Nobody Says It's Easy

54

Humming that strange mountain tune, she turned the signal light to enter the campground. She'd hit pay dirt down the road. 

A small unpainted wooden store was opened. The lady behind the counter was putting out freshly baked half-moon apple pies. Beanie's favorite. She bought a dozen.

"This will be enough to rot all our dentures," she joked with the store keeper.

She had just entered onto the dirt driveway when she glanced behind the owner's office.

That's Beanie tromping off into the woods with that old man, she thought. The old man had what looked like an old burlap bag filled with something.

"And they both have guns!"

She slammed on the brakes and shoved Old Betsy into park. What were those two up to?

No good.

They were too far away for her to yell at Beanie. Even if he heard her, in the mood he'd been in lately, he'd just ignore her. She followed them.

What was that old man thinking? Beanie didn't know how to use shoot a shotgun.

Deeper and deeper into the woods she wandered. Was she on the right track? Was she lost?

Her foot snagged a root that was gnarled above the ground. She stumbled and fell.

"Shoot," she said.

The leg of her jeans was torn. She had a gash on her knee.

"Beanie Fugate," she steamed, "I'm going to kill you."

She heard the gunshots deep into the woods in front of her.

From out of nowhere, a whirlwind began to blow. Leaves and dirt and pine needles circled her. She coughed and tried to keep the debris from her nose and mouth. Crouching into a tiny ball, she waited until the dirt devil passed.

Her hair stood on top of her head. Pieces of straw and litter were entangled. She stood up, trying to brush off the dirt that smudged her clothes. Limping along, she wandered in the direction of the shots.

The woods opened up into a small clearing. Beanie and the old man were standing on one side aiming at tin cans. The old man was instructing her friend, calmly and patiently, like a father to his son.

Beanie put the gun to his shoulder, aimed, fired, and missed.

The old man patted him on the back. Their voices carried across the meadow. Hadley could not move. She stood there watching the scene unfold.

"That's okay, boy. You'll get the hang."

Beanie reloaded.

"Look! There's a rabbit. Do like I said. Slow and easy. Burn her, boy! You can do it."

"No, Beanie!" cried Hadley.

Beanie jumped, fired, and missed. The rabbit scurried off into the woods unharmed.

"You made me miss!"

"Of course, I did. I'm glad," she said. "What are you doing?"

"Hunting. If it's any of your beeswax."

"Are you planning on eating what you shoot?"

"No," Beanie said. "Yes. I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. Go home. Leave us alone. You don't belong here."

"Beanie Fugate. You come with me this minute."

"Do it, son," Hadley heard the old man mutter under his breath. "You'll never cut loose those apron strings. She won't let you. Do it. Do it now. Burn your bridges. Clear the ledgers. Close your accounts! Do it NOW!"

Hadley's eyes grew large. It was all happening in slow motion. Beanie was slowly raising the gun.

His eyes were blank. She couldn't read the expression on his face. His thick, wooly beard prevented her from seeing his mouth. But the old man, standing beside her friend, was easy to read.

Gleeful. That's the word that she'd use to describe him. And then, it hit her.

"Handsome Curst!" she screamed.

She didn't know why that name came into her head, and she couldn't explain the incredible urge she had to scream it out at the top of her lungs. But she was glad she did.

The spell was broken. Beanie dropped the gun. He looked at the little old man who was suddenly bellowing out in the middle of the forest.

The wind picked up again. Dirt and detritus was flying around them.

"Shoot her, you idiot!"

Beanie obeyed. He raised the gun and fired.

This time, he hit his mark.