Catch a Shooting Star jd edit 03 12 2012 html (16 page)

            She looked around her and at the horizon in the other direction.  There was no one that could help her.  There was no one for miles in any direction.   She was alone in this endeavor and alone, she would walk until she found someone, hopefully an army.  She knew that she would require a militia of men willing to risk their lives for her.

            Rising to her feet, she shooed away the vulture and leaned down to pick up the bags that still lay across Dancer’s back.  Talking softly to the horse, she reached into her boot and found the small Derringer pistol that she had hidden there, and then with an apology to the gelding and a sob of remorse, she squeezed the trigger and mercifully put an end to his suffering.  Dropping her arm to her side, the pistol still gripped tightly in her fist, she looked fondly at her friend’s lifeless body.  Then, with her heart filled with anger, she wheeled around and pointed the pistol at the vulture that had landed behind her.

            Knowing that she should not waste a bullet on a shot that might miss the bird, she lowered the gun back to her side.  She knew, too, that this bird was not alone, for circling above her were countless others just waiting for her to leave the dead body of her horse or fall in death at his side.

            She replaced the gun in her boot.  She would not use it to put herself out of the certain misery of dying in the desert.  In her mind, in her blackened heart, she mentally etched a name in the one remaining bullet in the second chamber of the tiny pistol.  Diego would die by that ball of lead, she vowed to herself as she flipped her split skirt over her boot once more.

She sniffed in determination and rifled through the burlap sack for some sort of nourishment before she slung both bags over her shoulder and took the first step toward what she knew would be the north and America. 

            For days, she had lost track of how many, she wandered the desert, keeping her face pointing toward the land that she loved.  She had emptied the contents of the burlap sack, devouring every morsel of food and savoring the juices of the canned vegetables and fruit.  When she opened the last can of tomatoes, she tossed the burlap sack onto the sand and tucked the silverware into her valise.  She did not know why she was compelled to keep these items, but keep them, she did.

            That morning, as she feasted on the tomatoes and sucked the juice out as if it was the most delicious delicacy, she wondered how much further she had to go.  Deciding to save the leftovers for another day, she poured the tomatoes into the empty canteen and tossed the can into a patch of scrub brush.  She knew that she would have to make this little bit of food last as long as she could, for she was not sure if or when she would ever find civilization.

            For two more days, she trudged the blazing earth, calling upon her inner strength to push her onward.  And then, when she thought that she could go no further, when her food had finally run out and her boots were worn through to the soles of her feet, when her legs swayed with fatigue and her mind began to play tricks on her, she stumbled into a town just after she waded across the muddy Rio Grande.

            It was a small, barely populated town with a dozen or so buildings including four white-washed houses and a tiny white church.  In fact, all of the buildings were painted white, a striking contrast against the russet surroundings.

            But, Savannah did not notice the color of the buildings that she passed as she marched forward, ignoring the mongrel that sniffed her as she went by.  She did not notice the two pairs of eyes that watched her pass the sheriff’s office or the man who jingled down the steps, his hand on the butt of his pistol or the other man’s confused expression as he followed the sheriff toward her.

            She walked as proudly as her weakened condition would allow toward the two wooden steps of the hotel at the end of the street.  All she could think about was a bed and a bath, not necessarily in that order and she hoped against hope that the owner of the establishment would be kind enough to allow her to work off her room and board for a few days at least.

            She could not have realized the picture that she presented when she nudged through the screen door of the hotel, squinting her eyes against the darkness of the foyer.  Her once black hair was now gray with dust and matted into heaping mounds at her neck, the last two inches of her braid still bound by the ribbon.  The riding habit that she wore was tattered and resembled a garment that a beggar would don and her feet were bare since she had tossed her boots the day before because they had become more of a hindrance than a help.  Her face was caked with dirt and mud-streaked tear tracks that made a trail from her swollen and pleading eyes to her chin. 

            She would laugh later at the sight that she must have portrayed but at that moment, all she wanted to do was to beg a meal and a bed from that nice middle-aged man who had come from behind the counter to meet her, his face full of concern for her.

            As he offered her a chair to sit in, he asked, “What can I do for you, Miss?  Do you speak English? Se habla Inglés?”

            Gratefully, she fell into the chair and answered after licking her parched lips, “Yes! I speak English.”

            “Well, Miss,” Jake stammered, hurrying to the bar for a pitcher of water and a glass.  “Can I get you something? You look like you just crossed the desert.”

            Ignoring his nervous laugh, she nodded and thanked him for the water as she answered, “I did.”  And without stopping, she babbled, “I was wondering if I could trouble you for a plate of food and a bath.  You see, it’s been awhile since I’ve had a decent meal and a bath.”

            With an incredulous look on his face, Jake swiped his palm through his hair and said, “Sure, Ma’am.”  He hurried to the kitchen and was back before she could blink her dirt-encrusted eyes and he said, “Sorry it’s not more.”

            Her eyes widened with delight at the plate of beans and bacon with a side of cornbread and she immediately began to scoop spoonfuls into her mouth.  She only stopped chewing long enough to draw upon the glass of water that she kept clamped in her other hand.

            Jake watched her eat, saying nothing to her, but letting her get her fill of the food and replacing the beans as the plate emptied and refilling the glass as the water was drained.  He watched and waited until she pushed back the plate and leaned back in the chair, finally full and contented.  By then, the sheriff and his friend had come into the hotel to watch in amazement while this waif of a woman devoured plates full of beans.  The three of them kept their eyes trained on her and the spoon that swept from the plate to her sun-cracked lips.

            She tipped the glass to her mouth and lifted her eyes to see her audience for the first time.  A blush of purple haze rose against the gray of her cheeks when she realized the savage way in which she had sated her hunger.  She averted her eyes and picked at her fingers in embarrassment until the owner of the hotel came to her rescue.

            Noting her uneasiness, Jake gave the others a chastising glare of annoyance and took her plate.  As he lifted it from in front of the strange woman, he asked, “Ma’am, are you alone?”

            She nodded, wiping her mouth with the cloth that he had brought with her plate and then took another sip of water.

            “You came out of the desert?  How long have you been out there?” one of the men cut in as he scooted closer to her.

            She shrugged saying, “I don’t know.  A week, maybe two, I was sometimes deliriously uncertain of the amount of time that passed while I wandered through the desert.  Yes, I think it was more like three weeks, not counting the time that I was passed out.”

            “Passed out?” the sheriff asked, moving in to question her himself. “What happened to you?”

            “My husb—my horse died and I walked the rest of the way.”

            “What were you doing out there alone in the desert anyway?” another man asked.

            “What happened to your arm there?” the sheriff inquired.

            She was baffled by the barrage of questions and she began to wish that she was alone again, but she answered, “I left my husband in Mexico and I’m on my way back to Georgia.”

            “Georgia?” they all said in unison and the sheriff whistled in surprise.

            She continued with her explanation, hoping that she would not have to repeat it again, “When my horse died, I knew that I had to go on or die with him.  So, I walked until I could walk no more and then I got up the next morning and walked some more.”

            “Are you mad?” a red-headed, dog-faced slouch of a man asked as he leaned over the table to examine her, his gray eyes wide with excitement.

            At that moment, she realized that she should change her name so that word did not make it back to Diego that she had survived.  Without thinking and taking a cue from the strange little man, she said simply, “Madeline.”  It was her mother’s name and now it would be hers she thought, but to her audience, she added, “You can call me, Maddie.”  And then, ignoring the others, she spoke to Jake as if he were the only person in the room, “Sir, may I speak with you in private?”

            He nodded and ushered her into the kitchen, leaving the other men looking after them with their mouths agape.

            “Sir,” she began, whispering so that she could not be heard by the men in the other room.

            “Jake,” he corrected.  “Jake Olsen.”

            “Mr. Olsen, I was wondering if I could ask you for a job.  You see, I have no money and I have no place to stay.”

            Jake stroked his whiskered chin as he said, “Of course.”  He reached for her bandaged arm and patted it reassuring as he told her, “And I’ve got an empty room, too.”

            When she recoiled against the pain, he looked down at her arm, which was wrapped in a dirt-encrusted make-shift bandage that oozed with blood and seeped with puss.  His eyes widened in alarm before he exclaimed, “My God, girl, you need a doctor!  You could have bled to death!  You could have died of blood poisoning!  Now, you get upstairs and I’ll send for Ol’ Doc Randle.  He’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

            As he pulled her toward the stairs, she protested, “But, I can’t even pay you for that meal, how can I pay a doctor?”

            He waved his hand at her, still urging her toward the stairs as he said, “Don’t you worry about that.  Right now, all you need to do is rest.  We’ll figure out the rest later.”

            He led her to a room at the top of the stairs and as he opened the door, he called over his shoulder, “Margaret!  Margaret, come quick.  We’ve got a guest who needs your help!”

            He led her to the bed and made her sit there while he busied himself with pouring water into a bowl on the washstand.  He carried the bowl to the table beside the bed and assured her, “My wife will help you with your clothes.  She should be her any minute.”

            “Oh, my!” a dainty voice whispered in surprise at the girl sitting on the bed.  “What on Earth happened to you, my dear?”

            Savannah dipped her head and looked up at the woman who quickly went to work on the bandage on her arm.  Try as she might, she could not find the words to explain her situation again and her voice failed her as she opened her mouth to speak.

            Coming to her rescue, Jake told his wife, “She’s been in the desert, poor thing, wandering around without food or water or a change of clothes.”

            “I had a change of clothes,” Savannah interjected without thinking.

            The couple looked at her as if she were talking madly, and then raised their eyebrows in question as she explained, “It’s just that all I could think about for days and days was to find shelter before the desert swallowed me up.  I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

            “Of course you weren’t, my dear,” Margaret cooed as she patted the girl’s head.  “Now, let’s get you undressed and into bed before the doctor comes.  Jake, you hurry up now, and get Doc Randle!  This girl needs attention!”

            Her husband nodded and left the room.  Margaret set about pulling off the dirty clothes that clung to Savannah’s tired body and then she tucked her into the bed.  She looked again at the bandage and clucked her tongue as she asked, “How did this happen?”

            Without thinking, Savannah blurted out all that had happened to her the last few weeks and why she had come to be in the desert, bloody and alone.  The older woman shook her head slowly and then quickly brushed away a tear before she lifted her body to her full height and announced, “That man should be shot!”

            “I do agree, Margaret,” Savannah began, but then feeling awfully tired all of a sudden, she let her head fall onto the pillow as she yawned, “But, that will have to wait until I am well and can find an army of men to go down there and put him out of my misery!”

            A snicker of approval escaped Margaret’s mouth as she nodded enthusiastically and said, “In due time, my dear.  He will get what he deserves.  In the meantime, you need your rest and a doctor’s attention.”

            As she was finishing her statement, Jake returned with Doc Randle, who hurried to her bedside to examine her.  He clucked his tongue several times while he cleaned and redressed the wound and told her how lucky she was that gangrene had not set in and how damn fool crazy she had been to cross the desert alone, and then he patted her head and commended her for her courage.  He gave her a powder mixed in her water, which was supposed to make her sleep, but she spit it out into the basin next to her when he left her alone.  She did not need any help falling asleep and she certainly did not want to have anything more to do with drugs.