Johnny from Lost Hearts by Kathy Otten

Please welcome Johnny. Is Johnny a nickname?

Well my maw, she give me the front name Johnny. I reckon she done it so’s Paw wouldn’t know I was a girl, but she tolt me oncet that she picked it fer the Johnny-jump-ups that was a bloomin’ when I was born, cause they was the same color as my eyes. Rab said they’s called violets up north where he hails from. He’s a Yankee, but he ain’t too uppity about it.

Do you consider yourself unconventional, or is that just a label society sticks on you?

Don’t rightly know what unc-in-vul means. Likely Rab does. He had book larnin’. But iffin it has to do with my uncle Cal, I don’t want to talk about him. He’s meaner than a stuck snake an’ he don’t like me much.

Do you embrace your uniqueness, or have you always just wanted to fit in?

Reckon I always jest wanted a paw to hold my hand when we walk down the street of the town and to help me with my cipherin’. And I want a maw who bakes pies and cakes, an’ can sew purty dresses. ‘Ceptin’ yeller ones, cause I don’t like yeller. I got me a locket, Henry give it to me, an’ I got their likenesses inside.

Who is your role model and why?

They was my maw, but she took sick of the fever. Morning Song, she taught me about yarbs an’ sech, but she mostly kept to herself  ‘til she passed on.  Uncle Henry was more like a brother, but he’d never go ag’in Paw. Henry got hisself gut shot last winter, by some damn whiskey peddler. Reckon there weren’t no one ‘til Rab. Ain’t no one ever took up fer me like he done.

If you could do anything without concern for consequences, what would it be?

I’d surely like to put on a purty dress without bein’ afeared.  One with rows a lace an’ bows an’ sech.  I’d walk down the street jest like a fine lady so’s Rab wouldn’t have no call to be ashamed a me.

Is your ideal man as unconventional as you, or are you even looking for Mr. Right?

Don’t reckon I know Mr. Right, but I ain’t never had much use fer men. They’s all a bunch a no accounts, born tired and raised lazy. But Rab’s different. Smart as a barn full a owls, straight as a yard a pump water and so Goddamn sure a himself.  He’s always a tryin’ to do the right thing an’ he’ll go from hell to breakfast to see to it.  I ain’t never met a man like him.

Any other dark desires or juicy details you'd like to share?

I don’t rightly know. Rab can be as stubborn as a Missouri mule, an’ he’s a mite fond a his bottle a Old Crow.  He don’t sleep much cause they’s things deep inside him he afeared of.  An’ sure as hell he ain’t a goin’ to like I tolt ya’ll that. So’s I best quit flappin’ my jaws, an’ let ya’ll read a bit of our story. Reckon I ought’a tell ya’ll that Rab, he didn’t know yet that I weren’t really a boy.

Please provide a bit of your story that showcases you at your best.

“Okay, outlaw, do it.” He slipped his Smith and Wesson from its holster. “But I’ll be watching you.”

The kid scowled. “I sure do hope ya ain’t a-fixin’ to point that damn thing at me again. ’Cause it sure as hell is a-goin’ to hurt this time an’ I don’t want no damn hole in my belly when it does.”

Richard lowered the gun to the ground. A breeze sifted through the trees. He shivered. “Just do the best you can.”

Johnny watched him for a moment then nodded. “Well, I reckon I’d best build up a fire, an’ heat some water whilst I fetch my yarbs.”

When the kid returned to the fire, he carried two lanterns from the cook’s wagon, his doeskin bag, and a bottle of whiskey. After lighting the lanterns, he rummaged through the bag and pulled out some dried root.

“Yarrow,” he explained as he mashed it into a pulp. Setting it aside, he carefully lifted the thick

pad off the wound and applied the pulverized yarrow. Then after a quick glance toward the prison wagon and the sleeping men, Johnny removed his battered hat and duster, and rolled up the sleeves of his oversized shirt. The kid seemed even smaller without the oversized duster.

“You don’t have very big hands.”

“Seems like ya ought to be glad I ain’t a-goin’ to poke around in yer laig with fingers as big as yer thumbs,” he grumbled without looking up.

Removing his book of drawings from his bag, he flipped through several pages then stopped. His brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the drawings for several minutes, then heated up the blade of Richard’s pocket knife and passed him a new bottle of whiskey.

Richard took a few swallows and passed the bottle back, watching the kid pour the alcohol over his hands.

“Now don’t ya fret lawman.” His voice was low and reassuring as he bent over the wound. “I reckon I know more about doctorin’ bullet holes than a jack rabbit knows about runnin’.”

A hiss of pain escaped Richard’s lips as the kid began to probe.

“Why do ya think my paw kept me around? I learnt some doctorin’ from my maw and the rest

about yarbs an’ sech from a Cheyenne squaw my paw was a using fer a while. She took a shine to me an’ showed me how to use my knife an take care a myself incase one a them no account friends a Paw’s learnt my see—.

“’Course Morning Song couldn’t protect herself from ’em. Sometimes Paw would pass her around. That was hard on her. She birthed two babies, but they both died. I asked her wunst why she didn’t run off. I’d a gone with her. We both could a got away. But she said she was shamed afore her people and didn’t have no place to go. She took sick with winter fever a couple years back. I don’t figger she tried very hard to get better. It’s been kind a lonely since.”

The steady drone of Johnny’s conversation gave Richard something to focus on beside the agony tearing through his leg. He squeezed his eyes and clenched his teeth. Sweat ran down both sides of his face and moistened his neck. His right hand squeezed the butt of his revolver so tight his knuckles hurt, but he made certain his finger was nowhere near the trigger.

“Got it,” Johnny whispered, sagging back on his heels.

Richard responded with a slight nod.

“Sorry, lawman. I reckon that yarrow root wore off quicker than I figgered.”

He drew a deep breath and let it out slow. At least it was over. He opened eyes to see Johnny wiggling the cork from the top of the bottle.

“Now all’s I got to do his pour some a this here whiskey in to clean it out good,” Johnny said, and dumped a generous splash into the fresh wound.

Searing pain ripped through Richard’s body in one great spasm as his whole spine arched off the wagon wheel. His breath escaped in one long hiss. “Goddamn sonofabitch!”

“All done,” Johnny soothed. “Now, soon as I get ya stitched up, I got some powdered flax seed and blue corn meal paste a cookin’ on that fire yonder. I’m a-goin’ to use it to poultice yer laig. Iffin ya rest up fer a spell, yer laig should be right as rain in a couple a weeks.”

Their gazes locked for several heartbeats. Even as Johnny spoke the words, they both knew he wasn’t going to rest.

Johnny turned away and scooted close to the fire. “I was jest a wonderin’,” he began after a lengthy silence. “Iffin ya could tell me what yer name is. I reckon we’s a-goin’ to be together fer a spell an’ I cain’t jest call ya lawman or Yankee all the time.”

Richard’s spine stiffened. This was exactly what he’d been warning himself against. He needed to be firm. Don’t look into those eyes. Johnny was a thief and a liar.

“I can’t afford to rest up, and you don’t need to know anything about me other than, I am a U.S. Deputy Marshal. Don’t think for a minute that I’m stupid enough to sit here waiting for Calvin Everett to ride down on us. You and these other men are my prisoners, and I’m sworn to bring you back to Fort Smith for trial. First thing tomorrow we head to McAlester.”


He's sworn to bring her to justice, though only she can heal his heart.
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/lost-hearts-p-4307.html 


Author Website: http://www.kathyottenauthor.com