Through Darkest America-Extended Version (5 page)

"There'll sure be hell to pay," Papa said, shaking his head slowly. Howie wasn't sure what that might mean, and didn't want to ask. At any rate, Papa kept everyone working hard as ever, as if they might be close to starving instead of having more real money than they'd ever had before. There was plenty to be done, the war hadn't changed
that
any, Howie noticed. There was summer work and fall work and then another winter, before you knew it. One year seemed a lot like the last, he decided, when you did the same things over and over again.

The spring he turned fifteen, Howie found new things to think about. Things that had seemed important once, didn't matter much anymore. The fair at
Bluevale
was something that had happened a hundred years ago, to someone who was a different person, and not really him at all. That year, when sap stirred in the big oaks, something stirred in Howie, too. He'd felt it some before, but never quite like this. This was different. Like the whole world was somehow locked up inside him and couldn't get out.

Sometimes, every limb in his body felt like it was full of worms. He'd drop whatever he was doing without saying anything to anybody and run as far as he could, until sweat stung his eyes and the air cut his lungs. Then, he'd fall to soft grass and lay there letting blue sky whirl around him until the storm passed over.

Papa never said much when he came back. Like he understood, maybe, that something was happening that couldn't be helped. And when he just sat under the kerosene lamp at night and stared at the same page of spelling words, his mother pretended she didn't notice.

Sometimes, he woke up from dreams he couldn't name. And there were warm nights when he didn't sleep at all and everything within him came alive. The things that came to his head then were far stranger than the dreams themselves.

Across the broad, flat fields high with summer wheat, the land tumbled away in a line of small hillocks covered with grass. The hills dropped gently to the edge of the wood where the creek was shaded by heavy oaks. Howie lay just inside the forest, his head against a thick trunk. Lace fern touched his cheek and his eyes held the bright bird chattering on the limb overhead. It was a place he came to often, especially when troubling thoughts filled his head. And that seemed to happen all the time, now. Not about any one thing. It was usually a lot of different things that didn't have much to do with each other. It was the way the earth smelled, or how his hands felt gripping a heavy stone, or how willow looked with all the bark stripped. Mostly, though, it was something he couldn't put a name to. Something that made him feel good and bad at the same time; and, worse than that, hard to tell the difference between the two.

Looking up, he decided he'd dozed a minute. The bird was still there, but it was quiet now, moving its head in quick, curious motions. It heard the sound a second before Howie and froze, flattening itself against the rough bark and nearly disappearing.

Howie raised up on one arm, listening. There were voices. Men, and more than one. They were only a few yards away, just outside the woods, in the shade of the tree next to the one that belonged to the bright bird.

For a reason he couldn't explain, Howie didn't stand up immediately, but worked his way quietly through the ferns on his hands and knees. He stopped on the other side of the trunk and moved foliage carefully aside.

Breath caught in his throat. His heart beat against his chest until he was sure they could hear him. There were three men. He knew them, stock tenders who sometimes worked for his father. And a woman, too. She was . . . Howie's stomach tightened.
Lord God, it wasn't a woman at all—it was a mare! A young mare with yellow hair, and the men were . . .

Howie thought his head would split open. The mare lay flat on soft grass. Her legs were spread and she grinned up - vacantly at the men. One of them said something to the other. The second laughed and touched himself and rolled his eyes. The third man had already lowered his trousers to his ankles; the big shaft stiffly erect between his legs. In a moment he was down on the mare, hands clutching at her breasts. The mare groaned and engulfed him, thrusting her belly up to meet him. Her eyes were closed and her head arched back until the veins in her throat stood out like blue cords. The man breathed hard, pumping himself into her. His companions watched, laughing and calling out advice.

Howie couldn't hear what they said. He couldn't hear anything. His head throbbed like there were a million bees caught inside.

Help me
, he cried out to no one.
Help me, help me!

The man moaned and thrust himself forward. The mare sucked in a deep breath and her face twisted.

Howie felt his loins swell with unbearable pain; he felt sure he was going to die in the next second or so. Then he gasped and felt warmth flow from his body.
No, no, no!
Blood coursed to his face in shame, tears filled his eyes, and he buried his head in the earth.

The man was still in the mare when the arrow caught him in the heart. The shaft flew with such terrible force the dark feathers buried themselves in blood.

The mare screamed and the two men turned ashen faces in Howie's direction. Howie jerked around; short hairs climbed the back of his neck. Papa towered above him, boots buried in green fern. His face was hard as stone.

"Get up to the house," he said, not looking at Howie. "Get up, and stay there." There was another arrow nocked in his bow, but he released it gently. The two men were making tracks over the hills, into the yellow wheat.

"Get
up
, Howie . . ."

There was something in his father's voice he'd never heard before. He scrambled to his feet and ran through the woods without looking back. He stumbled, fell. His eyes blurred with tears. Brambles tore at his skin and he relished the sharp pain. Pain was good, and real, and cut fiercely at his heart, scouring out the shame.

Not all of it, though. It could never do that. He was marked, stained, and that wouldn't go away as long as he lived. And he could never, ever look at his father again.

He ran, and prayed hard, and begged God to let him die.

Late in the afternoon Papa came to his room and told him he was to get his boots on and come downstairs. He didn't look at Howie. In the house, or across the field all the way to the place where it had happened.

The two men were hanging from a high branch where Howie had watched the bird. Their faces were nearly black and their tongues were thick and swollen. The third man was on a branch beside them, by himself. He was still near naked, the arrow through his chest, trousers hanging about his ankles.

Howie's stomach boiled, and he turned away. "
No
, Papa said sternly. He grabbed Howie's head hard in one big hand and held it toward the sight. "You don't turn away from life, Howie. Even if it ain't pretty to see. Not
lookin
' don't make it go away."

He said nothing more, but walked away down the low hills to the woods, Howie behind him. He stopped beside the creek and settled himself on a big stone. He looked at Howie and Howie sat.

"We had to butcher the mare," said Papa.

"Sir?"

Papa nodded to himself and scratched at the stone with his boot. "Howie," he said carefully, "she might have had seed."

Howie was startled at that. A man was a man, but his seed in an animal.

"You're wrong," said Papa, guessing his thoughts. "We never talked about it. Didn't see no reason. Thing is, that's something where people and animals is alike. Seed don't know whether it's
goin
' into man or beast. A
man
knows where he's
puttin
' it, though." He looked up, nodding toward the edge of the woods. "Them three, now. Likely they understand some better about that. Do
you
understand, Howie?"

Howie swallowed. His mouth was dry as cotton. "Yes, sir. I think so."

"I didn't say
think
, Howie."

"Yes, sir."

"What you got to know is there's no sin greater than the one you saw up there this morning. A man's seed was given to him by God to plant in woman at the right time. A man's got a soul, and when he puts that seed in an animal, it's the same as giving part of his soul to beasts. Do you see that? And what's the issue from such a thing?"

Papa didn't wait for him to answer. "Your mother's seen to it you read the Scriptures. You know this world wasn't always like it is. Before the War, when God cleansed sinners from the Earth, there were hundreds of different kinds of beasts roaming the land. The Scriptures tell us that 'man ate of their flesh, though it was
unclean
.' Then, there weren't any beasts such as we eat now, 'which are in the shadow of man's form, and have flesh that is clean.' God put '
em
here for us, and took all other beasts from the Earth, leaving only the creatures that fly and those that swim. And that's the way He wants things to be, Howie."

Papa was silent for a long moment. Howie listened to the creek and hoped maybe that was all. Maybe Papa wouldn't get into the other part.

"You want to say what happened back there, Howie?" Howie's heart stopped. "Not . . .much, Papa. I will, if you want me to."

"I think it'd be a good thing, Howie."

"Yes, sir. I . . ." He leaned down and wet his mouth in the creek. "I'm not right sure what to say."

"Just whatever comes to you, boy. Whatever's true and right."

"Might be I don't know what's—true and right, Papa." He looked up, meeting his father's eyes. "That's possible, ain't it? That I wouldn't know?"

"I think it is, Howie."

"Well, sir .. ."

"You afraid of me, son?"

Howie thought about that. "Sometimes. Yes, sir." He looked down at his boots. "Right now I am."

"Well that's a natural thing, I was scared of my Pa.
S'posed
to be. But—when I needed to say something, he was
willin
' to listen. Same as I am, Howie."

"Yes, sir." Howie felt all tight inside. Papa was right, but—how could he talk about
that
? What was he thinking? It was terrible, a sin God wouldn't ever forgive him for!

"Papa . . ."

"All right." Papa nodded and tasted his lip. "You've seen lots of animals breeding, Howie."

"Yes, sir."

"And you seen this. Between man and beast."

Howie's stomach turned over again.

"And what did you think, Howie? Just say it like it came to your head, right when it was happening."

"Well, I . . ." Howie's voice choked in his throat. "I . .
. The mare didn't look like a mare. Not then. She looked like a— girl! I wanted to do that to her too, Papa!
"

He buried his head in his hands and felt hot tears burning his eyes.

"Howie . . ." Papa's big hand covered his shoulder. "Howie, men are weak. They don't always walk the right path. You're a man, now, and no different than other men. What you thought, what—happened to you, ain't too different than what's happened to a lot of men. You know, now, though. You see it, don't you, Howie? It's wrong, and something you got to put out of your head. Now and forever." He lifted Howie's chin and looked at him. "When you was little, we talked about how things could look the same, that wasn't. And that's the way this is. She's not the same, boy. Remember that. She was a beast and a beast's got no soul. You thought different—for just a minute, anyway. Not now, though. That's past, ain't it, Howie?"

"Yes, sir," said Howie. "I understand, Papa." And to himself, he prayed that God would take this day, pull it out of his head, and not make him have to remember it forever.

Chapter Six

C
rossing was just that—where the two wagon roads met and crossed one another, then twisted on to nowhere. Once a year, though, the fields on three sides were cleared of autumn bramble, and tents and cook shelters sprang up for the people who would come for Choosing.

Before the big trouble with Lathan, government people from Jefferson would arrive the night before in their big horse-drawn wagons. They'd pull up on the north corner in a wide circle, out would come the
hightop
tent colored bright red and blue, and the flags of the states and territories. Another, smaller tent was reserved for the pictures from Silver Island.

This year, though, horses were scarcer than ever—even the tired work animals that would have pulled the wagons had been pressed into service as mounts for soldiers fighting in the west. The wagons were lighter than usual, then, and pulled by reserve troopers who clearly didn't like this kind of duty. They cursed and grumbled that they hadn't signed up to pull wagons over bad roads, and said it surely wasn't the proper thing for soldiers to do.

Papa chuckled when he saw them. "Serves '
em
right's what I say. Let them fellows in Jefferson see how the other half lives." A few men standing about nodded and laughed with him, but Howie's mother laid a hand on his arm and said someone might hear. Papa just grinned and told her
that
didn't matter to him one way or the other.

Horses were always good for a joke. As long as anyone could remember, the government had been saying it wouldn't be too long before there'd be enough of the big animals so every farm and ranch could have at least one— that breeding was going well, and more and more horses were coming up from Mexico every month.