Softness. Warmth. Gentle breathing. A shift, a rustle, then silence.
Violet opened her heavy eyes. She had never felt more rested. The delicate sunlight streamed effortlessly through the crack in their window. Everything was warm and comfortable. When her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was Mei’s long neck, descending into her sharp clavicle. She was still sleeping. Mei and Violet lay naked beneath their covers, legs wrapped up like bundles of rope; there was no telling where one began and the other ended. Violet breathed deeply through her nose. The smell was distinct of them, and lingered to tell the tale of their night together.
Violet didn’t stir yet. She didn’t want to rouse Mei so quickly. Instead, she let her eyes linger on Mei’s body. The blankets were wrung around her midsection like ivy, leaving her torso bare to the world. Mei’s breasts were sharp, just like the rest of her, with dark, pert nipples that tilted in different directions while she lay on her back. Along her chest and stomach, Violet now took notice of what the dark had hidden so easily: scars. Old ones, faded almost entirely from time, and ones still so fresh, they were practically new wounds.
Carefully, Violet walked the tips of her fingers down the center of Mei’s chest. She wondered how someone got so many scars in a lifetime. She wondered what scar told what story. She wondered if Mei remembered them all.
“Mnn…” Mei began to shift, her eyes fluttering open. Drowsy, Mei turned her head, her nose touching Violet’s. Mei smiled. “Mornin’.”
Violet beamed. “Good morning.” She craned her neck for a kiss. Mei happily obliged. Eventually, Mei’s arm wrapped around Violet’s shoulders, and the two found a more comfortable position. The sunlight soothed their feet and legs, while the shadow of the room protected them from the hot air. Mei threaded her fingers through Violet’s knotted hair, amused at the mess.
“And how’re we feelin’ this morning?” she asked.
“Better than ever,” Violet purred. She closed her eyes, indulging in the sensation of Mei’s fingers scratching her scalp. Violet giggled to herself. “You’d think someone like me’d be all a mess after last night. Funny enough, I don’t feel a bit bad.”
“Not one bit?”
“Not one bit.”
Mei’s smile widened. She laid a kiss on Violet’s forehead. “Good. Ain’t nothin’ to feel bad about. Still, I was worried I’d scare you off at some point.” For some time after, they laid in familiar silence. Occasionally, one of them would sigh, or make a noise, or mutter something about the party the night before. But neither seemed to want to rise from their nest quite yet. It was only until Violet’s stomach rumbled violently that they dressed for the day.
The entire compound was groggy that morning. Barely anyone was awake, even though it was close to noon. Madam Hen had made herself scarce since dawn. After a bit of searching, Violet realized that so had Linus. Even Rory was tucked in, sleeping the fun away. The only face to greet them when they awoke was Sitting Bear.
Mei and Violet set themselves at the supper table, and Sitting Bear greeted them with a nod. He gave them each a bowl of fresh porridge, as well as left over scraps from last night’s banquet. They all ate together in contented silence. “So.” Mei threaded her fingers and rested them at her chin. “Since we’re to wait for the rains to move on, about how long are we here, Bear?”
Sitting Bear looked thoughtfully out the window. He took his usual time to think before answering. “It is hard to say. A month. Maybe more.”
Mei stretched back in her chair, her happy mood gone for now. She twirled her spoon between her fingers. “And if we were to risk it?”
Sitting Bear shook his head. “It would be too easy to die. Either by beasts or by heat.”
“Or by marshals,” Violet added drearily.
“I told you,” said Mei, “don’t none of them bastards know we’re here.” She put her chin in her hand, brows furrowed. “Henny won’t mind us bein’ here, that’s no problem. I just…” She sighed. “I don’t like stayin’ put for so long…”
Violet tapped her bowl. “Maybe it won’t be so bad? Maybe if we drop outta sight for a while, it’ll be easier getting into Carson City or the Dakotas. Less people out looking for us.”
Mei smiled slightly. “Always a ray of sunshine.” She rolled her neck, and Violet heard faint pops. “So be it. We’ll earn our keep and help out around the Bone House.”
“Fine by me,” said Violet. She slurped up the rest of her porridge, washing it down with a glass of fresh milk.
After breakfast, Mei and Violet headed out back for a shower. A small handful of tall wooden boxes, hooked up to a well pump, waited to be used. From the looks of things, the two were the first to use them. “Lord, it’s been too long.” Mei stripped as she walked, and stepped totally nude into an empty box. She swiped a waxy ball of soap from the inside shelf and glanced back at Violet. “Give us a pump there, wouldjya?”
Violet took hold of the water pump and began to push. It was slow moving, but eventually, water splashed into the pored tin bucket above her. She drenched herself fully, and began to work up a lather between her hands. She glanced behind her, and noticed that Violet was staring. “Well?” she said. “It don’t work too well if a bunch is goin’ off at once. Come on.”
With a sheepish smile, Violet tossed her clothes aside, hopped into the shower, and closed the door behind her. There were barely a few inches to move between them, but Violet didn’t mind the closeness. The water, warmed by the hot earth, was pleasantly toasty by the time it left the spout. Mei ran soap up and down Violet’s shoulders. She watched the froth run down Violet’s arms. “Turn around,” said Mei. Violet did so. Mei began to weave her fingers in and out of Violet’s hair. Her nails gently scraped Violet’s scalp, doing away with the grime of her roots. Violet closed her eyes, and let the sensation soothe her.
“This how you keep your hair so nice?” Violet asked.
Mei chuckled. “I think I’m just lucky,” she said. Her hands gently untangled Violet’s knots.
“Did your mama have nice hair too?” Violet paused. “She must’ve, mustn’t she? A woman would have to be awfully beautiful to be your mother.” Violet stopped again. Mei had gone silent. Sensing the shift in mood, Violet turned to her. She wiped the water from her face. Mei’s expression was unreadable. Like a wise statue. And yet, there was something sad in her eyes. Violet slowly raised her hand to Mei’s face, half afraid Mei would slap it away. Instead, Mei took Violet’s hand in hers and pressed it lovingly to her own cheek. She closed her eyes, comforted in Violet’s presence. Finally, she nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “My mother was beautiful. And she had gorgeous hair. I used to play with it for hours, just to feel it.” Her smile grew. “It was rare to find cacao butter where we were, but whenever she could get her hands on it, she used to massage it in. It would be so soft and wonderful after she did that…”
Violet slipped her hand from her cheek, and instead rested it against Mei’s heart. So many scars were bumpy under Violet’s touch. She couldn’t imagine Mei’s mother with the same skin. “Where is your mother?” she asked softly. Mei’s eyes, tilted down between them, were hallowed and far away. Violet wished she could see Mei’s memories, rather than resort to prying. Before Mei could answer, Violet spoke again. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “If it hurts you too much, you don’t gotta say a word.”
Mei looked up, confused at first, but melted quickly into gratitude. Mei nodded, and gave Violet her thanks with a tender kiss.
* * * *
Work at the Bone House was not easy, but never was there a dull moment. Violet naturally found her place at the stables, helping to care for the horses and other livestock. When the days got hotter, she retreated to work in the main house. Madam Hen seemed to have no quota of work to fulfill with the Railwalkers, and so while they did their best to earn their keep, Madam Hen never pestered them to do more than the odd chore here and there. Violet had a feeling that working for their supper was mostly to soothe Mei’s pride more than Madam Hen’s needs. Violet had gotten along with the other residents of the compound. Lupita, who helped Violet care for the animals, was surprisingly fast with her hands; Violet had never seen a cow milked so quickly. Hernando behind the bar, while not a man of many words, always made sure Violet had more than enough to eat at mealtimes. When she wasn’t working, she and Rory would play with the children and their leather ball, kicking it barefoot across the dirt. At night, Mei and Linus would take shifts patrolling the area, though truth be told, Violet hadn’t felt this safe in nearly half a year. And when the Bone House grew quiet, in the wee hours of the night, Mei and Violet would have their bed to themselves.
Violet had never known pleasure like what Mei provided. Mei’s hands toyed with sensitive buttons Violet never knew that she had, always until her world ended in brilliant color. Other times, when the day had been too long or too hot, Violet and Mei would lay naked atop the bed, inviting the cool night air to comfort their sweating skin. But whether their nights were met with passion or peace, they all ended the same. Before falling to sleep, Violet would curl to one side, with Mei’s arms secure around her person.
For a long month, they lived with Madam Hen in her compound. There was never a lonely night, nor an empty belly for that entire month. At times, Violet would catch herself forgetting that the outside world even existed. As far as Violet was concerned, reality existed only within the walls of that clay bungalow, wrapped up in the arms of her beautiful, dangerous lover.
One afternoon, work finished up early, and Violet treated herself to a stroll along the grounds. The days were starting to cool, and a pleasant cloud cover kept the harsh sun at bay. She wandered along the edge of the grass, her fingers just reaching the tall tops of the prairie brush. Her mind was at ease, and pondering simple things. What they were to have for dinner that night, or breakfast in the morning. When Madam Hen’s next great fiesta would be. When Violet could wear her beautiful purple dress again…
A gunshot rang from the air, and startled Violet abruptly. She turned, hand immediately going to the pea shooter on her belt. But after scanning the area, she saw no danger. Another gunshot sounded, and Violet curiously prowled closer to the noise.
“Pull another one, Bear!”
Violet rounded the corner of the main house just as a clay pot flew ten feet through the air. With a loud bang!, the pot shattered into a burst of dust and debris. Linus, reloading his precious pearl-handled revolver, stood casually before the dust cloud. Rory and Sitting Bear sat on either side of Linus; Rory perched on top of a pickle barrel, enjoying a chunk of molasses candy, while Sitting Bear rested on a pile of firewood, a mess of chipped pottery at his feet. He was the first to notice Violet.
“Hello, Violet,” he said.
Linus turned and smiled at her coming. “Come to see the show? Quite a spectacle.” Linus slapped his gun chamber closed and turned back out to the frontier. “Pull!” Sitting Bear tossed up an empty whiskey bottle. Linus, gun at the ready, trailed it with the end of his gun barrel, and fired. It shattered the green glass with ease, and the little, sparkling shards rained down onto the red dirt.
Violet smiled. “How’d you ever get to be so good a shot?” she asked.
“Plenty of practice,” Linus replied. He paused, inspired by a sudden thought. “What gun do you got again? Give it here.” Violet handed over her tiny gun. Linus looked it over and tsked. “Derringers. Good for boys and ladies in too many skirts. Why’d we ever give you one of these anyway?”
Violet shrugged. “I can’t say I got much of an aim. Had a pellet gun when I was younger, but I wasn’t never any good with it.”
Linus grunted. “Well, we got some time on our hands. Here.” Linus went to where Rory sat and undid a cloth satchel at the base of the barrel. Peeking over his shoulder, Violet noticed a full array of handguns in every shape, size, and color, with boxes of ammo to boot. After examining a few models, Linus finally settled on one he liked. It was a lighter gun metal, with a redwood handle and swirls etched into the side of the stirrup. After checking the chamber to be sure it was empty, Linus snapped it shut and handed it to her, butt first. “Take this,” he said.
Violet held it. It was far longer than her derringer, and heavier to boot. But it fit within her fingers as though they’d always belonged there. Violet rolled her wrist, testing the weight.
“How is it?” Linus asked. “Too much?”
Violet shook her head. “No. Matter of fact, it feels nice, almost. Balanced.”
Linus smiled. “Good. That there’s a Smith & Wesson model 3. Single action, fires carriages, six bullets to a chamber. This one here…” Linus examined the side of the gun, bent down, and returned with a flimsy, paper box. “…takes .44 caliber bullets. Here.” He handed the box to Violet. “This should do you.”
Violet held the gun to the light, admiring the detail scrawled into the metal. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s deadly,” Linus warned. “A gun’s your best friend, or your worst enemy. It’s all about respecting that power. Too many men get their hands on a shiny piece of metal and then…” Linus held up two fingers and his thumb in the shape of a gun, and curled his thumb forward. “Bang. Get too big for their britches, and down they go. Either by their own gun or someone else’s.”
Violet nodded solemnly. “I need to learn. Teach me how to shoot like you.”
“Now that might take some time. But we gotta start somewhere, don’t we?” His smile twinkling, Linus gathered up a few discarded tin cans, and set them on the posts ten feet away. When he returned, he took Violet’s shoulders and squared her off to face her targets. “Hold it with both hands. Put your right hand on the grip, left hand on the right…that’s the way.” Linus nudged the inside of Violet’s elbow. “You never want your arms locked up too tightly. When that bullet goes off, the gun kicks back. You keep your elbow loose, and you have an easier time controlling it. Now here’s the tricky part. Push forward with your right hand…and back with your left.”
Violet turned to him. “What?”
“Push your hands against each other.” Linus made a fist and pressed his knuckles into his left palm. “If both hands are pushing, you keep the gun steady. Same way a looped rope holds up a tent; it’s pulling at either direction, so the tent stays put. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.” Feeling a little more confident, Violet put a few bullets into the gun’s chamber and observed her targets. She counted ten tin cans in total. With the gun in her grasp, Violet pushed and pulled in each hand, respectively. The gun quivered at the pressure, but stayed on point.
“Not too hard now. Don’t want to hurt yourself.” Violet let up, though only slightly. Linus pointed to the tomato can in the center of the lineup. “Aim for that one there. Cock back the hammer, and when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
Violet took a deep breath. Her eyes fixed on the empty can. Digging her heels into the dirt, she braced her nerves, squeezed the trigger, and completely missed her target. A small puff of red dust rose into the wind, but the can remained unscathed. Violet huffed, discouraged. Linus smiled.
“No need to be hard on yourself. We got all day.” He tilted her arms just slightly. “I think you move just to the left when you fire. And try to keep your eyes open when the gun goes off. It ain’t easy, but it’ll help you hit.”
Violet shot again. The bullet ricocheted off a rock, just a few inches away from the tomato can. She was, at least, getting closer. Violet dropped her gun and put a hand on her hip. “Maybe it’s the wind?”
Linus’s smile grew. In a move too quick to follow, Linus whipped out his gun from his holster, held it to his hip, and began to cock and fire in rapid succession. He fired five bullets. Every single one hit a can with a sharp “ping!” Emptying his gun, Linus spun it around his finger and holstered it with ease. He folded his arms, satisfied. “I don’t think it’s the wind,” he teased.
Violet stared at the destroyed cans in awe. “Lord…” She shook her head. “You’re the best damn shot I’ve ever seen. How long’ve you been at it?”
“Since I could hold a gun straight.” Linus pulled his guns out, and Violet got a better look at them. They were weathered, and well loved. The pearl inlay twinkled beautifully in the afternoon sky. There were faint powder marks along the end of the barrel, but the gunmetal shone as though it’d been recently polished. And on each barrel was carved a word “Colt.”
“The Peacemakers,” he explained. “That’s what I call ‘em. Powerful, slick .45 caliber bullets. Easy to clean, hardly ever jams. These two girls are my pride and joy.”
“Where’d you get them? Don’t say you won them like Ginger…”
Linus spun his guns about in a theatrical display of dexterity. “Wouldn’t dream of gambling these away,” he said. He finished his tricks and holstered them both. “No ma’am. I saw these beauties locked away in an old Confederate’s mansion. I figured I could make better use of them than he ever could.”
Violet frowned. “Ain’t there anything in this world you don’t steal or cheat away, Linus?”
Linus chuckled and sat on an empty barrel. “Perhaps if I was the type of man white folks would sell to…” He gestured to his face, though his expression remained playful. “But unfortunately, no upstanding Christian man would give a horse and a gun to some smart mouthed Negro out of the good of his heart. I learned that lesson real early on.”
Violet looked to the gun in her hand. Was this stolen, too? Perhaps from a smith who wouldn’t give Linus the time of day, let alone his business. As sad as the story made her, Violet knew better than to doubt its authenticity. If the Railwalkers had taught her anything, it was that the world was far uglier than Violet ever knew.
Raising the Smith & Wesson again, she bent her elbow, squared her shoulders, and shot. This time, the tomato can knocked just slightly. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was something. Violet turned to Linus, making sure he saw it. He nodded, assuring her that he had. As she readied for another try, Linus stood up from his barrel.
“Speaking of upstanding.” He tilted Violet’s arms just so and stood back, letting her focus. “How’s Mei been treating you?”
Bang! Violet’s gun went off, the kickback nearly jerking the pistol out of her hand. The bullet went far off course, and instead of the can, whacked a cactus plant just a few yards away. A chunk of it fell to the ground in a wet slump. Violet quickly fiddled with the pistol, keeping her eyes away from Linus’s prying gaze.
“Mei? Why would Mei be treating me any different?” Her ears burned; she could almost feel Linus grinning.
“Child. We have been in this compound for nearly thirty days. You think we don’t know what goes on in the room right next to us every night?”
Violet shifted uncomfortably. “I just…I don’t know if I—”
“Easy, Violet.” Linus put a hand on her shoulder, and Violet looked up. “No one here’s judging you. Ain’t that right, fellas?” Sitting Bear, who had taken to whittling a block of wood, shook his head, and kept his eyes on his work. Rory, his face sticky with sugar, smiled warmly and answered the same. “Truth be told, I think Mei’s been better for it. It’s been keeping her relaxed.”
“It has? I haven’t noticed a change.”
“Under normal circumstances, Mei’d be crawling out of her skin right now. That’s how much she hates staying put. I think you’ve been able to be a mighty fine distraction for her.”
At first, Violet felt a wave of pride, but almost immediately following, Violet’s heart began to droop. “Distraction?” Violet repeated. She stared at the gun in her hands, feeling warmth radiate from the barrel. “Is that all I am?”
Linus spoke quickly. “What? No, no, that ain’t—Violet, you know that’s not what you are.”
“Ain’t it?” Violet looked up to Linus helplessly. “The night after Malvern, Mei said she’d give me one year. One year to train me up, make sure I could handle myself on my own. Summer’s almost over…That year’s halfway done. When spring comes again, the year’ll be up. Won’t it?”
Linus stalled. Behind his spectacles, he desperately searched for the right thing to say. But no matter what he came up with, Violet knew that he would speak no comforts. Only Mei herself could answer such a question. And if Violet was being honest with herself, she was too afraid to ask her.
Violet returned to the tomato can. She raised her gun, her arm eerily still, and fired. The bullet hit its mark dead on, and flung the rusty can two feet into the air. When it fell, it clanked in a dull, hallow sound that echoed against the dirt. The ringing of the metal stayed trapped in Violet’s head, long after the bullet had left her gun.
* * * *
“We should shoe the horses before we leave.”
“Mm.”
“Do you think we got enough water? Bear mentioned how dry the trail would be—”
“We have water.”
“But do we have enough water? I think we should cook up an extra batch of biscuits to take with us too.”
“Violet.”
Sleepily, Mei lifted her head from the pillow. Violet only saw her dazed expression by the flickering of the oil lamp that Violet had left burning. “It is damn near morning. Will you get some sleep?”
“I can’t.” Sitting up against the headboard, Violet curled her knees up to her naked chest. Mei, covered only in the cotton sheet, lay face down beside her, her sable hair handsomely tussled from earlier that night. Violet traced the scars on Mei’s back with her eyes. “Being here’s been the safest I’ve felt in ages. I can’t help but worry what happens when we leave.”
Mei took a deep breath through her nose. She shut her eyes. “We survive. Same as we’ve always done.” Her hand, as if on its own, began to gently smooth down Violet’s leg. “We’ll have each other, and our wits. We’ll be just fine.”
Violet watched Mei’s hand trail up and down. Even after a month together, Mei’s touch still managed to give her butterflies. Reaching down, she took Mei’s hand in her own, and laced their fingers together. Although her eyes remained closed, Mei smiled against the pillow.
“You’re right,” said Violet. “I shouldn’t worry.”
“No,” Mei breathed. “You shouldn’t.”
Violet laid her head back against the board, and listened to the crickets outside their window. Although their room had stayed rather muggy from the day before, a cool breeze was on its way inside. Violet pushed her knotted hair away from her sweating neck, letting the air kiss it dry. “Mei? Can I ask you—?” Violet spotted Mei, and her words trailed off. Mei’s face was relaxed, her lips parted just so. She snored gently, her hand limp in Violet’s. Violet smiled in spite of herself and gently laid Mei’s hand aside.
Still wide awake, she observed the room. Their little bungalow had grown so comfortable for both of them. By this time tomorrow, they’d have no roof over their head, and no hay bed to share. It would be back on the trail, alone against the elements.
While deep in thought, Violet ran her fingers through her hair. However, she couldn’t exactly get far. Violet had accumulated more knots and tangles in the hot weather than she ever had before. Frowning, she caught sight of her reflection in the dingy mirror across the room. Her hair was unsightly; as ragged as a bird’s nest. Violet grabbed Mei’s ivory brush and tried to comb out the knots, but it was fruitless. Not wanting to bother Mei, Violet slipped from bed and sat on the stool next to the rickety wardrobe, atop which sat the cracked and dirty mirror.
She tried brushing her hair again, and again, found it useless. Frustrated, she set the brush down and wiped away the dirt on the mirror’s surface. It shifted beneath her hand, and in its reflection, she noticed a faint shine on the floor near Mei’s affects. Violet turned and noticed that Mei’s hunting knife, the same which ended the life of vile Mr. Munts, was barely hidden under the flap of Mei’s leather satchel.
A strange idea came to her. Violet glanced back at Mei, who was still asleep. Quiet as she could, she scuttled over to the bag and slipped the knife from its hiding place. Returning to the mirror, she hesitated. Against the amber light of the oil lamp, the blade shimmered along its deadly edge. She had wanted to cut her hair once. Only once. When she was six years old.
“Cut it? What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“It’s so hot, Mama. I can’t play long with it. Even when you put it up in braids it’s so heavy.”
“You are becoming a lady, Violet. Ladies do not disrespect themselves by cutting their hair. Or would you rather I sell you off to a whore house and let them learn you to be a trollop? Is that what you want?”
“No, Mama…”
Holding the knife tighter, Violet recalled her mother’s words with growing resentment. She could not cut her hair, because that is not what ladies do. She must wear lace and bloomers, even in the stifling heat, because that is what ladies do. She could not ride for too long, or play for too long. She could not get her boots muddy. She must attend church every Sunday, no matter how sick or tired she was. All her life, it was buttons, and lace, and ribbons. Trussed up like a Christmas turkey; bound from birth by her mother’s expectations.
Her eyes fell to Mei’s reflection. Sleeping, peaceful, beautiful Mei. A disparaging grin curled along her lips.
I wonder what Mama would say to me now?
Violet clutched a fistful of hair. Her right hand trembling, she raised the knife. Ladies don’t have impure thoughts. Violet cut through her hair as easily as slicing butter. She let it fall to the floor carelessly, took another clump, and cut again. Ladies sure as hell don’t act on them thoughts. More hair fell to her feet. Ladies don’t strip themselves bare for no one but their husband. She sliced through more and more hair. Faster now. Ladies don’t shoot guns. More hair fell. Ladies don’t smoke tobacco. More hair. Ladies ain’t outlaws. Even more. Ladies ain’t murderers.
Ladies don’t fall in love with women.
Violet set the knife down. Her heart pounded. Hair covered the floor like hay. Violet stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was the same, her neck was the same, her body was the same. Yet she felt like another person. Her short hair was choppy at best, and hugged her scalp tightly in uneven chunks. Some stuck out at odd angles, some curled. It was ugly. Violet loved it.
“It fits you.”
Violet spun around to see Mei, sitting up and staring. Violet wasn’t sure how long she’d been awake, but she was sure Mei had seen the bulk of it. Mei slipped out of bed and threw on her loose shirt. “A little shoddy though.” She rustled through her satchel before finding her leather shears. “You mind?” Violet shook her head, and Mei approached her from behind. With careful fingers, Mei began to clip the uneven ends of Violet’s new hair.
“I thought you was asleep.”
Mei’s reflection smiled. “I woke up when I felt you gone.” Her fingers threaded through Violet’s roots. Her nails worked into Violet’s scalp. Shivers ran down Violet’s arms. “Live like I do, and you tend to be a bit of a light sleeper.”
“Sorry…”
“Don’t be.” Mei snipped a few more odds and ends. “It keeps me alive from time to time.” The two fell into silence as Mei continued trimming Violet’s hair. It was a full ten minutes before she set the shears aside. “There. How’s that?”
It was far more even now. Shorter and well kept. Violet ran her fingers through her bangs. “Thank you,” she said.
Mei reached down and helped Violet to her feet. They shared a kiss. “Sleep now. We got a long road ahead of us.” Violet agreed, and the pair curled into bed together.
The next morning, Mei woke them all up before sunrise. Even in the early hour, they were on a tight schedule. According to Mei, they’d wasted enough time at the Bone House already, and every second more was a further mile for Abernathy. Violet had been tempted to ask more questions about Mei’s target, but kept them to herself. She figured that Mei would give her details when she felt ready to tell them.
They ate a quick breakfast and packed their saddle bags. The blacksmith woke early enough to reshoe their horses, and Violet gave each of them a good brushing. While at the stables, Rory presented the Railwalkers with a young colt that he had been working on gaining trust with. It was a spindly thing, with a chestnut coat and white socks. Rory asked to take it with them, in hopes that he’d be able to ride it one day; Madam Hen had decided to hand it over as a present. After a bit of coaxing, Mei agreed. Rory had named it Sweetpea, after his favorite pea soup in Appaloosa.
By the time the sun touched the mountains, the Railwalkers were readying themselves for the trail. It was a gray morning, with only faint hints of the summer heat in the air. Along with Sweetpea, Madam Hen had gifted them a mule, equipped with fresh water and provisions to help get them through the desert and into Carson City. As they readied their horses, Rory was trying desperately to fit a bit into Sweetpea’s maw. The young stallion jerked away every time, flicking its tail in annoyance. Violet chuckled, wondering just how Rory would do with his first horse.
Beside her, Sitting Bear was prepping his own horse, which gave Violet pause. “Hey Bear?” Sitting Bear turned. “What’s your horse named?”
Sitting Bear considered the question, and looked his spotted mustang over. “He has none.”
“No?” Violet combed her fingers through Maple’s mane. “You never gave him one? Not once?”
Sitting Bear shrugged. “It was not mine to give.” He paused, hand on his saddle blanket. “I am also not very creative.”
Violet smiled. “Well…” She walked up to the mustang and pat its nose. Its deep brown eyes gazed endlessly at Violet. “Where’d you find him anyhow?”
Sitting Bear paused. His hand gently stroked the horse’s neck. “Malvern,” he said. There was deep hesitation in his voice, and he took longer than usual to form his words. When he finally did speak again, he did so quietly, and Violet strained to listen. “You recall my family was forced off our lands?” Violet nodded. Sitting Bear kept his eyes forward. “Many of my people died as a result. I was angry. I found guns. I returned home. I used them.” With an eerily quiet reserve, he looked Violet straight in the eye. “I found an encampment by the springs. I slaughtered the white men on our lands. Every one. This…” He returned to the horse, his features softening. “…this horse was a mere foal when I came upon it. The other horses had fled. This one stayed. And so, we kept each other’s company.” He fitted his saddle on the mustang’s back and tightened the strap. “That is our story.”
Violet returned to the horse. Its soft eyes had not changed, though its lips shifted uneasily against its bit. Violet pet it down the front of its face. “Sounds like y’all went through some hard times together.” Sitting Bear nodded. Violet ran her finger up and down a spattering of white against its muzzle. She turned to Sitting Bear. “Why not ‘Dove’?”
“Dove?” said Sitting Bear.
“It’s just…y’all have seen so much war and blood. But you found peace with each other. Wouldn’t you say?”
Sitting Bear considered the name. A smile curled along his lips. “He shall be called Dove.” Dove, newly christened, pawed at the dirt in approval.
“Sweetpea, don’t—whoa—!” A bit of commotion caught Violet’s attention. Violet looked over Dove to see Rory accidentally pushed down into the mud by Sweetpea. Then, to add insult to injury, Sweetpea decided that now would be a perfect time to lay down and relax. It plopped right on top of Rory and dug its hooves in the mud. Rory flailed underneath, and Violet, stifling her laughter, quickly came to his aide.
“Rory—!” She took his hand and yanked him out from under the foal. Dazed, Rory looked up at Violet, caked with mud.
“I guess Sweetpea’s a girl,” was all he said.
Saddled up, they came to the entrance of the compound to set off before burning too much daylight. Madam Hen, dressed in black for the occasion, awaited them clutching a handkerchief.
“Ay, mija, must you leave so soon?” She dabbed an inexplicably dry eye with her kerchief. “What is an old woman to do, alone and neglected?”
Mei rolled her eyes and brought Madam Hen into a big bear hug. “We’ll miss you too, Henny.”
Madam Hen broke away and held up a finger. “Write to me, mija. Every time you get the chance. I worry about you.”
“Yes, Henny.”
Madam Hen kissed Mei on either side of her face, and then turned to Rory. Without warning, she scooped him up and planted a massive kiss on his cheek, leaving an embarrassingly large mark in its wake. Rory squirmed until she set him back down on his feet. “You be good to your new amiga, chamaco. ¿Verdad?”
“Yessum,” said Rory, roughly wiping his face with his sleeve.
Madam Hen said goodbye to Sitting Bear and Linus in similar fashion, although Linus took time to leave Madam Hen with a kiss to her hand, as any proper gentleman would. Finally, she came to Violet. She beamed, touching the ends of Violet’s hair with her fingertips. “It was an honor to have you, mija.”
Violet smiled back. She leaned in and gave Madam Hen a deep, meaningful hug. Madam Hen returned it in kind. “Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am.” She broke the hug. “Truth be told, I ain’t never felt so blessed as when I was here with y’all. I hope I can see you again real soon.”
Moved, Madam Hen held a hand to her breast. Her eyes teared up, this time for real, and she turned away, overcome with emotion. “Ay ay…va, antes de me avenguenzo.” Taking that as their cue, they saddled up and headed out. Violet continued to watch the Bone House fade into the distance, until it blinked into the nothingness of the horizon.