The Woodsman's Rose

by Gifford MacShane

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I gotta go get Jane. You go ahead an’ tell everyone we’ll be there soon’s we can.”

  Chapter 64

  Owen stopped at the dairy farm long enough to tell Evelyn and Lowell as much as he knew, then rode for Sidhean Annie. He forced himself not to think at all, clinging desperately to Carolyn’s words, “Everything will be all right.”

  By the time he arrived at the knoll, Molly had stopped the seepage of blood around the knife. John Patrick and the twins had managed to get a blanket under Daniel by rolling him first to one side then the other, and the four of them had carried him into the house and laid him on the couch. Then John Patrick sent Frank to the canyon to notify the family there.

  Within half an hour, Tommy and Jane arrived. She’d been unsuccessful in persuading Tommy to wait for her brother and she was trembling. As she stepped onto the porch, the smith put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him.

  “Listen t’ me, girl.” Tommy spoke calmly but there was force behind his voice. “You gotta do this. There’s nobody else. Jus’ you. We need you t’ help Dan’l, so he can tell us where Annie is. You unnerstan’?”

  Jane gulped but nodded, and entered the cabin with her head held high.

  She examined Daniel’s wound and found it not nearly as bad as she’d expected. It was high on his back, about four inches long but narrow and straight. The knife seemed to have glanced off the shoulder blade. It hadn’t hit the lung—if it had, the woodsman would be long dead. But when she removed the knife, copious bleeding started. She applied pressure bandages, but that didn’t control it. “We need some ice.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Geordie and took off on his father’s horse. The quietest of the family, he was also the most level-headed. By the time his parents and twin had arrived, he’d lit the brazier so they’d have hot water to clean the wound, gathered all the towels he could find, found the medicine kit the doctor had given Daniel and Annie, and had taken it, a blanket and a single towel to his brother. He’d taken Daniel’s knife and cut his shirt open. With the towel he’d begun to staunch the flow of blood, giving this task to his mother when she got there.

  Before Jane’s arrival, Molly had added the herb shepherd’s purse to a bowl of boiling water and let it steep. The herb was both styptic and astringent and Jane used it to clean the wound. But the bleeding, while lessened, wouldn’t stop. Molly poured what was left of the solution into the cold water they were using for compresses and prayed it would have some additional effect.

  Jane was worried. The cave the Donovans used as an ice house was a few miles past the ranchhouse and it would take Geordie most of an hour to return.

  Tommy looked over her shoulder at the clean, gaping wound. “I once saw my father sew a man’s leg t’gether t’ stop the bleedin’.”

  Jane glanced up, surprise quickly turning to enlightenment. “They sew people up after surgery, too, don’t they? What do you remember, Tommy?”

  The smith screwed his face up in concentration. “It took two of ’em. One man held the edges close t’gether while my father sewed. He used a long needle made o’ bone—boiled it first t’ clean it. An’ boiled the laces—thin rawhide laces. He sewed it loose, but the laces dried an’ pulled it tight. He used a lotta stitches close t’gether. An’ I think ‘e tied each one off as ‘e went along. The bleedin’ stopped li’l by li’l, as the stitches tightened.”

  “Can you help me?”

  “Sure. Anythin’ you need.”

  Jane asked Molly to find a long needle and cotton thread—white, she said. She wasn’t sure what dyes were made of and the bleach that made the color of white thread consistent seemed harmless enough. She told Tommy to wash his hands then showed the smith how to use the compresses while she did the same. She had Molly boil the needle and thread, explaining their plans to her. Molly’s face blanched, but she offered her help.

  So as Tommy held the gaping edges of the wound together and Jane used the needle and thread, Molly wiped away the blood that accumulated. When the job was done, the wound was still seeping, but not dangerously. Molly made a poultice of the shepherd’s purse and applied it to her son’s back, then covered it with a towel she filled with the ice Geordie brought. She sat at Daniel’s side, one hand on the towel, the other in his hair, and prayed for him and for his lovely wife.

  Like Owen, she dared not think of what might have happened to Annie, except to realize she must have been taken away. She would never have left her husband’s side voluntarily. She was pregnant, she was ill, she needed treatments against the pain she suffered. But most of all, she was a creature of innocence, of joy, and Molly’s prayers grew desperate with the fear she fought against.

  Chapter 65

  Alec returned to the cabin having found no tracks in the meadow, no sign of anything except the spot where his friend had fallen. But the knife was of Navajo make and the tribe’s summer camp was less than an hour away by horseback. He was going to go see what he could find there. The men agreed if Daniel came to and could tell them anything, Jake would follow with the information. Meanwhile, Frank would carry the news to his wife and his twin’s, and to the Rocking Chair Ranch. The rest of them would sit tight and wait.

  They did very little sitting. John Patrick paced in front of the cabin, pulling on an empty pipe. Jake and Geordie made the rounds of the meadow, corral and house, each finding comfort in the other’s silence. Owen crossed from one end of the porch to the other, stood and stared out over the meadow, then turned and began again. Tommy leaned against the door frame, muttering to himself, wondering what his son would find at the camp. Jane sat by her patient’s side, willing her brother to arrive.

  It was a long while before she came out on the porch and addressed John Patrick.

  “The bleeding has stopped and his pulse is getting stronger. I think he should be coming around in a few hours.” She watched the old man carefully to make sure he’d taken it in. “I’ll send Theo out as soon as he comes home. In the meantime, Molly knows what to do.”

  John Patrick held out his hand. Jane found herself near tears as she shook it. “I’ll be back before nightfall if Theo doesn’t get home.”

  “Thank you, Jane. We’ll most probably take him to the house.”

  “You’re welcome.” She tried to smile, flicked her other hand toward Tommy. “But you actually need to thank your tall friend over there.”

  John Patrick went to the blacksmith, put a fond hand on his shoulder but said nothing, then went inside and stood behind his wife, gazing down at his son. He knelt beside them and bowed his head, felt Molly’s hand in his hair. Like Alec, he believed the Navajo warriors were responsible for this. Let us find her. Let no harm come to her. Protect her from her illness and from harm. He rested his head against his wife’s breast, put his weathered hand over hers there on his son’s back. Molly’s arm stole round his shoulders. Let no harm come to her, he begged once more.

  IN A FEW HOURS, DANIEL began to moan and move about in pain. When his eyelids first flickered open, he saw his father’s face. He tried to reach out, but the pain in his shoulder made him groan. It was only by the greatest of efforts that he was able to fight the blackness off again. His voice came out in a deep croak.

  “Annie.”

  “Drink this,” he heard his mother say. Molly had prepared a tisane of white willow bark, which would dull the pain but not the senses. He turned his head toward her, but the angle was too great and the tisane spilled on the blanket beneath him. His father took his good arm and stretched it over his head, helped him to roll slightly. He moaned in agony, but the pull of darkness wasn’t quite so strong, and after a moment he raised his head for the cup again. They put a pillow under his head, and his ragged breathing become more regular. When his eyes opened again, his voice was stronger, too.

  “Annie...”

  “She’s not here, lad,” his father said. “Tell us what happened.”

  “Where is she
? Is she hurt? What happened?” The questions were broken by the struggle for breath, the fight for consciousness. Why couldn’t he remember?

  He had to work to concentrate on his father’s voice. “We found you here, lad. Jake did, this morning. Someone put a knife in your back. Do you know who it was?”

  “Knife,” he echoed. There was a memory trying to surface... something... a knife. The warrior. Sudden pain. Then Annie’s voice. His precious Annie. Screaming as she’d once screamed at him. No! No! Let me go! No! Daniel! DANIEL!

  He groaned again, his anguish this time not for himself. He’d seen Yellow Knife carry her away, slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Seen her small fists pounding on his back, her feet kicking at the air. Seen the sneer as the warrior looked back, then the earth came up to strike his cheek.

  “Annnn-ieee.”

  It was a mortal cry. John Patrick took his son’s free hand and squeezed it hard. Owen pounded in, followed by the blacksmith and by Alec, who silently shook his head. Jake and Geordie gathered behind him.

  “Tell us what happened, lad. Tell us.” The sternness in his father’s voice penetrated Daniel’s anguish and he stumbled over his words.

  “Walking,” he said. “Sunset. Coming home. Stopped to... kiss her.” Agony in his voice but his father grunted and he concentrated again. “Yellow Knife... from nowhere. Should... have known... should have known...”

  “All right, lad. You rest now.” But the woodsman grabbed his father by the arm, ignoring the stabbing pain.

  “He... took her. She’s... frightened. Got to... find... her. Got to... should have... known.” He tried to sit up but the effort was too much. The blackness threatened again. He gasped at the fire burning in his shoulder, then turned his face into the pillow, weeping silently.

  The men moved away as Molly brought him another tisane. Not willow bark this time, but lobelia to soothe him, chamomile to fight off depression, beet root to help restore his blood. And one drop of poppy juice, to induce a restful sleep. Five or six hours, she guessed, for he was a man of solid muscle and heavier than he appeared. When he woke, he’d be more coherent. Stronger. Able to help them plan. That would be the best medicine of all.

  The men gathered on the porch and after a few moments of silence, Alec spoke.

  “They weren’t there. They took everything, but left in a hurry. Not more than twelve hours ago, I’d say.”

  “Any sign of Annie?” Tommy asked.

  “No sign of anything. Couldn’t find a single track outside of the camp. But that means they have something to hide.”

  “Do you think they might have...”

  “No, Owen. They wouldn’t be gone if they’d killed her. All they’d have to do is hide her body and wait for us to show up, then deny everything. I’m sure Yellow Knife thought Daniel was dead. He’d never have left him alive to be a witness against him. So that’s in our favor. We know who did it, but he doesn’t know we know. And Running Wolf won't let him hurt her, Owen, once he finds out who she is.”

  “He an’ Dan’l been friends a long time,” Tommy put in. “He’ll figger out who she is. He won't let anybody hurt ’er.”

  John Patrick put his arm around Owen’s shoulders. “Believe in it. If something bad were going to happen, Annie would have known. She would have told us.”

  Owen let out a deep sigh. He believed fervently in her gift, believed she would have hidden nothing from her husband. And above all, believed that Daniel would have done anything in his power to protect her, even if it meant leaving his beloved Territory. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on faith.

  Molly came from the cabin and put a sympathetic hand on Owen’s arm as she addressed her husband.

  “He’s sleeping now, Pat,” she said. “If we’re going to move him, this is the time.” It was for more than the convenience of the big house—it would give them something to do, something else to think about.

  John Patrick turned to Owen. “Come with me to get the wagon.”

  The bootmaker grabbed at the chance for activity. As they rode out across the meadow, Molly returned to Daniel’s side. Alec spoke to Tommy, Jake and Geordie. “I’m going back up to see if I can pick up their trail. If not, I’ll start circling the mountain and see if I can find where they left it. Maybe they just went higher up. There’s water up there and plenty of game this time of year. And it won't be too cold at night.”

  “I’m coming with you,” stated Jake.

  “No. You’ll have to follow with Daniel. I’ll mark the trail behind me—you can follow straight north from their camp unless you see another sign. Don’t worry about your own trail unless you see a blue feather hanging from a juniper. Then hide yourselves and wait for me to come back.

  “If you see the tribe but don’t see me, the call is for nighthawk, screech owl, and nighthawk again. If you see us both and want me to know you’re there, it’s nighthawk, screech owl, then mourning dove. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” Jake replied. Alec picked up his rifle and left them without another word.

  “Good luck,” Tommy whispered behind his son. “An’ be careful.”

  Chapter 66

  Returning to Sidhean Annie with a wagon full of loose hay, Owen and John Patrick helped Tommy and Jake pick Daniel up, using the blanket to carry him. Geordie and Jake climbed in to sit behind their brother and cushion his back so he wouldn’t roll over, and Owen sat in front of him for the same reason. The woodsman hadn’t moved at all and groaned only once, so deep was the spell of the poppies. John Patrick and Molly settled themselves on the seat of the wagon. Tommy gathered the reins of the horses, guiding them slowly and carefully through the fields.

  The family had congregated at the ranch—Adam and Jesse, Rebecca and Brian, Evelyn and Lowell. Anticipating a stay of at least several days, Brian had already sent two of his father’s hands out to the canyon to take care of the stock there. Frank met them at the barn and helped with the horses while Adam, Geordie, Brian and Tommy carried Daniel to the couch in the back parlor.

  Kneeling by his side, Jesse brushed the hair from his face. His breathing was regular and deep. She kissed his forehead and detected no fever. Irene rushed in and started to cry.

  “Daniel!” she sobbed. “Oh, no, Daniel!” She tried to put her arms around him but Jesse held her back. Adam drew her up to her feet, into the far corner of the room, and into his arms. She sobbed against his shoulder.

  “Hush, mavourneen,” Adam soothed her. “Don’t cry, little one.” They were the same words with which Daniel had once comforted her, and she sobbed more wildly than before.

  “Irene.” Her brother’s voice was low but stern in her ear. “Pull yourself together now. You’re not helping him. He’s asleep, but he may hear you. So stop your crying. He needs his rest, and he needs his strength. He needs us to be strong for him.”

  Her shoulders quaked as she wept silently. Adam held her closer and murmured words of comfort. “Good girl. Hold on tight and don’t cry. He wouldn’t want you to cry.”

  “But I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “I know, love. We’re all scared. But we can’t let him see it. He’s got to be strong and we’ve got to help him. He needs us, Irene. He needs you. So stop your crying. Do it for him.”

  She looked up at him, fighting her fear, her grief. The tears had almost stopped. He drew her head down to his shoulder again.

  “That’s my good girl. Just hold on until it’s gone.” Finally, she stopped shivering and stepped away from him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. He took off his bandanna and offered it to her. She smiled weakly in thanks.

  “What about Annie?” she asked in a voice that still quavered.

  “Tommy says she’ll be all right, even though the Navajo have taken her. He says the elder, Running Wolf, would never let them hurt her.” He prayed the blacksmith was right, that their exquisite little seer would be protected from harm.

  “But what if she gets sick?”

  He h
ad no answer for her. “We’ll have to pray that she doesn’t.” Her head was on his shoulder again and she whispered his name.

  “Yes, little one?”

  “I love you.”

  He chuckled. “I love you, too, mavourneen.” He raised her face, pinched her cheek. “Better? Good! Then let’s go see what we can do to help.”

  Chapter 67

  Annie sat close to the fire, trying to warm her hands and feet. She was cold—not as cold as she’d been the night before, but she was frightened.

  She’d been with the tribe for five days now, and things had been easier once the elder discovered who she was. Even before, he’d protected her from the warrior who claimed her. Her lips twitched at the thought of the things she’d done to the warrior.

  Though it was close to dawn, she was still kicking and screaming when he carried her into camp. She knew his back was sore from the pounding it had taken from her fists, his arms weary with the effort of hanging on to her. And she hoped he had a headache from the voice that had screamed constantly in his ear.

  When he flung her down to the ground, so hard it jarred her teeth, she’d leaped up and turned her back on him. When he touched her braid, she turned and saw the hope in his eyes. She stood as straight as she could and gave him a look of such withering contempt, the light died immediately. If he were looking for a maiden to swoon at his feet, he’d be sorely disappointed.

  She knew where her strength came from, for Katie’s soothing voice rang in her ear. None shall harm you, ever. He will be with you for as long as you live. She fed her soul on the hope it promised. He’d come for her. She’d know in her heart if he were dead. He lived, and he’d come.

  But the warrior reached for her, taking her arms in his big hands. She’d resisted but he was too strong. When his mouth came close to hers she turned her head and his slavering kiss fell on her jaw. She reared back and spit in his face.