Chapter Three - Secret War

"Why is this door locked?" father asked loudly from the other side of the kitchen door as we pushed the icebox back into its proper place.

Cynthia threw the door open and cried, "Papa!"

"Umph," escaped him as my sister threw herself into his arms.

"You're home," she wept into his chest, "I was so scared papa. He wanted to kill us."

"Who wanted to kill you sweetheart?" my father asked alarmed.

"The man with the birthmark under his eye," she said emotionally.

"Where did you see this man?" my father inquired looking down into her face.

"I didn't see him," she replied truthfully, "Alice saw him kill mama in the woods."

"For crying out loud!" he bellowed, "Alice is this one of your damned stories?"

"No Sir," Cynthia whimpered, "He pounded on the door all night last night."

"Okay," he sighed, "Tell me everything."

We all sat at the kitchen table and told father everything that had transpired over the past few days. The only thing we down played was the amount of time we had been cooped up in the house. He listened patiently until we finished and then he offered a reasonable explanation for everything. Disbelief resonated in the room. Father didn't believe us, and we were all dumbstruck by his dismissive attitude.

"William if you search the woods, you will certainly find evidence of this man," Mama insisted, "He smokes much, and I doubt he cleans up after himself."

"If it will put your mind at ease," he offered, "Then I will do as you ask."

"And there should be footprints all around the house," I added.

"While I am out there," he negotiated, "Would you please clean this disgraceful kitchen?"

"Yes sir," we said in unison.

I followed him out the back door. He walked around the perimeter of the house, and I primed the pump. On my way back to help my mother, I searched the ground and found brush marks but no footprints. The marked man was good. He had covered his tracks. I hoped he had overlooked his snuffed cigarettes.

We worked like mad women. Cynthia and I worked on the dishes, and my mother scrubbed laundry. I saw my father making his way through the orchard and into the wood. He searched the ground carefully. I had hope that maybe he wanted to believe us. We worked for quite a long while before father emerged but he wasn't alone. His face was red with anger as he led a limping Buster out of the orchard. As the horse moved closer, I saw several cuts all over him.

"I didn't find any sign of your mystery man out in the wood," he raged, "But I found Buster. In all your foolishness you forgot to feed and water him, and he went through the barbed wire fence. He has a bad limp now, and I fear he may be lame."

"Well," my mother said quietly, "You were planning on replacing him with the Johnson's old motor buggy."

"I can't fetch a decent price for a lame horse!" he roared, "He will have to be sold to slaughter."

"No!" Cynthia cried out, "I can still ride him. He won't be able to pull the carriage but I can still ride him. Please papa don't kill Buster. I will take care of him. I promise."

The outburst seemed to take the wind out of his sails as he replied, "Alright sweetheart. We can sell the carriage, but we'll keep Buster. Would you go out and tend to his wounds. He has a few pretty bad ones."

"Sure papa," she said happily and bounded out the kitchen door.

"What were you two thinking?" he hissed through his teeth when Cynthia was out of ear shot, "You have scared Cynthia silly."

"I saw a man kill mama, and whose to say he wouldn't have gone after Cynthia next," I said in a rush, "We were just keeping her safe."

"Rubbish!" he exclaimed, "There is no man in the woods!"

"I saw him with my own eyes William," my mother defended, "I was frightened but I was not and am not delusional."

"Let's say you did see a man in the yard," my father reasoned, "He was likely just knocking to let us know that we had an injured horse in the woods. The three of you in a panic misinterpreted his intentions."

"Then why did he brush away his footprints if his intentions were pure?" I asked softly.

"That is quite enough of that!" he barked, "There will be no more of this foolishness. I will not stand for it."

"I'm sorry," I began with a new determination, "I failed Charlie, but I will not fail Mama."

"Then keep it to yourself," he ordered, "And do not scare your sister again or I will take her far away from here."

"No, please William," my mother begged.

The fear in my mother's eyes humbled me and I whispered, "Okay, you win."

"Good," he said smugly, "Get your pocketbook mouse. We need to go to the general store straight away."

To keep myself distracted, I cleaned and scrubbed the rest of the day. The house was quiet, and so were my visions. It was as if I took a vow of silence, I did not speak a word for days. Father seemed to enjoy my quietude, but my mother worried.

The morning my father left on a ten-day trip to Denver, I had a vision of the marked man. He was still watching the house from the wood. He waited until my mother was alone in the orchard and he attacked. After breakfast, I offered to work in the orchard for her that day. She was happy because she wanted to clean the base boards throughout the house. I however had another agenda-the ultimate sacrifice.

I worked for quite some time trying to gather my courage. I moved to the edge of the wood and waited. Trying to look busy was a real chore. I felt his eyes watching me, but it gave me strength. I marched into the wood to face death head on. At first, I sat quietly on a fallen tree. There was some rustling off to my right, but I didn't look up. When nothing happened, I got up and slowly paced. The sun moved higher overhead, and I realized he didn't want me. He wanted my mother.

I had shadowed mama for nearly two days when she asked, "I appreciate it, but why are you being so helpful?"

After a look around to make sure Cynthia wouldn't hear, I replied, "He's waiting until you're alone. He won't attack if I'm with you."

"I have the Peacemaker," she said confidently as she patted her apron pocket, "I will be okay, but I don't want you in harm's way."

"He wouldn't kill me," I blurted out.

"How could you possibly know that?" she asked then realization dawned across her face, "What did you do?"

"Nothing happened," I confessed, "I went out to the wood alone when I knew he was watching."

"Why?" she choked out, "Why would you do that?"

"I hoped he would be satisfied with me and leave you alone," I sighed.

"Never do anything like that again," she said as tears welled in her eyes, "I would be so lost without you. Elliot lives because you live."

"I'm so sorry mama," I cried and threw myself into her arms.

"He's still out there isn't he?" Cynthia inquired sadly, and we startled.

"No," I lied, "Mama and I were just…"

"I am eight years old," she interrupted as she crossed her arms defensively, "I am not a baby so don't patronize me."

"Oh," my mother said in amusement.

"I can handle it," she said with determination, "Father doesn't believe us so I know to keep it a secret. Are we going to make the house a fort again?"

"No, I had a vision," I said telling a little white lie, "He only wants mama so we just cannot leave her alone."

"Okay," she said brightly.

"But we will lock the house up tight each night," mama stated, "Just to be safe."

The next eight days passed without incident. We all slept in my parents' room, but there was no night watch. When my father returned home, he found the house in order and every chore done. He was in high spirits when he told us about the surprise he had for my mother and I Cynthia pestered him until Mr. Johnson pulled up to the house in his 1910 Sears Motor Buggy. His son Richard soon arrived riding their large draft horse.

Richard was ten, and Cynthia had a huge crush on him. She followed him around like a puppy as he hitched the horse to our old carriage. He didn't seem to mind because he kept trying to make her laugh. Father had traded our old carriage and some jewelry for the motor buggy. Mama threw in a bushel of her special pie apples for a driving lesson. She had drove father's Model T, but the motor buggy was a little different. Father's auto had a steering wheel where the buggy had a bar that one used to steer. After mama was familiar with the new vehicle, it was my turn. It was the first time I had ever driven anything but a horse drawn carriage or wagon. Father was overly protective of his Ford motor car.

Mr. Johnson said that I was a natural. It was exhilarating to have complete control because Buster sometimes had a mind of his own. I wondered how fast the motor buggy would go, but I kept myself in check during my lesson. The auto only sat two adults so it seemed like it would be faster than my father four- seat model. When we returned, Mr. Johnson continued to rave about how well I drove. My father insisted on seeing for himself.

"Come along sweetheart," my father beckoned Cynthia, "You can have a try."

She looked unsure for briefest moment before she answered, "I will stay here with mama. I don't want to crowd Alice when she's trying to impress you."

"Are you sure?" my father pressed, "There is enough room."

"I want to wait," she said and bit her bottom lip, "I want to practice with you before Alice sees me drive."

I flashed a huge smile at her as I pulled away from the house. My father was impressed by my newly acquired skill and gave me several compliments. He made small talk, but I could tell he wanted to ask me something. I decided to broach the subject.

"I have still been seeing the man in the woods," I confessed and then bent the truth, "but I have kept it to myself as you requested."

"Thank you for your discretion," he replied with relief, "I think going about our normal routine is best for everyone."

"Yes sir," I said as I pulled up to the house.

For nearly four weeks, we didn't let mama out of our sight then Mrs. Johnson invited her to her sewing circle. It met twice a week, and I had to remain home to sit for Cynthia-no children allowed. They made quilts for the needy in our community, but I felt it was more of a social club. I insisted she take the pistol as I was still getting flashes of the marked man.

In the next several weeks, my mother really came out of her shell. She became a social butterfly. The new friends she made in the sewing circle invited her over often. They seldom called on her at home because of me. She was genuinely happy, and I had to remind her to be careful. She would forget to take the pistol the majority of the times she went out, but my visions had all but stopped.

"The Quilters meeting will be at the Richardson's tonight," my mother informed me as I washed the supper dishes, "Their place is nearly on the other side of town."

"I can finish the dishes," I said reading her tone, "Have a nice time."

"Thank you sweetheart," she chimed and hugged me.

"Don't forget the peacemaker," I reminded her.

"It's already safely tucked in the bottom of my sewing kit," she assured.

"Okay," I said softly, "I love you mama."

"I love you too," she said and after a quick hug, she was off.

Cynthia came in to help me. As she was wiping down the table, she regaled me with what was new at school. I responded but asked no questions. Something at the back of my mind loomed. I was working on the big kettle when a vision filled my mind.

The man with the strawberry birthmark was lighting a cigarette. He sat in a Model T similar to my fathers. Parked on the side of Howard Avenue with the motor running, he seemed to be waiting. The sun was resting on the horizon as my mother's buggy came into view. As soon as she passed, he pulled out cutting off another auto. He kept his distance until they were closer to the edge of town. He pulled out to pass as they were rounding a curve. Cutting in too soon, he forced my mother off the road and down into a steep ravine. Jagged rocks that littered the bottom brought the buggy to an abrupt halt.

"Lock the doors!" I yelled at Cynthia and ran out the back door.

I ran down the path toward town and Howard Avenue. I decided in an instant to take a shortcut through the wood. My arms and legs pumped furiously as I dodged trees.

The marked man again waited. This time he scrutinized my mother's buggy at the bottom of the steep incline. As he searched for movement, he drug on his cigarette. After several minutes, he climbed into his motor car and calmly drove away.

I was amazed I hadn't ran into a tree, but my stride had slowed. Just after exiting the wood at full speed, I crossed a greenbelt and met up with Howard Avenue. The profound grief in my heart told me that I was too late, but I kept running. There was so much emotional pain that I hardly noticed the burning in my legs and lungs. It was fully dark as I slid down the embankment on my bottom. I stumbled my way to the twisted and damaged buggy. My mother was slumped over the steering bar. I climbed over the badly damaged door onto the deformed seat next to her.

"Mama?" I cried even though I knew she couldn't hear me, "Mama, wake up."

I pulled her back onto the seat, and her head lulled limply toward me. Her sightless eyes stared at me. I pushed sticky hair away from the face that I loved more than anything in the world. I begged her to come back to me over- and- over until my voice became hoarse. I curled up next to her and held her hand until all the warmth slipped away. I wept for what seemed like hours. My heart and soul weren't just broken, they shattered into a million pieces.

oooOooo

This chapter was tough for me to write. I loved Alice's mom and didn't want to kill her.

Please...please...please review:)