Through Darkest America

still near naked, the arrow through his chest, trousers hanging about his ankles.

Howie’s stomach boiled, and he turned away. “No, Papa said sternly. He grabbed Howie’s head hard in one big hand and held it toward the sight. “You don’t turn away from life, Howie. Even if it ain’t pretty to see. Not lookin’ don’t make it go away.”

He said nothing more, but walked away down the low hills to the woods, Howie behind him. He stopped beside the creek and settled himself on a big stone. He looked at Howie and Howie sat.

“We had to butcher the mare,” said Papa.

“Sir?”

Papa nodded to himself and scratched at the stone with his boot. “Howie,” he said carefully, “she might have had seed.”

Howie was startled at that. A man was a man, but his seed in an animal.

“You’re wrong,” said Papa, guessing his thoughts. “We never talked about it. Didn’t see no reason. Thing is, that’s something where people and animals is alike. Seed don’t know whether it’s goin’ into man or beast. A man knows where he’s puttin’ it, though.” He looked up, nodding toward the edge of the woods. “Them three, now. Likely they understand some better about that. Do you understand, Howie?”

Howie swallowed. His mouth was dry as cotton. “Yes, sir. I think so.”

“I didn’t say think, Howie.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What you got to know is there’s no sin greater than the one you saw up there this morning. A man’s seed was given to him by God to plant in woman at the right time. A man’s got a soul, and when he puts that seed in an animal, it’s the same as giving part of his soul to beasts. Do you see that? And what’s the issue from such a thing?”

Papa didn’t wait for him to answer. “Your mother’s seen to it you read the Scriptures. You know this world wasn’t always like it is. Before the War, when God cleansed sinners from the Earth, there were hundreds of different kinds of beasts roaming the land. The Scriptures tell us that ‘man ate of their flesh, though it was unclean.’ Then, there weren’t any beasts such as we eat now, ‘which are in the shadow of man’s form, and have flesh that is clean.’ God put ’em here for us, and took all other beasts from the Earth, leaving only the creatures that fly and those that swim. And that’s the way He wants things to be, Howie.”

Papa was silent for a long moment. Howie listened to the creek and hoped maybe that was all. Maybe Papa wouldn’t get into the other part.

“You want to say what happened back there, Howie?” Howie’s heart stopped. “Not…much, Papa. I will, if you want me to.”

“I think it’d be a good thing, Howie.”

“Yes, sir. I…” He leaned down and wet his mouth in the creek. “I’m not right sure what to say.”

“Just whatever comes to you, boy. Whatever’s true and right.”

“Might be I don’t know what’s—true and right, Papa.” He looked up, meeting his father’s eyes. “That’s possible, ain’t it? That I wouldn’t know?”

“I think it is, Howie.”

“Well, sir .. .”

“You afraid of me, son?”

Howie thought about that. “Sometimes. Yes, sir.” He looked down at his boots. “Right now I am.”

“Well that’s a natural thing, I was scared of my Pa. S’posed to be. But—when I needed to say something, he was willin’ to listen. Same as I am, Howie.”

“Yes, sir.” Howie felt all tight inside. Papa was right, but—how could he talk about that? What was he thinking? It was terrible, a sin God wouldn’t ever forgive him for!

“Papa…”

“All right.” Papa nodded and tasted his lip. “You’ve seen lots of animals breeding, Howie.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you seen this. Between man and beast.”

Howie’s stomach turned over again.

“And what did you think, Howie? Just say it like it came to your head, right when it was happening.”

“Well, I…” Howie’s voice choked in his throat. “I… The mare didn’t look like a mare. Not then. She looked like a— girl! I wanted to do that to her too, Papa!”

He buried his head in his hands and felt hot tears burning his eyes.

“Howie…” Papa’s big hand covered his shoulder. “Howie, men are weak. They don’t always walk the right path. You’re a man, now, and no different than other men. What you thought, what—happened to you, ain’t too different than what’s happened to a lot of men. You know, now, though. You see it, don’t you, Howie? It’s wrong, and something you got to put out of your head. Now and forever.” He lifted Howie’s chin and looked at him. “When you was little, we talked about how things could look the same, that wasn’t. And that’s the way this is. She’s not the same, boy. Remember that. She was a beast and a beast’s got no soul. You thought different—for just a minute, anyway. Not now, though. That’s past, ain’t it, Howie?”

“Yes, sir,” said Howie. “I understand, Papa.” And to himself, he prayed that God would take this day, pull it out of his head, and not make him have to remember it forever.

Chapter Six

Crossing was just that—where the two wagon roads met and crossed one another, then twisted on to nowhere. Once a year, though, the fields on three sides were cleared of autumn bramble, and tents and cook shelters sprang up for the people who would come for Choosing.

Before the big trouble with Lathan, government people from Jefferson would arrive the night before in their big horse-drawn wagons. They’d pull up on the north corner in a wide circle, out would come the hightop tent colored bright red and blue, and the flags of the states and territories. Another, smaller tent was reserved for the pictures from Silver Island.

This year, though, horses were scarcer than ever—even the tired work animals that would have pulled the wagons had been pressed into service as mounts for soldiers fighting in the west. The wagons were lighter than usual, then, and pulled by reserve troopers who clearly didn’t like this kind of duty. They cursed and grumbled that they hadn’t signed up to pull wagons over bad roads, and said it surely wasn’t the proper thing for soldiers to do.

Papa chuckled when he saw them. “Serves ’em right’s what I say. Let them fellows in Jefferson see how the other half lives.” A few men standing about nodded and laughed with him, but Howie’s mother laid a hand on his arm and said someone might hear. Papa just grinned and told her that didn’t matter to him one way or the other.

Horses were always good for a joke. As long as anyone could remember, the government had been saying it wouldn’t be too long before there’d be enough of the big animals so every farm and ranch could have at least one— that breeding was going well, and more and more horses were coming up from Mexico every month.

Nobody believed that, though, and a day didn’t pass during planting season when one neighbor didn’t tell another that he shouldn’t be pulling his own plow—that there’d be horses to do that anytime now.

As soon as he finished helping Papa put up their own shelter, Howie ran across the road to see the pictures. Bluevale was a long time back and he hadn’t forgotten it was the one thing they’d missed at the fair. Besides, it was a good time to stay away from everyone. His mother had been crying again. It made him feel awful to see that—though he was old enough now to understand why. Choosing was a good thing and helped everybody, but like Papa said, mothers had different kinds of feelings than other people. So did fathers, Howie decided. They didn’t show it as much, but he’d caught a certain look in Papa’s eyes.

There were already some people in the tent, but not so many you couldn’t see what you wanted to—and Howie wanted to see everything. There were drawings and colored posters and even photographs—pictures where everything looked as real as if you were there.