Stranger in the woods

Placing his left hand on the cool glass of the picture window, Jacob stared at the blank tan skin of his ring finger, remembering the cool weight of the gold ring he once wore. Crumpled papers clutched loosely in his right hand fell to the mahogany table beside him as he glanced up from his hand and stared out at the pasture and the falling snow. “Damn.” he said, moving to the rocker recliner on the other side of the table. Sitting down, he reached for the crumpled papers, smoothing them back out to read the documents that his ex-wife’s attorney sent him, for the fifth time in ten minutes.

“I can’t believe she wants custody of Bailey now, after all these years of not even coming to see her,” he said, unaware that he spoke out loud to the empty house. A distant sound from outside penetrated the fog of his thoughts. “Is that a coyote?” he asked himself. Remembering that he had a cow that wandered from the herd to give birth last night. Jacob jumped up, concern for Bailey’s future forgotten temporarily. Only taking time to grab a jacket, Jacob went out the front door with a slam. He quickly jogged the few feet from his house to the barn where two four wheelers sat beside a big green John Deere tractor. Jumping on the first four-wheeler, he quickly twisted the key, gunned the accelerator lever, and tore off across the pasture toward the lone cow.

The house sat on one edge of the 280-acre ranch, made up mostly of pastureland. A creek at the other end was a dividing line for the pasture and the small patch of woods that made up about 40 acres. The woods sat on a curving hill that, once you passed the creek, became steep. It took him no time to cover the large pasture and splash through the rapid flowing creek. Once on top of the hill, Jacob threw all caution to the wind.

Balancing precariously on two tires, Jacob caused the four-wheeler to roar around one of the wooded curves by pressing the accelerator. Hair streaming behind him, the cold winter wind rushed past his jacketed body as he squinted against the flying snow.

Going as fast as the machine could carry him, Jacob reached the cow in a matter of minutes. Stopping the four wheeler and sliding off, he pulled a rifle from the scabbard attached to the four-wheeler and let it rest against his thigh. Up ahead, he could hear the cow’s pitiful moos. He had not heard the coyote in several minutes. Moving quickly down the rutted, snow covered dirt path, he raised the rifle so that he could get off a quick shot if he needed to. He thought he saw something red moving in the woods, but wasn’t sure. Walking to the cow, he saw it was a sorry sight with its sides heaving from pain, while its body tried to expel the calf. Pausing a moment, watching the silent woods, he wondered where the coyotes went. Tracks were all around the laboring cow. Blood trickled from bites on the cows back, stomach, and legs staining the snow. It was not his imagination; they had been there. But where had they gone?

Bending down behind the cow, he laid his gun close to his side. He knew that calf must be born and that cow needed help. Pushing his sleeves up past his elbows, Jacob plunged his hands and arms inside the cow’s womb. The cow kicked feebly, but within minutes, Jacob grabbed the calf and yanked him out. It lay on the ground by its mama, slick and wet with birth fluids. Staring around, the calf bleated a small moo and struggled to stand on wobbly legs. After falling to the ground a couple of times, it managed to stand on four shaky legs. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jacob smiled and turned his attention back to the mama.

The cow gave out a loud moo, laying still long enough for the calf to suckle, then surged up in one fluid motion, looking graceful despite its large girth. Slowly walking down the trail, the little calf wobbling beside her, the cow left the woods, returning to the herd down in the pasture.

Standing up and picking up the rifle, Jacob turned toward the four-wheeler. As he placed the rifle back in the scabbard, a movement caught his eye. Turning his head back toward the woods, he saw something run into the cover of underbrush growing under the canopy of the trees. Thinking the coyotes are back again, he grabbed his rifle and gave pursuit.

“Damn vultures with legs,” he muttered, chest heaving, blood pounding in his ears. As the object broke from a bush, Jacob stumbled, shocked to see it is a man he is chasing. “Wait,” he yelled, hand pressed against his chest to stop the pounding. A man in a red jacket, soiled and stained with dirt and debris, stood tall, almost as tall as Jacob’s six foot three inch frame. The man’s white hair reached past his hunched shoulders. A white, scraggily beard, stained yellow around the man’s mouth, tell almost to his belt. Dark eyes glared from underneath bushy white eyebrows.

Jacob walked slowly toward the man, carefully watching his step, making sure he didn’t frighten the old timer into bolting away. Rubbing a worn, felt hat between two gnarled, callused hands, the man said nothing as Jacob approached him.

“I almost shot you, I thought you were a coyote,” Jacob said, stopping a toot in front of the stranger.

“They are pesky critters, aren’t they?” A rusty voice spoke, the words slurring over snarled teeth.

“Yeah, they are. It seems I spend most of the night chasing them from one cow or another.”

“It takes a lot to keep them safe.”

“It sure does.”

“Not just animals, but family as well. A man puts a lot of effort into keeping his family safe from harm.” Setting the hat on his head, the old man placed his hands in his pockets as if to warm them from the cold wind.

“Ain’t that the truth, “ Jacob said, his thoughts back on Bailey and her now uncertain future.

“You just gotta do the best you can and hope everything turns out all right,” the man said, staring into the woods.

Jacob stared into the woods as well, his mind picturing those custody papers. The man coughed, bringing Jacob back into the present.

“Yes sir, what you say is true. Um, don’t think I’m rude for asking this, but who are you and why are you on my land?”

“I guess I would have asked the same thing if it were my land a stranger was standing on. I’m Jeb Springer. I was visiting some family members when I heard the coyotes. I followed the sound to your cow. She looked bad off and in need of help, so I scared the critters away,” he said, one callused hand fiddling with the brim of his hat.

“Thanks. I didn’t think I could get to her on time. She came through the birth just fine, though. The little calf will make it, I think.” Leaning against his rifle as if it were a crutch, Jacob rubbed a hand against his jaw.

“I saw that. It looked like a nice little Hereford,” the old man said, turning back towards the woods. “I need to get on back to my family now. Take care of you and yours.” He slowly started for the woods.

“Hey wait, “ Jacob gestured toward his four-wheeler. “Let me give you a ride.”

“It’s not far, I can walk.”

“Not far, there is at least 20 acres between here and the fence line. That’s a good piece from here on foot.”

“It’s just around the bend,” Jeb said, starting down the path.

Confused, Jacob followed him. It didn’t take long before the two came to a clearing. Snow piled on three stone covered mounds. From beneath his jacket, Jeb pulled a bent and wilted flower out. Carefully placing it on the middle mound, he removed his hat and bowed his head. Jacob stood back in silence. When Jeb looked up, he gave a crooked smile and placed his hat back on his head.

“I’ve owned this land for 15 years and never once came here,” Jacob said, a look of surprise on his face.

“Yeah, I hid it well. My family is here.” Pointing to the grave with the flower, Jeb led Jacob to the mound. “My wife Junie, is buried here. We used to own this land, working it together, she and I.” A tear leaked out of one eye, making a zigzag course down one leathery, wrinkled cheek. “She died while expecting our youngest child. The smaller grave, over here,” he said, leading Jacob there, “has our only son, Billy Joe. He died when he was just six. He went first with the fever. It wasn’t long till Junie went from me, as well. I did everything in my power to take care of them then. I didn’t do a good job, though I tried, Lord knows I did. But I can protect them now.” A trembling hand brushes at his face, swiping the moisture of tears and snow away.

“If they were sick, all you could have done was follow what the doctor said to do. Not much else.”

Unsure of what to do but knowing he needed to comfort the old man, Jacob tried to place a hand on his shoulder. Before his hand could make contact, the wind picked up, howling through the small hollow in the woods, whipping stinging flakes of snow at them. Instinctively, he placed his hands over his face to keep the snow from his eyes.

“I couldn’t get the doctor there in time.” The old man’s voice seemed to be no more than a whisper.

“Who’s in the other grave’?” Jacob asked, hands still wiping snow from his face. The voice he heard had a spectral quality to it, as if the wind tried to speak to him.

“It’s mine,” Jeb said. Finally getting his eyes clear, Jacob looked up, surprised to find himself alone.

“What the hell’?” He looked around, but Jeb was no where in sight. The felt hat Jeb wore lay dirty and torn, partially hidden by rocks on the first mound.

“Take care of your own,” a sighing voice cut softly through the wind. Shaking as much from the odd turn of events as well as the cold wind and snow, Jacob pulled the collar of his jacket up and slowly walked toward the four-wheeler wondering if this all wasn’t a dream.

In no time, Jacob managed to get back to the four-wheeler and back home but he couldn’t shake the old man’s words. Parking the four-wheeler back in the barn, he grabbed a few logs and went through the back door of the house. Tossing the logs into the fireplace, he watched the fire flare with more fuel as his thoughts turned once again to Bailey. What the old man said made sense. He had to take care of her, even if it meant fighting for the rest of his life. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he decided a shower would warm him up.

Later, warm and dry, he sat in his easy chair and stared at the fire again, mesmerized. A slamming door interrupted his thoughts, making him realize he didn’t hear the bus pull up. Bailey, his fourteen-year-old daughter, ran into the living room, tossing her book-bag on the couch as she headed for his chair.

“Hey dad, you’ll never guess what I found out at the library in school today.” She reached down and gave him a hug.

He wrapped his arms around her skinny frame, hugging her tighter than usual. Once out of his bear hug, she looked at him for a moment, puzzled, then jogged into the kitchen to get a snack.

“What did you find out, pumpkin?” He smiled as she stepped back into the living room with a large piece of chocolate cake in one hand and a glass of milk in the other.

“I found out that a Jeb Springer used to own this land in 1863.” She shoved a huge hunk of cake in her mouth, her upper lip frosted with chocolate icing.

“Oh really? What else did you find out?” Interested in what she was saying, he leaned toward her, dabbing a finger into the frosting of her cake and eating it.

“Well, the man had a wife and son who died just a few days apart. They never found out what happened to Jeb, though. Some think he couldn’t stand living in the house alone and left. Others thought he fought with someone over some gold he found and the guy killed him, burying him in the woods. Wouldn’t it be neat if we went riding the four-wheelers one day and came across the graves?” She laughed then downed the last of her milk, a white mustache covering her upper lip, mixing with the chocolate icing.

“Wouldn’t it, though.” Jacob laughed. He leaned back in his chair thinking of the family buried under the rocks and how the old man’s words gave him a sort of comfort as he prepared for a battle to save his own. Not against fever, but a battle just the same.