A Love So Bold
by Anon Allsop

The story continues - Hope you enjoy!

-Three-

Two days west of the attack site, Ezrah was on foot walking the big black horse in an effort to rest it. Ever since that terrible day, the boy used every trick he could think of to elude the roving bands of Indians. Unsure of whether they were those who attacked and killed his parents, yet to him, all Indians were now suspect.

He was walking through a small canyon, and the echoing of Blackie's hooves rattled within his ears even though he was trying to keep silent. As they emerged from the other end, he saw a band of at least a dozen Indians riding diagonally toward him. If he delayed too much, they reach him in no time. He quickly mounted and took off across the prairie in an attempt to outrun them.

When he heard the loud whooping, he knew that he had been seen and it was the second time he had heard their telltale sound. The terrible feeling once again returned to the pit of his stomach. Lying along the back of the big horse, Ezrah entwined his fingers in the long black mane of the horse. Still with the reins in his hands, he hung on for dear life. The horse ran like the wind, ears flat back, tail out and its long ebony main flailing in the terrified youth's face.

It did not take long for him to see that the Indian ponies and their adult riders were no match for a thoroughbred racehorse and a skinny teen who weighed thirty pounds less than they did. He began to distance his pursuers; the powerful muscles rolling beneath Blackie's hide were too much for the Indians smaller ponies.

They rode at break-neck speed for almost a half hour, until the boy could no longer see the band of Indians in pursuit. Ezrah slowed the horse down to a walk, but constantly kept looking back.

As he stroked the big horse's side he whispered, “Thank you, God... thank you for providing Blackie."

The sun was dipping low on the horizon and the moon was promising to be bright. Either way, Ezrah did not want to be caught in the open at dark. As he walked the horse, he began to look for suitable shelter. The youth was very hungry, and he was sure that the horse would be as well. Unless they received a miracle, they would not eat again tonight.

The sun began casting long shadows as Ezrah came to the edge of a butte; he looked down and over a vast valley. There nearly a mile down stood a solitary building. Even from where he stood there was scarring damage from an old fire.

One last time he looked back and stared for a good long while, trying to see if there was movement along the horizon. Satisfied, he slowly began to pick his way down the incline to the bottom. As night washed over the sky, Ezrah worked his way toward the tiny ramshackle building.

He began to look all around him fearfully because as night set in, the valley took on a sinister appearance. Thankfully, they soon arrived at the shack. He walked inside; part of the roof had collapsed, and arrows were embedded in the door frame and walls, but it still appeared solid. He took Blackie inside with him; the shack would offer both of them protection from the night.

On the less destroyed side of the building, Ezrah found a candle and three matches lying on the floor near the old fireplace. He ruined two of them before he finally was able to light the candle. Placing it in an old can, he slowly carried it through the cabin and investigated his surroundings.

In what was left of the kitchen, he found a door to the root cellar. Opening it, he carefully made his way down the steep ladder still carrying the candle. At the bottom of the cellar, he began to search the bins for a potato or carrot or something that would fill his stomach.

He found a burlap bag that looked like it could have been oats or corn meal; in the light from the candle he decided it was corn. He dipped his hand in it; it seemed dry enough and not too mealy. Nearby, he found two onions, a single potato, and an apple with one side that was bad. All were placed in the bag.

He held the candle up, studying if there was anything overhead that may be edible, possibly hanging from the rafters. Far above his head, he saw the glint of something gold. Moving closer, he noticed that it was an old necklace that had been caught between the floorboards. Ezrah tried to reach it but it was still at least a foot out of his reach and there appeared to be nothing that he could stand on.

He grabbed the burlap bag and slowly made his way back up the ladder into the kitchen. Forgetting his hunger, he set the bag aside and began to calculate where he saw the gold necklace hanging. Pulling aside several burnt beams, he found the area where he thought it would be.

Lowering himself to his hands and knees, he began to dust the floor carefully until he found a glint of gold lying amongst the debris. Only a couple of the links were sticking above the floor. Into these he inserted a straight pin that he found among the rubble, and then turned it so it spanned both boards and wouldn't allow the chain to fall the rest of the way into the cellar.

Using a broken pot handle, he began to pry the boards apart, attempting to spread them enough to simply pull the necklace through. He took hold of the pin and slowly pulled out the chain. As he began to retrieve it, the medallion on the end became stuck in the narrow gap between the boards.

Getting a second bite with his makeshift pry-bar, he spread them further and simply pulled the medallion on through. He smiled as the strange little amulet spun in a slow circle, reflecting back a tiny bit of candle light that reflected upon its surface.

He quickly dropped it into his shirt pocket only to hear it hit the floor of the room. Inserting his fingers into the offending hole, he began cursing to himself as he felt around in the darkness until he once again found the chain. Not wanting to lose it for a second time, he slipped it on over his head, and let it dangle against his chest.

He settled down and removed the onions, potato and apple from the bag, then made an improvised feed bag for the horse using an old rope. As Blackie sat quietly munching on the corn meal, the boy cut the bad spots from the onions and potato and began eating them. While he chewed, he inspected the apple, cutting off the bad portion from it. After cutting a piece of it for himself and finding it over-ripe, and much too soft, he fed the remainder to Blackie.

While he didn't care for the onion like he would have a fresh apple, he thought fondly back to the onion sandwiches that his mother would make for his father and him early on the trail. The memory of those sandwiches and the special times he had with his parents carried him through. It was in no time before he realized that he was quietly chewing on the potato.

His meager meal would not be fit for a king, yet it sufficed and helped quell his hunger. He remembered praying to find something for Blackie and him to eat while out on the prairie, and here was his miracle. He drifted off to sleep shortly afterward, very tired, but no longer hungry.

-Four-

Morning broke and young Ezrah awoke with a shaft of blinding sun directly in his eyes. He groaned and slowly regained his feet. There was a small portion of the corn meal that Blackie couldn't get in the very bottom of the bag, so he emptied this into his hand and fed it to the horse.

While still in the old ramshackle shack, he saddled Blackie and carefully walked through the rubble to reach the outside of the building. Eagerly he mounted the back of the horse and once again, started riding with the sun at his back. It was already very warm and sticky, and he knew the day would be hot.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Ezrah stood on the ground and wiped the sweat from his eyes. He had seen no sign of Indians all morning, and was thankful for it. For the moment, he was trying to locate a place in the shade for them to cool down and wait for dark.

About two hours later, the pair stumbled across an old creek-bed. As Blackie began digging with his hooves, water began to seep into the hole. The two then took turns drinking the dirty water until their thirst was sated. The teen wished he had searched the house for something that he could have carried water in; instead they had left without giving it nary a thought.

Once again they set out, still heading west. Ezrah was on the ground walking slowly in an attempt to keep Blackie fresh if they should need to flee. He broke over a rise and saw wagon tracks in the grasses; there had been many through this very spot over the years. He only hoped that he could find a train to hook up with.

For miles, he continued to follow the tracks, the scene only changing when he would pass a discarded piece of furniture or a grave. Seeing the crudely made crosses saddened him, for it tore at his mind and soul that he never buried his parents. However, he knew that his father had been right; had he remained much longer he might have lost his life too.

As the late afternoon sun lengthened the shadows, Ezrah came across a wagon. There were several arrows embedded in its structure. He quickly dropped to his knees behind a clump of tall prairie grass, forgetting the black horse that stood only feet behind him, towering over his head.

He scanned in every direction around him, searching for any sign of their attackers. He gradually rose up and began walking toward the wagon. In the distance another wagon was laying on its side; it too had several arrows within it.

The lad hesitantly inched his way to the first wagon he saw. Its contents were of household items, nothing he could use. The second wagon had a can of peaches that had been wedged under the frame of the wagon.

He found a canteen lying in the tall grass, only about ten feet off the trail. There was a dent in its front but it didn't look punctured, from the heft, it seemed to be holding something. Ezrah pulled the plug and cautiously took a sip, but the water inside was extremely hot and quite brackish. Immediately he spit out the water, and then he reluctantly poured out the remainder on the ground; he hoped that this act wasn't a mistake and he would be able to locate cleaner water soon.

He hung the canteen on the horn of the saddle, and then continued to walk among the debris of the two wagons. He found two graves near the second wrecked wagon, each marked with a crude cross. From their looks of the young weeds that were already starting to grow, Ezrah guessed that the graves were a couple of weeks old.

He continued on, afraid of loitering for too long, in the area where two more lost their lives to Indians. There were still tracks moving westward, and he followed these on foot, allowing Blackie a chance to rest…well into the setting sun. With miles from the last attack behind him and the moon nearly full, Ezrah again climbed upon Blackie and started to ride in the cool air of the evening.

In the haunting shadows of the dark, Blackie pulled up short and silently stood like a great sentential in the night, ears turning to pick up something he had heard. Ezrah strained his ears, trying to listen for anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly the big horse’s' head swung and its ears perked straight up to catch every nuance of sound.

Ezrah turned his head in the same direction; he too thought he heard something far off, a strange sound faintly carried by the wind. A slow chill ran up the lad's back. He fearfully looked toward the trail he had been following, then again looked into the darkness toward the sound he had heard. It sounded like deep sobbing; it was far off but unmistakable.

Again the strange sound repeated itself and he shivered in fear. He tried desperately to convince himself that it was just the wind. It had almost worked, but on the second instance of what he heard, he knew that the sound was quite human. Again he looked toward the west where the trail met the starry night sky, but slowly turned the horse toward the sound.

He and Blackie carefully worked their way toward a line of trees near a rocky outcropping. Ezrah estimated that he was a mile from the trail he had been following. He climbed down and quietly picked his way through the grasses, weeds and rocks.

Again his horse froze, ears perked and turned toward the rocks. Ezrah cautiously approached as wild stories raced through his mind. Stories of the sounds the Indians made to draw unsuspecting people to their traps. He neared a tree and tied Blackie's reins to a branch, then hesitantly continued toward the rocks.

Like a banshee's cry, the sound echoed around the rocks and to the boy’s ears. He stumbled and fell trying to return to the horse's side. No attack came, no pursuit from a grim reaper closed in. Swallowing hard, Ezrah regained his feet and inched his way toward the rocks, his mind a whirl as images of what it could be raced through.

Again there was a softer sound, much like a young infant would have made. He tipped his head, hearing it for a second time, slowly working his way around a large boulder. He felt that on the other side, would be the creature that he thought he was hearing.

Just peering around the edge of the great rock, with only the moon and stars for light, he saw what had been making the sound. It was a woman; even in the moonlight he could see that her hair was brilliantly red. As he looked on, he realized that she had a great bloody patch on the bodice of her dress, with an arrow shaft protruding from her chest.

Forgetting the reason that he was trying to be cautious, he raced to the poor woman's aide. Kneeling beside her he examined the shaft of the arrow; it looked as though it was buried near her heart or possibly a lung. She was still breathing, but barely alive.

Not too far from where she lay, Ezrah saw a very small pool of water, the remainder of an earlier rainstorm. He quickly scrambled to his feet and raced back to the big black horse; he untied the reins and led it to the water-hole. As he retrieved his found canteen, he promptly rinsed it out and refilled it with the clean, cool water.

Leaving the horse to drink, he raced back to the woman and lifted her head to allow her to drink. Even in the light of the moon he could tell she had blisters from lying in the sun, he poured a slight amount into his finger, then dabbed the water across her parched lips. She stirred, moaning in pain.

Ezrah supported her head and held the canteen as she sipped the water. Slowly her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at the boy, partially in surprise, partially in relief.

"You'll be okay, lady; I promise I won't leave you alone out here." He again allowed her to sip the water, pulling it away only as she began coughing.

As she coughed, little flecks of foamy blood fell against her bodice. He didn't need to have a doctor beside him to know that she had been shot through the lung. "There are some trees here, I can probably rig up a travois like the Indians use and we can..." He began to prattle as she gently touched his arm.

"I won't make it, we both know that." She wheezed, "I'm grateful... that you came though."

"No, lady, you'll be fine," he replied, trying to sound convincing.

As he sat holding the canteen, he heard a soft sound coming from beside the injured woman. He then noticed movement and the woman gently pulled a portion of her skirt aside, revealing the baby that was concealed by the material.

Instantly, the boy realized that this revelation would compound the issue even greater. He glanced toward the mother; she was young perhaps in her early twenties. Her pretty face was sad with regret. "Can... can you hand her to me?" she softly asked.

Ezrah gently lifted up the child and placed it in her mother's arms. "Did you have her out here?"

She weakly nodded and replied, "Months back… along... the trail." then began to unbutton her bodice; her fingers no longer with the dexterity necessary to function in her weakened state. Her hands dropped to her side, "Please." she whispered, "I can't... myself."

"Lady, I…" Ezrah stammered, afraid of what he thought she was asking.

"I'm dying... she needs to nurse... one last time." as she spoke, Ezrah stepped to her side and slowly fumbled with the buttons. This was the first time he had ever been this near to a woman's exposed breast.

As he finished with her buttons, he aided her by raising the baby up to the exposed teat where it could nurse. The opposite side of the bodice was pinned to her bloodied chest with the arrow.

There were tears in the woman's eyes as she watched her daughter nurse, perhaps for the last time. The ashen color of the woman's face spoke volumes to Ezrah, it was of the same color that his own mother wore the last time he saw her.

Turning away, Ezrah did not want her to see him crying. He had witnessed death before and did not want to watch this woman die. He walked to the water, knelt, and splashed it onto his face. He took his kerchief that had been tied around his neck and rinsed it in the cool water. He stood up and moved Blackie to a tree that would allow him shade, come daylight and still be near enough to the water, should he want to drink. There he removed the saddle and hung it over a large rock. While casting a backwards glance at the woman as she shared her last moment with the baby, he brushed Blackie down with wads of dried grass.

After he finished he washed his hands and moved to the bag he had taken from the shack. He removed the can of peaches from it and began to cut the top open with the blade of his small pocket knife. Carrying it carefully to the woman he settled beside her and offered her a peach, "Excuse the fingers, lady."

She smiled and took a tiny bite, her eyes closed as if she was savoring her final meal. Ezrah's mind was trying to figure out what he would do with the baby after she passed, because there was no way he could care for her without the mother around to feed her.

"So, you was attacked by Indians on the trail?" he spoke as he offered her another bite of the peach.

She nodded, "They came fast... on us before we knew they were there." She commenced to coughing deeply, with each one the shaft of the arrow bounced viciously. Sighing, she leaned her head back and looked into the sky.

"Find my family, take her to them." She began coughing again.

"Lady, I don't even know your family's name! For all I know, they was killed by those same Indians that got you!" he shouted in frustration. As he sat there mulling over her plea, he felt ashamed for yelling at a dying woman.

"I'm Hannah... Hannah Shepherd... my baby... her name is Emma... named after Gideon's mother." She again began coughing profusely, so the boy held the canteen for her to take another long drink that seemed to quell it for the time being.

"You said ‘Gideon’, is that your husband?" She nodded in response, and looked down at the infant nursing. There were tears in her eyes.

"I have a son... he's four... Cade." She looked up at Ezrah, and then looked out across the prairie; tears were beginning to fall down her cheeks. “I should have been a better wife…to him…I was so spiteful and angry.”

“Spiteful? Angry?” Ezrah asked, thinking this poor dying woman could never possess a spiteful bone in her body.

She continued, "When the Indians came…I jumped from the wagon…with Emma…I ran." Her gaze was still off in the distance, "I ruined everything..."

"You can't talk that way, Hannah," Ezrah reasoned, "By running - you may have given your family a chance to escape."

She coughed and turned toward Ezrah, her voice remarkably clear and determined. "Promise me that you will find them." She studied the lad’s face for several long moments. "You promise me, boy..." She suddenly realized that she never had asked the youth's name, her questioning look said what her voice could not.

"I'm Ezrah."

"Promise me, Ezrah...” She again demanded, grabbing him forcefully by his shirt, “Promise me that you will find Gideon!"

There were tears clinging to Ezra's cheeks as he nodded, "As long as there is a breath in my body, I will find your Gideon. I will take your Emma home." As he sat looking down at the woman, her eyes slowly drifted downward and her grasp on his shirt relaxed with the onset of death.

-Five-

Ezrah quickly reached down and untangled the deceased woman's thumb from his necklace, then reverently placed Hannah's hand by her side. The infant had finished nursing and he gently lifted the baby from Hannah's arms, sitting her down upon the portion of dress material that had originally been covering her.

As he sat back upon the ground with hands upon his knees, he began to take notice of her face. It looked subtly different. He knew some of what happened after one of God's creatures passed, how time would break down the tissue until nothing but bones were left. But... this was different. Something strange was happening right before his eyes.

He was he puzzled, as he could actually witness changes to her feminine structure right as it happened; it was miniscule, but was happening in front of him nonetheless. As her shoulders began to widen and her arms lengthened from her half-sleeves, he looked around in fear and quickly stood holding her child as if to protect her from whatever was going on.

He backed away as a lump, halfway down the front of her neck, began to grow outward. It seemed to be forming into an uncharacteristically misplaced Adams apple, especially on a female as pretty as she had been. As the shock of what he was seeing overwhelmed him, he clutched the baby tighter, backing even further away. Almost as an afterthought, his own hand felt for the bulbous Adams apple of his own. In panic he frantically felt again, fear of what was happening to her perhaps infecting him. He could no longer feel his Adam's apple upon his own throat!

Hair began to tickle his neck, in panic; he reached up he felt the growing tresses as they fell over his collar. "What is going on!" he cried in fear, his young voice echoing against the large boulders that surrounded them. Each desperate cry slowly began inching up in octave until he could no long recognize his own voice! He retrieved a lock that had begun snaking down the front of his shirt and pulling the ever lengthening hair out to see; it was brilliantly red, just like the young mother's had been!

"What have you done to me?" he cried aloud at the body of the woman, as more and more of the red hair cascaded over his narrowing shoulders. “No! Please no!” he cried as he realized that the pants he had been wearing no longer fit. His waist now began to grow narrower and the pants became very loose as opposed to his hips where they became snug as the time progressed. His shadow cast upon the ground was unmistakable, his hips were somehow widening!

He stepped back a few more feet, stumbled and fell onto his bottom hard. He narrowly escaped injury to the baby in his arms as he was able to hold her in front as he fell. Tears were coursing down his cheeks as he desperately tried to remove himself from whatever strange magic had somehow befallen him.

As Ezrah placed his hand upon the ground for support, trying to regain his feet, he slowly stood. His eyes never left his fingers, holding them out in front of him; he stared in wonderment as they gradually morphed from his stubby round nails to slender fingers with long, tapered nails that extended slightly past their respective fingertips. His hands were slowly mirroring a woman’s!

His terrified eyes darted toward where Hanna lay in death. Ezrah hesitantly stepped closer. What was it about her that looked so familiar? As the horror of the situation suddenly washed over and enveloped him, he realized that Hannah was slowly beginning to resemble... him!

In fear he staggered to the water-hole and peered over the edge, using its surface like a mirror. What he saw in his reflection, made his heart fall, seemingly only to crash into the pit of his stomach. There was no denying what his eyes were seeing - he was slowly transforming into an exact copy of Hannah! That fact was being driven home by the gradual expanse he was witnessing upon his chest. As if being filled from within, his chest was enlarging, drawing upon his skin, pulling outward and down by gravity. Hanna’s haunting green eyes looked back from the reflection as terror etched into Ezrah’s slowly transforming face.

“This can’t be happening…” he cried as he tried to push them back in, but painfully had to cease for fear of dropping Emma, and the discomfort he felt by pressing against them. In anger he ran to her side, the shaft of the arrow still standing out from her chest, and placed her child on the ground beside him.

Falling to his knees beside her he cried out in agonizing pain, as his breasts continued to expand, now filling with the life giving fluid that her baby needed. “NO!” he shouted, and then fell prone onto his side in despair. His confusion only compounded by the changes he could see on both Hanna’s corpse and on him. His head fell forward and copious amounts of wavy red tresses fell like a shroud around his face.

Deep racking and very feminine sobs were emitted from his throat, as he looked upon the form that he once claimed. Only now for him, there was a shaft from an Indian’s arrow sticking straight from his chest. He reached out with a slender trembling hand and touched the shaft of the arrow. Tears began rolling down his feminized cheeks as he realized just how very real this had become.

His head became light, swirling black tendrils seemed to engulf him. He fought hard, but as the sweat began to bead his upper lip, he began to lose consciousness. Trying to stand only made it worse. He fell in a faint, laying only inches from where Hannah had died. Her young baby lay in between them.