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Blue Destiny

By James R. Mesich

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 James R. Mesich
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-4737-3

Chapter One

The yellow moon was eerie as it hung heavily in the night's cloak of blackness when Kyle reached Fort Harding. He was on the return leg of his journey to St. Louis. Kyle made the trek to purchase the wedding dress for his fiancée, Maggie. Usually he'd wait for it to arrive on the delivery wagon as he would the rest of the supplies for the general store that he, his brother, and sister owned. But since this would be for his future bride, he wanted to make sure none of the usual mishaps from its moving around in the wagon took place. If there were a tear in the dress, Maggie would surely have his hide hanging next to the fireplace before he could say, "But Honey."

As he entered through the fort's front gates, Kyle could see the dim light escaping from the grimy windows of the tavern just off to his left. Silhouettes of men making merry could be seen dancing on the windows as the kerosene lamp's flame flickered inside. Kyle's dusty throat plagued his thoughts to join the men and bring it pleasure with a mug of ale. First, though, he had to put his horse up in the stables for the night and then ask the man in charge if he would be allowed to spend the night up in the loft as he had done on his way to St. Louis. The mice that lived in the loft bothered him, but after two or three mugs of ale, sleep would not be elusive.

The old man who was in charge of the livery stable had been fast asleep when Kyle walked his horse in through the open, heavy wooden doors. He hated to wake the old man; he looked so comfortable with his feet cocked up on a bale of hay that rested out in front of him. His arms were folded neatly across his chest, and his shiny bald head reflected the light from the lamp stationed above him.

When Kyle placed one of his hands on the old man's left shoulder, he thought the old man was going to jump clean out of his clothes.

"Ya damn fool! What in the hell are ya doin' sneakin' up on an old man like me," the old timer screamed, as he grabbed at the glasses that hung crookedly across his face. He did this while his heart raced faster than a rabbit running through the woods.

"I'm sorry, but I needed a place ta take up lodgin' fer the night, and I remembered yer invitation when I passed through here last." Kyle looked almost as startled as the old man. He didn't know old people could move so fast.

"How ya doin', son?" asked the old timer with his glasses finally set into place. "Come back ta spend the night in the loft again, have ya?"

"I'm a doin' just fine, sir. Is the offer still open?"

The old timer nodded his head, then took the reins out from Kyle's hand and led the horse toward its stable for the night, talking all the while. "I'd sure appreciate it if'n ya didn't go ta calling me, 'sir'. Makes me feel like I should be wearin' a tie. I don't like wearin' no ties. I have a fear of nooses 'round my neck." The old timer laughed. "The name's Jerome Rock. Remember?"

"Sure I do, Jerome, it's just that ya didn't look too friendly a li'l while ago and, 'sir' felt ta be the right thin' ta say."

"Sorry, boy, but when ya git as old as I am, ya learn ta bark out loud 'cause the bite just ain't there no more and neither 'er the teeth." Jerome then winked at Kyle and stuck his hand out for a shake to show no hard feelings. After they shook hands, Jerome continued, "This box ya have wrapped up in canvas on the back of yer horse is the weddin' dress, ain't it?"

"Sure is," Kyle told him proudly. "I'd take it out an show ya, but I'm too dusty from the trail, and if Maggie saw mah dirty fingerprints smudged all over it, why, she'd make my life miserable."

"I don't blame ya, son. If there's anythin' a woman's good at, it's knowin' how ta make someone's life miserable."

They smiled at each other after stopping for a moment to soak in the bit of wisdom that Jerome had just spoken. Then Kyle fished his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out the twenty-five-cent piece he needed for putting him and his horse up for the night, but Jerome would only take his hand. He said, "The twenty-five-cents is a weddin' present." After that they put the horse up and placed the wedding dress in a place where the mice couldn't gnaw on it. Jerome then sat back down and kicked his tired feet up on the bale of hay. Kyle could hear Jerome's knees crack as his legs extended.

"Drink one fer me, son," was what Kyle heard as he walked out the doors. He didn't even glance over his shoulder, he just raised one of his hands over his head with two fingers extended, and told the old timer, "Two. I'll drink two fer ya."

The walk from the stable to the tavern couldn't have been more than fifty yards, but it felt like a mile to Kyle. His tongue was as rough as a cat's, and he could hardly wait to drink up all the ale that his stomach could hold. The night had been a warm one. The crickets were singing like the world was coming to an end. Their rhythmic sounds kind of hypnotized him. It had been a long time since he had felt so relaxed. The ride coming back felt as if it took forever and it seemed everywhere Kyle looked he saw Maggie's face radiating her warm smile back at him.

Just as he put his hand on the door to the tavern and began pushing it open, he heard a sound that caused a tingling sensation to rush its way up his spine. It was a crying howl from a wolf. It echoed through the surrounding forest to the point where he didn't even know in which direction it was coming from. The reason it struck him so odd was the fact that there hadn't been any wolves in those parts for years. The trappers had killed them off. They said the wolves ate too much of their livelihood. Kyle stood there with the door pushed halfway open for a good minute or so, not knowing why he had let it bother him so much, when he heard a voice call out from inside the tavern, "Hey, boy, yer lettin' in all the damn skeeters. Now either come in or stay outside. We really don't care one way er the other in here long as ya shut that damn door."

Kyle snapped out of his daze and walked in, closing the door tightly behind him. "Sorry, it's just that when I heard that Wolf a howlin', I kind'a froze." Kyle said, and then continued as he settled up next to the bar. "I thought all the wolves were killed off in these parts long ago."

"They was," answered the stout bartender moving toward him from behind the bar as he wiped down a mug with his soiled rag. "Can I git ya anythin'?"

"Yep, I'll have an ale and a plug of jerky."

"Comin' up." The bartender bent over and poured ale into the mug he was holding from one of the kegs he had underneath the bar. "Ya know, yer the first fella I recall sayin' he heard a wolf in the last three years."

The voice he heard from when he stood outside the door rang from across the tavern, "I'm surprised ya could hear anythin' over those damn crickets." The voice belonged to an old army sergeant sitting at a heavy wooden table with cigarette burns decorating its edges. He and two other men sat kitty corner across from each other with a yellowed and worn deck of playing cards sprawled out on the middle of it. "We need some fresh blood. Care ta play?" continued the sergeant.

"Don't mind if I do," Kyle answered as he grabbed his mug from the top of the bar in one hand and laid down the coin the bartender requested for payment with the other. He then picked up the jerky and placed it in his mouth. It was spicy, but it was good.

"Haven't ya noticed?" asked the bartender as he looked over to the sergeant.

"No,...