“For “God’s sake, nobody shoot,” Joe yelled. “I’m gettin’ up.” As he shouted he got slowly to his knees, then even more deliberately to his feet. He was careful to keep his hands held out, away from his body and in full view while he did so. He felt no bullets, heard no shots, felt no piercing pains as he stood. Across the field he saw a man mirroring his actions. He began to breathe again.
“My name’s Joe. I’m here with my kids,” he said with as friendly and unthreatening a tone as he could manage through the fear that clenched his teeth, clipped his syllables and made his voice seem to crack like a pubescent boy’s. “We don’t want this; not lookin’ for trouble.” He looked hard at his counterpart staring back at him. “I’m steppin’ way out on a limb here and bettin’ y’all don’t either.”
“No. We don’t; don’t want none neither. Trouble I mean,” the man across the field stammered. “We’re; we’re; Jesus, I didn’t mean to shoot at y’all. We’re good people. All of us. We’re good.” The man’s voice trailed off as his ability to find words, to try to explain, to justify his actions, to stop what was happening eluded him. “Oh, and my name’s Sammy, Sammy Squalls,” he added like a kid remembering his manners, remembering his mother was watching.
“Glad to hear it,” Joe said. “I’m gonna ask my girl to lower her gun now, but she’s going to hold onto it for the time being if that’s okay with you. Understand?”
“Okay,” Sammy replied, not knowing what else to say. “I’m shot,” he then added, feeling foolish, stupid somehow, for having said it even as the words left his mouth. They, after all, were the ones who shot him.
“How bad is it?” Joe asked.
“I don’t know,” Sammy answered. “I never been shot before.” The more he spoke the more asinine he felt. “It’s in my arm below my elbow. Where you shot me, I mean. It’s below my elbow,” he explained. “It’s bleeding,” he then said even as he wondered why he would say something so obvious. “It hurts.”
“I’m Stacy,” came a voice from one of the people behind the sputtering man. “I’m his wife. I need to look at his arm,” she said. “I’m a nurse. I need to tend to that wound.”
Her occupation sent a jolt of hope through Joe like a bolt of lightning. As with lightening, however, the revelation drew forth apprehension as well. Was she saying that to inflate her worth, to distract from the immediate danger she and her band of strangers posed? Was she placing a deliberate chink in their armor? If so it was working.
“Who else is with you?” Joe asked. The fact that the voice was that of a woman left him even more confused, forcing him to reassess yet again. These people seemed less and less like outlaws with every word, shooting his campfire not withstanding.
“The girl who was yellin’ before is our daughter, Ella. She’s eight,” Stacy answered. Her voice was steadier than that of her husband’s, both calmer and more self assured. It carried with it an air of confidence that was missing in Sammy’s as it found its way across the pasture. “That’s Jelly Bean lickin’ the boy you got with you. But I guess you know that already.”
“This is Mr. Brown lying beside me,” she added. “He’s our neighbor from back home.” After a slight hesitation she continued, saying, “He, ‘um, he’s with us now. After the; I mean; well, after everything that happened he was alone.”
As Joe tried to think of what to say in response to the woman’s description of Mr. Brown her reference to what had happened dredged up emotions he’d just as soon keep below the surface. “I really need to look at Sammy’s arm. He’s; I just need to tend to his arm. Is that okay?” Stacy ended the request with a question, but the tenor of her voice left little room for anything but assent.
The man standing across the field from Joe no longer had his hands in the air Joe noticed when Stacy mentioned him again. Sammy was still standing, but with his left arm cradled in his right.
“Yeah, all right,” Joe said. “But please move slowly.” After a few deep breaths and a conscious effort to slow the beating of his heart he asked, “Are you armed?”
Stacy hesitated only a second before answering. “Sammy shot your fire with a thirty-thirty. It’s on the ground and nobody’s gonna pick it up.” After a very deep breath of her own she added, “There’s a forty-five on my hip. Do you want me to remove it?”
“Do you intend to use it?” After asking the question Joe felt like a cliche himself, like a character from the bad western he’d imagined when the strangers arrived.
“No sir,” she answered. Her voice rang true.
Joe had nothing but that to go on, but trusting his instincts and wanting it to be so he said, “See to your husband. And please don’t give us reason to shoot again.”
See to her husband she did. Stacy rose slowly, cautiously; confident but without threat. Her comportment from across the pasture telling Joe and his kids, “I won’t hurt you, but don’t try me.”
She took Sammy’s arm in her hands saying, “Your okay, baby. Let me see.”
Sammy seemed to wilt under her touch, her hands appearing to sap what strength he had left, not give it. His shoulders slumped as he turned to his wife. He looked as if he were going to speak, but did not. He shuffled his feet, compelled to find his fortitude, but unsure of where to look.
His knees bent rather than buckled as he dropped to one, his left arm still tenderly held by Stacy. He looked away from her as she examined it. She prodded here and there, noting with a practiced eye his reactions. Other than wiggling his fingers when asked, however, he seemed to have none.
“I think it’ll be okay,” she said, but without the confidence her voice had exuded when addressing Joe. “The bleeding ain’t bad, considering. I’m going to wrap it, okay?”
Sammy nodded. Joe took note of the fact that he wasn’t facing her, wasn’t looking her in the eye. “This will hurt,” Stacy told her husband. Concern furrowed the lines on her forehead. They seemed out of place, showing themselves too soon, incongruent with her otherwise youthful appearance. Joe had the feeling that Stacy’s concern wasn’t for the pain, though he wouldn’t have been able to say why if asked. Sammy simply nodded again, somehow shrinking as he did so.
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