The Lord's a Waitin'

Darkness crept on William Walker as he impatiently hoed the weeds with added frustration. Images of his father, drunk and careless with other women, clouded his mind. It had been over three months since William had heard from him. He concocted two theories from the absence; either California had killed the bastard, or his Paw finally struck it rich and abandoned what was left of the family. William had more faith in the latter. Ever since he was a child, he knew his father to be pompous and provocative towards other women. Didn't seem right to the boy. William often wondered how his mother had ever gave her heart to such a dolt.

Then again, William realized, his mother was just as moronic. She upheld all the God given qualities a lady should possess, which also meant that she was silly, gullible, and a hopeless romantic. She'd dote on William and tell him to get married so she'd have babies to look after. Of course he knew he couldn't leave. He suffered the greatest consequence and lost his freedom. But it wasn't an obligation to finish what his father started, lonely as he was out on the wide prairie.

'She'd be lost without me,' William thought with a heavy heart, 'but I love her so.'

As William lifted his head and shifted his weight against the hoe, he could see the faint outline of a small, curvy figure from the kitchen window. The oil lantern within the house bestowed a splendid background, showering his mother with a heavenly glow that suited her bright and cheerful disposition. Though William was considered a hard, solemn boy from his father's neglect, he wanted to crack a smile as the smell of his mother's cooking seeped from the old sodhouse. But the warm, joyous feelings briskly dissipated. Like a flame extinguished from it's candle, a smoke lingered and clouded all that was clear and right before. He was ashamed of his father's deception towards his mother and took it upon himself to protect the angelic martyr. Leaving the farm was no longer an option for the boy; he was to be rooted to his home turf, much like the flax he was waiting to cultivate.

“William,” Mary Joe whispered in the darkness. Her voice, sweet and innocent, lingered in the dark as the echo gently cooed across the open prairie. Side glancing towards the sodhouse again, William saw his mother, beckoning him with her petite arms to come inside. He cursed as he threw down the hoe, upset that his work ethic was distracted by dizzying daydreams of abandonment.

But before he even reached the door, a slight clicking sound caught the young man's attention. It came from his right, just beside the tomato patch. He stopped and remained motionless before the door. He did not have a weapon on him, and the hoe was back on the field. Feeling vulnerable and cautious, he stayed silent, holding in his breath.

“Make yer move, boy,” came a slight hiss from his right. As he turned to face the voice, the unsuspecting boy was struck by a blow between the shoulder blades from his left. 'There are more than one', he thought to himself as he doubled over, scrambling to crawl away into the darkness. But the lantern from the kitchen provided too much light; there was no escape. Another clicking sound disturbed the silence. As William turned to face the men, metal barrels were pointed directly at his head. It was then he realized the distinct click meant they were cocking their shotguns.

A high pitched scream wrung everyone's ears as Mary Joe was dragged by her blonde hair out into the night. The man harassing his mother was dark, 'but not Negro', William noticed. This made William apprehensive. If he wasn't either white or black, he was most certainly red, which meant a greater trouble than he had anticipated.

“Please! Not me! Please!” wept his mother, trying to steady her balance as the Indian dragged her along. But the broad chested man ignored his mother and clicked his tongue enthusiastically, as if expressing his approval. A horse came into view as the Indian mounted it, then was given the flailing woman.

“He said, she'll do,” spoke the man who struck William. The others turned to look at the heavenly creature they'd captured. All except the one who had just spoke. He kept his narrow black eyes on the boy as he prodded William with the metal tip. “Don't worry, son. Yer old nuff now, ain't ye? Ye don't need yer mother anyhow. Tell ye what, I'll give ye two options. Ye can try ter follow us and I'll kill ye, or ye jist git inside that ol' house and don't worry yer little head 'bout it. Which is't?”

Most boys would cower, but William did not. His back was throbbing in pain, but he did not let on. Noticing that his mother was shrieking as the Indian fondled her, he realized that this was more than a robbery; and a kidnapping didn't suit him none, especially with Indians. Their reputations with white women were grotesque, which fueled William's rage to an extent he'd never known before .The man grinned as he turned his back on the boy. William seized his chance and lunged with what little strength he had left. The outlaw anticipated this; he sent a sickening blow to William's face with the butt of the gun. The loud crunch tasted of salt and iron as William was struck hard to the dust, his jaw broken. The others surrounding the men shifted, looking desperately ill at ease. They didn't want no part of this any longer. How much farther would this go?

“Fair attempt, son. While yer travelin' up to heaven, tell the good Lord that Robert Redding's waiting for his judgement day,” the man smiled, showing a row of gritty teeth. A blaring boom penetrated the night as William was knocked senseless. The speedy bullet dug like a hoe through his scalp in fervid hot pain. He wriggled for a moment in defiance of death, but eventually collapsed on the dusty prairie as the blood drained through his head like a steady pump of water.

* * *

Mary Joe roused from an uncomfortable slumber and realized that all that had happened the night before was not a dream. Observing her surroundings, she noticed that she was in the mouth of a cave. The sun was shinning brightly and almost blinded her at first. But when her eyes adjusted to the morning light, she saw the men from the night before, cut to pieces and shoved in heaps at the mouth of the cave. Feeling faint, the poor woman clutched her chest and lost all her breath at once.

“Morning, ma'am,” came a husky voice from behind. Caught off guard by the sudden knowledge that she was not alone, she began to tear up as she glanced towards the voice. The Indian that had carried her away on his horse was lying away from the others, motionless, except for the steady trickle of blood moving down the sides of his face. The man who spoke was kneeling beside the figure, an ax in one hand and a bowie knife in the other. Mary Joe collapsed to the ground in shock. She realized he was the man who had murdered her son. “Now, now. Don't cry, ma'am. It weren't the best o' men. This Indian here had awful intentions, didn't ye know? If I hadn't a stepped in...” he stopped, “Things'd be differnt”. She didn't care about the Indian, or the other white men for that matter. Her thoughts concentrated on one solitary figure.

“You killed my boy. My William...” she sobbed.

Robert Redding scratched his head with the bowie as he let out a convincing sigh. “I'm mighty sorry 'bout his death. I never meant no harm to whites like us. But I had a deal with this Indian. He turned 'em all 'ginst me,” he motioned towards the severed bodies. “It went back on it's word. Now I'm awful ashamed at my behavior. I'm not a bad man, really. I'd be Catholic, ma'am. Jist tryin' to save er skins.”

“You killed him, still. A mere boy,” she wailed, her hand over her throat.

Robert Redding left the Indian's side and shuffled towards the trembling woman. She backed away with disgust, fearful of the weapons clutched tightly in his hands. “I don't think ye realize what this beast proposed to do with ye. Do ye know what Indians do with white women?” he said, kneeling before Mary Joe. Tears began to blur her vision, and she could not see that the cold black eyes of her captor were resting on her plump bosom. “No? I'll tell ye then,” he whispered, holding up the bowie knife. “Ye see this? This bowie here? Very sharp, in't? Well, this Indian, it don't like whites much for taking what useter be it's—this open country. So it takes what is rightfully yers, don't it? Seems fair, but it ain't. Now women er easy targets for a demon like him. And what do women cherish more'n anythin'?” he questioned, looking into the woman's eyes with deceitful earnestness. When she didn't answer, he continued, “Their purity, their good Christian ideals, and their children. That devil there were goin' ter cut ye in yer genitals, ma'am. Ye know why? Fer sexual slaves I supposed. Indian's pay a lot fer revenge, don't they? And I stopped it before I knew it's rightful intention. I'm a right mess knowin' all the things i've done wrong. I wish I didn't shoot yer boy. Fine lad, trying to protect ye. Raised him good. I weren't raised good. Maybe ye can teach me manners. A fine woman like ye can look b'neath first impressions, can't ye?”

Putting down the ax, he reached for the woman's hand and gently kissed it. “I know you ain't gonna want ter trust me after my behavior last night. But I need te repent fer my sins,” he sobbed, forcing a tear down the side of his face. Mary Joe covered her mouth and watched the figure continue to declare his injustice and wrong doings with what she believed to be sincere repentance. Yet, she eyed the man suspiciously and saw that he never dropped his knife. Redding continued to kiss her fingers, then her palms. She could feel herself giving in to the temptation. It had been so long since she'd been touched, kissed, loved by a man. 'This is wrong. This is silly,' she thought. He continued in this fashion for several minutes. “Please, please, stop,” she said, attempting to move away from the man without actually doing so. She wanted to believe him. William was right in his speculations. But she meant nothing by it; she was silly, gullible, and a hopeless romantic.

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. “Now, ma'am. I still need money. 'nd yer a right, pretty one, ye are. I'm gonna need ye te hold still. Now, now, don't cry mum. I'll try to make it enjoyable fer ye,” he whispered in her ear as he slowly descended on her small, curvy figure. Grabbing her wrists with one hand, he held her tight while slowly edging down her thigh and up her skirt with his bowie. When she began to plead and pray for the Lord to save her, the man let out a haughty laugh. His black hawk eyes pierced her own, and she knew the blade would slice her at any moment. Staring intently at the man's eager face, she heard an earsplitting crack and noticed that his eyes dimmed and emptied of all desires. His mouth hung open as his hands released Mary Joe; blood began to spill from his leathery lips as he fell to her side. Startled at his sudden withdrawal, she noticed that he was dead, a shotgun blow to the side of the head. Looking towards the entrance of the cave, William stood hunched over, a gun raised. His features were distorted from the earlier casualty shot to his face, yet his broken jawed smile lingered in a satisfied smirk.

“Judgement day,” he whispered. “and the Lord's a waitin'...”