idea for beauty of yesteryear It first came to me while driving in Texas when my two boys were young, after immersing myself in the rich Southwestern history of Anglo settler children held captive by Native American raiding parties. Many of these children not only survived, but learned the skills and lifestyle of their captors, often fully assimilating into cultures that once seemed completely foreign.
Set against the backdrop of the brutal frontier of Texas after the Civil War, this novel combines the life and times of famed plainsman Charles Goodnight with the story of a tragic Indian captivity that unfolded during the Texas Indian Wars. It begins in 1866 on a sun-drenched field on the plains of West Texas, when the Terry brothers are playing near their family farm and a Kiowa war party suddenly descends. His father returned completely devastated – his house went up in flames, his wife Sally was mortally wounded, and his two boys were taken into captivity along with five other women and children.
In this episode, the only survivors are Sam, his younger brother Charlie, and their Aunt Wilma. They face an absolutely impossible choice: risk everything to escape into the night, or remain in captivity and pin their hopes on a rescue that will probably never come.
-Jason Stone
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They dozed off for the next hour, when Wilma crawled back to the fire. She lay down between them, tucked her arms under her arms and curled into a ball on her side facing Sam. He was pretending to sleep. She closed her eyes and when she opened them after a while, Sam was looking at her. She was crying and her eyes were shining in the moonlight. He stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder.
You are Ok?
Yes.
She wiped tears from her eyes and took a deep breath.
Listen to me, she whispered. Armageddon Outta Here. Last night.
Sam didn’t say anything.
When we take care of the horses, we will tie the mare away from the camp. I want you to come with me.
Sam was photographing it and thinking about the pony he had chosen.
Wilma was pulling at a small clump of desert grass with her free hand and she let the stems fall and then picked them up. She kept looking at him to see his reaction.
Sam was looking at the tears running down her face. He said, I don’t know.
He saw Kiowas sleeping on their blankets. Look at them now. We can slip away while they sleep.
But . . . But what about Charlie?
Wilma started to answer but stopped herself. She got up and looked down at Charlie. His mouth was open and he was taking deep breaths. He pinched me in the dream, dear little boy.
We can’t leave him, Sam said.
But Sam, I don’t think he can do that. . .
Yes he can.
He will stop us. Our only chance is to get out and ride for help. I can’t go alone.
I can’t leave my brother alone.
This is our only chance.
He’ll never make it on his own.
Yes he can.
Sam had tears in his eyes. You can go ahead if you want, he said. I understand.
You have to come with me. I need you.
I won’t go unless he comes with us.
We can’t risk it.
Sam was lying there thinking.
We will move through the river so that they cannot track us. We will return with your father and the Rangers.
Sam looked at her and she closed her eyes and then turned around. He didn’t say anything else. He saw a group of stars twinkling slowly towards him. A gust of wind stirred the grass and cooled it and then it was over. He turned and then came back and finally sat down on his side, leaning towards her. Her back was towards him and her eyes were open again. Only then could she hear him sleeping.
When they set out that morning there was a howling wind and dust churning the horizon and the early sunlight shimmering in and out of a steady line of slow-moving clouds dancing across the valley country, coming from the Llanos, like some angelic lighthouse peering down from the heavens as if searching for something that needed saving. Indication of moisture in the air. Sam was looking over the edge of the western slope where a dark cloud was forming on the horizon and he knew the weather was about to change.
They walked down into the wide reaches of Palo Duro and the warm morning light began to burn the distant walls in a kaleidoscope of yellow, red and orange. They reached the bottom of the valley at noon and crossed the rising sandy stream, sheets of rain hovering silently over the caprock and black and thick drops of cold rain now flowing obliquely to the north in the wind. The Kiowa led their horsemen forward with a roar of thunder; And the raindrops sprinkled dust, which peppered the riders’ faces and the horses’ smooth coats, and the sweet smell of the rain across the plains engulfed them as they rode.
They took shelter from the storm under a tall cottonwood clump and within an hour the northerly wind had passed and the sun began to shine over the steamy and dripping land. Sam sat on the horse and watched this scene with his hollow eyes for a long time. Trembling, tired. The sky was clear and blue and a cool dry breeze was blowing on them from the plains. Horses were kicking their legs in the mud and water stood in small pools across the desert, shining silver in the strong breeze. He looked at the scenes as if it was all a dream. He kept a close eye on his brother. He thought for a long time about Wilma’s escape plan.
They set up camp that afternoon on a sand-filled floor between a series of narrow slot canyons that drop from the sides of the northern slope. The captives took the horses out to graze and began collecting water and brush for the fire. Rays of sunlight filtered into the valley through the rapidly moving clouds and their footsteps were slowly tapping as they talked to each other.
Wilma pulled Sam aside to talk alone as Charlie walked down a path and she outlined her ideas about the way back home and urged him to run away with her into the night. He told her that everything would be okay and that she needed to stay hydrated as she would need it to sustain herself on the long trip. They knelt down by the water and drank the water and they whispered and drank some more and after a while Charlie came back with them. Sam got up and placed his feet in the cool stream and looked back toward the house. They stood there for a long time without talking and Sam was probably wondering what might happen if they got caught. But what were their chances if they escaped?
By late that evening the weather was clear and cool and they were huddled near the fire, unable to sleep. Wilma studied the stars, listened and waited. One of the Kiowas went to the brush and pulled his breechcloth aside and urinated and went back to bed. An hour passed. When the fire finally went out and everything was quiet, Wilma pushed Sam and they carefully started walking away from the camp. Sam stopped and got to his feet. He looked back at Charlie, who was lying on his side in a deep sleep. His mouth was open and there was saliva on his cheeks. Sam looked at him thinking. There was no wind and the dark night seemed hollow as if every insignificant noise was echoing in the void. He whispered something to himself, then turned and walked away.
They crawled a short distance, crouching, lying still and listening, crawling quietly, a few feet at a time. They did this for a long time until they reached the horses. Wilma whispered to the horse and brought him to an easy halt by holding her breath on his nose and then began to gently guide him back into the valley away from the camp.
Sam put the piece of thong in the mare’s mouth, but when she screamed he instinctively let go. He looked back at Wilma and then towards the sleeping camp. Then he lowered his head and placed his hands on his knees. Dang, he whispered. what now?
He started walking towards the camp, looked back, tiptoed to a safe distance and then moved forward quickly. When he went to him he looked back and saw that he was crying.
What happened? she whispered.
He did not respond. He looked back towards the camp. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.
Sam, go back and get the mare.
He stood there. He bent down and grabbed a handful of grass and gulped it down. He looked back at her.
We’ll be fine, she said. I promise.
She was looking over his head down the valley toward the camp. Shadows are moving. Perhaps the flicker of fire. How quiet on a starry night. When she looked back at him, he was bent down and his arms were spread and both hands were joined together. She bent her left leg and placed her foot in his bruised hands and lightly grabbed the mane and pulled herself up as he stood up. He kept looking towards the camp again and again.
“Go ahead without me,” he said.
No, I can’t go alone.
Yes you can.
No.
Now Wilma was crying. He wiped his eyes and looked out over the country, at the gradual and shining shapes of the flowing stream in the moonlight. Sam stepped back. He was wary of following Remuda. There was a gust of wind and rustling in the tent and he thought he heard a sound. He slowly started walking backwards and she told him to be careful and she told him to stay strong. She pushed the horse around and started walking along the river bank, but she heard something and looked back. He saw something rising far behind him from the camp and then the boy turned and walked quickly back. She said something under her breath as if she was addressing him directly. Then she pulled the reins and put her heels into the horse and began to turn it slowly across the sand until they became small and then became even smaller in the darkness of the desolate desert until they merged forever into the night.
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derive from beauty of yesteryear © 2022, 2026 by Jason Stone. Reprinted with permission of the publisher, Atlantic Monthly Press, Grove Atlantic, Inc. An imprint of, All Rights Reserved.
