The One Who Waits for Me

by Lori Copeland

  Exhaustion overtook her, and she lay back down as Gray Eagle moved around the fire to his blanket. She noted the look of satisfaction on his face as if he were pleased to have helped the infant and mother and soothed her sister’s cough yet again.

  For a brief moment Beth wondered if she could be wrong about men.

  Seventeen

  The camp fire burned low. Across the way the women were silent and still. Pierce poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Gray Eagle, who had come back from a quick perimeter check of their campsite. “Are the women asleep?”

  “The little one too.”

  Shaking his head, Pierce took a sip from his own cup. He’d rather fight a skirmish than try to quiet a newborn. The odds for success were better. “What are we going to do about the baby?”

  “She needs nourishment. The mother’s milk does not please.”

  “So, where do we find a wet nurse in these parts?”

  Sitting down cross-legged, Gray Eagle studied the flames. “I have not been here for many years, but when I was a child there was an encampment not far from here.”

  “Are you sure they would welcome us?” The conflict had settled down many years ago, but resentment toward the white man and his ways still blossomed. Pierce didn’t want a war party on his hands with three women and a child to protect.

  “They are my people,” Gray Eagle confirmed with a nod. “These are their summer grounds. At first light I will ride ahead to see if the camp still exists. If so, I am certain nursing mothers will be there who can feed Trella’s child.”

  “I suppose that is best, though I don’t like the thought of further delaying our return home,” Pierce said with a sigh.

  He longed for sight of his land and the opportunity to make peace with his father. He could taste his mother’s blueberry pies—thick and rich with a crust so light it melted on his tongue. He smiled as a wave of homesickness swept over him.

  Gray Eagle turned his cup in his hands. “The one called Beth? She is talking to you now?”

  “Not if she doesn’t have to.” Pierce’s grin widened. “She doesn’t favor men.”

  The scout’s black eyes danced with merriment. “She is very silent around you.”

  “You noticed? Can’t imagine why. I go out of my way not to step on her bustle.” He paused. “She doesn’t speak often, but she is spirited.” Spirited. That was a kind characterization. “And ornery as a spiteful mule.”

  “Is there a woman waiting for you when you return?”

  Shrugging, Pierce said, “There was a girl when I left home five years ago. She was pretty young—fifteen. She said she’d wait for me, but I don’t know…I hope not.” He flashed a grin. “I was telling Preach earlier that I can’t even recall her name.”

  “You do not love her?”

  “Love?” Pierce chuckled. “My friend, I was nineteen at the time. I loved all the women.” He sobered. “If she’s waited all these years I suppose I’ll have to give serious thought to settling down and maybe starting a family. It would please my parents greatly to have grandchildren.” In ways, he wished there was someone waiting for him. A pretty young thing who would share his life and grow old with him. “But what about you? Got a woman waiting for you somewhere?”

  Gray Eagle shook his head. “I am like the wind. I blow here and then there. I have no woman waiting for me.”

  Pierce winked. “I bet many a young maiden has had her eye on you.”

  “Many women do not think clearly.”

  Conversation ebbed as each took a sip of his coffee. Pierce glanced at the sleeping women again and then turned back to his friend. “You have said that your mother was a captive.”

  “Yes. That happened many years ago when the wars still raged between my people and the white man. She was a missionary’s daughter. Her family was massacred during a raid. She was taken to the chief and he married her. She was young with a privileged background. She taught me to read and write. She wanted me to be like the white man, but she couldn’t change the color of my skin or the love in my heart for my father.”

  “Is your father still alive?”

  “He was killed during a buffalo hunt.”

  Pierce nodded, remembering Gray Eagle speaking of how his young father was trampled to death when he was caught up in a buffalo stampede. Shortly afterward, the new chief offered Gray Eagle’s mother her freedom as a condolence gift. She declined and lived among the tribe until her death seven years ago.

  Tossing the remains of his coffee into the fire, Pierce noted, “We’ll have an early start in the morning. We’d best get some shut-eye.”

  Nodding, Gray Eagle set his cup aside. “I will leave at dawn and return when I have located the site of the Indian summer camp. They may or may not be there. The war had destroyed most of this land and displaced many.”

  “While you are doing that, we’ll keeping moving forward toward the next town—wherever that may be. You shouldn’t have a hard time finding us on the road.”

  For Pierce, either the next settlement or the Cherokee camp couldn’t be close enough. He’d rather fight a war than face a hungry infant…or women dressed in nuns’ clothing throwing rocks at him.

  Wearily, he settled on the hard ground and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes.

  The fire cracked and sizzled. Overhead stars as numerous as Abraham’s descendants twinkled.

  Rolling to his left side, he focused on Beth. Her eyes were closed, and he could just make out her long lashes brushing her freckled cheeks. Warmth spread through him at the sight. He flicked the irritating reaction aside. But an annoying thought kept him awake. What if a woman like Beth had waited for him? Would his kids have those feisty wrinkles across the bridge of their noses or her thick hair and sparkling eyes? He rolled onto his back. A man could do worse.

  Suddenly his future wasn’t as clear as he’d assumed a few days earlier.

  Eighteen

  By mid-morning on the following day, Gray Eagle appeared atop his steed. Reining to a halt, he faced Pierce, who was leading the procession. Not a single community had yet come into sight, though they had made a late start and hadn’t gone far down the road.

  After Gray Eagle departed for the Indian summer grounds, Pierce had left the women in Preach’s care while he went to look for Joanie’s Bible as he had promised. Unfortunately, though he had made as thorough a search as possible, he wasn’t successful. The little party broke camp and headed out as soon as he returned with the discouraging news. Now they were eager to hear what the Indian scout had to say.

  “The camp is still there.”

  Relief rippled through Pierce. “How far?”

  “We can get there well before noon.”

  “Is there a wet nurse willing to help?”

  “Two are available. The summer camp is now filled with the old and dying, but some daughters and recent widows have come with aging parents. Two gave birth this spring.”

  “Good enough, as long as someone is able to satisfy the child.”

  The traveling party rode with purpose now. Beth carried the baby to allow Trella some respite from the infant’s crying. Every man and woman in the group felt the child’s hunger.

  A couple of hours later Gray Eagle came to a halt. “I’ll ride in first. The chief is expecting us.”

  Pierce stayed back with the rest of the riders as Gray Eagle walked his mount through a stand of poplar trees. From here the village was just visible. Thirty or so lodges, with cone-shaped roofs made of bark and walls covered in long grass, were dotted here and there. Beth’s heart hammered. She’d never been near an Indian other than Gray Eagle. She’d seen them passing on the road, their bodies decorated with colorful paint and feathers. The pickers said they were warriors spoiling for a fight with the buffalo hunters, but they never bothered the slaves.

  She glanced at Pierce. Did she dare trust that this man wouldn’t lead her and Joanie into danger? Despite the stories she’d heard about earlier settlers, and the prices they
paid when they encountered savages, she found herself developing a certain amount of respect for this Union army captain. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She and Joanie still had far to go before they would be completely safe. She couldn’t go all soft on men just yet.

  Trella was holding her baby now, and Joanie rode behind Beth, her head resting on her sister’s shoulders. Her coughing increased. Between the coughs and the baby’s cries, Beth wondered how long it would be before the men abandoned them beside the road.

  She eyed the tall captain. She couldn’t claim that he hadn’t been kind and exceedingly patient so far, but she knew that could change. It always did with men. She could not let her guard down—not for a second. Just the same, she eased her horse closer to him. He glanced over at her and met her eyes with a wicked grin that sent her heart thumping. How could that be? For once it wasn’t thumping with fright.

  “What’s going on? Is it safe?”

  “Ma’am.” The captain’s look chastised her. “Believe me when I tell you that I have no desire to see my scalp hanging from an old warrior’s pony.”

  She focused on the little village ahead of them. “I can assure you, sir. You will not witness the sight.”

  His grin widening, he acknowledged, “I stand corrected. I don’t want to witness your scalping.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t watch yours.” She nudged her horse forward a little.

  “Feisty little wren.” He moved his horse ahead of her, as though to keep himself between her and the village for now. Her eyes took in the strange dwellings. Aging women wearing long deerskin dresses moved across a stream that went down the center of the grouping of dwellings. Others bent over low-burning fires, while still others cleaned animal skins stretched on tall wooden frames.

  Though their activities looked peaceful enough, Beth still felt anxious. Would they turn on the uninvited group and leave their scalps hanging on a lodge pole? They were of the older generation. Perhaps…

  A second, different kind of shiver slithered down her back, and almost involuntarily she turned again to the captain. He spoke low and comfortingly. “Relax, Beth,” he said as if reading her mind. “These are Gray Eagle’s people. They’re friendly.”

  Just then the scout returned and told them they could move ahead. Beth kept her distance, allowing the others to ride in before her. When they reached the clear stream, they paused, and a young boy dipped a cup of cold water for Joanie. The small, compassionate act touched Beth, easing her immediate fear, yet she remained watchful, ready to gallop away with Joanie if the situation called for it. Ahead, a man stepped from a lodge. He was dressed in bearskin trousers, shirt, and moccasins. His long black hair streaked with gray lifted in a slight breeze. In the past he most likely had been a proud warrior, but the years had bent his once strong frame, and the hot sun had weathered his features. He was old, and his step was uncertain. Standing in front of his tent, his faded eyes focused on the new arrivals.

  Swallowing, Beth crowded her horse next to the captain’s mare.

  “If you get much closer, you might as well ride with me,” he said under his breath.

  She eased her animal back somewhat, allowing him room. Gray Eagle made a motion with his hand that Beth took as a sign of peace.

  Nodding, the chief took in their ragtag party.

  “We come as friends,” the scout said.

  The chief’s eyes moved, silently assessing each rider.

  Shifting in his saddle, Gray Eagle indicated the squalling infant. “The child cries from hunger. The mother’s milk does not comfort her.”

  The chief’s glance skimmed mother and infant. After a moment he pursed his lips and tilted his head, indicating a large tent facing the north.

  Dismounting, Preach approached Trella’s horse and took the child from the tearful mother’s arms.

  “Will he allow us to stay?” Trella asked.

  Nodding, the chief’s eyes pivoted to a woman who was tending a fire. “You are invited to rest. Eat.”

  Beth picked up her reins and turned her mare, now following a young boy who ran ahead of the group. He led them to a field rich with green grass. Sliding off the horse, Beth lifted her arms to help Joanie down. Her frail body shook with coughing spasms. When the party returned to the camp, Beth caught an exchange between Gray Eagle and a young dark-haired woman with large, soulful eyes as they spoke in their native tongue, smiling.

  Joanie leaned on Beth, and they made their way to assigned sleeping pallets in a lodge across the village. “He must know her well,” Joanie whispered.

  “So it would seem.”

  The scout glanced their way and offered a smile to Joanie, whose cheeks flamed a dark red. Beth tugged her forward, breaking the connection. He was indeed a fine male specimen, but she hoped her sister didn’t for one minute think there might be a love match in the making. Gray Eagle had been tender to Joanie, but he’d been just as kind to Trella. She couldn’t read romance into his manner. Every one of the men in their group had acted in a polite fashion. Beth eased her sister onto the comfortable pallet in the airy space.

  “He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” Joanie asked. Beth paused to meet her gaze. “Does the thought disturb you?”

  “No. I think he’s very handsome,” Beth said reluctantly.

  “He’s really nice too. Don’t you think?”

  “He’s a savage, Joanie.”

  Closing her eyes, Joanie took deep breaths. “Doesn’t matter. I know that no man will ever love me.”

  Beth fussed with the pallet. “Why would you talk such nonsense? You’re a lovely woman—”

  “And a very sick one.” Joanie reached in her pocket for the piece of paper Reverend Mother had sent and pressed it to her chest.

  Beth recited the simple note’s message to herself: God bless Joanie. She knew the words gave her sister great comfort.

  Joanie lay back and closed her eyes. Beth dampened a soft cloth from a jar of water on a stool near the lodge’s entrance and returned to wipe her sister’s flushed forehead. She had no idea Joanie thought in such hopeless terms. Did she really believe she would never grow old? Never know love? Never have children? The thought saddened her. Beth would never seek love, but that was her choice. Joanie deserved to be loved.

  “Don’t be so morbid,” Beth scolded gently.

  “What man would want to listen to this?” Joanie purposefully coughed. “For the rest of his life?”

  “A good man.” Beth tenderly wiped flushed cheeks and runny eyes.

  “You say yourself there is no such thing.”

  “What do I know?” Beth wrung the cloth dry. “For me there isn’t, but if you believe in this God you talk about, then perhaps He has different thoughts on the matter.” If Joanie’s God did exist, wouldn’t He provide a true love for her? A man who loved her—someone who wouldn’t let a thing like asthma turn him away?

  “I do talk to Him about it. Daily.” Joanie sighed when Beth set aside the cloth and lowered her back to the pallet. The sounds of camp life drifted around the sisters. Meat sizzling over an open fire. Women’s soft voices talking among themselves as they worked to prepare the noon meal. Children darting back and forth at play, their infectious laughter filling the summer air. And yet fear grew in Beth’s heart. They were safe for the time being, but what would happen when they reached the next town and the captain and his men finally did ride away?

  The image of her uncle’s angry face filled her vision. Walt would find them. Of that, Beth was as certain as the fragrance of perking coffee in the air.

  And they would have no man’s protection.

  Nineteen

  Joanie was asleep when Beth awoke. Though it was the middle of the night, the moonlight was bright, calling Beth outside the lodge. She felt stiff from travel and thought a short walk might help her relax. Moving quietly through the sleeping village, she paused in front of the large tent where she’d seen an Indian woman enter earlier in the evening, carrying Trella’s baby. Her e
yes searched the immediate area, and when she saw no one she parted the canvas and stepped into the dim interior. Two nursing mothers sat before a low-burning fire, infants suckling at their breasts. One glanced up when Beth entered, her eyes questioning the newcomer.

  “I thought I might help?” she said softly. She couldn’t nurse the child, but she could care for Trella’s infant once she was fed.

  The young mother silently shook her head, but her eyes indicated the infant. For one of the first times since she was born, the baby slept in peaceful contentment, with Trella sleeping soundly beside her. Beth studied the nursing mother, one of the prettiest women she had ever seen. Hair as black as a raven’s wing hung to her tiny waist. Her expressive coffee-colored eyes were welcoming without her saying a word. She patted the mat beside her, inviting Beth to sit.

  Beth complied, settling on the bearskin rug cross-legged in the same fashion as her host. Smoke curled through the opening at the top of the lodge. The fire cracked. An occasional burp sounded from one of the infants being fed. Beth had never experienced such serenity. Her life had been filled with angry shouts and painful whips. This oasis was like a refreshing stream on a hot summer’s day. No one spoke. Beth wouldn’t have understood the Indian language, but she felt the thread of womanhood—the invisible bond of like minds as she sat in the dome interior and listened to the babies’ noisy suckling. She never allowed herself to think of motherhood. She knew it would never come to her.

  Witnessing men’s cruelty had stripped her of all desire to marry or have children. Her sister’s wish to fall in love confused her. Joanie had lived inside the same anger and fury. She had witnessed Uncle Walt’s meanness and the way he had dominated their pa. Beth didn’t doubt that Joanie’s man was out there somewhere waiting, but love in her life? She couldn’t imagine falling in love with a man.

  Until that moment.

  A moment when she sat among women who she hadn’t known existed until a few hours earlier. She should be frightened by their strange ways, but their eyes were kind. Beth felt protected here. Her gaze shifted to the tent flap when it lifted, and she saw that Captain Montgomery was motioning her outside.