Chapter 5

The first day passed in a blur of heat and dust. They took turns riding Lightning, her swift gait eating up the miles with ease. The horse seemed to understand their urgency, her eyes sharp and focused as they approached the towering pines of Sundermiota Covert Hill. Billy and Jimmy talked in hushed whispers, sharing stories of their dreams and the lives they wanted to leave behind. They spoke of green valleys and clear rivers, of towns where the law wasn’t just a word twisted by greed and power.

The second day was harder. The sun was relentless, beating down on their heads and turning the earth to a baked crust beneath their feet. They conserved their water, but it was never enough to quench the desert’s thirst. They saw mirages of lush oases, taunting them with what they didn’t have. The horizon was a constant mirage, the treeline never seeming to get closer. Billy’s thoughts drifted to Mrs. Abbie, wondering if she was okay, if she had survived the night at the Copelands’.

Jimmy noticed Billy’s distraction and spoke up. “Don’t worry ‘bout her, Billy,” he said, his voice cracking with thirst. “My mom is a survivor. She’s seen worse than this.” But his words didn’t ease the knot in Billy’s stomach. He knew what Mrs. Copeland had wanted, and it was a price that no woman should have to pay.

They pushed on, the sunburned earth giving way to rocky hills that grew steeper with every step. The horizon remained a taunting mirage, the treeline a shimmering promise that never grew closer. Billy couldn’t shake the thought of Mrs. Abbie’s sacrifice. He’d heard whispers about the kind of night she had to endure, and the image of the two old couple with her made his blood boil. He’d never understood how a couple could find pleasure in that kind of depravity, how anyone could be so twisted as to use another’s body like it was theirs to claim.

“I saw my mom with a woman once,” Jimmy spoke up, breaking the silence that had grown thick between them. “Back at the Red Flowers. It was a special kind of night, she said. Some rich feller had a taste for the exotic, and my mom got picked.”

Billy looked at him, his curiosity piqued despite the heat and the weariness that clung to him like the desert dust. “How does it work?” he asked, his voice tentative. “How does a woman ... you know, seduce another woman?”

Jimmy shrugged, his expression a mix of world-weariness and nonchalance. “It’s like any other kind of loving,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “They can use their mouth, their hand, and even their pussy to make the other one feel good. Some do it gentle, some rough, like they’re fighting for something. And some women, they get off on watching others in pain, like it makes them feel more alive.”

Billy’s gaze was unwavering, his eyes reflecting the flickering firelight as he spoke. “You can’t let your mom suffer in that place any longer, Jimmy. We’ve got to find another way.” His words were a solemn vow, a promise to the woman who had given them warmth and comfort in a town that offered only cold steel and whiskey-soaked promises.

Jimmy looked up at Billy, the older boy’s resolve seeping into his bones. He knew that the gold had been their lifeline, the shimmering hope that could have bought them all a ticket out of the grim reality of Whispering Ravine. But hope was a stubborn beast, unwilling to be tamed or caged by failure.

“We’re not giving up,” Billy said, his voice a gentle command. “We’ll find another way if we failed, I promise you that.” The echo of his words bounced off the craggy cliffs surrounding their journey, a stark reminder of the unforgiving landscape that mirrored their desperate situation.

Jimmy nodded, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. They had arrived at the base of Sundermiota Covert Hill, the pines looming ominously above them, whispering secrets of the haunts that were rumored to roam the forest. Billy’s thoughts were a tumult of worry and anger—about Mrs. Abbie and the gold that could still be their salvation. He had to keep pushing, keep fighting.

They dismounted Lightning, tying her to a sturdy tree with enough rope for her to graze. The air grew colder as they ascended the hill, the shadows cast by the pines stretching long and eerie across the rocky ground. Billy’s hand rested on the butt of the rifle slung over his shoulder, ready to face any danger that might come their way. Jimmy led the way, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a sharpness that spoke of his experience in the harsh world of Whispering Ravine.

They found a clearing, the ground littered with pine needles that crackled underfoot. The scent of the trees was a stark contrast to the dry, dusty air they had left behind in the town. Working together, they set up the tent Mrs. Copeland had provided, the canvas fluttering in the breeze like a ghostly flag. The task was a silent testament to their unity, each movement a silent promise to protect their newfound family. Once the tent was secured, Billy gathered firewood, his eyes never leaving the dense thicket of the forest. The crackling of the underbrush sent a shiver down his spine, but he told himself it was just the wind playing tricks on his overactive imagination.

Jimmy built a small campfire, his hands moving with the confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times before. The flames licked the dry branches, sending sparks flying up into the night sky, briefly illuminating the grim determination etched on their faces. The fire cast flickering shadows on the surrounding trees, painting a dance of light and darkness that mirrored their own tumultuous emotions. They sat around the fire, the warmth a stark contrast to the coldness of the mountain air. Billy’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon, his thoughts with Mrs. Miles, his beloved mother.

“You know,” Jimmy began, his voice low and contemplative, “I had my first taste of a woman with my own mother.” The words hung in the air like a leaden weight, the silence thick with the unspoken understanding of the depravity that had shaped their lives. “It was right after Pa left us,” he continued, staring into the fire as if searching for answers in the flaming embers. “Ma was lonely, desperate, and I was just a kid trying to fill a man’s shoes.”

Billy felt a twist in his gut, his own memories of his mother’s warm embrace and gentle touch surfacing. He had always felt a strange tension in Jimmy’s relationship with his mother, but he had never imagined it going so far. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I saw you both in the bathroom when I came in the morning,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say.

Jimmy nodded, his eyes still on the fire. “It’s okay, Billy,” he said, his voice even. “Ma had to do what she had to. It’s the way of the world. And she taught me things ... things that other folks in this town would pay good money to learn.” He paused, took a deep breath, and continued, “Every time she came back from the Red Flowers, she’d show me a new position, a new way to make love to a woman.” The words were stark, raw, and painted a picture of a mother trying to prepare her son for the harsh reality of life in a lawless town.

Billy felt a knot form in his throat. He had never known that kind of depravity with his own mother. “Ma, she never did that with me,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “But she promised that if I ever came back from a trip like this one, she’d give herself to me. Said it was a mother’s way of showing love.”

Jimmy’s eyes flicked to Billy, a hint of surprise in them. “Ma said something similar,” he murmured, his expression a complex tapestry of pain and resignation. “But she didn’t mean it like that. It was more like ... she knew I was growing up, and she had to make sure I could handle the world. And Mrs. Miles, your mom, she’s got a body that could make a saint go to sin. Her beauty’s like a beacon in this shithole town. If you can get her to love you, Billy, you’ll be the luckiest man in Whispering Ravine.”

Billy swallowed hard, trying to reconcile the image of his mother as a beacon of love with the reality of her life in the saloon stages. “But how do you know she’s ... fabulous?” he asked, the words feeling awkward in his mouth.

Jimmy smirked, the firelight playing off his features like a candlelit mask. “I’ve seen your mom dance, Billy,” he said, his voice thick with a mix of pride and something else—desire, perhaps. “Burlesque, they call it. The strip dance. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Your mom are got this way of moving, like every part of her body is telling a story, and the men in the audience—they go wild. They throw coins, they holler, they’re like animals fighting over a piece of meat. And when she’s done, when she’s down to just her skin and her smile ... it’s like the whole room holds its breath.”