The Saga of Tommy Wade

The Saga of Tommy Wade The Lonely Man The sun was just coming up over the hilltop behind him, as young Tommy Wade made his way home. It was about 8:00 in the morning. Tommy had gotten up early to go fishing and had made a pretty good catch; he had five good sized cat fish. His ma and pa would be up and wondering where he was. He knew they would be upset. Life on the farm began early and they would have expected him to start milking the cows and doing the rest of the feeding and gathering from the chickens. Speaking of chickens, they would have already had breakfast. This reminded him that his stomach was beginning to churn from emptiness. He should have grabbed a biscuit before heading out to the lake which was about a mile from the house. But he was in a hurry this morning to catch a fish, something he thought he would never ever get tired of doing. But life, as young Tommy Wade knew it, was about to change forever. Just as he crested the hill overlooking the house he heard a gunshot; he was about a half mile from home but the sound was clear. It was the sound of a pistol. He knew it would not be his father because he only had a rifle. He ran the few steps to where he could get a clear look. There in front of his house were three men on horses. The forth man, a man dressed in black, was standing in front of his horse holding its bridle with a gun in his hand. In front of the man in black lay his father; face down in the ground. He could hear his mother scream as she grabbed her mouth and ran toward his father. She never made it. The man in black shot her point blank and she reeled backward from the blast falling to her death. Young Tommy Wade stood there paralyzed from shock and surprise for a moment then began to run down the hill as he started to scream. In his mind was the word “no” but he never got it out. He tripped and fell head long cracking his head on something hard. His world went black. He didn’t know how long he lay there, maybe hours he wasn’t sure. When consciousness came to him he slowly began to rise. He could see the blood on the rock in front of him. Then he felt the pounding in his head. He reached up and felt his forehead and felt the thick liquid there. Looking at his hand he saw the blood, he had been knocked out by the rock. Then the realization of the prier events came flooding in. He remembered his father lying on the ground. The man in black! His mother… Shot! He looked toward the house and saw what he was afraid to see. There was his father and mother lying very still in front of the house. He hoped upon hope that they weren’t dead. He sprang to his feet and began to rush down the hill. The four men were nowhere in sight. As soon as he got to his father he rolled him over and saw his chest covered with blood from the gunshot. His body began to tremble as he felt the deep hurt and anger. No, this can’t be happening, he thought. Why? Why now? Who would do such a thing and for what reason? Tears were streaming down his face as he went to his mother. She was lying on her back with both arms stretched above her head. Her chest too was covered with blood. “Ma, Ma!” he cried. He could feel the anger burning deep in his gut. He stood up looking around his fists clenched tightly his teeth grinding as he looked for signs of the four men. Who were they, he thought? Why would they do this? Where did they go? He could see the tracks leading off away from the farm. His first impulse was to run into the house and get his gun and go after them. But he couldn’t leave his parents there, not like this. What should he do? He stood there staring at his mother and father. Suddenly, thoughts of this mother and father came flooding into his mind. He remembered his mother. She was so loving and kind. She always had time to love him and do special things for him on his birthday or holidays. She was always there to support him and nurture him. She read the Bible to him when he was little. She had taught him to read and how to cook eggs and bacon. When he got hurt she was always there to lift him up. She was the school teacher for Chickasha, Oklahoma where they lived and his father was their pastor. His father had taught him how to farm and to hunt: how to wait for the right shot; and more important, how to fire that rifle. At seventeen years of age he was a good shot with the rifle. He rarely ever needed a second shot. His father was proud of him and who he was. But his father was more than a farmer. He was the town parson. He pastored the church in Chickasha. But he was a different kind of preacher for his day. He was not the hellfire and brimstone type of preacher. He saw God as the God of love: a God who cared for everyone and took care of everyone. Where was God now, he thought. He remembered praying at the altar when he was eight years old and accepting Christ as his savior. His father was very excited about baptizing him in the local fishing hole; the fishing hole where he had just been. Tommy had one problem. He loved to fish when he should be doing the farm chores. He loved to fish more than he loved to hunt and certainly more than he loved to farm, perhaps, even more than he loved God. He had gone fishing. Damn he thought to himself. How selfish and inconsiderate I was of them both. I was only thinking of myself and my pleasures. Now they’re both laying here dead. If I had just stayed at home and done my chores, I might have been able to save them. At least I would know why this happened. Damn me! Damn me! He thought. Then he paused for a minute as he reassessed the situation. He looked up in the direction the men had gone, No! He thought, Damn them! He looked around again as his face filled with flame; anger in his eyes turned them almost red. At the time, he wasn’t aware that if he had stayed home, he too, would have been killed. If it is the last thing I ever do, he thought, I will hunt them down, I will find them and kill them all. The men who killed his parents were thieves and marauders; a band of renegade Mexican thieves who lived only to rob, kill and take what they wanted. The leader of the gang was Eduardo, a cold and calculating killer of men and rapist of women. Tommy’s mother had escaped his hands only because she acted that day without thinking. Eduardo and his men were headed back to Mexico. When Eduardo came to the farm that day all he and his men wanted was some food and money. He thought it was a simple thing for a man to turn over his money to keep his life, but that fool had rebuked him and told him to leave his home. When he shot the man the woman started toward him and he thought she was waving a gun and he fired on instinct. After she fell to the ground he could see she was unarmed. That was a waste, he thought. She was a pretty woman, and he was in need of a pretty woman’s company. Too bad for me, I had fired too quickly. Tommy picked up his mother and carried her into the house and laid her on the bed. His father, however, was another story. He outweighed Tommy by at least fifty pounds. There was no way Tommy could get his father into the house and he didn’t want to drag him. So he went to the barn and got a tarpaulin they used when they needed to camp outside while hunting. He covered his father with that. He saddled up the old mare and headed for the McGregor’s farm. The McGregor’s farm was only about 20 miles away; they would help him sort out what he should do next. The McGregor’s were a God fearing family. They were hard working farmers and members of his father’s perish. Mr. McGregor was a big Scotsman that everyone respected, not only for his humility, but also for of his size. He was indeed a mountain of a man about six foot five and weighed about three hundred pounds. His wife Joelle was completely different. She was a small woman with beautiful features and often turned heads, even when she wore a bonnet.