Cowboys & Ghosts

1. Daisy's Journal

It was September 1850, in the city of Batesville, Arkansas. Raining, followed by clouds moving to the east. Orphan Daisy Martinsen sat at her bedroom desk, flipping through pages of a book she has kept throughout her life. "My name is Daisy," she had written the day she received the book. "I live in the Batesville Orphanage, and I'm eleven years old." Now fifteen and an orphan, it was hard to comprehend the fact that she was unwanted. "The woman who owns the orphanage has told me that my parents were shot down, when I was a baby. If it weren't for those who were responsible, those who gave birth to me still would have been here. My entire life from when I was an infant up until now, I remain in this hellhole. The owner is my...master." Every day, Daisy just wrote and wrote, whenever she wasn't forced to do chores around the orphanage. Her 'master' had also told her of how her last name remained, as it was said on the saddle of a horse when both her parents were shot down. She still had no idea, who could've done it. She put the journal down, brushing off whatever she could off the blue gown she wore. She fixed her curly blonde hair, her green eyes sparkling like the grass she had seen outside her window. As a matter of fact, she was the only one living here. As she was gathering herself, there was a knock on the door. "Daisy," came a jolly woman's voice. "Time for supper."
"Coming," Daisy replied. The voice belonged to Meredith Garner, a black woman in her mid fifties, as sweet as she had been when she took Daisy in. There were some tensions though, as this teenager had been asked to do far more than expected of her. At least, that was what Meredith wanted if there was help required. Daisy sighed grudgingly, as she entered the room where dinner was served. There was indeed more than one thing Daisy didn't like about Meredith, who was sometimes strict. Harsh one minute, sweet the next. But Daisy appeared to care, as if Meredith were her own mother. "I made some porridge, flower," said Meredith. "Your favorite."
"Thank you," murmured Daisy. "But wasn't I supposed to be cooking tonight?"
"Would you rather do that than be locked up for days with no food or water?" Meredith's sweet voice was turning sour, as she had always done, whenever Daisy had done something wrong. Even if there were the smallest problem, she'd be sent to her room without anything to eat or drink. For Daisy, it was a gentle way to go, but the worst way possible was just as sudden and more fearful than death. "No," she finally answered. Meredith's scoff turned into a laugh. "That's exactly what I thought. After you're done, I want you to shop for apples, which we ran out of. You are not to go elsewhere, understand me?" Daisy didn't answer, fighting down the urge to strike her 'master'. "Daisy," Meredith said with more effort. "I forbid it."
"How can I have too much on my shoulders?" Daisy retorted. "It's as if you haven't lost the war."
"But you haven't won a battle either." Meredith had a firm grip on the younger woman's arm, lecture following. "I don't have time for games, Daisy. Your parents died and I take you in; then you throw fire at me. I might as well throw it back, if I have to." Daisy wrenched her arm away, returning to finish her porridge. "You'll thank me eventually, flower," Meredith continued. "Remember that."

Indeed, it was remembered for not a good cause, but for many things. It was later in the evening, when Daisy dressed into a white night gown after returning from the grocery store downtown. It was lights out, but the sun had set below the surface. Again, she sat in her room, with her book out, this time writing, "Meredith takes me in, and what does she do? Boss me around and throw me in my room; regardless rather or not I did anything wrong. I will never thank her. Eventually, I'll be free of this bitch." She looked from her journal to her window, which showed the clouds, that were shaped like a rider on his or her horse. That was when she saw it. She heard what seemed like horses bellowing and men shouting orders from the heavens above. Daisy's eyes widened, as if she were dreaming, but this was no dream. She had seen it, reality took advantage of this. She had heard tales. "I heard stories of this," she once wrote. "A cowboy was out riding in the wilderness, and ghosts called his name. They took him along with them; across skies that never ended." Hearing footsteps, she quickly took her book, which she hid under her pillow. After blowing out her candle, she put the covers over her and pretended to be fast asleep, when the door opened. "Good," she heard Meredith whisper. Rather or not she talked to someone; Daisy didn't know the backgrounds of her strained relationship with her foster mother. "She's asleep. Now, she still doesn't know my secret." The door closed, leaving nothing but darkness spared in this small bedroom. Daisy opened her eyes, suddenly motionless with utter concern. She thought bitterly, "What secret?"