Wild Bill
It had been a slow week. Wild Bill was optimistic about spicing up his inventory with a few new pieces today. He and his donkey Fella traveled a familiar road. It was empty; as normal they hadn’t seen a soul since they turned off the main drag a few miles back. This road wasn’t traveled much for a multitude of reasons, which is why Wild Bill was so intrigued when he noticed the footprints. They traveled in the same direction he and Fella were heading. His pocket rock hadn’t vibrated in some time, so no one was close. There were a few leaves covering the tracks, so he guessed they were a few days old at the least. Quite curious, indeed.
Wild Bill had caught wind of an estate sale he hoped to reach before sunset. It would be a big day, a lot of miles for Fella, but sometimes they had to push.
He slowed Fella down as an old, thick elm came into view. There was a small notch in the tree about twenty feet up. He hopped down and unhitched Fella, gave him a carrot, and patted the mule along his head as he crunched away. Wild Bill closed his eyes for a minute, focusing on his favorite spell. When he was finished, he gave Fella another carrot and grabbed his small shovel before trudging through a bush and into the woods. The spell would let Wild Bill know if anything came close to the wagon, but since his pocket rock hadn’t vibrated all day, he wasn’t much concerned.
He didn’t need the poem to find his way, but like clockwork, the words came back to him as he found the ancient game trail.
Round the corner at sharp rock
Walk to the laurels then stop
Hook a right toward the uprooted tree
Check once more no one’s following thee.
He hummed to himself and turned around. He took in a breath; the air was crisp and the forest seemed healthy. He was lucky enough to spot an owl soundlessly drop from its perch and glide through the trees effortlessly.
Tree grown in the boulder
Hiding some old tomb
Blueberry bushes on the shoulder
Pick a few mushrooms
He opened a small pouch. Usually the mushrooms here were plump, but these were skinny little things. He picked and pocketed them anyway- they’d grow back stronger by tomorrow.
He didn’t need the poem, he’d made this trip hundreds of times. But as he passed each landmark, he couldn’t keep the old rhyme out of his head. He thought of the friend that wrote it with him. Life could be so cruel, separating souls that so perfectly resonated with each other. But that’s what time did.
Rock wall or mound
A dead log decaying so slowly
Crawl through tangles lowly
Here the forest snuffs out sound
It could’ve been a better poem, but once it was in their memory there was no changing it.
In a quiet section of creepy old forest, Wild Bill approached King Oak: a girthy, ancient beast that towered over every other tree. He put a hand to the wise tree and took a breath. He turned to his left and walked seven measured paces. At his feet lay a nondescript rock about the size of his fist. He carefully set it to the side and began digging with his small shovel. He removed a fresh layer of dirt before tossing the shovel to the side. He got down on his knees and brushed off the top of a wooden chest.
Inside the cache, a neatly folded note sat on top of several carefully placed items. He briefly unfolded the note before stashing it in a pocket. It was indecipherable, of course. He’d left his cipher back in the wagon; this letter was coded to be jibberish without it.
The first thing that caught his mind was the biggest item: a wide-brimmed hat. He turned it over in his hands before tossing it on his head. Next was a quill. He inspected it, spinning it between his fingers before tucking it into another pocket. Last was a small pouch. His suspicions were confirmed when he opened it up to find a bag of beans. He smiled; he loved a good bag of beans. He delicately slid the beans into his safest pocket.
…
The sun was close to setting when he spotted the estate. The house sat on a hill about an hour off the main road. Wild Bill didn’t see anyone on the road to the estate; he hoped the townsfolk hadn’t picked the house clean of all the good stuff.
An elderly man was nursing a pipe from his porch’s rocking chair as they approached. Wild Bill hopped down and walked up the steps. “I didn’t miss the sale, did I?” He asked.
“It’s a little late, young man,” the man said. Wild Bill had collected plenty of years himself, but he supposed everyone was young to this geezer. The man motioned his head into the house. “Go have a look, I’ll catch up with you when the pipe’s out.”
“Thank you, sir.” Wild Bill stepped inside.
The old farmhouse had clearly been picked at. A dining table sat without chairs; an empty hutch had numerous dust marks where various items had sat for years. In another room, the furniture had been carelessly rearranged around a clean rectangle on the floor- the rug must’ve been special.
Wild Bill thought purposely, closing his eyes and casting a spell. He was no wizard, but he knew a few tricks. He looked around- nothing magical caught his eye. He wandered through the home, not bothering to look very closely. Anything of noticeable value would already be gone.
Eventually, he had a hit. He found himself in a bedroom, opening a big armoire. He pushed aside a few clothing items and found a light blue ball gown at the very back. He rubbed the gown between two fingers.
“I’m afraid nothin’ in there’s for sale,” the old man nearly made Wild Bill jump. He poked his head out of the armoire.
“This gown is gorgeous,” he replied.
The old man slumped into a chair in the room. He sighed. “It is. It was her favorite.” He was looking at the floor. “Lotta good memories. I’ve been looking at it occasionally, remembering all the good times she was in it.”
Wild Bill looked again at the dress, then back to the old man. “It’s just the size for my old gal,” he said. “We’d give it a good life, new happy memories.”
The old man looked at Wild Bill closely. They met eyes and held for a moment, the old man appraising him. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep such a beautiful thing locked up.”
Wild Bill pulled the gown out and offered it to the man, who put up a hand and looked to the ground. “Take it,” he told Wild Bill. “It’s someone else’s turn to dance with it.” The old man’s eyes were wet when he looked at Wild Bill again. “Enjoy every second, and spoil that old gal of yours while you can.”
Holding the gown in one hand, Wild Bill reached for his coin purse with the other. The old man put up a hand again. “Free of charge,” he said, “to a good home.” He managed to give Wild Bill a smile. “Let me know if you see anything else, I’ll be in here.”
Wild Bill gently folded the gown over an arm. He took another lap around the house, just to be sure. On his way out the door, he slipped a handful of coins into the old man’s jacket. Wild Bill wasn’t a liar, but the old man had no idea how much the gown was worth.
Previous Chapter: https://therealzsmith.com/2023/02/03/resistance-chapter-4/
Next Chapter: https://therealzsmith.com/2023/02/17/resistance-chapter-6/
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