When Thomas mentioned going hunting again, Carl quickly raised his eyes up over the rim of the cup he was sipping hot tea from that next cool fall morning. “I’d really like to, Thomas. When can we go?” he asked as he stood and headed for the window.
A trace of snow edged the tree line of the wooded area behind the cabin. Trees, now bare of their leaves, waltzed back and forth in motion with the soft breeze. A fall symphony in harmony with the birds and sounds of the earth below kept him focused on the scene outside.
“I’ve already taken care of old Betsy and milked the cow, so we can finish this tea and be on our way. Better dress warm; it’s cold out there.” He looked over at Helen, who stood at the stove cooking something in a large pot. “I brought in some eggs for you this morning; they’re in the bowl over there.” He pointed to a basket that sat on the long wooden table by the stove.
“I saw them,” she said, without turning around to face him. Her attention was fixed on what she was doing as she stirred whatever it was in the pot. “I heard you say you two are going hunting again. Better take along a canteen of rum to warm you. It’s very cold this morning. I went out there for wood and nearly froze.”
“Oh, be careful with the rum please.” Carl announced. “I don’t want to shoot something I’m not supposed to. Back home we are not allowed to drink when hunting.” He thought of what he just said and added, “Well, that’s a little different where I come from.” And whoever listened or paid attention to the law anyway, he recalled, from the few times he went along with buddies who liked to hunt. There was always a six pack and maybe a flask or two packed away in their gear.
A thrill of excitement ran through Carl’s veins as he thought of once again going out on the hunt. This time he had every intension to bagging something himself, but he didn’t know what they would be hunting for. Could be almost anything, he thought. Maybe a deer, elk, or an even bigger game like buffalo. His mind was going wild with anticipation.
Thomas had the rifles down from the rack by the door in nothing flat of a few seconds, along with plenty of ammo. He handed Carl one of them. “This time we will look for something that don’t fly, like squirrel, rabbit—something we can skin and cook with wild onions and yams.”
“I’ll go for that.” He grinned. “How about deer?” He held the gun up to examine it. Beth stood back, with a frown creasing her forehead.
“Are you going to really shoot something with that?” she asked with some reserve.
“Why else would I be taking it out with us? Of course I’m going to—that is, I’m going to try to shoot something. You want to eat, don’t you?”
“I would be just as happy with the yams and dried beans. I hate the thought of killing a little animal.” She shook her head in disgust.
“Beth, you eat chicken, steak, and pork chops back home. Where do you think the meat comes from?” He focused once again on the gun in his hand as he tried to avoid her objections. He looked up again at her. “You ate the pheasant yesterday when you were so hungry.”
Beth walked over to the window with her arms wrapped around her for warmth and comfort, but she didn’t say another word.
The fringe of snow that blew up to the tree line addressed winter’s prelude. Grey clouds overhead signaled more bad weather for the day. Silence covered the land. The cold fall morning prepared the earth to sleep until spring. A whisper of hope remained in both Beth and Carl to get back to their lives in the future.
When Beth noticed Carl heading for the bedroom, she hurried to go with him. He held the door for her, and they both entered the room. He closed the door behind him as she went to the small window near the bed. He came up behind her, threw his arms around her waist, and kissed her on the neck. “I know how unhappy you are, but there isn’t much we can do. Maybe when that Chief Paul comes, we can learn of a way to get back. I hear he is versed on many magical things.” He turned her around and before she could say another word, his mouth was on hers. Even with the white cotton bonnet on her head, the clothes she wore covering her from neck to ankles, she was still so beautiful. The natural look to her face even with no makeup had a radiant glow. Her lovely hazel eyes filled with tears as she looked up into his face. He wiped one away with his finger before it traveled down her cheek. Then, he kissed her eyelid.
“It’s going to be all right,” he told her as he held her close. “We will find a way back; I just know we will. Try to make the best of it until we can meet with the chief.”
“Do you really think he can perform magic? Carl, what are you thinking?”
“What was it then that brought us here—in this year—in this place? Tell me. Wasn’t it magic or something weird like magic? Whatever happened, there must be something like it to take us back.” He held her close. “I think the chief may know how.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go hunting. I’m so afraid of what you might run into out there.”
“I’ll be all right. Don’t you worry. Besides I’ll be in the company of a seasoned hunter like Thomas. That man knows how to hunt. You should have seen him get that pheasant yesterday. I was really impressed.”
He kissed her again and gave her a gentle hug before he let her go. The grey wool coat he put on felt heavy, but it was the way the clothes were back then, heavy and smelly but warm. A fur hat topped his dark curly hair and traveled down to his ears. It, too, had the smell of the wild. The streaked dark color of the hat told him it had to be raccoon, if anything. Carl felt like a real frontiersman in these common duds he only visualized from old pictures or paintings of the era.
Beth watched him get ready with concern written all over her face. His boots, still speckled with mud, went well with the outfit. She looked down at them as he pulled them on his feet only to have the sight of them bring her back to her home, her life, her existence before this happened to them. She wanted to burst into tears, but she held back in defense of her own sanity. Afraid to really let go and drive herself crazy, she remained calm.
The men were off, leaving the women standing at the window watching them go. The air was brisk, with the morning breeze that blew through the trees of the forest making an eerie whistling sound to accentuate the chill in the air.
Like the day before, Carl trudged along behind Thomas as they made their way deeper into the wooded forest. Stepping carefully along the way, they came to a clearing, the same one they’d hit on the day before. Thomas stopped to check the rifles and take a swig of rum from the canteen.
He offered it to Carl, but Carl declined. “No, thanks, not right now,” he told him as he waved a hand at him. “I’ll have some later.”
The short rest being over, they worked their way through to a cliff that stood fifteen to twenty feet high. The sun had now peeked out from the last of the grey clouds that kept it hidden all morning. All around the one half of the area the cliff with tall trees on top hovered over them. Carl didn’t remember this place. It was in another direction from what they traveled the day before.
“This is a good spot for many a tasty creatures to roam. We should have some luck here.” Then he pointed to an opening off to the left of them. “Watch over there—I saw a bear come out of that cave once, but it was only the one time. Still be careful; never know when one might come along.”
No sooner the words left his mouth than he was suddenly surprised by a strong arm around his neck. Carl stood a distance from him and jolted when he saw an Indian with a death hold on Thomas, a knife at his throat. Carl raised his rifle to point it at the Indian but he had no clear shot.
“Hold it, Carl,” Thomas struggled to say as the Indian began to pull him down.
His heart felt like it was up in his throat, his pulse rapid, his hand shaking, but Carl took aim. “Let him go,” he shouted. “Let him go—now.” Adrenalin raced through his blood; time stood still while he tried to assess the situation and come up with a safe way to handle this life-threatening attack on his companion.
The deep, dark eyes of the war-painted face met Carl’s with anger, revenge, as he snarled something in a language foreign to Carl. Thomas had both hands waving outward as he tried to breathe. His face darkened to a purple shade as he gasped for air. There was no time to waste. Something had to be done to save Thomas.
Carl’s finger on the trigger, the rifle aimed right at the intruder, he tried one more time. “Let him go,” he shouted and then he pulled the trigger. The Indian fell back. Thomas folded down to the ground, coughing as he went to his knees. He bent down and spit, then took a deep breath. Weakened, he rolled over on his side and lay there.
Shaking all over, Carl ran to Thomas to help him up. He coughed again as he came to his feet, his face beet red, and he hung on Carl’s arm as he struggled to stay upright.
The Indian lay flat on his back behind them, blood oozing from his head, his dark eyes wide open. Then there came a last heave of his chest, a jerk of his limbs, and his whole body became lifeless, his eyes staring upward in a dead gaze.
Gently, with reluctance, Carl stepped over the dead man’s leg to help Thomas move out of the way. His hand shook. His eyes wandered back at the Indian lying there with a hole in his forehead, the white and red war paint under his eyes and across his cheeks spattered with blood.
Thomas straightened. “You sure are a good shot,” he remarked, as though it was some kind of target in a shooting range.
It didn’t make Carl feel any better. He had never killed a real person before. This was not like gaming or shooting an animal, a bird, or a black figure on a cardboard target. He couldn’t stop shaking or take his eyes off the dead Indian.
As cold as it was, there were beads of perspiration on his forehead, his face pale, his eyes held wide open. Thomas handed him the canteen. “Here take a swig of this; you look like you need it now.” He let out another cough to remind Carl what he had been up against. “You saved my life, my friend. My scalp could have been another ornament on that redskin’s belt.”
Words from that farmer from the past drifted by Carl, like the breeze off a cliff overlooking rapids speeding down a wide river. Sounds of the wilderness faded as well, like Thomas’s voice. Fear has a way of blocking out what exists around you. Hands still shaking, beads of sweat pouring down his brow, Carl laid the gun down on the ground. Lips buttoned up tight, he stood looking down at the dead Indian. The thought that he had just killed a man zeroed in on him like a bad plague clutching at his very soul. It took all his strength to pry his gaze off the body lying in the mud with vacant, open eyes staring up at him.
The strong grip on his arm had him turn around to face Thomas, who had a hold of him and gave him a hard shake. “It’s all right, my friend. You had no other choice but to shoot—you saved my life, and I’m very thankful to you.” He placed both hands on Carl’s shoulders. “Come now; let us move on. There is nothing we can do here.”
With one last look over his shoulder at the motionless Indian, Carl followed Thomas away from the dead man, into the wooded area that lead them back to the farm. There would be no hunting that day. His legs feeling like rubber, his heart still beating hard and fast, Carl walked along in somewhat of a daze as they made their way back to the trail. To add to the day’s horror, the sky grew dark and clouds hovered overhead with the threat of a storm brewing. Whistling wind howled through the trees like a lone wolf about to pounce down on them. Nothing could have been worse for them at that time but a raging cold sleet storm.
“We need to speed up a bit,” Thomas urged. “Looks like we’re in for a nasty bit of weather—” he looked up at the sky “—at any moment.”
The darkened sky grew even darker as they hurried along the narrow path to the farm. Carl could only think of one thing—the dead Indian they’d left lying in a pool of blood back there. What would he tell Beth? His thoughts were muddled with confusion. The cold, icy breeze hit his face and kept him from becoming ill. His stomach remained in knots, ready to explode into violent eruptions of vomit. He shivered and shook on the back of the horse he rode, while Thomas seemed to move along at a rapid pace on the back of old Betsy some many yards in front of him.
“Okay there, my friend. We are almost there,” Thomas shouted back to the cold, mournful follower behind him. “Chin up now, we don’t want our women to think we are not up to the fight.” He glanced back at Carl. “Helen will be disappointed we didn’t bag a nice meal for her to cook, but I’m sure she’ll come up with something; she always does.”
The sight of the cabin in the near distance gave Carl a sense of relief. Just to be back to his wife and some kind of civil feeling was a luxury.
His eyes wandered to focus on the mountains in the distance lit up with a glance of sunlight pushing through an edge of the blackening clouds. He thought of those lovely mountains and how they enjoyed the park with its fun and weekends of relaxation. Would he ever see it again? He wondered.
The rush was on to get to cover before the rain hit. Carl held his arm up to his face to avoid the bitter cold wind sweeping across the land in a fury.
Thomas held tightly to the reins in his hands as his horse reared up due to a branch flying into his face, which caused the animal some distress. It was the first time a curse word came out of Thomas’s mouth, to Carl’s surprise.
Beth met them at the door just as thunder rolled across the sky and the first cold icy drops of rain blew up against the side of the cabin. With the horses in the barn, they hurried to get inside.
Thomas stamped his feet at the door out of habit while Carl struggled to remove his boots, also out of habit. Helen, standing at the stove, looked over and nodded in approval.
“I see you two didn’t have any luck out there,” she commented as she stirred something in large black pot. “The storm brewing makes all the creatures take cover and hide away, but I have some yams cooking and a nice salt bread rising.”
“From the looks on their faces, I think there was more than just the storm to worry about out there,” Beth said. “What happened?” she insisted as she looked Carl right in his eyes. “And don’t try to hide it from me. I know something happened.” She grabbed Carl’s coat sleeve. “Tell me. What is it?”
He shook his head, pulled his arm from her with a quick jerk then walked to the bedroom, opened the door and went inside. The door closed after him.
As Beth hurried forward to the bedroom door, Thomas stopped her. “Wait—let him be. There was an incident with a renegade Indian, and Carl saved my life, but he had to kill the savage. He’s taking it kind of badly right now.” He put his hand to his neck and rubbed it. “I almost got my throat cut by a redskin. If it wasn’t for Carl’s good aim and nerve, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
A trembling hand reached up to her mouth, and Beth let out a quick breath through her fingers while trying to hold it back. Tears filled her eyes as she went to the window and stood silent for several moments.
Helen left the stove. Trembling herself, she came up to Beth with arms open. “Come on now, everything is all right. Your man will be okay. He just needs a little time.” She put her arms around Beth and hugged her.
Beth could feel Helen shaking, but said nothing. She only hugged her back,
knowing all too well how the poor woman must feel. Yet this sweet frontier woman was more concerned for her than her own feeling.
Some comfort came from Helen’s gentle touch, but it didn’t take away the fear of what had happened to Carl. “He could have been killed,” Beth sobbed. “And Thomas was almost killed.”
“It’s the way it is, my dear. We are still in a dangerous war.” Helen dropped her arms from around Beth. “It’s not something you get used to, but it’s something you accept as a way of life, with hope things will get better soon.”
The busy housewife went back to the stove to continue cooking a pot of something that smelled very good, but Beth was not thinking of food at the moment. She only could think of how close her husband came to being killed or seriously injured. She dried her eyes and walked over to Helen, her hands still shaking.
“What about this chief—this Chief Paul character? Does he ever come around here or what?”
Helen turned to her and smiled. “Oh, yes, he comes around, but we never know just when.” She stirred the food in the pot and went on. “Sometimes he stays around here for weeks and then off he goes again. We may not see him again for months.”
“What does he do?” Beth asked as she leaned forward to see what was in the pot.
“He has been very instrumental in the war. Without his help, many more of our soldiers would have died along with some of us. He’s a great warrior.”
“Does he really have some kind of super power—some kind of power to…” she paused and looked away. “I don’t know.”
Helen laughed. “Yes, he can do many things we don’t question—we just take it as a gift.” With a large wooden spoon, she scooped a little taste from the pot and held it up to Beth’s mouth. “Here, see what you think.”
A hint of smoked bacon gave the bean soup a pleasant taste. “It’s good. I’m amazed at how well you come up with so many good dishes with so little to cook with.” Beth breathed in the tasty aroma emulating from the pot. “But what about this chief person? Do you think he will be along soon? I sure would like to talk to this guy. Carl seems to think he will help us get back to our place.”
Helen turned to her and gave her a look. “Okay…back to where we live.”
“I wish I could tell you when Chief Paul will be here, but I simply cannot. We never know when he will pop in.” Helen gave Beth a little pat on her shoulder. “Don’t worry so. He will be along sometime—maybe soon, I think. While you are here, you are safe with us. The British army has moved on to the north, and what’s left of their Indian friends are only a few, with one less now.”
Concern for her husband behind the bedroom door made Beth very nervous. She had to see how he was doing, so she went to the bedroom door and opened it a crack. Carl sat on the bed his head down, his hands clasped together in prayer. She quietly slipped in and closed the door behind her.
He looked up at her before putting his head back down.
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Carl, but you saved a life by doing what you had to do. You know I’m not in favor of guns, but we are not in the future right now, and here guns are a way of life, a necessity.” She moved up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You were so brave in what you did; I’m very proud of you.”
“I know, but it still gives me some thought. That Indian had a life also.”
“Yeah, and he was willing to take another’s life without giving it a single thought.” Beth rubbed her hand over his shoulder and back. “You did the right thing—the only thing you could do.”
Carl rose from the bed and put his arms around his wife. She could feel his tension as he hugged her tightly. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and they embraced for several moments.
The wind outside howled as it passed by the side of the cabin. It brought a chill to the displaced couple, but they went to the bedroom door, opened it, and emerged with smiles on their faces. Helen acknowledged them with a friendly nod then went on stirring her creation in the large pot on the stove. Thomas looked over from his chair by the fireplace and smiled back.
Dinner took on a little different slant as the group sat eating the bean soup and bread Helen had prepared. Different because no one said any more about what happened and only talked about the food, the weather, and how nice the fire felt.
Yes, it was getting colder out. Beth and Carl both worried about when or how they would return to their lives in the future. It did little to talk to their accommodating hosts. They had no idea of what they meant by wanting to go back to the future.
Little Annie curled up on the floor with her doll to be ready for her mother’s nightly reading from the Bible. Beth helped Helen clean up from the dinner, while Carl and Thomas went out to the barn to tend to the animals. The wind outside whistled through the land as the dark of night enveloped the small cabin.
A strong gust of wind blew in through the open door when the men returned. Thomas pushed the door closed and stamped his feet on the woven rug in front of the door. Carl did likewise in respect for the man’s need to keep his home as clean as possible.
Helen sat in place by the fireplace with her Bible in her lap while little Annie, on the large, round braided rug, moved closer to her. The men hung their jackets up and walked over to take a seat. Carl pulled out a chair from the table and set it down next to Beth.
Thomas poured two tin cups of rum for Carl and himself. All was well at the end of a trying day.