BEYOND THE RIVER BEND| Little Puma

Every step Winifred took echoed in her ears. She should not have been there. She froze on the staircase landing between the living room and the hall. She could make out every word Jerome said to Eli James.

"...the rails are coming from Europe, Mr. James. I have arranged with the contractor to start work in Oswego. Do not worry about Independence."

"But how do you plan to transport the rails here, Mr. Kingsley? And besides, are you not afraid to start now, while the land still legally belongs to the Osage?"

Jerome set down his heavy glass with a dull thud, it must have been whiskey, Winifred thought, and continued as if nothing had happened: "As I told you, Mr. James, I already have a several of solutions in mind. It will all depend on how soon people in Oswego and Washington respond to my proposal."

Eli coughed into his fist. From the approaching voices, Winifred realised that both he and Jerome were leaving the living room. She quickly slipped upstairs. A moment later, Eli and Jerome indeed appeared in the hall. They shook hands, and at the door Eli said: "When you have settled everything, let me know, and I will find a way to help you."

"I certainly will, Mr. James."

The front door closed behind Eli. Jerome adjusted his jacket and, without turning around, asked almost sweetly: "And how long do you intend to stand there eavesdropping, my dear?"

***

"I was not eavesdropping, Jerry..." Winifred began, as soon as she and Jerome returned to the living room. "I was hoping to go out for some fresh air and read a book. I swear, I did not know we had a guest."

Winifred cast a cautious glance at Jerome. She watched his every move. He sprawled in an armchair and stretched out his long legs. Then, after finishing the last of his whiskey, Jerome gave Winifred an appraising look and suddenly smirked. His laughter boded nothing good.

"You are a poor liar, my dear," Jerome said, reaching for a cigar and quickly lighting it. "I still cannot figure out at what point in our life together you decided to start lying to me."

Winifred's mouth went dry. She shifted from one foot to the other and averted her eyes, unable to meet Jerome's gaze.

"I have not lied to you, Jerry... Not a single day since we were wed. I swear, darling..."

Jerome tapped his ash into the tray and said sharply: "Enough of this performance, my dear." He emphasised the last word. "I am no fool, if you have not realised that yet, Winifred."

Jerome rose from the chair and approached Winifred slowly, like a predator. She could not breathe. She tried to step back toward the wall, but Jerome grabbed her by the back of the head so quickly that she did not dare move. She lowered her eyes and swallowed with a dry throat.

"I kept wondering, my dear, how you came to know about the Mitchells, about those wretched Indians. Until this morning, when I ran into Mrs. James, who told me she had seen you with them on the road. You, Winifred, and those Indians, amiably chatting. And you smiled at them, Winifred. And you smiled at that insolent pup whom I should have shot back then, the day we left Independence!"

Jerome's grip tightened. Winifred let out a faint sob. Then Jerome wrapped her hair around his fist and yanked her head up, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"I only greeted them, Jerry!" Winifred squeaked. "I did not know... I did not know then that you were against associating with them..."

"Lies!" Jerome roared. "You, you insolent wretch, you are lying to me again!"

"I beg you, Jerome..." Winifred pleaded, almost in tears. "I did not mean for this to happen..."

The veins on Jerome's face, red with rage, bulged. His bloodshot eyes stared unblinking at Winifred, who was cowering against the wall. She let out a pitiful moan. At that moment, Jerome pulled her toward him with great force. Winifred gasped at the sharp pain in the back of her head, but she did not even have time to cover herself when Jerome grabbed her hair and threw her into the coffee table. Winifred cried out as she struck the doorframe with her head. The teapot and the decanter that had been on the table fell to the floor with a crash and shattered into pieces. Winifred felt one of the shards cut her arm. Blood poured from her broken nose in a heavy stream. It filled her mouth and ran down her chin. Winifred pressed her trembling lips together and slowly turned a hunted look at Jerome.

He stood frozen in the doorway, staring at Winifred with eyes glazed with horror.

"My dear, forgive me..." Jerome rushed to her and tried to embrace her. "I... I do not know what came over me, darling..."

Winifred pushed him away and staggered back toward the exit.

"Darling!" Jerome cried out, reaching his hands out to her again. "Wait, darling, I can explain!"

"Do not touch me, Jerome! Let me go, please!"

Winifred twisted out of his embrace and ran into the hall. Then, barely holding back her sobs, she dashed out of the house.

***

She turned onto the trail and then ran down to the banks of Walnut Creek. A gust of cool morning air struck her face. Feeling the freshness, she finally allowed herself to give way to tears. They ran down her cheeks, mixing with the still‑wet blood, and fell like bright beads into the tall grass.

Winifred sat on the bank and plunged her hands into the cool water. She longed for the burning pain to subside as soon as possible. She washed her face and her hair, but the blood still streaming from her broken nose stained her palms, her dress, and the grass around her red.

When the trembling in her body subsided, Winifred closed her eyes, wanting to make sense of what had happened. She had always thought that Jerome, selfish and cruel as he was, would never raise his hand against her. Against anyone, but not against her.

Perhaps I was just deluding myself. I did not want to admit that he was capable of it...

Now Winifred understood all too clearly that for Jerome Kingsley there were no limits. If he ever wished it, he would kill her.

***

"You ought to be more serious if you want to get married, Winnie. At your age, you are no longer supposed to choose your suitors," Aunt Clara said over a cup of coffee.

Winifred put down her half‑eaten pastry and sighed deeply.

"I do not know if I want to marry Mr. Kingsley, Aunt," she said. She traced a finger idly across the table and turned a sad look to Aunt Clara.

"And what, exactly, is wrong with Mr. Kingsley? He is a very wealthy railroad magnate. He has connections in Washington. And besides, he is quite taken with you. You will see, in less than a month he will begin to court you."

Winifred shrugged.

"He is not a bad man, Aunt. But my heart does not incline toward him. And besides, Mr. Kingsley is much older than I..."

Aunt Clara waved her hand and laughed brightly.

"Dear me, who cares about such trifles nowadays? Older means wiser. And the main thing is that he has a fortune behind him. With such a man, you will never want for anything." Aunt Clara dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, and a nostalgic, sad smile spread across her lips. "Oh, remember, my dear, how your family suffered from poverty when you were just a little thing! All those debts to creditors, petitions, lawsuits... Surely you do not want to go back to that awful life?"

Winifred thought for a moment. She remembered those years of the Civil War all too well. Her father had been away from home for months and had sent no money to the family. To feed her two daughters, her mother had taken out a large loan from moneylenders. To repay it, she had sold half of the family property. The winter of sixty‑three had remained in Winifred's memory as the coldest and hungriest of her life.

She took a sip of coffee and said: "You must be right, Aunt. More than anything in the world, I do not want to sleep in a dark, damp room again, or share a loaf of bread among three with my sister and mother. I will respond to Jerome's attentions, if it comes to that."

***

Little Puma dismounted. He took his piebald stallion by the bridle and walked toward the creek. His thoughts were occupied by the coming buffalo hunt and the elders' concerns. With the influx of white settlers, the buffalo were moving farther and farther into the prairie. Hunting now took much more time and effort.

Little Puma knew that the elders expected courage and luck from him, a young and strong man. He could not let his people down.

He left his stallion to graze and bent over the creek. He scooped up some water in his palms. The cool water tingled pleasantly against his skin. He was about to take a sip when he suddenly noticed scarlet streaks spreading across the surface. He peered into the restless water and turned his head toward the direction from which the bright ribbon of blood flowed.

When the already familiar girl came into view, his chest tightened for a moment.

Wakonda, how small the world is...

The girl sat on the bank, her head tilted back. Thin trickles of dark blood ran down her face and fell from her chin into the creek. Her dress was spattered with red, as were her slender wrists resting on her knees.

Little Puma slowly rose to his feet. He did not wish to interfere, and he should not have. But something would not let him leave. He pressed his lips together and stepped toward the girl.

"You should not tilt your head back like that, unless you want to choke."

She started and turned to Little Puma with a bewildered look.

"What do you mean?" she asked hoarsely.

"The blood will run down your throat, and you will choke," Little Puma explained.

The girl lowered her head, and at once the blood poured profusely onto her dress. She quickly brought her palm to her nose, but the blood seeped through her fingers and ran down her wrists.

Little Puma sighed loudly. After hesitating for a moment, he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a handkerchief decorated with Osage embroidery. He offered it to the girl, and she accepted it, albeit reluctantly.

"Thank you..." she said very softly and stood up. "I must be going."

She said nothing more. She pressed the handkerchief to her face and walked along the creek. On his way home, Little Puma thought that in the end he had done the right thing.

At least he had repaid his debt to this girl.

***

The house greeted Winifred with its usual silence. Hoping not to run into Jerome on the way, she had already hidden Little Puma's handkerchief in her dress pocket. She slipped like a shadow into the washroom. She washed her face, neck, and hands with water from the decanter. Then she crept into the pantry and fished out a small box of ointments. She applied the medicine to the cut and bandaged it tightly. She put the box back and almost ran out of the kitchen. Once in the bedroom, Winifred locked the door.

She changed into a fresh house dress and lay down on the bed. She clutched the handkerchief that had been given to her. It was made of coarse cloth, but to Winifred it felt softer and more pleasant to the touch than any handkerchief she had ever owned. Bloodstains soiled the beautiful pattern, but the handkerchief was still lovely. She folded it in half and placed it in the bedside table beside her embroidery.

After a while, Winifred decided to unlock the door. She feared that Jerome, on his return, would not like it if his wife locked herself away from him. And an enraged Jerome might do anything to her.

Winifred swallowed. Though she was afraid of Jerome, she would no longer put up with that monster.

How far can a desperate woman go?

Perhaps Winifred could have continued to endure his vile temper. Perhaps she could have kept playing the family game and pretending to be a submissive wife. Perhaps, one day, she might have come to terms with it. But today, Jerome had crossed a line. That line had forever divided his life and Winifred's into before and after. Today he had finally revealed his true nature.

And today, Winifred made a firm decision: she would take revenge. She would destroy Jerome's life to the ground, just as he had destroyed hers. She would thwart his plans and ruin his reputation so thoroughly that he would never wash off the shame.

Winifred knew that alone she could not defeat him. She would wait. She would build connections in Independence. And when the time came, she would strike Jerome the hardest blow she could.

She took the embroidery of the white eaglet, the symbol of her small rebellion, from the bedside table and ran her fingers over it.

Never, Jerome Kingsley, will you break me. I will return every bit of pain you have caused me.

Winifred looked out the window, toward Walnut Creek, and her heart grew warm.
_____

TADAM, LITTLE PUMA'S POW!! I hope you were ready for this chapter! Puma's pow is waiting for us again in the next chapter, so get ready! And I also hope that you enjoy this chapter!🥹🫶