THE FIFTH SEASON
A Ben Wade story
By Atonia Walpole
It was neither fish nor fowl, summer or winter, spring or fall. I don’t even know what day of the week it was. It was time stolen out of the universe, uncharted. That’s the only way I can explain it. Sometimes now it brushes against me and I close my eyes a fleeting moment and it’s gone. A whisper on the wind...his scent sometimes so close but I am alone even when his warm breath is on my skin. You might think it was only a dream, a fantasy…how then would you explain this child that I hold to my breast?
Part 1:
Having nowhere else to go, I’d gone down to live with my brother, his wife and two children. He’s older than me by ten years and, like our parents', their first child was about to go to college, the other not yet ten years old. I’d offered to keep Mattie while they went to Europe but they insisted on taking her with them, a month of traveling about before Linc went off to college. An educational trip, they declared for both their children. That was fine with me…the time alone. I had a lot to think about.
The old farmhouse settled around me as I walked through the downstairs rooms after they’d gone, touching familiar things from my childhood, things our mother cherished and things our father had made, like the hutch in the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of iced tea and wandered out on the back porch, finding a seat on the glider. The wind was getting up and the wind chimes made a pleasant sound hanging from the roof line of the porch. The fat black and white cat, Juicy, was asleep in a wicker chair and the dog of unknown parentage stretched out in the last rays of the sun at the bottom of the porch steps.
It felt good to be home, even though it wasn’t my home anymore. It belonged to Matison and Karen now. Still I’d spent my childhood here and traces of me still remained in the attics, carved on the old apple trees in the orchard beyond the barn. I finished my tea, left the porch and walked down to the orchard. The apples were not yet ripe but soon would be. Coming out on the other side, I looked back at the old rambling farmhouse. Clouds seemed to be gathering in the distance. It looked like we might have a storm. I stopped by the clothes line, pulling the sheets and pillowcases into my arms then went back inside. Later I watched my favorite DVD with my favorite actor and fell asleep on the long, comfy sofa in the den.
It was quite a storm that hit that night. I remember waking and sitting up listening to the wind batter the old house. The power flickered and went out. I had no idea of the time and, finding a flashlight in the hall chest, went around fastening windows and doors. The cat came in but the dog was nowhere to be found. The house secured, I climbed upstairs to my room and went to bed.
The sun was shining the next morning as I dressed and went downstairs. The power was back on, thankfully, so I made coffee, opened the back door and walked out on the porch. I noticed the air felt different somehow, fresher, cleaner, but then that happens after a storm so I thought nothing of it. Looking out over the fields I smiled, thinking how green everything was, almost like the color of everything had been heightened. Even the barn looked redder, the sky bluer. The air was cool so I pulled my cotton cardigan around my shoulders. Sitting down on the glider to finish my coffee, I looked up the dirt road that divided the orchard from the cornfields. That’s when I saw the rider.
I wasn’t alarmed. It was a dark figure some distance from the house and alongside the horse ran the dog, Kibbles. It wasn’t a stranger, then, or the dog would have been in the yard barking. I stepped off the porch and watched. The closer it came I saw it was a man on a black horse. He stopped just before the road dipped down and ran beside the barn. I thought he’d seen me and I waved. He didn’t respond but urged his horse on toward the barn. I waited at the foot of the steps thinking I could make a mad dash for the back door if I felt uneasy with the man, who now appeared with Kibbles, walking toward the house.
There was something familiar about his walk, the way he held himself and moved. The closer he came the more familiar he was. I backed against the bottom step, lost my balance and sat down hard on the step.
“Good mornin’, Susan. I think you’re ready for me.” That’s what I know I heard before I fainted.
I came to on the glider, my head resting on two firm thighs. A cool cloth was on my forehead and I felt the slight movement of the glider beneath me. Slowly I opened my eyes, looking into two blue green eyes filled with concern.
I stammered, “How…how can you be here?”
“Here…where is here? Are you all right now?” The soft southern drawl was unmistakable.
“I’m…yes, I’m all right,” I answered, but was I? “I don’t understand. You can’t be real.” I began feeling for a knot on my head. Surely I was seeing something that wasn’t there.
“Kibble’s knows I am,” he said, scratching behind the dog's ears. I looked at Kibbles, who gave him lick on his hand and then stuck his nose on my cheek.
I sat up next to him, shaking my head. He was grinning now and removed his hat, running his hands through his hair. I noticed the black gloves on the glider beside him. Tentatively I reached out and touched his arm, feeling the soft suede leather and the warmth of his hand.
“You are real,” I murmured, blinking my eyes.
His eyes were light and teasing. “Did you think I was a dream? I’m about as real as it gets.”
“Why are you here…how did you get here?”
He dipped his head a moment, looking out toward the fields and horizon. “Tell you the truth, Susan, I have no idea where here is or how I got here but the why….” He looked back at me.
His gaze settled on me like a warm blanket. I couldn’t move, caught up in his eyes as I was. I felt his hand cover mine and looked down. I remember how neatly trimmed his nails were and how clean. Shaking my head, I looked up and smiled. He smiled back and asked if I had any more of that coffee I’d spilt.
“Yes,” I said, “would you like it out here or would you prefer to come inside?”
“I think I’d like to come in if you don’t mind,” he answered and followed me into the kitchen. He placed his hat on the table, looking around. “Nice house,” he stated, pulled a chair from the table and sat down.
I managed to find a mug and poured out coffee, bringing it to him along with a small jug of milk. The sugar bowl was on the table. “It’s an old house.” I looked up, realizing for him it might not be. “I mean it was built in the late 1800’s”
“I can see that but it’s weathered well. It’s been taken care of. Is it yours?”
“It’s actually my family home but it belongs to my brother now. I’m just staying here until I get my bearings.”
“I understand that thinkin’. Where is home for you?” he asked, mixing milk with his coffee.
That was a question I couldn’t answer. The one I'd had was gone. “I guess I’m in limbo now. I, uh, left my husband and…well, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. Matison, that’s my brother, asked me to come here until I got myself sorted out.”
“Sounds like a brotherly thing for him to do.” That gaze again over his mug rattled me. “Aren’t you havin’ any?”
“Oh, yes…actually breakfast. Would you like some?” I know I sounded scattered but, believe me, that’s the way I felt.
“Yes, ma’am, I’d love breakfast. I don’t remember the last time I ate.” He seemed to puzzle over this a moment then took another sip of his coffee. I got up, found a frying pan and pulled out bacon and eggs and butter from the fridge.
Soon the kitchen smelled of bacon and I had the toaster going and eggs frying. He sat back, content to watch me cook. Placing the filled plates on the table, I asked if he’d like some juice and he asked what kind I had. Looking in the fridge it was orange and apple.
“Orange is fine,” he said, accepting a glass.
I asked him if they had orange juice back in his day and he looked up at me with a wide smile.
“How old do you think I am?”
I said I didn’t know. I was just thinking about the time period he was from.
He laughed, “Yes, Susan, we had orange juice in the 1960’s.”
I dropped my fork. “You are Ben Wade?” I asked, looking him in the eye.
He paused his knife and fork. “Yes I am…flesh and blood…Ben Wade.”
Part 2:
I must have finished my breakfast, for the two plates I took to the sink were empty. I had so many questions and he had few answers. He didn’t seem to want to answer, so I left it for now. He did tell me he had been on a train. I wanted to know where the train was headed, but didn’t question him further.
He went out on the porch and brought in his saddle bags. "Is there a place where I can clean up?"
I led him up the stairs but stopped in the hallway, unsure where to put him. He put a stop to my confusion.
"Which is your room?"
"Oh…well, this one." I looked in my door at the unmade bed and he passed by me, dumping his bags on the bed. "You’re coming in here?"
He turned, raising a brow. "Now where did you think I was going to sleep?"
I stared at him…really. "The bath is through here," I mumbled, going through and pulling out clean towels and soap. I turned in the narrow passage from my bedroom to the bath. He was right behind me and ran his fingers down my cheek, looking into my eyes.
"I’ll see you in a little while," he said softly and backed up so I could pass by him.
My mind was in a turmoil but my body wasn’t. Little shivers ran up my back. I left the bedroom and went downstairs, soon hearing the water running in my bathroom. I went to the kitchen and busied myself at the sink. My rational mind was telling me this could not be happening but the irrational part was thrilled…Ben Wade was going to sleep in my bed.
Finished in the kitchen, I heard his step on the stairs. He’d stopped, and I walked back to the front room. He was on the landing, looking out of the window. He turned to me, a strange look on his face, and then looked back through the curtains.
"Susan, where exactly am I? This don’t look like Arizona."
"Well, it isn’t." I went up the four steps and stood beside him. "This is North Carolina." He went very still for a moment.
"I guess that’s far enough," he said in a low voice.
I asked him quietly, "Ben, what was the last thing you remember? Were you still on the train?"
He looked down at me. "I was on my horse…I’d left the train." He placed a hand on the small of my back. "I was thinkin’…of a safe place. I need to lie low for awhile, Susan."
"Yes," I said, "it’s safe enough here. My brother and his family are away for four weeks." I realized he still thought the law was after him. He pulled me to his body and kissed the top of my head. I smelled my soap on his neck and I wanted…
"I won’t put you in any danger," he said into my hair and then pulled away, the look in his eyes unreadable. He stepped down into the front room. His hat and gun belt were on the hall chest and he buckled the belt around his waist then picked up his hat.
"You aren’t leaving?" I nearly stumbled down the steps.
He turned and smiled. "No, ma’am, I’m only going to the barn to see about Ribbon."
"You need a gun for that?" I asked with my eyes locked on the ‘Hand of God’ strapped to his leg.
"I’d feel nekkid without it," he drawled, still smiling.
"Ben…people around here don’t carry guns unless they’re going hunting. It’s against the law to carry a weapon unless you’ve got a permit for it. Even then they don’t wear a gun belt."
"Well, I ain’t ‘people around here’, am I? Don’t worry, Susan. You don’t have anything to worry about." He turned, walked down the hall and through the kitchen door.
Somehow that wasn’t comforting. Maybe I did have something to worry about? What if somebody drove up to the house? The mailman would be by. I began to feel a bit uneasy. He was, after all, Ben Wade…and I knew what he was…what he was capable of. I walked over to my DVD player, extracted the disc and placed it back in its cover. I held it to my breast thinking I had been lusting after that charismatic outlaw for over a year. Now he was here in my house. It was quite a different matter…now.
I walked through to the kitchen in time to see him and Kibbles riding off the way he’d come. He’d left his things upstairs so I believed he was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t leaving. I went upstairs, changed the sheets on my bed and gathered up what dirty clothes I could find. He’d left his in the bathroom. I picked up a long- sleeved undershirt and then smiled, a pair of black briefs. His shirt was stiff with blood and I gasped realizing it must be Charlie Prince’s blood because Ben had not been hit in the gunfight. I almost felt sick to my stomach. This was too much reality.
I bundled the clothes and went downstairs to the laundry room, putting his shirt to soak in cold water in the laundry sink. I wondered about the black briefs. Did he wonder, too? What did he think was going on? Did he understand at all? My head was spinning faster than the washing machine.
He had not returned by the time I’d hung out the laundry and picked a garden bouquet of flowers. Once again I noticed the intensity of colors. My eye had gone to my sister-in-law’s flower border. I casually arranged them in a white ironstone pitcher and set them on the kitchen table. Lunch…now what would you feed Ben Wade? I dug around in the big freezer in the pantry, set out two steaks for dinner and found a chicken breast I could do something with for lunch. Karen always kept a well-stocked kitchen so my shopping would be light while they were gone.
I was pulling a peach cobbler out of the oven when Kibbles came bounding up to the back door. I looked out and saw Ben putting his horse back in the barn. I walked out on the porch and picked up the dog’s water dish. He was awfully thirsty and nearly emptied it when I put it back out.
"It smells good in here. I didn’t know I was hungry," Ben said, smiling when he came in the back door. He removed his hat and, seeing a hook on the wall by the door, hung it up. He walked over to the sink and washed his hands, splashing water on his face. I handed him a kitchen towel.
"You’ve been gone awhile," I stated, placing the plates on the table.
Ben took his place at the table and put the napkin in his lap. He looked at his plate and then up at me and smiled.
"It’s a chicken salad and some fresh tomatoes, "I said and pushed the rolls and butter toward him. "I hope you like chicken salad. Dinner will be a little more substantial." I was thinking I should have made a pot pie or something. He probably wasn’t used to eating light meals.
He forked a piece of chicken and chewed. "Mayonnaise, celery, onion," he said.
"You’ve had it before?"
"It’s very good," he smiled and buttered a roll. I wasn’t fooled. He hadn’t had chicken salad before but I noticed he cleaned his plate. Peach cobbler he recognized, I am sure, for he asked for seconds.
"Where did you ride to?"
"Up by the railroad. How often do the trains run?" he asked, spooning another bite of cobbler.
Trains…as casually as I could I said, "I don’t know what their schedule is, Ben. They’re freight trains, you know, lumber, coal, cars…no passenger trains run this way. In fact there aren’t any passenger trains anymore, just Amtrak and they don’t come out this way." I sipped my iced tea.
Ben looked over at me and grinned, "I ain’t gonna rob a train. That what you’re worried about?"
I gave him a crooked smile.
"I was just tryin’ to figure out some things," he said softly. "Like how I got off a train on the way to Yuma and rode my horse into North Carolina…things like that." He spoke still in that soft sexy voice of his.
"I wish I could help you, Ben…wish I had the answers. I don’t understand it myself but I’m glad you’re here." I set my glass down and reached over, touching his hand.
Ben picked up my hand and kissed my fingers. "So am I."
I smiled at him and carefully extracted my fingers. He seemed reluctant to let my hand go. I got up and cleaned off the table, scraping plates and loading the dishwasher. Ben sat and watched me from his place at the table, sipping on the glass of tea.
"How many acres has your brother got here?" he finally asked.
"About a hundred left. He’s had to sell some if it off, taxes and what not. There’s not much money in farming."
"No, that certainly doesn’t change with time."
"He supplements what income he gets from the farm. He teaches at the agricultural college."
"Huh, teaching more fellers how to farm. Seems a waste, now don’t it? Nothin’ but hard work and it don’t pay enough to keep you goin’. There’s better ways of makin’ a livin’, easier ways."
"Is what you do easier?" I asked the question out of curiosity. I was surprised he answered it.
"I wouldn’t say it was much easier. Pays better but there are risks involved, sometimes deadly ones. You just have to be smarter and quicker. You know who I am and what I do?"
"Yes," I said, looking at him from near the sink.
He gazed down at the table a minute, moving his glass around. "I am surprised a lady like you would let me in the door." He stood up abruptly and went outside.
I put the dish cloth down, following him out. He’d walked to the end of the porch and was fingering the wind chimes.
"Ben, you said I was ready for you. What did you mean by that. How did you know?"
"I’m not sure I understand it." He turned to me. "I followed the dog and when I saw you…it was…maybe I said it wrong…maybe I was ready for you."
ON TO PART 3
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