Background
First year on the homestead, 1862, Jane Taylor lost her husband to a card shark in town. Then she gave birth to his child with a promise, he would inherit the land.
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Mr. Healy, the elixir salesman turned out to be harmless without his snake oil. He was keen on telling stories bigger than life when he wasn't shoving one of my biscuits in his mouth. He devoured food like a bear to a honey hole.
I reckoned he didn't have much more experience in homesteading than my helper Skye and myself. But I figured if he wanted to stay clear of surrounding towns that caught wind of his oil, I'd ask him to stay on and put him in charge of the swine. I looked over at Skye who bounced my son on her knee at the table while feeding him mashed potatoes.
It was hard on my eyes to see Healy in my late husband's clothes. More-over they sagged on his bony frame. "Say there, Mr. Healy. You know anything about raising hogs?"
The normally polite man allowed his mouth to drop with some gravy dripping on his lips. "Well now, Mrs. Taylor, raising hogs and chickens is a valuable risk for lone homesteaders. Most of what I learn comes from the books I've accumulated during my enterprises. Field training has not been my strong suit."
"Well now, here me out. I don't know of a hog raisin' book or homesteading book, neither. But if you stay her awhile and expect to eat, I could use a man's help for a spell."
His eyes turned like cue balls in his head. "What about your husband? Do you mean to imply he's away on business?"
"Mr. Healy, don't go gettin' any wayward ideas in your head, but I will be square with you. I'm a widow."
"Indeed. And a young one at that." He devoured the last biscuit.
"I got the McCord family yonder, few hills over. I've got the fencing ready, and I need someone to pitch in with raising hogs and free-range chicks. I trust your in no hurry to skedaddle?"
"Well, Ma'am, I did consider joining up with a caravan heading west. I've always wanted to explore what's over those majestic mountains."
"Mr. Healy, I'd be more than happy to go into town and speak on your behalf, let folks know you have a mind to consign yourself to a wagon train west. I'm sure your reputation precedes you."
Mr. Healy swallowed his biscuit as if it were a lump of coal and waved me off. "No, Ma'am. That's quite alright. Consider me your hired servant."
With that answer, I cleared the dishes and put them in the wash basin. Our circle of the despised and rejected was near complete.
Next day...
McCord ranch hands delivered the pigs and chickens. Mr. Healy provided ample opportunity for entertainment, as he commenced to chasing the roaming chickens until he turned red faced. Then when it came time to feed the pigs with cornhusk, he slipped and fell inside the pen until covered in mud from head to heel.
As Skye and I watched, we gave him fair warning not to rile the pigs too much. "Best be careful," I said, "Mr. Healy. Those pigs might think your part of the meal."
"Ladies, I present to you a master of swine." For show, Healy picked up his hat and took a bow with one eye on the squealing pigs.
As we leaned on the railing, Sky smiled, as if her bad days were gone with the wind. And even my boy, Josh smacked his hands together, as if Mr. Healy were on a stage.
I held my nose. "You've taken on their smell, Mr. Healy. Best get washed up before supper."
"I will be sure to scrub myself until I bleed, if it means I may savor the taste of your tender and warm biscuits." He took one final bow, before scrambling from the pigs.
As the sun was retreating and lighting up the Rocky Mountains west with an orange glow, we left Healy to his pungent smells and found the cool fresh breeze of the porch. From my cabin, I could see the waves and rows of green growing corn in a sparkling hue across the range far as the eye could see. It was then, my eyes caught the movement of two men on a wagon pulled by two horses. The shoulder high corn at times obscured my view, as I believed they were heading toward town until the driver made a sharp turn our way.
"Skye! Set my son in his playpen and fetch my shotgun, along with the rifle. I believe there's a wagon heading our way. The cart stabbed at the trail to my homestead, almost getting stuck in the muck of the previous nights rain. But the chestnut colored horses got the better of my trail.
Skye handed me the double-barrel shotgun and then squared the rifle to her shoulder.
"Your eyes are like an eagle, Skye. Tell me what ya see girl."
"The men are clad in blue. I'd say they are union army, despite gray dust on their shoulders."
My heart flopped inside. "Least they ain't southern sow bellies."
"No, Miss Taylor. If you dust them off, they'd be all blue."
"I wonder what they see in us."
Before I could ask them their business. I noticed one had a bandaged head, as if a severe wound had given him a mile-wide stare. The man with the reins halted yards away before the giant oak that could be seen from near and far. He stood on the buckboard with a beard like a briar patch and waved his hat.
"I got close enough to shout. "Town's down yonder, what made you turn our way?"
"Ma'am, I've been looking for a lone oak tree with a grave stone this side of Nebraska."
"I don't reckon to be a famous landmark for blue coats or otherwise."
"We were near killed in a hornets nest."
"A beehive don't explain how you came to be here."
"We was at the battle of the Hornet's Nest, Tennessee. When I found him in the tall weeds he was muttering something about the biggest oak tree in Nebraska near a grave. I managed to get him to a field hospital where they stitched him up. I stayed with him, as I was treated for a bum leg. The army tasked me to find his family."
It was then I lost all caution and ran toward the men, tripping in the ruts with the shotgun at my side. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. "Jake McCord! Jake!"
As I approached, there was no answer. He kept his eye on the oak tree, as if he couldn't hear a word I said. "Lands Sake!" Jake!" I couldn't believe my eyes, as I reached up to hold him. Chills ran through me.
"You know this man?"
"He's...he's Jake McCord. His family owns a cattle ranch up yonder in the sandhills."
I heaved inside with, but then as I sought for Jake's soul through his eyes, my insides tightened. My enthusiasm dampened by the chasm I saw in his eyes. "Please, Lord don't tell me, he's not all there? Jake, do you know who I am?"
Jake stared at the tree, as if he expected it to talk to him.
The driver spoke for him. "Horace is my name, Ma'am," he said, as he placed his weathered hat to his chest. He shook his head. "I think that bullet took a piece of his mind too."
I refused to let go of him. I forced him to look at me. He set his eyes on me for the first time. "Your pretty...one pretty girl on the prairie."
My pent-up tears broke free. It was then I had a piece of him again. A glimmer of him shined through, and it was enough for me to hold on to like a tender feather in the wind.
I wasn't for letting go of him this time.
