Her consciousness bubbled up and up and up from the depths eventually, slowly, breaking free. Her body, especially her brain, had needed the time to heal. Now it was time to get back to living. She was back.
She was back? It was so dark. Was it nighttime? Where were the stars and the moon? She blinked and blinked. Nothing. She reached up with her hands to feel her eyes. Her knuckles hit something hard. She stopped. Her breathing became fast and shallow as her heart jumped and heaved in her chest.
Spreading out her fingers, she felt the wooden box's top, sides, and bottom. She kicked her feet, listening to the thuds with no echos. The blood that now furiously coursed through her veins pounded in her ears making her head hurt.
Profusely sweating, she felt for the rope. It has to be tied to here somewhere.
***
Inside the church everyone was singing except for Robert. He was too devastated to sing. He wanted to punch the walls, kick the pews, and yell about his sorrow that ran through every muscle of his body filling his mouth with acid. And yet, here he was with his neighbors, head down, sitting quietly this Christmas morning.
God wasn't real and he sure as hell wasn't his savior anymore. The scene kept playing over and over in his mind making the choir's singing and pastor's words a garble of background noise. The wild pony kicking his beloved in the head. Rebecca dropping to the ground like a lifeless sack of flour. Robert running over to her as if in slow motion, his legs not moving fast enough. Finally grabbing her up in his arms speaking her name. Blood trickling from her ears, her eyelids fluttered then closed.
***
There it was. Her panic subsiding a bit, she felt the course rope tied to her right wrist. She knew at the other end of it, suspended above her plot, was a bell. Grabbing the rope with both of her hands, she pulled down. Rebecca wished she could hear it ringing. She let the rope back up then pulled down again. Again. Again. Again.
***
The alcoholic town doctor stood at Rebecca's bedside and facing Robert told him there was no hope. She was dead. No! No! No! He couldn't silent the screaming in his head. Seeking revenge, anything to make himself feel better, he grabbed his rifle. He charged out the door not hearing the loud slam as it violently closed behind him. Through the bedroom window, the doctor watched Robert speed forward to the corral. Not being able to handle one more death, he turned around. Taking the flask from his breast pocket, he took a long swig.
Robert looked at the pony over his rifle. The horse's big brown eyes looked back. He and Rebecca hadn't named her yet. They were waiting for her to be able to be ridden first. She was beautiful. They both fell in love her the second they saw her. If he killed her, he would be killing Rebecca. He lowered the rifle and leaning it against the fence post he cried. He crumbled to the ground, his back against the corral and his face in his arms. Grief blanketed him and he embraced it.
The doc, his emotions paralyzed by the hootch, turned back around to look out the window. He hadn't heard the sound of a gun shot as he expected so what was happening? He had trouble believing what his drunk eyes saw through the wavy glass so he walked out to the front porch.
The mare poked her head through the fence to snuffle Robert's neck. He jumped at the unexpected contact. Spooked, she pulled her head back in and snortled. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he stood up and faced her. She didn't move. He turned back around and waited. About a minute or two later, he heard her hoofs hitting the hard earth as she walked back to him. He felt her head slide next to his. He reached up slowly and felt her soft muzzle. She chortled so he ran his hand up her face to her forelock and back down. Moving slowly again and being as quiet as he could, he turned around. The mare remained close. Robert cried new tears as he hung to her neck.
***
Rebecca was sobbing but now it was getting harder to breath. Her arms were growing tired. She couldn't remember what got her there. Robert. My sweet strong Robert. She had to get back to him. Each time the horror of her reality rose inside of her she squelched it as best she could. Pull the rope. Ring the bell.
***
Robert stood along with the congregation. Hearing the Merry Christmas greetings around him was too much. Quickly, he made his way to the front door and out the church. What was that sound? He stopped to listen with earnestness. Congregants were starting to leave the church, too, and he raised his hand and voice telling them to stop and be quiet. He heard it again and hat in had took off racing toward the graveyard. Confused, they followed him anyway.
Someone yelled, "Grab a shovel!"
***
The rope was getting slippery from her bloodied hands. All of a sudden it was pulled from her grasp! Was she hallucinating? She felt around for it in the thick blackness and pulled on it again. There was a return tug on the rope. She cried with joy, relief, and impatience. She listened so hard wanting to hear the voices of those above her. She yelled, "I'm here! I'm alive!"
Shovel. Dirt. Shovel. Dirt. Muffled voices.
"Rebecca, honey. We're coming to get you. Don't you worry, girl. Don't give up. We're here. Robert's here." He kept wiping away the snot and tears, drying his hands on his pants so he could keep a grip on his shovel.
Light burned her eyes as the lid was removed from her coffin. Robert reached down and picked her up. Then she felt someone take her from his arms and gently lay her on the ground. She squinted against the sun until it was blocked by a shadow. Opening her eyes, she saw his face. "Robert."
