#beard is someone who eeds to take care of someone!!

[coachbeards]

in my head, beard's broken up with jane...and he adopts a cat to help himself through his ensuing depression. yeah.

[sarenthestalwart]

Hush, a Short Story by Michael Grant Shipley

It’s early afternoon out here in this beautiful waste and I’m melting like wax on a candle. I have been chopping logs since noon-time, my palms feel like they have been squeezed into a vice, my eyes sting from the salt in my sweat, and I don’t dare let myself mind. I have a house, pigs, and a baby to be thinkin’ bout. One last chop. That should be enough for the stove. Maybe I should do beans and a slice off one of the hogs.

Josiah. Sweet Jozy. Three weeks it has been. Three weeks, two days, and a hundred and more longings between the hours. I ache when I know you ain’t there. I know you’ll be back. You’re my husband. And I’ve got Lil’ Mo to keep those hours full. Those pigs can even be most captive listeners when I have something in my heart to tell. But Mo’s a knowing little pip, he senses it. How empty the house is when just one of us isn’t in it. The worst is when Mo is fast asleep and all I can hear is the breath of the wind as it gently licks my face.

Mm. Muh. This new load of fire logs feels like I’m carrying a baby grizzly. These arms have gotten some more muscle since I came to this frontier. I’ve gotten to likin’ the heat that burns in my arms and shoulders after some hard chopping. My Josiah still holds like I was that soft little thing he met years before. Mo doesn’t complain either. Oh. Wait. I think I hear him. He’s fixin’ up for a holler. Hold on young one, your Momma’s on her way.

It doesn’t take a lot of effort as I balance the bunch of logs in the crook of my left arm and get to the front door. The heat ain’t so bad inside, and I drop those logs into a neat pile next to the stove. I can see Lil’ Mo standing peeking his head over his cradle, his chubby little grabbers are reaching out and his whimpers beckoning. I hear you, child, I’m coming. I slip both of my hands under Mo’s armpits and I lift him up into my bosom. He’s a heavy porker of a babe, but I think he is lighter than a chippy chick and prettier than morning birds. I lightly bounce him in my arms while I hum a melody to him. No real rhythm in my tune, just a sweet birdsong that’ll keep his mind off of crying. There have been days where that gentle hum doesn’t quiet his whimpers or cries. Days where I’m aching for you worse than ever, my sweet Jozy. And Mo can sense it too. Nights when those damn coyotes are whooping their wails, and all I can do is bounce and hum to Mo.

Mo’s going all calm again. I smile down at him forlornly and give the top of his head a kiss. My arms still feel like they were rubbed with warm coals. And it’s still just me and my Mo.

The wind whickers against the house again. Wait. What is this? What’s that sudden chill? I hear something. I continue to bounce Mo as I walk to the broader side of the house to see out the window. I pull back the curtain with my middle finger. Uh. Why do I feel weary? What’s that sound? I keep looking at the rolling hills of cracked earth until I get my answer. Someone’s riding towards here.

Josiah! No. There’s two coming. Two riders on two brown horses. I can’t see what they are. They’re coming closer. They’re wearing…. Sombreros? They look like they have dust all over them. Oh no. Are those bandits!?

I’ve heard of stories like this from my neighbors across the frontier. Bandits from further South who come knockin’ at these other farms while the men are away! Three months ago, Lizy Vernon from southwest of here had her house completely sacked by desperados while her Papa was selling his sheep. What do I do? The rifle! Where’s the rifle!? No, wait! Suze from the Dendrite Farm had her youngest brother hanged when he tried to fight back against those same bandits. What would they do to Mo if I tried shootin’? I could miss. They could over power me.

The cellar! I just stay real quiet and keep Mo close until they leave! So, with no more second thoughts, I frantically but deftly slide under the table and carefully open the trap door leading to the dark cellar. I wiggle in, mindful not to hurt Mo, and close the hatch securely down. I wait.

Creeeeeaaaak. Chunk chunk chunk. They’re inside. I can hear ‘em. Chunk chunk. They’re tromping around up there. Damn bandits! Chunk. I don’t care what you two do up there. Chunk chunk chunk chunk. Just do it and gallop out of here!

I can hear ‘em moving our belongings around. A tightness grips my belly. I don’t want them to take anything valuable but I can’t put Mo’s life in danger. Suddenly, Mo starts to squirm in my arms. He’s getting nervous, and that means he could start making noise. I bounce him in my arms hoping that it’ll keep him calm. Then he starts to whimper. I bounce him harder and I start to quietly hum. He keeps whimpering. Please, Mo, please! I know you’re frightened and that’s dark down here but please! We can’t let them find us! I keep humming hoping it’s not loud enough for these intruders to hear, but Mo isn’t having it. I can feel that he’s going to start crying and then he’ll wail and then those bandits will have their God knows what way.

Forgive Momma, Mo. But I have to keep us safe and hidden. I bring Mo close to my breast. Not too harshly, just softly enough so his cry is muffled. Those wasters ain’t find’n us. I’m won’t let Jozy come home to a dead wife and son. I can feel the Mo’s little breaths as he tries to keep crying. The intruders keep making a rattle above us. Now I can feel Mo start to squirm, his breaths are more frantic. I know you’re frightened my baby, but I can’t let ‘em find us. Please, oh please just bear with it a little more.

They keep on their trouncing. I can hear mutterin’, can’t make out what their saying, and I don’t care to neither. Their still stepping about. I’m so focused on any sign of them leaving that I don’t take notice of Mo’s squirming lessening. Then they stop. No more foot falls. No sound of anything being moved. Did they leave?

Mo’s not squirming anymore. Must’a calmed down. Did they leave?

Scrrrrrratch. Chunk, chunk, chunk. Those sounds reignite the panic that was roiling in my belly. They’re still in the house! What’s going on? What are they movin’?

“Hey… Javi!” That one’s speech is slurred. He sounds like a regular fella. What’s he doing? “T-t-th-here’s a… door under this table!”

No.

“Ey? Oh. Well don’t just look at it puto… See what’s behind it.”

No! Nonononono! I can feel hot tears well in my eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Oh Gods! Angels! Jozy! Anybody! Make their arms lame! Strike them with fire and lightning! Lift me and Mo up and away from here!

The trap door rattles. It rises and falls. It doesn’t open, though. That stutterin’ one is moaning and groaning, knockin’ his knuckles against the door. What’s he tryin’ to do? The other invader speaks up. He has a titter in his voice. “Dios, Bruce! Whatchu doing?”

“Doing… What- What you… said.”

“Eesh. Get away. Go outside pendejo.” There’s a thud against one of the walls. The Hispanic must’ve shoved his partner.  “I’ll get the stup-eed door, you get the horses.”

Oh no. What do I do, what do I do!? Think! I have to protect Mo, but I can’t die either! Think! Think!! THINK!!! No time! The trap door flings open and light from the outside floods the cellar. I let out a cry as I bury Mo into my chest and turn my back to the door. This is it. The end. Goodbye Josiah.

Nothing happens. No gunshots. No rush towards me. Nothing.

“Ey! Yah Javi! What is- what is it?” The regular fella shouts from outside. Gingerly, I turn back around to face the intruder.

“Heh, is just some beetch and her brat.” I can see that he has a brown face that’s dominated by a tar-black beard. He’s a Hispanic man. Then he speaks. “Chey, you got any good stuff down there?” He hefts a smudgy bottle into my view. It’s got some sort of orange-brown liquid swilling around in it. “We about to go empty.”

Alcohol? That’s what they were after? I move a touch closer to climb the steps, still defensively holding Mo to my side. I’m surprised none of this has stirred him. Getting closer, I examine the Hispanic. I don’t see any guns on him. No bullets neither. Or even a knife. He’s just coated in a layer of dust. Then the regular fella shouts again.

“Well! Duh she got any whiskey!? Rye?” I’m now out of the cellar and I’ve got a good look at my intruders. The regular fella’s got his hand resting on frame of the front door. Actually, it looks like he’s trying to not fall over into my floor. Again. I see no guns, no bullets, just a dusty face and dustier clothes. The Hispanic speaks again.

“Chee isn’t saying a thing.” The Hispanic takes a swig from the smudged bottle. Then I look to his partner and he’s got a similar bottle, except his was drained near to the bottom. These intruders were drunk. Drunk as a two-legged cat. A fly would have better chance at hurting someone than they could.

“Come on, pendejo. We not getting nothing here.” The Hispanic shuffles his way out the front door while his fella wobbly follows him. The Hispanic has to help him onto his horse before he gets on his. And they’re away.

They’re gone. They’re gone. And I had nothing to fear. Oh God, my heart could have sounded a battalion with how hard it was pounding. It’s still a-jumping. Mo? Baby? What’s the matter? They’re gone. Those wasters are gone. Why aren’t you doing nothing?

I carefully press my hand into chest. Just a tiny push. Nothing. Then I put my fingers to his scalp to brush. Nothing. Not a move. I move my ear to his mouth. Not a hint of a cry. Not a whimper. Not a breath.

Oh Josiah.

Forgive me.

END