Secondhand Sunsets by Gail Kittleson

Author:Gail Kittleson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WordCrafts Press
Published: 2021-03-01T23:51:04+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

From the fresh perspective of the Allen’s cabin, the eastern Rim presented such an array for the eye. Dappled with white, distinctive boulders appeared even larger, and Strawberry Mountain revealed slopes hidden from the ranch far below.

New energy filled Abby, yet Elda Mae’s message replayed like Granny Ferguson’s premonitions. You made a bad choice, but so did I. Halfway down the Allen’s path, she remembered the jam and her desire for a sketchbook.

Too late to go back, but at least she had gained a pencil. Once again, she must bide her time. Still, even the shrubs and grasses seemed brighter, as if the world had transformed during her short visit. Mourning doves cooed their sweet, sentimental call foretelling evening tide, but she refused the melancholy their song often brought. Everything would change now—she felt it in her bones.

She bent to the bay. “You are such a good horse. What if I call you Sergeant?”

Some men control everything and everyone—they believe this shows their strength, but truly, it reveals their fear. Elda Mae’s perspective had opened her eyes. What secret fears might Ray harbor?

“You must accept Ray for who he is and face the truth. We rarely do that all at once.”

Sergeant juddered at something, so Abby gripped the reins tighter. A peculiar resonance in the bushes spiraled an alarm, but nothing could lessen the joy of this day.

“Elda Mae is right. I can never please Ray, but I can take back my life a little at a time.”

Interspersed with these thoughts, a timeline of the war began to form in Abby’s consciousness. She must find out more the next time she saw her new friends.

Then, with no warning, something crashed into her left arm. Sergeant’s shrill whinny startled her, and she reeled backward. Then another blow struck the small of her back, sending her floating, falling, falling...

Rocks scraped her chin, and boots ground on red rock near her head. The thick soles carried an unmistakable manure smell as pain ricocheted through her inward parts. Abby squeezed her eyes shut.

A familiar sour odor pervaded as Ray hissed, “Why’dja make me do it?”

You, you, you...

He kicked her abdomen then, and administered a blow to the back of her head. Fire exploded through her body. Far, far away she slipped, above the highest pines, beyond the top of the Rim, past the meaning of sunrise and sunset, into an endless grey territory.

†††

Late afternoon light spangled Ponderosa pine, sycamore, and juniper. Martin raised his glasses to scan Ray’s wagon path. Could he have widened it even more in this short time?

Opposite the ranch, a spot offered a view of the ridge, the cabin, and the wagon road—a perfect observation post. Ample Manzanita on a substantial outcropping between two massive boulders would obscure him completely. Martin turned Docker into scraggly underbrush to settle in before late afternoon shadows invited snakes.

He urged Docker up the incline paralleling the Allen’s turn-off for one more look. Just then, an odd flash of color halted him. He refocused the lenses and a speck waved in the breeze, like clothing on Mama’s line.

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