Skye took to the land, as if the dirt were in her veins. She splayed the land with horse and blades beneath a boiling sun, as if failure were a grave thought itself. The black dirt would be our gold. As she cut the furrows, I followed, planting corn with my boy on my back in a sling until I was knotted in pain.

Sweat stung my eyes and blurred my vision, but I could see her rows were more like waves. I had no heart to break her stride. I couldn't figure out if we were too stubborn or foolish to work the land alone.

As the sun melted over the horizon west, the skies turned to rose and lavender. I imagined Jake returning home from the war and then I would tell him, and it would be no lie, that I loved him, and he was a good man. No matter what his mother said, I blamed myself for him going off to fight the war between the states. I could not forgive myself until I could ask him to forgive me. As I thought or imagined him appearing on the hazy horizon beyond the bluffs sweat gave way to tears. The hardscrabble of a homestead left hanging missed opportunities for companionship. But I had to wipe those tears and set another row of seeds before the darkness covered us.


I had no room left for worry over Skye the Indian girl going back to whoring, the worry over whether Jake would come back from the war in one piece. I resigned my thoughts, that God knew the end from the beginning, as I buried the corn seeds into the ground.

Skye took my golden mare, named Yellow Fever toward the open barn. For the day was spent and a cool blanket of relief swept over us. From the steps of the porch, I grabbed the ladle from a bucket of well water. I let it spill from my greedy lips until it ran down my neck. I set my son down in the bassinet, but he cried to be fed. As I took him to my breast in the cool, timid breeze, I spanned the horizon where my farm looked carved with character in the twilight. The earth was planted in my soul and no longer a dream.

My thoughts turned to the shotgun against a post and near my fingers when I heard a hawkish cry from the barn where Skye was. I set my son down for my double barrel shotgun and placed it against my hip. I strained to watch her walk backward from the double doors where the darkness was like a cave.

With a deep breath I curled my finger on the trigger and waited for Skye to back away with her hands on the reins of my horse. A creature leaped forward into the open air. Half man. Half bird.

"I mean no harm!" He held his arms up, as if he could fly. But then there was enough light to see he was really one poor excuse for a man, tarred and feathered. "Don't shoot. I'm at your mercy." He fell to his knees besides Skye and the horse. She looked at me then, as if to fillet him with her knife.

I didn't like the fact my son fussed without me to hold him. The sun had drained all patience. I held up a hand to Skye and shouted at the unwelcomed sight. "Come no further, and state your business, and don't bat an eye! I will leave you a hole the size of a wrecking ball!"

"I beg for mercy, Ma'am, I'm no thief. I was tackled, tarred and feathered."

"I ain't blind. I can see the white around your eyes. No one tars and feathers a man for sport."

"Ma'am, I beg you. My tongue is like sand, I can hardly speak. I fear my flesh is fried."

I kept the rifle on him. "Come clean, right quick. I can shoot a man on his knees as much as when he stands. Skye. Fetch a lantern and see to my son."

"I sold an elixir. They crashed my wagon into a ravine and then tossed a hot bucket of tar on me. I stumbled, blinded, and feared I lost my sight for good. Then I happened on your place."

"All right. Stand up and walk slow toward me."

"I'm at your mercy. I prayed, as I sometimes crawled in the tall grass as a creature for someone who would offer me Christian hospitality."

"Talk is cheap in town and worth much less on a homestead. Like I say, these men who assaulted you must have had good reason. Your potion must have done more harm than good."

"You are an answer to my prayers, Ma'am."

My toes curled as darkness settled. I lowered the gun. "I'm not sure you're an answer to mine."

"Names, Tom, Tom Healy."

"Stop! Come no closer. I don't need your hand."

It was odd to see a man who looked like someone's nightmare act civil with words. "And who might I have the pleasure of meeting?"

"This here is the Taylor homestead."

"At your service, Mrs. Taylor."

I dared not speak of husband's passing. "Time will tell. You go to the barn and wait. I will send Skye to bring you some of my husband's clothes and a meal. Don't try her, none. Meanwhile there's water in a trough, I suggest you get busy with it before the skeeters eat you alive."

Thanks, Ma'am. Much obliged to your husband too. You are an angel of mercy."

Pay no mind what you think of me. Keep yourself from the trough to the barn, rest and recover under a horse blanket. I'll see to it your fed and watered. When the sun comes up we can talk. Just know my patience hangs on a thread. Don't try me no further. I got no time for charity and I don't fret none what you think of me."

Skye took care of the unwanted guest while I tended to my son. As Sky passed by with a lantern to the front door, I watched her quiet, unwavering loyalty. As she hung the lantern on the nail in front by the door. I held my playful son on the floorboard. Skye knelt, and beckoned the boy to come to her.

He smiled with cherub smile. He wobbled a bit and then found his legs and stumbled toward her. I looked into the Indian's stark blue eyes as she gathered up my son. "We all need to take it one step at a time."