THE GHOSTS WITHIN US

0.5 The End

Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the wagon wheels. Somewhere in the recesses of herself, she was aware of the fact that someone was behind her, feet hit the dirt, steps grew louder in her ears. But that was somewhere far away. Right now the rest of her was standing on the edge of the ravine, it was a beautiful canyon, one that when they had passed on the way to where they believe they'd be building their homestead, she had been glad to see the beauty but also known she wanted to be far away, lest their future children fall to the far away bottom below. She hadn't known then, hadn't stopped to consider, that it could hold an all together different temptation.

She huddled under the oil cloth from their wagon, her husband had his finger to his lips, even as he used the other to watch out. A gun shot. Blood, sticky red blood. He'd left the safety of the oil cloth and the pile they been tucked up against, the pile that had once been their falling apart wagon- confronted the men who were helping themselves to their provisions-

She'd pressed her hands to his wounds as the men rode off with what they could fit on their horses

"We'll be back!" A singing voice on the wind as she pressed the torn fabric of her petticoat to a hole in her husband's chest.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized the heart she had her palm pressed against was no longer beating.

She was moved into action by the flies that had begun to hover around them in the heat- managed somehow to wipe her face, close her husband's eyes, and started digging.

"Shallow grave, wrapped in oil cloth." She numbly informed the occupants of the first shanty she came upon. The woman of the house, Mrs. Baker patted Willows hands, casting a distressed look to her husband- he nodded, a grim set to his mouth as he pushed his hat onto his head.

"I'll be back."

He left, leaving Willow and his wife standing in the kitchen.

She'd managed to bury her husband, somehow, before the coyotes came sniffing to close. Then she had gathered what little she had mind to, and had begun walking, the promise of the murderers return playing over in her head with the sound of the gunshot. 2 days later she had knocked at the Bakers door. Willow sat at the window, not seeing beyond the glass she stared through until Mr. Baker came back into view.

"McGregor and his sons had a run in with the men we believe killed your husband." He pushes his head back, speaking to Mrs. Baker and Willow where they stood on the porch. "Didn't count on their being 4 grown men at the sod house, the boys took care of them." His face was still grim, as he glanced to Willow, "Think we have your things ma'am. You care to look them over, make sure they're yours?" Willow stared at him for a moment, before nodding. He began unloading the saddle bags and burlap sack he'd had slung over his horse, he was speaking, she knew something of provisions, food, but she didn't hear him, her mind focused on her own hands in front of her, she smoothed over the saddle bags that had been placed in front of her.

"These be mine." Her voice came out a low croak, her eyes riveted to the tooled leather in her hands- she sifted through the contents of the burlap, and added what little she had brought with her into the saddle bags. "Thank you."

Two more days she sat at the Bakers window, she didn't truly sit there the whole time, but that was where she returned to. She helped with the bread, she hung clothes online, at some point Mr. Baker had made the ride back to their no longer future homestead, and had returned with whatever he had deemed salvageable or useful. He told her of these things or had Mr. Baker tell her, and though she listened, some part of her mind did not latch on to what she was being told. Her husband was dead, she was here in the West, with no one to call family, very little money to her name, and she could not take advantage of the Baker's hospitality forever. 3 days after Mr. Baker had returned with news of the rustlers death, Willow Curtis disappeared.