The Daughter, C.B. Cooper [great reads .TXT] 📗

ridden with him on more than one occasion.
They’d been sitting in the middle of the army camp when Ben had seen the flap of the General’s tent open and a man, just a few years older than himself, walked out. He was young, maybe eighteen, but he was big. Easily six feet tall, he had massive shoulders, slim hips, and long powerful legs. Walking across the encampment, men of all ranks, from soldiers to lieutenants, greeted the man. Some stopping him to have a few words, shake his hand or slap him on the back. It was all to evident, that whoever he was, he was greatly respected by all the men there.
His uncle had noticed him watching the man, and told him, “Yer lookin’ at a living legend. That there is Sam Sharp. ”
Ben studied him, “How old is he, ya think?” he asked.
“Don’t rightly know.” his uncle had said. “Not quite twenty years I think. But age don’t matter out here, that boy over yonder’s pro’bly one of the fiercest fighters you’ll ever come across. Hell, I heard tell he started fightin’ Comanche as soon as he was old enough to pick up a gun, and even then he had to stand with his back against a tree, just to keep from getting’ knocked on his butt. Heard he’s an expert tracker too.”
“Is he in the army?”
“Naw, Sam wouldn’t throw in with them, no matter how much they begged.”
“But, he’s here now.” Ben pointed out.
“Yep, of his own free accord. He’s what you’d call a ‘free agent’ I guess. Army’s been wanting him to help their fight with the mex’cans, seems maybe they done talked him into it. He’s got the respect of every man-jack around, and with good reason, he earned it. That boy’s got some serious sand.”

Sam Sharp had shown up in town a few years before Ben had left to fight in the war, only now, instead of packing his customary arsenal of weapons, he was toting a bible, and calling himself Reverend Sharp. Ben had about fell over.
“Guns and knives can fight all sorts of human foe, but only the bible can fight against a man’s demons.” Sam had told him when Ben asked him about the sudden change in professions. That had been the only time they had spoken of it.

Ben stared out into the half plowed field and felt a stab of remorse. He’d only been home a few hours and already the list of things that needed doing on the farm was overwhelming. Fields needed plowed and planted, there were fences falling down all over the place, and he’d seen three drip pans in the main room of the cabin alone.And he’d come home a goddamn cripple.
The doctor who treated him had painted a grim picture of his future. The bullet had hit him in the hip and lodged in the bone. The doc had called it- the invisible war souvenir, he had said, ‘Your not gonna be able to see it, but your sure the hell gonna feel it.’
Ben had felt like shooting him for his bedside manner alone. He delivered bad news with all the excitement of a demented peddler, hawking his wares. “Congratulations!” he’d told the man in the bed next to him, “You made it though the war, son. Your gonna git to go home! Only- your legs aren’t going with ya! Hahaha!”
He was a sick man. He like to brag that he could saw off a man’s leg in forty-three seconds flat, but somewhere he’d heard a rumor that another army doctor could do it in forty, a time he had been trying fiercely to beat.
Absently, Ben rubbed the top of his bad leg, at least it was still there. Looking over at his daughter he said, “Gracie, this farm is fallin’ down around your ears, and I’m afraid I ain’t gonna be nothing but a burden to you.” Seeing the flash of anger and hurt in her eyes, he quickly added, “I know’d you tried your best, no ones sayin’ that ya did’nt, but a fact is a fact, Angel girl. So, I’ve been thinking… is Mr. Stanley still trying to buy this place?”
Gracie jumped up and faced him, she was furious, “I don’t care what you’ve been thinking. Now, I’m glad your home daddy, but lets you and me get one thing straight right now. I’ve been taking care of this place for the last four years, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you waltz in here and start telling me what you think. I’ve worked my fingers to the bone and until my backs nearly broke, and if it’s not good enough for you, then you can just, just… leave!”
Ben regarded her with amusement, “I see you found your tongue while I was away.”
The fact that he found all this funny, just infuriated her even more, “And if you think your just gonna sit in that goddamned chair all day and have me wait on you hand and foot, you got another thing coming! If your gonna stay on my farm, then your gonna work! There’s plenty of things around here you can do. The whole damn barn’s full of busted riggin’, busted tools, axes that need new handles and their blades sharpened, there’s an endless number of things you can do right from that chair, but if your not willin’, then grab up your war bag and git on down the road!”
Ben couldn’t believe his ears, “Why, you little smart aleck!” he yelled as he watched her stomp down the dilapidated stairs. The last one broke under her weight, almost pitching her onto her butt.
Pointing at the broken, splintered piece of wood, she yelled, “That can be your first project!”
Ben stood, his breath hissing sharply as the pain shot down his leg, “This is my farm, Missy! And I’d thank you kindly to remember it!” he yelled at her retreating back.
Watching her stomp across the yard, the anger started to subside, and he found himself chuckling, “I’ll be goddamned, if’n she ain’t just like me after all.”

He found her out in the barn hooking up the yoke and traces to the big Missouri mule. Limping up behind her, he said, “I’m sorry Gracie, I didn’t mean to imply you haven’t been doing a good job around here, I know you’ve done yor best.”
Turning, she looked at him with angry tears shining in her eyes, “You know what, daddy? Some days I work so hard all I can do is collapse into bed at night, too tired to even eat supper. But you know what? Every morning, I get up, and I do it again. Not once in the last four years did I ever give up on this farm. Not once!”
He looked into her big brown eyes, full of hurt and unshed tears, and felt about two inches high. He’d been ready to suggest earlier that they sell the farm, pack it in, and maybe move to a bigger town, and start all over. But seeing her reaction and hearing her words, he’d rather cut out his own tongue than mention such a thing now. And she was right. This was her farm now, bought and paid for by her own blood, sweat and tears. He could never take that away from her.
Slowly he removed the hat from his head and held it in both his hands, nervously flexing the brim. “Yor right Gracie, I was feeling sorry for myself back there, and I thank you for setting this ol’ fool straight.” Gesturing with his hat, he continued, “None of this is yer fault, Gracie. I ran off to fight in that damn war and left you here to shoulder my burdens. This farm, yer mother, all of it. And that wasn’t fair for you, hell, I wouldn’t have blamed you at all if’n you’d run away, went out and made a life for yourself, but you didn’t. You stuck it out and you did a damned fine job of it, and I’m proud of you. And yer right, this is your farm, you’ve more than earned it.”
“Now,” he said smiling, stuffing his hat back on his head and clapping his hands together, “What would you like me to do first, Boss.”
She stared at him for a moment, then threw her arms around his neck, the added weight almost knocking him off balance. “Thank you, daddy.”
Ben squeezed back, and whispered, “Like I said, I’m right proud of you, Angel girl, right proud.”

That night, after a supper of beans and freshly baked bread, Ben sat watching his first sunset in four years from his favorite spot on the front porch. How many times had he dreamed of doing this very same thing, while he fought for his States Independence in the War between the States. The fact that he had survived and was sitting here at all, was a miracle in it’s self.
It had been a crazy goddamned war. One they were doomed to lose, almost from the start. Even though the South had the fiercest fighters, the North had them out numbered two to one, they also had better weapons and more money to keep the fight going, where the Reb’s had been flat broke and starving.
It also grated on his nerves that the war he’d enlisted in, had slowly evolved from a fight to keep the Confederate States of America independant from the United States, to a fight solely over slavery. Truth was, he didn’t give a rats ass either way on the whole slavery issue, and neither did most the men he fought with. Nights spent on the darkened battle fields had gotten to be plain ridiculous, with the Union soldiers shouting things like, Let your slaves go! Free the negros! Free the slaves! What goddamned slaves? He didn’t own any slaves, hell none of the men he fought beside did. Only the rich people had enough money to buy and house negros, and none of those bastards were out on the battle fields.
Ben stretched his bum leg, wincing as he did so, it had been a long day, but a damned good one. He had took Gracie’s advice and made himself useful. Out in the barn he had worked on sharpening an axe, he honed it to a razor sharp edge, then shimmed up the loose handle and dropped it in a bucket of water to soak, by morning the wood whould be swelled up tight. He’d also worked on the corral fence, banging in more than a few nails and shoring up a couple of loose posts. He even found the time to replace the broken bottom stair on the porch. All in all, it wasn’t much, not near the amount of work that Gracie had done, but he figured a pinch of progress was better than a whole heap of indolence.
He was rolling his second cigarette of the night, when Gracie came out and quietly joined him.
Father and daughter settled into a comfortable, companionable silence, watching the colors in the sky shift, deepening as the sun dipped low over the horizon. The forest frogs had began their nightly cadence, then the lightning bugs began to slowly waltz to the tune. For the first time, in a long time, Ben felt totally at peace.

Ben Walker awoke that first night, from the familiar hellish nightmare, that left him dripping with persperation, his heart racing. Slowly he eased himself back onto the bed, breathing deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. Ben considered himself a strong man, there wasn’t much that frightened him, but the dark dreams that had plagued him ever since he’d been shot,