Read Beneath the Tombstone (The Tombstone Series) Online
Authors: Martin Cogburn
Beneath the Tombstone (The Tombstone Series)
Acknowledgements: A special thanks to my wife for being my
sounding board for a lot of the ideas and being the first to read and give
feedback on this book (Also, thanks for being patient with me while I stayed up
late nights working on this project. It’s finally here.)
While I will leave them unnamed, a big thankyou to the
horsemen and women whose character was impressed upon me beginning at the
young age of fifteen while ranching; if the “cowboy” part of the story line is
unrealistic, I have no excuses.
Disclaimer: While some of the locations are real, all
characters and circumstances are completely fictional, a product of nothing
more than the author’s imagination, bearing no relevance to real life
individuals or occurrences.
Connect with Martin at:
https://www.facebook.com/mcbookclub/
http://twitter.com/MartinCogburn
Copyright 2016
Martin
Cogburn
. All rights reserved.
Beneath the Tombstone
By Martin
Cogburn
Chapter One
An
old crow flapped its wings as it came to rest on top of a chain-link fence that
surrounded a baseball field. Sunlight shown off of its midnight-black feathers
as the shimmering light brought the dull color to life. The muffled thud of a
bat smacking against a ball sounded and, as a result, the old bird cocked its
head sideways, eyeing the game in progress. Having been around long enough to
learn about the wastefulness of humans (especially the miniature ones who liked
to scream a lot and throw rocks) he hopped down and began sneaking over towards
the bleachers to see what kind of goodies had rained down from above.
Reaching
his goal safely, the old crow was innocently gobbling down peanuts and bits of
popcorn when a loud crash thundered above. “Whoever taught that boy
how’da
swing
ought’a
be hung!” a
deep male voice bellowed. That was the old crow’s cue. With wings flapping
madly, he took off, clipped a joist with his wing, recovered then continued his
trek, headed back to the peace of the wilds of nature.
Unaware
of the fright he had just caused a certain feathered creature, the big man, who
had jumped to his feet and did the yelling, was shaking his head in disgust,
causing his hair to flop everywhere. He didn’t appear to have seen a barber or
a razor in… well, ever. A couple of gnawed-down, crocked yellow teeth adorned
his mouth, and tobacco stains ran down one side of his chin. Nothing covered
his enormous torso but an old pair of blue bib overalls and enough stringy
chest hair to make a black bear jealous. Considering his whole appearance, it
wouldn’t have been hard to believe he was capable of carrying out his threat.
Two
rows down sat a much quieter man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was
clean shaven, wore a nice dress shirt with pressed jeans and wouldn’t dream of
going more than a few weeks without getting his hair cut. His name was Jason.
Jason
was a man who preferred to confront his enemies to their back, especially when
said enemy looked like the off-spring of Bigfoot. So the fact that it was his
nephew, Ken, down there swinging, combined with the fact that Jason had put in
a good solid thirty minutes showing the boy how to play baseball, was not
enough to drive him to his feet in defense of his teaching abilities.
“Strike
two,” the umpire yelled.
It
wasn’t really that bad of a swing,
Jason thought, trying to console himself – but he didn’t believe it. It looked
more like a downward slashing karate-chop. Maybe he should have spent those thirty
minutes teaching the boy Mixed Martial Arts.
While
waiting for the last strike, Jason squirmed and fidgeted, wishing the game
would hurry up and end. He had no idea who was winning and, to be perfectly
honest, he didn’t care just as long as it was over soon.
Mercifully,
Jason’s mind began to wander, taking him away from the pain and torture the
metal bleachers were bringing upon his body. He had noticed a little secret
about his nephew, and to this diversion his mind fled. It seemed that Ken had a
crush. The boy had been casting what he probably considered to be subtle
glances at a little girl who appeared to be about his own age. She was probably
the reason Ken couldn’t hit the ball. It seemed that even little ladies had a
way of making a fella flustered.
Jason
smiled as he watched. Like the memory of a delicious dessert or a sweet smell
from childhood, the hint of innocent attraction entered his senses. Jason knew
he was growing older, and he also knew that doing so was inevitable, but what
he really wished he knew was of some way to make love stay young… forever.
He
wasn’t smiling anymore. When had his life gotten so complicated? It had
never been all that simple but, up until recently, love had been. It either was
or it wasn’t; he either felt it or he didn’t. But now days it seemed that the
little four letter word “love” was the most complicated one in the dictionary.
How long had it been since his wife had given him looks that showed she was
attracted to and loved him? For that matter, how long had it been since she’d
given him looks that were anything but cold? He knew that the love between them
was still there, somewhere, just the evidence of it was gone.
“Strike
three!
Yeeeer
out’a
here!”
the umpire yelled, breaking into Jason’s thoughts. He sat up straight. Already
annoyed by the problems on his mind, the umpire’s embellishment of the official
call did nothing but add to his irritation. There was no, “Good try, kid,” or
“You’ll do better next time,” just a look of disappointment from some of the parents
and a cruel call from one of his more talented teammates.
“
Way’da
go, Kenney B. Loser,” the boy, who was much bigger,
yelled. “That was our last chance to win the game.” Ken reacted as though he’d
been slapped in the face before picking up his pace a bit, trying to get off of
the field as quickly as possible.
If
his nephew had messed up at any other time during the game, it wouldn’t have
been such a big deal but, apparently, he’d struck-out on the last out of the
last inning with runners on second and third. There was going to be some talk
about “that boy who couldn’t hit” at a few supper tables around town tonight.
But the big, hairy giant didn’t seem to be willing to wait until then. He let
out a deep sigh. Evidently, this was just about as bad as a fumble costing his
team the Super Bowl. He shook his head, and Jason overheard him angrily mumble
something about, “They shouldn’t uh
let’em
play.
Should’a
kept ‘
em
on
tha
’ bench. Just
wadn’t
ready.”
Watching
as Ken walked away in defeat, with his batting helmet pulled down low in a
feeble attempt to hide his shame, made Jason want to give that overgrown
swamp-rat a piece of his mind. Maybe here in about fifty years when the man’s
stringy black hair turned white, and he looked more like a crippled-up Abominable
Snowman than Bigfoot.
Aside
from that, win, lose, or draw, Jason was just thankful that the game was
finally over. As he rose from his seat of torture, a tingle ran down one leg.
It felt like a million tiny spiders were tap dancing their way from his lower
back down to his thighs. Due to this hindrance, Jason made a painful descent
towards the bottom without much more speed than an eighty year old sloth.
He
was about halfway down when someone behind him annoyingly cleared their throat.
Obviously, the pace Jason had set was less than satisfactory. In his
discomfort, he was in no mood for the impatience of others. Turning to question
their gesture, he recognized the big, hairy loudmouth and decided that
forgiveness might be in his best interest. Jason quickly moved out of the way
while it was still his decision to be made.
Feeling
like his masculinity had just been violated, Jason let a few more people pass
before making his way down towards the field, trying to spot Ken as he went. He
finally saw the boy standing motionless over close to the concession stand with
his back turned to the crowd. He looked as though he thought that if he stood
still enough, maybe no one would notice him.
Jason,
knowing it was his job to cheer the boy up, walked up behind him, slapped him
on the back, and loudly proclaimed, “Good game bud!” – But his plan back-fired.
Instead of Ken’s face magically lighting up into a smile, the poor boy reacted
as though he’d been zapped with a hot shot. In the process of lunging away and
trying to spin around to face his attacker, he crashed into a trash can,
leaving the small amount of pride he had managed to retain lying scattered with
the trash on the ground.
Jason
stood there for a few awkward moments, completely dumbfounded. “Oops,” was the
first clever word that came to his mind and out of his mouth. Other than that,
he really didn’t know what to say. Finally, he just knelt down beside his
nephew and began helping him pick up the trash.
After
a bit, Ken wiped his nose and cheek with one swipe, probably smearing snot
around to his ear. “I knew I’s goanna mess up,” he sniffed then tossed a
plastic soda bottle into the trashcan. “I always do… It just
ain’t
fair.” The boy kept picking up trash as he tried to
hide the tears that were building up in his eyes. What could Jason say to fix
that? His marriage was on the rocks, and a big, mean man had just bullied him…
so, like the blind leading the blind, he just said what came to mind.
“Yeah,
get used to it,” he sighed and shook his head. “Sometimes life isn’t fair.” He
then paused for a moment, remembering that he was talking to someone who still
believed that a little sparkly lady buzzed around paying children to lose
teeth. “Um, but you know, sometimes life can be very fair.” Even while he was saying
it, he realized how lame it sounded.
This
is the exact reason that he never wanted to have children, which is the exact
reason he had gone round after round with his wife, Misty. He knew she could
picture herself being the perfect mother of the perfect child, with Jason as
the perfect father, and them as the perfect family. She never talked about it
to such extremes, like it was her heart’s one true desire, but he could see in
her eyes that it was. Every time they passed the baby department in a store, saw
a pregnant lady, or a mother with young children, her eyes would cloud over
with such longing that Jason couldn’t help but feel a bit envious.
The
whole thing really made his head hurt, and he obviously wasn’t making Ken feel
any better… plus everyone who walked by was staring. It was time for an excuse.
“I tell you what,” he said to the boy. “How about I run over to the concession
stand and get us a couple of hotdogs. That alright?” Ken raised his head and
looked over at the stand then all around. At first, he didn’t seem too keen on
the idea of being left there alone but, after a bit, he gave a small, uncertain
nod anyways.
“You
alright?” Jason asked, giving him a playful look. The boy gave a more confident
nod, like he had made up his mind that he was practically a man, therefore he
would be fine. “You think I’m alright?” Jason questioned as he gave his nephew
a friendly nudge. With that, Ken gave a slightly bigger nod, accompanied by a
little smile that was straining to win the fight with his sad frown. “All –
right, I’ll be right back then,” said Uncle Jason, glad for the graceful escape.
During
his trip to the hotdog stand, Jason’s thoughts turned back to his wife. The
first few years of their marriage seemed to have been straight out of a
romantic movie. Well, the movie was over. Scary words like “kids” and
“pregnant” were being used in the same sentence with “family,” more and more.
Jason would use excuses like, “we don’t have enough money for a baby,” but that
wasn’t the real reason. He had never told Misty the real reason.
“Women,”
he mumbled but spoke louder than intended. The lady behind the counter gave him
a strange look. It was one that Jason didn’t seem to notice, at least not until
he glanced up from his thoughts to pay for the food. By then, her look had
changed into a challenging, I’m-ready-to-defend-my-gender glare. He was
completely taken back by her expression. Why did all women seem to have it in
for poor Jason?
Baffled,
he turned around with hotdogs in hand. To his surprise, he saw the little
auburn-haired girl helping Ken pick up trash. With a smile on his face, Jason
sat down at a picnic table to eat his hotdog and watch.
After
the trash was finally cleaned up and the little girl had said goodbye to Ken,
Jason headed over towards the boy who was off in his own little world, watching
her leave… probably thinking about rescuing her from the bad guys, whisking her
off her feet and the two of them riding off into a golden sunset on the back of
a beautiful white steed.
Not
wanting to cause a replay of the previous train wreck, Jason gently placed his
hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Ken?” he all but whispered. “Got your hotdogs.”
“Thanks
Uncle Jason,” the boy turned around and beamed. Wow. Somebody was sure in a
good mood.
“You’re
welcome, bud,” Jason replied with a grin.
Unable
to pass on the chance to do a little teasing, Jason leaned in, inspecting the
boy’s face. “You sure do seem happy,” he noted. “Did something happen while I
was gone?”
Ken
squirmed uneasily and tried to put on a solemn face. “Why should I be happy? I
struck out.”
“Yeah,”
his uncle laughed. “You may have struck out at baseball, but it looks like you
hit a home run where little girls and love are concerned.”
His nephew,
with ears turning red, tried to deny with one word. “What?”
Jason
shook his finger at Ken as he chuckled, “Now don’t give me that. You can’t deny
a romantic date like picking up trash.” As a result, a bashful smile spread
across the boy’s face.
- - - - - -
A
short time later, as the pair sat on the top row of bleachers, Ken looked up at
his uncle. “Can I have another one?” the boy asked with a grin, mustard and
chili smeared around his mouth.
“Another
hotdog?” Jason asked in bewilderment. “What’d you do with the last two?”