There was a clearing in the woods where the white stone stood, surrounded by the equally white fence with bushes of white and pale pink wild roses climbing up on it. This was where his father had died, this was where they'd shot him. She was sitting on the grass, her back on a side of the headstone, with her arms wrapped around her curled up legs. She was wearing her black leather riding suit and looked so young. Only her white hair revealed her age.
Heath stopped his new tall horse, Charger, behind some trees where he was sure Victoria couldn't see him. He patted the horse's muscular neck and closed his eyes. His mind went back to the last moments he had spent with Hannah in Strawberry. She was on the wooden floor of his childhood cabin on her knees her hands feverishly searching for something inside a huge wooden chest.
"It's here... It's here somewhere, your father's letter. It's just got to be".
She pulled out a wooden artifact. It was a miniature birdhouse, with a tiny bird and a little tree. He didn't remember where it came from but did remember when his mama had given it to him and the hours he had passed playing with it as a child.
Her faraway look fixed on the toy, she caressed it and whispered her next words, as answering to an unspoken question. "Your father... he never came looking for your mama. Rachel and her husband, they found him by the river, on the shore. He was beaten half to death and thrown in the river. But he wasn't killed. There was lots of killing in those days. She took him in her home and nursed him back to health". She pushed the tiny bird with her finger and it began to quickly sway back and forth at her touch as it was pecking, making her smile.
"Hannah… did my father love mama?"
Hannah didn't answer just as yet. She put the toy back in the chest and pulled out a feathered hat, smiling at her finding.
"Everybody loved her, Heath. She was small… and so pretty. And, when she laughed… she had the nicest laugh".
She put the hat on her head and turned to watch him.
"But most of all, my child… She was a good woman, she was a good woman".
Heath nodded and gave her his lopsided smile. "I know that, Hannah. What I want to know is if he did love her".
She put the hat back in the chest. "I'm sorry, Heath, but I can't tell you what you ask. I don't know did he love her or not, maybe only the two of them knew that. And Rachel, she knew, but Rachel is dead now".
These last words were pronounced with such sadness that Heath's heart broke. He kneeled beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, as she found something inside a leather satchel and pulled it out. She turned her face toward Heath's.
"I can't read, my child, so I don't know what's in here, but maybe there's the answer to some of Mrs. Barkley's questions about your father and your mama. If the answer to her questions isn't in this letter, there isn't an answer for her, not in this world".
Hannah was handing an envelope to him. He took it and stared at it. The paper had yellowed and the ink discolored, but he could still read it well. It was addressed to his mama from his father. He had never known about any letter. He put it in his shirt pocket, wondering if the answers to some of his own questions could be found there as well.
Hannah cupped her palm to one side of Heath's face. "You don't have to worry, my boy. You just do the right thing, be merciful, walk humbly by the side of the Lord, and bless you, Heath".
Back in the present, Heath sighed. He clicked his tongue and came out from the wood. He saw Victoria put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun and see who was coming. Heath dismounted, then simply let the bridle hang to the ground. Charger was very well trained indeed and wouldn't move.
He approached his new mother, a short-lived half smile shot back in response to her welcoming wide one.
"I knew you'd come. Please come sit here beside me", she said patting the grass and settling her legs on the side. Since he and Nick had come home, she had known Heath had something to tell her. She had come to know this young man's many qualities and some of his weaknesses but, sometimes, he was still an enigma to her.
He sat and she put a hand on his knee. He relaxed a bit. That was the power of a mother's touch. Without looking her in the eyes, he handed the letter to her. "Hannah gave me this. For you", he said.
Victoria took the letter and quickly scanned the envelope. Tom's handwriting. It was addressed to Leah Thomson, Strawberry. She pulled out the paper and, trying to steady her shaky hands, trying to gain control over the fear wildly unfurling in her heart, slowly unfolded it. What if she discovered Tom knew about Heath? What if she discovered that he loved Leah more than he loved her?
There was just one way to know.
Heath closed his eyes and leaned his back on his father's headstone, waiting. The only thing he knew was that his mama had loved his father her whole life. Hannah used to say that she could have had any man she wanted, but she loved just Tom Barkley. He felt a light hand on his shoulder and turned to look at Victoria's eyes. He saw tears there, but she was smiling at the same time.
"He didn't know about you, Heath", she said. Heath hadn't been aware of the heavy weight that was pressing on his back until her words took it off. His father hadn't deserted him, he just didn't know.
Victoria's tears were now falling freely on her face. He studied her features. She really looked much like his mama. Leah Thomson had gone, but Victoria Barkley was there by his side and cared about him. Right there, right then, he realized how much he really loved her.
He hesitantly reached out and caressed her face. She put her own hand on the top of his. "Oh, Heath", she said fondly. "I love you, son".
He sighed. "I love you, too, mother", he replied, his shy, rare smile brightening his handsome face.
They had crawled out of the tunnel. Eighteen of them were already out. He was the nineteenth. But, outside, the guards were waiting for them.
Heath was running. He didn't feel his legs, didn't feel his feet. He didn't feel the exertion. He didn't feel anything but the need to run, the need to hide.
He stopped his back on a tree, sweating, breathing hard. He heard a rumble and looked up at the dark, clouded sky. The rumble blew up in a deafening thunder and the blinding flash of the lightning wounded his eyes.
The sky cracked open and the rain poured down on his face plastering his hair on his forehead. He closed his eyes and let it flow on him, through him, soaking his ragged clothes, his ragged soul.
Heath knew Matt Simmons would soon find him… he knew Matt Bentell would soon find him.
He saw the sneer on Bentell's face, on Simmon's face, as he tried to escape the scratching roughness of the branch against his head and shoulders, as he twisted in pain at the biting lash of the whip against his back, ripping his skin apart.
Heath saw the smirk on Barrett's face, as he was dragged and thrown into the water.
When he opened his eyes at the freezing cold enveloping his whole body, he knew why he was there, knew what had happened. He didn't want to come out anymore. He closed his eyes and thought about opening his mouth and take a deep breath, let the water fill his lungs all at once and make it happen, put an end to all this suffering.
But the need to breathe was too strong, he began to swim toward the surface, his lungs yearning for air. The water was red with blood. It was the blood of his comrades, gunned down by the guards.
He saw the woman. She was lying on the surface, her blonde hair floating around. She turned her head. In the pale face, her eyes opened and stared at him. They were empty, dead.
"It's all your fault, you little bastard". Martha Simmons spat each word out with such a hatred that it was like a slap in Heath's face.
She reached out and grabbed his shoulder with her wizened hand, her nails digging into his skin like claws.
Heath closed his eyes and screamed in horror.