Working With Cedar: The Early Years, page 13
Even holding shotguns, Sam and Glenda easily sprang onto the dock. Nash had to call for Sam’s assistance.
The three men stood over Shorty’s body. Two of them, over fifty years old, both heavyset and wearing bibbed blue-jeans secured with suspenders, so resembled each other that Nash assumed them to be related.
The third man, Taylor, the one who asked about payment, lean and tall was younger than the other two. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt and topped his outfit with a huge cowboy hat. While the older men met his eyes with open expressions, Taylor did not. Nash felt an instant notion there was something shifty and sleazy about him.
Taylor said, “Looks like Shorty and the Johnson’s got in a shootout and they all killed each other.”
Sam nodded his head to the group, said by way of greeting, “James, Bobby; no boys, there’s a bigger story behind this mess, but I won’t be telling it. You men stay out of our way and we’ll be gone before you know it.”
“You’re kidding, right? You want us to pay later?” One of the older men asked.
Sam shook his head, “Nope. In fact, I’m not even locking up after I leave. With no one here to guard the place, it’ll be emptied no matter what.”
The man who asked, responded, “That’s true. Why are you telling us to keep our distance? Do you know something we don’t?”
“Only that Ebola is loose and anyone you get close to can pass it on. We’re not taking any chances.”
Taylor, alarm written on his face, backed away from the other men, saying, “No offence, but better late than never.”
Sam tossed a salute toward the men and said, “Fellas, I’m in a hurry to load. James, if you’re of a mind, how about you and Bobby stopping by my place tomorrow morning.”
James, the only one of the two, who’d so far spoken, returned the salute. “We’ll stop by.”
Sam brought the pallets of fertilizer to the edge of the dock. The loading went fast, but after stacking sixty of the fifty-pound bags onto the bed of the trailer, Sam leapt from the dock to check the suspension.
He called up to Glenda, “If we load any more, the tires will be scraping the top of the wheel wells.”
James overheard and said, “We have room on our trailer. Since we’re stopping by, we’ll bring what we can of what’s left.”
Sam took Betty’s place behind the wheel and they once again drove from the lot. After Sam made the turn onto the road, Nash heard Glenda ask, “You’re going to enlist James and Bobby to join with us at the farm, why not the other man?”
“Taylor; no way,” Sam replied, “The man carries too much baggage. He’s a heavy drinker and womanizer. Half the men around here accuse him of coming on to their wives. Besides that, from second hand talk, he’s lazy. He doesn’t want regular employment, and those who’ve hired him for day labor say they were lucky to get six hours of real work for eight hours pay. He’d fray on me.”
Glenda asked another question, “James and Bobby seem the decent sort. Bobby acted a bit dazed. Why doesn’t he talk?”
Nash hadn’t noticed that about Bobby, he leaned forward to hear Sam’s answer.
“Bobby seldom says anything. James told me they were out cutting fire wood when a tree fell on him. That was back when they were a teenagers. Not a tree they cut, but a dead oak that chose the wrong moment to fall. James said a branch as big as a grown man’s thigh caught his brother’s head and he‘s been addled ever since.”
“Is he dangerous?” Glenda asked.
“Bobby… Heck no, he’s the gentlest man you’ll meet, and a dang good worker along with that.”
Nash settled back in his seat. Betty leaned to him and whispered, “How’s your head?”
“Head’s good, but my hand itches and so does my butt.”
“Have you never been sutured before this? She asked.
“No.”
”Lucky you; Well, I’m a believer in the axiom; an itching wound is a sign of it healing. Other than itching, do you hurt anywhere?”
“Only my head when I move it too sudden, but I’m sure that’s from the bruising. No headache right now.”
Betty fished in her big bag. “Time for your antibiotic,” then to Glenda, “Glenda, you’re due for another dose, do you need water?”
Back at the farm, Sam plead exhaustion, Nash knew Sam’s fatigue stemmed not only from the fierce pace of the day, but also the violence at the dock and the grief concerning the fate of his brothers and their families. Urging him and Glenda to rest, he announced that he and Betty would stand guard.
Alice hung with Nash and Betty on the front porch. They engaged in small talk, mostly concerning Alice’s home-school regimen, but then she also decided to take a nap.
Left alone with Betty, Nash spoke to her of things weighing heavy on his mind.
“Today we killed more people.” Seeing an expression of aggravation begin to form or her face, he hurried to say, “I know the Johnson’s instigated the entire situation, but that’s not the point I want to make. Killing them didn’t bother me. What bothers me is I feel nothing, no regrets at all concerning the Johnsons. Killing another human shouldn’t rest so easy in me… and you’re a nurse, trained to heal, not harm. It should be even harder for you. Is it?”
Betty hesitated in contemplation before responding. “Nash, the easy way out would be to say we’re in shock and that a time will come when we do feel the moral impact of our actions. I don’t believe that day will come. What I believe is humans, like all other animals, have a built in desire to continue existence. However, humans have a tendency to do stupid things.
“Take the Johnsons. There was no need for them to attack us. They could have waited for us to leave and then loaded their trucks to the gills. I only half-believed Shorty when he said they were planning to harm us, but I believed him enough to be ready to protect myself. That’s all we did. We protected ourselves against aggressors.
“Even what we did to Merle’s gang of preppers; yes, there was a quantity of revenge to it, but if it weren’t for the supplies they stole from you, supplies we desperately needed, we would never have went to their place. Those very same supplies, especially the meds and other things you gathered from the medical supply are one of the points Glenda considered when I broached the question of us staying here.”
Nash shook his head. “Survival at any cost… Is that where we are?”
Again, Betty thought for long seconds before answering. “Nash, if two people managed to sneak in and grab Alice and you saw them running across the field, one of them carrying her and the other carrying a shotgun, what would you do?”
Nash spoke without thinking. “I’d be after them to—.”
Betty interrupted him, “Exactly, so there’s your answer. You’d chase after the abductors who kidnapped a little girl you barely know. Considering there would be a good chance you would fail and die for your effort; that is hardly survival at any cost.”
“So you’re saying, as long as it’s justified, killing gets easier and easier?”
Betty grimaced and said, “I think it does. When I picture the Johnson’s lying in their blood, I see dead vermin, not human beings. Picture Shorty lying dead, how do you feel?”
Nash formed a mental picture of Shorty on the dock. “I feel sadness, a sense of loss.” Nash though further. “Now that you voiced it, I see the Johnson’s as vermin… no, as nonentities. Shorty, just in the brief time I knew him, he was human; a person.”
Betty said, “Do you remember when I said we’d be remiss if we passed up the opportunity to rid the earth of murderous scum. Well, the Johnson’s fit the criteria to a tee. The world is a better place without them.”
Nash stood from his chair and paced the porch.
“Are you okay?” Betty asked.
Nash ceased pacing and resumed his seat. “Okay, I see your point. Murderers left alive is a bad thing. Remember when you said that about not leaving them alive I told you I stand with you, well I have a caveat to add to that. Whenever we see decent people needing a hand to survive, we will be the ones reaching out. Now I ask you, do you stand with me? If we kill evil, then we save the deserving, even if they are weak or old; People unable to contribute through no fault of their own.”
Betty looked Nash full in the face and said, “Darling, the silent strength you have is why I love you so much.”
Nash didn’t reply and the silence stretched until Betty said, “What? You’re acting as though I need to say something else.”
Nash smiled, “Nope, just waiting for the handshake to close the deal.”
Perplexed, Betty asked, “Are you serious?”
Nash put forth his hand. “I think between you and I we should always shake to seal an agreement of great importance.”
Betty took his hand, “You amaze me.” She met his eyes, shook his hand, but didn’t release it.
After a long moment, Nash said, “We shook.”
Betty said, “Yeah we did, but I’m keeping the hand. I like it.”
They were still holding hands when Sam came to the porch. Parking his butt on the front rail, he said, “Glenda’s putting together supper. If you two don’t mind continuing to watch the drive, I’ll get a start unloading the trailer. I know you have to be tired. Glenda will take first shift at guard tonight.”
**********
The night passed without incident. Sam and Glenda relented on their rule about Nash and Betty sharing a bed. Even though he’d only slept a few hours, the crowing of a rooster pulled Nash wide-awake. Easing his arm from under Betty’s shoulder, she stirred and said, “I’m still sleepy. Anytime you leave my side, don’t forget to kiss my cheek.”
Nash kissed her cheek and then followed the odor of bacon to where he found Glenda in the kitchen at a counter forming biscuits from a bowl of dough.
“Good morning, Glenda. I love the smell of frying bacon.”
“Good morning to you. Did the smell wake you, or was it Fred crowing.”
“Fred, that’s what you call your rooster? Actually, it was both.” Nash glanced at the large round clock hanging on the wall above the breakfast table and saw it was four a.m. “Wow, country folk sure start the day early.”
Glenda placed two more patties of dough onto the pan beside her bowl, wiped her hands with a dishcloth and said, “Every day, seven days a week. Are you up or just wandering around?”
“I’m up.”
“Good. You can relieve Sam from guard duty. He claims early morning is the best time for hard work and I know he wants to get at the rest of the load on the trailer. I meant to ask, how long will your hand be messed up?”
Nash knew she was asking how long it would be before he could pull his share of the load. “I’m not sure, I’ve never lost a finger before, but to tell the truth, I hope it hurries up and heals. I’m tired of not being able to do stuff.”
Glenda said, “I know what you mean, and that’s a good attitude. I can’t stand a person who rides an injury as a reason not to work. I was laid up with a broken ankle for almost two months before I could put weight on it. Talk about feeling useless.”
Nash said, “That’s how I feel. I know I’m not as strong as Sam… or you for that matter, but I know I’m strong enough to move a few of those heavy bags. As it is, about all I’m good for is pulling guard duty.”
Glenda smiled acceptance of his statements and said, “Speaking of that, Sam and I want to thank you and Betty for once again keeping our daughter safe. It is a shame about Shorty, just the thought of his body on the dock and not getting a decent burial gnaws at us, but you kept the Johnson’s from our daughter and we feel the debt. Take what time you need to heal and don’t fret.”
Nash felt the sincerity of her words. “Thank you, Glenda. I’ll go take over from Sam.”
“Tell him I’ll hold breakfast for an hour, but he’d better come when he hears the dinner bell.”
“You really have a dinner bell?”
“Yes, just like in the old-time movies. It’s right outside the kitchen door.”
Nash hurried to his room and switched on the light to dress. Moments later, Betty awoke as he fumbled with his holster belt. She arose, clad only in bra and panties and gently slapped his hands away to do it for him.
“I see you’re moving your fingers better this morning. How does your hand feel?”
“It doesn’t hurt. I could’ve buckled the belt if the bandage weren’t so bulky.”
Betty chuckled, “If you bump your hand on something, you’ll be glad it’s thick. Jeez, the sun’s not up. Where are you going, all gunned up?”
“It’s just after four; a.m. Glenda’s in the kitchen making breakfast and I’m relieving Sam on guard.”
“I guess I need to get my ass in gear, reset my mental clock for country hours to get in step.”
After snuggling with her all night, her mentioning her ass brought visions best unrevealed. Grabbing his shotgun from beside the door, he said, “Sam’s wants to finish unloading the trailer. Catch you when I can.”
Taking Sam’s place on the dark porch, Nash settled into the chair he vacated. Unlike Betty, like Sam, Nash was a morning person who reveled in the glory of sunrise and an early start on a brand new day. Though his thoughts turned to the previous day’s events, they weren’t morose, rather a cataloguing and analysis of what took place. In the midst of his contemplation it came to him he was looking at the chain of events as an exercise on how he could have performed better or faster; looking from a survival point of view. It took a while for him to accept the fact that rather than regret killing people, he was actively pursuing methods of getting better at it. Rooting deeper into his mind, he found the echo of his commitment to Betty, and the rightfulness of their vow to leave no evil standing behind them formed the core of his new outlook.
He replayed the mental exercise Betty initiated, viewing first the Johnson’s dead bodies lying on the pavement, and then Shorty lying on the dock. Loathing and disgust painted the former; sadness and pity was the emotions for the latter. He felt the loss of Shorty, and only relief that the Johnsons no longer lived.
Those thoughts absorbed only a few minutes. Nash accepted the conclusion of them, patted the shotgun laid across his thighs and settled in to await the sun just barely tinting the clouds at the eastern edge of sky.
He had just turned his chair away from the glare of the newly risen globe when he heard someone say, “Beep”, behind him. Turning to see who made the sound, he met Betty’s smiling face approaching him.
“What’s with, ‘Beep?”
Betty bent to kiss his cheek. “A sound to let you know it’s me coming from behind you.”
Nash considered her reply. “We do need some sort of identifying sound. Beep is simple. I like it.”
“Beep it is. I came out to relieve you. I’ve eaten already, but Glenda wants you to fetch Sam for breakfast.”
“Glenda said she would ring the dinner bell. I was sort of looking forward to it.”
Betty shrugged, “Perhaps she changed her mind in order not to draw unwanted attention.”
Nash found Sam inside the barn stacking the feed onto a line of pallets near the rear opening. Again shirtless, muscles flexing at he pulled bags from the trailer, sweat ran in streams down his sun-bronzed skin.
Rather than interrupting the obvious rhythm of his labor, Nash called Glenda’s message to him, took his return nod for an answer and hurried to the porch to rejoin Betty.
“When can you remove the bandage from my hand?”
“I know it’s bugging you, but since we have the luxury of time, let’s let it heal. I’ll remove all your sutures in four more days. After that, I’ll craft a small cushion to pad the gap where your finger was removed. Starting today you’ll want to flex the fingers on your injured hand to prevent atrophy, just don’t overdo it.”
Nash raised his bandaged hand and flexed the fingers. “Like this, or should I try to bend them more?”
“The farther the better, but keep it in the comfort zone.” She pointed to the barn, “Here comes Sam. You may want to hurry and wash before he gets here. Be forewarned, Glenda believes in a piled-high plate.”
Betty wasn’t exaggerating about the amount of food Glenda put on their plates. Sam and Nash had barely made a dent in their meal when they heard her call from the front porch, “I hear vehicles on the road. I believe they’re coming this way.”
Sam heaved from his seat, saying to Nash, “Could be anyone, grab your shotgun just in case.”
Nash took his shotgun from where he’d leaned it against a chair and followed Sam onto the porch to where Betty stood watching the driveway.
Pointing to where the Wilkins’s long driveway disappeared around a tree-lined curve, she said, “They just turned onto the drive. We should see them any moment. We shouldn’t be grouped like this. I think—.”
The vehicles hove into view, two pickups. Nash heard Sam’s sigh of relief. “That’s James and Bobby.”
Continuing to speak, Sam said, “Glenda and me talked some last night. Pulling guard shifts and running the cattle and farm is going to wear me thin. We decided we’d chance James and Bobby being clear of the Ebola; same with the Andersons if they show. I know you wanted to quarantine them, but with this bunch and our immediate needs, it just isn’t practical.
Nash cast a glance to Betty to get her take. Betty shrugged, but said, “That’s taking a big risk. How about in the future? I admit those from yesterday seemed healthy enough, but the longer Ebola runs rampant, the more likely we are to exposure.”
Sam responded. “We understand the need. We’ll prepare a proper quarantine area for newcomers.”
The trucks stopped on the circular drive in front of the porch and the men climbed from their respective vehicles.
“Morning, Sam, all ya’ll,” James said, standing by his truck until Bobby joined him. “We’re here like you asked.”
Glenda joined those on the porch. “You boys ate yet?”
“Morning Miss Glenda, We ate, but we’ve room for more if it’s ready, otherwise, don’t bother.”
“How’s biscuits and gravy sound.”
“Sounds about good. How about it Bobby, can you hold a little more? Day’s promising to be a long one.”
