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Year of Jubilee

By Peggy Trotter

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CHAPTER ONE
Gibson County, Indiana, December 31st, 1849

Jubilee Stallings’ forehead collided with the wall. Stars flashed behind her closed lids. She lay completely still. Her face heated and her body ached, yet she dared not move. “You’re worthless,” her husband’s slurred voice continued. She heard his footsteps stagger across the floorboards. “You’re nuttin’ but a dog, and…and…a piece…of dung.” The floorboards thundered as his body hit the floor. Scraping sounds emitted from the other side of the room. “I…oughta…” He continued mumbling unintelligibly. Jubilee pressed her bruised brow against the icy wood of the wall and prayed. Fresh tears wet her face. Please fall asleep. Almost on command, Colvin gave a snore.
Jubilee continued to lie immobile, although, now that the initial rush of adrenaline had worn off, the frigid air made her naked body want to shake. She clenched her teeth and fought against her body’s urge. Snores filled the air. She pushed to a sitting position and eyed the straw mattress where Colvin had sprawled. Moving as cautiously as a newborn colt, she crawled to her dress by the door. She pulled it on as a set of shivers ripped through her body. With her sweater in hand, she crept to the fireplace. Only dying embers remained, but Jubilee couldn’t risk adding another log. Her teeth chattered as she tucked her feet beneath her skirt and pulled up the ragged cardigan to ward off the chill. She grimaced as she rubbed the swelling on her neck where he’d choked her. The moonlight broke through the clouds, highlighting the marks scratched into the wall near the stone mantel. She’d carved the last one this morning—December 31, 1849. More than a full year had come and gone since she’d begun marking. Tomorrow would be her second birthday in this house. Once again, tears threatened. She’d be eighteen.
The day had dawned in a gray haze, but the day of her birth marked a new year, which always buoyed her with hope. The hours had passed pleasantly. She’d filled the wood box, baked fresh bread, and gone to bed looking forward to tomorrow. Until Colvin had exploded through the door, startling her from a deep sleep. She closed her eyes and her mind. It was always the same. More tears spilled from her swollen eyelids. She tensed as Colvin sputtered a few times before going back to his ear-splitting snores. Noting where his pants had dropped, she decided to wait a little longer before she pilfered a couple coins. Any more and he’d notice and beat her senseless. Now, time to rest and recover her strength. She’d make sure she wasn’t near the cabin when he woke. Hopefully he’d follow his usual pattern and be off and gone for the next several weeks. Let it be months, she prayed. I don’t care if he ever shows up again. For now, she needed rest. She woke a short time later, collected a few coins from Colvin’s pockets, and opened the door, thankful for the quiet leather hinges. Because of the cold, she wouldn’t head to the woods, her favorite hiding place. She’d settle for the barn, a huge hulking structure. Her breath formed a ghostly fog about her in the chill, crisp air. Fear licked at her, and she ran from the evil sleeping in the cabin. Inside the barn, she moved quietly so as to not stir the cow, who loved to greet her in the early morn. She scrambled into the loft and buried herself in a cave of hay. The exertion left her body panting, but warm. With the protection of the sweet hay around her, she fell asleep.
* * * Jubilee started. She blinked a few times before she realized where she was. Dust tickled her nose. Noises caught her attention. Colvin saddled his horse in the stall below. He spoke in gentle tones. The man had always been kinder to his beast than he had been to her. A door opened with a creak and a low thudding indicated man and horse made their way to the exit. Good riddance, she thought as the barn door closed. With Colvin gone, Jubilee took up residence once more in the cabin. Her hands were like ice blocks as she started a fire from the few remaining embers. Once her fingers warmed, she brought the coins out of her pocket. They needed to be hidden. Jubilee climbed on the rough table and located the canvas bag she kept behind a loose board in the eaves. Not much left. The stash might last two months if she were careful. After climbing down, she pulled the bench as
close to the hearth as possible. Some birthday. She sighed. At least a warm fire burned in the fireplace. Perhaps now she’d have a time of peace.
* * * Spring arrived and by mid-April, Jubilee’s desire for peace fought with her need for food. She’d dropped a good amount of weight since Colvin’s visit. All the meager supplies she’d managed to purchase in January had long since been used. She’d run out of flour six weeks ago, and out of salt in early February. She’d killed five of the chickens, one by one, save the last hen and one rooster. Now she only took an occasional egg for breakfast, hoping there’d soon be a new brood of babies. Otherwise, the chickens would be gone too. Elsie, the old cow, had been nothing but a sack of bones wrapped in leather in early March, although now she found tender grass to revive herself. She’d gone dry, and without a bull, she wouldn’t freshen soon. Jubilee turned her attention to the task at hand and drove the cutting edge of the shovel into the packed sod once more with her bruised heel. She paused a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow and survey her accomplishment. The small eight-by-ten patch of newly-turned soil made it hard for Jubilee not to let discouragement grip her. Her stomach clenched in hunger. A drink of water would help, but the bucket and dipper stood a good twenty feet away, which was too much work. She thought of the thin wild onions and dandelion greens she’d laid on the table for lunch. The meager meal duplicated what she’d eaten every day for weeks, but she could hardly wait to devour them. Yet she had to wait. This garden was vital and had to be big enough to allow her to store sufficient food until next year. She sighed. It needed to be four times this size. Jubilee pushed herself away from the handle of the shovel and rambled to the water bucket. She settled in the new grass and grabbed the dipper. Her life depended on getting the ground dug, raked, and ready for planting by mid-May. Her ears picked up another sound. Her brow wrinkled and her eyes flew open. A horrible dread washed over her. Hoof beats. Distant, but very real. Her head snapped up. Colvin.
Of course him. Who else? Seldom did anyone come out this far. Her weary body, so tired before, tensed with fear. She glanced from the woods behind her to the barn. Where could she hide? The creak of saddle leather was audible now. He’d soon be coming through the tree-lined pathway. The cabin blocked his line of sight if she headed for the trees now. But it had to be now. She turned and trotted past the outhouse, praying she’d reach the woods before he saw her. Another sound stopped her dead in her tracks. Whistling. Colvin never whistled. She changed direction and crept to the side of the cabin.
* * * Rafe sat easily in the saddle. He tilted his head toward the sky and shielded his eyes with his right hand. Had to be near past lunch. He looked ahead and saw a break in the thick branches. That had to be it. He urged his Appaloosa to a faster pace, anticipating laying eyes on his new property. Sure enough, the trees broke and Rafe took the path. He located a clearing up ahead. As he emerged through the tangle of limbs, he pulled the animal up in surprise. The barn, the biggest he’d seen in the area, greeted him like a castle on a hilltop. He grinned. Colvin had said it was worth twice the land and he had, for once, told the truth. He swung his gaze to the cabin. The front porch sagged, nearly detached from the main house since the foundation had given way at the steps. He’d have to walk uphill to reach the door. Stumps, waist high, littered the yard. The place would require some industry, but he hadn’t come to sit on his thumbs. His eyes caught a movement at the edge of the shack. What was it? A face? “Hello?” he called. Silence greeted him. His hands yanked the shotgun from the scabbard at his leg, and he urged Horse closer to the house. He dismounted quietly and motioned the animal to stay. Horse, well trained, stood steadfastly, watching him. Rafe sidled up to the left corner of the cabin with his gun held across his chest. In one swift movement he stepped out, weapon raised, prepared for anything. But the yard stood empty. With quick movements, he pressed himself to the wall. He reached the back corner again and popped out in ready stance, shotgun cocked.
It was a girl. She stood with hands out next to the outhouse, about fifty feet away. Hunched over, she poised for flight. He took a deep breath and brought the gun down. As thin as she was, she presented no threat. Must be a neighbor girl. “Hello?” he called again, and she back-pedaled a half a dozen steps. “Wait. This the Stallings’ Place?” She stepped behind the outhouse and peeked at him. “Hey there. Can you tell me if this is Colvin Stallings’ place?” She never moved. Was she addled? He strode toward the outhouse. Time for some answers. No sooner had he taken a step, when she took off running. He jogged to get a good glance at her, but by the time he reached the outhouse, she neared the edge of the trees beyond what had once been a cleared field. Now, scattered with young trees and weeds, it’d soon turn the open meadow into a woods. He gave a sigh. What did it matter? She was probably trespassing and wouldn’t return. He turned and took a step toward the shack. The hand pump caught his attention. Ah, that would come in handy after a long day of tending crops. His eyes fell on another sight. A shovel was stuck in the soil, the handle straight up in the air, mid-row in a small patch of freshly turned dirt. He stopped short, wheeled around, and studied the edge of the woods. Why would a woman be digging in Colvin’s yard? This had to be the place. The barn matched the description. He moved to the back door of the shack and pushed it open. What he saw made him want to choke his dead cousin. The floor appeared swept. In front of an ashless fireplace, a table stood, topped with a bowl of dandelion greens and wild onions. Herbs and strips of cloth hung from the ceiling. But, worst of all, was the worn quilt on a straw mattress on the floor, directly to the right of the door. The bed was carefully made. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. Colvin had sworn no one lived on the place and now this. Rafe turned and looked toward the trees. Did that girl live here? Was she a squatter? Well, he could hardly set up house until he found out. With an aggravated grunt, he left the shack and mounted Horse. He’d have to find her.
* * * Jubilee climbed higher. This had always been her lucky pine. Never once had Colvin located her when she’d shimmied up this tree. The problem was, the farther she scrambled, the thinner
the trunk. And, although she’d slimmed down quite a bit, the five-inch trunk tilted dangerously and creaked louder at each sway. She closed her eyes and hugged the bark to her face. The pine smell always soothed her, the sap did not. The rough bark made a plumb uncomfortable seat. In her weakened condition, she knew she couldn’t clutch this tree for the rest of the day and into the night. Already she shook from the effort of climbing and holding her position in the rocking tree. Snap. She caught her breath and her eyes flew open. The stranger had found her. Twigs continued to crunch under the horse’s hooves as they neared. “Hello? Can you hear me? I must talk to you.” Jubilee shivered and her muscles trembled. Sensing him below the tree, she squeezed her eyes shut. “I need to know who you are.” His voice grew fainter. “Colvin Stallings is dead, and I own the property now.” Jubilee nearly lost her hold on the trunk. Had she heard right? Colvin was gone? Her breathing sped up. How? Surely she couldn’t be free of him. Her face puckered in distaste, disgusted she’d be thrilled at the possibility of a man’s death. She prayed the Lord understood. But, if the first part were true, the last part must be true as well. A sob rose in her throat. She was free of Colvin, but now had no home. Nowhere to go. Stickiness clung to her hand and face as she wiped the moisture from her eyes and contemplated her situation. She needed to think. Her throat constricted with tears. Her numb mind grappled for something practical to do. First, she’d stay hidden until he left the woods. She’d check her fishing lines. Then make her way back to the house. Maybe, by some miracle, this invader would’ve disappeared. With a mind full of worries, she carried out her plan, begrudging the time she should have spent digging the garden, and landed a middling catfish at the creek. A blue cat was more appetizing than the yellow belly she held by the string, but she wouldn’t complain. She’d carefully cut out the mud vein, fry it up, and feast. Now, if only her visitor had vanished. Near dark she crept toward the outhouse and paused long and hard, searching for signs of the man she’d seen earlier. Please let this all be a horrible dream. Cautiously, she stepped past the garden and approached the house. Her hunger drove her to be careless. She grabbed a couple
of pieces of wood from the meager pile against the cabin to start a fire and reached for the door. Suddenly, he loomed before her. She gasped and dropped her load to flee for the woods. But his hand, like a steel trap, clamped down on her arm and she screamed. He had her. Jubilee kicked and flailed for all she was worth until he released her. She collapsed in a writhing fit and clawed her way through the tall grass until she reached the hand pump. Her arms hugged the metal as if it were a lifeline.

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