The chief appeared lost in memory. “My friend Stand grows old and gray, like me.”
“He has a lot of fight left in him still.” Gray Eagle glanced over. “As I am certain you do as well.”
“Not so much anymore. Time is a ruthless thief.” He smiled. “Your mother would take pride in you.”
Gray Eagle recalled the quiet woman who had loved and raised him in the community of his father’s people. “It is my wish to make her proud.”
“You have not taken wives?”
“Haven’t had the time. I’ve been too busy on the war front. I think I’ll follow my mother’s ways and take only one wife. It seems to me that the more wives a man has, the more headaches as well.”
The chief’s laughter boomed. Gray Eagle smiled with him.
Finally the chief said, “Your father, Dark Horse, was also a great warrior. He made the Cherokee stand tall against the enemy.”
They walked on as thunder rumbled in the distance, two tall men, regal in their heritage. Gray Eagle’s loose black hair blew in the wind.
The chief said, “This request you ask of me. The woman means much to you?”
“I barely know her, but I have…” He paused to consider. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “My heart takes great pity on her. I would like to help ease her pain. I fear that she will pass if she doesn’t get help.”
“To pass to the great beyond would not be a bad thing.”
“No, not bad, but she is tender and young. My hope is that she will have many more days and years on this earth.”
The chief crossed his arms over his chest as he stopped walking. He turned his proud profile toward the thunderheads, deep in thought. After a few moments he said, “Your request is granted.”
Relief filled Gray Eagle. “Your mercy will not be forgotten.”
The chief’s tone sobered. “The Great Spirit has given the red man this river.”
“The water is healing.”
Again, the wise smile appeared. “Only the Great Spirit heals. It is true that this river and its hot springs bring much relief to those who experience it, but the river itself holds no power.”
Only this small tribe knew of the hot springs’ existence. Gray Eagle’s mother had told him the legend many long years ago when she was dying. The springs had not helped her illness. A mighty Cherokee warrior had come across the hot bubbling waters spouting from the ground. His favorite wife, one whom he loved beyond all others, had been very ill. The couple lingered at the fascinating pools. Later, she pleaded to remain there, to soak every day in the strengthening water until she was healed. Her husband eventually built a village close by. The secret remained in the tribe for many years. No outsider soaked in the pools without the chief’s permission.
Turning, the chief extended his hand. Gray Eagle removed his knife from its sheath and sliced a piece of skin off the end of his thumb. Bright red blood flowed. Handing the knife to the chief, he did the same. The two men touched thumbs, blood mingling.
The bond was sealed.
Twenty-Six
In the stillness of the quiet evening, Preach cradled the light bundle in his arms. Trella’s infant was beautiful, with glossy black hair, olive skin, and dark soulful eyes. It had now been almost a week since she came into the world, and still she remained nameless. Just a tiny bundle of lungs and black hair. “She sure is something, Trella.”
The proud mother sat on the pallet, her eyes fastened to her child. “She’s precious. A true gift from the Almighty.”
Preach cooed at the baby and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. It might have just been from a gas bubble, but the sight of it warmed his heart. He sighed contentedly at the babe before he handed her back and then took a seat beside the mother. The sweet sound of laughter on the far side of the camp drew their attention. “I’d have never thought the red man had so much good in him,” Preach mused.
“Why? Have you fought the Indians?”
“Fought beside ’em. There’s good and bad among them all, but I figure they have a beef.” The hue of his eyes darkened. “The white man took the red man’s land. He found more. The white man took his food. He grew more. The white man took his pride. He developed integrity.” His gaze lifted to meet hers, measuring her. He changed the subject. “I’ve been thinking, Trella. You haven’t mentioned your baby’s father.” His eyes skimmed the infant, and he decided the child was more black than white. “Is he looking for you?”
She shook her head. “I…I don’t know who the baby’s father is.”
Preach quickly averted his gaze. The personal nature of her answer was too abrupt. He barely knew her, but the haunted look in her eyes had him wondering.
“I’m not a loose woman, Preach.”
“No, ma’am.” The thought hadn’t entered his mind. He knew too well how it worked on the plantations. She was scared. It didn’t take much speculation to identify her fear.
“I don’t know the baby’s father because…Walt Jornigan passes his help…” Her guarded tone became angry. “We’re passed around like candy at Christmastime.”
“Trella…” The winsome young woman wasn’t many years from the innocence of childhood, and he felt his protective nature surge. If Jornigan were here right now…“I’m deeply sorry to hear that. You did the right thing by running away.”
Moisture filled her eyes. “I’m not a good person, Preach. Not like you. I hate Walt Jornigan, and the Good Book tells us not to hate.”
“The Book tells us not to hold hate in our hearts,” he agreed. “But the good Lord was human in all ways, and He understands our feelings. He don’t intend for us to let our emotions eat us alive.” He managed a smile. “You’re free of Walt and Bear Jornigan now. The past is behind you.” She was young and strong, and she was free now to make a new life for herself and the child.
Sighing, she toyed with the light woven blanket shielding the baby from a soft breeze. “I’m not gettin’ my hopes up. He’ll find me. He won’t let his women workers get away.”
“He won’t find you. Not if I have anything to say about it.” He didn’t have much say, but he knew Pierce and Gray Eagle would hold fast. They wouldn’t allow harm to befall the Jornigan women, and he would do everything in his power to keep Trella safe.
Glancing up, she asked, “Are you married?”
“No, ma’am. I signed up to fight when I was twenty-one. Haven’t had time since then for a wife and kiddies, but now that I’m going home, I’m getting a longing to settle down.” A wide smile lit his face. “I want to take over my papa’s flock. He’s a man of the cloth, but he’s getting older. What about you? You won’t stay with the other women once you reach the town, will you? Do you have kin elsewhere?”
Lifting a thin shoulder, she said quietly. “I lost both Ma and Pa and my grandparents when I was twelve. I was purchased by Walt shortly afterward. I’ve picked his cotton and done his bidding every miserable day of my life since then.” She released another long sigh. “But I want more for my baby. When I heard Beth and Joanie planning to make a break, I begged them to let me go with them.”
“That right?” The girl had a scrappy side to her, but she didn’t seem bitter.
“Every woman we left behind was desperate, Preach. Have you ever been desperate?”
“No,” he admitted. “Can’t say that I have. I had a good upbringing. My pa pastors a small white community. The town always treated us like one of their own.”
Her gaze grew warm and sweet. “You were one of their own.”
“True, but black people aren’t always treated that way.” His gaze followed an Indian woman who walked by, carrying a large basket of freshly picked berries.
“You seem young for a preacher.”
“Well, truthfully, I’ve never known a time when I didn’t know the Lord. Pa saw that his kids understood the Almighty’s love and grace for every soul.” He chuckled. “Maybe there were a few times when I didn’t serve Him like I should have, but I’ve always known His pre
sence. Carried me and thousands of others through this war. Pa and Ma are slowing down. Figure I’ll take over the pulpit, and they can set back and rest a spell.”
“That’s a wonderful thought.” A moment passed. She fussed with the blanket. “Preach…” she finally said, hesitating.
His gaze returned to meet hers. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I haven’t named my baby.”
“I’d noticed. Is there a reason?”
“I can’t think of a good, strong name to give her. I want her to be different than me. I want her to be able to hold her head up with pride and be a fine lady.”
Gazing at the infant, Preach tried to imagine the child grown, dressed in beautiful clothing. The woman he saw looked a whole lot like her ma—lovely bone structure, warm eyes. Though Trella had been mistreated, she was still a mighty fine-looking female.
“Would you help me?” she asked.
He glanced up. “Name your baby?”
“Yes, sir. I figure a man like you—a man with spiritual goodness—would know what to call her.”
“I’ve never thought about naming a child,” he admitted. He gazed at the sleeping infant and the name Esther came to mind. She was an upstanding example of a godly woman in the Bible. “Esther.”
“Esther? Are you speaking of Queen Esther in the Bible? The woman King Ahasuerus chose for his wife?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gazed at the infant. “This one’s a queen if I ever saw one.” He gave a firm nod. “If she were my child, I’d name her Esther.”
Trella studied the child, her eyes gently taking in every inch of the bundle. “Esther. That is a nice name.”
“What’s your middle name?” Preach asked.
Biting her lip, she gave the question thought and then said, “I don’t have one—leastways one I can recall.” She paused, meeting his concerned gaze. “Do you believe in miracles, Preach?”
“Yes, ma’am. Can’t say I ever witnessed a full-blown one, but I believe God can act if and when He wants.”
Her head bobbed. “Me too. I prayed day and night that someone would rescue me. I never lost faith that one day the good Lord would answer my prayer.”
“And He did.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Not in my time frame, but He sent you along, and that’s all that counts.”
Preach’s heart lurched. Any one of the thousands of soldiers returning from the war could have been on that road that day, but her words gave him pause. Common sense should tell her that life was never going to be easy, and yet she had faith. His pa convinced him in his youth that everything that happened had a purpose, but had he seen such an expression of belief as this before?
“I surely do appreciate the compliment, but I’m not a miracle or an answer to your prayer. I can’t do anything other than see that you and Esther get to the next town safely.”
“That’s miracle enough for me,” she said. “I was certain I would never leave the plantation and that I’d go on having men’s babies and pickin’ cotton the rest of my life.” Her eyes rested on her sleeping infant. “But God thought otherwise.”
Shaking his head, Preach said softly, “Do you have a last name?”
“I did—once. It was Jones.”
“Trella Jones.”
Lifting a shoulder, she added, “I remember someone calling out to my pa one afternoon. The man said, ‘Have a fine day, Mr. Jones!’”
A smile broke across Preach’s mahogany features and his eyes traced the girl’s delicate face. She was a rose picked from a thorny field. It angered him to hear of the men who had taken advantage of her. “Your pa must have been real likeable.”
“I can’t say. I was young when he died—they all died. Pa caught the ague, then Ma, and then Grandpa and Grandma. I remember how sickly they were, out of their heads with fever for days. I was an only child. I also recall that Ma was quiet as a moth. She never uttered a word unless she was spoken to.”
“So you take after her,” he teased. “You and Beth contribute less to a conversation than any women I’ve ever met.”
She lay back on her elbow. “Well, I never saw the need for small talk. Guess I am like my ma.” She glanced over and met his dancing eyes. “I’m talking to you.”
“You surely are.” He smiled happily. “Are you enjoying the conversation?”
“Indeed.” She was silent a moment, and then she said, “And so is Esther. She hasn’t been this content since she was born.”
Settling back himself, Preach shared a compatible silence with Trella and little Esther.
Esther. He gazed with love at the newborn. A fine name if he did say so himself.
Twenty-Seven
Joanie opened her eyes when a warm hand settled on her shoulder. “Gray Eagle?” she said when she realized who it was.
“I’m sorry to awaken you,” he whispered.
Sitting up, she covered her mouth and yawned. “I was just dozing.” She learned long ago to close her eyes and try to lie still, willing the coughing spasms to stop. Eventually sleep would come.
He extended a brown hand. “Come with me.”
Beside Joanie’s pallet, Beth stirred. “What…where are you taking her, Gray Eagle?”
“She will be safe with me, Beth. Go back to sleep.”
“But—”
He gently nudged her back to her pallet. “We will be gone just a short while. Sleep.”
Dropping back to the pallet and closing her eyes, Beth murmured, “You’re a man. How do I know I can trust you?”
Grinning, Gray Eagle gathered Joanie in his arms as he would a bride. “Have I behaved like a man in your presence?”
Beth rolled to her side, saying in a sleepy tone, “There’s always the first time. I’m watching you.”
Secure in his strong arms, Joanie wondered where Gray Eagle was taking her at this hour. Thunder rumbled overhead and lighting streaked the sky. He walked with sure, confident strides, moving quietly through the sleeping camp. It hurt to draw a deep breath. She was so tired.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
She thought to argue, but she placed full trust in this scout. She studied his profile as the moon moved in and out of rain clouds. Strong forehead, chiseled nose, eyes as dark as the night, nut-brown skin painted deeper by the sun. He was handsome—and maybe five or six years older than her.
“Gray Eagle?”
“Yes?”
“Do you belong to someone?” The question was a most improper one. She knew at least that much about courtship.
A grin turned up the ends of his mouth. “No, ma’am. I am alone in this world.” But the expression in his eyes seemed to say something else. Exactly what, Joanie couldn’t tell.
Gray Eagle left the village carrying her in his arms. They were wrapped in silence for a few minutes, and then the sound of gurgling water reached her ears.
“Are we going to water?” Perhaps he thought she needed a bath. Her cheeks flamed.
“We are.”
Resting her head on his wide shoulder, she simply tried to breathe, longing to ask more but her insides were so sore from coughing. One day she would fail to catch her breath—she knew this. Ma had warned of it, but she was all too happy to be summoned by the Father. Thoughts of long days running through fields of flowers and breathing easy didn’t frighten her. She looked forward to the time when her body would be made whole. She had one last duty here on earth. She had to pray long and hard enough for God to soften Beth’s heart and open her eyes to His existence. Walt had made it hard for anyone to believe in anyone, especially a kind God.
“Close your eyes.”
“Pardon?”
“Close your eyes.”
Her lids fluttered shut. “Is this a game?” A rather odd one, she thought.
“This isn’t a game.” Her body shifted with the pace of his footsteps, her eyes closed. She couldn’t imagine what awaited her. Did he want her to meet someone? Perhaps a good friend? Her heart skipped a
beat. A woman? One he cared deeply for? Perhaps the woman who had so warmly welcomed him to camp? Her thoughts went back to the day they entered the Indian settlement and she noticed the lovely woman with long black hair. In her mind’s eye, Joanie saw again the way she’d smiled at Gray Eagle. The way they moved to the side to speak in soft tones.
The sound of bubbling water was quite loud now. A clap of thunder boomed in the distance, and she stiffened. “Gray Eagle—we shouldn’t be in water—”
Her words faltered as he lowered her. Down. Down. Her breath caught when her body was engulfed in the warm spring. Settling her gently on the bottom of the pool, he whispered softly against her ear, “Open your eyes.”
Her lids slowly opened. She was sitting in a large body of bubbling water. Jaunty spurts surrounded her. Her eyes roamed the moonlit area with awe. The hot water closed around her, and her aching body thistly drank in its comfort.
“Is this heaven?” Perhaps she had died today, her lungs finally giving out.
Chuckling softy, he whispered. “No, but I believe pools like this will be up there.”
“Do you believe in God?” she asked, surprised by his response.
“Yes. My mother taught me about the One who lives on high.”
“I thought Indians believed in a Great Spirit—”
He stopped her. “They believe in a higher source.”
“Oh, Gray Eagle.” His name escaped her lips as the soothing water swirled around her weary body, calming aches and pains. The bubbles were like prickly fingers dancing across her chest, touching sore spots and soothing them. “Why haven’t I been here earlier?”
“You cannot come here alone, Joanie. Nor can you bring Beth or even speak of the waters to her.”
“But—”
He placed a quieting finger across her lips. “This river belongs to the Indians.”
“But—”
He shook his head.
“Beth has tried so hard to find help for me. Will this water cure me?”
“Only God heals, but the water will help you. Its heat will soothe your body, and the steam may quiet the cough. You must thank God for this. The chief granted me special permission to bring you here. It was a very great favor. My people call it Healing River.”
The One Who Waits for Me Page 14
