V. It all fell to pieces.

[ikissdhimbck]

[Ashes in the water, Ashes in the sea...]

These are the facts:

The Walker boat smashed into Sam’s boat. Sam was shot and killed in the water. Katherine Barlow was rescued against her wishes. When they returned to the shore, she saw Mary Lou’s body lying on the ground. The donkey had been shot in the head.

That all happened one hundred and ten years ago. Since then, not one drop of rain has fallen on Green Lake.

You make the decision: Whom did God punish?

“Let go of me!”

It was pitch black by the time they got back to shore. Trout had Katherine by her forearm, rifle still gripped firm in his free hand. He yanked her out of the boat and onto the pier, feet squelching in sodden shoes as her damp skirts left a trail of water behind her on the slow-rotting wood. She fought and struggled with every step, but Trout only tightened his hold.

The other three men on the boat disembarked after them, and among them was the deputy.

They hadn’t even brought Sam’s body in.

“Git your hands off me!”

Trout yanked hard, bringing her small body up snug against his, and seethed in her face. “I don’t want to hear no more fightin’, Katherine. Or I could always just toss you on out there ‘gain?”

Katherine couldn’t rein in the tears, or the cries of pain, as he jerked her about. She was working at his fingers with her free hand, fingernails digging into the pliant flesh, but he would not relent.

“You’re a murderer!”

“It’s your soul I’d start prayin’ for, if I was you, Katherine,” Trout bit back, eyes dark and cold, like empty space.

She was angry—oh so angry—but she couldn’t fight, couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. It filled her with a terror she’d never known before. Trout laughed, and shoved her to the ground.

“That colored only got what he deserved!”

She fisted grass into her trembling hands, wanting to rage, wanting to throw up, to cry, to shout.

Most of all, though, she wanted to cut that bastard down.

‘Best I can tell, it was a hunting accident, Miss. Stray bullet meant for a buck. Terrible shame.’

She looked up, and saw Mary Lou’s bleeding body next to Sam’s onion cart.

‘Y'ever wonder what life mighta been like if just one little thing had gone different?’





‘Ain't no one fought for my pa like that.’

(He was still laughing at her.)



In a blur of flying mud and long blonde hair, she was off on her feet, running.

Trout started, eyes after her. “Sh—”

“Should we go git ‘er?” asked one of his boys.

He sucked on his teeth, smirk still tugging at his lips as she ran her way up the dirt lane. “Naw. She ain’t got nowhere to go!”

He snorted one last laugh, and turned back to the dock.


She ran the whole way home, even though her lungs ached for air.

‘He was out hunting, Miss.’

‘They're bringing the body up now, the boys from the Crocker estate.’



‘The law will punish Sam. And God will punish you!’

She screamed in anguish, closing her eyes to the burn of wind drying her tears, chapping her cheeks and lips.

“Bar!”

She barreled inside her front door, still secured and house still whole, tripping blindly in the dark of her living room. There was no moon, no starlight, not a flicker of flame to guide her way.

“Bar, please!”

She had to get out of there.

She scrambled for the small coat closet, flinging the door open and letting loose with an agitated yell when she was met with nothing but coats.

‘No one ever says 'no' to Charles Walker!’


‘Stray bullet meant for a buck. Terrible shame.’

‘...He ain't with us no more, Miss. I'm sorry to say.’


‘Suppose it's God's way of sayin' 'I told you so.'.’

She curled her hands into her damp, messy hair. They were still stained with Sam’s blood.

‘Get out of the water, Katherine!’

‘No! Sam?! God, no! Let me go!’

‘You’ll drown, you fool!’

‘Let me be! Let me be!’

She couldn’t save him. She couldn’t pull him from the water, after Trout had overturned his rowboat—“The Mary Lou.” She couldn’t stop him from taking that bullet to the neck. She couldn’t get him to safety.

It’s your fault.

‘You kissed the onion picker’


‘You kissed the onion picker’




‘God will punish you!’

It’s your fault!

“BAR!” she screamed, voice begging, pleading. The sound echoed off the walls, but there was no answering call. No friendly door.

‘Sure 'bout that? You got a door, I got a gun. And I don't miss.’

Ben.

‘I don't care what the hell's goin' on in my life, if someone, anyone is botherin' you, I ain't gonna stand for it.’

Doc.

‘You run into any trouble, you find one of us.’

Where are you?

‘Ain't no one fought for my pa like that.’
‘Someone should have.’

“You should have.”

The words came out mingled with coughing, sobs racking her body.

"I should have.”


You ran away and left him.

You ran from the Bar.

You ran from Doc.

You ran from your father, you ran.

You left him behind.


She fell to her knees, dirty skirts tucked under her trembling legs, stained with lake water and blood. Mouth ajar, she’s crying—she’s screaming—but all around there’s silence.

‘It's okay. It's okay, Katie. Yer so tender of heart.’

Daddy, I messed up. I didn’t fight for you, I didn’t fight for him, I ran, I ran, I ran. He’s dead, he’s dead, it’s my fault. God forgive me. God forgive me, daddy, I let you die.

‘It's all right, Katie. Yer heart is just too big, s'all. It's okay. Stop yer cryin', sweetheart.’

“Bar?”

It was one last, feeble call for help.

She won’t come.

‘Don't suppose it being a magical bar helps much in that regard - makin' things seem normal, that is.’

They won’t come for you.

Her body curled in on itself, and she fell where she sat, knees under her chin as she cried against weathered hardwood. She cried, and she cried, and she cried, for what seemed like hours, heart hollow and breast aching, like a pumpkin that had been gored.

It’s your fault.

‘God will punish you!’





‘Call it for luck.’

Exhausted, she fell asleep.

Still crying.



Praying for death.

.