The Devil You Know

The fire raged beneath the starless night. Burning with merciless fury. Devastating everything in its path. Consuming even the memories. From the edge of the field, Caroline could do nothing but watch as her family home burned. She tried to retrace the steps that had brought her to that point. The fear that had stirred her from sleep, the confusion as her father pulled her through the smoke, the anger that found her blaming the heavens and the wind. With her tears long spent, all she could do now was watch. Watch as the only life she had ever known disappeared before her very eyes. Even with the heat dancing off the flames, Caroline felt a chill in her bones. A cold so deep it rivaled even winter’s icy touch.

         How long had she been standing in that field? How many hours since the madness began? With no moon in the sky, the torment had passed as a silent eternity. Dressed in nothing but a nightgown and her father’s oversized coat, she could feel the exhaustion creeping in. The weight of her lids growing heavier despite the flames, but Caroline could not muster the courage to share her suffering with her father. For unlike his daughter, Jeremiah Stone had clung to a singular emotion as he watched the ruin of all he had built, fury.

            No words of comfort had been shared. No feeling of remorse or regret. With clenched fists, Jeremiah had watched with tears in his eyes and allowed his anger to fester. The unseen hatred had burrowed itself deep into that place his daughter could not reach, nor dared try. A place where he locked away the parts of himself that would have terrified those he loved. A place where no light could shine. In that darkness, Jeremiah Stone had died a thousand times.

         A part of her wanted to hug her father. To wrap her arms around him and tell him it would all be okay. That they could rebuild after the fire had gone out. Plant new seed in time for the harvest. Cut logs from the woods behind their home. Make the house bigger, stronger, fill it with the broken pieces of themselves and start anew. But seeing the unabating anger rooting itself deeper beneath his stares, she wondered if her embrace would truly bring him comfort, or only further fuel his rage.

      So, the emptiness remained as the fire burned. Bleeding the trees with its red glow. Staining the barren fields crimson. Forcing the darkness to recoil in fear. Even the rains could not hope to stop such a force. Nothing more could be done but wait until the fire had had its way.

      A hand fell to his side as Jeremiah let out a heavy sigh and turned to leave. Caroline took one final look back towards their vanishing home in hopes of remembering better days. A time when laughter had filled its halls and the family had been together. But once she had drank from those lost joys, Caroline followed without protest. Even through the dark, she could see the tears glistening in her father’s eyes. Not once had he found the courage to look back at his daughter. Caroline wondered if it was shame or fear turning his gaze? Or perhaps something wholly other? A darkness unfamiliar to those cherished innocent that preserved the heart of life.

       In silence, father and daughter mounted their horses and rode off into the night.

       The long ride along the silent trail felt as a dream. Distorted shadows reaching through the darkness, the cry of the woodland game mocking their retreat, all the while, Caroline clung to the reigns in fear of falling asleep. From time to time, she would give way to her urges and find herself further down the trail with no way to account for her lose in time. At some points, she could hear a river off in the distance, at others, only the sound of hooves crunching the dirt. It was not until further down the trail, when the moon had crept through the clouds to shine with ignorant glee, that her father conceded to their need for rest.  

       Unfurling his bedroll, he urged Caroline to settle in as he made camp. It did not take long for her to give way to the call of sleep. It was there, behind closed eyes, that she found her home still standing beneath a bright summer’s day. Birds chirped, the insects buzzed, and all was as it should have been. Flooding into her thoughts came the day’s tasks. Fresh firewood waited to be stacked, a pile of corn needing to be husked, and a washbasin filled with dirty wares. Chores that once filled her with dread had now brought a smile to her lips. Watching the subtle sway of the trees in the forest behind their field, she wanted nothing more than to laugh away the horrors of their hellish ordeal. Yet, even from upon her field of dreams she could still hear the crackling embers. Once more filled with that numbing fear, Caroline scanned the horizon but found no flames. It was then that she caught the scent of smoke and all at once returned to her senses.

       It was just before daybreak when Jeremiah shook her back from sleep. Caroline could already feel the damp of the morning settling over her skin. Opening her eyes there appeared no comforts of home, only a small fire and the unapologetic truth it offered. Caroline wanted to cry. To go back to sleep and dream of home. A home to which she could never return.

       “You were crying in your sleep,” coldly observed Jeremiah as he passed over a plate with a few pieces of charred game. “Eat.”

       Caroline sat up as she took the plate from her father’s hands. It was easy to see by the dark rings around his eyes that he had not slept a wink. The anger had faded, but he still did not possess the strength to regard his daughter. Was he ashamed? Afraid? There had been a time when her father had been a different man. A time before the war, when her mother had still been around, and Jeremiah had always smiled. But time had now robbed them of what few joys had survived the cruel hands of time.

       “Where are we going?” questioned Caroline.

       “To see your Uncle Hank.”

       “Uncle Hank? That’s at least half a day’s ride from here. Why are we going there?”

       “Because,” Jeremiah remained fixed on the flames. “We’ve got nowhere else to go.”

       “We shouldn’t be going anywhere. We should have stayed. Tried to rebuild.”

        “No point,” sighed Jeremiah. “That place isn’t our home anymore.”

        The words had cut deep as she stared at the burned meat on her plate. It had taken everything in her power to resist the urge to protest. To scream in her father’s face and call him a coward for giving up. But another voice understood the pain of having to face those memories. The scars left from losing something far dearer than simply their home. Slumping her head in defeat, a long-withheld curiosity burned at her thoughts.   

        “Do you,” the questioned choked in her throat. “Do you ever miss, Mama?”

         For the first time since the fire, two dead eyes turned to face her, but in them could be found only sadness and confusion, “What? What kind of a question is that?”

         “It’s just that, you don’t talk about her much. Ever since she left it feels like even talking about her brings it all back. Like you’re scared. Do you miss her?”

         “A little more each day,” a smile had dared steal onto his lips before being once more replaced by that bitter pain. “But I told you before, your mother didn’t leave us…she was taken.”

         A secret hung on Caroline’s lips. A secret she had long coveted in the quiet of sleepless nights. One she had dared not set free. Especially with her father. Memories of her mother came flooding back. Pictures of the beautiful smiling woman with her blue eyes and golden hair. Caroline had taken after her father, inheriting both his dark features and somber regard; at times, even his temper. In all ways, Mary Stone had been the light in both their lives. A light that had long since faded. A truth that Jeremiah had not the heart to accept as his own.

         The rest of the morning was spent in silence before they broke camp. With the dawn came a new day but did little to ease the pains of what had been lost. Jeremiah had taken the lead as they followed the river down into the valley. There was a stern determination in his focus as her father lead their solemn procession. Only on the odd occasion would he steal a glance back at his daughter to make sure she was still close. And each time she would catch his attentive stares, he would turn away as if ashamed for caring. A gesture that made Caroline smile.

          For the better part of the day, Jeremiah led them through the valley until they reached a fork in the river. Caroline knew that one path would lead towards town where the other took them further west. It had been years since her father had taken Caroline to see their Uncle Hank. Even then, she had been a young girl of less than ten. The trail had long since changed, overgrown by brambles of blackberry, or swallowed by the encroaching briar patch. And through it all, Jeremiah had steered them ever onward.

          It was an hour before dusk when they reached the edge of Hank’s property. Even through the sparse tree-line Caroline spotted her first signs of humanity. A slanted shack with a weathered roof stood in a small clearing billowing its few puffs of smoke. Fresh firewood resting against the edge of the house beside an old chair covered in wood shaving. Running from the opposite end hung a clothesline filled with pairs of woolen socks and a faded petticoat. But above all the sights surrounding the home, it had been the fresh smell of pie that evoked a dormant sense of comfort. It was then that a man suddenly burst through the door.

            Standing in his used long johns, he steadied his Winchester, and aimed at the intruders, “State your business. This here is private property.”

            For the first time since the nightmare began, Jeremiah smiled, “Hank.”

            Lowering the rifle, Hank squinted to help see the blurred riders, “Corporal Stone?”

            Removing his hat, Jeremiah’s smile grew, “Good to see you too, Hank.”

            Beaming with joy, Hank lowered the rifle and turned to shout inside, “It’s alright, Beth! You can come out now. It’s just, Jeremiah.”

            Dressed in her husband’s blue Union Jacket, hand still cocking back the hammer on her six shooter, Bethany Haywood appeared at the door. Looking around to inspect whether her husband’s gullibility had gotten the better of him, she soaked in their surroundings before lowering her guard. Even as her finger eased off the trigger, her instincts remained poised. It was easy to see that living alone so far from the nearest settlement came with its costs.  

            “Jeremiah Stone,” there came no smile as she shook her head. “Causing trouble as usual. And is that little Caroline I see with you?”

            “That it is,” she smiled waving a hand from the saddle. “Only not so little anymore.”

            Jeremiah could not deny the happiness in their reunion, but a shadow lingered, one which shrouded even the promise of joy, “We don’t mean to intrude. Came to ask a favour.”

            “A favour? Doesn’t sound like the Corporal Stone I once used to know. He would have ridden to hell and back without asking for a helping hand.”

            A grave expression crossed his features, “This is different. I wouldn’t be asking if there was another way.”

            “Of course,” even Hank’s smile faded upon seeing his cold regard. “Yeah, of course. Why don’t you hitch the horses around back and come inside. Maybe Beth can see about scrounging up something to eat for the two of you.”

            Her father gestured for her to follow suit as he dismounted and took hold of their reigns. The men disappeared around back, unable to hide the pleasure of one another’s company, indifferent of circumstance. While Caroline headed straight for the porch. Without asking for permission, a warm smile greeted her as Beth opened her arms and squeezed her as tight as she could. A part of her resisted at first. Feeling strange in the arms of a near stranger. But before she realized what had happened, Caroline was unable to let go. Falling deeper into the embrace with each passing second, the tragic events faded from her thoughts, and everything felt right. Was it her mother that she missed so dearly? Or was it simply human affection?

         Caroline could not remember the last time she had received such tender care. To hold and to be held seemed a distant memory. A broken shard from that other time before her life had fallen apart. Her father had shown his love, but in his own way. Simple gestures of caring came in stolen smiles and proudful stares as he watched his daughter grow. It had always been her mother who had held Caroline within her loving embrace. Lost in the folds of Bethany’s arms, she had forgotten where she was. As she felt the first tears of joy staining her cheeks, she pulled away and hid her face in embarrassment. Beth had not taken notice as she let go and led them inside.  

          The home of Hank and Bethany Haywood had been simple but filled to bursting. Four walls with a single room and a loft where they kept their bed. The space had been stuffed with every need and desire. Snowshoes and traps, furs and rifles, with a corner left vacant for dried goods and their winter stores. Along the furthest wall sat a kitchen that look onto a small garden with a wood burning stove beside a basin that rested atop a plaster counter. Beth had offered what little they had to offer as the four ate and basked in memories from better days, even the few from their years at war. It had been a side of her father Caroline had never seen before, the valiant hero who would have done anything for his brothers in arms.  

          Once dinner had ended, Bethany had taken her customary place in the kitchen to busy herself with dishes. Caroline had been the last to finish her plate as she picked at its few remains. All the while, the men had settled by the fire with a bottle between them. It was there that the heartfelt joys of their overdue reunion gave way beneath the weight of circumstance.

          “Burned to the ground?” he asked in shock. “How much did you lose?”

          “House, crops, all of it,” sighed Jeremiah.

           “Jesus,” the news found Hank sinking into his chair. “I’m sorry, Jeremiah. Truly.”

          “Bastard came while we were asleep.”

          “Wait. You think someone started the fire?”

           “Signs are all there. Cut wire, broken fencing, tracks leading into the valley, smell of kerosene,” the darkness flickered in his gaze. “It was them.”

            A moment of hesitation as Hank weighed his words, “Have you gone to see the Marshal?”

           “No,” the flames danced across his eyes. “I’m going to kill them myself.”

          The news had evoked a hidden fear from deep within Hank. Memories of a different man who led him through bloodied mud of distant fields. In hopes that the others had not heard the grave revelation, he looked back thankful to find his wife still humming her favourite tune while stoking the fire. Caroline had pretended to pick at her food, making sure to keep her head down, as she listened. Hank had not taken notice as he leaned in and whispered his careful reply.  

           “You serious?” he whispered. “Think about your daughter, Jeremiah. Let the law handle this one. You’ll get your justice one way or the other.”

            The bottle was at his lips, “Just like I did for Mary?”

            The words had rendered them both mute as an ember shot across the still air.

            “Was hoping you’d ride with me, Hank.”

            “You know I can’t do that.”

            “And why not?” challenged Jeremiah. “We’ve killed them before. Plenty of them.”

            Each word brought Hank closer to the edge, “That was a long time ago.”

            “Wasn’t that long ago. Only difference is that they paid us to kill those bastards.”

            “It was war, Jeremiah. It changed us. Made us do things we couldn’t’ve imagined.”

            A final bullet remained in the chamber, “What’s our excuse for what happened after?”

            “In Dakota? Mankato?” Hank’s voice quivered with regret. “I’m not proud of what we did to those poor people. Don’t care if we were following orders or not. Doesn’t make it right.”

            “Never stooped us though.”

            “Listen to yourself Jeremiah,” argued his friend. “We were different men back then. All we had was a cause to die for. Look around, we’ve both got a reason to live now. A purpose. Your daughter. My wife. It’s not just about us and our reckless ideals. Not anymore.”

            Each protest came as yet another crushing blow. Caroline watched as her father reached back for the bottle. He took a long sullen gulp in hopes of drowning the memories, but the bottle offered no comfort. Gasping for air, he turned in defeat towards the flames. Lost to their destructive spell, the battle continued deep within Jeremiah. Both the tears and the torment fought for their right to rule. For the first time since the loss of her mother, Caroline saw his vulnerability.

            “What am I supposed to do, Hank? Tell me. Because I don’t know anymore.”

            “Go to the authorities,” pleaded Hank. “Tell them what happened. If it turns out to be what you think it is, they’ll find the culprits. Besides, you still don’t know what happened to Mary.”

            “I know what they did,” darkness tinged the word. “What they’ve taken from me.”

            “Say you’re right about Mary, how do you know these are the ones that did this?”

            “Because I know,” the darkness was rising. “I’ve always known.”

            “How can you be sure, Jeremiah?”

            His rage could no longer be contained, “Because I goddamn know!”

            The room froze. Mary’s tune had come to an abrupt halt after seeing her husband up on his feet, eyes resting on his holstered pistol. Even Caroline jumped as her fork dropped against her plate. For fear of furthering her father’s temper, she kept her head down and peered out from the corner of her eye. Jeremiah had felt the shame of his outburst. With his downtrodden gaze, he did not have the courage to look back at the others. A hoarse choked cry was held at bay. Even muffled, his hushed anguish had nearly broken Caroline’s heart.

            A comforting hand was place on his shoulder as Hank leaned in, “Why don’t we head outside. Hmm? Maybe get some air. Would do both of us some good.”

            Jeremiah conceded in shame. Even as they headed towards the door, Hank offered a smile as they passed the girls, but Jeremiah did not have the courage to face his daughter. It had taken everything in his power to stop from breaking down beside the fire. In his heart, he did not want to reveal his weakness to the one person who needed him to stay strong. Taking a seat outside the window, Caroline watched as her father wrestled with his demons. It was not until they were alone that Bethany approached and took a seat beside her.

            “Don’t pay them any mind,” smiled Beth. “Your father means well.”

            Caroline looked up from her plate with a numbed expression, “You think I haven’t seen him like this before? I know he means well. But it’s not like he’s the only one who’s sad.”

            “You poor thing,” a gentle hand was placed on her back. “Can only imagine what you’re going through. First losing your mother, and then your home. Such a shame.”

            There came no reply as her gaze drifted towards the window.

            Noticing her stares, Bethany smiled, “He’ll be alright. You both will.”

            With her parting words, and a comforting touch, Beth rose and returned to her chores. Neither her words nor her touch had helped ease the ill fate she had been granted. Staring back out through the window, she could feel her father’s defeat as she let out a heartfelt sigh. A light breeze had stolen through the gap left by jarred door. With it, a voice called from the past.  

            A memory had come creeping through the rising swell of sadness and confusion. The secret she had hidden so deep it had nearly been forgotten. A woman stands before a dark forest. Standing barefoot in the snow, with her thin gown offering no protection, she stares into the wintry abyss. With her back turned, the wind blows, swaying her golden hair. The full moon hides behind a cloud. Only the snow beats back the shadows. There is a dead silence that hangs in the air. A silence as she sees something beyond the trees. Something that only she can see.

            The next day, everything changed. Caroline had been given an old set of clothes left behind by a visiting niece. Although they were a size too large, they felt been better than her thin nightgown. When it came time for them to mount up and set on their way, her father had not shared where it was that they were headed next. Even after Bethany had pleaded with Jeremiah to leave his daughter, promising she would offer needed help rather burden the couple, he refused. Caroline wondered why she could not stay. There had been a fear in Beth’s voice. A concern so moving that it had willed her to protect a daughter that was not her own. Her father had promised to keep her safe, despite her veiled concern.

            “She’s my only daughter,” the words had been burned into her mind. “I can’t lose her too.”

            Neither voiced further protests as they watch their guests set off on their long ride. Caroline had looked back more than once to find faded smiles in place of thankful waves. A peculiar sensation begged for her to stay. To urge her father to leave her behind with the Haywoods and come back once he had found whatever it was that he was looking for. But the darkness had not left her father’s eyes. A seed had been planted and taken root. The seed of revenge.

Caroline knew better than to question her father’s marching orders. For once declared, there would be no turning their course. A habit that had followed him back from the war. There had been a time when she was just a little girl when she could remember her father’s laughter and his flattering smile. But since his return, there had ever been two sides of Jeremiah, the loving father and husband, and the soldier. Where one thrived off family and nourishment, the other needed regiment and discipline, the cornerstones of order.

            It did not take long to rejoin the trail that followed the forked river. Following the path until the water’s end, the flatlands began. With them came the lands of the sky. The concern her father had showed Caroline earlier on the trail had disappeared. Jeremiah’s eyes were now set on a fixed point over the horizon. Refusing to stop for neither food nor rest, his daughter’s pleas were wasted on the wind. Jeremiah had offered no excuses. Instead, he rode on with a grave determination fueling his focus and numbing him to all save his charge.

            Morning passed into the afternoon when the first clouds brought their gentle showers. By the time they had escaped the rains, Caroline’s damp clothes stuck to her skin. A state that had not bothered Jeremiah. With the passing of the storm, the trail had vanished, replaced by a sight that did not belong to the natural world. Rising at the heart of an overgrown meadow stood an abandoned church. Barely held up by its crumbling walls, its broken stained-glass offering little protection, it lingered as a forgotten relic. Years had passed since its congregations had gathered for worship. It was upon the meadow that Jeremiah dismounted and hitched the reigns of his horse. Without indicating that Caroline should follow, she waited until he had finished before following.

            The inside of the church had been left in shambles. Chipped and splintered pews made of water-stained lumber sat scattered around the hall. Dark spots marred the creaking floor from toppled reserves of holy water. Sacred relics left tarnished and abandoned beneath shattered recreations of Cavalry. Upon the alter, a single ray of light fell through a broken stained-glass picture of Christ upon his cross. There, bathed in light, appeared a man whose grey hair and beard had long overgrown. Draped in the tattered remains of his holy cloth stood a preacher as aged and ravished by time as the church itself. With his back turned, he had not noticed as Caroline and her father entered. With outstretched hand, his soul belonged to God.

            “Oh, Lord Almighty, Heavenly Redeemer, spare me, for I have once more drunk judgment onto myself. Fallen asleep, preserved only by faith, I have no angels to lead me from these lands of sin. And now, your words, grow quiet. Your light distant. Dark. Have I not earned my redemption? Paid for with the blood of atonement? Have I not earned my rightful place by your side? Oh, Deliverer, outstretch your hand! Take me once more into your eternal embrace! Lift me to heaven! Take me!”

            With his final plea to the God that had no ears with which to listen, his head fell in defeat. Hand falling to his side, a cloud passed before the sun and stole the light that had cleansed his spirit. Without so much as a sound, her father had taken his hat from his head and watched as the Preacher gave way to his silent lament. But Caroline’s footing had not been so careful as she crept through the door. Despite her small legs, the floorboards had creaked and groaned as she followed her father inside. It was then that the preacher’s attention fell upon his unexpected guests.

            “Is that you, Nazarene?” questioned the preacher. “Have you come to save my soul?”

            With hat in hand, Jeremiah spoke, “Only a wayward member of your flock, Father Cole.”

            A smile curled at the corner of his lips as his mad gaze fell upon her father. With outstretched hands he rose from the alter and descended, “Brother Jeremiah! Heaven smiles and blesses us this day. It has been too long my son. Too long have I waited for our blessed reunion.”

            By the time he had finished, the two met had joined in the sea of ravished pews. For a moment, the preacher’s withered hands caressed her father’s face. Seeking the divine spark shining within. After a careful inspection, Father Cole’s smile grew as he kissed his forehead. Caroline had been surprised to find her father keeping such company. During the years that followed the war, a cross had hung above the threshold of their door. But not once had she seen her father bend his head in reverence or drop to his knees in prayer. Only after the loss of his wife had he found the urge to speak with God. Even then, his reverence and piety had been hollow.

            “Look at you,” devilishly smiled the preacher. “Not a day goes by where I do not smile upon our good works so long ago.”

            “Feel like another life,” replied Jeremiah. “Back when we served together.”

            “Holy times, Brother,” a hand stretched out to God. “Holy times. We were about God’s work then. Fighting off Johnny Reb and cleansing the lands.”

            “That we were,” he agreed. “Perhaps we still are.”

            Before he could unfold the divine revelation that Jeremiah had brought with him, Father Cole’s gaze fell upon Caroline who had patiently waited by the door. Even from afar, she could feel the oozing madness. His stare held some twisted intention behind his pious guise, one that sent a cold chill running down her spine. His sinful satisfaction penetrated the distance and froze Caroline in her place as he inched forward.

            “And who might this be?” asked the preacher. “Have you brought me an angel?”

            “My daughter, Caroline,” offered Jeremiah.

            “Heritage of the Lord. A gift for your great works, Brother Jeremiah.”

            There was no room left for Caroline to speak for herself as Father Cole brought himself down to her level. Inch by inch, he studied her every feature. A dark desire hiding behind his covetous gaze. Once his dormant satisfactions had reaped of her innocent beauty, stroking a gentle hand through her dark hair, his demeanour changed. Suddenly, grabbing her head with both hands, fueled by a strength brought down by heavenly hands, he shook her with violent force. Jeremiah did not flinch as he watched him grab his daughter. All the while, Father Cole spoke to the heavens.

            “May the Lord smile upon this child. For the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs!”

            A holy moment passed as his fingers lingered on her soft skin before finally letting go. Caroline could do nothing more than close her eyes to hide from the lustful intentions lost on her father. For Jeremiah had been busy inspecting the ruinous home of his former brother in arms. There appeared little in the way of earthly possessions. The Priest had kept nothing but a torn bible and a pistol that rested on the pulpit. By the time Father Cole had returned from his divine visions, Jeremiah was ready with his offer.

            Clenched in his hand, he descended the alter, “We’ve come seeking help, Father.”

            “Anything for a member of our Holy House,” he spoke rising to his feet. “Ask and yee shall receive.”

            A hand was reached into the satchel slung across his shoulder. From inside, her father pulled free an object he had not revealed during their long ride. From what little Caroline could see it was a necklace. Strewn together from beads of silver and decorative colors that ended at a grey feather, she had only seen such designs once before. It had belonged to the Oneida Peoples of the Native Tribes pushed away from their lands. But where had her father found such a necklace? Had this been the evidence that had justified his dark intentions?

            “They came in the night. Took everything from us,” declared her Father. “We ride for justice, Father. To finish what we started so many years ago.”

            Taking the necklace in hand, Cole ran his hands along its length in horrific disbelief, “No, no, no, Brother Jeremiah. Only the Lord can judge those below.”

            “And what of those who trespass against us?” he challenged.

            “It is as the Good Book says. Do not take revenge. Leave room for God’s wrath.”

             “Just as any good Christian should,” agreed her father. “But does he not send angels to enact his holy will?”

            “Why, yes. Yes, he does,” pondered the preacher.

            “Are we not then, those same servants of the Lord?”

            A maddening thought crossed his eyes as he weighed the revelation, “Yes, but Brother Jeremiah, there is so much that need be done here. In this holy place. God has sent me here.”

            “As he has sent us,” he argued. “Don’t you remember when we cleansed our lands of the savage? Of the heathens? We never finished what we started, Father.”

            “Oh, how such thoughts had consumed in the black of night. When God’s light feels so distant. Indeed, it has been difficult to feel his holy touch since those days. When we righted the world of its wrongs.”

            “Then ride with me, Father Cole,” urged Jeremiah. “Let us once more serve as His wrath.”

            Father Cole’s gaze fell upon the necklace as he held it towards the heavens and closed his eyes, “Is this your will, oh, Heavenly Lord? Have you heard y prayers? If so, then I will serve you faithfully. But I thou wisheth to stay my hand, then do as you did for Abraham and Moses. Show me a sign. Reach your divine hand and stay me should I trespass against you will.”

            With his message cast towards the heavens, he held the necklace to his heart and began to shake. It had started as a small shake that grew with violent force. His knuckles turning white, face growing red, Caroline felt afraid as he looked towards her father. What she found upon turning her gaze was anything but fear. There was an eager smile as he watched Father Cole slip into his private discourse with his God. A part of him had understood what words had been needed to sway the preacher to his cause.

            Once Father Cole had ceased his convulsions and his breath returned, he opened his eyes, “The Lord has spoken, Brother. It seems he smiles upon our charge. We ride for blood.”

            A silent ominous nod was followed by a darkened smile. Caroline watched as the seed of vengeance grew within her father. There, the hidden memory had returned. Of the woman before the forest standing in the snow. Staring out the window, she had seen her, Mary Stone, watching the darkness for the call. Illuminated by the bone white moon, she turned her face, as if sensing the eyes watching her from across the distance. But there appeared no smile, no last message for her daughter lost in her eyes, only an emptiness as cold as the winter snows. Before she can turn to face the daughter watching through the window, Marry Stone fades away.

            The moon rose and once more faded for the day. Caroline had neither spoken nor voiced her concerns as the men reveled in their murderous intent. What little change he had first witnessed within her father had deformed him into a person she no longer recognized. The light had faded, his caring replaced by a dark desire, and it felt as if he had forgotten his daughter all together. A part of her wondered if this was the face of all heroes? If this was the sort of creature one had to become to survive the horrors of war?

            When it came to set off back along the trail, Caroline had begged, pleaded, cried to be left behind. But once more, her father denied the request simply claiming he could not lose her too. What joy he had first found in the passing trees and the songs of the birds perched in their trees had been plunged beneath her fears. Father Cole had continued to whisper his mad sermons to himself as he rode behind her father. From time to time, he would smile upon a stone or a shadow cast by a leaf and find his God’s will smiling upon their purpose. All the while, her father silently rode ahead, leading their somber company.

            It was still morning when the sound of another river crept up through the trees. The flatlands had given way for the rolling forest waiting on the other side. There, they had crossed into Native Territory, and with it, everything changed. Dismounting from his horse, Jeremiah took his rifle in hand as he crept towards the edge of the tree-line. Father Cole had followed close behind with a childlike glee guiding his steps. Caroline had hesitated before she realized she had no choice but to follow.

            Laying on their stomachs, the were pointing across the field as Caroline joined them in the dirt. It was there, kneeling beside the river, that they spotted a tribesman from the Oneida and his son. From so far away, it was difficult to tell what they were doing, but as their laughter filled the air, she realized they had no weapons. These were not warriors, but a family.

            Before she could argue their course of action, the men had reached a silent agreement as Father Cole slowly rose to his feet with rifle in hand. Just as her father motioned to follow, he pulled free a pistol he carried at his side and thrust it towards his daughter.

            “Take it,” spoke the demon that had possessed her father. “Follow us down.”

             “I don’t want it,” argued the freighted girl. “I can’t.”

             The darkness flared, “Take it! Do as you are told, child.”

           Caroline had never used a gun before, let alone on a person. There came no time for her to argue as her father rose and followed the preacher down. Neither the Native nor his son noticed the villains approaching as they continued playful laughter. The closer they drew, Caroline could see it had been nothing more than a father teaching his boy how to fish. A part of her wanted to scream and warn them of the approaching danger. But her fear had left her paralyzed. For as terrified as she was of the horror the approaching horror, she realized she feared her father more. In that moment, she remembered the last time she had seen that same darkness in his eyes. And there came that faded memory of her mother standing before the dark woods.

           The men pressed forward with dire cause as Caroline lingered a few feet behind. The weight of the pistol felt wrong in her hands. A foreign object that did not belong. There came no time for words or warning as the murders descended on their victims. With Father Cole smiling beside him, it had been Jeremiah who first pulled the trigger. Raising his rifle towards the boy’s father, he fired a round but missed. The bullet had hit the water. A warning that sent the boy racing towards the forest on the other side of the river. Pushing through the current of the shallows, he looked back to find his arms raised in surrender, but Jeremiah had no sympathy to spare. With two clean shots, the boy’s father fell dead in the river.

              Caroline could feel the hot tears as she shook her head in disbelief. She closed her eyes, hoping that once she opened them again the madness would be over, and all of it would have been nothing more than a bad dream. But the horror remained. For on the other side of the river, the boy had almost reached the tree line as Father Cole followed close behind.

            “In the name of the Father!” screamed the preacher with mad glee as he chased the boy. “May we rid Your earthly domain of this unholy taint! Cleansed by blood! Heathens! Defiler! Take my hand! Grand me the power to take vengeance for the blood of your Servant which has been shed!

            Even after he had disappeared in pursuit of the poor innocent boy, his mad rant had flooded the empty air. All the while, Jeremiah stalked over his victim as he struggled to hold on to his last breathes of life. Caroline watched as her father raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. Again, and again, and again, until the blood stood splattered across his face. In that moment, the secret had been pulled free from its hiding place.

              Mary Stone stands at the edge of the forest behind her house. A tired and confused little girl watches through her window. Having been awoken by violent shouts only to find her home torn asunder. With her father asleep beside the empty bottle, she watches as her mother stands barefoot in the snow. Face half illuminated by the moon, sensing her daughter’s eyes falling upon her, she turns to reveal the horror. For on the other side of her face are the signs of violence. Purple bloodless cheek, blackened eye still bleeding, burst lip, but no tears. Mary Stone has been the victim of the monster that returned from the war. The monster hidden behind her husband’s skin. With no smile, or parting words, she walks into the dark forest. Before long, she is swallowed by the abyss. The moon disappears behind a cloud. Mary Stone is never seen again.

            From that day onward, her father had blamed the Oneida for what had happened to his wife. Never once having accused himself as the reason for her disappearance. After the Union Army had defeated the South and marked them all as heroes, he had continued to clear lands of the Native Peoples wrongfully pushed from their lands. There, Jeremiah Stone had forged a hatred that had never left him. Even after years had passed, there was no way for him to see that the real devil lived within himself.

            Caroline was lost to the bawling grief as Father Cole reappeared from the woods covered in blood. Rejoining her father by the river’s edge, the two knelt in silent prayer and thanks to their God. There were no signs of remorse written upon the killers’ faces, no flicker of humanity, or understanding of what had been done. The innocent lay dead as the murderers reveled in their righteousness.

            Without thought, Caroline raised the pistol. With shaking hands, tears in her eyes, the memory of her beaten mother still fresh in her mind, she knew there was only one choice. The pistol wavered. Her finger shaking upon the trigger. The iron sight fixed on her father. All Caroline needed to do was let the bullet free to kill the monster.

            With one final sobbing breath, Caroline closed her eyes.