Beneath Red Tail Wings Torments of the Mind
Torments of the Mind
Matt took deep breaths of the rain washed air, cleansing his mind of dark memories. The battlefields and his punishment aboard the Sunrise cursed his rest even after these many years. He had met other men broken by the war, wandering aimless, sometimes so damaged they were helpless to do more than drink or drug themselves to death.
He could still see his mother’s face, stern and resolute, when he returned home. Father had already acquired the regulation uniforms, a pale gray almost white outfit with scarlet trimmings. He was busy organizing his overseers and servants to manage while he was away. Benjamin, his wife and children had just arrived from their home in Georgia. Their youngest brother Leo, at sixteen, would be left behind to care for the women. Matt had feared the coming confrontation that was to leave him further outcast and he was not wrong. His father was struck speechless, then shut himself away in his office. Benjamin had responded with fists, until the women intervened. His mother, shaking with tearful frustration, showed him the door. She berated him in French, the language rarely spoken around the plantation since his grandmere had passed.
“What foolishness. The disgrace. How can you defy family over something like this? How could you think of pointing a gun at your father or your brother? No son of mine could do this!”
But he stood his ground, followed his principles and plunged into a hell. He lost that naive belief that blood honorably sacrificed would cure the country’s ills. He discovered Northern sympathizers usually had as much disdain for his views in regards to the Negro question as his family. Every bullet fired may have struck his loved ones. He fought at Antietam, surprised to survive with painful but quickly healing wounds. The lack of effective leadership in the Union army appalled him. Men died by the hundreds, by the thousands.
Matt returned home after the conflict relieved to discover the house intact at least. All around was evidence that the war had encroached onto home ground. Pits from shelling covered a field that had always been filled with tobacco. Poorly marked graves were the only thing planted there now. Graves even edged one of the side roads, the men all buried where they fell. Former slaves worked in the fields closer to the house. Only foodstuff was being grown. The stately trees once lining the drive to the front door were only stumps or splintered caricatures. It was a miracle the house remained in one piece.
He knocked on the door, Ann answered. Deprivation had bowed his sister-in-law’s shoulders and left her gaunt, even her hair faded to gray. She spat in his face. He slipped his current letter under the door. Two days later Leo knocked on the door to the room Matt rented in a small hamlet about ten miles from home. Leo was twenty, face lined from the weight of his burdens. His eyes were bleak as he stared into Matt’s eyes. The message was short and brutal.
“Father died at Gettysburg. Mother collapsed after we got word. She was dead a few months later. Ben could not come home because he would have been shot for spying. We got his last letter in ‘63. He was moving from one regiment to another as men were killed off. He must be dead. We don’t know if he ever received the last packages we sent. The only thing keeping Ann on her feet is the children. Why in heaven would you think anyone here would wish to look upon your face?”
“I’m so sorry Leo, more than I can say. I’m sorry.”
“Were you at Gettysburg killing our father or prancing around New York preaching your negroism? Was it a bullet from your gun killed him?”
“Don’t you think I worried over that every minute? I wasn’t the only one with family and friends on the other side. What else could we do but try to stay alive. I couldn’t fight to keep people like cattle! Father branded people Leo. You don’t treat a human being that way!”
“Who gives a damn about your conscience, you murdering swine. You raised your hand against your own. If you had not the courage to hold onto our birthright, you should have stayed run off like the coward you were. We would have been better off for it! God knows, I’d kill you now if I could.”
Matt turned away from enraged features, so like his own. The young man’s face was flushed and his eyes were flooded with unshed tears.
“Leo please...”
Matt turned back to an empty hallway. He reported back to his unit and performed his final duties immersed in the Indian conflict. Any remaining belief in justice was completely eradicated after seeing the new atrocities fed by fear, lust for gold and revenge on both sides. Like former slaves, some tribes took sides in the conflicts. It availed them nothing but broken treaties, starvation and incarceration. He could see the day when whole tribes no longer existed.
A clash with rebelling warriors garnered him a slashed face and a bullet creased skull. The doctors were amazed that there was no penetration or fracture, just an awful bloody gash and blindness. After months recuperating his sight slowly returned.
Matt mustered out, returning to New York, continued his studies and opened a law practice. He was working hard at making a new life. But drink smothered the pain during many nightmare ridden evenings. After spending one night drinking in a local tavern, he had been caught in the crossfire during some street brawl and new round of nightmare began. His precarious sanity was threatened more than anything previous on the horror ship.
Lost in memories, Matt sat beneath a pine, cushioned by the needles that carpeted the ground. Images rushed before his eyes and his head began to ache. Looking back he couldn’t believe how naive he’d been. Freedom for the Negro was followed up with new sanctions against them. For many life was no different than before. And the Indians were losing ground every day to confinement and disease. Were his sympathies twisted in that regard as well? He had fought them regardless of his beliefs. How much sense did any of it make?
McNamara surprised him, coming in person to escort him out of San Francisco. Matt recalled his terror, the shame, of sitting in the carriage trembling as they went to the train station to begin his journey back to New York. Months later he sold McNamara his part of the business and left for the territories. Ignorant of life in the wild, he endured and came to appreciate the places away from civilization.
In all the years since he went his own way, shunning most company. More often than not an object of suspicion because he was not well off. He worked at whatever was at hand; mill rider, bronc buster and even plowed land for nestors in exchange for food when they allowed him. He had little pride left about such things. His occasional letters home were never answered. Of course they wouldn’t be, but Matt continued to flog himself with that decision to continue writing in hope.
Reading his book always brought to mind Jimmy Stanwick. An uneducated street ruffian, Jimmy had shown him the badly spelled poetry he wrote. Matt made the mistake of taking an interest, helping the boy learn to read and write properly. Jimmy purchased a book of poetry with his first pay. But the day came when Jimmy lay screaming for his mother, bleeding in a muddy ditch with no aide to be had. Jimmy never knew who his mother was, but he using his last breaths begging her to save him before Matt put an end to his pain.
All those memories crashing around inside his skull, filled his head to bursting. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes. The doctors swore the headaches were not caused by anything but his imagination. They performed thorough examinations of his skull for any abnormalities, as if palpating his head would tell them what was happening inside it. Matt was convinced the literal blinding pain would eventually put a permanent end to his sight. When it happened he would do for himself what he did for Jimmy that horrible day.
Right now he needed to take his laudanum and sleep. He never used it unless he got one of these bad ones, not wanting to wind up stealing to feed the addiction. So many of the men he fought with came away with horrible attachment to this concoction. Every time he was wounded, the fear of getting a permanent desire haunted him. It was bad enough he wound up drinking heavily after the war. Matt walked back, squeezing his eyes shut against the batches of sunlight breaking the heavy foliage. Even his spectacles weren’t much help when the headache came on.
Sarah was sitting on the floor by her father’s side when Matt stumbled into the cabin. His face was beaded with sweat. He was grimacing against the pain. She jumped to her feet alarmed by his appearance.
“Mr. Travers! What’s wrong, what’s happened?”
“Nothing, nothing. Headache real bad,” he mumbled.
Matt tossed aside his bed roll and dug through his saddlebags until he found the little bottle secured in a small leather pouch and wrapped in cloth. His hands shook as he fumbled it loose from the bindings. Taking a deep breath he allowed only two drops of the tincture to fall on his tongue. He would sleep through the night and probably drag around the next day until the lassitude wore off, but anything was better than the ax blade slicing into his skull. He fumbled the bottle back into its wrappings and knotted the strings of the pouch tight. He would not forget to seal it away and keep it secured in his saddlebags. A quick drink from his canteen washed the taste away. Intent on arranging his blankets, Matt was startled by Sarah standing over him.
“Mr. Travers, will you be alright?”
Matt couldn’t hold back the flinch from the sound of her voice. Everything was so loud.
“Alright after I sleep. Honest lady I just need quiet awhile. Got shot...war...head hurts. Sleep please.”
Sarah was still watching, worry escalating as Matt collapsed onto the blanket. He was shivering as if he were cold. She didn’t know if it was the medicine he took or if he was feverish. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and curled up. She knelt down beside him to ease the second blanket over his shoulders. He curled up tighter and rocked himself. She backed away and stepped outside to warn Kevin that Mr. Travers was ill.
Kevin had insisted on scouting the area to insure their continued safety. She thought he was being overly paranoid. Mr. Travers opportunity for wrong doing was surely passed. Honestly, If Kevin was showing off for her, he was only causing her to rethink their possible engagement. Should he not be here at her side protecting them? A man needed common sense to survive in this country and the exasperating man didn’t seem to have it right now.
Sarah paced back and forth for a while. She went back inside to fix an early supper. Mr. Travers never moved other than the occasional deep sighing breath. Sarah ate a solitary meal before resuming her pacing exercise before the cabin.
Finally Kevin stepped into the clearing. She ran over to him and hissed.
“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Sarah, you wouldn’t...”
“Shh...not so loud.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Come over here.”
Sarah tugged him back toward the stand of pine.
“Where were you?”
“Like I was trying to tell you. I tried to follow Travers. I got lost.”
Kevin flushed a deeper hue than usual as he showed her his lost puppy face.
“Lost!”
“Yeah, lost. I’ve been trying to get back here for more than an hour. He must have figured out I was following and laid a false trail. Why are we whispering?”
“Mr. Travers is inside.”
“What, when did he do that?”
Sarah rolled her eyes and crossed her arms to keep from smacking Kevin.
“You have been gone half the day Kevin, not an hour! Mr. Travers appears to be very ill. If I understand him, he was wounded in the war. He took medicine and asked for quiet while he slept.”
“Medicine, what kind of medicine?”
“That isn’t any of our business Kevin. The man was in obvious pain. He’s asleep. I don’t think you could get him up if you tried. If you are so suspicious, why did you go off on this scouting trip through the woods and get lost? The man has done nothing to warrant anymore of these speculations. I made supper. Come in and eat. We are going to be on short rations until the boys get here. You can tell me about your scouting trip in the morning.”
Sarah turned away, dismissing the entire matter. She was tired and now had double the worry. If Mr. Travers was down for another day, she would have to find his snares. Kevin never handled hunting on the ranch very well. Needless to say he was proving less than skilled for ranch life. Rabbit would not be on the menu at home for the coming year if she had anything to say about it.
“Wait a minute, Sarah. Look I’m sorry, alright? I’m trying to be, well you know. I’m sorry I worried you.”
“I apologize if you think I was harsh Kevin. I’m just tired and anxious. That man saved my father’s life, evidently at plenty of risk. We don’t need to worry about anything but getting home. I don’t expect you to have all the answers to this situation. But we can’t go off the rails. Innocent til proven guilty remember?”
Kevin moved close and hugged Sarah. She was stiff in his arms then sighed and relaxed.
“Honey I’ve had a hard day and so have you. Let’s just relax and try to enjoy the evening. The moons full tonight.” He bent to kiss her. Sarah allowed his lips to lightly brush against hers before pulling away.
“Kevin I’m too tired and worried. How can you expect me to relax when you yourself remind me the stranger who saved father might still be a danger? Now both men are down. I’ve paced back and forth for hours worrying about you. I’m exhausted. I’m sure you you must be tired from your ordeal.”
Sarah pulled away turning toward their shelter.
“Remember, keep it down Kevin,” she admonished just before she entered the cabin.
Kevin removed his hat to brush his hair back with his fingers. He pulled hard until his scalp tingled, then stalked in behind her. Sarah sat his plate on the table before settling down on her bedding. She pulled off her boots and lay down. She watched through narrowed eyes and raising ire as Kevin scraped his plate clean before shoving it away. He removed muddy boots, dropping them on the floor, the showy spurs clanging. He tossed them over his bedroll before stretching out on the floor beside her.
“Good night Sarah. I’m sure you’ll feel alright in the morning sweetheart.”
She twitched, but kissed him on the cheek and murmured ‘good night’.
Kevin turned over a number of times, complete with grunts of dissatisfaction against sleeping another night on the floor. Exasperated, Sarah turned her face to the wall beneath her father’s bunk. Tonight she absolutely would not spend any more time worrying about the current situation. Gil should be back in two days at most. Father would get well and Mr. Travers could have a job, which he seemed in sore need of. He didn’t strike her as the ‘reward hunting’ type. But a job over the coming winter they could do. She did not know what to think about Kevin. He was entirely too inconsistent with his affections. I’ll keep you safe one minute and off lost in the woods the next.
Bequiled and Bewildered
Sarah’s anger kept her awake half the night. The sun’s appearance found her stiff and more irritable than before. She lay there, surprised to see Mr. Travers sit up and stretch. He gazed around the room, blinked and smiled at her. He sighed and ran his fingers through snarled hair.
“Sorry about last night. I get real snappish when the pain comes.”
“I understand. I didn’t know how to help you. That frightened me.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you. Got shot during an Indian raid. Still pains me now and then.”
“Oh, I understand. It’s alright. I just wanted to help.”
Matt got to his feet, swayed a moment and stretched once more.
“You couldn’t do anything. I just have to sleep them off. I’ll probably sleep most of the day too.”
“Can you keep it down? I’m still trying to sleep,” Kevin admonished from beneath his blankets.
“Sorry Harlan. I’m stepping out anyway.”
Sarah watched Matt leave using the table and the walls for support. He didn’t look too steady at all. She checked her father’s condition. He still seemed to be sleeping comfortably. She hoped he would awaken today. After folding her bedroll, Sarah left the cabin for a moment of privacy in the woods. She washed hands and face from her canteen before returning to see about breakfast. There were plenty of beans and cold rabbit. Mr. Travers had left the broth to stay hot over the fire. Sarah hoped her father would be able to eat it. She eventually divided the remnants between the three of them. After setting the filled plates on the table she rousted Kevin out.
Obviously unhappy, Kevin scrubbed at his face and sat down at the table. Sarah took her plate and settled in her place by the bunk. They were eating silently when Matt returned. His hair was wet and he appeared well scrubbed. His face was bare of spectacles for once. Sarah was surprised by the brightness of silvery gray eyes against his tanned complexion.
“Where did you find enough water to wash up?”
“Well actually I just wandered a different trail into the woods this morning and found this little seep along the mountain behind us.”
“Please show me where. I’m dying for a bathe.”
Matt chuckled, rocking back on his heels. He braced himself on the table, took his plate and lowered himself carefully by the fireplace. He scraped some of the lukewarm beans into his mouth before saying more.
“There’s not enough water trickling down from that hole for a bath Sarah.”
Matt continued to chuckle as he focused on his food.
Sarah stared, rather bemused. He was handsome when he smiled.
“Well I’m going to move the horses to better grazing,” Kevin said, pushing away from the table. He stepped over to Sarah and caught her chin between his fingers.
“You can show me the way to that water later on Sarah honey.”
He pressed his lips to hers, tightening his fingers when she pulled back.
Matt got to his feet, leaving the partially eaten meal on the floor.
“I’ll take the canteens to refill. Come on if you’re going Miss Bethancourt.”
He was out the door and into the trees before Sarah and Kevin parted. Kevin winked at Sarah before he left. Sarah ran in the general direction Matt took, her entreaties for him to wait disregarded. She was breathless and angry when she finally caught up with him. He was filling the canteens.
“You can wash up after I’m gone. I have to water the horses.”
“It was Sarah a little while ago, Mr. Travers.”
Matt felt his face grow hot. He stoppered the last canteen and turned to her.
“I meant no disrespect, mam.” He tipped his hat in her direction and hurried away.
Sarah caught herself in time to prevent a righteous swear word from escaping. Men surely got on your last nerve. Growing up around cowhands tainted her vocabulary early. Her mother insisted on finishing school attempting to eradicate their influence. The results were dubious at best. Even now when Sarah was thwarted all the hands knew it. She could cuss a blue streak if her mother wasn’t around. That a ragged saddle bum would dare treat her like that. The nerve of some people. Ignore her one minute and smile at her the next, then run off in the middle of her conversation.
Remembering her father, Sarah scrubbed as best she could and returned to the cabin. Matt was in front, currying that pitiful looking nag he rode. She stood in the doorway watching while taking apart her braid and attempting to comb out the tangles. Cobby tried to bite or kick his curry comb swinging tormentor every chance he got. It wasn’t long, however, before Matt had him saddled and mounted up. Cobby was so battered, you wouldn’t think he had the strength to buck like that. He sunfished like a dervish. Surely that wasn’t helping Mr. Traver’s headache!
“I’m going to ride out and check for sign. Whoever shot your father may have hold up like we did. Better be cautious. Won’t be gone long.”
“I’ll be fine Mr. Travers. I am armed and Kevin is nearby.” Sarah couldn’t help her frosty tone. The man was staring.
Matt didn’t say anything for another long moment. She wanted to retreat into the cabin when he abruptly departed without another word. What an insolent...
Sarah finally noticed Kevin was nowhere in sight of the cabin. She stomped inside and just missed putting her foot into Matt’s plate. Mumbling under her breath she picked it up and sat it on the table rather forcefully. Serve him right if she served him the congealed beans for supper.
Matt rode along the narrow trail leading from the cabin, noting the tracks the horses made while it was fairly muddy. He singled out Gil’s cow pony and rode on eventually breaking through the brush onto the cliff side trail. On the surface Sarah Bethencourt was the kind of girl his family would not have approved of. He recognized the signs of finishing school manners. Yet her hands were work roughened proving she loved the outdoors and the responsibilities of ranching. The weird getup she was wearing would have given his mother a fit. He had not wanted to be caught staring, but for sure she was wearing pants underneath that short denim skirt. The clothes weren’t fancy either, just a woolen shirt and plain leather vest. But that Spanish sombrero caught his attention. It had been resting against her back, like a picture frame for those copper curls come loose from her plait.
What she saw in that fickle, smooth talking Harlan he’d never understand. Goes to show education doesn’t mean much if you don’t use it. Harlan was a study in contradictions alright. Cocky one minute and helpless the next. Always blushing and wheedling when caught out in the open. Her father would disown...ah stop that thought, it brought too much pain. No, no one deserved that. If Miss Bethancourt married that tin plated, dime novel pretender, she would be back east in a hot minute with everything her father owned sold off for city life.
He continued his ride unable to shake the image of Sarah standing in the doorway with her copper sparked hair loose over her shoulders. Even after two nights in wrinkled clothes she was beautiful.
Cobby looked over his shoulder at the tormentor. The reins had gone slack and he refused to continue along the trail unless forced. There was nothing to eat on this rocky path increasing his ever present disgust with tormentors in general.
Beautiful. That’s what Sarah was, beautiful. Matt looked around the mountains. He heard the hawk’s cry and shading his eyes, searched the sky. It fell like a stone into the deep, brush strewn drop off alongside the trail. The screech of triumph echoed as the hawk suddenly rose into the air, prey dangling helpless from its talons.
Birds were to be envied, free to roam the skies, eat and rest at will. They lived, taught their offspring to fly and died. Matt was sure somewhere inside them it all made sense. They were, and that was all, no heartbreaking decisions just life without doubt. Being human was awaiting the next onslaught with trepidation. He remained on watch, until the hawk disappeared up the mountain. Suddenly, the wind picked up, causing Matt to hunch his shoulders against the sudden chill during the return trip.