Jem looked off in the distance. “That’s the story I heard too.”
“Except Zeke never was at the penitentiary.”
Jem did not speak.
“I checked up on him a few years ago, just to see what became of him. The warden said there had never been a prisoner there by that name. So it leaves me with the question as to what became of the man that stole my innocence. Your daddy didn’t seem the type to let a man like that go in the desert, now did he?”
Jem shook his head, “No. I don’t suppose.”
She put her hand in his. “So, you’re wrong. Someone like me would understand.”
She led him to the front steps of her house and he stood there while she unlocked the front door. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on.”
Jem followed her through the dark house toward the washroom where she turned on the taps above a large washtub. The pipes whistled and hot water sputtered into the tub. Anna started to unbutton his shirt, and Jem stopped her. “I’m a little old to be given a bath by anyone, let alone you.”
She continued to unbutton his shirt. “I am a doctor, Jem Clayton. I want to make sure you weren’t injured today. Anyway, it’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen when you were a kid.”
He pulled her closer to him so that they were pressed against one another. “You might be surprised.”
Anna’s cheeks turned crimson and Jem smiled before stepping back from her and yanked off his boots. They were caked in mud and he set them down next to the door. “I’m just playing with you, Anna. Besides, you’re a little too old for me.”
“I’m only four years older than you!”
“Yeah, but that’s in woman-years. A woman thirty-six years old is like a man at fifty. At least, by my math.” She rolled her eyes but did not look away as Jem started to unbutton his pants.
They laid down together after his bath and started on opposite sides of the bed. “It’s cold in here,” Anna said.
“You want me to go put on the furnace?”
“No.”
Jem wrapped his arm around her and pressed himself against her back. “Is that better?” When she did not respond he lifted his head to look at her and saw she was already asleep.
The next morning he woke up alone. There was a pitcher of coffee on the table next to the bed with an empty cup in a saucer. Beside the pitcher was a locked wooden box with an old key laying on top of a note that read: Whatever is in this box belongs to you. I have kept it all these years waiting for you to come home.
Jem folded up the letter and regarded the box. He studied the rusted metal lock as he twirled the heavy iron key in his fingers before fitting it into the opening and turning.
The box lid creaked open and the first thing Jem saw were several pieces of paper folded together. He removed each page and placed them on the bed to smooth them out. There was the same shaky handwriting on each page. He read the first one.
Dear Jem:
I do not know how this letter will find you. Perhaps you will be an old man like me when you finally read it. All the men written of within it may have long since passed on and you will be left with nothing except maybe a few answers.
However, it is my hope that you are not so old, and that those men have not quite so easily escaped from their past deeds.
I entrusted this box to my beloved daughter Anna, who has always taken a fancy to your family. It is my sincerest hope that she is healthy and happy as you read this, and while I entreat you not to tell her anything else that you read here, please tell her that.
It has been ten years since I last laid eyes on you. You rode out one day searching for something that I suspect was taken from you when you were just a boy. Whatever it is you went looking for, I don’t believe you will have found it. Not out there, anyway. It’s here.
I am going to tell you the truth about your father and his passing.
I pray to God Almighty that you are man enough to stand it, and I hope more than anything else that you are strong enough to forgive me. I am already dead, as you read my words. I’ve heard death’s footfalls creep toward me for weeks now and he will be here soon. I am looking forward to it, actually. By the time you have lived to my age, and seen what I have seen, you will not fear death. You’ll fear life. You’ll look forward to taking a nice long rest, and to the end of having to lose the things that you love.
Only four people know the truth about what happened that day in the wasteland. One of them died finding out. I suspect I’ll be gone soon, so count me out as well. Of the two that remain, it is my dying wish that they have a chance to witness your reaction to all I am about to say.
It had been a week since Sam Clayton had left us for Beothuk Country with that wagon full of dead bodies. He went on a damned fool’s errand to try and make peace with those savages by showing them a more noble way of existence. Nobody, including myself, thought this was a good idea.
Sam was a popular man, and there were rumblings of forming a search party that didn’t amount to much beyond tavern talk. It took me by surprise when I came to find out that Walt Junger and Billy Jack Elliot had taken it upon themselves to ride out into the desert to look for him. I saw Walt loading up a destrier in front of the Sheriff’s Office and asked him when he was headed out. “First light,” he said.
“I’m going with you,” I said.
By that time, Billy had come out to stand on the porch, and Walt looked up at him. Billy nodded and shrugged, telling me that was fine.
We went past the security gate and headed into the mountains. To my surprise, both the other men hunted for your father with ferocity, determined to find him. I’d never put much stock in Walt Junger, but he cut sign for Sam Clayton like he was born to do it.
Truthfully, I wasn’t eager to find him.
I thought we would get to the border of Beothuk country and find your father’s body displayed like some kind of goddamn waypoint marker, a warning to all us civilized folk that this is what happens to them when you venture too far from home.
Imagine my surprise when I spied a rider in the far off distance, making his way down the mountain toward us.
I called out his name before we were even close enough to recognize one another, out of sheer hope. I spurred my ride forward, taking off toward him, but the other two stayed behind. I looked over my shoulder to see Billy side up to Walt and start talking.
Sam smiled at me as I came near. “What the hell are you doing all the way out here?”
“We came to rescue you, Sheriff,” I said. “But you certainly don’t look any worse for the wear.”
He asked who I’d brought with me, and when I told him, he frowned and stared straight ahead. “How are my kids?”
“Fine,” I said. “They’re with Anna. You’d see her skin a werja with her bare hands before anybody messed with those children.”
“I know,” he said. He was about to say something else, but Walt and Billy started riding toward us. Sam waited, taking their measure as they approached.
“Hello, Walt,” he called out. “Billy, your damn nose still looks crooked. Did you go see a doctor to get it set? You having trouble breathing out of it?”
Walt rode in front of Billy Jack’s destrier, blocking both our views of him for a moment. Walt made a big show of greeting Sam and telling him how proud everyone was of him, but just as Walt got close enough, he cut to the side. Billy Jack Elliot was aiming a rifle at your daddy. I remember thinking that it was some sort of joke, but then I heard the gunshot.