelry. No, she wouldn't sell the few things she had left of her.
There was one jar of peaches and one jar of pork left, and she placed them on the counter. The bag of cornmeal was the last thing left on the shelf. She'd use that in the morning for their breakfast. They would make do.
She looked out the window at her garden. A handful of carrots and two hills of potatoes remained. They could get by for most of the week, if she were careful. She could make potato soup. The meal would last them a few days. She opened the icebox. Her shoulders sagged and her bottom lip trembled. No milk. She glanced back to the counter. A teaspoon of flour was left in the jar, and she'd used all the baking soda on the sofa earlier.
Inside the cupboard, two empty shelves stared back at her. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears from flowing and pressed her forehead to the wood.
What will we do? Oh Pa, what will we do?
The door swung open and her father came in, harried, filthy and stinking of stale alcohol. How did Jed work with him all day and not be sick?
She planted a smile on her face. "Good evening, Pa. How was work?"
Pa's eyes narrowed. "It was work." He pulled a chair out and slumped down into it.
She fidgeted with her hands, twisting her fingers until they hurt. She opened the jars and put the meat in the frying pan. She needed to talk with him, but she didn't know how. Every time she confronted him about going out or having friends, he'd fly off the handle and spend the rest of the night drinking at the saloon. But she had to say something now. She had to. There was no food left.
He hunched over in his chair half asleep. He was drinking himself to death.
She cleared her throat. "Um, Pa?"
The meat in the pan sizzled and she flipped it with a fork.
He angled his head toward her, but didn't say anything.
She chewed on her bottom lip while wiping her hands up and down on her apron.
Quit being a ninny.
"Pa?" she started again. "We need to talk about...about your drinking." She braced herself for what was to come. From head to toe her muscles tensed.
He was silent.
She took two plates of peaches and fried pork to the table. She watched, as he moved the rubbery meat from one end of the plate to the other, never bringing the fork to his mouth. She couldn't blame him because it didn't look appealing.
She stared at him. Was he going to say anything? Taking his silence as a sign that he was willing to listen, she put her fork down and said quickly, "Pa, you have to stop going to the saloon. You have to stop gambling."
He stared at his plate for what seemed an eternity.
She inhaled and waited for him to speak.
He placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands. His blue eyes penetrated right through her. "No daughter of mine will tell me what to do," he growled, deep and low.
"But, Pa, you've spent all our money again. You gambled and drank it all away."
He slammed his fist onto the table. Plates rattled against their forks.
She jumped.
"The money you talk of is mine. I work for it. I hammer every day for hours to put food on the table, and this is the thanks I get?"
"No, no I appreciate all of those things, I do." She knelt in front of him. "But, Pa, you're drinking more and more every time."
"Sheriff Reid mentioned that he spoke with you yesterday."
The damn lawman was a boot-licker.
"I...I went for a walk. I wandered a little too far. It was nothing." She fidgeted with her skirt.
"You broke the rules, Nora, and at the end of the month we will be moving."
"No, Pa. I thought it best to get some fresh air, that's all." She stood and walked to the counter.
"What do you know about what's best? You're still a child."
"That is not true, Pa. I am almost nineteen. Most women my age are married with children to care for." When he rolled his eyes and threw his fork onto his plate she knew this conversation wasn't going to go well.
I'm in it now, no sense turning back.
"Marriage will never be in your future, Nora. I've told you that time and time again. You are different, and you need to accept that."
"I know I'm different. But I can still have a normal life—I can still be a normal girl."
"No, Nora, you can't."
"Mama could heal, and she married you." Bringing her mother into the conversation was a sure fire way to anger her father. Prepared for battle, she waited for him to say something.
"Your mother didn't tell me until it was too late, until I found her hanging from a tree with a rope around her neck." He pushed his plate away.
Tears filled her eyes, as she leaned against the counter. She knew how her mother died. Accused of being a witch, the townspeople broke into their home while her father was away and hung Hannah Rushton on the tree in their yard. Nora was a baby. Her father found her hours later nestled in the trunk in their bedroom. Afraid the angry posse would come for Nora, Pa took her and they fled in the middle of the night.
"I am not Mother. No one here knows about my gift."
"Gift?" he sneered. "You call what you have a
gift
? It's a damn curse."
"I can't change who I am."
"No, you can't. That's why you must obey the rules I have set for you." He tapped his fingertips on the table, a sign he was frustrated and needed a drink.
"But I—
"I know, Nora. You want to be normal. But you're not," his voice grew louder. "You are different, not by choice, but different just the same."
Desperation pulled at her sanity. She needed him to understand. "I have no friends. I want to get married some day. How can I do any of those things if you keep me locked up in the house?"
He stood and raised his voice, "Are you not hearing me, daughter? You will never have those things. There will never be anyone who can be trusted enough to know. They will kill you." He ran his hand along his red face. "Do you understand? They will kill you." He slumped into his chair and murmured, "I could not bear finding you hanged from a tree, too."
She went to him. "Please, Pa, I've been good. I promise. Let me have a little freedom."
"No."
Nora's cheeks flushed and she frowned. "I've met your end of the bargain. I stayed in the house," she yelled. "But you haven't kept yours. We have no money. You've gambled and drank it away."
His face twisted and he glared at her.
Nora stood her ground. She would not back down.
"I'm the head of this house. I say where the money is spent." He grabbed her arms and leaned in so close she thought he would fall on top of her. "Do you hear me?" He shook her. "I am tired of you accusing me of not giving a damn. If I didn't, I'd let you roam the hills using your
curse
on who ever needed it."
She looked into bloodshot eyes. There was no way to make him see. He was sick, and there was nothing she could do to help him. "I understand," she whispered.
"I don't think you do." He wrenched her closer. "You want to have friends, and go out, and get a job. But you're too stupid to understand what will happen when they find out you're cursed."
"I am not cursed," she shouted.
"Yes, you are." He tossed her to the ground as he stood. "You're the very reason I've had to move all over this damn country. You're the reason we've been chased down by people you've healed." He pointed a finger at her and his voice rose. "You are why there is nothing left of what we once had."