Meleah's Western Part 8

I just can't seem to get it into my head that today is Friday again! I seem to be missing several days, so if anyone finds some extra ones here and there, let me know.:) As it is, I guess I'll just have to post. Thankfully I do have something ready this time. I wrote this part of "Meleah's Western" some time ago, but as I had other things to post and no one mentioned wanting to read it, I thought I'd just wait. Sarah says I'm really nice.:} If you let me know soon, I might be able to get the next part up next week, but only if you want it.

Now, quickly before you go and read the next part, I do have a question for you all. Next week my dad and I are starting the METS Citizen's Academy which will be for 8 weeks. The question is, do you want me to post my reports and pictures here? Or would you rather get them sent as emails to you? Or would you rather not read them at all? Let me know!

Okay, here it is. At least I think this is the right part.:)

Part 8

Sleep was long in coming to Bob that night. For hours he lay on his pallet staring into the darkness of the cabin and listening to the breathing of the two who made this cabin home. Could he let Sunshine go? It wouldn’t be forever, for if anything happened to Aunt Kate . . . No, nothing was going to happen unless she didn’t get the rest she needed. Yet, how could she rest with the little one about? Bob moaned softly in the dark. Why did it have to come to this? He knew his Sunshine would have to go. But never since the day she first came into the world had she been away from the cabin. Never had she been parted from Aunt Kate. And only when Bob was away hunting and trapping was she separated from him. Bob moved restlessly. He just couldn’t bring himself to say with certainty the thing that his heart knew must be. At last as dawn began to steal across the sky, Bob arose from his sleepless bed and began to gather Sunshine’s things.
“Now, ya be a good girl ‘til Aunt Kate gits better.”
The little child dimpled into her sweetest smile as she leaned down from the horse where she sat before Mrs. Westlin and kissed Bob on the nose.
“I be dood,” came the response from the baby lips, and another kiss was given.
Bob stood in front of the cabin and watched the horse walk off down the trail. “God forgive me if I’m breakin’ my trust, but I reckon I’m doin’ the right thing.”

Aunt Kate did grow stronger, and though she wasn’t quite the same, she could once again take care of the house, chickens and a little mite of a child. The day was never to be forgotten in the minds of these two when Bob brought his sunshine girl home again. She had been sadly missed; her childish ways and words once more filled the little cabin with brightness though outside the day was chilly and cloudy. Autumn was fast approaching, and Aunt Kate had gathered a handful of late blooming flowers to grace the table.
For two weeks the joy of being together remained. Then one morning,
“Aunt Kate, I reckon I ought to go out trappin’ once ‘fore the cold weather hits. Ain’t gonna be gone more’n a week if’n the trappin’s as good as usual. I knowd I should’a gone an’ done it some time ‘for this, but . . .” Bob’s voice trailed off.
“I go too,” came the sweet little voice on his knee.
“Well, I reckon when ya is a mite bigger, I’ll take ya ta mind my campfire an’ cook my food. Ya’d like that?”
The golden head nodded vigorously and the small hands clapped in glee.
Aunt Kate spoke then. “Ya can’t go this time, honey, I need ya here, an’ he won’t be gone long.”
All was silent. Bob looked at the fair young face before him. So like her mother, he thought.
“Oo promise oo tum bat soon?”
“I promise I ain’t gonna be gone more’n ten days. If’n I leave this mornin’ I’ll come back the quicker.”
And so it was that later that morning Bob rode off on his horse for a few days of trapping and hunting. Before he mounted he took the child in his arms once more and held her close as he whispered, “The Good Lord take care o’ ya an’ I’ll be comin’ back. Don’t ya forget.” He strained the little one to his breast while she clung to his neck. A strange ache began to press on Bob’s heart as he set the child down and turned toward his waiting horse. A feeling almost akin to fear tugged and pulled at him as he rode off. He felt an urge to turn around and not go.
“I’m jest gettin’ sentimental,” he muttered to himself.

Six months passed before Bob again rode back down that trail towards his cabin. Six months of hardship and delay. Six months of catastrophe and trouble. He mused on all that had taken place since he had set out. Now at last he was almost home. His arms ached to hold his little girl once more and to taste someone’s cooking besides his own. He rounded the bend and suddenly reined in his horse. Something was wrong. He could feel it. There was the cabin before him; however, no smoke came from the chimney. No welcoming light lit the window. No chickens cackled in the yard. In fact, there was no sign of life anywhere. Bob sat there motionless, scarcely breathing as he took in the scene before him. What had happened? Indians? It couldn’t be. Everything was in too much order for that. Slowly he dismounted, and leading his horse off the trail, he left him in some underbrush. Quietly, stealthily he made his way to the cabin. The latchstring was out! Could Aunt Kate and Sunshine be gone for the day? No, the thought was absurd. With sudden force he kicked the door open. There was nothing inside. It was bare except for the table and benches. The old bedstead against the wall was there but no bedding. Dust lay on the mantelpiece and the ashes were cold. Icy fingers of dread began to twist about his heart. Where were they? His breath was growing more rapid, and his eyes darted here and there over the bare and forsaken cabin.
“Aunt Kate!” his shout brought back only the echo of his own words. With rapid strides he left the cabin and entered the barn. No sign that any animals had wintered there. As his eyes roved the surrounding clearing, they came to rest on a little wooden cross near the border of trees. With a cry of anguish he raced towards it only to read the words,
Mrs. Kate Lacks. Died 23, September 18--. Rest in peace.


Any comments, questions or thoughts?