After The Past - 7. Chapter 7

After The Past

Chapter 7

Miles, days, and time passed uneventfully. Now and again we’d meet someone who was traveling too. Sometimes we’d share supper with them, or sometimes we’d pass a few miles together. There had been more notes from Jim. The last one had said that he was going to the South Coast area of British Columbia—so not too far above the old border.

We’d been on the road for what felt like forever. I was tired and Mersey was too but we were close. I didn’t want to push my faithful horse so we traveled twenty to twenty-five miles a day. I’d walked so much that my boots had holes, so I decided to go into a town in hopes of finding some replacements.

The town was a small place and we didn’t see anyone. I found the local shoe store and stopped. I left Mersey outside as I went in through the empty space where the front window should have been. After a lot of hunting, I did find a pair of construction boots that were close to my size; better a little big than too small. I stuffed my old boots in my backpack—maybe I could fix them—and we started walking. I didn’t need to get blisters either so we would just have to take it easy.

We stopped in front of a bookstore and I went in and rummaged around. I found a couple of things to read, and a nice notebook and some pencils. Thought maybe I should start to do something to amuse myself in the evenings. I also discovered a book in there about the history of the horse. I tucked it into my backpack thinking that Terry would like it.

The sun was starting to head toward the horizon as we drew near the edge of town. I’d seen a barn in the distance so we headed there. Hopefully we’d find some cover to sleep in.

I always approached in the same way. Calling out to say hello, but this time there was no one around. We walked toward the barn but suddenly Mersey stopped, he tossed his head and grunted. He pulled and started to walk backward, and no matter how I cajoled him, he was not going into that barn.

Finally, I secured him outside in a small corral and entered the building.

It was a scene from hell and the smell unbearable. I opened the other set of doors to let some air in. I could hear Mersey and his panicked trotting and neighing. I went out and spoke to him and it calmed him some.

I went back inside and noticed … something. I moved closer and saw there were four bodies, covered in and surrounded by blood. The walls behind them contained bullet holes. The bodies themselves were partly eaten by animals and they stunk to high heaven. All were male and from what I could see they seemed to be young.

I didn’t want to get any closer but I had to know—I couldn’t leave here not knowing—maybe one of them was Jae. One of them was a redhead, the other two blonde, but the last one—he had Jae’s coloring and build. I didn’t recognize the clothes, but that didn’t mean much. I poked around and retrieved a bucket. I went outside to the pump and got some water, and also found an old rag. I felt nauseous as I knelt beside the red head—afraid to start with the one who resembled ….

“You shouldn’t be left this way.” I washed their faces. “So young, it’s just wrong and I’m …. I’m sorry …. Oh no …. No, no, no.”

As I washed the filth and blood from their faces, they each had the tattooed tears and as I finished the last boy’s face, I was crying myself … Jae wasn’t here among them, but they had been beautiful young men. They didn’t deserve this.

I built a pyre out back and carried them out there. I laid them side-by-side, said a few words over them, and set the wood alight. I watched while the fire took hold and then walked away. It was something I didn’t need to watch.

The sky was streaked with reds and oranges and I thought of the old saying: Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. It didn’t feel like rain or anything. It was still warm but I wanted to sleep inside. Mersey was just gonna have to come into the barn too.

The building was still airing out some, so I decided to check on Mersey. He was fine but ready for food. I climbed into the little corral and removed the saddle and put it on the fence. I took a plastic bag from my backpack, and then the horse and I walked around seeking food. There was an apricot tree, which still had some fruit, some little tomatoes from the old, now-wild garden. Mersey grazed on the plentiful grass that looked like it was a good mix—meaning it would have made fine hay.

This had been someone’s home and a nice house sat a way up a small hill. I decided not to go there tonight. Instead I wanted to spend the night in the barn with Mersey. He was much too important for me to leave on his own.

So I made up a spot with some straw in one stall and put Mersey in the next one. I brushed him down and cleaned his hooves carefully. I did a not-so-great-job on his mane and tail. Then I cut some of the good grass and added a few oats, and gave it to him.

I found a room that had held saddles at one time and climbed up on a box to reach for a lantern. It had a little oil in it, so I thought I might light it when it got a little darker. I retrieved my pack, and carried it and my bag of food into my stall and settled down. My stomach was telling me that my throat had been cut—I was so hungry. This seemed like the right time to open my can. I got my knife, punched a few holes in it and pried it open.

“Mersey, there’s peaches in here.” I lifted the can to my nose. They smelled good, so I drank a little of the juice—that tasted great. Mersey swung his head over the top of the stall and surveyed me. I picked out a piece of fruit and offered it to him. He gave it a sniff and tossed his head. I think he was saying, “Really?”

I ate the peach and offered him half of an apricot. That he took—smart horse!

Reseating myself, I munched the rest of the peaches, some tomatoes and apricots. I finally lit the lantern and hung it up on a nail. I went around checking that Mersey was okay. He seemed settled and I gave his broad head a rub. I leaned on him a little and he pushed me with his muzzle. “You rest big boy. It won’t be much longer. Couple of days and I hope we can find Jim.” I pressed my face into Mersey’s lovely deep brown neck. “I hope we find Jae. I miss him so much.” My horse nickered softly and rested his chin on my back.

After leaving Mersey, I shut and barred the doors. I returned to my spot and read for a while. Then I turned down the lantern, and slept.

Morning sunlight found its way through the aging barn’s roof. I opened my eyes and just lay there thinking and watching the tiny specks of dust as they danced in the sunbeams … missing my lover more than usual. I closed my eyes and felt the anger I had been suppressing. ‘How could I have let this happen?’

If I hadn’t argued with him, if I’d gone to him to apologize, if, if, if. If he’d been up on the roof with me … he’d likely be dead.

The questions I’d avoided asking myself came to me. Why didn’t he wait until I woke up? Was the truth that he was really tired of me? Was he part of the gang that attacked us? Did he have to run? Was there someone else besides me?

No, the honest answer is he wasn’t tired of me, wasn’t part of the gang, and there was no one else—his tattoos—I’d heard rumors about what they might mean before we’d met. So, rather than discuss them when I first saw them, I ignored them. Pretended they meant nothing. All this could have been resolved back then, but I chose to overlook them. All of this, all of it, is my fault.

“Oh shut up, Dave.” Letting myself wallow was stupid.

I got up and backed Mersey out of his stall. And then I took him out into the field. We both avoided the burnt-out pyre.

I let Mersey wander while I relieved myself—I knew he wouldn’t go too far. I had a look around to see if there were any fruit trees or wild stuff I could eat, but I didn’t give it too much time. I tied Mersey to a fence post and ran back for my brushes and stuff. I gave his coat a good brush and it gleamed nicely. I checked his hooves and then just let him graze.

As I packed my backpack, I realized how much I missed my little farm and my animals. I wanted to go home.

I pumped some water into the trough and Mersey wandered over to drink. Watching him, I felt lonely and homesick; I wondered how much longer I should hunt for Jae. I was less than a week away from Jim. “Mersey, we’ll find Jim and if Jae isn’t there then … we’ll go home.”

My beautiful bay horse lifted his dripping muzzle and nodded his head.

I didn’t rush this morning, as I had most other days. I ate some more fruit and let Mersey graze a bit. I drank some nice cool water, which slaked my thirst but was so very-not coffee. I wasted more time and decided I’d dig up some chicory and try roasting it and adding it to the bit of coffee we had, once I returned home. That would help the coffee go farther.

Feeling guilty that I was thinking more and more of home, I finally rounded up my companion; saddled him—I couldn’t put it off any longer. I filled my water bottle with fresh water, and mounted Mersey. He walked back out to the road and turned north with very little input from me.

I rode for an hour, sometimes two, and then dismounted and walked for one, loosening the saddle to help Mersey cool off. This was our pattern until night started to fall. Then we’d camp—and did it all again the next day, and the next ….

We stayed on the I-5 and went through Blaine, Washington, into Canada. There was no waiting at the borders anymore; I just rode straight on through. Along the way there had been more notes from Jim—but nothing from Jae.

Once inside Canada, I watched for signs from Jim. Which way should I go? I dismounted, leaving Mersey tied to a fence on an over-grown lawn, and went to an old tourist information building. There was a bulletin board there. It was sad to see the old notes to and from lost people trying to find each other. I wondered as I read them how many had reconnected. I finally spotted something from Jim. On the back was a little map. I was smiling, glad to finally find my destination.

I ran out and surprised Mersey, who has been grazing quietly, and who now snorted at me and tossed his head. I showed him the map.

“See … we are here … and we need to go east and then just a little north!”

I jumped on, and we started out to find the first street, onto which we turned east. The city was overgrown—nature was taking back what was rightfully hers. The roads were still mostly passable and I found myself hoping that we never refilled these cities—that we didn’t repeat what we’d done in the past.

Finally we arrived at Road 176 North. I turned Mersey and we started on to what was the final hour of this part of our journey. The sixty minutes had passed and … wait …. I asked Mersey to move a little faster which he seemed happy to do. We reached a driveway. There were some cattle grazing and above the driveway was a hand-painted sign: New Start Ranch and then under that, Jim Rogers.

I turned Mersey onto the drive a bit too sharply in my excitement and he snorted and bucked a little to show his displeasure at the rough treatment. I patted his neck. “Sorry, buddy. I’m sorry.”

This horse must have been happy too because he trotted smartly into the farmyard. I dismounted and stretched. I felt good—better than I had for some time. I was here! I was with a friend and I couldn’t wait to see him.

First I had to make my companion comfortable, so I took him into the barn and put him into a nice box stall, gave him some hay and filled the water bucket. I promised I’d be back soon. There were two other horses in the barn, two beautiful black Percherons, they were certainly hungry and they had no water, so I filled their buckets twice and dropped some hay for them. That was odd, and where was Pedro?

All seemed content for the moment, so I left them and walked up to the nicely appointed white farm house.

I knocked on the door and waited. I knocked again after a couple of minutes. My patience was thin, so I tried the door and it opened. “Hello?”

I took a step inside and closed the door behind me. “Hello. Anyone here?”

Inside was tidy and clean and I walked through to the kitchen. Nothing on the table or counters. It was spotless as well. I checked out the back into the vegetable garden which was big and a jungle. There was certainly food out there. A few chickens walked around, pecking at the ground and fallen veggies. But there was no sign of Jim. Fear wanted to settle on my shoulders but I resisted it. It was then I heard a noise from upstairs.

Leaving the kitchen, I climbed the stairs slowly, and when I reached the top, called hello again. I heard a groan and walked down the hall. I pushed open the only closed door.

Oh, it did not smell good in there but I stepped in. There was someone on the bed—it had to be Jim. He moved slightly and I rushed to his side.

“Jim?” I gave him a quick once-over. He did not look good. Turning away, I pushed open the window, some fresh air was needed. I leaned over him. “Jim?”

He opened his eyes, which appeared feverish. I felt his forehead—definitely a fever. There was water beside him, but I took the jug downstairs to get fresh, and I searched the kitchen to see if there were any drugs that might help. There was nothing here. I refilled the jug and grabbed a clean mug and towel; there was a bowl up there.

I took the supplies to Jim’s room and poured water into the bowl, dipped the towel in and put it on his forehead. He was awake and tried talk. I heard Water. I poured some and lifted him a bit so he could sip.

He groaned as I helped him back down. “Hey, Jim. What’s wrong, why do you have a fever?”

“Sh … shoulder.” He pointed weakly at his left side.

I pulled down the blanket and saw the bandages. They were a mess and would need warm water to soak them off. “Okay, that needs tending to. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Back in the kitchen, I put water on and lit the stove. I searched through the bathroom cabinet, but there was nothing.

I wondered how long it had been since Jim had eaten. I slipped out the back door and jogged down to the farmyard. Where were the chickens? One would be sacrificed and cooked. I found the coop, the inhabitants were loose and I tossed them some seed. After a couple of minute’s effort and skinned knees, I managed to catch a nice fat hen.

Jim obviously had a spot for dispatching his birds at the rear of the barn. He had a cone there. I found the good sharp knife he kept ready. I placed the hen in the cone, killed her quickly and, and left the carcass to drain the blood into the waiting pail.

I’d scald the chicken to make plucking the feathers easier, and then make some soup. I left the chicken where it was—I’d come back for it after making Jim more comfortable.

Returning to the house by way of the vegetable garden, I picked an onion and a few carrots to put in the soup.

Putting the veg on the counter, I took some of the hot water and put it in a jug to take upstairs. Taking the bandage off was going to be painful. I’d be as quick as I could be.

Jim was more awake when I returned, but it took some time to loosen the bandage. When it finally came away, underneath was a nasty infection. I cleaned the wound as best I could and bandaged it again. Jim was silent through it all.

All of me wanted to ask about Jae, but Jim was too weak. I left him to sleep and decided to make the soup. I retrieved the chicken, plunged it into scalding water and took it all outside to pluck it. Then I cleaned it, cut it up, and after lighting the stove, put the chicken in a pan to cook. I’d add some of the blood to the broth and the left over would go on the compost with the feathers.

I checked on Jim again—still asleep—so I went out and tidied up and weeded the vegetable patch. I found a few potatoes and took a couple inside; I’d add them to the soup too. I removed the meat from the bones and put them, the skin and an onion with its skin, a bit of the blood, and some carrot in a pot to make some stock. In another pot, I softened some onion and carrot and then tossed in the chopped potatoes to let them cook. Once the stock was done, I’d add it and the meat to the softened vegetables. It would be good to eat a hot bowl of freshly cooked food again.

The sun was starting to set, so I went down to the barn to check on Mersey. He nickered at me and put his head over the stall door to greet me. I groomed him and fed him a carrot, which he seemed to enjoy. I made sure he and the other horses had water and some hay and then returned to the house.

I put the soup together and let it simmer, and then went up to check on Jim. Still asleep, I thought it was best to leave him. I closed the window, as it was starting to get cold.

He could eat in the morning after I tended to his wound. Tomorrow I’d check on the other livestock as well—there was plenty of grazing, but best to go and get eyes on them.

At about 8pm I turned off the soup. I was hungry and had a small bowl. It was good, but would be better with some salt and parsley. I’d check the garden in the morning for herbs.

I locked the doors and went upstairs, checked on Jim and then found another bedroom. One of them had a made-up bed and I decided to sleep there. I cracked the window and crawled onto the bed. I don’t remember much beyond that.

The crowing rooster woke me. I opened my eyes thinking, ‘I’m gonna wring that thing’s neck!’ My bladder desperately needed some relief, so I got up, pulled on my jeans and then jogged downstairs, through the house and out the backdoor. It was cool and the grass was wet on my bare feet. As I stood away from the house for relief, I found I was still longing for my own home. Done, I turned and returned to the house, lit the stove and went back upstairs to see Jim. I opened his door, but he wasn’t in there. Huh? I ran into the other room and bathroom—nothing. I ran downstairs, pulled on my boots and ran down to the farm. I found Jim there.

“Jim! God, you scared me. You shouldn’t be up.”

He turned slowly and grinned. “You may be right. I feel kinda weak. The fever broke in the night and I could smell the food you cooked. I had a bowl.”

“I was going to come down and feed the chickens and see what else I could do.”

“Dave, it’s good to see you.” Jim reached for my hand and held it. “Let’s walk down to the river.”

I looked around. Things needed doing. “But ….”

He pulled me gently and I relented and walked with him. I could hear the river.

“You know, Jim, you probably shouldn’t be bathing in the river.”

“I’m not going to, Dave.”

He stopped, turned and pulled me into a little clearing. Suddenly I didn’t want to be here. Jim pointed to the small wooden cross. It was simple, just two pieces of wood nailed together. I don’t know when it was I’d started to cry and I wiped my face as Jim pulled me closer.

“I’m so sorry, Dave.”

I knelt in front of the little grave marker. His name was written there—I traced my fingers over the letters: Jae.