Smiling, she took a bite of the meat and found it quite tasty. “Where are the others?”
“Around.” As he made himself comfortable beside her, she studied his tall, lean frame. His nut-brown skin was taut and firm from hours in the hot sun. His long jet-black hair was secured with a leather scrap. He wore bearskin pants, but his broad, muscular chest was bare in the heat of the day.
No wonder the camp maidens couldn’t keep their eyes off of him. Joanie struggled to concentrate on her meal. “It’s not like Beth to wander away.”
“You will be together shortly. I checked on Trella, and the baby is doing well this morning. It won’t be long before the little one can leave the wet nurse.”
A long silence stretched between them. Joanie picked at the meat, her appetite lacking as she tried to think of another topic of conversation. “You scouted for the South?”
He nodded.
“Exactly what does a scout do?”
He met her curious gaze. Leaning closer, he whispered, “We scout.” A glint of humor filled his eyes.
Color heated her cheeks. “And by ‘scout’ you mean…?”
“We were actually called ‘pickets.’ We were responsible for keeping our unit from ambush on both the front and rear flanks.” He smiled, meeting her gaze. “My position was that of raven spy.”
“Raven?”
He pointed to his neck. “From this day forward, Joanie Jornigan, you will know us when you see us, and recognize us if you see us on the trail. I’ll be scouting the front with this tied around my neck.” He tugged on the raven-feathered choker circling his dark throat. “My brother scout will have a strip of wolf skin tied to his neck. He is scouting the rear. Another will be wearing fox skin around his neck, and he will be watching our left.”
“But…the war is over.”
“So it is said, and yet there are battles to be won.”
“You speak flawless English.”
With a flash of even, white teeth, he nodded. “My mother was white; my father, Cherokee. My mother taught me both the white man’s and red man’s ways.” He paused to look at her. “You said you were educated?”
She nodded. “Somewhat. My mother was a schoolteacher before she married my father. Because my illness wouldn’t allow me in the fields many days, mother taught me at home.”
“And your father?”
She lifted a piece of meat to her lips. “He worked for my uncle Walt in the cotton fields.”
“Was he an educated man?”
“No. Not Pa. And because we lived in Uncle Walt’s shanty, and he didn’t care for books, when he caught Ma with one he would rip it into pieces with his meaty hands and make her burn it. Women with knowledge were dangerous, he always said. No woman on the plantation would ever learn to read or write, but Ma defied him by teaching me.”
The hue of his eyes deepened. “I value books as priceless treasures.”
“You learned this from your mother?”
Nodding, he said softly, “Now that the war is over, I wish to fulfill my mother’s desire and become a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Joanie had always wanted to be a nurse. She knew it would never happen, but it was a nice dream.
He met her eyes. “It is my desire also. To help my people.”
Joanie drank in the exciting thought. Money was always scarce in their home, and from what she’d read, an education—the kind Gray Eagle was talking about—would be very costly.
“I have a friend,” he said, as though he read her thoughts, “whose father owns many plantations, and he has agreed to sponsor my education.”
“How soon will you start?”
“Soon. When I return home.”
“You have known and fought with Pierce and Preach?”
He nodded. “I met Pierce many years ago, and though we ended up fighting for different sides, we became friends. When word of the war’s end finally reached us, Pierce and I agreed to ride home together. We bumped into Preach along the way, and he decided to join up with us.” He shifted. “You are weary. You should rest and not talk. The coughing will start again.”
Joanie knew he spoke the truth, though she felt as though she could talk to him all day. But the exhaustion deep in her bones was even now pulling her back to sleep. They made their way back to the lodge where she and Beth were staying, and he helped her settle again onto her pallet.
He was kind, and his medicine made her body relax. A sense of calm floated over her, and she was barely aware when he drew up the light blanket. She felt the warmth of his eyes on her—a gentle, caring warmth.
A welcome tenderness.
Twenty-Four
A squeal escaped Beth when she came face-to-face with Sister Mary Margaret.
Grinning like a mule eating spring grass, the friendly nun greeted her. “Beth! I thought you and Joanie had moved on from around here.”
Pressing her thumping heart back into her chest cavity, Beth tried to clear the lightheadedness that was close to overwhelming her. “Sister! You scared the daylights out of me.”
The nun’s features fell. “Forgive me.”
“Not intentionally,” Beth corrected. She knew instinctively that the good woman wouldn’t harm a fly, but her sudden appearance had completely unnerved Beth. She’d thought for certain that she had strayed too far from safety and that Walt or Bear had found her alone.
Mary Margaret’s smile swiftly resurfaced. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
The cheerful sister giggled. “The Indians make their summer camp on our land—well, the Lord’s land—but the order owns it. We’ve never said a word to them. It’s just an honest mistake. And they don’t hurt a thing. I think I shared with you that they are actually very helpful.”
Now that her heart had settled back in her chest, Beth lowered her hands. “What are you doing here?”
“I fear I am easily diverted. Father, forgive me.” Swiftly she made the sign of the cross. “I was working in the vegetable garden this morning, but the day is so lovely that I chased a butterfly much farther than I intended. When I looked up, I spotted you and could hardly believe my eyes.” Her gaze roamed the area. “Where is Joanie?”
“She’s with the Cherokee.”
Mary Margaret turned curious. “Why?”
“It’s a long story, Sister.”
“I have time for a story.” She offered an encouraging grin.
Mentally sighing, Beth relayed the details, reminding her of the circumstances of their departure and the birth of Trella’s baby.
“Trella’s milk apparently wasn’t rich enough for the infant,” she went on, “so after we left the convent, the soldiers suggested that we locate a wet nurse for the child. The Indian village was the closest settlement we could find.”
Mary Margaret laughed softly. “A wet nurse would have been difficult to find at the convent.”
“Yes. Very unlikely, though we hadn’t considered the idea until Pierce mentioned it.”
“Yes. The kind man who came with you on your second visit.” Mary Margaret smiled and then seemed to instinctively reach for a strand of beads hanging from her belt.
Beth watched the nun’s nimble fingers trace each bead as she whispered in soft tones. When she finished, Beth hesitantly asked, “Were you praying?”
The sister opened her eyes. “Yes.” She smiled. “You are not Catholic?”
“I’m not anything.”
Mary Margaret’s eyes widened. “You most certainly are. You’re God’s child.”
“I don’t believe that. But Joanie prays, and she does it differently. She either bows her head or gets down on her knees beside the bed and just talks.” She focused on the beads. “You touch beads.”
“My rosary.”
Beth studied the strand in the sister’s hand. “Joanie doesn’t have such a thing. Does that mean her prayers aren’t heard?” This praying stuff is so complicated! Believing in a special, loving person you’d ne
ver met to take care of your needs no matter what? Beth shook her head. She wished she had such faith.
“My goodness, no!” the nun said. “God hears all prayers—unless a man’s heart has been hardened—but He hears all of His children’s prayers.”
His children? Now, there was another mystery. God didn’t sire her; Pa did. And Pa hadn’t loved her unconditionally. She got in trouble plenty of times for little things.
The sister’s explanation still didn’t account for the variances she’d seen in how people spoke to the Almighty. Her explanation made no sense to Beth, but the sister seemed convinced that every sort of murmuring or tolling of bells or whispering over beads reached a higher source. Beth furrowed her brow.
“How is Joanie?” the sister said.
Beth was a bit startled at the change in topic. She wanted to get to the bottom of this puzzle.
“Is she doing better?”
Beth sighed and said, “Yes, one of the men traveling with us has been giving her lobelia tea.”
The sister snapped her finger. “We should have thought of that. Sister Patrilla is our herbalist, but she’s very old and sleeps late. If you had remained after morning prayers, I’m certain she could have helped.”
“I’m sorry. You all were very kind, but at that time we felt that we had to leave.”
The nun nodded, the wide straw brim of her hat bobbing with the motion of her head. “It is good to know that you’re nearby. Will you stay a few days?”
“Yes. At least until Trella’s baby can take milk from a cow.”
The sister’s infectious laugh filled the quiet meadow. “That sounds as though it could take a while, though I wouldn’t know. I was an only child.”
Grinning, Beth thought she would have liked to have known Sister Mary Margaret as a child, though in many ways her personality was still childlike. Trusting. Joyful. Beth found that she’d formed an instant bond with the merry sister.
“I should be going. They will wonder where I went,” Mary Margaret said.
“Oh, me too.”
The sister giggled. “I have rows and rows to plant and care for. It’s my second planting this year, and Reverend Mother thinks I’m a bit of a scatterbrain.” She glanced up, shading her eyes from the hot sun. “It will be time for lunch soon.” She turned back. “May I tell the others I’ve seen you?”
Beth hesitated. She didn’t want to put the convent in danger. If Walt and Bear came upon them, there was no telling what they would do if they knew the nuns had befriended her and Joanie.
“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t.”
Nodding, the sister pretended to button her lips. Then she giggled. “I’m here every day. That is, any day I’m not off chasing butterflies and it doesn’t rain. If you want company, walk to the garden.” She turned and pointed up the hill, where rows of flowering vines could be seen. No one else was there.
“Do you work alone?” Beth asked.
The plot seemed to be quite large. It looked to be a backbreaking chore for one person to manage.
“Yes, but it’s no problem. I’m the youngest in the order. The others are old and feeble, so I take on the heavier tasks. This patch is string beans and turnips. I leave the peas, tomatoes, and squash in other locations easier to reach. Don’t be afraid to visit me here. No one else will see you.”
Beth thought of all the long, blistering days, months, and years she’d toiled in the cotton fields and of the barbs that had left her hands raw and bloody. Beans and turnips would be heaven. She turned to meet the nun’s face. The least she could do would be to help out while she was here. She accepted the offer.
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Wonderful!” Mary Margaret set her wimple more securely in place. “I pray that God will shower you with blessings this beautiful day.” She winked. “But not rain. I have to get those turnips hoed.”
“Thank you.” Beth wanted to return the lovely wish, but before she could be asking God for anything, she needed someone to convince her He was there. And prayer? That was downright confusing. It seemed to her that praying wasn’t as simple as getting down on her knees beside the bed and talking. Maybe she needed some smooth wooden beads.
She made a mental note to ask Pierce what he thought of the matter. He seemed knowledgeable and, so far, she thought, he’d been honest with her.
Skirting the bank, she headed toward camp, aware she’d been gone a few hours. Joanie would undoubtedly be wondering where she was.
Hoofbeats sounded on the road behind the line of heavy thicket. Beth stepped in closer to the tangled vegetation. Most likely it was a passing farmer who’d pay little attention to the stream, but she couldn’t be too careful. The realization that she was alone again quickened her pace. She wished the captain were with her—but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, it irked her.
Then the crack of a gunshot shattered the silence.
Beth’s hands came up to cover her mouth. Bear? She hadn’t heard or seen anything of him for days, though Pierce had said he was still in the area.
Dropping to her knees, she hugged the riverbed, crawling deeper into the dense brush. She should have known her cousin would never give up. He was as deranged and greedy as Uncle Walt. A second shot rang out, the bullet grazing a thatch of weeds not far away. He was outright trying to kill her, and Pierce and Gray Eagle were nowhere around.
She pulled herself along on her belly, determined to survive. The sisters would hear the shots and come to investigate, wouldn’t they? Or the Cherokee? If she could elude the oaf five more minutes, help would be on the way.
A third shot rang out. Squeezing her eyes shut, she eased though the thicket. Her heart pounded so loudly that she feared Bear would hear its erratic thumping and immediately spot her.
When she paused to catch her breath, she heard the sound of heavy boots thrashing now through the brush. Pressing close to the ground, she shut her eyes and lay as still as a corpse.
The footfalls ceased.
Beth could feel her cousin’s beady eyes roaming the area, searching for her. How had he found her? The vegetable patch couldn’t be seen from the road. She had taken great pains to heed Pierce’s order to stay off the main path. Now he would be angry with her. She winced, trying to quiet her breaths so Bear wouldn’t hear her.
Silence. No footfalls. Or gunshots. Just silence. Where was he? Towering above her, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence?
Opening one eye, she studied the ground. No shadow appeared. A meadowlark flittered in and out of the brush above.
She stayed immobile until she thought she’d burst, terrified to move, but finally she couldn’t remain still a moment longer. She hadn’t heard a sound for more than fifteen minutes. Perhaps he’d given up and moved on. She sat up, her eyes sweeping the empty meadow. No one was there. She waited another few minutes, but still no one appeared.
Finally, drained of emotion, she got to her feet. Neither a nun nor an Indian had come to check out the source of the gunshots.
Bending, she dusted grass and twigs off the front of her clothing and then again hugged the river bank as she started back to camp.
Glancing to the right, she spotted a small clearing, and her heart beat wildly in her chest. Bear, wearing Pierce’s blue uniform, bent over a large deer, field dressing the animal. How could he have gotten the uniform? Her hands flew to her mouth as realization dawned. Of course! Bear had shot Pierce and taken his clothing!
At least he hadn’t spotted her. He’d been shooting at the fresh meat.
Suddenly, pain from years of abuse and ill-treatment rose to the surface. She couldn’t just leave—she wanted to get even. If she could surprise the brute and knock him out cold, she could have a little retaliation for some of the misery he caused both her and Joanie. Her heart also ached for the poor captain lying wounded—maybe even dead—somewhere.
Glancing around for a large rock, she located one and picked it up. Bear was still bent over the deer, his
knife slicing through the hide. No doubt he thought he was the only person around. He was so involved in his work he probably wouldn’t have heard a train approaching.
Lifting the rock above her head, she took aim and swung, striking a blow against the back of his head. He toppled like a felled oak.
Anger drained, she stood back, realizing she might have killed him. She shuddered. That certainly wasn’t her intention. Creeping close, she checked his pulse and detected a strong steady beat. Good. She exhaled a long sigh. Bear was ornery, but she didn’t want to be the cause of his death. He’d have a head as swollen as a watermelon for a few days…her eyes skimmed the motionless form and rested on his shirt and trousers.
How could he have overcome the captain? Pierce was a formidable man. The thought of him sprawled somewhere caused heat to fill her cheeks. She ought to give her cousin a knot on the other side of his head!
Rolling him face up, she gasped. Pierce? A dot of blood oozed from the blow she’d inflicted. “Pierce?” she said, trying to bring him around. She lightly tapped both cheeks. “Captain? Pierce?” When there was no response, she raced to the stream, tore off a strip of cloth from her petticoat, soaked it in the water, and raced back. Removing his hat, she bathed the man’s face with the fabric and apologized, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought you were Bear.”
Coming around rapidly, Pierce opened his eyes.
“Oh, thank You, God.” That brought her up short. Had she just acknowledged God? Tingles flooded her.
Slowly sitting up, he rubbed the rising knot on the back of his head. “What…happened?”
“I…you’ve been unconscious.” How could she tell him she had deliberately struck him?
“Out cold? I was cleaning a deer…”
“I know. And…and…what a fine deer!” She turned to admire the prize. If she diverted his attention to something else…
He focused on her. “Beth, what are you doing here?”
Clearing her throat, she crossed her arms and said in a stern tone, “Well, what are you doing here? You are supposed to be…” She didn’t know where he was supposed to be. Just not here.
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