Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or anything associated with Tolkien Enterprises. I also do not own any music by Stephen Foster. His lyrics are included in this fanfic; they are old enough to be considered public domain.
ooOoo
Guardians of Arda
By Ponytail Goddess
Prologue
"The war has ended, yet evil lives on. The lives of men are fleeting, as are their memories. In a matter of a few centuries, all that is currently well-known will be lost. Yet evils lie sleeping in secret places, just waiting to be discovered or summoned. If left unchecked, I fear the ages of men will be few and shall quickly descend into darkness.
"It is said that Mandos himself has predicted Morgoth, the corrupter of Sauron, will once again rise from his prison and attempt to take control of the world. All of Arda will groan in pain as he slowly awakens one unlikely evil after another. He shall seek to pervert what little goodness and light are left in the world. These occurrences will grow in frequency, leading up to a time when good and evil must battle head-to-head once and for all. A great battle will ensue: Dagor Dagorath, the Battle of All Battles. All beings in existence will fight against Morgoth and his allies. The fate of Arda will be within their hands.
"In my mirror, I saw a small contingent of elves who chose to stay in Arda and help the race of men flourish during the end of days. As they sense the awakening of evil throughout the land, they will go on quests to destroy it. They shall seek to protect the race of men for as long as they are able. When the day finally comes for the great battle, they will lead the race of men and their other allies to Valinor, where they shall come to the aid of the elves and Ainur.
"At the appointed time, each of the elves who stay will be blessed with a special ability from the Valar to assist them in their plight during the last days. Many blessings will come from their presence; blessings for both elves and men. When the second song rises up and Arda is rebuilt, there will be great rewards in store for those who commit themselves wholeheartedly to this duty, as they will have sacrificed millennia away from their homes and kin.
"Before all this comes to pass, the elves will have to wait several ages disguised as mortals. They will move around frequently so men do not become confused by their immortality. These elves will blend into the various mortal cultures, learning their ways and living as mortals do for century after century while they wait for their mission to commence.
"For these elves, there will be great evils to face. Not every moment will be filled with hardship though. There will also moments of joy, learning, and numerous blessings. A great camaraderie will be formed between the many members of this contingent—it will have great strength and be unbreakable. This group will accomplish many a great feat and may even uncover the answers to secrets lost to the ages."
The light of Galadriel's intense gaze bore into his very soul after she finished explaining the mission. He slowly looked around the room at the expressions of the other elves who were present; their hardened eyes all seemed to be awaiting his answer, as if it would influence their own. Celeborn and Mithrandir stood patiently beside the lady, awaiting his response.
"It is a great honor to lead such a contingent. Are you willing to take up this mantle? Will you sacrifice all you have known in life thus far to aid the world of men?" Galadriel asked, her voice deeply reverberating with power.
Her eyes sparkled as if they already knew his answer. A great tension filled the room though as all the occupants waited for him to confirm it. Truly, they all knew in their hearts he would say.
Haldir solemnly placed his hand against his heart and bowed before his leaders with reverence. "My lady," he began as he stood back up and met her intense gaze with his own, "I loyally pledge myself to this duty. You have my oath."
ooOoo
Chapter 1: Born of Tragedy
Duckie leaned her head down into the long skirt of her forest green dress, hugging her legs tightly against her chest while she traveled hidden amongst her belongings in the back of a covered wagon. The dirt path was smoother than the rock-infested road they had previously been riding on, but she could still feel the steady trot of the horse's hooves through the weathered floor of the wagon.
Her bottom was quickly growing sore, for she lacked the cushioning many women had to protect their pelvis bones from damage. Duckie was both abnormally thin and tall in comparison to the other women around these parts and it was making the rough ride through the countryside very uncomfortable.
The bonnet on the wagon was tied closed, leaving her in near darkness as she sat in between to two large trunks; one was hers and the other one belonged to her father Elroy. Next to her trunk sat her father's most prized possession—a large Celtic harp he had brought to the Americas when he first immigrated from overseas.
Dull grey light snuck into the wagon through the circular opening by the rear and glistened off the fine metal strings and polished honey-colored wood of the instrument. It was intricately carved with many Gaelic symbols, which seemed strange and foreign in the American West.
Duckie related to these emotions easily because feeling strange and foreign was a regular occurrence in her daily life. She shook her head a bit in frustration while ruminating on it. A transparent tear dripped down her face as she relegated herself to sobbing in silence, not wanting to alert the wagon driver to her state of mourning.
Though she had been born in America, Duckie often felt like she was an immigrant in a foreign land. In many ways she was since she was an immortal who was surrounded by mortals, rather than her own kind. How she acted and moved around had to be disguised at all times; even her own name had been modified so the mortals would not be wary of her.
Duckie's father had been instrumental in all of this, schooling her in his well-adapted ways since she was very young. He had been a thespian amongst the mortals for several millennia now and knew exactly what to do so they would be accepted. His words on the topic once again resonated clearly in her mind, as if he had just uttered them yesterday:
"We will do our best to walk like them and talk like them; most importantly, we must blend in with them. However, you must always remember that we will never be like them. Our physical traits, immortality, culture, and beliefs will always separate us from them. Go ahead and learn their ways Duckie, but do not grow too close with them. It is dangerous—they must never find out who you truly are underneath this guise.
"Men are fickle creatures and often harbor darkness and jealously within their hearts. There was a time when they knew of us and understood us, but that time is no more. They have forgotten about our people and our ways. If they found out about your immortality, the very thing they desire with all their hearts, who knows what they would do to you. Instead, you must coexist with them and never let them know you possess the very thing they crave."
That was years ago and now Duckie was finally old enough to understand how much truth lingered in his words. She had grown up witnessing much darkness and the many dreadful doings of men. Yet they were not all that way... No, she had met many good, kind-hearted folks during while traveling with her father. She tried to let those memories be the ones that lingered in her heart.
For the most part, Duckie still heeded her father's warning to this day. She had always done her best to try and hide the traits that separated her from the race of men. However, it was often not as successful as she and her father had hoped. Once they had moved West, away from the more civilized and populated colonies of men, her differences became more brightly illuminated in the harsher environment that was now her home.
It was terribly obvious to most folks that Duckie was different from the women of the West, for they did not care about beauty the way the women of New England had. No, these hearty folks had too many tasks on their docket each day to worry about such frivolous things. The women here were muscular from hour after long hour of washing clothing, tending to their homesteads, farming, and wrangling their numerous children.
Even though Duckie regularly completed many chores for her father, her body was still willowy and lithe. She had regularly drawn water from wells and tended her father's garden like other girls her age often did, yet her hands never seemed to strengthen, harden, or blister like the rest. Her skin never tanned or burned from working for hours underneath the sun; not even when she forgot to wear her bonnet.
Because of this, many women found her to be unnatural and unrelatable in her normal state. Thus, her father had spent the last 54 years disguising her to make her look less ethereal. To do this, they often rubbed a bit of dirt across Duckie's snowy, porcelain skin to make her look as if she had always come in from a hard day of work. They often mussed up her shiny ebony hair too, doing their best to make it look windblown and knotted in a few places. These simple actions seemed to put many of the citizens at ease around her, as every one of them could relate to a day of hard labor.
There were parts of Duckie that could not be disguised though, her height being the biggest one. Duckie was as tall, if not taller than most of the men she lived around in the small, unnamed settlement near the Green River in Wyoming. For some odd reason, her abnormal height seemed to insult the manhood of many males in the area. She had overheard several men whispering to one another about it over the last few years, each saying they would never take her as a wife because she would be a giant towering over them.
Many people also whispered about how unsettling her eyes were. Duckie had hazel eyes, her black pupils swirled with a thin circle of orange, which faded into gold and then the deepest olive green. There was just a hint of turquoise on the exterior of them, rounding out her vibrant orbs.
Such eyes were not unheard of in the race of men, but were uncommon. As was everything else concerning Duckie, hers were much more vibrant and brighter than those of an average person. They seemed to sparkle with light at all times and almost seemed to be filled with an unnatural magic. Though her father had assured her this was natural amongst her kind, the mortals were often wary of it because her intense gaze made them uncomfortable. It was yet another way she was set apart from them.
Despite all of these differences, Duckie had lived peacefully amid the mortals for the longest time because of her father's stable, supporting presence in her life. He had always been there to encourage her and help her move through this world where she did not fit in—a constant during a life filled with uncertainties.
Even with the great change they had endured recently, in which they mutually decided she would have to start referring to him as her brother instead of her father, they had still been each others' closest confidants. The alteration had become necessary, as she was now grown up and the pair looked too similar in age to be labeled father and daughter from the mortals' perspective. Duckie was not bothered by it though, as she understood that keeping their immortality a secret was important to their survival. No, simply having him there by her side was what truly mattered…
She shivered as she stared at his harp forlornly. A sharp pain passed through her chest as she stared at it, longing for that which was lost.
He was gone now—lost forever to an unknown foe, as were many in these dangerous places.
The whole thing had started with commencement of Elroy's most recent job. Duckie's father had worked a wide variety of jobs over the years to make a living. He had functioned as an account, a farmer, a ranch hand, a blacksmith… The list went on and on, as Elroy was what many people referred to as a Renaissance Man, or a person who knew many trades and could perform them all expertly.
His most recent venture had been with a new mail delivery service called the Pony Express. Elroy had been chosen for the job because of his immaculate skill with horses and his ability to ride swiftly for hours on end. He had made the trip between multiple towns in Wyoming several times now, trading out for a fresh horse at each station, which were spaced out every 10 miles or so along the route. Duckie had rapidly grown accustomed to him being gone overnight and returning late the next day when he made his trips a few times each week.
Therefore, she had not panicked when he did not turn up at first. An extra day had passed and then two. Duckie assumed he had made a second delivery without coming home to rest. She thought that perhaps the new business he worked for was finally starting to pick up more customers.
After he was gone for four consecutive days and she had received no word from him, she grew worried and sought help. Her friend Margaret from school was married to one of the two deputies in the unnamed settlement. Duckie had approached Margaret's husband for help, asking him to send a search party along the path once she had visited the Little Sandy Pony Express Station, who had also declared Elroy missing.
Several men from the settlement had ridden out along the trail her father took to try and find him. His horse had been found nearly a mile away from the trail in the dark forest near the mountains. His mochila full of mail was still attached to the saddle of the resilient beast, but it bore no sign of her father. Later, his ornamental dagger had been found in a different area, along with the telltale signs of a struggle. There had been a blood trail, but no trace of her father at either end of it. It was as if he had disappeared.
Nearly a month later, he had yet to be found.
The settlement held a funeral for him just two days ago, as he was presumed to have perished along the trail like so many other folks in these dangerous lands. Father John officiated and a couple of her father's closest friends had come to say a few kind words about him and extend their condolences. There was no body to bury, just a crudely-labeled cross marker stuck in the dirt behind the church.
Duckie had stood silently mourning by the marker for several hours yesterday. Not only had she lost her father, but also her only confidant and secret keeper. There was no one else like her in Wyoming; at least, not that she knew of. Now Duckie was truly alone and would have to continue to lie and move around frequently by herself.
Feeling rather lost without her father's guidance, Duckie had easily bent to the will of Father John, the local pastor and father of her close friend Arthur from school. He had suggested what many called a simple solution to her problem—to marry immediately so she would be taken care of now that she had no family left.
Duckie had simply given in as she wallowed in her grief, which had come to a head on the day of the funeral. Now that she had spent a little time thinking about it though, Duckie was scared, as she never imagined such a fate for herself. This idea went against her father's wishes for her to distance herself from the race of men and Duckie had abruptly realized she made a mistake by so readily agreeing to it.
There was little she could do to survive without making such an arrangement though, as all dealings in the West were done by men. Women had little say in much of anything. There did not seem to be any other pathway available to her. Plus, it was common for the men and women around her to have such dealings, which would help her continue to blend in until she could figure out her next move.
A small part of her also figured it was better than being alone, which was a reality she desperately feared. However, now that the day for the marriage had come, Duckie knew she had been blinded by her grief when she agreed to this proposition. It seemed like the best option at the time, but now that the time had come, several warning bells were ringing in her head concerning her up-and-coming nuptials.
Her heart started to beat faster as she felt the wagon come to a stop. Duckie wrapped her body-length coat around her simple frock tightly without bothering to button its navy-colored lapels closed. She hastily made her way to the back of the wagon and untied the white canvas bonnet, revealing a beautiful, but unfamiliar country territory that she had never seen before.
Rain was falling from the slate grey clouds that filled the sky overhead, pouring down as if the very sky was shedding tears over her entrapment. Were the clouds privy to her father's fate? Did they weep for her plight as she went to meet the stranger she would marry? Every drop seemed to whisper "no" as they pelted the knee-high grasses on either side of the wagon where they had stopped.
Yet for some odd reason Duckie felt as if she was in the right place. A light wind that had not been present a minute ago lightly flittered around her and then gave her a small push, as if to help her exit the wagon and head for the cabin sitting before her. While she didn't fully understand it, Duckie listened to the sign, as the nature had never failed to direct her correctly in the past. She gracefully climbed out of the wagon and pulled her coat over her head while she ran towards the small cabin at the end of the muddy dirt road.
Stopping after she was under the protected veranda of the home, Duckie quickly uncovered her head and surveyed her surroundings. There were small fields of many varieties of vegetables in front of the house. There was an assortment of squash, beans, pumpkins, tomatoes, and so much more! The corn caught Duckie's eye as it was tall, its great green stalks reaching up to the sky with pride, rife with fully grown ears that appeared to be ready for picking. There was also a large field of grain standing at the corner of the property; it was long and wide, seemingly stretching all the way up to the forest that hid the base of the great Rocky Mountains, which appeared to be great grey shadows looming in the mist of the darkened sky.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Father John unhooking his horse from the wagon and hustling her over to the red barn on the other side of the cabin, which stood hidden by a few vibrant fruit-bearing trees. The little brown mare was tugging at her bit as he led her, clearly upset by the storm. After stumbling a bit in a couple of old wagon ruts in the mud, the two made it into the protection of the barn just as the wind started to pick up and the rain blasted them harder than before.
Duckie gasped as she found herself getting wet even under the protective veranda and quickly jogged over to the door of the cabin. The bottom of her loose-fitting coat nearly tripped her as it blew haphazardly between her scurrying legs. She knocked desperately at the door, hoping to get out of the weather quickly. When no one answered after several seconds, she made the quick decision to try and let herself in anyway. She found the door was unlocked and she entered quickly, slamming the door shut behind her. Droplets of water trailed down her face, clinging to her tendrils of shiny dark hair and plastering them to her cheeks as she quickly caught her breath and looked around.
The first thing she noticed was the smell—there was a manly odor about the place that made Duckie scrunch up her nose with displeasure. She knew little about this man she was supposed to marry, but it was clear he had not been taking good care of himself. She recalled Father Brown having said the farmer had lost his first wife a year after marrying her and had been a widower for over 15 years now… Perhaps he finally realized he needed someone to take care of him after all this time? Had that been why he'd asked for her hand?
After a quick once over, Duckie saw that she was alone and found herself inspecting the cabin closely. The home itself was small, but tidy enough. It consisted of one large room on the bottom floor with a large woodburning stove as the center focal point of the room. A fire was burning in the black stove currently, though it looked as if it had been neglected and could go out at any minute. There were only a few small flames remaining atop a flickering bed of crimson embers. A pot of water was boiling wildly on top of the stove, spitting little droplets of hot liquid onto the floor every few seconds, as if objecting to how long it had rested there.
Duckie found herself drawn to the small kitchenette. She slowly walked towards it, her hand idly dragging across the rough stones of the chinking and dried mud of the daubing in between the dark brown logs that made up the wall of the cabin. It looked as if the farmer had been preparing a meal at some point during the day, as there was food laying out on top of a small table. It looked abandoned though, as a bunch of peeled potatoes appeared to have been sitting on the counter so long that they were mottled with ugly brown spots from air exposure. There was also a fresh chicken on the table next to a rusty metal bucket full of feathers, indicating that it had been freshly plucked. It too had been forgotten and Duckie felt her stomach turn as she watched a few flies crawling on top of it.
Where had the farmer gone off to and why had he left all of this food out half prepared? Had he expected her to come sooner and prepare this meal for them? Duckie cringed at the thought, as she was only a mediocre cook at best. Her father had always cooked for them in the past and Duckie had always washed the dishes after the meal. That was how things had always been at their house; nothing would ever be the same again though, not without her father.
Her hands suddenly cupped her mouth in fear, tears welling up in her eyes once again as she panicked at the thought of this great change. Her heart beat faster as tears rolled down her already soaked cheeks. How could she do this?! Why had she said yes to this?! It was a mistake! A terrible mistake!
Of course, this was the precise moment Father John thundered through the door, slamming it closed as abruptly as she had in an attempt to escape the wet mess the weather had deteriorated into during the last half hour. Duckie tried to wipe her tears away quickly, not wanting to worry him.
It was no use though, for he had already caught sight of her and immediately closed the distance between the two, wrapping her in a familiar hug much like her own father had when she struggled. Duckie had known Father John for a long time though, so it was not uncomfortable. After all, she had been friends with his son Arthur since she and her father had moved into the area five years ago. Father John had already seen her going through ups and downs in her life, though this was certainly the worst he had witnessed.
"Do not be afraid child." He murmured into her soaking wet hair as she bent her knees and leaned her lanky body downward so her head rested on his shoulder. "Lewis is a good man with a kind heart. I know this is scary, but I have known him for several long years and I can assure you that he will take good care of you."
"I miss Elroy…" She murmured as she pulled back to look into his eyes. Father John's chocolate-colored orbs were filled with sorrow and pity for her plight, just as she suspected they would be.
"I know. Your brother was a good man and he will be missed by many in these parts." He said back, his voice smooth and comforting to her ears. Duckie felt herself relax a bit upon hearing his familiar voice. It was the same voice that had spouted comforting words from the pulpit of the tiny white church at the edge of town every week and the same voice that had joked with her as she, Margaret, and Arthur had studied for Mathematics and English exams at his kitchen table just last year.
As if sensing her nostalgia, he continued to say, "Everything has happened so quickly. I'm afraid I have yet to send a letter to the seminary school to tell Arthur. I'm certain he will be praying for your comfort and peace once he knows."
"I do wish Arthur was here." Duckie murmured, staring at the floor while simultaneously wishing it would swallow her up so she could get out of this situation. "He has always been a comfort in hard times."
"That he is. I know he would want to be here for you. I shall do my best to convince him to stay at school and write you, rather than returning as I'm certain that's what he'll want to do when he hears about the tragedy that befell Elroy. Hopefully learning you are in good hands will soothe him while he is away." He said, his sunken eyes brimming with sadness behind a few grey hairs that were impeding his vision.
"It is best that he stays and finishes his schooling," Duckie quietly said in agreement as she watched him carelessly push the hairs away from his face, slicking them back across the top of his head.
Father John took a quick glance around the homestead and raised a thick grey eyebrow as his face grew perplexed. "Oh dear, Lewis is not in here? I had assumed he was when I did not see him in the barn. I wonder where he's gotten off to… Hopefully he did not get caught out in the storm. Well, I suppose we will have to wait for him to turn up before we can begin the ceremony."
The two waited for over an hour inside Lewis' home, but even when the storm let up, Lewis did not readily appear at the cabin door. Father John paced the front room over and over in a mild state of agitation while Duckie stared out the window towards the barn. Leftover droplets of water fell from the top of the roof as she watched the sun start to peak out from behind the grey clouds in the west. The sky was tinted with orange and gold as dusk lit up the sky behind the snow-tipped mountains.
Duckie's heart started to beat a bit faster after Father John announced he would go take a look around the farm to see if he could find Lewis. He asked Duckie to stay in the cabin until he returned with her husband-to-be and she nervously agreed to it. The air was pressing down heavily upon her, thick and alive with the foul feeling she did not quite understand. Her fingers started to shake with fear from where they rested atop the window seal.
Something bad had happened. She could feel it in her heart.
After several long minutes had passed, Father John returned to the cabin briefly to tell her that he was going to check and see if Lewis' neighbors, the Glenn family, knew his whereabouts. Hurrying back out the door, Duckie watched him ride the tired brown mare back down the dirt road to towards another farmhouse in the distance.
After impatiently pacing the cabin for over an hour, Duckie finally caught sight of a large red-haired family arriving, complete with a grandfather, father, and four strapping male teens of varying of ages. The boisterous group immediately began to fan out and search the farm, all calling out for Lewis repeatedly as the moon made its debut in the sky. The heavens slowly dimmed as the sun ducked behind the mountains for the night. Stars eventually sparkled in the swirl of navy blue and black above them, as if winking at Duckie to reassure her. Their presence did not help her feel any better though.
Lanterns were lit and given to each of the searchers, as well as to Duckie, who lingered nervously within the house as the night progressed. Father John had asked her to stay inside, but after waiting for hours upon hours, she found she could not wait any longer when she heard a commotion outside. Grabbing her lantern, she rushed out onto the veranda and watched as several lanterns were headed quickly towards the spot where the wheat field met the forest's edge.
Duckie ran as fast as she could towards the congregation of lights, her long legs taking massive strides as she ran alongside the shadowy silhouettes of cornstalks, which at full height were barely taller than her. In her rush, she splashed through various puddles of mud on the dirt path. The smell of muck filled her nose and a few wet droplets dripped down her face as she flew with all haste to the edge of the woods.
Frantic whispering could be heard as she swiftly approached the small crowd, which was gathered around a large, unnaturally flattened area in the field. Though she could hear their feet sifting through the flattened stalks of wheat, her feet were silent as they traversed the field and none of the men noticed her sudden appearance.
Duckie's eyes widened as she caught sight of a brown-haired man lying still on the ground, his limbs askew in an unnatural fashion. His brown eyes were glassy-looking and empty as they stared out into nothingness. There were two large bloody holes in his neck.
He was dead!
A gasp escaped Duckie's lips, which drew the men's attention to her. Father John was immediately at her side, wrapping his arm around her tiny body and guiding her away from the scene rapidly. However, the sight was already deeply engraved in Duckie's mind and she started breathing heavily as she panicked about what had happened.
"I'm afraid there's been a terrible tragedy tonight Duckie…" Father John started, using a soft voice in an attempt to soothe her. His face looked just as frightened and alarmed as she felt, so she found no consolation in it. "Lewis has been in some sort of farming accident and has passed away. I am so sorry Duckie." He continued as he stopped and took his large black cowboy hat off his head. He rested it on his chest in a show of respect towards her as he bowed his head in sorrow.
In her fear, Duckie immediately found herself growing a bit frustrated. "A farming accident?! What really happened to him?! Why does he have two holes in his neck?!" She asked fearfully, her voice crescendoing as she grew more and more upset. She was clearly not being told the truth about the situation!
Father John sighed and gave her a look of resignation. "It appears he was attacked by some sort of animal Duckie, the likes of which we don't know. It must have been large though and it clearly maimed his body before it killed him. Old Roy thinks it may have been some sort of wild cat who got lost from his home in the mountains. If a big cat like that feels threatened, it will attack nearly anything relentlessly. It's just speculation though. We may never know what transpired here today."
Duckie started breathing more heavily as she panicked. Something vicious had killed the man she had been slated to marry and now her whole world had once again been thrown into uncertainty. She had already turned in her keys at the boarding house and the man who ran the place had told her he already had a new tenant lined up for her rooms. Her father was dead and she was on her own with no place to go! What was going to happen to her!?
"Come Duckie, let's go back inside and wait for the sheriff's arrival." Father John said, then guided her slowly back down the muddy road. Feeling numb with fear, Duckie simply allowed this as her heart pounded and her eyes darted to the shadows surrounding her. She hoped above all hopes that whatever dangerous thing had overcome the farmer was not still lurking amongst the fields. The chirping of crickets interrupted the silence of the cool night air, their shrill calls ringing out like warning bells in the night.
Once he ushered her back into the safety of the cabin, Father John stoked the stove and started the kettle once more. He made them each a glass of fresh black coffee. The two sat together uncomfortably at the table, their copper mugs steaming in front of them while they waited for the sheriff to come. The terrible feeling in the pit of Duckie's stomach did not go away as she eased the hot mug up to her lips and sipped the bitter liquid cautiously.
"I'm so sorry this has happened Duckie. There is nothing to fear though. I will bring you back to town with me and we will find a family you can stay with until another marriage can be arranged." He placated, once again trying to soothe her with his calm baritone voice. Duckie simply nodded, staring deeply at the steam rising up from her cup as she tried not to cry. She knew Father John would not let her become homeless, but she was still frightened because her future was so ambiguous.
While Duckie had not wanted the farmer to die, she was a bit relieved that she would not have to marry a stranger. She really did not want Father John to find her someone else, but she also did not know how she could get by on her own. Duckie knew what she really needed was more time so she could think though what she truly wanted to do next, preferably before she got stuck in a position that she did not want again. However, she was not sure how to go about asking for such a frivolous thing.
Luckily, she did not have to, as the opportunity presented itself on its own an hour later. The sheriff had finally arrived and was speaking in hushed tones outside on the veranda to Father John. Duckie remained inside the cabin, listening to the two of them intently.
"What took you so long to get here? We've been waiting for hours! It is close to midnight now!" Father John hissed, sounding exasperated.
"You are not the only one who has been dealing with bodies tonight, John." The deep, unfamiliar voice of the sheriff answered darkly before continuing.
"Those Thomas brothers were back in town tonight and caused a big stir at the saloon. Jesse Williams and his friends got into a shouting match with them and one thing led to another. They were firing wildly at each other when I got there. They ran away from me and my deputies, but Wallace Scott was killed and two other boys are on their deathbeds back in town. You're going to need to go and read them their last rites before they pass. Old Adelaide Lee is also calling for you. Her heart condition has worsened and they say she's only got a few days left before she passes."
"Good heavens man, how am I supposed to do all of that?! I've got Elroy Hir's sister inside the cabin, waiting on me right now! She was supposed to marry Lewis tonight and she already sold her room at the boarding house! I'm going to have to find someone who will take her in for a few weeks before I can do anything else and you know how people feel about her-"
"She's that woman who's tall enough to be a man, isn't she? Good luck finding someone for her. That giant of a girl is too quiet and scares away most every person, male or female, who comes her way."
Upon hearing those blistering words, a cold feeling filled Duckie's chest as she blinked away the tears that immediately formed in her eyes. Her lower lip quivered a bit as she stared at the ground, feeling rather distraught about her appearance. Was she really so repulsive that no one would take her in? Would she ever fit in here? Would anyone accept her as she was without her father's help?
"Perhaps the orphanage in the next town over would take her-"
"She is already 18! They turn kids loose at that age. They won't take her in!"
"54," Duckie muttered angrily under her breath as she continued to eavesdrop. "I am 54, not 18."
Oh how she wished her father was here right now! Her thoughts wandered to his comforting smile. She thought of the many times when she stood beside his harp while he played some of her favorite Stephen Foster songs. Duckie had always loved singing along while her father played his harp. Those were some of the most peaceful moments of her short life.
Never again would she experience them…
Tears flowed freely down her face as she sobbed silently at the thought. A certain song stood out to her at this particular moment and filled her mind with sorrow. Before she realized it, she was singing it out loud.
"Hard times," her hoarse voice serenaded almost soundlessly as she wiped the remnants of her tears from her face gracefully. "Hard times, come again no more."
Closing her mouth when she heard how pathetic she sounded, Duckie mentally thought about the song and remembered her father's friendly face smiling back at her from behind his harp while she sang. He always told her she had the fairest voice he had ever heard in his long life. He was always willing to listen to her sing song after song, never tiring of accompanying her-
"Duckie?" a soft voice said, shocking her out of her memories and back into the present. She heard herself gasp as she looked up and caught Father John's calm face staring down at her from a few steps away. "I'm sorry for startling you, my dear. We've got a real problem on our hands though—I need to leave for town right away. The Thomas boys have been up to no good again and there are a couple of men dying as we speak. They are in need of my services, as is an elderly member of our congregation. I'm afraid I'm not sure where to take you at this time and was wondering if you would be comfortable staying in this cabin for a few days until I can figure something out."
Duckie's eyes widened at the thought and she immediately nodded. Surely a few days would be enough time to figure out what to do next. If nothing else, she could always use the opportunity to run away and start a brand-new life elsewhere…
For some odd reason, that didn't feel like the right thing to do now. Duckie shook the thought from her head as she heard Father John continue to speak.
"Lewis was the only surviving member of his family, so you will most likely inherit this farm even though you did not wed him. However, we will have to find you a husband to help you run it. I'll try and come by sometime next week, once I've had time to ask around about eligible bachelors who are looking for a wife." He finished.
"I will stay here until you come back for me." Duckie replied slowly, her mind quickly thinking over the situation. "You say you'll only be a few days?"
"Yes, today is Monday, so I'll return by Thursday at the latest." He promised, nodding to her with a smile that she knew she could trust. Father John was a good man and Duckie knew he would not leave her stranded at the cabin unless he absolutely must.
Thus it was that Duckie found herself alone in the cabin. It was well after midnight when the search party and sheriff finally left the farm. The silence of countryside was nearly deafening to Duckie's ears and she nervously hummed to herself as she readied herself for bed. Duckie had donned her soft white nightgown, lacing up the high collar tightly around her neck. Her large, lace-trimmed sleeves billowed in front of her face as she tied a lacy white sleeping bonnet under her chin to prevent the rumpling of her hair, which she had placed in a large braid that flowed behind her back all the way down to her hips.
The fire in the stove had been out for nearly an hour and the room was starting to feel chilly. After blowing out the lantern she had on the table, Duckie went to lay down in the darkest corner of the room, which housed the large bed. She ended up scrunching her nose once more, as it reeked of sweaty, unkempt man. Uncertain if she could bear the terrible stench that was encrusted in the blankets, Duckie bent down to see if there was a trundle bed underneath the larger bed.
Blessed stars, there was one! Pulling it out a bit, Duckie bent downward and sniffed the covers. They were a bit musty smelling, but nowhere near as unpleasant as the covers that Lewis had used over and over again without bothering with their upkeep. After expending a bit of effort, Duckie was able to pull the entire thing out and set about tucking herself in beneath the scratchy sheets. The bed was more made to accommodate a child rather than an adult, so Duckie had to force her long legs up to her chest to fit upon it.
Rolling over, Duckie could hear the light crunching sound of the cornhusks packed in the mattress pad below the soft featherbed she was resting upon. Duckie softly hummed a familiar lullaby to herself to try and calm her nerves as she listened to the crickets chirping and the wind rustling through the cornstalks outside.
Just as sleep finally started to overtake her, a moving shadow by the window caught her eye. Duckie did not see what was out there and immediately started to panic. She shot out of bed and silently crawled towards the wall next to the window, hoping to peer out without being seen. Once her back was against the wall, she ever-so-slowly got to her feet beside the window, only to see the shadow of something long and thin move in front of the window briefly. Her head immediately turned to look out the window, but nothing could be seen from where she lingered.
Something was out there though. Duckie could feel it in her bones. A thump sounded on the roof of the cabin, causing Duckie to gasp in fright. Silence reigned for just a minute before a light clicking noise was heard from the roof of the house. Something was lurking above her head!
Duckie held her breath and stared at the ceiling in fear, silently praying that whatever was up there could not fit through the chimney and enter the cabin. Her heart was beating frantically as she watched the ceiling with wild eyes. Her entire being was paralyzed in fear.
The thundering sound of galloping horse hooves suddenly entered her ears. The creature must have heard it too, for it seemed to freeze and listen at the same time as Duckie. A shrill scream unlike anything she ever heard before rang out in the night, which was followed by the skittering sound of multiple feet scrambling to get off the cabin roof with haste. Though she could not see it, Duckie could hear the creature swiftly running across the yard and through one of the fields.
However, Duckie's troubles were only beginning, as she heard multiple people unexpectedly riding into the farmyard. A couple of shots were fired, which set several of the barnyard animals into a loud state of alarm and made the arriving men laugh loudly. Duckie's eyes were open as wide as could be as she heard their loud footsteps and bellowing laughter approaching the house.
Glancing over at the door, her heart skipped a beat as she realized she had forgotten to lock it. Uncertain of what to do and quickly running out of time before she would be discovered, Duckie silently ran back to the trundle bed and pushed it under the large bed. She got on top of it to hide right as she heard the door to the cabin slam open, hitting the wall behind it with unnecessary force.
There were four of them, Duckie thought to herself as she counted the muddy sets of boots that had entered the cabin uninvited. Four large, loud men. Her stomach tossed and turned as one walked by the bed she was hiding under. The stench of body odor and alcohol was practically radiating off of him. Duckie would have known he was drunk even if she couldn't smell him though, as he was stumbling around the room with uneven footsteps, whooping with laughter. Another gunshot rang out through the night. Duckie bit her lip forcefully to prevent herself from making a sound, though she was shaking with fear.
"Earl, put your damn gun down before you shoot someone's eye out! Haven't you had enough action for the night?" One of the men called out before Duckie heard a small scuffle break out between the two. There was grunting, growling, and cursing for a minute or so before another voice spoke up.
"You already killed Wallace Scott tonight! Now we're gonna be wanted for another murder in this town! Thanks a lot Earl!"
Duckie quickly put two and two together with what she had overheard from the sheriff earlier in the night. These were the hooligans he had been talking about—the Thomas brothers! She had heard about them in the past—a set of brothers who tried to take over towns in the west by force, shooting everyone and everything that got in their path. They were dangerous criminals she had seen on wanted posters while shopping at the general store with her father.
"Like you would have done anything different Ralph! If they'd have cheated you at cards, you'd have done the same thing! As if I was going to pay that pig-lipped boy Jesse when he was holdin' cards up his sleeves-"
"For the love of Pete, just let it go!" A new voice shouted angrily. "We've got business to do here and all you two are good for is yapping! Get to looking for some money so we can go!"
"I tell you what, I still don't think this is a good idea…" The final voice muttered under his breath, the one closest to where Duckie was hiding. "He's a damn farmer. He ain't got no money, just like every other poor fellow in this town."
The one reasonable fellow didn't stop the rest from tearing through the house though. Duckie watched as one plate after another was thrown to the ground, each breaking upon impact while they looted the cabin. Pots and pans followed in suit and a huge mess soon littered the cabin floor.
"What the hell is this?" Duckie heard a voice ask in an annoyed tone. When she looked over, she saw the man was standing next to her father's harp, his most prized possession!
No!
"Just some musical crap. No one around here's got any time for that." Another voice answered and then Duckie watched in horror as they knocked it over. It clattered to the ground, several of its strings ringing out in protest before a bunch of metal mugs hit the ground, scattering across the floor messily.
A light splattering sound next caught Duckie's ears and she nearly screamed in horror when she realized what it was—one of the men was urinating against the wall by the bed! The smell was atrocious and Duckie was forced to watch as the stream of waste dripped down the wall and formed a small puddle just a couple of feet away from her face.
She bit down on her lip even harder now, cringing as she felt a trickle of blood drip out of it. She didn't dare close her eyes though, not even for a minute, as her only possible escape would be to run away if she was discovered. If she was lucky, perhaps the inebriated men would trip over their own feet if she found herself in that situation.
"What's in these trunks?" Another man asked suddenly. Duckie's heart raced as she heard him loudly begin to mess around with the lock on one of the trunks. Several curses rang out as another man joined him and tried to help him break into the trunk.
"Here, I've got this." The one named Earl said. A moment later, a loud shot rang out in the room, followed by more vigorous cursing.
"Damn it Earl, you're going to get us all killed doing that!"
"I got it open Roy! That's sure more than your butterfingers were doing!"
Another scuffle ensued and Duckie watched in fear as one of the men got pushed to the floor, sputtering curses as he ended up getting cut on one of the china shards that were scattered all over the floor. Luckily, he was facing away from Duckie and quickly got up. She heard him punch the other man and then push him up against the wall with a loud thunck.
"You shut your bone box and don't you ever do that to me again, you clodhopper! I answer to no one, you hear? No one!" He shouted as he slammed the other man against the wall once again for good measure. Duckie watched as he let him go and walked back over to the trunk, where the other two low lives were kneeling. "What's in the trunk Ralph? Anything good?"
"Just a bunch of damn dresses and underthings. A big waste of time that was!" He said, slamming the trunk lid down in frustration.
"I didn't think Lewis was married-"
"He was a long time ago, but she died. What a sentimental old fool he was, keeping all of her clothing for decades after her death. What a sissy!"
"There's no money here Ralph! I can't believe you talked us into comin' here tonight for no good reason!"
"Well, someone's going to have to come and harvest all these crops! Someone's going to get his money at some point! We'll need to keep checking back—maybe we can rob them after they go and sell them to the fort like they said they would in town!"
"Like we have time to keep coming back here over and over again! That could take weeks! I'm sure there are better ways to get rich fast-"
"Yeah, well name one Grover! I bet you can't!" The first voice interrupted rather impertinently. Duckie watched as they pushed each other repeatedly as they spoke. Her heart started to feel relief as she saw the whole group starting to stumble towards the door.
After one man was pushed to the ground, he dragged his brother along with him and they rolled out onto the veranda punching and kicking each other with vigor. The other two cursed at them and tried to separate them. Soon they were successful and they brushed themselves off before spitting on the veranda and disappearing into the night. Minutes later, Duckie heard them riding away, whooping, shouting, and shooting off a few more bullets as they disappeared into the darkness.
Silence reigned in the abandoned cabin. When at last Duckie thought her shaking legs might once again bear her weight, she carefully crawled out from under the bed. Upon surveying the scene, she could tell the cabin had been completely destroyed by the Thomas brothers. Every piece of flatware was on the floor, most in pieces, with metal cups scattered across the room. Canisters of flour and coffee were spilled upon the floor in the kitchen, along with a generous decanter that appeared to have been filled with milk. Duckie's trunk was open and lying on its side with all of her clothing wadded into a ball on the floor next to it.
Then there was her father's harp, his most prized possession, laying haphazardly upon the floor.
Seeing it thusly was nearly too much for Duckie to bear.
Cautiously avoiding the shards of china and glass upon the floor, Duckie made her way to the small kitchen table and, after brushing debris off a chair, sat down gingerly. Tears rolled down her face as she mourned all that she had lost in the last month. Duckie hung her head down in defeat, feeling more hopeless and lonelier than she ever had before.
"What am I going to do now?" She shakily whispered to herself as she buried her face in her hands.
"What am I going to do?"
ooOoo
I'm very excited to share this new story with you and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please let me know what you think by leaving a review. I'll try to update soon.
*Should you want to listen to a version of the song Duckie was singing, I recommend searching for "Hard Times Come Again No More" by the Swingles. They have a modern a cappella arrangement of it that's very enjoyable. The traditional choir version is great too though!
-P.G.