Annie Monroe's Story

Empty, blue eyes stared out of the old window. A storm was coming. It brewed over the dusty plains as thunderous claps shook the shelves. A sudden flash of lightning struck in front of her eyes before the young woman's slender fingers grabbed hold of the aging mahogany panels. Gently, she closed the window and locked it with a rusty padlock. The last of twenty windows, each fitted with a padlock to prevent the strong winds from shatter the glass or let the yellow pages fly everywhere.

The library was older than Old Chuck himself. Though larger than any house in Fort Trinity, it was too fragile in its state. The last enhancement was in Old Chuck's youth when he was a child decades ago. He once said the wood was the strongest mahogany in the country but now, she could feel it soften from one touch of her fingertips.

The lady picked up the hem of her skirt as bare feet walked to a pile of fallen books, covering the floor and emptying its shelf. It was the storm's doing, only time would tell if any more mishaps would happen. She knelt down, picking up the books slowly until her hands were filled. She rose to put the well-conditioned books in the shelf. The dusty books or those with ripped pages, she'd send to the back to clean or bind.

By the time she had sorted the books and separated them from the good books, Annie counted how many books needed her help. More than twenty and so, she regretted leaving the trolley cart in front with Grandpa.

He was situated behind the counter, watching the front door for people to enter. Silver-colored bells would ring throughout the library when the door opened, indicating a customer. It had been weeks since someone entered, the storm wasn't doing them any good. Without their payments or sponsors, the library would cease to exist much to her horror. It might become reality sooner than she thought.

A cold breeze sent shivers down her spine and instinctively, she adjusted the plain brown shawl over her blue dress to keep her warm. Even though Grandpa had a blanket draped over him, silently she worried that the cold could get to him. He could barely walk without drawing a deep breath every so often. His cane was needed to move around small distances around their home. But she would always wheel him in his wheelchair when required.

Leaving the books in a order, she decided to take the trolley as it was practical. The library owned only one, and it was older than the young woman herself but it was in good condition and it could move heavy books. She needed it.

"Grandpa." Annie said as she saw Old Chuck sleeping through the storm. His chest rose then fall in rhythmic fashion, the only proof that he was alive. Pale skin and dark hair was hereditary, but his skin was wrinkled as his hair was white as the Texas moon. His age caused befuddlement among the townsfolk and her. She recalled a middle-aged man telling her that he was called Old Chuck even before his mother was born.

From behind the counter, she adjusted his blanket then placed her own shawl over him. A half-empty beer bottle was found next to the catalog. Annie managed to give a half-smile for a half-second before it disappeared. Curious, she opened the heavy book with the yellow pages that was only half-full. It was her second catalog book since she had only taken the library a year ago on her eighteenth birthday. The flow of profit was steadily dropping. Once in a while, there was a glimmer of false hope before it disappeared.

Lightly her fingers trailed along the pages, reading the names of books and who borrowed them. Her gaze faltered as she looked on. Without sponsors, without profits, the library would fall. No new advancements to be made, no more books to read. Her home would crumble. And the realization killed her.

Early in the morning, a woman in a fashionable navy blue gown swept down the elaborate staircase leading between the two floors of the Fyler house. A small overly adorned hat was perched above her hair that was drawn back into a high ponytail with pin curls barely reaching the nape of her neck. Dressed to the nines for a simple day touring the town, Amelia was greeted on the first floor by a weathered and slender man that bowed at the waist upon her entrance.

“Mrs. Amelia, you look lovely. Your daddy wanted me to take ya into town today to show ya ‘round a bit. Y’know, the school house and perhaps stop by a store or two. He’s gonna be out all day so he says if ya need anything just put it to his account.”

A bright smile flashed across her countenance and she looked positively delighted at the prospect. Ever since she had returned a week ago to her hometown, Amelia hadn’t stepped outside of her father’s house for much more than a morning ride on her palomino and she was eager to see if anything had changed in Fort Trinity in the past 10 years since she had been gone.

“Oh, Levi! You simply must show me everything.” All throughout breakfast and the carriage riding into town, the woman prattled on about everything she recalled. How the hotel was one of the grandest places she had ever seen and the man at the General Store had always given her a candy stick when she visited. The man at the bank was a thin, skeletal man who she swore kidnapped children, a story which now drew laughter from delicate lips but before had always terrified her to the point where she refused to travel into the bank with her father and instead would sit in their carriage until his return.

Levi stayed silent for the most part but occasionally he interjected. The Hotel was no longer around, instead it had been converted into a Casino and though he didn’t warn her about its owner, his tone made her fret; a well bred woman would never step foot into such an establishment so she didn’t know why he would worry so much.

The first stop was the school house, which looked akin to a regular one-story residence were it not for the sign hanging out front. A slim metal key unlocked the front door and chocolate brown eyes eagerly took in her surroundings. It was simple in décor, a large chalk board hung on the far side of the room while rows of tiny desks sat facing a much larger one. Removing her gloves, Amelia wandered slowly, imagining the children sitting, scrawling eagerly upon their own mini slates or reading through their learners. It was what she had gone to university for nearly a decade ago and she was finally putting her skills to good use. She was finally going to be a teacher.

Drawing in a deep breath, she set about taking stock of the supplies, which were pitiful. The schoolbooks were old and falling apart at the seams and the material contained within were years out of date. Not all grade levels were covered by the tomes either and some of them were missing entire sections of pages, as if someone had ripped them out for kindle for the fireplace. She left the schoolhouse a little disheartened though she vowed to see the school house stocked more appropriately before her return.

The rest of the day was spent riding from place to place, quelling her curiosity as well as reacquainting herself with the area. The few people that she had a chance to speak to were polite, yet withdrawn and a few whispered words were spoken behind her back as she moved on to the next store.

“That Fyler’s daughter?”

“Yeah, I ‘eard she’s a widow now. Husband died of the fever or some such. Ain’t that a pity…”

“Oh my. Now she’s stuck back here with the rest of us, aye? No pretty boutiques or society parties to entertain her. Bet she’ll last a month.”

---

Later that afternoon, while ominous grey clouds rolled in from the northwest, the impeccably dressed woman was frowning fiercely at the storm as it approached as if her countenance alone would ward off the impending rain. “Levi, we’re not going to make it back home. Are we?” A chilled breeze swept beneath her shawl, eliciting a shiver from her slender frame and she drew the cloth closer around her shoulders in response.

“Ain’t look like it, Mrs. Amelia…” The driver’s drawl lapsed for a moment as he urged the horses down the center street of town, his hooded eyes sweeping the surrounding buildings for an establishment that his employer might wish to seek refuge in while they allowed the weather to pass. He would be welcomed in any tavern, casino or hovel within walking distance but the widowed daughter of Fort Trinity’s wealthiest cattle baron was quite a different story.

Drawing the reins back, he eased the horses to a stop with a soft, “Whoa, now…” and the cart halted in front of a trio of buildings. The old library looked empty with its heavy wooden shutters drawn closed against the oncoming winds and rain, a gunsmith’s store to its right which must’ve opened in the past few years and on the library’s left was J.W. Crawford’s barber shop.

“The library…” Amelia murmured to herself more than to Levi, waiting for him to come around and assist her descent from the carriage and when her shoes finally touched the ground, the first droplets of rain began to fall sporadically from the sky. “Is it still open, Levi?” Worry entered her voice as her driver escorted her to the door and it opened easily, signaling their arrival with a trio of dancing silver bells.

“Sounds like it, Mrs. Amelia. You go on in now and I’ll come back ‘round for ya when it clears.” With that, Levi ducked back out of the library and gathered the cart and horses to shelter them away at the stables on the south end of town.

Surprise flitted over Amelia’s elegant features as her gaze soaked in the interior of the library. For such a sleepy little town, she was half expecting what few books the library possessed to be ragged and dusty. Instead, she saw a vast and varied selection of well-tended tomes arranged meticulously upon hand-crafted shelving.

Lips formed a delicate ‘o’ as she seemed to ignore all else to peruse the offerings before her. After being offered the teaching position at the local school, she assumed that she would have to send out east for all her supplemental supplies but maybe, just maybe, she would find everything she needed here instead.

Manicured fingertips traced reverently over the spines of a few of the choices, her mouth moving silently as she read each title. One rather large book caught her eye- one wrapped in brilliant orange cloth. It was a book of children’s poems with colored illustrations, a rare find out here in the west, she was sure of it.

Darkness began to fall quickly over the whole of Fort Trinity as the sun set behind the horizon, finding deeper cover behind the storm clouds rolling over the old fort and across the booming settlement. The storm seemed angry, growling thunder threatening with flashes of lightniing just to make sure that anyone in its path wouldn't have any doubts that the storm meant business.

The storm was blowing in more than just sound and fury.

Dark corners caught by blinding flashes of light often gave way to strange sights, things that go bump in the night and only seem to come out on the worst of nights. Things that older brothers tell to younger sisters for a laugh that night and a beating by a switch the next morning. Floorboards creaked and groaned as old buildings settled into the clay dirt on which they were built. If one were too many drinks in or listening too hard to that little voice inside, they'd swear it wasn't just the storm, but something real you could reach out and touch if it wouldn't bite your hand.

For Annie Monroe, the sounds weren't just the old library settling and aging before her eyes. With another flash of lightning and clap of thunder, the spirit vision suddenly became very real.

He stood in a dark corner, thick as a tree stump and with skin as dark, too. Maybe the darkness made him look bigger and taller, but the man loomed in the corner with the frame that better resembled a bear than a man. Long back hair was partially pulled back and fastened behind his head while two long tendrils hung down next to the dark skin of the face, eyes of a hawk peering through from the darkness at the young woman. Loops of brass wire completed pierced ears

Long pants of woven cloth ran down legs like railroad ties, ending just inches above a pair of moccassins that creaked against the weather floor of the old library. A loose-fitting bucksin shirt hung off the boulder that was the man's torso, straps of leather tied around the otherwise bare upper arms of the beast.

As Red Hawk Nocona stepped forth from the darkness and into the dim lighting of the library, it became clear that his face, torso and arms were stained a deep red with blood.

"The emar comes soon," he spoke in broken words mixing his own Comanche tongue with the language of the white settlers. "Paa to wash out sickness, sickness your people bring."

He took another step closer.

Maybe it was fear. The sight of the blood-covered Indian stepping out of the shadows, heavy breaths and heavier threats rising above deep footsteps causing the entire floor of the library to creak would be enough to cause anyone a moment's pause for fear. Whatever the cause, the young woman didn't react in the time that it took for Red Hawk Nocona to close the distance between them.

It wasn't until his hands wrapped around the soft flesh of her neck that she finally reacted with a blood-curdling scream. Her body flailed as she tried to pull, push, kick, and squirm her way out of the grasp of the mountainous man, but there was nothing her frail frame could do to escape the death grip that cut off the scream and began to choke the very life from the girl. As the last glimpe of light died on the horizon, the last gasps of life escaped Annie Monroe.

The thud of her body hitting the floor was soon followed by the hulking footsteps of the man crossing over her and staring down at the old man in the corner. Red Hawk lifted a hand, hovering the weapon over the man's sleeping frame for a moment.

"Soon, soon," he spoke, slowly lowering his hand and turning away from the man.

Still, the Indian and the old man were not alone in the old and creaking library. There was another, Red Hawk had heard in his patient waiting, in the next room. Breaking from his resting position and barreling into the other room, the man locked onto the frame of the young woman between him and the front door to the library leading back onto the rain-soaked streets of Fort Trinity. Unlike the plainly-dressed and obviously-poor librarian, this woman carried the look and airs of society. She smelled like the worst of the white women and Nocona's eyes hardened as he stared to pierce the distance between the two of them.

Amelia Fitzgerald stood between Red Hawk and the door, but escape seemed to be far from the man's mind as he towered, blood still draping his body and another death weighing on his hands. He stared. Then he stepped forward.

"Are you going to scream, little woman?"