I’d been dreaming of making scrapbooks atop a fiery lookout when I awoke in the fat hours of slumber to Junia’s furious screams. I lay there trying to rouse from my dream.
In the inky blackness, I blinked and rubbed my eyes, listening to the silence. I reached for the candle, struck a match, and peered at my timepiece in the light. Only a few minutes past four and still twenty minutes before I rose.
I plopped back onto the pillow, snuggling deeper under the covers. The May weather chilled, found its way into loose panes and log chink. Again, I heard the mule’s high cries and then the loud blast of a shotgun.
I bolted upright and untangled my twisted covers.
Pulling on Mama’s old housecoat, I rushed down the loft ladder, stumbled, missed the last rung, and fell hard on my knee. I rubbed off the hurt and went for the shotgun under Pa’s bed, but it was gone.
Panicked, I lit a lantern and flung open the door.
The muffled light on Pa’s old carbide lamp bounced around from his miner’s helmet, flickered, then steadied and shone a brighter light over by the stall.
Pa crouched beside a body with Junia close by, pawing an angry hoof and loudly belling the night.
“Daughter, quick.” Pa saw me and hollered, “Get the beast back. Back!” He took off his helmet, waved it behind him. “Settle it down ’fore I use the shotgun again, and this time I won’t miss. Hurry on, and round that damn beast up.”
I saw Pa’s gun in the dirt beside him and gasped.
“Junia!” I put the lantern down and ran to her with my hands raised. But Junia just shook her long head and tore at the earth with both hoofs, raring to fight. “Haw! Back now. Back. Whoa, whoa, girl.” I sidestepped and tried to block her.
“Whoa, ol’ girl. Easy there. Easy.” I slowly reached out and touched her side. Her flesh quivered, and I patted, rubbed, stroked her shoulder and gray muzzle while talking to her in low tones. Soon, she quieted and hung her exhausted head over my shoulder. I looked back and saw what had her troubled.
Him lying there like that, I was sure he’d come back from the grave, and it scared me so that I yelled out to Pa, “Is his ticker broke?”
“Get the mule in its stall,” Pa ordered. “I said, get!” Pa lifted his helmet and raised the light over the body. “Get now.”
Junia startled and gave a shrill choking neigh. I grabbed a rope from her shed and hooked it over her neck, tugged, pulled her inside over muck and a splintered board. The wooden half door had fallen where she’d kicked it, the rope fastener sat on the ground broken away from its frame.
I pulled the gate up, righted it, and latched it with a piece of cord, then hurried over to Pa and knelt down beside him and Vester Frazier.
“Is he alive?” I whispered, torn between wishing he weren’t and fearful he was. Frazier’s head was matted with gore, and an ugly gash cratered the forehead. His jaw was split to his mouth, and his nose parked to the side, leaking blood.
“He has some life in him,” Pa said, “and is going to be feeling a’might harder one if he comes to.”
I noticed the ring of coal soot around Pa’s nose, but his clothes were only lightly dusted, not filthy like usual. “Pa, why are you home so early?”
“Mine shut down. One of the sections collapsed, and the inspector sent us home.”
“What happened here?” I eyed the gun beside his knees.
Then I saw it, a glint in the dirt, and my relief was washed away in a budding fury. Beside Vester Frazier’s body lay a long hunting knife and another oil lantern snuffed out.
I plucked up my lantern and ran to the stall. Rubbing my hand over every part of the mule, I inspected her as best I could under the dim, flickering light. I raised the wick. It caught full and it burned brighter, and again I examined her.
“Just a scrape that’s bloodied her rump, but no serious harm,” I hollered to Pa and went back over to crouch beside him. “What will we do?”
“We help our fellow men, Daughter. We’re God-fearing folk,” he said simply, though I know’d he meant “careful folk” more, and worried about what could happen to us if a white person was found here, injured or worse. Like all Blues, I’d grown up to be “careful,” learning when to bow down and when to cower.
“He’s been hunting me.” I barely breathed. “Sneaking around the hills for me, Pa.” That he’d tried again, and so soon, sent a chill scuttling over my body.
Pa studied me, a coldness settling in his weak eyes. He swallowed what I thought was a curse, then knocked a fist against his leg.
I know’d he was remembering my marriage bed. Pa didn’t say much then, but I saw it all in his eyes now.
“He didn’t hurt me none.” I placed my hand over his. “But Junia got scuffed some before she ran him off. She saved us.”
Pa glanced over at Junia, surprise and admiration taking hold. “I’ve been meaning to tighten up that gate… Good thing I didn’t get around to it. I reckon the beast got a sniff of his wickedness and busted out of its stall to stop him.”
“Whatever we do, he’s going to come after us, Pa. And keep coming until he has his day with me.”
“Yes. But he’s got to live now, or else we’re in trouble. If this preacher dies, folks will pick up their ropes—”
“Wonder where his mount run off to, Pa.” I cocked an ear, looking around, listening for it.
“I reckon the blast sent it hightailing back into the hills.”
Frazier coughed, then moaned and stirred a little from his stupor, wincing. A stink of blood and fear rose from his body. When he opened his eyes fully and saw me and Pa hovering above him, he shielded his face with both arms.
“Let’s get him inside,” Pa said.
I stared at him and balked.
“Now.” He cut me a warning look.
“Yes, sir.” I gulped. We hitched the preacher under his arms and legs and carried him up to the cabin.
Inside, we laid Frazier on Pa’s clean bed, the bed I’d made, and on sheets I’d scrubbed. Then Pa said, “The last thing we need is another dead Frazier. Best take the mule to town and get the doc.”