The Crossing

Rusty woke up knowing this was the day he was leaving. For five years now since his folks had passed on of the fever, he had lived with his Uncle Delbert just this side of Cahokia, Illinois raising hogs. This morning, he had finally decided he couldn’t feed another hog, so he eased out of bed and dressed quietly, gathering his few possessions. He pulled the end of his bed away from the wall and, reaching down, pried up on of the loose floor boards. He lifted it just enough so he could reach inside and pick up the leather folding wallet he had hidden there three years ago when he first made his plan. When he had first come to live with his Uncle Delbert, he was twelve years old and had brought his inheritance of two-hundred forty dollars, all in gold coin. It was to be used for his care and keep, but he soon found his uncle had drunk it all away. Even now, most of the hogs he’d worked so hard to help raise were already owed to Mr. Toones, the dirty sot who owned the tavern where his uncle went to drink and gamble. He opened his wallet and counted his money once again before stuffing it in his inside coat pocket. It had taken him three years to save up the sixty-four dollars he had hidden away from the sale of his runt pigs. Out of each litter, though not always, there was usually one scrawny little runt pig that his uncle had allowed him to keep and raise. When he sold it, he always put away half the money. His uncle had no qualms about coming in after he had drunk all his money away and, in a drunken stupor, would rant and rave about how he’d been saddled with his lazy brother’s son to raise and how the money was rightly his anyway. Then, he would end up knocking Rusty around and taking what money he had, always demanding that there must be more. Rusty was always able to convince him he had spent the rest on food or corn for the hogs. He took his lamp and made his way down the stairs, only to find his uncle once more passed out in a chair before the fireplace that had long before gone out. He set his lamp down and stood there for a moment, thinking that he’d like nothing better than to cross that room and just haul off and knock the spit right out of his uncle’s mouth. Instead, he leaned over and, cupping a hand around the mantle, blew out the lamp as he eased himself out the door. Even though it was way too early, the hogs started up their chorus of squeals and grunts at the sound of Rusty entering the barn. He lit a lamp and went ahead and threw the hogs a couple of buckets full of grain and corn hulls just to quiet them down while he saddled his horse. He was proud that his gelding was the only thing his uncle hadn’t tried to take from him. It was a dark roan with sprinkles of white across its rump, two white stockings, and a little patch of white upon its forehead that almost looked like a diamond. He slowly opened the barn door so it wouldn’t make much noise, and led his horse down past the house where he had stashed his few belongings, along with a small sack of food. Tying it all behind his saddle, he looked up at the house and, for some reason, thought of his Ma and Pa. A great feeling of loneliness overcame him as he stepped into the saddle, wiping moisture from his eyes. He never looked back, as the night still surrounded him and the sky was still a deep blue, almost purple in its darkness. Across the sky, the heavens were lit with stars like a great chandelier lighting his way. He rode on for what must have been a couple of hours, as the sky behind him was no longer the deep color it had been, but now was turning a grayish almost transparent blue of early morning. In the distance, roosters began to crow and smoke rose from chimneys as he passed by. A small town was just ahead and, as he crossed a creek that ran just before it, he decided to turn north and follow it to avoid the town altogether. So, reining his horse in, he turned and let it pick its own way down the trail.