Background
Young Jane Taylor was a newlywed with her husband Josh in 1862. Under the homestead act they built a cabin. Jane got pregnant, but in their first winter her husband went to town and got killed in a po
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I prayed the plundering Indians from that morning would not invade my dreams that night. The ranch house was a fortress where even the sinister winds could not penetrate the thick walls of my guest room. In the dark swell of my sleep, they found me. As the dream took over, I heard myself in a mousy voice plead for help.
Shattered windows, torched furniture, and the hallway in flames, an Indian dragged me outside by the hair of my head. Unable to free myself from the nightmare, I watched in horror beneath a bulbous moon, as a painted Indian held my infant child up as a sacrifice to be made.
I jolted awake and gasped for air! My eyes strained in the ink of darkness. I heard footsteps in the hall, heart beating like a war drum.
The door cracked open. Light from the oil lamp flooded across the room until it burrowed into my eyes. Maya, the maid stood with the lamp at arms-length. Her black skin glowing. Her eyes, dancing with concern. "You all right, Miss Taylor?"
I dove for the bassinet. Maya shined the light over my child where I could see his cherub smile. "It was just a bad dream, Maya."
Maya looked at me, her eyes aglow as if the three of us were the center of God's universe. "He takes to sleep like cakes on a griddle, Miss Taylor."
I nodded, unwilling to speak of Indians in my head.
"You've had more than your fair share of trials, Miss Jane. Time we all count our blessings."
I shivered with relief and sat back on the bed. "Thanks, Maya. Sorry if I woke you."
Maya tucked her robe and flashed a smile. "You need anything at all, I be down the hall. Rest easy now."
After she departed I fell into a restless sleep. By daybreak, I nursed my child. I took him to Maya where she had already arranged a blanket for him in the parlor near the stone fireplace.
The smell of pork bacon filled the house. Coffee percolated and sizzled on the stove. But the McCord's who all rubbed the sleep from their eyes huddled around the kitchen and looked at me with sincere concern, like someone who had no business on her own as a widow before twenty and homeless.
I politely declined breakfast and made my way outside where a fervent sun sought the morning mist. Straightway to the stable I found Maya's husband feeding and grooming the horses. Tad's ears perked and must have heard my heavy steps.
"Tad, I need to rummage through my burned cabin for anything worth saving. I've got a money box too, buried in the ground near my husband's grave. I need to know I can start again.
He twisted himself off the stool where he brushed the hair of a honey-colored mare. "Now Miss, Taylor, I won't risk your scalp to be alone. Why the McCord's would have my head."
"Saddle this mare up, Tad. I know how to ride and shoot. But having your company wouldn't hurt."
He showed me a white horse with a spray of gray. "This here is Ole Smokey." He reached for his repeating rifle. And Ole, Henry, he will keep us company along the way, Miss Taylor. He only speaks when spoken to."
The path between the ranch house and my homestead had been well worn. But the rain that night made the trail slick and deepened with mud, putting our horses to the test. Ahead of us, in the sun, the breezy hills looked like rippling waves of amber.
As we followed our eyes and noses to the rain-soaked ashes, Tad sat on his horse and gave me space, all the while with an eye for rogue Indians.
I slipped off my horse and walked through the morning dew and mist. The air smelled of charred ruins. I stepped on broken glass and pottery. Then my eye caught the precious picture of my wedding back east. It was burnt on the corners, but I placed it to my beating heart and thanked the Lord for his tender mercies.
The horse was contented enough with some angel hair and spokes of grass nearby while I wandered over to the oak tree where my former husband had the morning shade in his favor. I knelt down and talked to him as if he were above ground. I knew I should have looked to the heavens. But my eyes were heavy as lead balls.
I spoke to my late husband as if I half expected him to talk back.
"I found our picture, Josh. The one that blinded me when it was taken. And you laughed when I thought I was blinded for good. We both left to build a life together with so much of a child inside us that we saw the world as one big pie to take a bite out of it. And now here I be with a child, and all the vision left is to keep the land and him a roof over his head."
I fell to my knees. "I feel so jaded, Josh. I want to take pleasure in life. I'm still a bit angered that you left me. But I know it weren't none of your fault. I just wish you had stayed with me that night. You know what the preacher says, 'Idleness is the devil's workshop.'"
When I stood and wiped my sore eyes, I saw Jake riding hard through the hills to get to me. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. But he was a man. I had to bite hard on my tongue when he rode up and tipped his hat as if I need be his damsel in distress.
I could tell he had something on his mind. He looked uncomfortable now that he saw me having a ghostly conversation with my husband at his grave. "No need for you to be here. I have Tad."
"Not so. I figured you would lay out for me what you want for a cabin."
I dug the dirt over the grave and scrapped until I fingered the tin box. Superstitious Indians would not have touched the mound. I held up the tin box. "I have enough left for lumber."
Jake looked away and tipped his hat to Tad who rode over. "She was set on going alone, so I brought Mr. Henry too." He held up his rifle.
"No harm Tad, but I can take it from here."
Tad rode off. I knew there was something more pressing for Jake to say. "Is that all that be on your mind, Jake McCord? You don't think I'm in over my head?"
"No Ma'am."
"I don't like it one bit, Jake. When a man looks away and talks, he's got something hard to say."
The moment of silence between us was heavy as the mist that clung to the waves of grass.
He squirmed in his saddle as if he had an itch he couldn't scratch. "You need to hear it from me before someone in town spills the beans."
My impatience grew thin. "Speak your mind and spit it out. I don't need all the snake rattlin'."
Jake turned toward me and acted like he had a ball of cotton stuck in his mouth. "I...I was the one who should have been dead that night in town, Jane."
I was looking for something to hold on to. All I had was the carved stone with my husband's name. I was at a loss to say something. I just needed him to finish what he started while I breathed.
I was in the card game with your husband that night." Jake choked up and fought for his own words. "Josh thought he was fast enough to put the man's gun down when it was pointed at me. It went off on him. Then we all wrestled it away. The one truth was your husband's stubborn smile.
I plopped down in the dirt. My heart sank with me. "He got in the way of a bullet meant for you?"
"I promised him, I told him I'd take care of you..."
It was a rage that gave me the strength to stand and hop on my horse. "I don't need your pity. What I hear is you were the cause of all this grief. Why couldn't you just die and let him live?"
I kicked away and rode against the wind with no place left but to live like a penny lost in the dark well of my thoughts. I wanted to say more, as I caught up to Tad on his horse. But I knew a wall of silence between Jake and me would say more than all the words in a book.
