New Story Excerpt Act Two

ACT TWO

            That letter.  That damned letter…he wished he hadn’t drank the whole bottle of whiskey. Lord could certainly use a shot; ‘the hair of the dog’ so to speak.  Carefully he turned the water off, keeping his head as high as he could.  He stepped out of the shower and toweled dry, brushed his teeth and combed his hair.  He went to the fridge looking for a beer.  No luck. “Damn!” he slammed the door and winced at the crash.  

            So he dressed and found his truck keys and his dark glasses.  He opened the door to face a different world.  Now, a world without Bree. “Not if I have anything to say about it” he told himself, “I’ll call her and get this straightened out. Gotta find a phone.  If I could see her face-to-face I know that I could talk some sense into her.  Well, a phone will have to do for now.”  He hadn’t spent the money for a telephone in the trailer so he had to find a payphone.  Lord walked to his old Chevy pickup and opened the door.  He heard his name called over the screech of the rusty door hinges.  Slowly turning his head, he still felt pretty woozy, he spied Lily, the landlord’s daughter. 

            “Poor girl”, he thought as he watched her waddle towards him.  She was skeletal thin, and heavily pregnant.  She had been friendly with him since the first day he had come looking for a place to rent.  He had made the mistake of asking her about the baby’s daddy one warm evening while they sat outside on the patio.  Lily’s eyes had filled with tears and she was silent for a long minute before she spat out, “The bastard said it wasn’t his!”  Lord guessed that she didn’t have many options. He could tell she didn’t have any money by her well worn and badly fitting clothes.  Lily’s father, the landlord, didn’t think too well about her either.  He heard the son of a bitch hollerin’ drunken slurs about her condition almost every night through the open windows of their ramshackle house.  The thing was, Lily was a pretty girl and real nice too.  And she worked hard all day everyday for that worthless father of hers. 

            “Where you going?” she asked. Lord looked at her closely and he saw something that he didn’t want to see.  He removed his sunglasses. He scowled, his temper rising at the sight of her pretty blue left eye peering at him from the middle of an ugly, ugly blue-black bruise.  The son of a bitch had hit her.

            Lord knew a lot about bastard adults hitting on kids.  His father (the man who had named him Lord) had died when he was 11 and his little brother Charlie was 9. Their Mom had been pretty well out of it for a couple of years.  Lord had taken over most of the chores around the house and watched over Charlie for her.  Then out of the blue a slick dude with a handsome face had charmed Mom out of her funk.  Lord never liked the bastard.  Preacher had told him that he thought that Lord was just jealous of another man taking the primary role in Mom’s life.  Whatever.  The wedded bliss lasted a month.  One morning at breakfast she walked out of her bedroom while Lord was making mush and toast for Charlie and him and she had a black eye and bruises on her arms.  When he had gotten mad and asked Mom about it, she said it was just an accident.

            Lord shook his head in denial at the sight of Lily’s face.  “He hit you.” he said flatly. “That ain’t right.”

            Lily’s face crumpled in dismay and tears threatened to spill on to her cheeks. “Yeah, he was drunk again. Said I was no-good. And other things…” she stopped, too embarrassed to continue.

            Lord heaved a deep sigh.  He didn’t want to interfere.  He didn’t know what could be done about it anyway.   He picked her hand up in his and told her, “Lily, I got to find a phone and call home.  Something’s come up.  I’ll be back in a while.  I promise.”

            Lily ducked her head in dismay, her shoulders shook with silent sobs.  She withdrew her hand from his, nodded, and walked away.

            “Damn” Lord growled.  If it wasn’t one thing, it was ten others. He jumped into the seat, started the pickup and drove. Just drove.  It may have been 30 minutes or more before he was aware of his surroundings.  He had been so deep in thought that he driven 20 miles from his trailer.  He came to in a startled way, not sure of what he was doing.  “It is a damned wonder that I didn’t drive into a ditch” he told the faithful old pickup.  Thoroughly shaken up, he swiveled his head back and forth looking for a payphone on either side of the road.  He lucked out, and found one within a minute.

            He parked right next to it and slid out of the truck seat a little too quickly. His head started spinning like it had earlier in the trailer. He swallowed fast and furiously as he tried to keep his stomach from giving him any more trouble.  He fished a handful of change from his pocket and fed $2.00 into the phone when the operator asked for it. The phone rang 6…no, 7 times before someone answered.                                    “Hello…” a voice that Lord recognized said.  “Bree…is that you?”          
            “Oh…Lord…how are you?”  Bree sounded nervous.

            “I’m okay, except for missing you. A lot…when are you comin’ down?” Lord waited for an answer, but there was only silence.

            “Didn’t you get my letter?” a distant small voice replied to his question with a question of her own. His heart sank. He was sunk.  All of their plans…down the tubes.

            “Yeah, I got the letter...but I don’t get it. What you meant, I mean. Damn! I can’t even talk.” he raised his voice, “Surely not KEVIN!”

            There was nothing but silence on the line.  Not even the normal buzz of a long distance call.  Finally, there was a sound like a sob that carried over the wires to his ear.  He couldn’t take it any longer. He made up his mind right there on the street with a phone handset hanging out of his ear. “I’m coming home! I’ll be there in a couple of days!”  He hung up the phone.  

New Story Excerpt

I have been working on Nate and Josephine out of the light of day. So, I thought a little of Lord Alexander Brannon might fill in for a couple of posts.  Not LORD Alexander, Lord is his first name.  I know, pretty goofy huh?  He thinks so too.  But his father stuck it on him and then died, he can't undo it now.  He tried to get folks to use his middle name but his efforts were in vain.

As usual, if you have comments or suggestions please leave a comment.

Lord of this World

Lord of this World

ACT ONE

            A naked, sweating young man lay on top of the old sagging bed.  The sheets were tangled and damp.  Damp from the sweating body sprawled face up in the nest of sheets and damp from the wheezing swamp cooler.  The forced breeze of the cooler stirred the small hairs on the young man’s body, valiantly trying to evaporate the perspiration beading on his torso but failing miserably.  And it wasn’t even that humid outside.  An empty bottle with a Jim Beam label lay on the floor beside the bed next to two pages of a “Dear John” letter written on lavender colored stationery.  If held up to your nose the faint smell of a musty perfume, the kind that the young man liked so well, was there.  But just barely.  It couldn’t overcome the sour smelling alcoholic sweat now pooling in the young man’s navel.

            He had been named Lord Alexander Brannon.  He had tried to get people to use his second name or even the short version of it…Alex.  No such luck. Ever since 5^th grade when the substitute teacher had made such a big deal about his name; the woman laughed nervously each time she called on him; once calling him Fauntleroy. Lord could tell where her mind was.  When he was in junior high, a big kid that had moved in over the summer asked him if he thought he was a hot shit special.  Lord had taken a swing at him and missed.  The big kid thumped him.  So he was Lord, jokes and teasing included. Now his name might be MUD, considering the condition he was in.

            The first indication of life in the young man was the crinkling of his nose as a blue green fly would land and walk around on it.  Finally, he regained enough conciousness to swat at it. The movement of the young man’s arm drew a groan from him and he grimaced as a blinding pain struck him behind his eyes. The effort it had taken to swat at the fly had triggered the pain in his dead and dying brain cells. Murder by a quart of Kentucky’s ‘Finest’.  The fly flew away to the dirty window in an attempt to escape but it was trapped in the hot, stinky atmosphere.  The fly buzzed against the screen in a frenzied dance that was loud enough to wake the dead. His nerveless right arm and hand trapped beneath his body, slowly but surely withdrew. It flopped aimlessly to his forehead.  Another groan escaped his lips.  He opened his eyes.  The bright light from the window struck him like a sledgehammer.  He gasped, the sound echoing in his throbbing head.  His eyelids slammed shut.  He covered his eyes with his left hand as it, at least, seemed to obey his will.  “What have I done to myself?” he thought, 

After a night of being crushed beneath him, the stinging needle sensation of blood rushing back into his right arm wrung a curse from him, “What an idiot!”  He twisted and put his feet on the floor and carefully sat up.  His torso swayed as the world began to wobble crazily around him.  The young man spread his arms to his sides trying to stop the spinning.  “Gentleman James, what have you done to me?” he spoke to the empty bottle on the floor.  He struggled to keep the sour contents of his stomach down where it belonged.  He almost succeeded until his dizzy gaze settled on the lavender letter next to the whiskey bottle.  Barely, he grabbed the small wastebasket that he kept next to the bed and retched long and hard. There was nothing but sour bile in him at first and then nothing.  The dry waves of nausea tore at him.  The impact of the letter and the strength of his sickness forced tears from his eyes. Even as dry as he was from the alcohol, the tears flooded from his eyes.  “Why had she dumped him?” he whined.  

Shaking and still nauseous, the naked young man wearily rose and made his way to the bathroom of his little tin trailer house wiping his eyes as he went.  He blanked out the scene in front of him for a second, thinking of the letter again.  “Why!  Why now?” He questioned in his head.  Coming to, he found himself standing before the porcelin throne.  He emptied his bladder of the poisons of last night’s excess.  Finished, he stepped into the tiny bathtub and adjusted the water to the hottest he could stand and then diverted the flow of water to the showerhead.  He gasped as the hot water sprayed him hard and stinging.  Ducking his head under the stream of water his stomach rebelled again and he retched and gagged, nearly falling from the force of his sickness.  He straightened up hoping to quell the nausea.  A vision of the lavender letter swam in front of his eyes and fresh tears started again.  “Lord, what have you done?” he agonized.  The pain of the rejection letter and the sickness from the whiskey made him feel sorry for himself.

Finally, getting hold of his emotions he picked up the bar of soap and began to wash the sour whiskey sweat away.  He let his mind wander back over the events of the last few months.  He had received a letter from his little brother which had begun humorously.  In the closing paragraph his smiles had faded.  Cluelessly, his pre-teen brother had casually written,  “I saw Kevin and Bree holding hands at the carnival last week. I thought she was YOUR girlfriend.”  He had thought so too.

So he had called her, Brianna, his almost fiance’, or so he had assumed.  She said that it must have been a mistake, she hadn’t been out at all. He had believed her. They had been a pair since the 8^th grade. For the first four months after high school she had waited for him while he went to Alaska working the salmon boats. He had joined her at State College that winter when he returned.  At the end of Spring semester, and after the fishing money ran out, he unsuccessfully tried to find work at home that would pay enough to go back to school in the fall. He packed Bree and her stuff back home to her folks and headed south to Arizona hoping to work in the copper mines.  They had planned that Bree would come to Arizona to be with him as soon as he had enough money for both of them to live.

            Lord had lucked out in a weird way; they had hired him as a laborer in the smelter.  The weirdness of it all turned out that it was just as dangerous as the mine and just as much hard work.  At least you could see the sky most times during your shift. He had been lucky to find a small tin trailer to rent cheap. It was parked down in the river bottoms among the mesquite and Palo Verde trees. It had 1 bedroom, a small bathroom, kitchenette and a couch.  More importantly it had a swamp cooler.  It sorta worked to keep the heat down.  He had called Bree to pack and he would come to get her on the next long weekend that came along.  But… she had just gotten a job at the bank that was run by their old school buddy’s Dad.  Coincidentally, the buddy was Kevin, the same guy that his brother had ratted out in the letter.  And she told him that she didn’t want to move to Arizona now. They talked. And talked, Lord cajoled, sweet talked, but she didn’t budge.  So they had finally decided that they would work until enough money was saved to go back to State College.

        Now all of that was down the tubes. The letter that lay on the floor was proof of that.  He howled loudly as the details of Bree’s letter came flooding back into his mind.  The anguished sound trailed off into a pitiful moan as the effort of screaming had pushed his alcohol-poisoned brain to its very limit.  The words were etched on the back of his eyeballs, “Dear Lord, I loved talking on the phone the other day.  I hope you are doing OK.  I need to be up front and let you know that I think we need to see other people. We have spent so much time together and we are so young that maybe, we should.  See other people, I mean. We have been exclusive since…OMG, I guess forever.  Kevin says…blahblahblah, and so on.”  There it was, KEVIN. “Kevin’s gonna die” he thought, “When I get home!” 

Melancholy

CRY OF SOULS

Wail, Wind, Wail

Bring the Storm

to

Pound our Door,

Wail,

Carry the News,

Wreck and Ruin

from

Where Sun Set,

Wail,

Bring on Death,

Lift our Wings,

and

Sounds of Life,

Wail,

Bring the Storm

to

Pound our Door,

Wail, Wind, Wail.

We Will

Stand.

MICHAEL D. LEFEVRE  20 MARCH 2011  © COPYRIGHT

Number Eight

Chapter 8-XXXXXXXX

         As Josephine rushed into the room, Nate stood up, waving his discovery excitedly, “It’s making sense now! The whole thing! Look at this!” He shoved the paper at Josephine.  She put up her hands in defense.

         “Whoa, sorry about that, ma’am. I didn’t mean to poke you in the eye.” Nate apologized.  She stepped back and took the paper from him, trying to read it while keeping a wary eye on him.  He was muttering and gesturing, and walking in circles. He kept saying over and over, “Why didn’t I see this months ago. All the signs were there. Damn all!”         

         Josephine said sharply, “Nate! I asked you not to curse in this house! This is the second time this morning you have used that language, and took the Lord’s name in vain to boot. Don’t do it again! Now sit down while I look at this.”  Nate sat down of the bed, grimacing at her tongue lashing. He stood back up and as he did, he saw two other female heads peeking around the door jam, one young and wide eyed, the other, a mature, smiling, and twinkly eyed, mother figure.  He smiled at them and they, seeing that he still had his hide, withdrew.  Josephine continued to read the articles while he waited; he watched as her eyes switched from one article to the other and back again.  She let her hand drop to the side, the paper flopping over.  She started to speak, but stopped and raised her arm to get another look at the paper.

         “Wh…Wel…uhh…What are you so excited about?” Josephine asked Nate.  He thought, “Surely she sees that Buford and the Colonel are close by.  What about the date of President Lincoln’s murder and Lambe’s arrival here? I might be making too much of this.” 

         Pointing to the paper in her hand he answered her, “When I left Brigham’s office, a ‘brother’, I think he was a Danite, handed me a note that said, “Your Col. Is in Carson City. He ain’t the only wolf howling thereabouts.” Nate continued, “And President Young recited part of the Bible at me, ‘a man’s enemies are the men of his own house’ and then warned me to ‘watch for wolves in sheep’s clothing’.  I think this is the answer to those puzzles.  I thought they was mighty puzzlin’ up to now.”

         Josephine was looking at him with a puzzled expression herself until he finished.  Then the meaning of it all suddenly dawned on her and her eyebrows rose and those brown eyes were open wide. Her eyebrows dropped into a fierce glare and her beautiful brown eyes hardened into two nearly black marbles, “George Lambe!” she hissed. “ He was John’s senior clerk, we thought he was our friend!”  Josephine nearly spat in her fury, as it was, her foot stamped the wooden floor as she whirled and ran out of the room.  She began to howl in grief before she was halfway to the stairway that led to her room and it continued until the bedroom door slammed shut. He heard the sound of her collapsing to the floor and she began to cry in deep, wracking sobs. Nate started to go to her, but Frances beat him to the stairway and Carmen pushed past him as well, giving him a disgusted look as she climbed the stairway.  He returned to his room and collected the scattered papers and returned them to the packet.  He hid them under the mattress and retrieved his money belt. He decided that maybe he should go to the Bucket of Blood and gather up young Wally.  He wasn’t needed here.  And, he had made arrangements to meet him there today. He needed that horse more than ever.  Nate glanced up the stairs as he let himself out of the front door. “I hope she’ll be alright, that news was pretty sudden.” He said to no one in particular. 

         The Bucket of Blood was busy as Nate pushed the batwing doors open and walked directly to the bar. Cocking his boot on the rail, he caught the eye of the bartender, and asked, “Wally here today?” The man carefully looked him up and down, noting that he didn’t have a six gun belted around his waist. “Who’s askin’?”

         Nate felt his ‘hackles’ raise at the belligerent tone in the barkeep’s voice.  His right hand moved to the hilt of the Bowie knife in anticipation.  The movement stopped as a voice boomed out, “Ephraim, good to see ya. C’mon back! Stewie, this is my old pal Ephraim!” Wally beckoned from the door of the backroom.

         His reaching hand relaxed it’s grip on the handle of the knife and Nate gave a sharp, small wave to “Stewie” as he walked past him to meet with Wally in the backroom. “How are you today?” he said to Wally, but said in a quiet voice when entered the other room, “Stewie? Really?”

         Wally grinned, “Long story, my friend. So, did you get settled then?” Nate looked at Wally’s grin. He wondered what Wally knew about Josephine’s situation. Obviously, he knew something, or thought he did, that amused him. Nate didn’t want to play into his trap.        

         “That Sister Frances is a corker ain’t she?” Nate offered. Wally played his cards a little bolder than Nate did. He went on.

         “What about Josephine?” 

         “Ahhh”, Nate thought, Wally played his high card early. It wasn’t hard to have a little fun at Wally’s expense now, so he played a winner, or so he thought. “And that little Carmen is a sweet girl, kinda quiet though.” Nate laid his hand right out there, not bothering to give Wally the satisfaction of drawing out his thoughts and feelings of Josephine.          

         But Wally must have had an Ace up his sleeve ‘cause he laid down the rest of his cards, a full house, so to speak, “President Young sent word. You’re to take care of her, watch over all of them, but especially Josephine. She’s deeper into this than she realizes, and in bigger danger.  Both of you have powerful enemies, but he trusts that you will be able to take care of her.” Nate listened to this with a growing feeling of fear. He could take care of himself, he thought. But, three women? That was a tall order, and two of these enemies had already proven to be ready to kill any one who threatened their plans.  Maybe they had killed, he considered, thinking of John Young.

         The younger Wally walked into the backroom, noting Nate at the same time as greeting his father. “Pa, I told Mr. Ephraim, that I would go with him today.  He wants to buy a horse. That Okay?”

         “Surely son…” the elder Wally paused as he noticed ‘Stewie’ hesitate near the open door as if to listen to the conversation.  “Ephraim is an old friend, I would go with him but I am busy today.” he continued to speak but walked to the door. “You need something Stewie?” he barked out. Nate watched the nosy employee jump at the rebuke and grinned as the guilty man answered, “No sir! I thought I heard you call for me.” 

         Wally turned to look at Nate with a wry smile on his face and continued, “I did not, now, get on with your work, Stewie.”

         “Yes sir!” he nearly broke into a trot as he moved away from the open door. Young Wally looked back and forth to his father and Nate with a puzzled look on his face.  His father reached out for the younger man’s shoulder and squeezed it as he gave directions to his son. “Take him down to Stumpy’s Livery, you know the place by the blacksmith’s shop? You do, alright, when you get there and introduce Ephraim, make sure that you tell Stumpy that I said to give him a good deal.  And Ephraim if you don’t have enough to pay for what you need, tell him to send the bill here. We’ll take care of it, if you know what I mean.”

         Nate nodded in agreement, he guessed that Brigham had made some more money available for him to finish this job.  He answered Wally, “Well thanks kindly, I just might have to take you up on that, I’ll see how tough ol’ Stumpy is to deal with. Let’s go Wally.”  

          The two young men left the saloon and walked down the boardwalk towards the stable. Nate noticed that they would pass the sign he had seen yesterday, the one that marked the entrance of the Sergeant Major’s saloon. Now that he knew that Col. Morgan was in the area, it was likely that Aloysious McGillicuddy was here too. Keeping his eyes focused straight ahead, he resisted the urge to look through the doors, as he passed by.  He wanted to plunge through the door with the Bowie knife raised and drive it deep in the heart of the beast if he was there. That would have to wait.  Nate walked on.

         Inside the saloon, a burly, red-faced brute watched the tall man stride by the front of his saloon with a kid by his side. His face drained of all color as recognition dawned on the alcohol numbed brain inside the massive, thick head, seemingly stuck to his wide shoulders without a neck. “By God, it can’t be so! We beat him to a bloody pulp! The newspaper said that he had been found dead! We watched the burial, No! He can’t be alive. The boss will kill me and the Colonel if he finds out.” the Sergeant Major slurred drunkenly. He pointed to a skinny creature who existed around the edges of the action in the saloon, trying to remain invisible to the boisterous crowd.  He had been abused by the rowdies too many times as he cadged drinks, drinks that he craved, drinks that kept the hellacious visions he suffered, if he went too long without a drink, at bay. “You! Hop the ore train down to Carson and look up Colonel Morgan. Tell him I need to see him here, as soon as he can come. Tell him I said ‘BullRun’, ya got that? ‘BullRun’, if’n you forget, I’ll pull your head off and roll it down the street in the horse turds.”

         The wasted shell of a man nodded without speaking and started to leave, the Sergeant Major pulled a silver dollar out of the pocket in his blue cavalry pants and flipped it through the air towards him.  As the skinny man caught the spinning coin, the Sergeant Major spat out, “Now git!”. 

Keeping in touch

Hi, y'all. Just back from three days in SLC. I have been at a business conference and finally got back to my 'puter.  I hope you enjoyed Number 7, Number 8 is about half written. As you read in my last post, 8 is the last of Nate and Josephine until the whole story is complete. The next excerpt that I will post here is part of a story about a man whose name is Lord.  The title of the story is "Lord of this World".  It is tad more graphic than this story of Nate and Josephine. Nothing gross or unfit for my Mom or Daughter to read but maybe a little strong for the 14 year old grandson and my sister Connie (joke sis, just a joke). Until Number 8 posts, I hope you enjoy 1- 7, and let me know if you don't...and why.  Peace and love to you all.

                               McRaven (Mike, in other words)

Number Seven Quick Talk

I hope you enjoy this chapter, it has been the toughest for me to write so far.  As I said the other day, Nate and Josephine are starting to act on their own.  I know, this sounds weird, since they are figments of my imagination, but as we explore this story with them, certain discussions or actions seem 'right' and if they don't get put down that way nothing else seems right either.  Anyway, the good news (I hope) is that I can't leave you here for the pause that is coming while the rest of the story gets written, so 1 more chapter and then intermission. After Nate and Josephine,  I intend to share excerpts from other stories I am writing or have writtten, along with my poetry.  So as always, enjoy.  And if you have suggestions, don't hesitate to share them.   Mike

Number Seven

Chapter 7-XXXXXXX

         The light came softly into the room, it reflected from the hillside outside the window, illuminating the lump of lanky young man who was sprawled on his stomach across the bed.  Nate awakened suddenly, but did not move. Carefully, he cracked one eyelid and looked around the part of the room that he could see. Listening for any sound that didn’t seem normal and hearing nothing but the thump of someone in the kitchen stirring around, he pushed himself up to a sitting position.  The heat of yesterday had evaporated overnight and the morning air was cool, almost brisk.  It reminded him that winter was coming and he wanted to be done with this job.  He had dreams of sitting in his father’s kitchen with the cook range roaring. In the dreams he was watching the snow quietly falling and listening to his father grumbling about lay-abouts and asking if the cow’s had been milked.  It had been a long three years since he had last had that pleasure. He prayed daily that he could go home to the farm before winter came.

         A sudden urgent pressure reminded him that he needed to get dressed and press on.  On his way out to the privy, Josephine’s mother waylaid him. “Ephraim, breakfast will ready shortly, are you hungry?” she asked.

         “Ma’am, it seems like I have been hungry all my life.  Uhh, Josephine told me your name wasn’t Young, er, I’m sorry that I reckoned you both had the same last name.” Nate said.  

         “Psshaww, a rose by any other name…you know.” 

         Perplexed, Nate asked, “I thought she said your name was Frances?”

         She laughed out loud, “Oh my, I take it you haven’t read Mr. Shakespeare then.”

         Nate turned red, then mumbled, “I gotta go.” and continued outside. Frances chuckled and continued to work on breakfast. Josephine walked into the kitchen. She watched her mother shake a pan and giggle, then, she lifted a lid on the stove, looked at the fire and giggled again. Josephine asked what was so funny.

         Frances then went into a real fit of laughing. “That boy…” she started to say, then broke out laughing again, gasping for breath she tried to continue, “Uhhh….hahahahaha.”

         Josephine didn’t understand what had made her mother laugh so hard but the laugh was infectious; she started to laugh too.  Seeing her daughter laughing caused Frances to re-double her hee-hawing. Losing her balance she fell on the floor. Josephine completely lost it. She doubled over holding her sides that had begun to ache with the effort of laughing and trying not to laugh at the same time. She landed on the floor too. Her breath came in whoops and gusts of laughter.  Carmen, who had been in another room, came rushing in to see what the disturbance was.  The scene that lay before her as she entered the doorway made her stop in amazement. The two women who provided stability and calm in her life, were rolling on the floor, roaring with laughter for no apparent reason that she could see.  Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open at the shock of it all.

         In the midst of this, Nate re-entered from his morning constitutional.  He too, was stunned at the sight before him. “Good God Almighty, what in hell is going on here?” Nate said forcefully, shouting in surprise. The door shut behind him with a crash that rattled the walls. This disturbance caused Josephine and Frances to pause, hiccupping from their tired breathing muscles. Nate held up his right hand, index finger pointing upward, and opened his mouth to speak. He closed it again without saying anything.        

         The women couldn’t handle his seriousness in their fragile condition.  They burst out laughing again.  They howled and struggled to breath. Nate scowled darkly, he turned abruptly and left the kitchen and made his way into his room and shut the door behind him.  The sounds of laughter followed him.

         Grumbling to himself about the antics of his landladies, he found the packet of instructions and information that had been sent to him.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened it and drew the papers out and spread them on the bed beside him.  As he sorted them into some order, the sound of laughter died and the bangs and bumps of pots and pans took its place.  Concentrating on his work, he began reading the documents. 

         A knock came at his door, a female voice called out, “Want some coffee, Ephraim?” He got up and opened the door to Josephine holding two cups of steaming brew. “Come in, thanks for bringing me a cup.” Nate closed the door behind her, and turned to take the cup from her.  “Go ahead sit down, I’ll stand here.” Nate directed her. Josephine sat on the edge of the bed, a little uneasy being alone in his room with him. Her nervousness translated into a little chuckle.

         Nate’s head swiveled sharply to look at her.“What’s so funny this morning? Is there something wrong with me?” he said while he twisted to look at his clothes, glanced in the mirror above the bureau, looking for cowlicks or an untucked shirt.

         “No, no, mother just got me to laughing and I am having a hard time trying to stop.” Josephine smiled broadly. “And it is such a fine morning.  Don’t you think?”

         “Yes it is; It will be finer if I can find what I am looking for in these papers. I have been looking and so far, I haven’t seen anything that exactly spells out what I am to do.  I have been thinking about what you told me about Buford. I don’t think that he could have gotten to where he was on his own. Did your husband have any evidence of this?” Nate looked at her, waiting for an answer.

         Josephine quickly sobered at the mention of John, she pursed her lips in thought as she reviewed those short months that they had been in Washington. “I don’t think so, we talked about some of the Senators that were Anti’s, but most of them were just hacks, working for their own enrichment. While I was with Brother Taylor, we talked some on John’s work, and the characters that John had met in the Capital. No one in Washington knew about Buford’s…hmmm, Alpheus’ history with the Saints in Nauvoo. There is nothing more that I can remember in our conversations.”

         “Me neither, most of the Army officers were Anti’s just because of the lies they had heard.  None of them, that I can recall, ever said anything good about us.  Of course they didn’t know I was a Mormon. I had a feeling, there was no direct evidence of anyone else.” Nate was pretty sure that there was at least one person bigger than ol’ Buford in this, he didn’t want to influence her memories, in case she remembered something else. He had come across hints of a ringleader while working for the Colonel. Was the colonel an apostate too?  The Sergeant Major was just a greedy thug, so he could figure out his part in this. Brother Taylor had taken his report in the weeks while he was recovering from the beating. It seemed he had a lot of information at hand. Was the Prophet sure of his loyalty?  Nate thought that he would ask, first chance he had.

         The door burst open.

          “Yoohoo, you two quit your smootching and come to breakfast!” Frances began laughing again, he guessed at her own joke. She turned and went back to the kitchen before her daughter could catch her.

         “Mother! What are you doing? Now stop that! You’re embarrassing me, and Na…Ephraim. It isn’t funny!” Josephine shrieked at Frances as she followed her out of the room.

         Nate hadn’t been embarrassed until Josephine had said that.  Now he blushed clear to the roots of his hair.  He stopped to gather the papers and put them in the packet.  He took his time, letting the pink fade from his face before he faced the three women in the kitchen.  Finally, he decided he couldn’t hide any longer and picked up the cups and went to breakfast.

         “Do you want some more eggs, Brother Ephraim? There’s plenty left.” Mrs. Smith…Frances, asked as she tried to scoop more on to his plate. Nate held up his hands in surrender, “No, no more Frances! You’re gonna make me fat if you keep feeding me like this. Thank you, though, I haven’t had such good food since I left home.”

         “How long ago was that Ephraim?” she asked as she put the plate down.

         “It was three years past, last Friday, ma’am. A long three years.” Nate’s face showed his longing for home. His thoughts again went back to his dreams of sitting in his father’s kitchen. “Please Lord, let me go home before winter.” He thought to himself.

         “Oh you poor boy, how your mother must miss you. I know I missed Josephine terribly when she was first married. I was happy to see her home.” Frances’ faced crumpled when she remembered the circumstances that led Josephine home, “My poor dear, I’m sorry that I forgot about John.” She turned away.

         “Mother, don’t feel bad, he’s been gone three years now, Father even longer. Time has a way of easing the pain.  Ephraim, she’s right, your mother must pray for you to come home every day.” Josephine stood and hugged her mother to comfort her distress.

         Nate was sad at the thought of his mother.  She had died on the trip west.  Some ‘mountain’ fever had claimed her and an infant sister on the same day. His father and he had dug a grave for both of them, he recalled how hard it had been to break through the sod of those tough prairie grasses. He felt bad for Frances, she had been so happy just seconds ago, but he had to answer the question, “Ma’am, she’s been gone along time. Before we got to Utah. I reckon my Pa has been lookin’ for me, and my half brothers, Luke and Aaron.”

         Frances’ eyes filled with tears as she hid her face in her hands. Nate was at a loss.  He didn’t know what he could do, he felt like giving her a reassuring hug, but he knew that might be awkward since he had only known these women for a day.  Josephine held her, speaking softly trying to make her feel better.  Carmen stood quickly and joined the other two women in a group hug.

         Nate decided that a strategic retreat might be the best way to lighten the situation; so, he picked up his cup and poured it full of the black coffee on the stove and went back to his room. The mysterious packet that Brigham had sent was waiting for him. 

The second paper that he flipped over answered some of the mysteries that he had been struggling with.  It was a page with two newspaper clippings pasted to it.  The first headline read, “President Lincoln Shot at Ford’s Theatre, Dies.” It was dated, 15 April 1865; the second dated ten weeks later was titled….

         Suddenly, the Prophet’s last word’s to him at their last meeting became much clearer, he raised his voice and called, “Josephine! Come here please!  Quickly!”  

A Rainy Night on a Snowy Day

A Rainy Night

On a rainy night, after an awkward date,

I followed the red tail-lights’ streaked

On a wet roadway, driving through clouds;

Followed them Home.

The misty drops fell, to be carried away

By the slip, slap, swish of wavy wipers;

A waterfall glass to look through.

And later, while sitting in my chair,

Wondering, Just what was

What.

The rain still fell, pittering, pattering

 on a hard roof.

Raindrops

Had followed me

Home.

10 May 2010   Michael D. LeFevre   Copyright

Workworkworkworkwork...

Just a note to keep your interest.  Chapter 7 is giving me fits, Nate and Josephine seem to have a mind of their own.  Don't they realize that they are a figment of MY imagination? So, until they bow to my will or I to theirs, a poem will have to do; I hope you like it.