[Dean's World] Dean: An Excerpt

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Posted by Dean:
An Excerpt
http://www.deanesmay.com/posts/1157078486.shtml


   I knew my ire was futile, but it was hard to control. I also cursed
   myself for failing to recognize that as well as I knew Jeremy he still
   had no true understanding of my nature. He felt me unique, but still a
   woman and his civilized instincts drove him to put my welfare firmly
   before his own. Now I was far from him and in the hands of
   well-meaning men who knew even less of me. Worse, we had ridden at
   least four hours, and not at any moderate pace. As it stood I would
   need more than a day to walk back.

   Would he wait that long? He was convinced he was dying, and in the
   hands of any other caretaker he would have been correct. Would he
   still fight? Or would he take the liquor for comfort and sleep as the
   fire guttered out, letting the cold of the night finish what the fever
   had begun? Did I have even half a day?

   âIâd like to sit up,â I finally said.

   âWeâre near to camp, maâam,â Will said, âquicker to get there and set
   you down than to stop andâ¦â

   He broke off because his father had brought us to a halt, and young
   Will obviously never questioned his father. In a moment the both of
   them were helping me down from the back of the mule. Tom quickly cut
   the bonds from my wrists and ankles. He could hardly look me in the
   face. I knew his shame was not for having taken me away against my
   will, but for having lashed me to a pack-mule like some criminal.

   I stretched in silence, stamping my feet to restore sensation to them.
   Tom gestured toward his horse and waited for me politely. As I rubbed
   my wrists and looked about, refusing to meet their eyes, I wondered
   what they would do if I were to simply begin walking back to the
   cabin. But the darkness was upon us, and the clouds were thick and
   impenetrable. I knew Tom Kelly was traveling solely by his gut and his
   knowledge of this trail. To walk without the stars to guide me would
   be foolish in the extreme, even for me. I knew I would need daylight.
   After a moment I mutely nodded. Tom mounted his horse, and I allowed
   him to take me up behind him in his saddle as we set out again.

   My mind was already calculating, my rage barely held in check.

   We reached the campsite in fairly short order: a clearing to the side
   of the trail with a stone fire pit and a well built north-facing stone
   wall sufficient for a serviceable lean-to. Tom Kelly helped me down
   from the saddle, and then set about making a fire while his son
   unrolled a large tarpaulin of leather and began setting poles against
   the wall, taking them from a pile stacked there for just that purpose.
   Within minutes he had the shelter constructed, driving iron spikes
   into the ground with a mallet to secure the cover in place. I turned
   and gazed back upon the way we had come. My fears refused to be held
   in check and I wonderedâwhat was he doing now? Would he endure another
   night? He was a God-fearing man, despite the faults he admitted. Would
   he eschew deliberate surrender, or would he choose a quick and more
   comfortable end? The answers were back down that path. I had to
   believe he would choose to survive another night, that he would fight.
   The alternative was unbearable.

   The Kellyâs were kind men and sought to draw me into conversation, but
   I remained mute and avoided their eyes. They offered foodâjerky and
   warmed beans, and I did eat, being unwilling to refuse that simple
   hospitality. Within slightly more than an hour of arriving we were
   settling down to sleep, the two of them facing the east end of the
   shelter so that I might be closer to the fireâs warmth. They knew my
   pain and respected it. They deserved better than what I contemplated.

   I lay awake, listening as their breathing settled and they dropped off
   to sleep, my mind racing with plans, rage, and fear. Were there
   sufficient moonlight, I might well have killed them in their sleep and
   left, but the thick clouds made the night near black. So I lay
   quietly, considering how I would make my escape. I had my pistol in my
   pack, and the pig knife Jeremy had fashioned for me, and they would be
   helpless before me. Killing them now would be the simplest way to
   proceed and I found myself slipping my knife from my pack and
   carefully rising to a crouch.

   But what would Jeremy think?

   Somewhat to my surprise, that unbidden thought froze me. The knowledge
   of what Jeremy would think brought a deep, sickening pain to my chest.
   Try as I might I could not drive the thought away. I began to have an
   argument in my head with Jeremy. I grew furious with him. Such an
   obstinate, frustrating man, he would not listen to reason! But he
   would never buy his life with such coin, nor would he have a single
   life, even one willingly given, sacrificed on his account. Why else
   had he sent me from him?

   Foolish man. Foolish, frustrating man.

   But did he need to know? My eyes slid back toward the sleeping men,
   the flickering fire throwing shadows against the tent wall. I had kept
   my greatest secret from him for over four years, so why not this
   secret as well? I rose again to a half-crouch. In the long reach of my
   life I had learned to lie better than any man or woman who had ever
   lived.

   But in my mindâs eye I saw him staring at me. Staring through me in
   that unsettling way he had. With some frustration I realized I would
   not be capable of keeping that secret. Not that secret, not from him.
   Murder stains the inner canvas of even one such as I, even after
   everythingâand the thought that I might perhaps save his life at the
   cost of not just his love but his respect and trustâ¦. My heart nearly
   burst with the frustration of it.

   It was unbearable. My selfish desire screamed at me to take the most
   convenient path, but I knew with cold certainty that I could never lie
   to him, that he would see through me should I try.

   I found myself in the wrenching position of risking his death that I
   might avoid his disapproval. I might have laughed at my predicament
   were it not so tragic. Silently I lay back down. As I did so I began
   to see that I myself was being somewhat foolish. I had allowed my
   thirst for revenge and the simple logic of the easy path get the
   better of me. Most men, particularly honorable men such as these
   Americans were, could easily be intimidated by a forceful woman, so
   long as she started from a position of strength and was careful to
   keep the upper hand. I had allowed myself to be surprised, largely
   because my fears for Jeremy had driven careful contemplation from my
   head.

   Another thought, unbidden but undeniable, came to me: âShould I find
   Jeremy dead, I will find these men and have my revenge then.â

   With that, the thought of killing them suddenly ceased to control me.
   By telling myself there would be time for such cold-blooded plotting
   later, it became very easy to know what to do. I smiled to myself as I
   began to see how simple this would be. I needed merely to turn the
   tables. It would require great stealth, but I knew it would almost
   certainly work. On the off-chance that they rushed me, I could tell
   Jeremy honestly that they gave me no choice. He still might not
   forgive me, but he would not hate me, and I would at least know I had
   done my best even if he should choose to send me away.

   Dawn arrived some hours later, and I heard the younger Kelly begin to
   awaken. As I heard him begin to stir, I quickly pulled down the tent
   wall he had strung against the lean-to yesterday, then ran a few steps
   and smoothly mounted the horse I had prepared. I quickly shouldered
   one of the two muskets I had loaded, took careful aim, and waited. I
   allowed myself a silent smile as he bellowed a loud oath at the sudden
   inrush of cold airâand a louder one when he discovered that while he
   had slept in the night I had managed to reach under his thick blankets
   and, without waking him, tied his left wrist behind his back by a
   short length of rope to his right ankle. I had used a clever knot that
   only tightened (and thus would only be felt) when he began to yank on
   it. He would be able to sleep comfortably but not to stand without
   removing the rope. As he cursed and fell over in the sudden morning
   cold, his father also stirred and gave a yelp, finding himself
   similarly half-tied. At that moment I fired the weapon, aiming between
   the two of them, then dropped the musket to the ground.

   To my surprise the horse bucked; I had assumed the animal was trained
   not to start at gunfire and I fought to bring the gelding under
   control. While keeping my eyes on the men and pulling out the second
   musket, I successfully managed to get the horseâs feet back on the
   ground just as I leveled the second gun. The horseâs bucking now
   seemed all to the good; the image we presented as I came down and took
   aim at them, rifled musket in one hand and the reins in my other, must
   have been rather dramatic. In any case it had the desired effect: both
   men were in half-crouches, frozen and staring at me, their mouths
   agape. The sound of the shot that had whizzed between their heads must
   have still rung in their ears.

   Shooting from horseback was even easier than using a bow, I thought to
   myself with some amusement. Then I spoke in a firm, clear voice.

   âGentlemen! My first shot was between both your heads, and was no
   accident. My second shot shall also be no accident, but will embed
   itself into the belly of the first man to move to stop me. I am
   returning to my husband, and I will not be denied. Do I make myself
   clear?â

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