Trinity Bolton

?Trinity Bolton

? The dark sky rattled nervously over the prairie when Trinity opened his eyes that morning, and the wind greeted him with sweet the musty smell of impending rain. The big man reached for his pistol then hurried to retrieve his pack and bedroll before he mounted his fidgety Bay. Perhaps it would be wise to look for some kind of shelter. A night in the open air was routine for him but in spite of his boyhood on the bayou, he was not fond of the sudden, drenching Texas rain.
Trinity Bolton was neither a cowboy or a saddle tramp .His sad, dark eyes bespoke things hard to explain or understand. Like so many men of his generation Trinity was a soldier with a broken heart, a man who went to war and never quite made it home. His restless heart had sent him on a mission he was searching for something without a name. Something to quiet the nightmares and fill the empty places in his heart.
He stretched to ease the stiffness in his bones and took stock of the morning. He and his horse were hungry, but the impending storm kept him from stopping to cook breakfast.
Trinity was almost thirty years old and he wasn’t aware that he was handsome, but the ladies knew, they always paused a moment in appreciation when he walked by. Yes, handsome was the word for him, he was unusually tall and from his ample stock of black curly hair to his well-oiled red leather boots, he was a man who got noticed. Sure he appreciated a pretty face and the turn of a healthy young curve but he never stayed too long or promised too much. The memory of his Marie standing by the gate her face silhouetted against a bright Louisiana sky. Still danced some nights to r
the soft accordion music of the wind in the trees. His Marie, her sweet kisses lingered softly on his lips and her face wet with tears haunted his dreams. The blond hair and painted faces of the saloon girls never distracted him for long.
But there were dark demons that followed him, thoughts and memories that came crowding in on him at night. Things that made him weep or jump from his bed with a start. He had returned from the war whole in his body but with a broken heart. It fueled the restless sadness in his mind and would not let him be still for long. Nowadays they would say He had PTSD but then they had no such name for it.
Thunder and lightning announced the coming storm, and for a moment he was back in the infantry, he closed his eyes and thought of Vicksburg, and a field of bloody grey.
He blinked as he pushed those thoughts away and pulled his duster coat tightly around him. A damp chill filled the air as he turned up his collar and pulled his hat down around his ears. The rain was coming down in torrents now as the sky spit cold raindrops like his Grandpa spit tobacco on a hot summer’s day. Despite the weather the thought of his Grandpa lightened his mood a bit. Papa had taught him how to cheat at cards and in time he became quite good at it, it was that skill that had paid for his big red horse and his boots. He did not think of himself as a gambler, just a man marking time.
But Trinity was cold, and he was wet, and he was hungry. The rain brought bad memories, and here he was in the middle of nowhere on a cold October morning. He hated the prairie, with its grand expanses of rocky space and the dirt, that invaded his bedroll and caked around the nostrils of his horse. He and Lightning, or Rowdy, or Red (they hadn’t agreed on a name yet) had come to an uneasy truce in this week they’d spent together on the trail. He bought him a few days before he started this unhappy trip and he’d asked the seller for something big and fast; he hadn’t specified anything about stubborn and cantankerous but that seemed to have been part of the package as well. They were still trying to establish who was boss.
You see Trinity was headed home. If he traveled east along the “Old Spanish trail” which was a trade route established long before the Civil war, it spanned the Southern United States. If he followed it he could move quite well across the South Texas till he came to the Sabine River, then he would almost be home. Trinity was a Louisiana boy worn out inside from the unholy disagreement between the states. The war had been over for awhile but now he was finally ready, he wanted just to go home. He thought of the pines and cypress trees around his family’s cabin, and the glorious green that filled the nooks and crannies of his home state. He hoped Marie had waited for him, but she was so young, and it had been a long time since he rode away to war.

? The rain was falling harder now, and it seeped into his boots and down his collar, He had to find shelter of some kind soon. Trinity studied the angry sky. He hadn’t prayed in a long time, but he thought about it now. It wasn't that he was afraid, just lonely and tired. Something made him think of God and the early morning treks his Momma took across the Bayou to hear Padre Thibodeaux say Mass. The memory warmed him, In Vicksburg God had seemed small, reduced to the perimeters of his doubts and fear. But somehow God seemed different against the big Texas sky. So in frustration, he called out. What could it hurt?
? . He was lonely, and cold and there was no one else to talk to except his horse, so feeling a bit foolish he sent a message to the man upstairs. “Lord, I could kind of use a hand here.” is all he said, and the words fell lifeless back into the mud.. He shook his head and breathed a heavy sigh what was the use? He continued on for hour or more pursued by the demons in his own mind.
Then at once it seemed he heard a baby cry. What? He listened as the sound rose softly just above the storm and the noisy commotion of his horse. Surely, he was imagining things, it had to be a trick of the wind or an animal in distress. But he then he heard it again, it wasn’t a baby at all but a small child, calling for his Mother. It was unmistakable now. Trinity rode toward the sound, his eyes darting back and forth along the trail. He was more curious than anything, strange things happened sometimes out on the trail. The Indians told of spirits that walked and there were things the old Jenny the Traiteur he remembered from his boyhood days. She told how the Rougarou would rise from the swamp on dark nights to steal children and waylay lovers who spent too much time watching the moon.
Shortly he spotted a smoky bit of white blocking the trail and almost spooking his horse. As he dismounted he
came upon a little tow-headed boy in a soaking wet night-shirt. As he appraised the little apparition, he guessed him to be about three. Trinity looked around and saw nothing else but mud and rocks and brush. An impolite expletive escaped from his lips as he crouched before the child. “What’s your name boy”?
The child looked up at him with huge blue eyes, his face wet with tears and rain. Trinity tried another approach, “Where’s your Momma?” This brought a cascade of wails and tears that caused Trinity to pick the boy up and put him on the horse. The boy was shaking with fear and cold, a pitiful waif from nowhere. “He wouldn’t last another hour out here by himself” Trinity told his horse.
Trinity climbed up behind the child and wrapped him up in his duster coat. “Now what in the name of the Devil’s Mistress am I going to do with you?” They rode in silence, the man and the boy, every step was hampered by the rain and the mud, till at last they descended a craggy little hill and Trinity saw a tiny cabin just below the ridge. The place looked dark and empty but Trinity hoped that it might provide shelter for him and the child for a time, possibly be a place to dry out and eat. The boy seemed hot to the touch now and he feared prolonged exposure to the elements might bring on a fever. ? The little house was indeed dark, but Trinity mounted the steps with confidence and knocked without any thought of an answer. A small “Who is it?” came in response to his knock, and he answered “Trinity Bolton, I am seeking refuge from the storm for me and my child.” He was shocked when those words left his mouth, but the little boy had awakened something in him that he hadn’t thought existed. “I got nothing here” came his answer so he offered to share his food if they could get warm and dry, and the voice took him up on his offer.
He picked up the boy and carried him inside. But when he opened the door, he was greeted by a dirty little wisp of a girl probably not yet ten years old. “I ain’t had nothing to eat in a while Mister and I sure wish somebody would help me start a fire.”
Trinity felt his knees start to buckle and steadied himself, what was going on? But he quickly recovered and handed the toddler to the little girl. “Here girly, do you have anything dry that he could wear”?
“My names Mable" She seemed older than the hills outside the cabin, " and yeah, I think there’s something in Mama’s old trunk there” at this she began rifling through a dusty old trunk in the corner and shortly came up with ragged little shirt and britches. She wasn't afraid and seemed at home with her task of finding clothes for the boy and hanging his nightshirt up to dry.
“Where are your Maw and Paw, Mable?” He asked her as he busied himself building a fire out of some wood he had found stacked by the door.
“Gone, them and my little brother Matty too!”
“Gone? Where did they go?”
“Heaven, I guess”. At this the miserable little creature sat down by the fire and put her head on her knees. “At least Momma and Matty are, they died of a fever, Papa took off after he buried them. I guess he didn’t want me cause I’m just a girl.” Trinity could not imagine how a man could just take off and leave his own child like that.
After he fed the children and bedded them down beside the fire. He laid awake listening to the wind shriek like a banshee outside the little cabin. It was good to be dry and fed once again, but what was he to do with these children. The only thing he could think of was to just stay there for a while in case Mable’s father came back, and maybe ride out and look for the boy’s folks as well. That’s when he remembered he’d left the big Bay tied to a post near the door, so? The next morning proved fruitful as Trinity got a better look at his surroundings, there were some canned goods on the shelf and some flour, cornmeal a tin of bacon fat. A sack of dry beans rested by the cook pot on the floor. With the provisions he had brought for his journey they shouldn’t starve for a while.
The cabin was generally in disarray, but he figured that was a result of the sickness and the fact that Mable had been alone for several days. There was a rickety outhouse out back, a small barn and a little pen for animals. Strangely there were no other living things around except Mable, no cows, pigs, or chickens. Mable seemed to read his thoughts “Paw took his horse with him when he left,” is all she said.
Trinity rode a five-mile radius around the cabin that day. He whistled and called until his throat was sore. But he saw nothing but a rattle snake and a few Jackrabbits, one of which he shot for supper by the way. Then on the second day he rode straight to the highest point he could reach and studied the prairie for a long time, but there was nothing of interest, or anyone in sight.
The little boy still refused to say anything, but the lonely little Mable took to him like a little Mother-hen. He seemed to be a comfort to her, and she followed him as he stumbled around the cabin. The fever scare from a few days before was a false alarm, the boy was fine after a good meal, dry clothes and a warm fire. Trinity tousled the boy’s white-blond hair as he laughed to Mable, “He sure ain’t much of a talker is he Girl?”
‘Nope!” Mable agreed, but then took the opportunity to ask a question. “Are you going to be our Paw now?” Trinity studied the fire and didn’t answer.
He was bone-tired when he laid down to sleep that night, but he thought of the war and the many miles he’d traveled trying to separate himself from those memories. No matter how far he traveled the smell of gunpowder followed him and the shouts of the dying filled his dreams at night. Now what was a man like him to do with these children? He was slowly over-taken by a deep sleep, deeper than he had known in a long time. Then came darkness, then came rest.
Then suddenly there was a strong pull at his blanket, he opened his eyes and there seemed to be a pale apparition standing over him surrounded by yellow light. He blinked as he came to himself and realized it was the boy in his night shirt, surrounded by flames. Trinity screamed for Mable as he scooped up the boy. The sleepy little girl woke up and followed him as he made a grab for his boots and trousers and rushed toward the door.
The threesome sat quietly on a tree stump not far from the house and watched the fire. As near as he could figure a spark from the fireplace had ignited something and set the place ablaze.
“I guess we lost everything.” He said sadly,” but then Mable handed him his pistol, “No Paw, I saved this.” Trinity shook his head in wonder at the resourceful little girl. He remembered the shells still in his saddle bags he’d left them with his blanket and saddle in the barn with his horse. There was nothing else they could do, when the fire was out, they’d see what they could salvage and head East toward the Louisiana line.
The Iron cookpot was dirty but not ruined, and when they opened the blackened trunk, they were able to find enough inside to clothe the children sort of, but they both smelled of smoke, but it would have to do. Beside this and a few hand-tools from the barn but there was nothing that could be saved. Trinity filled his canteen at the well and opened the feed bin so the horse could eat his fill. The children had no shoes, so Trinity wrapped their feet in smoky rags it was the best he could do,
With Mable behind him and the boy in front they started their precarious journey. She looked wistfully back at the burned-out cabin and asked, “Where are we going Paw?” He almost told her not to call him Paw but somehow the words never came. “Home,” he answered but he didn’t know if they’d ever make it there. But the rain had stopped, and the weather was warm for October. It was still very early, and the bright morning sun stung his eyes as he pointed the fretful Bay to the east toward the low blue hills waiting of the horizon. For once his mind didn’t stray to the battlefield, today he had other things to think of. For today at least he left thoughts of the past in the past where they belonged. he had to venture out into the cold darkness once again. to tend his horse. When the sun was high, they began to be very hungry, Mable complained that they had missed breakfast, but Trinity told her there was nothing he could do. At this the boy began to fidget and wanted down from the horse. “Maybe he has to pee,” observed Mable dully. At that Trinity set him down and he ran straight to a bunch of leafy green weeds growing by the trail. As the boy began to pick them Trinity remembered seeing them before. “Poke Greens!! Bless you boy, we shall eat tonight.” And eat they did, not sumptuous fare but filling just the same. The third day out Trinity shot a rabbit but Mable never forgot the Poke Greens.
After a few days on the trail they came to San Antonia, a town Trinity knew well, he had spent time there in his ramblings and stayed until people started to question his winnings. He knew a lady who had a boarding house named Mrs. Perkins. When they arrived, the chubby grey-haired old woman greeted him with a smile and a hug. “Ah! So, you’ve got a family now! What's next”?
“I need help! I’ll pay extra, they are dirty and need clothes and a bath, can you get them shoes?” “We had a fire a while back and there wasn’t much of anything left.”? “Sure”! She answered, taking Mable’s hand, “It will be fun, I haven’t been around kids for a while.”
With that Trinity left them to ply his “trade” at the gambling table. The night was profitable, but it somehow felt different than before, the old feeling was gone. He didn’t enjoy the game his mind kept going back to the children. He left early and returned early to the boarding house leaving his victims surprised.
He hardly knew the children when he saw them, Mable was lovely in her little blue gingham dress, her hair was washed and braided, a little pink nightgown lay on the bed along with a little coat and hat. On her feet were a pair of practical button shoes. The boy had a haircut, brogans and a clean shirt and pants. He had a new mouth harp and Mable had a doll. Mrs. Perkins smiled, she was a sweet woman and had enjoyed her time with the children. “There’s a few more things over there” she said as she pointed the little wooden chest standing by the bed.”
“Thank you”, Trinity said, and then he noticed how much the children looked like siblings with their bright blue eyes and white-blond hair.
The next day before they left town, Mrs. Perkins patted his hand and smiled, “Those are sweet children you have there, but there is something odd about the boy.” Mildly offended Trinity took his leave as they mounted the big horse and started for Gonzales.
Trinity had won at cards in San Antonia and there were those who took notice. As night-fell three unsavory men waited for them among the bush and rocks along the trail. They figured with the children there the big man would be a much easier mark. Trinity had many things on his mind that night and was not as vigilant as he usually was, so he was more than a little startled to see them waiting, guns drawn.
“Okay, Reb!” said the skinny one in the middle “Hand over the money and the kids won’t get hurt, no sudden moves now!” Mable clutched him from her seat behind his saddle till her fingernails dug into his skin, and with his heart in his throat he fumbled for his sack of coins. But then the strangest thing happened, Trinity thought about it often for years to come and could never quite figure it out. Lightning was all he could think of but it was a clear night. As they sat there a sudden flash of light came from somewhere behind him. It spooked his nervous horse and threw the thieves into confusion. The skittish Bay ran “lickety-split” straight through the confused outlaws and he wasn’t able to get him stopped till they were far down the trail. They made more miles through the darkness that night than they had when they traveled all that day. But Trinity didn’t make a fire when they stopped because he didn’t want to push his luck, so they made a late supper of some of Mrs. Perkins cold biscuits and fell into fitful sleep. But before he drifted off he resolved that indeed the horse’s name would be "Lightning."? It was a very subdued little group who rode into Gonzales Texas that next afternoon, Trinity declined an invite to a card game at the house of a man he knew in favor of a quiet night at the hotel with the kids. ‘I got these kids now,” he thought to himself, “I got to figure something else out.” Little by little bit, by bit his cold, lonely heart was beginning to change..
But when they made Houston the old inclination overtook him once again. He thought he needed more money and found himself seated at a hotel barroom card table. A shapely brunette hung over his shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Are you staying here tonight Handsome?” She smelled of roses and whiskey and the stars seemed to align. “Why don’t you come up to my room later and let me get to know you better?” Her full red lips brushed his ear and his resolve melted away.
After the game he hurried to his room to stow his winnings before he visited his new friend, but when he opened the door, he saw two little towheads kneeling beside their cot. Irritated he asked, “What are you doing Mable?”
“Praying for you Paw, we been so busy that I forget, but Mrs. Perkins reminded me when we were there that we ought to pray.” Her innocent blue eyes looked up at him, my Momma used to pray all the time.”
“Bless Mrs. Perkins meddling old heart”! He thought to himself as he slammed down his stuff and put out the light.? The land was getting greener and flatter the farther east they went; the air was chilly but from the bountiful supply of green all around him Trinity could tell that even though it was early November there wasn’t yet any frost. As they approached Beaumont Texas, he began to tell the children of his home in a place that once formed the Neutral Strip of land that had served as a barrier between French Louisiana and Spanish Texas. Since the Louisiana purchase in 1803 and Texas entree into the Union in 1845 there had been no Spanish Texas or French Louisiana, but the History was part of the fiber of the place, nonetheless. It had been a home for outlaws and misfits and runaway slaves. They called it a no-man’s land and as such it was, a haven for folks that didn’t quite fit in with everyone else. Such had been his family, the big handsome soldier was tri-racial, a beautiful mix of Indian, black and Caucasian, less polite folks called him a Red-bone, or other such things but in Texas the matter didn’t come up so often. He knew Mable and the boy didn’t care who he was, he was their hope and their lifeline.
They came at last to the Sabine River and Trinity felt a surge of excitement, it had been a long time since he’d been home. He thought of his Mother and wondered if she was okay. He talked of home to the children while they waited for the ferry to cross the river into Louisiana, he told them of the cotton and rice fields and of hunting raccoons and possum’s at night with his old blue-tick hound dog when he was a boy. He told them of his Mama’s cooking and his Grandpa’s stories. Mable was visibly excited, but the boy was more somber, he reached and hugged Mable as they stepped on the ferry then extended his hand to Trinity for a firm handshake then disappeared. Like twilight turning into darkness he simply faded from view. Mable cried out and Trinity paused open mouth at the edge of the water. As the ferry began to move Mable cried. “What happened, Papa?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was he?” she was shaking “Was he my brother Matty?” she seemed to have had this thought before.
“I don’t think so, there are no such things as ghosts.”
“But what was he?”
Trinity thought of how he found the boy alone on the trail and how it was because of him he searched so hard for shelter and found Mable. He thought about the fire and the poke greens that fed them when they were hungry. Then he thought about the strange light that had saved them from the outlaws. He remembered how he prayed for help and how the children had prayed. And he knew that forever his life would be different.
“Maybe he was an Angel Mable, you told me that your Momma prayed, maybe he was an Angel” -Wanda Daugherty

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