Thoughts of Some Wicked Notion
Chapter 20 of The Ballad of Abigail Lambert
Shattered glass rained down upon Benjamin’s head as bullets flew in through the broken window above. His wife had been shot dead by a lying animal but even with every fiber of his being sparked by a flaming rage, he knew that if he stepped out from cover, he’d surely join her. The barrage of bullets Colin and his crew were putting down upon the house was simply too thick for him to have a prayer of landing a good shot before his body would end up riddled with holes. He would be forced to wait for an opening, one that even as the hellfire died down, never arrived.
The bullets had begun to echo, the gunfight had moved without him. He peeked his head up above the windowsill just slightly, but Colin and his gang were gone. Bodies were scattered on the ground, and Benjamin could see plenty of his men with their backs to him, firing at what was left of Colin’s gang as they rode away. It might’ve looked like Colin was flying through the air had it not been for the only detail his black horse didn’t lose in the inky cover of night: its white mane. The bullet Benjamin intended to plant in Colin’s skull would have to lay in wait for the time being in his rifle.
He exited the house and walked over to where his wife lay on the ground. Every step he took as he approached was slower, as if to delay what he knew he would find if only for that much longer. When he stood over her, he dropped to his knees. Her face was turned down in the dirt. He knew, but he had to see it with his own eyes. He gently turned her over, and her face was a mess of dirt and blood. He could do nothing to slow the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He tried to control his breathing; gritting his teeth all the while he made the attempt. He picked her head up and held it to his chest, and cried quietly to himself there for some time.
He gave himself that moment to mourn, but he knew he was not the only one that suffered a loss on the ranch that night. He laid her back down on the ground and took to his feet. They needed to identify the dead, and give them the proper burial they all deserved. As the surviving men who warded off Colin’s gang returned from the edge of the ranch, Benjamin had them collect everyone who’d survived the assault to meet in the middle of the ranch.
He looked around at the devastation. The barn had burned to the ground, but it wasn’t the only building that did. The livestock pens were open, the animals they once contained scattered, a good number of them dead. He struggled with the notion that it might not even be worth it to rebuild, but after he allowed the thought to pass, he understood his duty to do so. It took some time, but everyone finally gathered around. Luckily, the casualties hadn’t been too severe; but that they lost anyone at all was too much for Benjamin.
“You all have paid a price tonight,” he told them, “and for what you did to protect our home, I will be eternally grateful. Some among us were forced to pay the ultimate price and for that, I only blame myself. It’s gonna be damn hard to rebuild, but we will. I know if Suza—“ His voice cracked. “I know if Suzanne were here, she would inspire us with her strength, to push through. We are the glue that holds this place together, and I’m asking all of y’all to be strong right now. Everyone who couldn’t make it tonight needs it.”
Their first task would be to bury the dead. There was a small gravesite already set up on the far end of the ranch. Every child Suzanne had birthed ended up in one of those graves, and now Suzanne along with them. They had to expand the radius of the yard from how many bodies were added from the last evening. There were enough men for each of them to dig a grave, Benjamin included. Jebidiah tried to spare him the grief of having to dig Suzanne’s grave, but he refused. Perhaps some display of survivor’s guilt with Sable having survived the night. They dug into the morning light, and the graves were ready by noon. Once the priest arrived that evening, they held the service, and paid their respects.
It would be a couple weeks’ worth of work just to clean up the damage done by the assault, but they pulled through. It was a rough hit to Benjamin’s business. It would take a clever readjustment of everything they did have on hand to get the ranch back to even a fraction of what it was producing before this had happened, but they’d come back. Benjamin didn’t have the choice not to.
As he continued to dig through the rubble of the barn, he planted his shovel in the ash and wiped his brow. The same fire he’d been forced to quiet burned inside him. He wanted to believe that when all was said and done, Colin would get his comeuppance. He didn’t need to practice wrath, he could leave that to God. Still—he found himself consumed by the desire. Jebidiah looked to him.
“Benjamin.” He called.
He was snapped out of his fantasy.
“What’s got you possessed?” Jebidiah asked.
“Thoughts of some wicked notion,” he replied. He tried to quiet his mind with loving thoughts of family, but as he thought that over—it occurred to him that he might be the only one left. “You know, Jeb, I buried my father, my mother. Every child I ever had. And now my wife. It’s incredible, how you can build so much and still end up with nothing to show for it. Only family I got left done run off to Tennessee.”
That stayed with Benjamin for the rest of the day. Even as he lay awake in bed, his mind would not quiet with the thought that his sister was out there somewhere, probably running something reckless headfirst into God knows what on her way to get that girl home. She would need a home to return to once she was finished, he kept reminding himself. My place is here. But every day that would go by, the voice that reminded him to rebuild the ranch grew quieter than the dread that washed over him about the fate of his sister. She needed a home to come back to, yes, but she had to come back in the first place. And he was gonna make damn sure of that. He refused to be the last of the Lamberts.
He readied himself with supplies for his journey: a little food, his rifle and some ammo, along with what few provisions he could carry to survive in the rough. What remained of rebuilding, he delegated amongst the men on the ranch. Most all of them had been there for several years; they could be trusted to get the place back to where it needed to be while he was gone. He would ultimately be back anyways, if there was a mess when he returned—it was well worth the peace of mind that would come to him with Abigail back home.
His plan was to stick to main roads whenever possible to keep this journey as expedient as he could manage. He would’ve preferred to take the train, but the line nearest the ranch had been closed for it was in need of dire renovation after overuse without maintenance during the Civil War. It would be a ride 300 miles on horseback to the nearest line that carried passengers, so he would have to get by on his own until then. He made camp about halfway down that road before he awoke to a troubling sight.
Rummaging through the rucksack beside him was a hungry, shit-your-pants massive, bear. Benjamin did as well as he could to keep silent, perhaps the beast would be content with what he found in the bag. The only trouble was that Benjamin’s knife was also sheathed in that bag, which left him particularly exposed. If he could manage to slip away, he might not need it at all, but that assumed the bear would be too preoccupied with the bag to notice him.
Benjamin tried as delicately as he could to crawl away from the bear, but he didn’t make it more than a few inches before the bear removed its snout from the bag. Benjamin stayed deathly still. The bear lumbered over to him, front paws planted over each one of his shoulders. Drool dripped down from its mouth as it hovered inches over Benjamin’s face. He held his breath with his eyes shut, praying that the bear would not feel the tremors shooting across his body. He held his breath there for what felt like an eternity, and when he could no longer take it, he gasped for air and the bear swatted him across the chest with its colossal paw.
It started to bite into his chest and Benjamin yelled. He punched the bear in the side of the head which gave him enough time to roll to the side and grab the bag. As he rose to his feet with the bag in hand, he started to run but the bear swatted at him once more, and the force of the hit sent Benjamin flying into a nearby tree. He fell to the dirt as the bear ran straight at him. It slashed at his chest once again, but Benjamin was finally able to get a hold of the knife. As the bear ripped into his chest, Benjamin stabbed the beast in the neck several times. It staggered away, but ultimately succumbed to its wounds and bled out not far from where the whole ordeal had taken place.
Benjamin could hardly breathe, and was losing blood in several places. He did his best to bandage himself up by cutting the blanket he’d brought with him into strips, but he was still in rough shape. His horse had been scared off by the bear, so he was left without transport. He’d be able to walk, sure, but not without dragging his feet. The beast had also torn through what little food he’d brought with him, so he’d have to make due with whatever he could hunt for on his own.
The decision whether to head back to the ranch or continue to Tennessee weighed heavy on him. It was about the same distance in either direction, but his chances at surviving were better if he headed back home. He turned his gaze to the East, sure that Abigail would need him, current condition be damned. He looked to the West, and spied someone riding down the trail, away from him. Hopefully Benjamin could flag them down for a ride to the nearest town, he could recuperate there. He waved his arms above his head and shouted in hopes that they would see him. As the man on the horse turned around, Benjamin saw that the man was not alone. Beside him rode several other men on other horses, but the man at the front caught his attention. He could just barely make it out, but it was a beautiful black stallion with a white mane.
“Son of a bitch,” Benjamin whispered to himself.
He quickly dragged himself off the road and climbed down over a small dip to hide behind the rocky formation. As Colin and his men approached on their horses, Benjamin prayed that perhaps they hadn’t seen him and would just continue on.
“Look around,” he heard Colin say.
So much for that. Colin and his men looked around for the strange man in the middle of the road. Benjamin could hear the crunch of footsteps growing louder as they approached his hiding spot, surely he would be discovered and Colin would get another chance to display his cruelty, but before Benjamin could meet such a fate, he heard a young girl shout and a horse trot away.
“Get her!” He heard Colin shout.
Everyone chased after her, Benjamin hearing the sounds of footsteps grow quieter instead of louder. He peeked over the rock only to see Esperanza, tied up in a lasso, as Colin lifted her back up onto his horse.
“I should know better than to trust you,” Colin told her.
“Go to hell!” She shouted.
He slapped her across the mouth. Her lip bled. He mounted his horse, along with his men, and they rode off. Benjamin could hardly believe it. These animals had Esperanza, and Abigail was nowhere to be found. Surely, she must’ve been dead already and he was in fact the last of the Lamberts. Only now, the last of the Lamberts would die over a hundred miles away from home. Perhaps now his direction was clear, head back West to Texas, but first he would need water.
He managed to find a shallow creek and crawled down onto his hands and knees to drink from it. It was dirty, runoff water, but it was the only drink he’d had all day. He was lightheaded, drenched in sweat from the wounds; he needed anything he could get to keep him going. He laid on the ground and lapped at the water when he heard a branch snap nearby. He looked up from the water, and spotted a little Native girl on the other side of the creek, couldn’t have been older than five years old. They locked eyes. Out from the trees behind the little girl, a Native man emerged.
Benjamin began to crawl backward from the creek, his gaze locked on the Natives across the water. The man directed the little girl to run back to the others, and she did just that. Benjamin rolled onto his back and pushed himself up onto his rear, never turning his back to him. As the Native started to cross the creek, Benjamin failed to notice how he’d lost the rifle on the ground to the roll. He only noticed when the man had crossed the creek and walked right past the rifle on the ground. Benjamin clutched his knife as he scurried backward, but the pain of his injuries rang louder throughout his body with every inch in the direction he pulled himself. He crawled backward until he he hit a tree, and held the knife out in front of him.
The Native crossed the creek and approached him. He took a knee in front of the wounded man before him. Benjamin’s eyes were wide with the memory of harrowing nights on the frontier from his time as a Ranger. The Native’s eyes, however, were curious. He happened upon a wounded creature who looked to be in no condition to defend himself, but he also knew that a wounded animal could often be a creature at its most dangerous. He lifted his hands and spoke something softly in his language as he slowly reached for Benjamin’s arm. Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Benjamin slid the knife past the man’s hand and sliced his arm. The Native was quick to smash Benjamin’s wrist with his other hand, and disarm him.
The Native took the knife off the ground and stood over him. Across the creek, three other Native men arrived, one of them sporting a regal headdress. The others held Benjamin up by the arms as the man he’d just sliced with his knife argued to the man Benjamin could only presume to be the Chief.
“He tells me you tried to kill him,” the Chief said in English that seemed too perfect for a tribesman.
“Wasn’t gonna let him do it first.”
There was silence among the five of them. Benjamin’s head hung low. He’d spent countless nights of his youth chasing Natives like these down without any guarantee that he’d live to see the sunrise. He’d reveled in the enterprise—but perhaps now was his time to pay for every Native body he racked up over the years. It certainly seemed to be the case at this point.
“Forgive me, Abigail,” Benjamin whispered.
The Chief stepped toward him. He picked Benjamin’s chin up, so they could look each other in the eye.
“What did you say?”
Benjamin spit at the man. The Native man with the bleeding arm punched him across the face. The Chief yelled in their language at the man who hit Benjamin.
“I will ask you once more,” the Chief said in English. “Repeat yourself.”
“I said forgive me, Abigail.”
“Abigail Lambert?”
Benjamin’s eyes went wide. “Who are you?”
“My name is Yuma.”
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