The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

40: Till God Calls You Away

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of  Still Water Woman by Angela Taratuta. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Since he had returned to her lodge after his meeting with His Horses, Jesse had barely said anything. His face had been a blank, exhausted mask. He had not even eaten, though she knew he had to be hungry. He had tossed off his shirt and lay down on his pallet, his face to the shadows of the wall.

Her heart was bad for him. He could have left. He  should have left. She knew it. He knew it. She did not understand why he had come back to her lodge instead of going home. After all, she and Runs Laughing were safe now, and his leaving would not have put them in danger. Is he still protecting us? From what? She caught herself almost wishing he had fled after the fight the Eagle Bone, because then she would not have to endure her heart aching with the knowledge of how deeply she knew he missed his family.

If he had...it would ache for a different reason. Their former captive's presence in their lodge was a sunny morning breaking after a long, rainy night. The lodge was less cold with loss, less empty now. It was no longer unbearable.

The orange firelight glowed against the bright spill of pale hair that tangled across his sleeping furs, and she contemplated how strange it seemed now, how long ago it surely was, when he lay there near death and they knew nothing about him. All she knew then was that she had to keep him alive. His death would have been the end of her.

She stared into the softly crackling orange coals, watching the occasional red sprite float upwards towards the smoke hole, and settled against her backrest. The memory of They Fear Him's long fingers intertwined with hers echoed through her soul and she reluctantly pushed the ghost away.

What would you think, beloved husband, of this yellow-haired stranger with eyes the color of a summer day? This child's captive who walked away from freedom with a breaking heart?

Runs Laughing was breathing softly in her furs, her breath huffing in a childlike cadence as she slept. How easy she sleeps with him here, comforted by his presence.

She eased into the furs beside her sister, watching Jesse through blurring vision. It is not good to mourn too long for the dead, she chastised herself, feeling the salty wetness pooling at her temple as she lay there, dampening her hair and blanket. And it is not good for this man to mourn so for someone who is alive. How can he ever find peace? He sacrificed himself to save us. And now he lies here alone, desperate for the people he loves. Knowing his sister likely thinks he is dead. Exhausted and heartsick and unable to sleep. Just like I am.

She sighed, nearly overcome with the urge to sweep his hair from his brow, to soothe his face they way she did before. It is when we are alone that it hurts the most. That is when the ghosts come in the darkness, and when we can hear the echoes of the voices that were here once. And that is when our own voices inside us become loud and cruel.

There was a soft catching of breath, his shoulder flexing as he drew his forearm across his face. The wound in her heart twisted with fresh ache at how vulnerable and wounded he was, now that he thought no one would see. She slid out of the furs and blankets, careful not to wake Runs Laughing, and padded silently over to where Jesse lay.

She knelt and touched his arm, and he looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes startled and red-rimmed and wet. She lifted the corner of the blanket, and slid beneath it, settling against his back and pressing her cheek to the smooth plane of his shoulder blade. He froze for a moment, completely taken off guard, before she felt him relax, gently taking her hand in his as she slid her arms around his body to embrace him.

A hitching, unsteady breath broke in his throat as he crumbled in her arms. He abruptly twisted to face her, his arms coming up as if she were the only thing keeping him from sinking into some black and icy depth. He was a lost child seeking comfort from a bad dream, and at the same time a protective warrior shielding her in the safety of his embrace.

She could feel his heart fluttering against her cheek and she closed her eyes, sighing, a relief she could not name settling into her heart. His hand cradled her head as he settled her wordlessly against him, letting her lie warm and safe beside him as the ghosts and the voices grew quiet and drew back into their shadows. The tight fist of grief that had clutched her heart for so long loosened its grip, its clawed fingers slipping away as she pressed her face against his chest and wept.

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