Bitterroot Crossing

Bitterroot Crossing

Tess Oliver

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2010 by Tess Oliver

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

Chapter 1

    The scene in our crummy little kitchen repeated itself every morning as if someone had painted it on canvas. Dad was leaning back in his chair, his open robe exposing the coffee stained t-shirt he’d been wearing for days. No job, no need to shower had become his new motto. Mom was hunched over the kitchen sink peering through the window hoping to get a glimpse of something new or interesting in the neighborhood. For her something interesting could be as stupid as the Stewarts getting a new trash can. And Bobby, my younger brother, was sitting with his chin nearly submerged in his bowl of cereal trying not to be noticed by either ridiculous parent. He didn’t have to try so hard because the second I stepped into the kitchen, my dad’s disapproving scowl found me as the main target of the morning.

    Dad’s unshaven double chin wobbled as he shook his head. “I don’t know what I hate the most, Nick, those silver hoops in your ears, that long hair, or that damn tattoo of barbed wire around your arm. You look like a hoodlum.”

    “And yet, last time I checked, I’m the only one sitting here who has a job. And who uses the word hoodlum anymore?” My words made him wince, but I was sick of his crap. Lately he had lots of cruel words for all of us. Whether it was about Mom’s weight, or Bobby’s bad skin, or my long hair, it was always said to make him feel better about himself and make us feel shitty. He hadn’t always been like this. Losing his job and not being able to find a new one was turning him into a total jerk.

    I walked to the cupboard to get a clean bowl. Mom straightened and smiled. She tucked my hair behind my ear and kissed my cheek.

    “Anything exciting happening out there today, Mom?”

    Her blue eyes widened. “Nick, haven’t you heard? That poor, young thing from the Sterling place has to start school today. Since her mom died,” she shook her head and clicked her tongue, “social services told her grandma she had to start coming to school. She was home schooled until now.”

    “That’s real interesting, Mom.” I sat at the table across from Dad and tried to focus on my cereal so I could avoid making eye contact with him.

    “It should be interesting. Your great-great-grandfather was part of the whole tragic love triangle between her great-great-grandma and that bounty hunter, Jack Bridger.” She motioned her head toward the window as if they were standing right outside.

    “They say she’s a real freak. Got some hideous deformity,” Bobby said through a mouthful.   “Bobby, that’s an awful thing to say.” Mom returned to her window vigil. “Still, it’s hard to say why her mother and grandma have kept her so secluded from the rest of the town. Now it’s going to be even harder for her to adjust.”

    Mom pulled herself from the window and sat at the table. “You know when her Great-great-grandma Rebecca was shot by,” she leaned over the table and lowered her voice to a whisper, “Zedekiah Crush”, she sat back now and her voice returned to normal, “they say he didn’t even care if they hung him without a trial. He was so heartbroken, they say he just walked up to the noose and stuck his head through.” She clicked her tongue again, a really annoying habit. “They were both so young, only nineteen. Of course, back in those days, I suppose that was middle aged.”

    Dad crumbled up his napkin and threw it on the table. “Why do you whisper his name, foolish woman? Zedekiah hasn’t risen from that swamp in fifteen years. And who is this
they
you’re constantly talking about. You act like you were there a hundred-fifty years ago when they hung that whole damn Crush Gang.” Dad sneered at Mom. “Come to think of it, you look old enough to have been born last century. Only I don’t think women were so fat back then.” He laughed. Mom lowered her hurt gaze to the table.

    I stared at my dad thinking how sweet it would be to throw a punch at him. “At least Mom is not a direct descendant of the most hated guy in town.”

    It always brought Dad down a few notches when I reminded him of his family tree. His jaw twitched beneath the gray stubble, so my comment hit the mark.

    Bobby’s hand reached forward to grab his glass. He missed and the entire contents of orange juice spilled across the table and added a layer of stains to Dad’s t-shirt. Silence fell over the table. Bobby ducked instinctively as Dad’s hand flew up to smack Bobby across the head. I shot up and stopped his arm midflight. My hand tightened around his wrist as he glared at me. His face grew red but he was speechless. My reflexes were growing fast as lightning. I had no idea what was happening to me, but I wasn’t going to complain. And the whole thing was really starting to scare the crap out of my old man. Reluctantly, I released my hold on him.

    He plopped back against the vinyl chair defeated, pissed-off, and more than slightly worried that he’d never be able to lay a hand on any of us again. And I intended to see that he didn’t.

    “As usual, it’s been a pleasure.” I got up, dropped my bowl in the sink, grabbed my fedora off the coat hook, and headed out the back door.

    Mom opened the screen door and stuck her head out. “Stay away from the swamp, Nick. The sirens have been going off all night.”

    I kick started my dirt bike. Tina raced out of her house wearing the tight pink t-shirt I loved. “Wait, Nick.” She crossed the street and ran up the driveway. “Hurry before my dad sees. He hates this motorcycle.” Her lips flew at mine. Then she flung her leg over the seat, threw her arms around my waist, and pressed herself against my back. I turned onto the road and headed to the swamp.

Chapter 2

    I finished tying my lace-up boots and returned to the book in my lap.

    Nana poked her head into my bedroom. “I fixed a nice lunch for you, Jessie.” She stepped inside. “I put in one of those apple muffins you like so much.” She stared down at me. The lines branching out from her green eyes deepened and her wrinkled face smoothed to a frown. She wrung her freckled hands nervously in her apron. “You look so pretty,” she blurted then broke into sobs.

    I laid my book on my bed, walked over to her, and circled my arms around her. “Nana, I’ll be fine. I’m not even nervous.” I released my hug and pointed down at my feet. “And I’m wearing my special boots. No one will notice that my left leg is shorter.” I strolled across the room with the walk I’d practiced all week. Normally, at home, I was barefoot and I moved freely about with my shorter leg not caring how it looked. But at school I intended on blending in as best as I could. Although knowing that a small town like Bitterroot Crossing rarely had a new student show up at school, blending in was probably going to be difficult. “Nana, if I move my arms just right, you can hardly see my limp.”

    She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Your limp is not what worries me and you know it.” She came up directly in front of me. The aroma of apples and cinnamon drifted up from her apron as she took hold of my hands. “Promise me you’ll wear the cloak and hood at all times when you’re outside. We don’t need any trouble from the Crush Gang. And Zedekiah . . . .”

    I squeezed her fingers in mine. “Zedekiah has not been seen since he chased my parents out of town. And he did not cause Daddy to leave Mom. That he did all on his own. You always said he was flakier than a buttermilk biscuit. And when Mom came back here, the Crush Gang left her alone for the most part. Besides, Zedekiah doesn’t even know I exist. I’ll be fine.”  She opened her mouth to protest, but I stopped her with a palm on her cheek. “I’ll wear the hood, even in the blazing sun. The Crush Gang won’t know I’ve left the farm.”

    The expression on her face did not show reassurance. My own words hadn’t really set my mind at ease either. Not only had I inherited my Great-great-grandma Rebecca’s slightly shorter left leg, but my face was nearly identical to hers. And the Crush Gang’s troubles had begun because of that face. Zedekiah Crush had been a notorious outlaw and gunslinger with lightning reflexes. No one could outdraw him. Everyone feared his cruelty, a cold-hearted man who broke hearts in every town and left plenty of dead men in his path. By the age of eighteen, he’d already been widowed twice. He’d left his only son with people he barely knew and plundered every town along the railway. Rumor had it that he killed one of his own gang members because he’d eaten the last piece of pie. Put his empty fork right through the guy’s throat. Of course, that was only a rumor, and this town had a knack for embellishing stories. But one story definitely had truth in it. In Bitterroot Crossing there had been only one person who didn’t fear him, only one person who could reduce Zedekiah Crush to a helpless, stray puppy and that had been my great-great-grandma.

    I lifted my gray wool cloak from the hook on the wall. I’d dressed in my favorite sleeveless dress. It was made from ivory cotton and was dotted with tiny purple violets. The fabric had been worn thin and soft from use. It was perfect for such a warm day. Unfortunately, it would not keep me from burning up under the heat of my heavy cloak.

    I strolled into the kitchen nonchalantly as if I left home every day. Jasper, our dog, did not even stir from his morning snooze. The kitchen suddenly seemed cozier and more inviting than ever. It was such a familiar, comfortable place and everything I was about to encounter would be so unfamiliar. Still something deep inside of me thrilled at the idea of going out into the world. Aside from the occasional visit to the doctor or dentist, it was a world I’d mostly only read about. And even then, I went out under cloak and hood and only when the town haunts were not active.

    Jasper lifted his big snout up for a minute signaling Nana’s arrival. “Maybe we could tell the school you weren’t feeling well today. You could start tomorrow.” Her voiced wavered and she seemed on the brink of sobs again.

    “I’ll be back before you know it.” I put my school bag over my shoulder, kissed Nana on the cheek, and pulled the deep hood up over my head.

    Mandy, our Belgian mare, was standing in the yard. The horse stood quietly while I climbed onto the fence, slid my dress up to my thighs, and jumped onto her broad back. I grasped a piece of white mane and pushed my boots into her sides. Mandy plodded forward on giant hooves. She would carry me down the dirt road to where the town’s main road caught up to the mountain.

    Aside from the usual squirrels darting back and forth and the occasional bird tweeting, the road was quiet and deserted. During early summer it was dotted with the pink and white flowers of bitterroot. But now, in early fall, the June colors had all but disappeared. It was rare for me to venture beyond the fence around the farm, but truthfully, I was excited about the prospect of attending school. Mom had been a fantastic teacher but not interacting with people my own age had left me feeling lonely on occasion.

    Through
the years, Nana and Mom had grown distrustful of the town. ‘Too much ignorance down below’ Mom would always say. We never talked about it much, but I know it was not just the threat of Zedekiah lurking about that kept me home schooled. I only hoped that I would not stand out too much and they would accept me. Nana had warned me more than once that people could be cruel, but I decided to try my best to fit in. After all, how bad could they be?

    Mandy’s ears stood up straight and she picked up a trot, snorting loudly as we passed the primitive road that crisscrossed our path. The surrounding air moistened and the bitterness of it filled my nose and throat. I turned my head and squinted through the trees to the swamp. Two hundred years before, the dirt trail had been used as a corpse road, a road used to convey dead bodies from town to the church graveyard in the next town. Eventually Bitterroot Crossing built its own graveyard, and the road became obsolete. Several years after the road fell out of use, swamp water began bubbling up from the ground beneath the road until it filled a swath of land larger than an acre. The trees surrounding it grew black and their long branches snaked around each other in an unnatural way. The entire area smelled of bitter smoke.