An American Family Myth

The noon day sun beamed boldly. Verna saw John ride Rex over the top of the hill and start down for home.  Verna felt a surge of pride seeing John so straight in the saddle, his hat firmly on his head and his boots sticking out to the side. She didn’t like to think about the guns on his hips.  Each time Son asked his pa to show him how to shoot, John always gave his boy the same answer, “Guns are for men, Son; someday -- when you’re older.”  Verna saw Ellen squeeze Nanny Marie’s hand tighter to stop her from running in front of her Pa’s horse and heard her youngest daughter began to chant, “Pa, Pa.”

            The day was particularly bright.  The sun struck John’s badge and Verna saw a flash of light. A sack swung from his saddle and Verna figured he hadn’t forgotten to pick up his new suit at Mason’s Tailoring.  Although she couldn’t hear him, Verna knew he was humming.  When they used to ride together, he always hummed as he got closer to home.  She watched the suit sack swing and his gun bounce against his thigh. As the sun hit John’s chest, Verna saw a flash from his gold badge. John had laughingly told Verna that putting a metal star over the heart started as a way to protect that body part without looking cowardly.       

            Verna watched as John’s horse picked up speed, spraying the mud with his hoofs, anticipating the waiting oats and water.  She stuck her arm out the window and saw John wave back to her and to his two jumping-with-excitement daughters.  Verna heard two sharp bangs and looked for where the hunters might be.  Then Rex began to speed down the hill.  Verna yelled at Darcine.  “Don’t let Son out of this house.  You hear me.”

            Darcine’s voice quivered, “Ma, what’s wrong?  Ma!”  Fear propelled Verna out the back door, leaving only the voice trail of her command.  “Darcine, stay inside.  Watch Son.”  A corner of her elbow sent the apple pie toppling, leaving flesh-like juices to seep in the earth.  She watched helplessly as man and horse sped toward the bottom of the hill, John slumped over Rex’s back, slipping to the right as Rex turned abruptly into the barn lane.  She heard, as if through wax-plugged ears, Nanny Marie beginning to cry with disappointment.  Verna screamed, “John,”  as a brownish-red stain spread over the right side of his back, pooled on the saddle, and then ran like tears down his pants, spattering droplets on the grass, while a small drop of blood lit on one of Nanny Marie’s bare feet.

            Verna reached the children’s side as Ellen turned to her mother, puzzled

by her father’s betrayal as he sped to the barn without reaching down to embrace

her.  Verna saw the blood on John’s back.    Verna commanded Ellen who was paralyzed with shock. “Go to Mrs. Harrison’s.  Have her bring the doctor quick.”  Verna ran straight toward John, shouting back at Ellen, “ First, take Nanny Marie inside, now.”

             “But, Ma.”  Ellen’s voice quivered.

            “Now!” Verna ordered without once taking her eyes off John’s slumped, crimson-stained back.  The horse’s lowered head and crunching noises told Verna that Son’s apples had stopped Rex’s forward lunge into the small stall. 

            She grabbed a dry sheet off the clothesline, reaching John’s side as he started to slip off the saddle. Adrenaline-powered arms enabled Verna’s small hands to bring John’s body to her chest, gently lowering him to the barn floor where she had dropped the boil