Lost in the Tallgrass by Clyde Witt

Author:Clyde Witt [Witt, Clyde]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Write Place via Indie Author Project
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

Cowboyin’

“Well, well. Would you look at what the wind uprooted and blew all the way to this end of Woodson County?”

“Hey, Aunt Belle.”

“Hey yourself, stranger. What brings you up here? Or maybe I should ask, how you’d get up here?”

“Shank’s mare, mostly.”

Belle smiled. “Good way to wear out a pair of boots.”

Rusty stood facing his aunt, hands in his pockets. A balmy wind ruffled his hair and pressed against his chest, making him sway toward, then away, from Belle. He looked up into his aunt’s face. The sun behind her created an auburn halo around her features. Her hair was so thick he wanted to reach out and touch it. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and watched chickens busy themselves beneath the porch steps. He drew in a deep breath.

“Gosh, this place sure smells better than town,” he said.

“Heard about what you did a couple weeks back, Russell. With that Washington family, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“It was a good thing, Russell. The right thing.”

“You’re one of the few people in the county that thinks so, then.”

“No, I think the Washingtons are thankful.”

A slight gust of wind flapped the sleeves of his shirt, making a sound like pigeons rising from the ground.

“Maybe. Tom’s family’s left Yates. Heading north to be with their own people. A place called Nicodemus. I heard of it before from Jupiter, my friend from the trains.”

Belle tilted her head and looked away from Rusty, west to where the land dropped toward agreeable rolling hills green with the promise of tallgrass.

“Too bad,” she said.

“I’m about the only one in the county that would agree with you, Aunt Belle. Tom is the only friend I have in this place—had.”

“Hmm. Bet they’d made good neighbors if someone gave them the chance.”

He couldn’t answer. His throat felt closed, his tongue trapped against the roof of his mouth.

Rumbling sounds of a wagon replaced the susurrations of the wind. Rusty turned to see George leading a team of horses up the lane toward the house. He looked at Belle, her eyes locked on her husband’s face.

“Afternoon, young man.”

“Hey, Uncle George.”

“Just heard from Frank LaFevre that the sheriff arrested those Hoffner brothers for that business out on West Mary Street.”

“It wasn’t business, Uncle George. They tried to burn down the house with Tom, his ma, and baby sister in it. What kinda business is killing?”

Rusty saw George shift his eyes to Belle, who stood, arms crossed, still looking at her husband. She broke off her stare and looked at the ground as she slipped her hands into the pockets of her apron.

“Bad business, son. Bad business,” said George. “But you have to understand how some folks feel about niggers.”

“I’m sort of catching on to the idea that not everyone has to feel the same about some things,” Rusty said.

“Yeah, well, Frank told me about you meeting up with Granville Gorham, boss over at the Raleigh spread, too,” George said and looked up at Belle.

Rusty released his breath. “Mr. Gorham offered me a cowboy job.

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