Oklahoma's Gold (18 page)

After no more than a couple minutes, both men were able to make a shocking discovery.

"Yep. No doubt the brake cable’s been slit. Just enough to leak your fluid, nice ‘n slow like," Clay stated, wiping his hand off with a handkerchief carried in his back pocket.

Daniel just stood there thinking what none of them wanted to say aloud. Someone had sabotaged the truck.

Jess shivered and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to still her body. Her attacker's warning now haunted her. Someone would be harmed, maybe killed, if they didn’t stop meddling. She was beginning to wonder if all their sleuthing would be worth it. Or would the sacrifice be too great? Doubt flooded her mind, along with fear. Not just for herself, but for Daniel, Emma, Deek, Missy, and everyone else around here, too. So what if some people wanted to develop the land? Wasn’t that supposed to be profitable for the community? And why not let the sheriff do his job? That’s what he was paid for. Let him take the risks, she reasoned.

Of course Daniel and Emma would argue back that they were doing this for Uncle Fred, that Caleb Gentry couldn’t really do the job well, alone. And who was she to say different? After all, Uncle Fred was her blood relation. Didn’t she owe him? He was the only person in this entire stinking world to take her, Deek and Missy in when their parents died. The only one. How could she deny him this?

Her thoughts, running back and forth in a frenzy, soon caused her head to hurt. She told herself to calm down. She was just too upset right now because of what happened. She’d be fine later. Her next thought was interrupted by Daniel calling her name.

"Jess! Jess!" he said, finally tugging her sleeve to get her attention. When she looked at him he continued. "Mr. Stockwell is going to give us a ride to his ranch where I can call the Dusty Rose to get some of the hands out here to tow my truck back to town.

She nodded and then said, "Daniel?" But he held a finger to her lips.

"Shhh. We’re not going to talk about it now. When we get back home. That’s soon enough," he stated, then helped her into Cattleman T’s truck.

Interlude:  The Vigil

He howled, a piercing, mournful cry, cast out onto the plains, up to the sky.

Man called on by the spirit of the coyote. Atop a rough, jagged mountain ridge he hopped and crawled on all fours, pacing back and forth. His hands bled from the effort, but he did not notice, too intent on his effort.

The sky was inky black, the moon, a yellow moon. It held promise, he thought. A sign of things to come, good and bad. He reached inside his medicine pouch and pinched the powdery substance between his finger and thumb. Pulling it free from the bag he threw it up to the heavens, then chanted a prayer to the spirit gods.

The sweat glistened on his body; the blood, old blood, a darker red mixed with the bright red, stained his hands. Still, he kept pacing, on all fours, as the coyote kept his vigil. He howled to the moon, to the spirit gods, again and again. His voice was hoarse from the effort and from the cool night air, but this would not stop him. The coyote must keep his vigil for all the okla homma, all the red people, till they found their answers, and given their sign from the spirit gods. The message to him had been clear. He had been chosen, and the spirits sent a man to tell him. Now, he must fulfill the duty. The vigil for the okla homma.

Chapter 30

Her head jerked up, eyes staring out toward the dark, empty plains. "What was that?" she whispered. The howl had pierced through the night’s silence and the quiet repose of Jess as she had sat comfortably in Emma’s rocker, head resting, eyes closed.

Daniel sat across from her on the porch bench, a knife in one hand, and a piece of wood in the other. He had been waiting while Jess rested. The activity continued as he answered, "Just a coyote."

"But it sounded so painful." She tried to describe what she heard in words. "Like a human crying out in pain," Jess finished.

"Human?" Daniel looked up and stopped his whittling to think a moment. He shook his head. "No. It was a coyote. That's all." His words were spoken to dismiss her idea.

"Still," she started, but trailed off, not knowing where to go with her thoughts. She was so tired. Too much happening. She just needed to rest. If only she could sleep. Closing her eyes she drifted off once more.

* * *

The face was there in the dark. The shadows kept the image fuzzy, without detail. She felt relieved. She did not want to see what it looked like. She only wanted to rest. Why wouldn't he let her rest?

A hand shot out to cover her mouth. She struggled against it, trying to free herself, but now his other hand, large and powerful, held her arms in a viselike grip. She tried to scream, but it came out in a muffled, feeble tone against his hand. She twisted and turned, but it did no good. He laughed then, an ugly, deep laugh, at her discomfort and fear. Suddenly, having said what he wanted— those words in such an angry tone— he let her go and walked away. No, that's not right. He … She tried to think, but it was no use. It was the light. A bright light shining in her eyes, taking her away from this place and her reflections.

* * *

"Jess. Jessica." Daniel called urgently as he shook her shoulders. "Jess, wake up!"

She opened her eyes and looked at him without recognition. Then, she glanced from side to side, taking in the porch, the rocker, and then back to Daniel. At once, she began to cry and grabbed for him, to hold him close. "He was there, Daniel. I saw him."

"Who, Jess?" Who was there?" he whispered anxiously. Her emotions frightened and troubled him.

"The man. My attacker," she tried to explain. "I didn't want to see, but he was there. And something else." She sobbed, not able to go on.

Daniel held her close while she cried and he mulled over what she had said. It was a nightmare. That's all. He surprised himself at how relieved he felt. She'd be okay.

She finally stopped and pulled back her head from his shoulder. "I can't remember, but there was something different about him," she said, her words calmer.

"It was a dream, Jess. You can't always trust what's in a dream," he warned.

She shook her head. "I know, but something tells me this is for real. My subconscious probably trying to let me know what I've known all along." She shook her head again. "If only I could just remember." She began to cry softly, once more the tears coming.

"Shhh," he tried comforting her. "It's okay. It will come to you when you're ready."

"But I want to be ready now, for Uncle Fred and Miss Emma. We need to know."

"Don't worry," he assured her. "We're going to find out what's going on and who's to blame." He gave her a strong, firm hug. "In the meantime, we can't go on like this. That doesn't help you or anyone. So this is what I propose." He took her hands and led her toward the door as he continued speaking.

"We need to go inside and get something to eat. Then, since it's nearly morning, we'll change into some clean clothes and head to the town library. What do you think?" He smiled at her encouragingly.

Jess couldn't help but smile back, knowing how he was trying so very hard to be helpful. She just had to be brave and follow along. With him by her side, she could get through this. More and more, she felt herself drawn to him, his strength, his charm, his caring. All this, she was finding harder and harder to resist, to stop from becoming a part of him, no longer just herself, Jessica Clinton. It both scared and thrilled her so that she felt confused now more than ever. Could anything ever be simple? All the same, she let herself be led into the kitchen where immediately she felt safe and warm.          

Miss Emma had created this cozy haven with comfort in mind. It wasn't fussy or busy. The decor was simple but touched with bright color. Jess particularly was drawn to a cross-stitched sampler hanging on the wall above the stove. Its message consisted of few words, but held a powerful truth. "Life is what you make of it." She thought of all their lives, everyone she knew. Had they all done their best? Did they make the most of everyday? In a good way? Who keeps score? Jess wrinkled up her forehead in serious contemplation.  Sometimes, it was so easy to forget to weigh the good against the bad. She sighed. Then there must be some who didn't care as long as they got the job done. Like it or not, Jess knew they were dealing with a few of those uncaring souls.  Who would come out on top was a question not to be answered for a long time to come, she guessed.

"Fried or scrambled?" Daniel asked with eggs in hand. "And would you like a side order of bacon?"

Jess smiled as she observed Daniel's comical behavior. He had placed an apron around his waist, looking every bit the kitchen chef. "Well, let's see. I'll take two eggs, sunny side up, and four strips of crisply fried bacon, please," she answered with amusement. "And a glass of orange juice, well chilled."

"
Oui, oui, madame
," he said with a pathetic French accent and turned to face the stove, cracking eggs into the frying pan.

Jess was about to compliment him on his choice of apron, when Emma walked into the room. She was already dressed, wearing jeans, a T-shirt and boots. More than likely getting ready to do some chores on the ranch, Jess assumed. The woman never ceased to amaze her. Being sixty-something didn’t stop her from doing anything.

"Land sakes!" she exclaimed as her fists came to rest on her hips. "Just what are you fixin' in my kitchen, Daniel Ross?"

At first Daniel looked rattled, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but then quickly he recovered to smile and to ask Miss Emma if she wanted breakfast, too.

"Well," she began. She pulled out a chair to sit next to Jess and with a wink she added, "I guess if
you're
cookin', I'll take my chances and have some."

Either the teasing slight went unnoticed by Daniel or he was ignoring it, for he continued his chef duties—flipping eggs, turning bacon and buttering toast.

As the three of them sat eating, enjoying their breakfast and conversation, all troubles seemed to vanish. The safe haven doing its job once more, providing sanctuary from the tragic death of parents, cruel attacks on humans, as well as on the land, each act creeping in with a deathlike quiet to rattle their sense of security. Here, they could escape from that, if only for a brief moment.

Chapter 31

"Just as I figured," Daniel commented as he scanned through deed after deed. "Nothing surprising. These properties have been with some of the families since the late eighteen hundreds."

"Probably after the Dawes Act in, I think, 1887," Jess added.

Daniel looked up at her with an expression of total surprise. "Now, where did you pull that one from?"

"Oh, something I remembered from a class on American history of the 1800's at Ohio U.," she explained. "I was a history major. Before I had to quit, that is."

"I see." Daniel noticed the solemn tone of her voice and suddenly realized there was a whole other life, a totally different part of Jess he knew nothing about. "That must have been very discouraging to give it all up."