I don't remember much about my parents or time before the Van de Linde Gang, I must have been around 14 years old when they found me. My parents had been ranchers, before the alcohol took my father on a less glamorous path. I remember my mother; her rosy cheeks, cackling laugh and fierce mean streak when she drank too much brandy. But I can't see my father's face anymore. I remember the fear of him arriving home, wondering what he was going to do when the whiskey had hold of him. Usually my mother would need my help tending to her wounds after he had beaten her or she would be forced to take me into town and wait while she helped my father pay off his debts by spending time with strange men. That went on for a long time, until one day he couldn't run from his money troubles and they came to our house. I remember the screaming, the sound of crockery breaking, furniture being overturned and my father begging for his own life. He had no fight in him, I saw him as a coward from the start. My mother was the one who fought until the end, telling me to run to the spot in the house no one would ever be able to find me, even if they were looking. I can still hear the shotgun going off and the thud of my father's body hitting the floor whenever I close my eyes. They beat my mother for what felt like a lifetime, her protests and cries getting quieter each time until there was silence. When the men left, I stayed hidden until I could be sure it was safe. Daylight found its way through the holes in the curtains, eventually disappearing leaving the house in darkness. When I crawled out of my hiding spot, the first thing I remember is the blood, it was everywhere. There was an inescapable maze of body parts, hair and dark red blood scattered across the floorboards, soaking into the wood. I couldn't get to the front door of the house without walking across the pools of blood that had settled around what remained of my mother. So I sat on a chair, pulled my knees to my chest and cried until they found me.
The door opened ever so quietly, dragging across the floorboards where it had been kicked off its hinges. A voice yelled, "Hello, hello? We're not here to...oh Jesus Christ. Guys, come look at this." My eyes widen as I look up, feeling utter panic that the men had come back to finish me off. My face felt sore and eyes puffy from hours of crying and my nightdress was stained with blood. "Are you hurt young lady? Are these your parents?" the older man gently lifted me up, patting me down for any injuries. He stood me on the chair and placed a loose strand of hair behind my ears, repeating the same questions again. "We aren't here to hurt you...we saw lots of blood outside, heard crying and wanted to check everything was okay. What's your name?" I looked up at him, unsure if he could be trusted as two more tall men entered the room, with a young man no older than twenty years old following him. "Jesus Christ" he cried out, looking around at the chaos inside the house, stepping over what was left of my father's lifeless body. "Arthur, not now! Can't you see we have a confused young lady here. We need to get her out of here." Facing me, the older man smiles, I notice how brown his eyes are and how friendly he seems. "My name is Hosea, what is yours?" I try to speak, but no words leave my mouth. A tear falls down my cheek and I wrap my arms around him and squeeze as tightly as I can. He picks me up, one arm stroking my back reassuringly. As he leads me out of the house, he shouts back to Arthur, "Find her a change of clothes, she can't stay as she is. Pack her a bag, and take the food and anything else you can use." He leads me out to a large wagon waiting on the road.
"No no no Hosea, what are you doing? We can't...this is not part of the plan." I looked up to see a large man holding the reins of the wagon. His hair was as black as oil and styled with pomade, with a fantastic moustache covering his top lip. He was dressed immaculately, with a red silk tie around his neck and a thick grey woolen coat. I buried my head into Hosea's neck, there was no way I was going back inside that house. His grasp tightened and he began rocking me as my mother had done when I was a baby, "Ssshhhh...I'm not leaving her here Dutch. Go inside for yourself and see why. She's coming with us. We'll work it out later." He stared at Dutch defiantly, "Arthur is inside looking through the house. He won't be a minute. Everyone else is dead." Dutch sighed, knowing that this was a battle he wouldn't win, "She's your responsibility, Hosea. I just about coped with Arthur, I have no clue about teenage girls. We just got John too. If you had your way, we'd be opening an orphanage for the unwanted and neglected youth of the country." They both laughed, as Hosea lifted me onto the back of the wagon, into the arms of a lady who I soon learnt was called Bessie. Arthur appeared with a bag, attempting to climb up into the wagon when he was abruptly stopped by Bessie. "She needs to change Arthur. Get in another wagon, give me the bag. What's your name child?" she paused, waiting for me to answer. "Jessie...Jessie Tyler, M'am." I looked up to see if she approved, scared that if I said something wrong, I would be left behind to fend for myself. "That's an awful pretty name. Here change your clothes, we'll get you cleaned up in no time. You come to me or Hosea if you need anything, alright?" She smiled at me and she stroked my cheek. I eventually fell asleep in her lap, desperately trying to leave the demise of my mother and father behind me.
We travelled for three more days, before stopping at an abandoned ranch near Little Creek River. I kept to myself, only speaking when spoken to, not wanting to bring attention to myself. I had met another boy called John, maybe a year younger than me, although he didn't act it. Apparently they had saved him from being killed by lawmen. He must have done something wrong to get that type of heat on him so young, but he promised he would look after me and see that nothing bad would happen to me again. We spent a lot of time together and were soon inseperable. He introduced me to a lot of new things, like whiskey and beer and we sure had fun exploring around camp. I taught him to read and helped him when he struggled with his horse. Eventually, I realised I had a family again and life was good.