Broken Trees

A Bonus Short Story from the Rifters universe

The soft gold-tinted light of predawn pushed up over the horizon, shading the darkness of night in softer echoes of gray. Millicent pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, half running toward town. Where the trees stopped, she paused, scanning the streets of Settler, Oregon, for movement, listening.

Her partner caught up beside her. The town’s force and undisputed leader, Cordelia Swit, daughter of the town’s founder. “Everything looks quiet. Not even the cows are stirring.”

“As we know, Cordelia, looks can be quite deceiving.” Millicent ran her hands over her hair.

Cordelia’s mousey-brown bun had become unraveled, and she swept her hair out of her face, frowning at Millicent. “Not a hair of yours out of place. Not a one. That new hair bauble of yours is really doing its job.”

Millicent held her chin up. “I have an entire box of French pins. I’d be happy to show you how to use them. Put my hair up yesterday at seven in the morning, and it’s still perfect.” She let her hand drop and caught Cordelia’s dark gaze. “We have other things to discuss besides hair.”

“You mean our visitor last night.” Cordelia shrugged. “Most likely, no one noticed.”

“The screaming that howled like something straight from the underworld and the loud thrashing that seemed to surround the town? Unlikely.”

“Cover story is it must be a cougar.”

“A cougar tore up trees in a mile long path?” Millicent shook her head and chuckled softly. “We’ll have to do better than that.”

“What sage suggestion do you have?”

“A phenomenon of weather would be better. Not even war made that much racket.” She stepped out from the trees. I must hurry before Henri and her babies wake. She’ll ask questions I can’t answer, and I hate lying to kin.”

“Swear her into the Rifters.”

“A young woman with tiny children and another on the way. I would never suggest such a thing. Besides, she won’t be here much longer.”

“You sure you want such a thing? You’ve missed having Henri around since her husband dragged her off to Shaniko.”

“I miss her and love having this time with my grandchildren. With all my heart, I would beg her to stay, but Oliver must go where the work is. And her life is with her husband now.”

“He could make a go of it here at your store, and I have grand plans for this town. It’s a shame your son-in-law doesn’t have a pioneering bone in his body.”

“It’s a new era, Cordelia. He has skills.”

“Rebuilding a house is not a unique skill in these parts. Why didn’t he want to partner with you in the store?”

“He has his own path to follow. When you have a family of your own, you’ll understand better.” Millicent left her young friend where the road split and hurried to the center of town, the largest settlement for more than a hundred miles in every direction She slid off her shoes and tread lightly to her two story Victorian behind the general store, keeping to the darkest pockets of shadow, slipping between the narrow alley between the general store and the telegraph office.

Curtains covering the windows of nearby houses remained closed. Chimneys didn’t smoke. Not a thing stirred. Millicent sighed and stole through her front door, shutting the door without a sound.

“Mama, where have you been at this hour? And why are you carrying your shoes?”

Millicent braced herself to circumvent the answers she couldn’t provide as much as she wanted to, and slowly turned, smiling at a close replica of herself. She and her daughter had the same thick, sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes, the same straight nose and long cheeks.

Her hand on the small of her back, Henri’s narrowed gaze was fearsome for someone so young, for someone who had never known war, for someone who didn’t know monsters existed. “Well?”

Millicent steeled her resolve. She had never imagined having to lie, to having to keep a part of her life such a huge secret. “Just needed some air is all.” She hung her shawl on a peg by the door. “Bad dreams and memories. You know, Henri.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t talk about, Mama. Were these related to your war years or losing Papa?”

“The feelings are no different. Now, why don’t you go sit. I’ll get you and the kids some breakfast.” She placed a hand on her daughter’s growing belly. “Including this wee one.” Bending, she whispered to her coming grandchild. “Can’t wait to meet you, child.”

Henri’s hand moved to rest on Millicent’s head. “None of this explains your shoes. Are you going to work all day at the store in filthy feet?”

“I twisted an ankle on an errant pebble and didn’t want to risk a fall.”

“You need to be more careful at your age.”

“I’m not decrepit, Henrietta. My goodness, what opinions you have.” She straightened, finding it hard to meet her daughter’s gaze. “Any word from your husband?”

They hobbled together to the kitchen, leaning on one another, tired for different reasons.

“Not at this hour. Post doesn’t come for hours yet.”

Millicent helped her daughter into a chair and went over to the stove.

“It’s ready to light,” Henri sighed. She shifted, about to get up. “I was going to make pancakes.”

“Don’t you dare get up. I’ve made breakfast for more years than you’ve been breathing, my girl.” Millicent lit the kindling and stoked the fire. She set on the kettle, then mixed batter while waiting for the flames to settle into a more even heat.

“Was it really bad dreams that sent you out into the night?” Henri rested her head in the palm of her hand, blinking blankly at Millicent.

“It always is.” Truth lived in the shadows of those syllables. Not enough of it. She couldn’t hold her daughter’s gaze and set the griddle on the stove surface, then went into the root cellar to retrieve the bacon. Within minutes, its fragrant sizzle filled the house and roused the grandchildren from their sleep.

Nettie and Ollie stood in their warm pajamas, rubbing their sleepy eyes. Millicent left the stove to smother both their cheeks with kisses. “Morning, darlings. Hungry?” They both nodded. She returned to the cellar for the fresh milk and poured them both a cup.

“I could have done that while you’re cooking,” Henri said. However, she made no effort to rouse herself.

“If you move from that chair, I might have to ground you.”

“Mommy is in trouble,” Nettie giggled. “Will you paddle her, Gramma?”

“She’s too tired.” Henri pulled Ollie onto her lap. “You’re gramma didn’t sleep. I’m safe.”

“Oh.” Sounding seriously disappointed for a six-year-old. Nettie climbed onto a chair. “Did you try counting sheep, Gramma?”

“There’s nothing for you to worry over, sweetie.” Millicent transferred the bacon onto a platter and started the pancakes. The first four were split between her grandchildren. She set them on plates with two strips of bacon, placing the plates in front of her grandchildren.

“I could read you a story tonight.” Her big brown eyes followed her plate as Henri took it to add fruit and a dollop of syrup.

As much as Millicent wanted to cuddle up with her granddaughter and exchange stories tonight, she was on rift duty again. “Maye tomorrow, Nettie. I have quilting circle tonight.”

“Is that tonight?” Henri’s face looked hopeful, then fell. “I’ll stay with the kids.”

“Next week, we’ll switch places.” Millicent put a full stack of four pancakes with bacon in front of her daughter. “Eat up.” She made two more for herself and joined her family at the table.

“Do you want help at the store today?” Henri sipped milk from her son’s cup.

Wanting a break, Millicent wanted to say yes more than any other answer. “Nettie will be help enough.”

“Nettie?” Henri’s nose crinkled. “She’ll be underfoot, Mama.”

“You need the break.” She ate quickly, then readied herself and her granddaughter for a day of work. Nettie bounced beside her as they strode through the alley to the store. The back of the house and the store faced each other.

“This will be so fun, Gramma.” She twirled in circles on the wooden walkway and almost twirled into the road.

Millicent grabbed her arm, keeping her on the sidewalk. “You will be an enormous help to me today.” She pointed at the horses and an approaching stagecoach. “Mind the road, Nettie.”

The child quit bouncing and twirling, her expression becoming more serious. “I will be a good worker today.”

Stifling a laugh, Millicent unlocked the door and let Nettie in ahead of her. “I’m sure you will.”

The store was long and narrow, the wooden floorboards worn smooth by years of boots and dust. An iron stove sat in the front corner, never warm enough in winter and stubbornly clinging to its heat in the summer, its black pipe rising up through the ceiling, the backbone of this community.

Beside the stove, the counter ran the length of the store, gleaming with polish and with a brass cash register perched near the center. Behind it, shelves climbed the wall in orderly rows: glass jars of penny candy, tins of tobacco, folded bolts of cloth, and small apothecary drawers labeled in careful ink—liniment, camphor, quinine, iodine.

The air carried a unique perfume that was a mix of dry goods and medicine—coffee beans, soap, burlap sacks, the faint sharpness of alcohol, and herbs. Light filtered through tall front windows, catching dust motes drifting slowly, having nowhere urgent to be.

Millicent went straight to the stove and swept out the ashes. She lit a fresh stack of kindling, then fed in the logs once the fire took. Despite the calendar pointing to July, Settler still held onto a chill. She handed Nettie a clean rag. “You can start by cleaning the lower shelves here behind the counter. If you need help removing and rearranging the goods, speak up.”

“Okay.” Nettie smiled with glee and set to work.

Millicent had just cleaned those shelves yesterday, but keeping Nettie behind the counter would keep her out from underfoot of the customers.

The child hummed happily, her little hands carefully clearing shelves before cleaning them and the goods. Nettie took forever to put the goods back where they belonged, but she arranged them prettily. Millicent let her be and tended to the bolts of fabric arranged on a table on the other side of the counter.

“A hard day’s work should help you sleep tonight, Gramma.”

Knowing her grandchildren would be safe from what came through the rift, would have Millicent sleeping soundly on her next night off. Tomorrow. “You’re learning well. When we decide to take good actions, they lead to good results.”

For a moment, Nettle paused. Her distorted expression questioned Millicent.

“Fancy grownup words for you’re right.”

“Say it again? I want to talk just like you.”

Flattered, Millicent obliged her granddaughter. The bell over the door chimed, stopping her in mid sentence.

Emmett Doty strolled in, tipping his hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Fisk.” His plump form and round face suited his pleasant manners and demeanor. He was always smiling, and his blue eyes always held a twinkle of good humor and mischief.

Millicent smoothed the bolt of fabric she had been fussing with. “Good morning, Mr. Doty. You’re up early this morning.”

“Did you hear that awful racket last night? Sounded like something was attacking and dying at the same time.”

For a fraction of a second, she smelled the monster again, the ozone and fresh pine sap torn from the trees, like the forest had been split open. Her fingers tightened their grip, folding into a fist, crumpling the muslin. Pressing her lips tightly together, she smoothed the new wrinkles. “I did not.”

“Maybe that’s what woke you up last night, Gramma.” Nettie smiled at Mr. Doty. “She had trouble sleeping.”

“You should set that apothecary to use on yourself, Mrs. Fisk. You have complained of this ailment more than any other.”

“It needs no concern, Mr. Doty.” Thankful the topic had changed from the racket in the woods, she managed a warm smile. “What can I do for this morning?”

“First, you can call me Emmett like I asked. Second, I’m in need of a refill.” He held up a kerosene can. It dangled precariously from his finger. “Master Scamp knocked it over this morning.”

Millicent reached for the can. “Goodness, I hope you cleaned that up well. Or your entire house will catch fire.”

“Got a few buckets of sawdust from the mill first thing.”

“Good, good.” She went to a barrel at the opposite end of the store, as far away from the stove as was possible. “Fill it?” she asked.

“Please.”

“I don’t suppose you punished Master Scamp? You let him get away with too much.” The new pump on the barrel of kerosene made refilling Emmett’s can less of a chore.

“He’s a joy, Mrs. Fisk. Loneliness is often worse than the war. But then you know. What a happy turn in fate that Henri and her children are with you for a while.”

Her hand faltered on the pump, and she shifted her weight. “I doubt Henri sees the loss of her house in a brush fire as a happy accident.” She handed him the filled kerosene can.

His gaze held hers, and he wet his lips. He had that look, the look of a man about to invite her to dinner or worse, offer a scrap to her weary heart. She would never be able to tell him what went on in the woods or fully give him her honesty. The man deserved no less, and a relationship not based on truth was doomed before it started.

Keeping this town safe could be an awful burden, but they were all still alive. That would have to be enough. “Nettie, please ring you up, Mr. Doty.” She hurried into the small storage room, leaning against sacks of flour, taking deep breaths.