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The axe thunked into the log, jarring his shoulder as it jammed on a knot. Biting his lip in annoyance, William worked the axe loose, spun the log, and tried from a different angle.
He was tired; he had been working all day on the supply of wood. Unfortunately, he was having a rough go of it. It was harder work than rounding up cattle, like he had yesterday. He had pushed eleven yearlings out of the brush, and into the upper pasture he had fenced off. It had taken time, but wasn’t as hard as this.
Thunk, the axe stuck again, “Dumb log,” he muttered to himself.
According to Earl, Mrs. Stanton didn’t have anywhere near enough firewood. He had spent several hours the other night explaining to William all of the signs that pointed to it being a hard winter.
William smiled as he thought of Earl. He had enjoyed meeting him; they had talked until the wee hours of the morning, finally breaking off a little while before sunup. He was an old retired cavalry scout that had settled in this area after his “twenty,” running a small ranch to the east.
Unfortunately, Earl hadn’t known of anyone with enough work, or spare cash, to afford a hired hand; so William’s current plan was to stay on here. He really didn’t mind working for his keep as long as he had a roof over his head and food in his belly.
Yanking the axe back and forth until it came free; he gave up on the log and set the axe down. He started picking up the logs he had split, stacking them neatly on the pile. As he worked, he looked around; the Stanton’s had a fine setup here. Thomas’ father had built well. It was a large house with plenty of room. Thomas had proudly told him yesterday that it even had a well pump inside.
There were several outbuildings other than the workshop he was sleeping in; an open sided building for storing firewood, the chicken house, and an icehouse that hadn’t been used in several years by the looks of it. Thomas had told him that they had a smaller one under the house that they had been using the past few years.
Earl had talked to him about Mr. Stanton; he had been a craftsman, building ships for a living before moving west. That was why all of the buildings were so solid, except the barn. The original barn had caught fire and burned to the ground, killing Mr. Stanton. After the funeral, Earl and some of the other local men had rebuilt it for Mrs. Stanton, but it wasn’t as nice as the original.
He picked up the last few logs and threw them on the pile. He was trying to fill it with enough wood to last, just in case Earl was right.
“Hello, Mr. William.” Thomas’ voice interrupted his thoughts.
He turned, giving a small wave, “Hello Thomas, how is school going today?”
Thomas sat down on the wood pile, his face downcast, “Horrible, Ma is making me read poetry.” With that, he leaned back groaning. “Why???”
Shaking his head, William grabbed the axe and started splitting logs again. “You know,” he interjected between logs, “Poetry isn’t all bad...”
“Yes it is!” Thomas moaned, still lying back. “...especially Keats.”
“Well...” William broke off. He had to agree, Keats was not his favorite. “I was always partial to Lord Byron. He had some interesting stuff.”
“Is it about girls?” Thomas had sat up, his nose wrinkled; he looked like he had smelled a dead buffalo.
Pausing, William thought for a moment; “No, one of my favorite pieces was about a Muslim who tried to kill a Christian, but the Christian killed him instead.”
“Was he a giant?”
“No, but he was a pretty tough warrior.”
Thomas sat quietly for a few minutes, so William started stacking wood again.
“What’s a ‘Mooslin’?”
“Muslim... it’s a religion; like Christianity, but a different God.”
“I thought there was only one God?”
William paused again, looking over at the boy. Thomas was sitting on the edge of the woodpile, looking at him skeptically.
“Well, that’s the problem with it.” He shrugged, taking a seat on a nearby log. “There is only one God, the God of the Bible; so they are wrong.”
“Is that why the Christian killed him?”
“Well, no.” He laughed aloud, “Actually, now that I think of it, there was a girl involved.”
Thomas groaned, lying back again.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “One day you may not mind so much.” He tossed the last log on the pile. It was mostly full; he would probably get one more tree to top it off. Maybe even stockpile some for the workshop, but that could wait for tomorrow. “Hey Thomas, you want to help brand some cattle?”
******************
ANNA PEEKED OUT THE window, glad to see Mr. Stone and Thomas ride off. She was tired of being in the house, and had been waiting for an opportunity to get out for a bit.
She opened the door, and stepped out onto the porch. It was good to see Earl the other day. She had known him so long; she didn’t mind him seeing her. He was almost like an uncle anyway. She just couldn’t bring herself to go outside much when there were strangers around.
She breathed deep. The cool mountain air felt good. Thomas had said they were going to ‘brand cattle.’ She hoped Mr. Stone had the sense to keep Thomas safe, she had heard of men getting gored by steers before.
Earl had said Mr. Stone had been doing a good job fixing up the ranch. As a matter of fact, he seemed to genuinely like Mr. Stone; which was saying a lot. Earl barely liked anyone.
She stepped off the porch, walking a lazy circle around the ranch. Her feet crunched through the leaves that were starting to blow in. Autumn was here, but she knew it never lasted long. It wouldn’t be long until the first frost, and then the first snow soon after. She shook her head, moving around the ranch. She could see where Mr. Stone had been repairing the corral, and some of the other areas. Earl was right; he was doing good work.
Circling the house, she reached the work shop. She had told Thomas to have Mr. Stone stay there instead of the barn. Since it had a stove, it would be more comfortable as it got colder.
She opened the door, curious to see how Mr. Stone was living. Her mother had always told her that you could tell a lot about a man by the way he kept his room. She smiled at the memory. Before she and Clay had married, her mother had made her father visit Clay’s house, just to report whether it was clean.
The work shop was tidy. Mr. Stone had his bedroll laid out neatly; his saddle was placed neatly at the head for a pillow. It was very precisely situated. Everything else was up, except... she stepped closer; he had a Bible on a small shelf he had made next to the bed. It looked worn, but well taken care of. She opened it randomly, surprised to see copious notes in the pages. As she continued to flip through, the rest of the pages were covered as well.
Flipping back to the inside cover, she read the inscription; ‘To my Beloved Grandson, William. Always Remember II Timothy 4:2’
“Hmmm...” She flipped back to Timothy, looking up the verse. She found it easily, since it had been underlined. She read it aloud, “Preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all long suffering and doctrine.”
She shut the Bible, it was a curious inscription.
Looking around one last time, she left the building. She shut the door quietly behind her, moving toward the back side of the house. She wanted to check on the garden before they got back. She had been having Thomas pick the last of the vegetables and she was curious to see how badly he had been mangling the plants.
******************
“NOW HOLD HIM STEADY. Put your weight on him.”
William grabbed the branding iron from the fire as Thomas hugged the yearlings head in a death grip, trying to keep it from breaking free.
They had already branded ten of the cows he had pushed into the pasture, and Thomas was having the time of his life.
“Ready?”
“I’ve got him, Mr. William.”
“Here it goes.” William pressed the red hot iron to the hind end of the cow. He was immediately rewarded with a cloud of smoke and steam; the yearling immediately fought harder to break free from Thomas’ grip.
“Now?” Thomas yelled over the loud bawling
“Let him go!”
The yearling jumped up, running several dozen feet before stopping and staring at them, almost offended.
“Well, that makes eleven.” He looked at the sun as it was starting to head toward the horizon. “I’d say it’s time to pack it in.”
“We can’t do one more?”
“No, the rest are still out in the brush.” He gestured toward the woods, “We’ll have to cut some extra hay to make sure these can eat all winter, but later, if we have time, we’ll scare up a few more.” William started kicking dirt over the fire, “Let’s get this out, and get the tools up. It’s almost supper time.”
They cleaned up the area before they headed back to the house. The freshly branded yearlings watched them as they packed the horse; finally, William had Thomas empty the canteen over the fire to be sure it was out, and they led the horse out of the pasture through the gate.
******************
“...AND THEN I HELD ON to its head while Mr. William branded it. I wanted to brand it, but Mr. William said it might be dangerous right now.”
Anna listened with rapt attention as Thomas continued to explain about his day with Mr. Stone. She hadn’t seen him this excited about anything before. Smiling, she nodded as she took another bite. She hadn’t had the opportunity to say anything since they sat down for supper.
“...might take me hunting to get a deer; he said they were thick in these parts.” He stopped, staring at her for a moment, “Mom, can I go hunting?”
Swallowing the bite of food, she smiled, “We’ll see...”
Thomas immediately launched into a full description of their ride back to the barn. By the time she was washing the supper dishes, he had already re-told each harrowing detail at least four times. She had him get ready for bed, but was worried that he wouldn’t sleep because of the excitement.
After prayers, she made him lay still in bed while she got her cello out. She began playing softly, hoping it would lull him to sleep.
She wanted to cry. She had been holding it in all night long as Thomas excitedly told her story after story of his day; really it had been building up for the past few weeks. He was always having so much fun with Mr. Stone.
It should have been his father.
She felt the hot tears as they ran down her cheek. She played through, letting them flow freely. She missed Clay. Not just for herself, but for Thomas. How was he going to grow up without a father? How was he going to become a man without a man to show him how to act? Was she stuck relying on Earl, and whatever grub-line riders happened to pass through?
She played through her self-pity. It all went back to the barn fire; one event that changed her life forever.
Most girls who became widows married someone else quickly, that was the way it was in the west; the girl would either remarry, or move back east to be with her parents.
However, she had refused. Yes, it was vanity; she paused to wipe at the tears, then continued playing. She knew it for what it was. She was a recluse that was ashamed of the way she looked. When she was in Boston there had always been men who wanted her attention. Who would look at her now? It had been a little over five years now, and she hadn’t even told her parents because she was afraid they would try to make her come back home. She and Thomas had a good life... it was better this way.
She cried until the tears were gone; playing one sad piece after another, until she felt better. Then she put up the cello and went to bed.
******************
THE STARS WERE INCREDIBLY clear as William sat looking at the night sky. He inhaled deeply. The crisp night air was refreshing. He leaned the chair back against the wall of the workshop. It had been a hard day’s work, and it felt good to relax for a bit.
He folded his hands in his lap; he needed a hobby. A lot of men smoked to keep their hands busy, but he wouldn’t touch the stuff. The last time he tried whittling, he almost lost his thumb. He glanced down at the angry red scar... it still hurt before a rain.
He missed reading, which used to be his hobby. The problem with traveling was that you couldn’t pack a whole lot. He smiled; glad he wasn’t carrying twenty pounds of books when he lost his horse. That would have made for a rougher walk.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love reading the Bible; he just enjoyed other things as well. He just...
He smiled as the gentle strains of the cello suddenly emanated from the house. He had hoped she would play again tonight. He closed his eyes, letting the music flow through him. He was fairly sure she was playing one of the Piatti caprices, but he couldn’t place which one.
Tired as he was, he listened for as long as she played; and when she was done, he went in and went to bed.
******************
