We'll Sort This Out – Pt 3

Howdy Folks,

Back in January I wrote a short story, "We'll Sort This Out" about a boy fleeing a bad home situation set back in homestead times – You can find that story (HERE) – Off and on I've gotten requests to continue the story. Then I wrote Part 2 (HERE).  Because of requests to keep the story going and I've decided to turn it into a serial like stories in old time magazines – I hope you enjoy Part 3. – We left the boy in the loft fighting sleep, intending to slip out to run to his sister after Martha and Frank fell asleep.

Kessy, Saturday and me writing a story

 We'll Sort This Out – Pt 3

He didn't mean to fall asleep. But the loft was warm, and Martha and Frank's voices sounded so friendly. They and their tiny cabin made him feel safe. It had been a long time since he'd felt safe. Not since their father had driven away their mother. He missed her soft voice, her warm hugs. Her gentle kisses goodnight. He was thinking of her, pretending she was there this night, with him, tucking him into these warm blankets and kissing his cheek. But she wasn't. Neither was his sister. The rain on the roof, the warmth from the dancing fire, the soft voices below, and his own sobs lulled him into a restless sleep.

Light streaming through a crack in the highest corner of the loft told him he'd betrayed his sister. He'd fallen asleep. A rooster crowed, then another. The crack was not large enough to look out and see just how much of the morning had passed. Perhaps Martha and Frank were still sleeping. Maybe it wasn't morning yet and he could still dash home in the cover of the gray morning and bring his sister back here. He wasn't sure if they would help her too, but he was sure, either he went back to protect her, or they ran away together.

Without a sound, he pushed back the warm blankets and slid backwards on his belly to the ladder. His bare feet dangled over the edge, feeling, searching for the top rung. Left and right his toes searched, stretching as far as possible to feel that uneven top rung. He dared not to breathe, lest Frank or Martha hear him.

He gulped a sudden breath when a calloused, but warm and soft, hand grabbed his foot then guided his toes to the ladder. "There ya go young fella." Frank chuckled. "Hard to find that step from behind in the dark isn't it?"

"We thought you might sleep 'til noon," Martha greeted him at the bottom. "How about some hot biscuits and warm milk?"

He stood blinking at her, rubbing his eyes.

"Maybe he'd like a little bacon with those biscuits?" Frank offered a chair.

"Thanks. What about my sister?"

"I was just about to milk the cows. You go ahead and fill your belly, and as I promised I'll head right over there right after milking."

"Can't she milk?' He pointed to Martha, but looked at Frank. "We need to go right now!" He watched them study each other's face. He was not going to waste any more time. It was Martha who spoke first.

"I can milk, of course. But you should eat …"

"I don't want to eat!" He watched their faces change. He was good at studying faces; his and his sister's safety depended on it. He shouldn't have left without her. "I'm sorry," his voice broke. "It's just that … "

Frank's hand rested on the boy's shoulder. "Martha, stuff those biscuits in a sack. This young man and I have a ride to make. Son, slide back into your duds they're dry now, and meet me in the barn."

The barn looked different in the early morning light, not as big as it had seemed in the dark. Equipment and tools covered the far wall. A long wagon waited, piled high with split firewood. The cows looked just as friendly as they had in the dark, one turned to look at him. Frank stood with the horses, tightening the girth on the smaller black one.

"We call him Little Blackie." Frank said, handing the boy the reins.

As they rode from the barn, Frank on a tall horse, the boy riding Little Blackie, Martha called from yard, "Travel safe! I'll have a hot meal for you all."

He watched Frank turn toward her in his saddle, "I reckon we'll need it. All three of us!" Then set his horse into a trot.

The saddle felt odd, the ride rough. The boy'd never sat a saddle before, nor rode a small horse. He'd never been allowed to ride their father's horse, just the big field horse and that was a rare treat. It took concentration to stay with this fast little bouncing horse and his mind wandered from staying on the horse, and worry for his sister. Every now and then Frank slowed to a walk when they fell too far behind. Frank had tried to talk, asking questions about his father and sister and giving advice such as "hold that horn to help keep your balance." 

When he got no response they rode in silence, simply tossing back a reassuring grin every now and then. Up one rise and down another, through the trees, back again to open grassland. They followed the very path the boy traveled on foot.  At this rate they would soon be there. His heart began to pound. His hand, gripping tight on the horn, was slippery with sweat, even though he was cold.

The house was just beyond the next rise.

************

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

You can read Pt 4 HERE 

We'll Sort This Out – Pt 2 –

Howdy Folks,

 Back in January I wrote a short story, "We'll Sort This Out" about a boy fleeing a bad home situation set back in the homestead times – You can find that story (HERE) – Of and on I've gotten requests to continue the story. Over the weekend another friend asked if there's more to it, so I thought I'd tell a little more …. Hope you enjoy. Let me know if you want more.

Kessy Saturday & me writing a story

We'll Sort This Out – Pt 2 

Frank's hand was kind. His smile comforting. New feelings for the boy, and they confused him. He was hungry and the soup smelled good. Often he had snuck away to lay hidden in the trees and watch this tiny homestead from atop the hill. Now he was with the friendly looking man and woman he had watched from his hiding place so many times. So many times he had wished the kind woman would hold him. Wished the tall man would find him. But each time the boy knew better and turned to walk slowly the miles back to the house, and the whippings he'd receive for being gone. But he never said where he'd been. Not to his father, and not to his sister. She was younger and might not understand.

"Come now, let's get a bowl of soup in you." Frank scooped the boy from the floor, swung him over his shoulder like a sack of grain and marched to the front room, stopping by the wide table in front of the fireplace. "Martha, is there corn bread to go with your territory famous turkey soup?" He slid the boy into the chair nearest the fireplace then sat next to him, still holding his tiny hand.

"It should be just about ready." She knelt by the big stone fireplace, raised the lid on a small black kettle and waved the air to push the delicious smell of baking corn bread their way.

"Oh boy, we'll have a feast tonight!" Frank's eyes beamed. "Are you hungry young fella?"

Yes, of course he was hungry, and it did smell better than anything he could remember. He watched Martha dip a bowl full from the swinging kettle. Frank took it and set it in front of the boy. He stared at the bowl, watching the steam float up. The smell and warmth of it filled his nose. His eyes ran tears down his face. He knew at that moment his sister was getting no food, or at best old potatoes. A beating for sure. She'd pay the price tonight for his disobedience.

"Go on young fella, dig in!" Frank dipped the cornbread into the soup and offered it.

That was all he could stand. He pushed back from the table, bumping into Martha. "I can't," he sobbed.

Martha whirled and held him, "Sure you can, we have plenty." They slid to the floor, she rocked him. "Don't be afraid, you're safe here." She reached for the cornbread and held it for him until he took a small bite. "There, quite good isn't it, if I do say myself." She stroked his hair and hugged tighter.

"Never tasted any better I'll bet!" Frank smiled and snared a chunk for himself. "Sit back up here and dive into this turkey soup. You'll sleep grand tonight up in our loft, with your belly full of Martha's cooking."

He wiped his eyes on the big shirt sleeve. It was Martha's blouse they had dressed him in, nothing else in the cabin came close to fitting him. He pushed the loose sleeves back, picked up the bowl, and drank the warm soup down, not wasting time with a spoon. Then held it out for a refill.

Frank jumped up, "I'll fill her up for you," and using the bent, long handled spoon did just that. As he sat the full bowl in front of the boy he leaned on his elbows and grinned. "Hits the spot and warms every inch of you doesn't it?"

The boy gulped it down, dragged his sleeve across his mouth and jumped to his feet. "I want to stay here … But I can't … "

Martha held him. "Of course you can. At least until Frank has a chance to visit with your father and work things out."

He pulled away. "I need to go now. If I don't get back he'll hurt my sister."

Stunned silence filled the room. Only the boy's hesitant breathing and crackles in the fireplace made any sound.

"Sister?" Martha grabbed Frank's arm. "You have a sister? Frank what …."

"I shouldn't have run, but … I need to go … I need to …."

Frank put his hand on the boy's shoulder, "Hold on here young fella. I've never seen anyone but you and your father around your place."

"I do have a sister, she's eight. She doesn't go outside too much. She, well since mother ran, she hides a lot in the house. She's okay if I'm there, but …."

Frank swung open the door, fierce howling rain swept into the room. Fighting against the wind he forced the door closed. "Traveling is out of the question tonight, son, but I promise, I'll ride right over in the morning and look into this a bit deeper."

"My sister."

Martha hugged him, "She'll be alright, I'll bet they're in bed already."

The boy jerked free, "It's not alright, I should be there!"

"Son, I'm truly sorry, but there's no way to make it in this weather in the dark. But rain or no rain I'll head out in the morning. I give you my word."

The boy studied their worried faces. His eyes burned, his heart pounded. "I shouldn't have left without her, but it was so cold and the rain."

Martha wrapped him in her arms and together they climbed the ladder to the open loft above the fireplace. It was warm there. She laid with him in the bed of blankets. She held him until he sobbed himself to sleep.

He woke as she climbed down the ladder, but he didn't call out. He watched the flickers of firelight on the cabin's walls and listened to them talk. He could not understand much of what they said, but he knew it was him, his sister and father they talked about. He worried for his sister. The rain pounded the tin roof making it hard to listen. Maybe, when Frank and Martha fall asleep he could sneak out and run to her. And bring her back.

*******************

To read Pt 3  CLICK HERE

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry