Portersville - J.W. Osborn (black authors fiction TXT) 📗

“Sorry I missed it all,” Brian said, breaking the predawn stillness in the barn.
“I am happy to see you home, grandson,” Scrub Pot said. “How is the little girl that fell out of the tree house?”
“She broke her arm and I had to set it,” Brian said “She will be fine. But it sure was a long cold ride out there and back. Where is Sammy? I thought she and Jerrod would be out here with the mare.”
“They were.,” Scrub Pot replied “They went in when your father came out to help.”
“When are you going to tell Sam the truth?”, Brian asked behind a wide yawn.
“As soon as she gets up,” the old man replied “This has gone on too long. She has a right to know.”
Dakota Joe was so busy with the foal and the mare he had not even heard Brian come in or the conversation that was going on between him and Scrub Pot. He was satisfied that the colt would be fine now and decided that he was ready to find some breakfast.
“Is Esparanza in the kitchen yet?” Joe asked as he slid the stall door open and walked out into the isle.
“No, my son,” Scrub Pot answered “I will make the coffee this morning. My wife is at the cabin, and she was planning to make corn cakes for me when I get back.” Joe reached for the black hat he had left sitting on a near by saw horse and placed it on his head. “Then I am going to Bear Claw.” he stated “I will see you later.”
“Don’t care for Grandfather’s cooking, Dakota?”, Brian teased as Joe walked passed him to get his tack and began to saddle his horse.
“Esparanza makes the best coffee I have ever had this side of New Orleans,” Dakota Joe said and he lay a brightly colored Navaho blanket on the back of his paint. “After a night like this has been, I am truly looking forward to having some.” He turned to Scrub Pot. “Are you coming?”, he asked.
“Not right away, Joseph,” the old man replied “I have something to tend to here first, then I will return home.”
Dakota Joe grinned at the old man, “Better not be too long, because I am really hungry for Esparanza’s corn cakes.”


+++++++++++++++++++


I left Sam sleeping in our bed and headed for the kitchen. I figured that no news was good news and assumed that the colt was still alive. There was Scrub Pot sitting at the kitchen table. When he looked up at me I saw the serious expression in his dark eyes. I stopped dead in my tacks before I reached the black iron cook stove where the coffee pot boiled. “Tell me Nell’s foal survived,” I stated worriedly.
“The foal is fine, Jerrod Bently,” he replied “Is Sam up yet?” I crossed to the stove and filled my hand made cup with the bitter brew from the pot. I turned and faced the old man. “She was up most of the night with Cactus Nell and the foal,” I said. I think I already knew what Scrub Pot had in mind. The time had come for him to tell his grand daughter the truth about Dakota Joe. I knew from the day Joe arrived at the ranch that I was going to dread this day like no other.
“Samantha deserves to know the truth,” Scrub Pot said. His words made me uneasy after such a long and hard night. But he was right, Sam did have a right to know. I sat down at the table across from the old man and took a sip of the hot coffee. The bitter brew reminded me of our days on the trail. “I don’t know how she will take it,” I said. Above us, we heard the old familiar squeak of the floor boards and I knew Sam was up and on her way to the kitchen. “God be with us,” I thought to myself as I heard her coming down the stairs. She was fully dressed in her dungarees, boots and jacket when she appeared at the kitchen door. “I thought I heard you two down here,” she said with a smile on her pretty face. “Where is Dakota?
“He has gone over to Bear Claw, Samantha,” Scrub Pot said “Sit down, child. I must speak with you.”
Her smile turned to an expression of worry. “We lost the foal.,” she said quietly as she pulled out a chair and sat down.
“No, Sam,” I chimed in “That little fellow is just fine. Dakota got him up and nursing.” She looked over at me and I could see the relief on her face. I was grateful for that much. A moment of tense silence passed before her grandfather spoke. “Samantha Ann,” he began stoically , “What do you remember about your parents?”
“That is a strange question to be asking me first thing in the morning,” she replied as I rose to fetch her a cup of her Grandfather’s brew. “They are both dead. That is what I remember,” she said.
“Yes,” the old man replied quietly “That is what we have believed for all of these years.”
“Brian was three years old when our father was killed,” Sam said “I do not remember him at all. I was a baby. I barely recall my mother , other than the fact the she was a white woman with long gold colored hair, and that she was Doc’s sister.”
Scrub Pot studied her face as she looked back at him. There was no easy way to say what had to be said and I braced myself for the impact his words would have on my wife.
“Samantha,” the old man said “your father is alive.”
She stared at him in utter disbelief. “No,” she replied “That is not true. I have heard all the stories from you and from Doc about what happened when the Caldero gang attacked Bear Claw. My father died there.”
“That was what we believed, child,” Scrub Pot said, “Myself included. But we were wrong.”
“How could you be wrong?” Same defended “Especially when it was Doc himself who buried my father. They were blood brothers, and I doubt he made any mistake when he identified his body.”
“The man you know as Dakota Joe, is my son. His given name is Joseph Marley Dodge,” Scrub Pot stated firmly “He is your father.”
Sam stared at Scrub Pot in disbelief, her thoughts whirling with great confusion as she tried to accept what the old man had just said. “Dakota Joe is your father, Granddaughter.” The words had shocked her into silence. She wanted to deny it as soon as Scrub Pot had spoken the them. The tension was crackling around us and I was waiting for her to just explode in a fit of anger, but there she stood, trying accept it all. “No,” she said sharply after a few moments of silence, “That can not be. My father is dead and buried beside my mother at Bear Claw.” She looked over at me, and her beseeching look in her dark eyes made me feel more guilty that I ever felt in my life. “Jerrod”, she asked firmly “Do you believe this foolishness, about Dakota?”
“Sam,” I defended, “I believe Scrub Pot. I didn’t at first, but as I have gotten to know Dakota, I could tell. Especially when he is working with you or your brother.”
“You knew about this all along and did not tell me?” she spit in anger and glaring daggers at me.
“He has, child,” Scrub Pot intervened “I asked Jerrod to keep his silence until I myself was sure of who Dakota Joe really is. The man has no memory of his life here in Texas. Something happened to him and he doesn’t remember your mother, or you or Brian or even being at Bear Claw or Fort Dodge.”
Sam turned her angry eyes to the stoic and calm expression on her grand father’s face. “If he is who you say he is,” she said “He has been alive and out there somewhere for all of these years, and never contacted you in any way. Yet you are willing to accept that he is your son who was supposed to have died at Bear Claw many years ago.”
“A father knows his child, Sam,” Scrub Pot replied calmly “ and I know the man who tends your horses is my only son and your father.”
Sam was did not answer right away, she was searching her own memory, trying to remember her father’s face, or