by P. Creeden
As if he were hypnotized, Boyd barely managed to tear his eyes away from the pretty woman. Once they got outside, he grabbed hold of Tom’s arm. “Is that pretty lady going to be your wife? She looks a lot like my mom.”
“What do you mean?” Tom asked as he unhitched his horse and nodded for Boyd to do the same.
“Her hair and skin and eyes. They are all the same color. Is she native? She doesn’t have the same shape of face. Maybe she’s a half-blood. Like me?”
Tom lifted a brow at the boy’s excitement. “They do have Indians in Virginia, but not as many of them as we have here in the west. I guess it’s possible she is, but also just as possible that she isn’t. Don’t get your hopes up. Let’s rub down both these horses and then turn them out in the pasture. I bet they are already eyeing what’s left of that grass out there.”
Boyd nodded, and the two of them got to work. It would be interesting if this woman that his mother had brought into their home had turned out to be a half-Indian, like Boyd. Maybe it would be one more reason for Boyd to stay. He could learn a lot from her as well as himself, his sister, and mother. They could all teach the boy how to survive in a world where he didn’t fit in quite like he should. The woman seemed boring and stiff. Not likely the kind of woman who would stick around and match wits with Tom. Not that many women could do those things anyway. But if she were a half-Indian, like the boy, that might make life a bit more interesting.
Chapter 12
Clara laughed as they sat and talked around the table after dinner. Tom had made her feel even more at ease than she thought she would simply because of his mood-setting nature. He was livelier than most men that Clara had ever met, and the way he included her in the conversation had begun to melt her defenses. He smiled at her laughter as he shook his head. “Then Boyd tells me that he told those warriors that they were after him because of the horse. So the warriors are going to go take care of those bushwhackers without either of us having to lift a rifle. It was amazing and quick thinking on Boyd’s part.”
“Wow,” said Mrs. Crowley as she offered the boy a wink. “He really saved your tail twice then.”
“I’m proud to say he did,” Tom said as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s why I’ve invited him to stay with us for as long as he’d like. Winter is coming up and he needs a warm environment where his belly can stay full and he has a soft bed to sleep in. I’ll take him with me on trips if I need to...”
“Absolutely not,” said Samantha as she stiffened in her chair. “As soon as the next semester begins, he can go to school with me and learn to read and write.”
A smile spread across Tom’s lips as though he’d planned exactly that sort of response from his sister. Clara couldn’t help but let a small bit of laughter huff from her nose, and Tom met eyes with her to show that he’d taken note of her laughter, too. The man didn’t seem to miss anything that happened in a room around him. The family as a whole had a welcoming feel to it all the time. It was why Clara had felt at home here soon after arrival, and everyone did what they could to make Boyd feel at home also.
Clara couldn’t help but feel a lightness in her heart. Why couldn’t more people behave like the Crowleys did? Their family took the morals of how a Christian should behave and took things even further. They didn’t have to take in the orphan boy. And the fact that they all overlooked that he was half-Indian warmed her heart. Maybe they were the kind of family that wouldn’t care that she had a slave heritage in her past. Maybe she could share her secret with them and it wouldn’t matter. Her heart thrummed in her chest at the thought. Fear crowded her mind and caused butterflies to form in her stomach. No. She couldn’t do it. At least not yet.
After helping clean up after supper, Clara stepped outside onto the covered porch and just savored the evening breeze. Even though it wasn’t especially late in the evening yet, outside, the sky had no light except for that provided by the stars. The moon had not yet risen. A coyote barked in the distance, and Clara wrapped her shawl tighter around herself. Feet shuffled behind her and when she turned, she saw Boyd standing there, hesitantly. She smiled at him. “Do you know much about the stars and constellations?”
“I don’t know that word... constellations? But my grandmother taught me a bit about the stars. Shall I tell you?” he asked as he came closer and leaned against the porch railing with her.
She nodded.
He pointed to a cluster of stars. “Right there, you can see seven stars together. You see. If you count them, there are seven. The Caddo believe that there once was a girl with six brothers and the girl had the power to call the buffalo for them to hunt, if they swung her. So they swung her and she sang, and the buffalo came. One day, a coyote saw what the brothers were doing. When he was caught watching, the brothers made him promise never to try to do it himself, because they knew that the power to call the buffalo not only came from their sister’s singing, but also from their swinging. But one day when the brothers were out hunting other game, the coyote grew impatient and asked the girl to swing for him. When she sang, and no buffalo came, the coyote swung the girl higher and harder until finally, she swung too high and disappeared into the sky, becoming the brightest of those seven stars. That one, you see?”
Clara nodded as she watched, afraid to interrupt the boy’s story.
“When the brothers came back from their hunt, they couldn’t find their sister. When they asked the coyote about it, the coyote said he didn’t know where their sister went but wondered if perhaps a monster had come and taken her. But the brothers saw the bright twinkle in the sky and knew it was their sister. So, they cursed the coyote to always be hungry, and then they joined their sister in the sky because they missed her.” As he finished, Boyd leaned against the railing and swiped quickly at his eyes.
Had Clara seen tears on his cheeks? Did she hear the slightest tremble in his voice? She wondered how long ago the boy had lost his family. He talked about his grandmother, but what happened to his parents? Had he been lonely for a long time, like she was. Slowly she stepped closer to him and leaned her shoulder against his. “Do you know of any other stories?”
He nodded. “There once was an orphan who was rejected by his tribe. But he had no place else to go so he followed them and stayed with them. One day they went out in boats to a small island and collected eggs there. The boy fell asleep on the island and his tribe, who hated him, didn’t wake him but got in their boats and left him there. When he woke, he found himself trapped on the lonely island. For a while he ate what he could find, but he was slowly dying because he could not find enough food. Then one day, a giant monster came out of the water with horns and the boy thought that the monster would kill him. But instead, the monster said that he’d taken pity on the boy and if the boy would climb on his back, he’d take him to the other side of the water. Without fear, the boy climbed the monster’s back.
“The monster told the boy to keep his eyes upon the sky and if he saw a star to let the monster know right away. The boy did as the monster asked and the moment the star appeared he told the monster. And the monster turned around and took him back to the island. Late every afternoon, the monster would appear again at the same time and attempt to carry the boy across the water. Each day they got a little bit farther, then the star would appear, and the monster would take the boy back to the island. One day, when they were only a few feet from the shore on the other side, the boy saw the star appear, but he feared that the monster would turn around and go back so he didn’t say anything. But then the star grew larger and stronger until it finally became a man and the man shot down the monster with a lightning bolt. The boy jumped away and landed on the shore before the bolt hit the monster. The man who was once a star smiled down at the boy. ‘You have done well,’ he said, ‘That monster has been terrorizing the people of this land for a hundred years, but I could not find him for the waters and the island keep him hidden. But you brought him to shore for me at the right time.’
Then the
man embraced the child, adopted him and asked him to come back home with him to the sky. The man was the first you see in the evening—and the boy became the orphan star, the second one that appears, slightly smaller, just under the evening star.”
“Wow,” Clara said, blinking. “You do know a lot about the stars. Do you know more stories?”
He nodded and swiped at his eyes again. “I will tell you more if you like.”
“You’re tired,” a deep baritone said from behind them, and Tom stepped forward, putting a hand on Boyd’s shoulder. “Why don’t you save the stories for another night? Mom has some bread pudding made. Have you ever tried it?”
The boy’s eyes went wide as he shook his head.
With a smile, Tom pushed him off in the direction of the house. “Then you’re in for a treat. Why don’t you go get a bowl?”
“Okay,” the boy said and then dashed off into the house.
Clara wasn’t sure if she should follow or stay, but then Tom came and stood next to her, taking the boy’s place by her side. The heat from his arm seemed to radiate off of him and onto her even though there were inches of space between them that weren’t between her and Boyd. She swallowed hard, her heart thrumming in her chest. Then finally, he looked toward her with a half-smile. “My mother had me read your letter, just now. Is there anything you want to tell me that you didn’t put in the letter?”
Chapter 13
Tom felt the moment Clara stiffened at his question. She was hiding something, for sure. He’d become enamored with her over dinner. Although Clara was quiet, she was bright-eyed and paid close attention to every part of the conversation. She smiled sweetly or even laughed during the funny parts and grew pensive as the stories took a serious turn. Even now, while Boyd told stories that were emotional for him, she stayed quiet but encouraged him by leaning her shoulder against his. The boy had opened up to her faster than he had toward Tom, and for some reason, Tom felt that Boyd’s heart was safe with Clara. Maybe his could be, too. But only if she opened up to him.
After a long moment, Clara drew in a breath. “I’m a half-breed, just like Boyd,” she said finally. “Of a kind. But unlike Boyd, I don’t have Indian blood. My grandmother was a slave.”
Her voice cracked as she said the last bit in a whisper. Tom’s heart broke because Clara’s was breaking. To have a family history that she was ashamed of made Tom even sadder. He didn’t want her to be ashamed. “Everyone has family history that they might not be proud of, or that other people will look down upon. But it’s a matter of becoming the kind of person that you can be, not worrying about what you cannot have control over and trusting God for the rest. I won’t judge you for your parent’s or grandparent’s history. You can love your grandmother and be proud of her and not let anyone take that from you. God made us all in his image. No matter the color or language. I hope that you won’t worry about what other people think and can rest assured that no one in this household will think any differently of you.”
Her wide eyes were watery until she blinked, and tears slipped down her cheeks. They shined in the light of the moon that had begun to rise in the east. Her lips were taut.
And weirdly, Tom had the urge to kiss away her tears. His hands fisted as he held back. He’d only just met the woman a few short hours ago but felt an instant connection with her. Just by getting to know her a bit and reading her letter, he was beginning to feel that she was a trustworthy woman. And maybe she was the kind of wife that his mother said that he could have. She certainly seemed the understanding type.
He rested a hand on hers as hers rested on the railing of the porch. And she looked up at him with hope filling her eyes. For a long moment, he started to believe that maybe his mother was right, and he could find a woman that he’d want to come home to.
“Well, isn’t this just cozy,” a deep voice said from off the porch, and Tom stiffened at the sound, for he recognized the timbre immediately. Danny Miller.
Tom’s hand reached for the gun that should have been on his holster, but found it missing. He’d taken off his holster when he’d gotten home.
“Tut tut, now, Crowley. What do you think you’re doing?” Danny stood there, in the yard with two other men behind him. The three of them had their palms resting on their pistols and were less than twenty feet away. The two men behind Miller held torches.
Without a word, Tom took hold of Clara’s arm and pushed her behind him. “What are you doing here, Miller? I’m surprised you’re not hanging from a gallows by now.” Then he pushed Clara toward the door but blocked her from the bushwhackers until she made it inside.
“No thanks to you!” the man yelled. Those soldiers would surely have hung me if it weren’t for my friends here. And the ones we lost on the way. How... How did you send Caddo Indians after us? How did you not get scalped yourself? They came after our camp and me and these boys barely got away with our lives. The rest of our hunting party is gone.”
Tom frowned. “How do you know I had anything to do with that at all?”
Miller narrowed his eyes at him. “You had to have. It made no sense. Why would the Caddo have attacked us in the night like that otherwise?”
One of the men behind him nodded. “And I understand a little Caddo. They kept saying something about a stolen horse. I couldn’t understand...”
“Sounds like crazy talk,” Tom said, shaking his head. “Aren’t you boys a long way from Missouri?”
“No point in going back there. Our plans were ruined by you!” Miller said, pointing a finger at Tom. “So now it’s time to ruin your plans.” Miller nodded toward the men behind him. “Torch the house.”
When Tom had pushed Clara into the house, she rushed over to Mrs. Crowley, Samantha, and Boyd and told them what was happening in a low voice. Their eyes went wide as they dropped their spoons into their bowls and hopped to their feet. Boyd grabbed hold of the rifle that had been sitting by the fireplace and started making for the front door, but Mrs. Crowley stopped him. “Hold on,” she whispered as she pulled the pistol from Tom’s holster and handed it to Samantha. “Let’s go out the back door and come around so that we can ambush them.”
Boyd’s eyes went wide and then he nodded.
Mrs. Crowley picked up two more rifles and handed one to Clara. Clara’s heart sunk toward her stomach as she whispered. “I don’t know how to shoot this.”
One of Mrs. Crowley’s eyebrows raised. “We’ll have to remedy that later, but for now, just hold it and point it at the bad guys. If one makes a bad move, pull the trigger. That will be enough.”
Clara nodded.
Together, the four of them stepped outside and started around the side of the house. Boyd waved for the three of the women to stop as he got down on the ground and slid closer to the front around the side of the house and sat under a bush. Then he leveled the rifle, putting his eye to it, and pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a huge bang.
Then things grew fast and wild. Mrs. Crowley and Samantha rushed toward the front, but stayed to the side of the building as gunfire was returned. Men shouted and screamed. The tree on the side of the house splintered at about head height, much too high to affect Boyd. Boyd lifted enough to cock the rifle then sat still for two seconds before firing another shot. More gunfire returned. Clara’s heart thrummed in her chest as her throat squeezed. Then she saw the fire grow brighter around the front of the house.
Chapter 14
When the first shot went off, Tom dove for the ground, but not before he watched the closest man with the torch fall backward, clutching his arm as he dropped his torch to the ground. The dry grasses around his feet were set aflame. The flames grew and caught Miller’s pants leg on fire. The other man pulled his pistol and started shooting off in the direction of the side of the house where the rifle fire had come from. While everyone was distracted, it was Tom’s chance. He leapt to his feet and, crouching, rushed toward Miller who still was trying to put the fire on his pants leg out. As soon as he got close en
ough, Miller’s eyes met his and turned wide. Tom tackled him to the ground. The man threw punches at Tom’s head, clocking him in the jaw and ear, but none of them were so hard that they caused more than stinging. Tom sat up a bit on the man’s chest and punched at Miller’s face.
Something cracked beneath his knuckles, and Tom knew that he’d gotten Miller’s jaw good.
Another rifle round banged to Tom’s left and then the man on the other side of Tom screamed and dropped his torch and gun as well, with a bang, one bullet going astray. But Tom didn’t have time to spend watching much of that. Because Miller had pulled out his Bowie knife and slashed Tom’s forearm. Pain bit into his skin as the knife made it past his suede leather shirt sleeve. But Tom knew better than to worry about momentary trouble and then having it cost him his life. Instead, he socked the man harder and wrestled the knife from Miller’s grip. Then he punched the man two more times. Eventually, Miller was unconscious on the ground.
And when Tom looked up, he found his mother and sister and Clara all with buckets and pans tossing water upon the flames from the torches. And Boyd had the rifle in his hands. Socking one of the men on the ground with the butt of the weapon, rendering both of them unconscious as well. Slowly, Tom stood and looked around at the chaos. His heart squeezed in his chest as his stomach twisted. He’d never brought villains home like this with him before. For the first time, he considered giving up the life of a bounty hunter. It was just too dangerous.
