Hullo gang!
Here is the first chapter of a western and romance between Rebecca, Ben Wade's secret daughter, and William Evans. Don't worry, I don't want it to be filled with fluff but more like adventure!
This story is inspired from the movie "3:10 To Yuma", which is an AMAZING western and I highly recommend you to see it! I may not remember ALL the details of the movie (eye colours, ages), but this is fiction.
Please enjoy, review and watch the movie if you haven't already!
I slumped over the arid desert sand, panting heavily. I couldn't go any further. My head was throbbing violently, my lungs were bursting with effort and my left leg had a long, nasty gash that was intense summer heat was viciously attacking me and I knew I only had an hour or two left before losing consciousness and then dying.
So, this is the fate of the great Rebecca Wade? Left to rot in the scorching heat, alone, in some desert? I thought mockingly. Plus, very few people knew of my existence. My father, the mighty Ben Wade, obviously; Father Jackson, who had raised me as his own as a sort of experiment, to try to "purify" my father of his sins throughout me; and perhaps Charlie figured out the Ben Wade had a child somewhere. Well, anyways, Father Jackson died last year of tuberculosis and rumour has it that Charlie was shot by Pa himself by a train going to Yuma…
A furious will to live took over my body, forcing me to get up, trembling, hesistantly. Nearly to collapse afterwards, head swimming, because that gash was bleeding again. But I had passed the limits of desesperation. My survival was at stake here. What would I have given to have another mean of transport! A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse! And some water! Two days ago, at a saloon, I had got into a bar fight and put three men into unconsciousness before a rancher had tried to stab me. I hadn't moved quickly enough, resulting into this deep wound in my left leg. I had quickly hobbled out of there, only to realize that all the horses and their satchels had been stolen. Grimacing against the severe pain, I had run away as the entire town had turned against me, into the desert.
And here I am. My throat and tongue were dry from no drinking since two entire days in the desert. But somehow I urged myself forwards, a pathetic bundle of limbs shuffling somewhere, too tired and weak to cry or whimper. Suddenly, gurgle, gurgle.
What was that?
Gurgle, gurgle.
No… Could it be…?
Gurgle, gurgle.
The sound of running water?
Gurgle, gurgle.
Hallelujah! I raised my head, and sure enough, behind these rocky formations was a river, 500 meters away. And there was also a big groupments of houses, which I guess was a ranch, even furter away. Excited, I pushed myself forwards, tongue parched, to dive into that river. But after 200 meters of steady hobbling, my nausea was worse than before and my heart was hurting by hammering itself against my ribcage. I was paralyzed with pain and exhaustion, and that little sprint had worsened it. My bad leg gave away, and I collapsed like a rag doll on the harsh, hard, unwelcoming soil. I tried to take deep breaths but something - I think panic - was blocking my throat so I inhaled with difficulty.
In an instant, a man with a large cowboy hat, sitting on a horse, was in front of me. He seemed extremely suprised to see me here.
"Help!" I croaked, with a last bolt of energy. Before my vision shut down, I saw him jump of his horse and crouched besides me, his flop of thich black hair covering his worried blue eyes. I closed my eyes, but I could still hear "Ma'am? Ma'am?" But it all sounded like a dream, and I remember my last thought being, "Whatever he does with me, I have no more energy for myself". And then it was all dark.
The hot desert wind was bringing up sand, making it whirl around the place. The sand would go everywhere, on my dress, incrust itself on my shoes and in my hair. However, I was still sitting very straight, on a rocking chair on the porch of Father Jackson's house. When he had seen the man from a distance, he had refused that such an evil thing to be allowed in his house. But the porch was fine, though.
"So, how old are you, missy?" The man asked, his eyes crinkling as they smiled for themselves.
"Six years old. I'm old enough to know what to do for myself." I stated slightly arrogantly but mostly stubbornly, raising my head in slight defiance.
"That's the spirit!" The man's laughter boomed. "That's my little girl all right!"
"Little girl?" I spat. "I ain't so little!"
"Ferocious, too! I'm liking this little missus more and more!" He suddenly lowered his voice and leaned towards me. "Do you know why I came here, to see you?" I shook my head. "Well, Rebecca, I am your father!" I widened my eyes with shock. I knew Father Jackson tried to act like a father figure to me, but physically we were too different.
"But you can't say it to anyone… except Father Jackson, of course. Otherwise you put yourself in grave danger. Some people say I am a bad man, so they could hurt me thoughout you."
I gave… Pa… a quizzical look. "And are you a bad man?"
Father Jackson came beind us, shuffling his feet towards us. "It depends…" He looked at the bag full of cash that Pa had handed to him as soon as he had arrived. "All of this goes into raising your child?" Pa nodded. "How many men did you kill to access this?" Father Jackson asked, his tone more severe. "Enough to protect my baby." Father Jackson hummed pensively.
"Very well. I will take care of Rebecca and educate her until she is of age. She must be pure, unlike you." I was suprised by Father Jackson for his harsh words, but Pa didn't seem even fazed.
"Perfect. And I even have a little present for you Rebecca." He searched inside his pocket, before handing out a book. He passed it to me. The book was leather-bound, and rich golden lettters spelled out "BIBLE".
"That's one of the most important things you'll need, missus. You"ll need it to pray for me and to forgive me of my sins. Goodbye." He left, and Father Jackson was eyeing the book with approval. But for me, this book was even more precious, because it was the first present from my father.
The dream shifted without warning. I was watching all my memories of the visits of my was one were I was 10, when he offered me my first and only pistol, the one where I was 12 were he complimented me on my looks and said "With these pretty black curls, you look just like your mother." When I was 14, then 15. His visits were increasing, and when I asked him why, he replied "Because soon I might not be there anymore. Prisons take time to escape from, you know." He had said it in a humourous tone, but something deep in his eyes betrayed him.
Finally, when I was sixteen and Father Jackson only had a few days left to live, Pa came. He spared Father Jackson one glance before saying "That man will die soon, Rebecca. You're gonna be alone in this world. Take this," he handed me a lot of cash, "and go try to make a decent living out of yourself. But if you ever need me, really need me, if your life is in danger, try to find me. Listen to rumours, chit-chat, anything to locate me. I will help you." Then, before leaving abruptly, he handed me a hat, a cowboy hat that I was now constantly wearing.
This is what I was doing. Rumour had it that the infamous Ben Wade was coming back to the Evans ranch to make sure that everything was OK two years after the events near that train going to Yuma, that the promises had been kept. I needed my Pa's help, as I had been robbed numerous times and apparently a lone unmarried lady was a bad sign.
I wanted to be part of Pa's criminal gang.
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- NymphsOfOlympus -