Rainbow Trail

way.

Chapter One

April 1868

It was a cool night, the pleasant freshness of early spring, with a hint of warmth to come, the sliver of the new moon shining brilliantly between clouds. Nineteen-year-old Kate Murphy’s unruly auburn braid spiraled tautly at the nape of her neck. Her delicate eyebrows above soft, hazel eyes, so envied by the women in town, peered into the night-cloaked street. Wisps of fine, sun-streaked hair flicked across her face in the cool evening breeze as she breathed the dust-filled air the recent riders left behind. Kate closed her lips lightly against the cloud and stench of lathered horses and unwashed men that careened toward the saloon, shielding her face with her hand until the air settled.

She ambled then, through town, her town, reveling in the simple softness of an April evening, despite the raucous laughter magnified by drunken men, and clanking piano keys straining through the gaslit doorway of the saloon. She looked forward to be going to the café her widowed-friend owned. It’s so nice and quiet there this time of night, and I adore my time with her. Without her these past two years, I would have fallen off the ends of the Earth.

Twinsburg rested at the point west of the Mississippi that separated men. Those pioneers not sturdy enough for the western trails hung here. Many of them set up homes for themselves, too embarrassed to return to their families; or too broke; or fearful of laws they had broken or persons they had violated. Some hungered for adventure, but their bodies had given out on them. Broken bones, influenza, dysentery, and madness crept up to make the further trek appear too dangerous or downright impossible. So Twinsburg was full of rats and dreamers, as well as courageous adventurers, which made up the population of this westerly haven.

Kate knew only characters. Her dad had been one, too. Good ol’ Murph filled the town with his gimpy gait, a face which easily flushed in a card game and a hearty Billy-goat laugh. She smiled, remembering him that way; the way he was before he left to look for gold out West. Ah, Pa! I wish you were still here. When will you be back, you ornery cuss? I miss ya!

Kate strode down the boardwalk along the north side of the street, her calf boots tapping in rhythm with the music from the saloon, reflecting on her hometown.

She grew up on the family ranch, really just a homestead, a few miles from town, not toward the river and easy grazing, but out along the rocky slopes and drier terrain on the edges where no one else chose to live. It was the previous spring that she had moved into Annie’s boarding house in town, necessitated by the repossession of her ranch. For a brief moment, Kate puckered her lips with the sour-tasting memory of the banker bringing a hammer and nails to post the notice and to chase her out. She had squatted there as long as she could, awaiting her pa’s promised return, but Murphy failed to show up; and the money he promised to send, never appeared. I miss my ranch, but I do love these night talks with Melba since I moved into town.

Kate stepped up to the porch at the entrance of the Twinsburg Cafe and saw the ‘Closed’ sign in the window. She smiled, knowing that Melba was taking time out at the end of another long day to make preparations for the day to come. Inside the doors, Kate took in the scent of the coffee Melba must have just put on, and the freshly scrubbed floors, and, best of all, the bread dough rising in the back.

Stepping into the kitchen, Kate smiled at the sight of the stout woman stretching to pull two cups out of a wooden cabinet—the dishware she reserved just for their late-night talks. Not the unbreakable enamel mugs she gave to the customers, the type with dents and chips, but the hand-painted porcelain teacups Melba’s mother had given her as a wedding gift before she and her husband left Boston. Now a widow, Melba looked forward to sharing these family heirlooms with her good friend. The older woman smiled wryly and embraced this friend half her age, making note that the younger woman’s slight build had bulked out a bit since she settled into her room in town and gave up the struggle to keep the ranch. Kate hugged her back, smelling the sweat that clung to her after a lengthy day. She then poured herself a cup of coffee and walked out to their favorite table in the corner as Melba followed. Neither had much to say at first. It was the simple act of being together that nourished them, the heat between their hands reflective of the love they shared.

Hey, Mel. How was the dinner crowd tonight? Kate asked, knowing that she always had a tale or two to tell about the customers.

Oh, my goodness, Kate. Sometimes the people in this town are nothing but animals. That crew from the Braxton Ranch showed up, now that they’re finished running the cattle up to Norfolk. Those cowpokes were full of themselves; I’ll tell you, Melba scowled, sipped her coffee and then set the mug down, angling the handle back away from her. She wrapped her hands around the perimeter so that the painted rose peaked out between her wrists. Slowly, she drew a deep breath and let it out, shaking it all off and easing herself into her conversation.

Kate tried to bring some equanimity to the edge she heard in her friend’s voice, You know how those cowhands are when they get paid, Mel. Nothing new. They’ll spend it down quick enough and then be back where they were before, ashamed of themselves with their tails between their legs like the mongrels they are. Both women chuckled, but Mel still shook her head.

Kate, that crew they hired on this year is rougher than the last ones. Braxton brought on a new cowhand recently. He scares me, Kate. He’s got mean eyes and wild manners. I had to beat his hands off me a couple times before the old timers came to my rescue. They socked him good. He didn’t like it much, but I sure appreciated having those other men back me up, Melba sighed and eased into the chair, now that she’d gotten that off her chest and brushed a wisp of graying hair out of her eyes. Kate could see a hint of the scar by Melba’s right eye.

Kate tensed, Are you talking about Locke Shane? Kate shook her head, too. I’ve seen him around. People are talking. He’s got everyone on edge since he kicked that dog to death down by the livery stable. You have to wonder how a person can get so rotten mean in this world.

That’s him, alright. If he stays around, I’m going to have to hire a man here to help watch over things. I can’t really afford it but, by golly, Kate, I hate to think of this town becoming another Dodge City. I heard they call that place ‘Hell on the Plains’.

Things have been changing everywhere since the war began, but ever more so now that the Rebs have been defeated. Some men are heading out West and they’re sick, Mel; sick and tired from the maiming and killing. My world isn’t the only one that’s been turned upside down, Kate smiled grimly.

Melba’s shoulders relaxed as she became, once again, the soft place for Kate to light at the end of the day. Melba sought out Kate’s hands and held them in her own, looking into her still trusting eyes to say, I know how much it hurts, all the hardship you’ve been dealt, and I know how much you miss your pa, but I’m here for you.

With a tear or two shed by each, the women ambled into conversation. As always, their time together relieved both of them of their individual burdens, but added fuel to their discussion about the greater calamities in the world.

Since President Lincoln was assassinated two years earlier, and now with the impending impeachment of Andrew Johnson, politics had continued to be more tumultuous than ever, despite the end of the war. Reconstruction was under way in the South, and the stories coming through the news disheartened the women, as many greedy people were out to profit from the battered and war-torn country.

Melba, a Bostonian, never approved of slavery and Kate grew up during the war, only knowing of its devastation.

News of the railroad that would bridge the East and West coasts stretched the imagination and drew away some of the pain from the past. The Indians were being brought into submission to make the transportation routes safe. Kate read in the newspaper of a reservation scheme with the ultimate aim being the ‘concentration of all Plains Indians in order to secure overland transportation routes.’ She even read that General Grant was deciding to ‘assimilate, concentrate, or exterminate’ the Indians. It had cost millions to keep up with the marauding Indians so far.

Melba shook her head as they talked. Well, they haven’t civilized some of these cow hands yet either. Hard to say who is civilized and who isn’t these days, she chuckled grimly.

Both women laughed as they put the ills of the world aside with their coffee cups, now washed and replaced on the cabinet shelf.

It was close to midnight when Kate finally stepped out of the café to walk back to her room in the boarding house. She was deep in thought about her conversation with Melba, as she made her way down the dark walkway and reached the steps at the end of the block of buildings, noting that the saloon was still going strong.

As she crossed the shadow of the building, a hand clasped Kate’s face so tight, she thought her jaw would break. She couldn’t scream, nor could she breathe past the oversized fingers that began to smother her. Oh, my God. Her heart raced so fast and hard that it was all she could do to keep from thinking that she might die. I can’t breathe! She snorted and tried to wrench her breath past the callused fingers in order to get just enough air to stay conscious. His other arm held her tightly across her chest as he pulled her against him and dragged her flailing body down the alley. Who? How? Whether from shock or from lack of air, Kate tilted toward unconsciousness until the monster dropped her to the ground at the end of the passageway. Whatever air had been in her was dumped from her lungs and Kate struggled to regain her breath, little gasps at a time at first. Air, Air. Her body had quickly gone into shudders as she trembled and gasped as much air as she could. She tensed up on the edge of flight, taking big breaths with the hope of regaining control of the nightmare she was in. Think, quick!

The clank of his metal belt buckle rang in her ears, a warning bell. Too late. Too late. Locke Shane thrust himself on her. She felt herself, at once, pulled up onto him, her clothing ripped aside, in some places cutting through her skin with the fervor. Suddenly his face was next to her ear as he drunkenly launched into a string of threats. She had become entangled in the smell of cigars, whiskey, and sweat, and the grating, raspy breathing punctuated by Kill you, and Die, and Sweet Sweet.

And then, Kate held her breath, though nothing was impeding her breathing. Now the giant hulk crushed her, burying her alive under his contortions. Pain shot up into Kate’s groin and then, only then, did she shriek. Somehow, she had found reserve air from whence; her life force wrenched free and she let out a shrill, bloodcurdling scream. Immediately, she was rendered into silence as Locke’s jaw crashed against her right temple, casting her back into submission. At once, her breath was expelled and she lay motionless.

Why am I floating in the air? Why is my body down there under that man? Kate looked down at herself, still under Shane’s body, and wondered how she could be there in that impossible situation when she was hovering above the scene. From this vantage point, she was, at once, detached, and yet still aware of the pounding of her heart. I think my heart will explode! My heart is exploding! Get off of me! Get off! I…can’t…breathe…

Shane grabbed her repeatedly, bruising her with his strength until she lay no longer able to protest at all. Then just as suddenly as it had all begun, the fiend withdrew, stood up, and pulled himself together.

It was all over within a few minutes, the hot stench of his rotten teeth and unwashed body, the tight hand that found its way to wrap around her throat, and the fear and nausea from the ungodly painful bulk.

Her body succumbed to the dirt that had swallowed her and her breath stopped in the void. She hung in limbo between worlds. Fear surged through her. As she had left and then returned to her body, the world around her cracked open and swallowed her up whole. She could hear his voice through the veil of what felt like a nightmare, I thought I was going to way lay that café gal, but damned if you didn’t come along, Shane leered. There’s always next time, right?

She lay paralyzed. Come on, Kate, you can do it. You can make it. Don’t give up. Just breathe and wait. It will be alright.

If you have sense, you won’t tell a soul what happened or I’ll make sure your friend doesn’t get it so good as you. I’ll make sure she’ll never talk, and then I’ll come after you again, Shane watched to see that Kate understood what he was saying.

Melba? No. No way. You will never do to her what you just did to me. I’ll make sure of it. And you’ll never get your filthy hands on me again, you filthy piece of shit… Never…I’ll make sure of it.

Kate waited in a huddled heap, listening to the sound of his boots crushing the pebbled ground as he receded. As the cold crept in, her trembling increased, until her teeth bashed against each other. She clenched them, and then, with effort rolled to her side, ran her hands across herself to assess the damage; before pulling herself up to wrap the torn dress around her battered body. Tears that had been halted just behind her lids began to pour down her cheeks. She limped home and slipped into her room.

Kate peeled away her damaged clothing and brushed the dirt from her exposed skin, all the while praying and begging for help. God, help me. God, help me. All the imploring, however, only opened a deeper chasm, out of which, arose an anger that had been lurking in the shadows; an anger that rose up so black and mean that it overcame her senses. Her praying stopped and in the silence she became engulfed in odious revulsion.

Oh God. God? My mother, my father, the ranch…and now what little self-respect I had left. What kind of God are you, anyway? All hope seeped out of Kate and what filled her became a cauldron of rage fueled by revenge. I’ll stop that bastard if it’s the last thing I do. Darkness enveloped her in an inescapable void.

There’s not much more I can lose now. I don’t have anything to be proud of, but I do know how to protect my own. Kate turned all her rage and sense of abandonment on her present circumstances.

Quickly, she dressed again, placed a cloak around her shoulders, and picked up the Colt six-shooter her father left behind. She pressed the bullets methodically and painstakingly into each of the six chambers of the gun cylinder, despite the tremor in her hands.

She held the gun against her breast, concealing it under her cloak as she walked toward the light and noise that leaked through the saloon doors. The clanking of the dissonant piano keys and the reverberation of boisterous voices grew louder, as she marched toward the smoky-stench emanating from within. Just wait, you bastard. I’ll get you. Upon reaching the swinging doors of the saloon, she paused, just long enough, to center in on the grating laughter of Locke Shane.

Swinging one door open with her left hand, she focused in on her attacker and realized he was bragging to the other men. One burly man clapped him on his back as the group made hideous sounds of mocking pleasure. Brag all you want. My life is over. Now yours is, too. She felt the heat rise in her face as she raised her right hand, gun clenched tightly. Steadily, precisely, she squeezed the trigger.

The bullet hit Shane where the hand had congratulated him a moment before. He fell; one shoulder splaying against the edge of a wooden chair, just before he fell, with a thud against the sawdust-laden floor. The room was momentarily silent before everyone ran for cover, crouching in corners and underneath tables. Some men already had their hands on their weapons, and the bartender was reaching for his shotgun. All eyes were on Kate, as she walked steadily over to Locke’s inert body and placed her boot on his chest near his throat. Kate caught up the contents of her mouth and spat viciously at the bloodied body, causing a murmur through the smoke-filled room. You’re done now, you son-of-a-bitch! You’re done, you filthy bastard. You can’t hurt anyone again. You’ll never touch me again, and you’ll never lay a hand on my friend!

Turning to leave, Kate saw the swinging doors and the darkness beyond. Behind her a stunned scene began to shift into chaos and commotion.

Twenty paces into the darkness the impact of her actions caught in her throat as vomit began to rise. No! No! She bent over and spewed out the contents of her stomach, writhing in agony. I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get out of here. Her shame and panic overtook her as she wiped her spittle and hurried on to her room. Kate knew she did not want to go through the agony of explaining her actions. She took a quick breath and swallowed the burning mass. There’s no going back now. He can’t hurt Melba. He can’t hurt me. Tears welled up.