It was a complete accident, or quite arguably fate that caused Maka to stumble upon the parchment. She found a few sheets in a leger book while looking for cooking supplies in the mess wagon. It wasn't the kind of paper she used to paint or sketch on, in fact, it was probably the cheapest one could buy, but for some unknown reason, she had clutched in her hands like it was of the greatest value.
"So you sell the young cattle in the fall?" Maka asks as she digs around in the cold remnants of the morning's fire, her hands growing black and sooty. She has a million questions about the ranch and raising cattle, and Tad has been a great teacher for one so young.
"But you only sell the gentleman cows, right? She asks as she produces from the ashes a piece of charcoal.
Tad nods his head, watching her curiously. Maka sinks to the ground, letting the sweet meadow grass claim her. She props her paper in her lap using the ledger as a makeshift table and lets her vision drift across the prairie, soaking it all in with an artist's eyes. A lone cow catches her interest, his mighty horns twisting at an odd angle and his hide a molten smattering of bronze in the late afternoon sun. Tad watches in rapture as she quickly sketches a few rough lines. After some time she lifts the paper up for him to see.
"What do you think?"
Tad beams at her like she's the most brilliant person he knows. "Prettier than a pig's ear."
Maka laughs at the odd compliment.
"Think you could teach me how to do that?"
"Of course, do you know if there's more paper anywhere? We can practice sketching the gentleman cow."
"Sure! I'll go find some!" The boy crows. Maka smiles as the eager boy dashes off.
It is quiet in the camp, only the whirring of insects and the sound of the wind running through the grass. It's so quiet that Maka nearly jumps out of her skin when a low voice grates against her ear.
"Not bad Kid."
The breath leaves her chest in a sharp rush as her head snaps up. He's standing next to her, leaning down to look at her work. He laughs at her surprise and she quickly frowns up at him.
"You nearly scared me to death creeping up on me like that!" She chides.
"Aw hell, it's just too easy to rile you up kid, you can't blame me for enjoying it so much."
"I should tie a cowbell around your neck." She huffs as she turns back to her sketch in progress.
He ignores her comment, instead turning to the water butt, a full dipper in his hand, poised to drink. She was three feet away, her back braced behind her on the mess wagon cook's table. Justin had rigged a canvas fly over the rear of the wagon. It shaded her from the sun, but it also trapped the heat, allowing steam to build up like a simmering kettle. Sweat crawled over her body. She could smell herself. And she could smell him: leather and horse and prairie.
"They're called bulls," he says matter of factly, "What you decent Englisher refers to as gentlemen cows . . ." He pauses to drink. Water spills out of the corners of his mouth and runs down his neck. She watched the corded muscles of his throat work as he swallows, then flushes when he lowers the dipper and catches her looking. He wipes the wetness off his lips with the back of his hand.
"I figure if you're going draw 'em, you ought to know what's bull and what's not. Your cows are more specifically your females, which means they have udders, but none of what you genteel types refer to as the male breeding organ. Now your steers, they're males, so they do sure enough got organs. But they've been castrated, which means they had their breeding potential cut short when . . . Am I rilin' you, Kid? Your cheeks sure are gettin' red." He's teasing her, knowing very well that they never spoke of such improper things back home.
Her cheeks are burning hotter than a branding iron, but she answers his taunting gaze with a level look.
"You might well be able to shock me, sir. But it will take more than your foul tongue to fluster me."
"The day is young, and I can get fouler," he smirks.
"I don't doubt that you can, for you do have a bit of a talent for it. A talent you are understandably proud of since you have so few and they are all so small."
He pauses, another dipperful of water halfway to his mouth. He points the dipper's handle at her chest.
"You know, for all your highfalutin, starchy British ways, you got a tongue on you that could rip the hide off a buffalo. I like that about you, kid."
Maka can't help but feel slightly smug at his compliment.
She breaks eye contact with him, turning her attention back to her sketch, it's a rough sketch but the bull's eyes stare back at her, brown and soulful. Not her best work, but it's been a long time.
"You never mentioned you could draw," He says coming back to look over her shoulder. He cocks his head to the side, his gaze making her feel suddenly self-conscious.
"Well, you never mentioned you play the piano. I guess we both have hidden talents."
A beat passes, his body stills next to hers.
"I don't know who told you that, but I promise no harm will come to them if you give me a name." He says, a dangerous gleam to his eye.
A burst of incredulous laughter leaves her mouth. "My so serious, Evans. Are you embarrassed by your skill?"
She is probably pushing him too much, but she is too curious about the shift in his mood. Soul shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away, obviously disgruntled.
"It was Black Star, wasn't it? The bastard can't keep a secret to save his life."
Maka bites her lip to keep from smiling and his eyes narrow on her. "I'll have to have words with him."
"Are you really that embarrassed about it? Was it meant to be a secret?"
He shakes his head so violently, his hat almost topples off his head. He sits down next to her, startling her with his suddenly intense gaze. "It used to be a big part of me. When I play now, I feel exposed. Like everyone knows something. So I don't tell anyone about it. It's just too personal, ya know?" He says, his pulse beating hard in his neck.
Maka should tell him he's crazy, but in reality, she knows exactly how he feels. Looking down at her own drawing, she knows how much bravery it takes to show the world a deeper side of you. It's a scary feeling, creating something that others could scorn or far worse be completely indifferent about.
"It's like putting a piece of your very heart out there, for everyone to see. When you play the piano, it makes you feel vulnerable. I understand that." She says, absently wiping her palm across the paper, smearing the charcoal lines. Soul's eyes widen a fraction and his hands twitch like he's touching phantom keys.
"Yes," He breathes, it also brings back sad memories for me. I reckon you know the feeling well kid."
Maka nods and gives him a stilted smile. "I haven't drawn since my mother passed away. Any time I picked up a pencil or brush, it was like picking up lead. There was no motivation left inside me."
Soul remains quiet, not saying a single word, his eyes far away and distant. She know he is listening, taking in her every word, his strong presence giving her the will to speak her heart.
"It's been so long, I was worried I wouldn't remember how, but... it came to me as easy as breathing. It's so much a part of me that I don't know why I waited so long or why I was even afraid to try in the first place," she admits, her heart beating painfully in her chest, but there is warmth there too. She resists the urge to grab his hand that drums a tuneless song against his thigh.
"Maybe you should play again, not for other people's benefit, but for your own. Play for you and no one else. Doing something you love should be a joy, not a source of anxiety," She whispers, her voice more of a breathy sigh, "Take back something that you used to love."
Soul's eyes shine with some unknown emotion. He clears his throat as if to speak, but before the words can leave his mouth the sound of a gun being discharged echoes across the prairie.
The easy, joking nature they had shared only moments before is gone, replaced with an underlying hum of danger. Soul tenses next to her, listening.
"Indians!" Someone shouts, fear lacing their voice.
Soul springs to his feet, every muscle in his body rigid. His eyes scanning the distance.
"Go find Tad," He says quietly, his voice like cold steel. Fear prickles Maka's scalp and trickles down like ice water through her veins.
Soul pulls her roughly to her feet and spins her so that they are eye to eye. His hands clamp onto her shoulders and he jostles her slightly, his eyes wild. "Stay with Black Star or Justin. They'll keep you safe."
He spins to leave, but she reaches out to grab his wrist.
"Where are you going!?" She cries out.
"To meet them."
"Is that safe?" Her words feel shaky and clipped.
"Everyone is going to be fine," he assures. "I will always look out for you."
"What about you! I'm more worried about you!" She nearly shouts.
Soul's eyes go wide, and he grips her almost painfully.
"Thank you." He breathes. No one has every cared for his safety, not like this.
"Indians! South of camp!" Someone shouts.
His breath hitches in his chest and his eyes flash dangerously, scanning the horizon.
"Do as I say, kid." His voice is steady and calm now, a vast contrast to his body language. It leaves no room for argument. He wrenches his wrist free from her grasp and tears across camp in the direction of the approaching troop.
"Maka!" Tad yells, the boy crashing into her side. "I'm here to keep you safe." He vows, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He's just a boy, but the amount of comfort he brings nearly makes her sob.
"Thank you Tadpole, I promise to keep you safe too," She says holding him tightly to her. She watches as Soul races across the camp. He stops and turns, his eyes searching her out, his gaze turbulent. He's too far away, but he mouths something to her before he disappears among the wagons and tents.
Be safe.
A cold shaft of fear assails her, so powerful that she sinks down to her knees, taking Tad with her. The boy only holds her tighter.
"Please. Be safe."
The wet grass clings to Soul's legs as he runs. He should be breathing hard, but the spike of adrenaline has made him almost forget how to breathe. All his senses are firing, taking in the surrounding, his mind turning, awareness taking control.
He hears the shouting and can taste the fear in the air. He feels the vibrations rising from the ground and smells the scent of many horses in the wind. There's a lot of them coming this way, he discerns with no small amount of dread.
The men are hunkered down, behind wagons and what's left of their tents, their rifles pointed to the south. The atmosphere is taut like a cord about to snap.
"Hold your fire!" Soul shouts, his momentum doubling. A lot of the men jump in surprise, and it's truly luck that no one has mistakenly shot him.
"Put your weapons down, do not engage unless they do first!" Soul shouts, his breathing ragged.
The men, only a dozen or so, seeing him, reluctantly lower their weapons. Except for one man, who doesn't look pleased. Soul recognizes him as Thaddeus, he's new, from town, only hired on recently for the roundup.
"Thaddeus lower your rifle, we don't even know if they're hostile yet or not." Soul commands, his voice cutting through the tension.
"They're injuns, they're always hostiles!" Thaddeus barks, his grip on his gun growing tighter, "The only good injun is a dead one!"
Soul growls low in his throat and bares his teeth at the man before he can stop himself.
"See what I mean! Are you really going to let this man tell you what to do?" Thaddeus wails, pointing a shaking finger at Soul. "He's an injun lover. He was raised by them, we all know it! He's going to let them kill us all and not even bat an eye! We should kill every one of them, starting with this savage right here!"
An audible silence falls among the men, their eyes growing wide.
Red like gossamer floats over Soul's vision, every tendon creaks with his restraint.
"Savage"... he chuckles darkly, "Oh, I'll show you savage Thaddeus. What it truly means."
A heavy hand lands on Soul's shoulder. He spins around with a growl, ready to fight, but stops short. It's Balck Star holding him. Stopping him from tearing Thaddeus apart. Black Star's face is somber, his voice deliberate.
"Don't worry boss, we've got this."
Justin stalks up to Thaddeus, his normally quiet demeanor gone. His face is thunderous.
"Stop or I'll shoot you too!" Thaddeus shrieks, raising his rifle level with Justin's chest.
In one swift motion, Justin pushes the gun barrel downward, the shot firing into the ground spraying both men with mud. Justin wrenches the rifle from Thaddeus and brings the butt of the rifle down hard against the man's knee. There's a sickening snap and the man falls to the ground, crying out in agony.
"You fucking bastards!" He wails. "You fucking injun lovers! All of you!"
With a grunt of disgust, Justin raises his fist and clocks the man square in the jaw. With Thaddeus out cold, the quiet that ensues is almost deafening.
"Anyone else share his opinion of the boss?" Justin barks, raising his bloodied fist for all to see.
The men, all of them long-standing with the ranch, shake their heads in unison. There would be no more challenges today.
Soul exhales a shaky breath, his pulse slowing just a hair. Black Star and Justin, were the best kind of men. They had always watched out for him.
"Thank you, both." Soul grouses, as Justin comes to join them.
"Don't sweat it, boss," Black star grins, slapping him on the back, "Now go get us out of this mess and when we get back home the first round of drinks will be on you."
"Soul chuckles, despite the terrible situation. His eyes catch a glimmer of movement to their right. Soul's eyes narrow as he makes out a pair of stormy green eyes watching from a ways off.
"Damn it." Soul growls under his breath. The Kid didn't fucking listen worth a damn, and judging by his pale face he had witnessed the whole damn scene.
Curious, Black Star and Justin look to see what exactly has caught his attention.
"Fuck." Justin mumbles, wiping his bloodied knuckles on his jeans.
If Soul didn't know any better he'd say Justin looked a little ashamed. Why though? He had nothing to be ashamed of. If anything it was himself. It was his fight, yet Black Star and Justin had made it theirs as well. He sincerely hoped the kid didn't think any less of him for it.
The sound of thundering hooves grows alarmingly closer, snapping Soul back to the matter at hand.
"Justin go stay with Tad and the Kid. If things go south, get them out of here fast."
Justin gives him a bewildered look. "No, I'm going to stay by your side boss."
"That's an order cowboy," Soul says firmly, but with a tight smile. Justin looks at his friend and boss, his face torn, and then back to where Tad and Maka are crouched, hiding among the abandoned wagons. He jerks his head in acknowledgment.
"Just don't get scalped boss," Justin orders as he turns to go. Soul laughs once, a humorless sound caught on the wind.
"Don't worry about that. The color of my hair scares them. It always has."
They ride in at a steady pace, a large group of men on horseback. Soul orders his men to stay calm and stand their ground. He walks out to meet them, his heart beating like a war drum in his chest, his blood the consistency of fire. The hairs on the back of his neck start to tingle in a way that signifies he has been spotted. They are watching him as he walks calmly towards them. A quick look tells him there are at least fifty braves as they approach, enough to quickly overpower their smaller camp. He can feel the fear rolling like waves from the men standing behind him. All of his men are brave, hardworking, and good men, but even the stoutest man could have doubts when outnumbered.
There had been an unnatural peace between settlers and tribes the last few years, but the memory of losing a family member or friend during times of violence, well that fear and grief could stay in a man's heart for an eternity. When left unchecked it would fester and grow into hate, Thaddeus being a prime example of prejudice and pure hate.
Soul squares his shoulders, standing to his full height as the Braves stop their horses only a stone throw away. An invisible weight is lifted off his chest as he gauges them.
They are not Comanche.
From their proud bearing, expert horsemanship, and the fine blue beads sewn into their clothes he recognizes them to be are armed to the teeth, but they do not wear war paint or brandish their weapons, and for that Soul feels optimistic.
A single brave dismounts and steps forward, he is lean and powerful, and surprisingly tall, towering over the rest of his men. A proud and formidable warrior. Soul brings his hands up slow and makes the sign for peace. The brave replicates the hand motion and then quickly makes the gesture for trade.
Soul fights the urge to exhale in relief, instead switching easily to Apache.
"Let us talk in your tongue, for it will be easier to make a good trade," he calls out in Apache.
The warriors around him frown in confusion, taken aback by a white man speaking their tongue so fluently. It is clear they do not know what to make of him, then again, no one ever does. The tall brave, who seems to be their party's leader recovers quickly, a broad smile forming across his tanned face.
"You speak good Apache. You are Two-Feet, no?"
Soul nods his head, acknowledging the hated slur, knowing that the man means no real disrespect by the name.
Two-Feet, a name given to half-breed Indians or those who have been raised in both worlds. It stings knowing that he is indeed a Two-Feet, he's always straddled two worlds and been a stranger in both.
"Who are your people?" One brave asks, curiosity getting the better of him.
It is a question Soul has never been able to answer, and it's the same question everyone eventually asks of him. Where did he belong?
"I was raised by a tribe as a child. These are my people now." Soul says, indicating the warry group behind him.
"What tribe? Apache? We have not met a Two-Feet like you in our sister tribes," The tall brave grunts.
Soul swallows, his voice feeling stuck. Saying it out loud was always harder than it should have been.
"No... I was raised by the Comanche."
The braves all make hissing sounds in their throats, their faces darkening at the mention of the dreaded Comanche. The men behind Soul, not knowing the context shift uneasily at their guests' obvious displeasure. Soul makes a "stay still" motion with his hand, his eyes never leaving the men in front of him. To their credit, his men obey without hesitation, staying silent as a church graveyard.
"The Comanche are my enemies, just like they are yours," Soul calls out, his voice boasting no room for argument.
The tall brave bares his teeth then spits upon the ground, his face pinched with contempt.
"We have the same enemy, this is good Two-Feet, for you share our hate, and that makes us brothers."
Soul can't help but smile at the man's passionate words. If there was one thing all tribes could agree on, it was mutual hate for the Comanche.
"Come then brother of hate, let us trade." Soul proclaims with a grin.
"I like you, Two Feet. The rest of my tribe is not far behind. We will trade and rest here for a short time, and drink to happier trails."
Soul inclines his head in silent agreement.
"Please, call me Soul, it is the name my new tribe has given me."
"Sull." The brave tries, butchering the pronunciation, but it's better than being called Two-Feet.
"I am Standing-Not-So-Tall, son of our chief, Standing-Tall." The man proclaims proudly.
"Not so tall? Your chief must have a great sense of humor." Soul says with a half-smile, the name odd in comparison to the man's bigger than life stature.
A twinkle flashes in the man's dark eyes before he replies. "My brother's name is far worse than mine. At least I was not named Standing-So-Small."
The brave laughs and Soul can not help but laugh as well.
She does not hesitate to disobey his orders. Tad is silent as he follows along. He is just as scared as she is.
Maka watches from her hiding spot, a weight seeming to press on her chest, robbing her of breath. Soul marches out to meet the natives, his back straight, his head held high, his bearing proud and lethal. He is a survivor, a fighter, and the most capable man she knows. Seeing him standing before such a large group of men though, makes her fear for him in a way she never has before. It takes everything in her to not rush down there in a panic and shield him with her own body, or even worse, clock him over the head and drag him away.
She holds Tad tightly next to her, for comfort, but also to keep herself anchored to this spot.
She is entranced as his hands fly about making signs. Those powerful hands, capable of great violence, but also capable of immense tenderness. He creates beautiful music, works, gives black eyes, and gently bandages her up with those hands. And now they are communicating in a different language.
He is putting himself out there once again, to protect his rag-tag family. To keep them all safe.
She is both terrified for his safety and completely and utterly amazed by this man. Her heart doesn't know why it's beating so loud. Is it from fear? Or maybe an undeniable feeling of endearment?
The sight of a tall figure heading her way gives Maka pause. Justin snakes his way through the crowd of uneasy cowboys, coming right for them.
Bloody hell.
She isn't surprised though, not when Soul's gaze had so easily captured hers earlier. They had been found out. At this point, she doesn't care, even if Soul told Justin to haul her away by force, she most assuredly will not comply. Not when there was so much at risk. Not when Soul's wellbeing was in question. Maka is prepared for a fight, her opposition resting on her tongue, but Justin sits down next to her in the grass with no fuss. Not a single word was spoken. She scans his face, wondering if he's angry with them for not staying put as Soul had ordered.
There is no trace of anger there though, his expression is blank, which is almost worse. His absence of words hangs in the air more than any reprimand would have. This man, who always seems stoic and rather quiet, well, she knows that to only be a half-truth. They had unexpectedly grown much closer to one another, and she knew there were so many other sides to him as well. This is why his silence makes her heartache.
"Are you angry?" She whispers, not knowing why she's whispering, other than she feels the need to.
He shakes his head, his eyes finally finding hers. "No. Just worried."
"I'm sorry if we worried you." She says, placing her hand on his shoulder. She feels his muscles tense under her touch.
"I apologize for that display earlier. I didn't mean for you to see it." He says, his voice almost inaudible.
Maka cocks her head to the side, considering his odd words. "You're apologizing? For hitting a man who deserved it?"
"It was violent, I broke his knee. That's not something a genteel woman should have to witness." He raises his bloodied knuckles up to emphasize his point. Without thinking, Maka clasps his ragged hand in her own, forcing him to look at her.
"I watched you kill a man not long ago so that we could live. I am no longer a genteel woman. I have seen much of the suffering and hope of this land. I am a changed woman."
She takes the blue bandanna from her pocket, the same one he had lent her on that terrible day, and wraps it gently around his injured knuckles. She ties it tight to stop the blood from flowing with a knot that he had taught her. Justin watches her as she works, his face intent, but unreadable.
"I am glad you hit that terrible man. The things he was saying..." she shudders, thinking of how much worse the violence could have been.
"You don't think less of me then?" He croaks.
Maka shakes her head venehmly. "You are loyal to Soul and to your friends. Why would I think any less of you for protecting what is important to you?" She smiles up at him, her face conveying her warmth.
He nods his head, his shoulders relaxing.
"That man deserved it." Tad pipes up, after being uncharacteristically quiet.
"Yes, and I thought you were rather brave," Maka agrees.
Justin bites his cheek, at a loss for words, and removes his hand from hers.
"What's happening?" Maka squeaks suddenly, hearing the natives raise their voices in a disgruntled din. Justin tenses, but is otherwise unmoving.
"My language and understanding is shit, I only know a few words. I'm sure whatever it is Soul has it handled."
Soul's voice raises as well, sounding harsh and grating to Maka's ears. She tries to snatch hold of his words and make sense of the meaning.
"Is he speaking a different language? That's incredible!"
"I've never met anyone with a better knack for languages than him," Justin comments, a bit of awe in his voice as well. "He speaks probably half a dozen languages, plus several different dialects."
Maka watches, as the men converse, immersed in a language she has never heard before.
"Is this the same tribe that.. " Maka stammers, not sure how to ask.
"No, this tribe is not Comanche. Soul wouldn't be so calm if it were them. They seem peaceful, whereas the Comanche live and breathe on the warpath. If I had to guess they are a nomadic tribe, like the Pawnee or Apache."
Maka lets out a small pent-up breath.
"I'm surprised you know so much about the tribes," she remarks, her eyes shifting over the large group.
"Out here it's just a part of life. The hardest part is keeping the peace. There are far more people like Thaddeus than I care to think about, and there are some tribes who would rather kill you than look at you. Sometimes knowledge is the only thing keeping you alive. The only way to keep the peace is to learn what we can. To accept our differences. We have to learn to coexist," Justin exhales slowly, his breath snagging hold on something inside her chest.
Maka lets his words sink in, her gaze watching the exchange between Soul and a particularly tall brave. They seem to be laughing together now and the sight is so bizarre.
"Looks like they're here to trade. Look!" Tad chirps suddenly, pointing to the horizon.
In the distance, a great group of people presses towards them.
"It's their women and children," Justin exclaims, his face breaking into a grin.
"That's a good thing?" Maka asks, quite confused.
"They're just as wary of us as we are of them," Justin explains. "Soul must have made a good impression on them if they feel comfortable enough to bring their family's to our camp."
Maka shades her eyes against the hot sun, making out the shifting shapes of people.
Dozens of men mounted on piebald and pinto ponies and an equal number of women and children were on foot leading more ponies that pulled lodge poles packed with tipis. A pack of mangy, underfed dogs barked wildly as they darted in and out among the horses' hooves.
The people walked right down the center of camp, their feathers, and colors on full display. The men part for them like the waters of the Red Sea, letting them pass. The men's eyes dart around wary, but they are no longer clutching their weapons.
"Can we go down? I'd like to be a part of this." Maka asks, turning her bright eyes to Justin. He shrugs his massive shoulders.
"Will you stay close to me?"
"Of course!" She warbles, excitement taking over her composure.
He nods and stands up stiffly, Maka and Tad on his heels as they descend.
A sense of easiness can be felt throughout the camp now, at the head of it Soul and his tall brave companion laugh and speak as if they are old friends. Maka marvels at the ease he exudes, despite the large number of people around them now. He is very much at home with these people.
Maka feels a tugging at her heart.
Coexistence. What a simple yet beautiful thought.
Author note.
Hello everyone! I hope that this beautiful October day finds y'all happy and well. Though it is technically fall, here in Texas it is still a balmy 95°. As the seasons change though I notice the monarch butterflies and the birds are migrating south for the coming winter. With the coming cold, I will be putting the farm to bed for the winter, and letting the land and myself get some much needed rest. As a result, I have so much free time on my hands now!
Because this chapter took longer than normal to write I will be posting another chapter pronto. As early as this weekend hopefully, so be on the look out!
Once again, thank you so much for everyone's continued love and support of this story. Reading your kind reviews makes my heart ache in the best of ways!
Much love. -Sammy921.