©Kathy Savige 1998
He hid for so, so long. Every time he tried to come out he thought he heard the noise of hooves again, so he hunkered back down, ignoring the cramps that threatened to force him to cry out.The men had left just after they'd killed his family, but... Just in case, he'd hide in the shed just a little longer.
Quiet, I must be quiet. They won't know I'm here if I'm quiet.
Night fell and still he stayed hidden. He heard no sounds made by men or horses. He got thirsty, dehydrated not only from the warm day but from the number of tears he'd shed. Ma had read a story to the boy and his sister, Ellen, where a girl had cried so much that her dress was wet and he had laughed. "That doesn't happen. Not even girls cry that much," he'd said. But today he had cried that much; the front of his shirt was still damp.
His pants were damp too. He simply hadn't been able to hold on any longer. He felt the shame - a seven-year-old boy should be able to control himself better, but today it didn't really seem to matter. If he'd tried to go outside, the men would have... They would have done what they did to Ma and Pa. And the tears started again.
Then it was night and the stars were out. A coyote sounded a fair way off, then closer and then very, very close. He tried not to think about what might be happening to the bodies outside, but he couldn't help it.Then a thought came to him. The coyote wouldn't come if it thought there was anyone here. They've gone. It's safe to go out.
He went outside and forced himself to look left, where the man with long hair had chased his Ma and sister and shot them in the back. There was a shape moving in the moonlight. Maybe they're alive! Ma! Ma! He ran towards the movement and the shape turned and looked at him, then ran away on all fours. Noooooooo!
The coyote had been at his mother. She'd fallen first, obviously trying to shield her daughter with her body , but she hadn't succeeded. She lay face down with her arms reaching toward Ellen even in death. The coyote had started to tear at her arm and the bloody mess was the worst thing he'd seen yet - worse than seeing his father fall from two shots. He'd known immediately that there was nothing he could do for his Pa. Ma and Ellen had been right there and they couldn't do anything. But maybe, maybe if I'd cried out to Ma. Told her to come in the shed with me. Then this wouldn't have happened. This wouldn't have happened! It's all my fault!
The incriminating thoughts whirled around and around in his head. His exhaustion together with the reaction to the shocks of the day lowered his defences and stopped him reasoning, even as much as a seven-year-old could be expected to reason. Over and over again he heard It's my fault. If I'd just cried out! Why didn't I call out?
All he could do was keep the coyote away. He could do that for them. And he did, staying there all night.
Some time in the darkness, a change came within the young boy. The grief joined with the self-recrimination to become something new; a sense of shame that he had never felt before. Oh, he'd been sorry when he'd done things wrong, even ashamed, but this was something so strong that it could not be denied. It didn't come in words, but in emotions, feelings and pain; so deep that words were too civilised to describe it.
I didn't call to them. It's my fault they died. I should have called out, but I didn't. And the 'I did something bad' became 'I am bad.' Being bad meant you had to be punished, but Pa wasn't there to punish him any more. He had to be the strong one and punish himself. He hadn't called out, he couldn't be trusted with speech. From that day on, silence would be his refuge and his security.
The sun was high in the sky when the buggy came. He'd forgotten that the Hendersons
were coming to visit. Not that it mattered anymore. His ma wouldn't get to bring
out the cookies and pie she'd baked yesterday. It just didn't matter. The boy
just kept moving, fulfilling his self-appointed task of keeping the long-gone
coyote away.
Jonathon Henderson called out teasingly "Clark! Clark! Where are you? Lazin' about again?" Then he stopped and stood still. "Oh my Lord!"
"What is it, Jonathon?" His wife Bertha started to get out of the buggy, slowed by the child growing large within her.
"Stay there, Bertha. Oh, no!"
"Johnathon!" Despite his protests, Bertha came over. She was a strong woman who did not believe in the common wisdom which demanded women be protected from any slight upset, even in her 'delicate condition.' "Oh, mercy!"
Jonathon started searching the area. He saw the red of the boy's bandanna and ran towards it. 'He's alive!'
For the first time, Ike turned.
"Son, what happened here?" Henderson knelt, taking the boy in his arms. A compassionate man, the sight of the youngster protecting his mother's body tore at his heart.
Ike didn't answer. There was no point. There was nothing to say. There never would be anything to say again.
Bertha came up, taking Ike from her husband. "I'll see to his things. C'mon, Ike." She took him up to the house, trying to stay between the boy and his father's body. He went inside docilely, watching the woman get the clothes he would need. There wasn't much, not really.
Jonathon came up to the door. "It must have been the Nicholson gang." They'd been terrorising the area for weeks, even taking whatever they could from the new settlers in the territory, though God knew they had little enough.
As they came outside the adults again tried to shield the boy but he ran to his father's body. He needed something, something to help him remember. He took his father's watch and then went to his mother and took the locket from around her neck. Ellen didn't have anything special; he just left her alone.
"I'll see to them, Ike, I promise." Jonathon looked him straight in the eye. Ike returned the gaze, silent. When he didn't speak, Jonathon took him by the hand.
"Come on, Ike. It's over now." Ike got into the Hendersons' buggy without protest. He didn't look back.
©Kathy Savige 1998. Cannot be copied without permission from the author. This page is for fan enjoyment only, and no copyright infringement is intended.
