Changing Seasons Page 4
The lights were still on in the clinic when they returned. They were also on in the tea shop next door and Lacy Lou could hear the sound of hammers coming from behind the big glass window.
She sighed. She knew she was going to have to find somewhere new to live. Unfortunately, until the dormitories were built, there weren’t any available places, unless she decided to take a roommate. And Lacy Lou didn’t want to share her space with anyone.
Marty dropped her in front of the apothecary door. Lacy Lou waited until he came around to help her down. If she was truthful, she just wanted to feel his arms around her again.
He set her gently to the ground and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for today,” he whispered.
Lacy Lou couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded. He reached inside the back of the wagon and put a box of apples in her hand. Doc Childs was inside the clinic and saw them. He opened the door to let them in.
“How many boxes did you get?” he asked.
“About six. I have four boxes here for Miss Hattie. Where is she?” Marty asked.
“She took Kijab and Anna home. They were starting to be imps.”
Lacy Lou gave a little laugh. She adored Hattie’s children – an Indian child she adopted after his mother was killed during the landslide and Anna, who was born less than seven months ago.
“Do you want me to put these somewhere else?” Marty asked. “I can put them in your wagon if that is easier.”
“Nah, they are fine right there,” he said. “Lacy Lou, I need to talk to you for a moment. Marty, can you get the other two boxes?”
Marty nodded and left the clinic.
“What is it?” Lacy Lou asked.
“They are getting ready to build the upper room, so you need to find somewhere else to live by Saturday.”
“So soon?” Lacy Lou asked. “I thought I’d have longer.”
Doc Childs gave a soft laugh. “You’ve had nearly six months. This shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said. She felt her chest start to shake and she took several breaths to conquer the sinking feeling. She placed her hand on her chest, willing her heart to quiet down.
“You can stay with us, Lacy Lou,” Doc Childs said, his eyes softening as he looked at her.
“Aw, that is awful kind of you and Miss Hattie, but with two young’uns, the last thing you need is another mouth to feed.” Lacy Lou bit the tip of her finger. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out. I can always stay at the inn for a few days if necessary.”
“Everything alright?” Marty asked, bringing the next box of apples in and placing them on the counter.
“I’ll leave you to discuss it if you want to. I have to go write up my notes from my house calls today.” Lacy Lou watched Doc Childs disappear behind one of the doors.
Marty stood at the counter and waited for her to speak. “I guess I need to find a home sooner than I anticipated.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need to be out of my apartment by Saturday as that is when they are going to demolish everything.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Marty asked. “You’ll be able to move into one of the dormitories, still have your own place, but be around other people.”
“I don’t really want to be around anyone else. Besides, I told you today how folks still see me.”
“Well, then I guess there is only one solution. One that will take care of your housing and protect you from all those vicious tongues.”
“What’s that?” She saw a huge grin break out across Marty’s face.
“Simple. You can marry me.”
Chapter 5
June 1905, Yuma, Arizona
Marty Gale was trying to sleep. The weather was stifling – it was so hot that he was drenched in his bed. He didn’t even want his supper the night before, it was that warm outside.
Not that supper was much – just some bread and watery soup. It depended on who was cooking, what they received for supper.
The sun would be rising soon. He heard the sounds of the men moving around him. They talked softly. Several were smoking. Someone was playing a guitar in the background.
He shifted, trying to find a cool spot on the threadbare linen sheet. His bed was a wooden frame with planks. There wasn’t a mattress at all. He laid on the hard wood, using his jacket as a pillow.
With every move, his muscles screamed. He shifted once more, flinging off the thin cover that was heavy with moisture. His bunk mate above him rolled over, showering insects on Marty.
He scratched the bites on his legs from the bug infested boards, reaching his fingers under the shackle attached to his leg. The skin was very raw where moisture collected. He’d make sure he would stop by the clinic tomorrow.
His eyes burned behind unshed tears as he thought about the clinic back home. Miss Hattie would have known exactly how to treat his raw and oozing skin. She’d probably make a poultice of herbs and bark and wrap his leg up in linen cloth.
He wondered if he would see Silverpines again, or if he was destined to die in hell. But he guessed, this was better than being hung or shot.
It was a pretty sad state of affairs when he considered being in the Yuma prison better than being dead.
Normally he wouldn’t sleep, instead, he would lay awake on the bunk. But for the past few nights he had slept. His dreams were poignant. He was being haunted by an angel with dark eyes with even darker hair. Marty rolled over, and curled into a ball, dragging the leg irons with him.
“Two. Three. Seven. Six!” a voice called from the door.
Marty groaned. He had been reduced to a number. The voice sharply called out once again. Marty knew if he didn’t respond, then it would be a day of hard labor in the sun, or worse. He didn’t want to risk the chance of being put in the dark cell.
There were times he wished he wasn’t surrounded by so many people. The noise, the smell of unwashed bodies and full chamber pots were part of daily life.
But when he had been put in the snake den for fighting in the yard… he shuddered to think about it. After his experience in the den, he decided he didn’t want to be alone again.
The snake den was a small room blasted in the surrounding rock. There was a completely dark pass through two boulders to get to the tiny chamber on the other side. There was no light, apart from when the sun was completely overhead. Then it would beat down on the rocks, warming the interior of the den.
The den became his home for five days. His only companions were the scorpions and snakes that ventured into the dark interior, and the guard that brought him his daily ration of bread and water. By day four he was wishing for death. His own thoughts were consuming him.
If he would have found a way to end the suffering, he surely would have done so. When he was finally released, it took nearly three days for his eyes to adjust back to being outside.
“Yes, sir!” Marty barked, rolling off the bed. The lead ball attached to his ankle fell with a thud. Marty shuffled to the end of the platform bed and stood with his arms hanging by his sides.
His pants were falling down, due to the amount of weight he had lost over the past four years. So, he hitched them up and retied them with the piece of string he had stolen from the laundry.
The man looked at him. Marty didn’t know any of the guard’s names, so he gave them nicknames so he could tell them apart. Some guards were definitely meaner than others.
The one looking at him right now Marty called The Quiet One. He rarely spoke, except in deliberate sentences. He used exactly the correct number of words to get his point across. No more. No less.
“Stay there,” the man demanded. “Eight. Three. Two,” he yelled into the darkening room. Marty saw Old Man Garcia, his back hunched like one of those books Tess Daniels would read in the apothecary back home, move slowly to the end of a row of bunks.
Marty didn’t know what his real name was. Folks called him Old Man or just Garcia.
Marty heard he was brought to Arizona in 1875 to help build the structures they were now standing in.
Rumor was that Garcia was responsible for the murders of several women and children back in Utah. Looking at him standing there now, Marty could hardly imagine the old man was once feared far and wide.
But thirty years of hard labor changes somebody. Marty had definitely changed in the past four years. He learned not to trust … anyone.
The man who was barking numbers, said something to Garcia, who nodded. The man moved further into the room.
“One. Nine. Four. Seven.”
In the early light Marty could make out Tomas. He didn’t know his first name. An accountant, Tomas was serving time for embezzling from the bank in Virginia City. He arrived a year after Marty did.
Marty couldn’t imagine what the man would want with him, Garcia and Tomas.
“Follow me,” the man said. The three men fell in line and an armed guard followed from behind. They went past rooms hidden behind large stone archways. Metal gates blocked the entrances, giving the arches a medieval appearance.
Marty could hear the cries and moans from behind those gates.
They stopped at one of the arches, reserved for the worst kind of criminals. The man opened the door and two more armed men appeared from behind it.
He could hear the man yell into the room.
“One. Three. Six. Four.”
The man had to repeat the numbers several times. A large man appeared from the shadows and came out to join Marty and his companions.
His face was unshaven, with a scar descending from his forehead through one eye and down to his chin. The untouched eye observed everything around him with hardened interest.
Yancy.
It was rumored he was in for killing a mother and her unborn baby.
Marty tried to avoid Yancy at all costs. He was the leader of an outlaw gang that had terrorized folks since the 1890s.
His gang was known for robbing trains, cheating cards, and eventually cold-blooded murder. Marty didn’t know too much more than that.
There was a lot of gossip in the cells, and Marty preferred to not take part in it. If you didn’t participate, it didn’t give others an opportunity to ask questions.
Questions Marty would prefer to leave unanswered.
Marty’s ma said, you could tell if a man was evil just by looking at them. They would have no reflection in their eyes, and every word out of their mouth would be vile, putrid and full of hate.
Yes, sir. Yancy was pure evil.
“Fall in,” the man called, and the group headed further down the yard towards a section that had been separated from the general population.
Their feet shuffled, kicking up dust and stones. They couldn’t walk a complete step due to the leg irons and the eighteen-pound lead ball attached to them. Garcia tripped, falling to the ground.
“Get up, Old Man,” Marty said, helping him to stand. Until he knew why they were being called out just before dawn, he didn’t want to take any chances of trouble.
Trouble only led to one thing – the snake den.
Garcia lifted his hands to Marty’s shoulders. He let out an appreciative grunt as he pulled himself up. He gave Marty a quick pat and resumed his place, shuffling behind the guard.
“Two, three, seven, six, get yourself up there. Sun’s gonna be up soon and today will be a hot one,” the guard behind him said.
They came to a tall wall with a small door in it. Behind that door were the main prison offices. Structures made of chiseled stone and wood. They stopped outside the building and the man in front went inside.
Marty looked around. He could see the sun coming up over the wall. Soon it would hit the courtyard, beating down on the men standing there. In the distance he could already hear the sound of chains moving, coupled with the music of sledge hammers breaking apart the desert stones.
The men would be walking up Prison Hill, past the graveyard where bodies were buried under large rocks that were found in the desert. They would be able to gaze upon the Colorado River and feel the breeze that wasn’t blocked by the rock fortress.
Marty saw a bird fly overhead and closed his eyes. For a moment he was back in Silverpines. He could stand in the woods and hear the wildlife. He could identify the birds flying overhead, and what creature created the tracks in the mud along the river.
He remembered spending hours with Miss Hattie picking plants for the apothecary. She would teach him the proper name and usage for every plant she placed in her leather bag.
At the time, things were feeling too complicated, so he left. He wished he had stayed. He missed the simplicity.
The call of four numbers and the guard behind him pushing him forward with the stock of his rifle made Marty put those memories aside.
He shuffled into the wooden building. It was just a large room with a table in the middle and chairs along the walls. The room felt cold, despite the heat that was starting to fill the building from the rising sun.
“Sit there,” the Quiet One said, pointing to a wooden chair in the corner. Marty sat, the lead ball rolling under the chair. Another guard came over and unshackled the bands around his ankles.
It was instant relief on his chafed skin as soon as the irons fell to the floor. Then the burning started. He bent down to rub the skin, but the guard pushed him back into a sitting position. “Don’t move.”
Marty looked down at his feet. They were caked in dirt. His shoes had worn out a while ago, and he ended up going barefoot as much as possible to save them for when he had to walk into the desert.
His memory flooded of Lacy Lou. She said she found shoes too restrictive and would prefer to be barefoot, feeling the grass under her feet.
His toes were calloused, and the skin that was once soft and smooth was now rough and filled with jagged cracks. He wiggled his toes trying to get some of the dirt off of them.
Another man knelt down in front of him. Marty recognized him as one of the doctors from the prison clinic.
The doctor didn’t say anything. He lifted up Marty’s leg and put it on his bended knee. He checked Marty’s leg, pressed on his toes and put the foot back down. He repeated the procedure with the other leg.
The doctor stood and towered above Marty. “Stand up and face the wall.”
Marty did as he was told. The doctor lifted Marty’s arms, so they were perpendicular to his body. He could feel the doctor’s hands as he patted the thin garments covering Marty’s skin.
“Any bruises?” he asked. “Anything that hurts?”
Marty’s skin was on fire and the doctor’s touch made him want to shout. He didn’t want any trouble, so he lied to the physician. “No sir,” Marty said. “Just my legs.”
The doctor turned him around so quickly that Marty nearly lost his balance. He took a little step, but he was so used to compensating for the ankle weights that he was about to fall to the ground, but the guard caught him.
Have a seat,” the doctor said. He looked in Marty’s eyes and mouth. He shook Marty’s hair.
“Lice.” Figures. It was hard not to have it given the close quarters everyone was in. “He’s fine. Just needs a bath and I’ll wrap those legs.”
The doctor gathered up his few items and disappeared into the side room.
The Quiet One, grabbed Marty’s arm and lifted him back up. “Come this way.” The guard led him through a door in the back of the building.
Where was he going? Marty wanted to ask, but he was very afraid of causing one of the guards to become angry and possibly injure him.
Marty stepped through the door onto the dirt behind the building. “This way,” the guard pointed to a second building a little further down.
When Marty stepped inside the blast of hot air hit him immediately. He blinked his eyes until he could see. There were three tubs in the middle of the room with steaming water in them. Three chairs were sitting next to the tubs, each containing a clean set of clothes and a bar of soap.
“Thank you,” Marty said softly.
As soon as the guard left Marty didn’t question his good fortune. He quickly stripped, throwing his dirty clothes on the floor. He grabbed the bar of soap and gingerly stepped in the tub.
The dirt started to lift from his skin and swirled around his foot. It reminded him of the silt the spring peepers would stir up in the pond.
As soon as the hot water hit his chafed skin, Marty let out a hiss. He held his foot still for a minute to allow it time to acclimate to the high temperature.
He had just sunk under the water and was scrubbing his face when the door opened again. Garcia came in escorted by the Quiet One. He looked at Marty and it didn’t take him but a minute to shuck his clothes and sink into one of the other tubs.
“Ahhh,” Garcia sighed, sinking into the back of the tub. “I can’t remember the last time I took a bath.” He grabbed the bar of soap and lifted his foot, scrubbing it as he looked at Marty.
“Where ya headed, young man?” Garcia asked.
“What do you mean?”
“After this?” he motioned his hand above the tub.
Marty scrubbed his head. He hoped the strong lye soap would take care of the lice that the doctor mentioned. “I hope I get to go to breakfast.”
Garcia barked a laugh and slid underneath the water to wet his hair. He reappeared, shaking his head and splashing droplets of water everywhere.
Marty lifted his hands to block the spray. The door opened again, and Tomas came in. The Quiet One looked at Marty.
“Martin Gale, you have two minutes to be out of that tub and dressed.”
He realized that was the first time he had ever been addressed by his name and not a number.
“Where are we going, sir?” Marty asked.
“We aren’t going anywhere.” He dropped a pair of shoes next to the tub. “You are headed home.”
Chapter 6
October 1900, Silverpines, Oregon