Chapter Two - The Marked Man

It took over two weeks after the derailment before they notified my aunt of Charlie's death. The first thing she did was visit me. She found me in the orchard helping my mother. Luckily, Uncle Charles was there to keep her from beating me to a pulp. She screamed that I had killed her son by cursing him with my bad luck, and that I had jinxed him somehow.

My mother and I were not allowed to attend the funeral or the interment services nearly a week later. I thought all was lost until my father had an idea. With his help, I snuck into the choir loft for the service. At the cemetery, I was able to hide in the woods. I couldn't hear much from my vantage point, but I took solace in knowing I was there. After everyone left and went to my aunt's home, I was able to spend a long time at Charlie's grave.

My family was my rock over the next several weeks. My father didn't travel as much, and he was more supportive than I ever thought possible. The days that I just couldn't function, they all pitched in and took care of my chores. It was amazing to me how close knit we all became. It helped fill the canyon in my heart that Charlie left.

My father was the biggest surprise of all because he kept his word. He really became my father. There were no more arguments, and he looked at me with love instead of disapproval. He joked around with my sister and I and made us laugh a lot. Even after he returned to his traveling, he would bring me gifts when he came home. I still thought about Charlie every day, but I don't think I had ever been happier. Like everything in my crazy life, my bliss was short-lived.

I woke from a bittersweet dream. Charlie and I had made it to New York, and we were planning our wedding. He was an intern at a large law firm, and I was designing clothes for Macy's Department Store. We were doing well. It didn't take long for a stab of regret to wake me completely. He was gone, but maybe I would see him again one day like they said at his funeral. I was daydreaming about that when a vision interrupted.

A man with a small strawberry birthmark under his left eye was drawing on a hand rolled cigarette. He was leaning against a tree and staring intently at something. I followed his line of sight to find my mother. She was working in the orchard like she does nearly every morning. My sister Cynthia came bounding out the back door with my mother's pocket book in her hand. The stranger made a quick note of her presence and then went back to observing my mother. Mama took her pocketbook and headed down a well worn path near the road. I knew she was on her way to buy eggs at the Wellman's farm on the edge of town.

The stranger was on the move now. He jogged parallel to mama and took great care to stay out of sight. When she was in an area that curved away from the road, he attacked. As he snuck up behind her, he raised an axe handle high above his head. He brought it down on her head, and she crumpled to the ground without a sound. He grabbed her under the arms and drug her deeper into the wood. His eyes never left my mother as he retrieved a skeletal paw that had been tied to his belt. It had been cleaned of hair and flesh, but it still had wicked claws at the end of each digit. He began gouging and stabbing my unconscious mother with the strange weapon.

A bone chilling scream startled me out of the vision, and I soon realized that I was the one screaming. Not even a minute later, my sister burst through my bedroom door holding my mother's pocketbook. She was asking what was wrong, but all I could do was stare at the object in her hand. He was out there in the woods right now. The man with the birthmark was waiting to kill my mother.

"Alice?" my mother asked from the doorway, "What is it? Are you hurt?"

"Mama," I cried out as tears sprung to my eyes, "Oh Mama."

She was over to me in less than a moment trying to soothe me, "It's okay sweetheart. I'm right here. Did you have a bad dream?"

"I wasn't dreaming," I sobbed into her shoulder, "I saw a man kill you mama. You were on your way to the Wellman's and he…he…attacked you."

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming?" my sister asked quietly, "Who would want to kill Mama?"

"A man with a birthmark under his eye," I said seeing the marked man's face in my head, "He has brown hair and dark eyes. His skin has all kinds pock marks on it even on his ears. His nose is wide and crooked like it's been broken a few times."

"Does he want to rob me?" Mama questioned.

"I don't think so," I choked out, "He just kills you."

"Well, I'll just wait to get eggs from the Wellman's," mama offered, "He should be gone in an hour or so."

"No," I said sadly and looked at my sister's hand, "He's in the woods right now watching and waiting. He saw Cynthia bring your pocketbook out to you."

"Oh God have mercy," my sister squeaked and crossed to the window, "Do you think he's still out there?"

"I do." I answered simply.

"Do you think he'll come in here?" Cynthia asked searching the woods.

"I don't know," I replied truthfully.

"I just saw movement," my sister hissed and ducked down below the window sill, "I saw smoke too."

"He smokes cigarettes," I said with no emotion.

"What are we going to do?" Cynthia asked now visibly frightened.

The fear in my sister's eyes awakened something in our mother. She drug us both along with her to her bedroom down the hall. She directed us to lock the windows and close the curtains. She went directly to her closet and opened the crawl space. Half of her disappeared inside, and she reappeared with an ornate wooden box in her hands.

"What's that Mama?" Cynthia asked as she closed the curtains.

"My father's Colt Peacemaker," she said and opened the box on the bed, "William wanted me to sell it, but I just couldn't part with it. Now I'm glad I have it."

"A gun," my sister said in awe, "Do you know how to shoot it?"

"My papa taught me when I was about your age," she replied as she loaded the revolver, "I am a good shot too."

"Have you ever shot anyone?" Cynthia asked curiously.

"Of course not! I have killed several alligators with this though," she answered and turned away from the box on the bed, "Okay, now we are all going downstairs to lock the windows and doors."

We stayed together at my mother's insistence, and locked every window and door. Cynthia found tiny bells that we use as Christmas tree ornaments and tied them to each door. To be on the safe side, we blocked the front and back doors with heavy pieces of furniture. That first day, we all were jumpy. Every noise would startle us. We stayed together, and Mama kept the loaded revolver in her apron. We scanned the woods from an upstairs window, but didn't catch movement until well after dark.

Supper was a silent affair. A pinkie mouse has a better appetite than we did. We did the best we could cleaning up after dinner as we had to go outside to prime the pump. Mama said if we had seen no sign of him by morning, we would take the chance. We could have used our drinking water, but we had to conserve. There was no way of telling when we could go outside again.

Our sleeping quarters were set up in my parents' room. It was a large room with windows on two sides of the house. An adjoining sitting room had a small window that overlooked the front yard. The plan was to take turns keeping watch, and my mother took the first shift. Cynthia settled into my parents' large bed. I didn't lay there long because I saw the marked man mutilating my mother every time I closed my eyes.

I slipped out of the bed and gave Cynthia's sleeping form a backwards glance. I wished I could have gotten some rest. I went to sit with my mother. The only sound in the room was my sister's soft snore. We sat there quietly on the window seat for a long time, and then finally I pulled back the curtain to look out into the night. Dozens of fireflies slowly blinked like hovering stars. My sight honed in an alien orange glow that would grow in intensity every few seconds. I gasped when I realized that the glow was not a firefly.

"He no sooner snuffs one out then lights another," my mother whispered, "You would think he would run out of cigarettes smoking them that way."

"He is still out there," I said in disbelief, "I wish I could read minds then I would know why he's doing this."

"I think he's ill," Mama said softly, "Like the one they call Jack the Ripper he kills for the fun of it."

"If that were the case, don't you think he would have given up by now?" I asked bewildered, "moved on to someone else."

"He is fixated on me, and he won't give up until I'm…" she said, "Alice I need to tell you something."

"It sounds like you are giving up," I choked out, "We will get through this Mama."

"I'm not giving up honey," she assured, "I just should have told you a long time ago. My first love, my always love Elliot is really your father."

I didn't have the heart to tell her how I found out so I said, "So many things make sense now."

"You're not angry with me?" she asked in a small voice.

"No mama," I said and hugged her tightly, "I love you."

"And I love you," mama said her voice full of emotion.

For the next few hours, my mother told me all about Elliot. In my minds eye, I could almost see him. It would have been a nice distraction, but the marked man's cigarette glowed almost constantly. When he would light a fresh one, I would get a quick flash of his face. I turned my back to the window because it was getting a little overwhelming.

"I've done something awful," my mother whispered.

"What is it Mama?" I asked doubting my mother could ever do anything awful.

"Well," she began to confess, "A few days after I tried to stop the train, I went to visit my father's lawyer. I guess he's my lawyer now."

"Are you leaving father?" I asked a little too loudly because Cynthia's snore stuttered.

"Oh heavens no," she said softly and then waited until she was sure my sister had stayed asleep, "He oversees the Trust my father left me, and I was still angry about William striking you so I….I added your name."

"Why?" I gasped.

"Well," she quietly explained, "So that you would always have a home and means to live on. My father was not a wealthy man, but he left a substantial estate. I realized that if something happened to me, William may disown you. It frightened me to think you being destitute."

"Father has been so different lately," I offered.

"That's why I feel awful about it," Mama said sadly.

Not long after my mother's confession, she woke Cynthia to take over the watch. I sat up with her for just over an hour. Just before dawn, the man's tiny ember disappeared deeper into the woods. Exhaustion finally won, and I crawled into the huge bed with my mother.

The sun was high in the sky when I finally woke. My mother was again sitting on the window seat peaking out, and Cynthia was in the sitting room reading. As soon as I was up and around, we all adjourned to the kitchen for something to eat. As we ate, they updated me on what had happened while I slept, and it wasn't much. Cynthia had caught some movement mid-morning, but it was in a different area than the previous night. When I was finishing my sweet bread, I had a vision of father returning on Saturday morning. When I informed my sister and mother, they were unhappy about being cooped up for four more days.

We considered going for the Sherriff, but what would we tell him? Could we sneak down to the neighbors? Our conclusion was that we would be putting the Campbell family in danger. After we weighed all the options we could think of, we decided to wait until my father returned. We then set to doing inventory. The food would hold out-but just barely. The water would present a problem, but Mama said that we would worry about that in a couple days.

So the minutes and hours moved, but at a snails pace. We all tried to keep ourselves occupied. Cynthia had the best luck with that because she loved to read. I tried reading, but I couldn't focus on any of the words. I helped my mother keep house. Dirty dishes and laundry were beginning to pile up as we couldn't spare the water. It wasn't all bad; we had a lot of time to talk. We shared our hopes and dreams with each other, and my mother told us stories.

Our conservation paid off as we didn't run out of water until Friday evening. That night's supper was sparse, but our spirits were high. We had survived five days, and the end of our ordeal was just hours away. The little bit of sweet bread we had for desert was stale, but we hardly noticed. After clearing the table and extinguishing the gaslights, we made our way upstairs.

When we were all in our nightgowns, Mama took her place on the window seat but didn't look out. Cynthia and I crawled into bed. We were just settling down when a noise startled us into silence. No one breathed, and then the noise came again. Something had hit the side of the house. Mama pulled the curtain back and dropped it back into place.

"He's standing in the back yard," she quavered, "And he's throwing rocks."

I was out of the bed in a flash. When I looked out the window, he was gone. I shot a questioning look back at my mother, and she hesitantly looked out.

"He was standing right there next to the clothes line," she hissed.

A loud pounding echoed through the house, and my sister cried out in fear. The marked man was beating on the front door. I darted into the sitting room and looked out the window. I only caught a glimpse of him rounding the corner of the house. Moments later, pounding was coming from the back door. As I moved to the window that overlooked the back yard, mama locked the bedroom door with a skeleton key.

"Girls help me move the wardrobe in front of the door," mama said frantically.

Cynthia and I did as she asked. With that done, my sister and mother crawled onto the bed with their backs to the wall. Mama held my crying sister close. I dashed between the windows looking for our tormentor. He was nowhere to be seen. After about ten minutes, I slowed down and scrutinized the view from each window more closely. When I still couldn't find him, I joined them on the bed. My sister had stopped crying, but she was still visibly frightened.

"Is he gone?" Cynthia asked her voice trembling.

"I don't see him," I whispered, "Or his cigarette."

"I hope he left," she wished out loud.

"Me too," my mother and I said in unison.

We sat there holding each other for nearly an hour when the pounding began again. Cynthia whimpered, and we held her tighter. This time I didn't waste the energy of running between windows; I stayed with them. Our fear and anxiety were growing by the second.

"Stop it!" my sister screamed, "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

"Shhh it's okay honey," Mama cooed, "He can't get in here."

I wished I could believe what my mother claimed, but I knew too well what this man was capable of. Her intent was to calm my sister, but she only marginally succeeded. Cynthia was the only one of us that showed her true emotions. I felt like crying right along with her, but I stayed strong.

It went on this way until nearly dawn. We all dozed on and off between pounding sessions. By the time the sun made its appearance, we were all exhausted. We waited a full three hours after dawn before we pushed the wardrobe aside and went downstairs. We worked frantically to make the house as tidy as possible, but it was a losing battle. It wasn't long until we heard the sound we had been longing for-my father's car.

OooOoo

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