Crew and The Goat Lady – Ch 2

Tanya Fischer

Author’s Note: This is a short story based on a character from “Letters to Dogwood“. It is recommended that you read the book first before delving into Crew’s story. I wrote this because it was requested by a reader and it made me realize that everyone deserves someone, even if they aren’t your typical good guy or hero. Love comes in all shapes and forms, personalities and quirks. And considering that Crew has a heart of gold, he definitely deserves someone just as quirky as he is.

-Tanya

Chapter Two: Della is Saved

She’d been trapped in that dark, smelly hole since that morning.

Della had been scouting the unused land at the northern unfenced pasture on foot when she came across the old well. When her booted foot had felt that first give, Della had only half a second to assume that it was a rotten stump under years of sediment–and then she was falling.

It felt as though she had fallen forever. Her first instinct was to hold her breath in the tunnel of darkness while she bumped against narrow walls. The fall probably hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds, but it had felt like a lifetime.

When she had finally crashed to the bottom, the impact hadn’t been the dull thud of hard-packed earth but an enormous splash of stagnant water at the level of her hips. Her left leg took the brunt of her weight once she’d broken through the water, and the wrench in her ankle that had at first burned now screamed with pain.

Despite being smelly, the water was viciously cold. They may not get snow in this part of Texas, but water still froze and had to be broken up for livestock to drink during the winter months.

Della wore a thick woolen work jacket over her dress, which had immediately absorbed water up to her ribs. Only five minutes had passed before shivers wracked her body, making it hard for her to find purchase on the bricks that lined the circular walls of the well’s interior. From above, her dog, Iris, barked shrilly.

The first ten minutes were spent trying to find handholds in the dark. From thirty feet above, an asymmetrical circle of morning December light filtered halfway down the well. It was too weak to illuminate even the sight of Della’s hand in front of her face. Slimy things floated in the water around her, and she jumped each time she bumped into one of them. Her imagination tried to conjure images of floating skulls or water snakes writhing in the water with her, but she firmly shoved whatever they were away.

It was probably only pieces of the wooden cover she’d taken with her from above.

The smell was like to make her gag: stagnation, rot, and a hint of sulfur.

If there is a body down here with me, I shall scream, she thought after twenty minutes of fruitless scrabbling in the pitch black.

After thirty minutes, she was so wracked with shivers that the sounds of her chattering teeth echoed in the dark around her. Her fingers felt brittle and weak from the cold. Countless times, she had slipped off several promising handholds in the bricks and fallen back into the water.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, signaling noon, Della was screaming for help.

Iris barked louder. Occasionally, the whiskered point of the dog’s nose and shadowy head would block the light, but Della’s swift command to “get back!” remedied that. The last thing she needed was for her dog to fall in with her. Then it would be a watery grave for two as opposed to one.

You’re not going to die, don’t even think like that.

But what else was she to think?

It was rare for people to visit her farm. Sometimes, she was alone for weeks at a time.

Except for this past week.

She grew somehow colder and crossed her arms.

But she wouldn’t let herself think of…them.

She had bigger fish to fry.

Noon came and went, and the shadows spread higher, incrementally lowering the well’s temperature. Sluggishly, she paced the well’s circumference and tried to keep her limbs warm. Iris still barked. The collie was young but loyal, and Della felt a prick at the corners of her eyes. If she died down here, who would take care of her animals? Would strangers sell everything off? Would they bother to find her body, or was this dreadful place to be her tomb?

Iris’s barks began to get higher in pitch, and Della winced.

“Iris, how are you not hoarse?” she muttered just to hear her voice.

And then, something else broke the monotony of barks.

A voice, low and unintelligible.

Iris stopped barking.

Feeling as though her heart would burst straight out of her chest, she cupped her hands around her mouth and cried, “Is someone there? Someone, please, help me!”

There was silence, and that was worse than the constant barking. Then, debris began to rain about her head. She blinked grit from her eyes and ducked, arms shielding her head.

“Don’t step on the ground! It’s a well,” she warned shrilly, but a man’s voice was shouting down into the hole of the well.

“Watch your head!”

Pressing herself as flush to the wall as she could, arms still covering her head, she heard sounds from above. Clicks and a horse snorting. Plops around her as clods of earth fell into the water. Something that sounded like scraping. Then, thumps and masculine grunts. Unable to help herself, Della peeked through her arms. She thought she saw the wooden ceiling bending and flexing. A pair of hands were reaching and wrenching at the boards around the opening. More dirt fell in, and she quickly averted her face.

Relief rained down on her with the debris.

Help had come!

She hadn’t recognized the voice, and he sounded too mature to be one of them.

Whoever it was, she was going to kiss him right on his mouth. Heck, she would marry him!

Like anyone would ever want to marry you.

But her happiness and gratitude were so great that the mean thought was easily brushed away.

Through the crack in her arms, she watched the interior of the well-shaft lighten enough to see the shape of the brick around her. This went on for endless minutes, the brick becoming more and more visible.

“I’m gonna throw you a rope!” the man called down. “Wrap the noose around your waist, and I’ll lift you up.”

“Alright!” she shouted through her chattering. She wasn’t sure if it was more from cold or adrenaline.

A rope fell, twisting and tumbling in the air until it landed with a splash beside her. She lunged for it, pulling on the length forever until she felt the knot of the noose.

Della hastily dropped it over her head, tightened it at her waist, and yelled, “I’m ready!”

After about a minute, the slack went out of the rope and the tension began to lift her. The lasso slid up her thick coat for a terrifying moment, and Della tightened her numb fingers around the length of rope, praying. Luckily, once the noose had passed over her breasts, it caught under her arms. The front of the coat scraped the rough walls; she had to lean her head back so that her face didn’t suffer the same treatment. There was a steady strength in how she was pulled, as though by horse, not man. She whispered her gratitude the whole way up.

After what felt like hours, Della’s hands breached the entrance of the well, scraping her knuckles, and she was close enough to see the silhouette of the man guiding the rope, saying commands at an unseen horse in the distance. Iris yapped and whined, her whole body wagging. Della blinked moisture from her eyes.

“Grab hold of me, ma’am,” the man grunted, pulling at her wrists.

Releasing the rope, she clung to his sturdy forearms, holding back sobs of relief. The teeth of the rotting wood tore and snagged her clothes as she slid free from the well and into the stranger’s arms. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms tightly around his torso, burying her face against his warm body while he backed them away from the hole in the ground. When her feet hit solid ground, she did cry, but she laughed, too.

“Thank you, thank you,” she blubbered against him. Iris jumped on her, paws pushing against her thighs. Della leaned back to see the face of the man who rescued her.

Dark, deep-set eyes, one slightly crossed and looking inward. A plain, rough face with several days’ beard growth. Brown, curling hair that was a tad over-long.

He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

To be continued…