Attached

Attached

Terece Hahn Metzger

new degree press

copyright © 2022 Terece Hahn Metzger

All rights reserved.

Attached

ISBN

979-8-88504-638-1 Paperback

979-8-88504-956-6 Kindle Ebook

979-8-88504-843-9 Digital Ebook

To anyone who feels lost—you have all the answers inside, but you do not have to find them alone.

Contents

Part 1 It Is What It Is

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part 2 Give Up and Give In

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part 3 One Day at a Time

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Part 4 Come What May

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Acknowledgments

Can you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be?

—Little Books of Wisdom, Charles Bukowski

IT IS WHAT IT IS

Chapter 1

I need to be in the woods to get away from that cabin and all it holds. Heat still leaches from my core after the fight I just had. I punctuate my words as I slam the heavy, dark oak cabin door in my sister’s face. The reverberation will sting; it sure stung me as I let the knob fly.

Stalking away to my sanctuary of green trees and the misty morning, the argument I just finished reels through my head.

She is dying, Maggie. The brutal and honest words had burst from my mouth.

Ellie, there is still hope. We have to stay strong, Maggie tried to reason with me.

She is dying. You know it, I know it, and Daddy knows it, too. That’s why he’s gone, I barked out to bring reality back to us both. We needed reality so we could figure out what to do. We needed to do something since sitting around and waiting was torture.

Maggie’s light brows furrowed, her icy blue eyes widened, and her beautiful softness pissed me off when she chose optimism in a shitty situation. It especially grated at me when life slapped us in the face. Take your licks and move past it was my motto. The anticipation was worse than the sting of the hand

At least I don’t give up. Maggie used her hope to wound me.

"Give up? I don’t give up but I also don’t have any interest in powdering your ass just to make you feel better."

Being Maggie’s younger sister by three years allowed the timing of our words and meanings to sting just enough. We were careful never to maim, but our spats always resulted in clean slashes from our tongues and the cadence to cut deep.

I know she isn’t well, Ellie, but you thinking the worst doesn’t help. Maggie tried to take the higher road now that we did not have Momma’s voice of reason between us.

Isn’t doing well? Look at her. She’s disappearing right in front of us. Desperation cracked my words. As I turned my back, my eyes were stinging, and I reached for my rifle and thick, black, oversized jacket. My black wide-brimmed cowboy hat was already atop my head, so I pulled it down and the collar of my jacket up, walling off my sister. I needed space.

Where are you going? Maggie asked urgently.

Out. I slammed the door behind me.

After playing the scene in my head, I mount my horse, Gunpowder, dig my heels in, and ride away from my problems. I was trying to outrun it all, if even just for a moment.

My momma’s belly is full. She was due almost a week ago but the doctor from town believes the baby isn’t ready. He says the baby is shutting down Momma’s organs, and the only way to get it to stop is to deliver—and soon. But for some reason, that baby isn’t ready to make its appearance yet. Not that I blamed the child. This world is cruel, and I could see the appeal of being in that woman’s safe, nurturing body for as long as possible.

* * *

People say if you’re a woman living in the mountains, you’re either crazy or in love. I think Momma was both. My momma is now forty, and no one thought she could or should still deliver babies at her age. My parents had all but given up on this dream of more children—specifically the chances of producing a boy. Having babies and filling our house with them was all my momma ever wanted.

My momma, Annie, met my daddy, William, when he rode into town on a stolen train ticket traveling west through Montana in search of gold. They met at a dance hall. Daddy had walked right up to Momma in a flock of other blushing women like he was drawn to her. He was the moth to her flame.

His dreams of striking gold and heading west sounded like the adventure of a lifetime to my momma who had been stuffed up, primped, primed, and sent to boarding school. It helped that the adventure was attached to such an attractive face.

Momma recalls seeing my daddy for the first time. His deep dark brown eyes, broad shoulders, and smoldering presence were alluring and irresistible. Their eyes locked across the hall, and she remembered him walking right up to her, taking her hand without a word, never looking away, and they danced all night. Momma didn’t care that her dance card was full. It was him and would always be him.

His fast talk and burning passion caused everyone to listen more closely. Momma once said he could charm a snake, but that was then. Somehow, though, life had snuffed that out.

Daddy was just as attracted to Momma’s delicate features: light blond hair, kind blue eyes, and how she held her head high as any woman of means should. My daddy was also an opportunistic man, gunning for success, and saw that Annie was brought up as a lady. If he was going to be successful, he needed a woman from that world. Her light to his dark. They fell hard and fast and eloped two weeks after their first night together.

My daddy promised Momma that he would give her the life she deserved. He was going to strike gold and give her lots of babies. My momma just wanted babies and love. But daddy had come from poor dirt farmers, and they were cruel to him. From the way my momma told it, he had something to prove.

My grandad told Daddy he would end up just like him—a dirt farmer meant for nothin’ more than to return to the dirt where he came from. My daddy labored from the age of four, and my grandad used him as a punching bag before eventually drinking himself to death. So Daddy sought to prove him wrong. He was going to strike gold, which was the only form of success that would prove it. My daddy never talked about it much, but I knew it drove him most days we were out panhandling for long hours.

So, my parents traveled farther out west to Washington following the rumor that gold was in these mountains, but no one had found it yet. My daddy always wanted his specific slice of the pie and did not want to share it with anyone. So he took my momma off the beaten path and settled on the northern border of Washington and Idaho Territory in 1864. There they made their claims on the land. Together, they built a house big enough to fill it with lots of children and love.

First came Maggie. She was not a disappointment. It did not matter what she was because chances were a boy was next; it made sense since most of their kin were men. Then I came, and that’s when they started to worry. Daddy knew this mountain life was not easy for women, and now he had three of them to worry about. My parents continued to try for years but miscarriage after miscarriage continued to happen. That was twenty years ago, and to my daddy’s disappointment, he never had a boy and had not struck gold—yet.

Since there were no big strikes of gold in these parts, with the completion of the Northern Pacific Railroad, other ways to make a living had popped up. Fur trading and mining for other precious metals were available, so more people flocked to the fast rough frontier.

The harsher and wilder folks were just naturally drawn to these parts. We lived out here with these roughnecks as they were called. Hunters, miners, fur traders, bootleggers, and outlaws became our neighbors. Mining was really the only occupation other than marriage for women, so only a few brave, crazy, or desperate women lived out here full time. The kids I grew up with were naturally rough too but I wasn’t a lady like my sister so I didn’t mind it.

Momma grew tired of waiting for Daddy to strike it rich, so out of necessity, she came up with her own idea of filling our big empty cabin another way. She convinced Daddy to open a shop for supplies. Our store then became the edge of civilization—the point that divides the vast wildness from humanity. Our shop is the last stop before the wildness swallows you up. It is the only place for the mountain dwellers to gather supplies. Otherwise, you had a half day’s ride to town.

We avoided town as much as possible, and the townies preferred it that way too. When we had to make the reluctant trip ourselves, they parted like the Red Sea, as if they were afraid to catch something like the pox from us. Stares and whispers, hands on holsters, and mothers stepping in front of their babies were the only greetings we received. They made it known we were not welcome there. Not that I really cared. I never wanted to be there anyway.

Over time and as we grew, Maggie naturally took to helping my mother, and I followed my daddy. Daddy used the mountains to teach me about life and survival, and I would hang on to his every word, knowing full well that our survival depended on it. He brought me up like a boy, and that was fine by me.

He always said, You were built for the mountains, when referring to my natural fit and tough nature.

Only just recently when my womanly curves began developing did people, particularly men, start treating me differently. My long dark hair resembled the dark brunette waves that graced my daddy’s head, but my green eyes were my own. The mountain was my home, and I wasn’t crazy or in love other than with the mountain and my family.

My momma tried to teach us etiquette and educated us both, but the pull of the wild always distracted me. Maggie always had a better chance at a proper life because of this. Everyone knew she would marry, be a good wife, and bear beautiful babies. Although she has not shown much interest in any particular man yet, that’s just how it will be for her. Now, Maggie can handle the storefront and does so most of the time. Maggie is better with people and is just naturally softer in appearance and soul than I am, so it always made sense that she helped my momma.

For me, it’s different. I never had any interest in being a wife or a mother. Daddy brought me up to survive in the harshness of the mountains but now I don’t see them as harsh. The woods, rivers, and the rugged peaks are where I always feel most at home. The plan for my life was to protect my family, provide for them, strike gold like my daddy always wanted, and make sure Maggie got the life she deserved. It was that simple. Complicating it with love and expectations of taking over a household never fit me. That is my role—the end. It wasn’t until Momma got pregnant and sick that I even considered worrying that my plans were flawed.

* * *

My daddy is not well, either, and I am not ready to do this alone. He lost his drive for anything now that Momma is so ill. As she fails, he fails. He is drunk all the time and no longer even cares about the hunt for gold. I am getting worried that if Momma doesn’t make it, the best parts of Daddy will go with her.

Focus now. Slowing Gunpowder, we walk along for a ways to calm my senses. I have hunted plenty of times alone. As we meander along a game trail, I check my trap closest to our cabin, not surprised it has ensnared a rabbit, already dead. Rabbits are a good source of protein, but they do not have enough fat on them to eat by themselves for long periods of time.

The doctor said to find other game and try and get Momma to eat it so her body doesn’t have to work so hard to process it. I am hoping for a fat deer this time of year. The paleness and lifelessness of the limp rabbit in my hand reminds me of Momma’s blanched face this morning. It sends a pang violently to my guts.

My life is beginning to crumble. All I hold dear is slipping through my fingers like dry sand. The more I squeeze, the quicker I lose it. I need to save what’s left of my family if the worst happens, and after this morning, I think the worst is coming. What if all I have, all I am, no longer existed? That would leave just me, and just me scares the shit out of me.

Stop thinking like that, I say to myself out loud and shake my head, but I can’t. I’ve seen enough failing animals. Momma, the one who’s held us all stitched together, is fraying like a rope on its last threads.

I dismount Gunpowder and allow him to graze on some soft greens. Lowering my knee to the ground, my body supports my weight. I don’t have to stay there long.

As I raise my awareness, focusing my senses to distract myself from the worry, a large buck steps obliviously into my view. Breathing out steadily, I fire my rifle. My bullet lands in his chest. He attempts to sprint away from the pain and noise, which have already fatally wounded him. His muscled body makes it up the hillside and then drops. To my relief, he rolls down the hill, back to where my bullet initially pierced him.

Setting my jaw to field dressing gave my hands something to do for over an hour. As I slash through the warm flesh, flitting relief washes over me, knowing this kill will provide for our whole family for the rest of the week. A sigh escapes my lips as I tie the buck to Gunpowder.

I can now stay close to home, I thought tiredly. Brushing my hair out of my face and then pulling my leather black hat down further over my brow, I begin the trek home.

Chapter 2

The hairs on the back of my neck lift as I enter the cabin. I discard my kill on the floor, not worrying about the bloody mess it will leave. Instinctively I know it’s time. I can hear the rough jagged inhale and rapidly pursed exhale clearly from where I stand. Each breath entwined with a painful whimper comes from my momma, and it breaks my heart.

My sister’s murmuring soft voice echoes reassurance following the haggard sounds coming from the back of the cabin in my parents’ room. A stale tension fills the space, the tang of copper hanging in the air that I know is coming from her.

From the front door, I cross the large room where our shop takes up most of the space and move past the kitchen on the right. My steps take me directly to the back long, dark hallway, which amplifies Momma’s cries. I make quick time past the room I share with my sister and sprint to my parents’ door that hovers ajar. The flickering candlelight throws shadows up the wall in an ominous hue.

The plank just outside their room, ever loose, creeks under my feet and alerts Maggie of my presence. Maggie’s light brown hair is pinned up, indicating she is ready to work. She is positioned below my momma’s legs and wipes the blood away.

There shouldn’t be that much blood, Maggie. My voice is hollow and flat, as I take in the heaps of saturated rags that already litter the wooden planks around the floor at my sister’s feet.

Maggie’s blue eyes are intense as she clips out, I know.

Where is Daddy? I ask.

I sent him to get the doctor. The doctor worked in town and could only be reached in a half a day’s ride on a good day. He would be too late, and Maggie knew this too.

Momma is sallow, yellow, and thinner than she should be. I see the light in her eyes flicker for a moment, and my heart nearly stops. Rushing over to the bedside, needing to do something, I grab her dainty, frail, clammy hand in mine. Momma turns her head to face me, and her gaze softens. With vacant but peaceful eyes, she looks toward me but is miles away.

Momma, you gotta hold on, you hear me? Maggie and I need you. Daddy needs you. It comes out more brutally than I intend.

She reaches for me with her other hand and cups my face.

You will take care of them. Won’t you? Momma whispers through cracked lips.

I won’t need to because they’ll have you. Don’t you leave us, I warn her.

She doesn’t acknowledge my warning, and her head drifts back to the saturated sweaty pillow. Holding her own head up is too much of a burden now. Releasing my face, she cringes through a cramp as it racks her tiny body, and she squeezes my hand with barely any strength.

Maggie exclaims, The head is out! One of her hands is holding the tiny skull while the other is preparing to catch the rest.

Briefly craning my neck, I look down but regret it immediately. I zero in only on the blood, so much blood.

Momma pushes and grunts, no screaming like I imagined. Her strength and determination are focused only on birthing her child. Sweat rolls down her temples. The blond hair around the nape of her neck curls and plasters to her.

"Okay, Momma, now you need to push... hard. Now," Maggie says confidently, definitively.

Their eyes connect, and their bond clicks into place. Momma’s abdomen contracts and she grunts out a guttural feral sound, one an animal makes right before their last breath.

Maggie reacts to the release and catches the wet crying human as it falls from Momma.

It’s a girl, Maggie whispers, her eyes glistening as she wraps our baby sister in the light blue and yellow quilted blanket she had made weeks ago just for this moment.

Then the flood gates burst. Blood slides in a constant gush from Momma. I hold her hand and watch as my sister tries to respond.

Maggie lays our screaming sister on the floor and hopelessly applies pressure with a towel. The light blue of the fabric becomes the color of a dark night instantly, saturated and useless. Too much blood continues to pour from her.

I hear myself scream, Momma, you stop this. Stop it right now.

Maggie grabs yet another blanket to add more pressure, discarding the useless saturated one next to the other failed limp