More tents were ablaze.
A regal-looking woman, perhaps in her eighties, stepped to the opening of a large structure, her weathered features a mask of concern. Beth hadn’t seen the woman until now, but by her dress she had to be one the camp’s officials. Like a woman chief or something.
Riders appeared, and Beth groaned when she realized they were Pierce and Gray Eagle. With strings of fish dangling from their saddles, they galloped in. The men slid off the horses and grabbed buckets to help fight the fires.
For more than an hour they fought to save the village. The clouds and wind finally moved on, and the sun came back out. When the last ember was stomped away, Pierce leaned against a tree to catch his breath. Beth studied his smoke-rimmed eyes and said, “You look funny.” She swiped at the thick soot covering her own cheeks.
He stared at her and then broke into laughter. “You’re thinking I look funny?”
Giggling, she nodded. “Very funny.”
“I was just thinking the same about you.” They bent double, though the situation was anything but humorous. Two homes, the main lodge, and various tents had suffered damage all because Beth had started a cook fire.
Started a fire. She sobered suddenly as panic set in. What would the Indians do to her? Her gaze roamed the blackened ground and the sisters’ soot-covered faces and singed habits. Many of the village inhabitants wore moccasins with seared soles.
She, Beth Jornigan, was responsible for all this damage.
Instinctively she stepped closer to Pierce, hoping against hope that when the source of the fire became known, this kind, patient, helpful man would save her hide.
Again.
There was no doubt about it. She was going to have to stay clear of matches.
Twenty-Eight
Beth’s sudden movement toward him caused Pierce to focus on her. Smoke rose gently around them from extinguished embers. A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Miss Jornigan? You haven’t by any chance been near a match, have you?”
She stiffened. “I can explain…” But her words faltered when she saw an angry color now dotting his cheeks.
He stalked off, leaving her standing by herself. “You…” She caught her tongue. He couldn’t walk away and not consider her side of the story! Then again, maybe he could. Prior to now he’d been the perfect gentleman, but she’d known that deep down he was a man. A very perturbed man, at the moment.
Still, she couldn’t have him thinking she’d done this on purpose. Running, she caught up with him. “Pierce, I would like to explain my side of the story,” she said. “Please.”
“And that would be?”
“I did start the fire. That was foolish, but I thought the rain was over and Joanie was hungry. She didn’t want cold mush; she wanted eggs—and it’s so hard to get her to eat anything—so when the sun came out and the storm seemed over, I started a fire.”
“All the camp fires were out. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think it was strange that all the cooking fires were out? That maybe the Indian women had a reason for that?”
“I thought of it. But then, when the clouds moved on…”
“You reached for the matches.” Pausing, his eyes skimmed her. “Do you have a thing for fire, Miss Jornigan?”
He was upset all right. He was calling her Miss Jornigan now. Her gaze skipped to his side to see if he carried anything that he could punish her with and noted his gun belt. Her eyes focused on the sidearm.
When his gaze traced hers, he shifted. “I’m not going to shoot you, Beth.” Shaking his head, he said softly, “I’d like to get my hands on the men who have made you terrified of my gender.”
She met his steady gaze. Gender. Had he insulted her? She wasn’t familiar with the fancy word. She glanced to the lodge, seeking Joanie.
“Men,” he clarified, as if reading her thoughts.
“Why didn’t you just say so?”
He turned and walked on but she dogged his steps. “I understand why you’re angry, but I honestly didn’t mean to burn the village.”
“Or your uncle’s cotton fields?”
“Or the cotton fields.” She winced. He must think she didn’t have the good sense God gave a goose. God. If she were a praying person, this would be the ideal time to have a talk with the Almighty. She sure wasn’t winning points with the captain. “I know what I did was reckless, and I will apologize to that woman who looked so worried.”
“That lady,” he said, “has the real power over the village.”
“How so? I thought the chief—”
“Don’t kid yourself. Cherokee women rule the home. And they fight like warriors. Actually—” He paused to adjust his hat. “They own the homes. That’s part of the marriage contract. This particular woman, White Bird, comes from the Blue Clan—wait a minute. Don’t change the subject! You are going to apologize not only to White Bird, but also to the chief and the villagers.”
She stopped in her tracks. Would the Indians accept her apology and forgive her? Or would they be so angry that they would make her and Joanie and Trella and Esther leave? Beth put her face in her hands. What had she done? How could she have endangered the safety of her sister and friends so recklessly, not to mention the homes of the Indians who had so kindly taken them in?
In her sorrow for her actions she almost forgot that Pierce was standing next to her. Then she felt his hands on hers, lowering them so he could look in her face. He seemed to be over his anger. “I’ll stand next to you while you speak to the village.”
“You will?”
“I will.” His eyes met hers. “You’re not going to fight me on the apology?”
“No. I’m in the wrong and I admit it.” She turned to walk away but not before she saw his grin.
Cad.
Half an hour later, Beth cleared her throat. Her eyes lifted to meet the crowd before her and then focused on White Bird. “I am truly sorry for starting the fire. It was a mistake. I was just trying to—” She stopped. It didn’t matter that she was only trying to feed her sister. These people didn’t deserve excuses. Her eyes sought Pierce’s, seeking strength from his nearness, and then she went on. “I deeply regret that I’ve burned part of your camp.”
Disgruntled voices rose in the crowd. Faded eyes pinned her before people began turning away. As Beth watched them leave, she asked Pierce, “What more can I do?”
He shook his head, not looking very happy himself. “Nothing but try to fix the problem.” He sighed deeply. “You do realize that this is going to delay us even longer. We can’t burn down these folks’ homes and walk away without doing a thing to help them rebuild.”
“It was a mistake.” Hadn’t Mr. Perfect ever made a mistake?
“My point is that we can’t leave. We have to stay and help rebuild.”
Her features fell. “How much longer?”
Pierce looked over the smoldering ruins. “As long as it takes, Beth. A week, maybe two.”
A relieved sigh escaped her. “A week or two. That’s not so bad.” The hindrance would mean that Joanie was still one to two weeks away from seeing a doctor, but her cough was better. And another week or two would give Esther a definite advantage.
Gray Eagle approached after talking to White Bird and the chief. His grim features told the gravity of the situation. “The woman may continue to stay.”
“Tell the chief we will stay as well and help rebuild,” Pierce said.
“I already have. He is pleased.” The scout’s dark gaze focused on Beth. “Is Joanie all right?”
“She’s fine. She’s with Trella and the baby in the nursing tent.”
Gray Eagle turned to the captain. “May I have a word with you?”
Nodding, Pierce stepped to the side to join him.
“The fire was an accident. The delay in moving on is frustrating, but Beth is sick at heart about her actions,” Pierce said. “Joanie wanted eggs.”
“I get that she wanted to prov
ide food for her sister, but no Cherokee in camp would have allowed a fire during a storm.”
Pierce looked back and noticed Beth’s forlorn look. Her arms were crossed in front of her, protecting herself, and a miserable expression was on her lovely face. He shouldn’t have come down so hard on her, but she was like a child at times, needing a father’s guidance. “She thought the storm was over.”
Gray Eagle’s eyes fixed on the smoldering ruins. “And we will stay and rebuild. It is another disruption.” He met the captain’s eyes. “I will stay if you want to ride on.”
Pierce shrugged off the suggestion. “I’ll stay. I’m here to see this through.” It was time to change the subject. There was a question he wanted to ask his friend. “You took her there, didn’t you?”
Gray Eagle glanced up. “Who? Where?”
“Joanie. You took her to the heated pools.”
“How do you know about the pools?”
“I followed you.”
“You followed me!”
Pierce flashed a grin. “I’ve scouted a bit myself.”
“Yes. I took her there.”
“Her cough was better last night. Perhaps she wouldn’t be coughing even now if not for the smoke.”
“Yes. I listened also during the night. She slept well.”
“Then a couple of weeks’ delay could be a blessing.”
A smile crossed Gray Eagle’s weary features. “Yes. It could be good. It is as I have heard you say often. It would be good to find a place of complete peace.”
“Not on this earth,” Pierce corrected, though he knew he voiced the sentiment often. Then he grasped his friend’s shoulder. “The will of God will never take you where the grace of God will not protect you, but don’t fall for Joanie, Gray Eagle. You’re from two different worlds.”
“Not so different.”
“Different enough.”
“It was not so with my mother and father.”
Pierce nodded. “I suppose there’s always an exception.” He turned to face his friend. “Regarding staying, just now I don’t think either you or I could force Preach away from that baby.”
Laughing together, the men’s eyes shifted back to Beth.
“Agreed,” Gray Eagle said. “But please try to keep her away from matches.”
Twenty-Nine
The sounds of saws and hammers were heard early the next morning. Not long after breakfast the burnt structures were razed and scorched deerskin wigwams pulled down. Women scraped hides.
Beth contritely helped other women carry food—berries, fresh fruit, and sliced melons—to the men who toiled in the hot sun.
As heavy as her heart was, she couldn’t help but smile when she walked through the village and saw Sister Mary Margaret and Sister Prue turning a jump rope for the village children. The two sisters sang a silly song designed to entertain. Later, Beth spotted the two nuns playing a game of hopscotch with the kids. Shaking her head, Beth grinned. Thank You, God, that these kind people don’t hold the fire against me. She thought about her silent prayer. Had God heard? Sister Mary Margaret said He did. She wondered what He thought of her awkward thanks. Did He welcome them? Or did He wonder what had kept her from talking to Him for so long?
By evening the villagers and their guests were bone tired. Gray Eagle sat near the fire, chatting with the chief. Beth watched the exchange, aware that Joanie’s eyes never left the handsome scout.
After working hard all morning, late in the afternoon he’d taken her away again, and she returned an hour later, her eyes sparkling like rare gems and her clothes quite wet. She refused to answer Beth’s questions as she changed into her dress and hung her pants and shirt up to dry. Emotions clashed within Beth. On the one hand, she was grateful that her sister had the muscular young man’s attention. On the other, she was worried sick that Joanie would fall in love, only to be devastated by him. He would go to his own village soon, leaving her more alone than she had been before. Beth wished she could divert her sister’s attention away from their growing attraction, but until they reached the next community, there was little she could actually do but keep a close eye on the couple. She went over to the group around the fire and found a seat next to Pierce. His hat was over his eyes, and he appeared to be snoozing.
“Gray Eagle!” A child’s excited voice broke the peaceful silence.
“Yes, Little Bear?”
The child spoke in his native language. Beth guessed that he had asked the scout to tell a story.
Chuckling, Gray Eagle glanced at the chief, who nodded. “It would please the children.”
Little ones appeared from the shadows, their young faces and black eyes bright with anticipation.
Beth leaned toward Pierce and said softly, “Hey. Wake up.”
His drowsy bass answered. “Why?”
“Something’s happening.”
Lifting the brim of his cap, he focused on the sight. “The kids want Gray Eagle to tell them a story.”
Beth drew her skirts close and hugged her knees. “And will he?”
“He will. He tells these legends every chance he gets.” He tipped the brim back into place.
When she glanced up again she was surprised to see that half the village had gathered around the fire to hear Gray Eagle speak.
The scout said, “What story shall I tell?”
“The owl!” a little boy said.
“Ah. ‘Why the Great Spirit Gave the Owl Big Eyes.’ Is that the one you want to hear?”
“Yes!” the children said in chorus.
Standing in front of the fire, with great relish he began to entertain his audience with the old Cherokee legend.
“The Great Spirit, the Everything-Maker, was busy one day creating animals. He was working on Rabbit, and Rabbit said: ‘I want very long legs and long ears like a deer, and sharp fangs and claws like a panther.’
“The Great Spirit said quietly, ‘I will make your body the way you want it to be. I will give you what you ask for.’ He was working on Rabbit’s hind legs, making them long, just the way Rabbit wanted.
“Owl was sitting in a tree nearby and patiently waiting his turn. Seeing that Rabbit got his wish, he said, ‘Whoo, whoo, I want a long neck like Swan’s, and some red feathers like Cardinal’s, and…yes, I think I want a long beak like Egret’s, and a huge crown of plumes like Heron’s.’ He blinked his eyes. ‘Make me into the most beautiful, the fastest, and the most amazing of all the birds!’
“The Great Spirit did not like distraction when He worked. He said to Owl, ‘Be quiet. Turn around and look in another direction. Don’t you know that no one is allowed to watch Me work?’ The Great Spirit was then making Rabbit’s ears very long, just the way Rabbit wanted them.
“Owl refused to be quiet. ‘Whoo, whoo! Nobody can forbid me to watch. I like watching You, and watch I will.’
“The Great Spirit shook His head and went back to work on Rabbit, but Owl kept up his chatter. ‘Whoo, whoo! I want to be different!’
“The Great Spirit turned, lifting Owl down from his branch. He stuffed Owl’s head deep into his body, shaking him until his eyes bulged with fright and pulling at his ears until they were sticking up at both sides of his head.
“‘There,’ the Great Spirit said. ‘You are different. You won’t be able to crane your neck to watch things you shouldn’t watch, and you’ll have big ears to listen when someone speaks. I have given you large eyes—but not so big that you can watch Me. You will be awake only at night so you can’t watch Me work during the day. And your feathers won’t be red like Cardinal’s, but gray like this,’ and the Great Spirit rubbed Owl with mud all over, ‘because of your disobedience.’
“Owl flew off, sulking. ‘Whoo, whoo, whoo.’
“Returning to His work, the Great Spirit was about to finish Rabbit, but Rabbit had been so upset by the Great Spirit’s anger that he ran off half done. He wasn’t finished. Rabbit’s hind legs were long, so he had to hop instead of run. Because he took fright then,
Rabbit has remained afraid of almost everything. He never got his claws or the fangs he asked for so he could defend himself. If he had been wise, he would not have run away. Rabbit would have looked much different today.
“As for Mr. Owl, he’s stayed as the Great Spirit had shaped him in anger—with big eyes, a short neck, and ears sticking out of the sides of his head. And he has to sleep during the day and come out only at night.”
The children leaped with glee, shoving to get closer to Gray Eagle as he finished the tale. Three young girls ran to the captain, disturbing his nap. Playfully, he tickled their ribs and tugged their ears. High-pitched squeals filled the soft night air.
Beside her, Beth heard Joanie’s longing sigh. “He’s wonderful.”
“This Great Spirit?” Beth said. “Is this supposed to be God?”
“It is a form of their god. We don’t share the same belief, but Gray Eagle believes in God.” She turned to smile at her sister. “I think he thinks of Him when he tells his stories. God is very large, Beth. He has made this vast world and all of its people.”
Focused on Gray Eagle, Beth murmured, “This faith thing gets more confusing by the moment.”
Thirty
Look at him, Sister.” Beth leaned on her hoe, shamelessly gawking. Pierce and Preach were manning a crosscut saw this morning, taking down a dead oak near the sisters’ turnip patch. Arms like steel bands worked the saw.
Mary Margaret raised her head and then quickly lowered it, laughing softly. “I’m not supposed to look, Beth.”
“Oh. Sorry.” But Beth knew without noting Sister Mary Margaret’s soft gasp that even she was getting all moon-eyed over Captain Montgomery. She certainly wasn’t alone in her attraction. Beth was supposedly running from men, not toward them. What she needed was someone to shake sense into her.
“Shake me, Sister.”
Straightening, the nun frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“Shake me.” Beth closed her eyes and waited. Ma had never taken a switch to her, but when Beth had stepped out of line—as she was now—her mother had gently shaken some sense into her. “I am ogling Captain Montgomery.”
The One Who Waits for Me Page 16
