Kentucky Bride

by Norah Hess

  "Is there a village?"

  "Sort of. There's a fur post on the order of Slim's, and a mill where the folks bring their corn and wheat to be ground." Kane gave a wry laugh. "Just before I went off to war, the women had nagged their husbands to build a schoolhouse. When it was finished, they couldn't find anyone smart enough to teach their young'uns. They probably still haven't found anyone. I doubt if there are any teachers who'd want to come into these hills."

  "Does the village have a name?"

  "Yeah, we dubbed it Piney Ridge."

  Dusk was coming on when Kane turned the stallion off the beaten trail they had followed all day, and onto a path that was barely visible as it wound through the forest. They were within five miles of his cabin, Kane knew, but there would only be a quarter moon tonight, and the sky was cloudy. Besides, during the time he had been gone, there could be any number of windfalls across the narrow trail. It was best they made camp before much longer.

  Fifteen minutes later Kane settled on a small natural clearing surrounded by tall pines on three sides, and the Ohio on the fourth. He stepped out of the saddle and dropped the reins a few feet from the muddy flowing river.

  "We'll make camp here," he said, this time not forgetting to help D'lise dismount. "You go sit down while I build a fire and rustle us up some supper."

  "Can I help with anything?" D'lise placed her hands on her waist and carefully stretched her stiff back.

  Kane's eyes were drawn to her firm breasts pushing proudly against the worn material of her dress, and a stirring began in his loins that quickly grew into a deep ache. He wanted to unbutton her bodice, pull it down to her waist, baring the white mounds. And after he got his fill of just looking at them, he'd place his lips… he broke off the thought when D'lise said his name questioningly.

  "No, there's nothin' you can do," he answered huskily and walked away from her so that she wouldn't see the hard ridge of his maleness threatening to break through the fly of his buckskins. He walked along the riverbank, collecting wide, flat stones, telling himself to get such notions about the girl out of his mind.

  By the time Kane walked off the desire that had gripped him like a vise, he had a good-sized pile of rocks amassed. He knelt on the riverbank and, using his hands, scooped out a circular pit in the fine gravel, which he then lined with the rocks he had gathered. That finished, he rose and walked into the forest, returning shortly with an armful of dry twigs and good-sized pieces of tree limbs he'd found on the forest floor. Kneeling beside the fire pit he'd constructed, he laid the wood on the ground, took a piece of rag from a small pouch, and spilled some gunpowder on it. He placed the treated rag in the bottom of the pit, then placed the twigs and smaller pieces of wood on top of it. He reached into the pouch again and brought out flint and steel and struck the two pieces together until sparks flew, igniting the cloth. When flames shot up, he carefully crossed larger chunks of wood over them.

  In a short time the fire was burning to his satisfaction, and Kane took a coffeepot from his gear and scooped it full of water from the river. When he had added coffee grounds to the battered vessel and placed it on a bed of coals, he turned to D'lise, who had perched herself on a large rock and sat watching him.

  "Before I start supper, I'm gonna bring in some more wood for the night. If I'm gone awhile, don't get nervous. I may have to go pretty far back in the woods to find some hardwood. Pine and cedar is good for cookin', but it burns up too fast to last the night."

  D'lise nodded and moved to sit on a rock closer to the fire. She held her hands out to the flames, thankful for their heat. The sun was down and the chill air was moving in. When the water in the pot began to simmer, and the odor of coffee hung in the air, she sniffed deeply of its aroma. She loved coffee, but seldom got to drink it. In the Enger household, only Rufus had the bracing taste of it. Occasionally, Auntie had been able to slip D'lise half a cup, but it always came from the bottom of the pot, where the coffee was thick with grounds.

  D'lise's thoughts remained on her aunt. She missed her dreadfully, but she wasn't selfish enough to wish her back into the hell that had been her life. She thought of David and Johnny. Somehow she thought that their life was going to be a little easier, thanks to the man who now approached the fire with a load of hard maple that his arms could barely reach around. If not for Kane Devlin, she was sure she would now be occupying her aunt's place in Rufus's bed. Just the idea of it made a shiver run down her spine.

  But as Kane sliced the salt pork he'd purchased from Slim and laid the strips in the skillet he'd placed on the fire, she vowed she'd never look back again. She would look to the future in the hope that it would be better than her past. When Kane asked, "Will you watch the meat while I go cut some cedar twigs for our beds?" she nodded and went to kneel before the fire and the sizzling meat.

  By the time Kane made two trips into the forest, each time returning with a large mound of soft, fragrant boughs, supper was ready. Kane divided the meat between them, filled two tin cups with coffee, then passed the hardtack to D'lise.

  She was relishing the crisp meat and hard bread, washed down with satisfying swallows of coffee, when she gave a startled jerk, almost choking on a mouthful of food. Off in the distance wolves had begun to howl. Kane looked at her terror-stricken face with surprise, then remembered that though the yowl of wolves was a familiar sound to him—a part of his everyday existence—to D'lise it could be a terrifying sound as she sat in the dark, in the middle of a wilderness.

  "Don't be frightened," he said, moving a little closer to her as though to offer comfort. "They won't come near the fire, and I intend to keep it goin' all night."

  D'lise relaxed, unaware yet of how much trust she put in this big man.

  The meal was soon eaten, but they sat on before the fire, each with his own thoughts as darkness swallowed them. The night hushed to silence; even the wolves grew silent. The hound lay on his side, his paws extended to the fire, while Scrag perched in a tree, his green eyes never leaving the dog.

  D'lise broke the silence. "Do Indians believe in God?"

  Kane grinned in the darkness. She was thinking of their conversation about Indians going on the warpath. "I don't know if they believe in the same God we do," he answered, "but they believe strongly in a hereafter. The Supreme Being of the Shawnee is Maneto. It means he who rules the universe."

  D'lise nodded and murmured, "Same God, I expect." The fire died down to a dim orange bed of coals, and she yawned.

  "It's time we got to bed." Kane rose and laid more wood on the fire. "While I make up our beds you can…" He looked suggestively to the edge of the forest. "Take Hound with you."

  D'lise stood up, called the dog, and limped into the encroaching trees, stepping behind the first big one she came to. When she returned to the fire, her bed of cedar tips had been covered with her thin blanket, and Kane had added a heavier one, which was turned back, waiting for her to slip beneath it. A few feet away, an identical mound of cedar, although longer, waited to be occupied also.

  She could see Kane's silhouette leading the mounts to the river for a drink of water. She hurriedly shrugged out of her jacket, kicked off her moccasins, then whipped the dress over her head. She suppressed a cry of pain as the material stuck to the scabs of one or more belt lashes. When she spread the garment on the ground she saw a dark patch of blood on its back. As she carefully lay down on her side and pulled the blanket up to her chin, she felt the warm oozing of something on her back. More blood? she wondered.

  Tears stung her eyes. Always before Auntie had smoothed salve on her cuts, drawing away the smarting pain, helping the wounds to heal. A tear rolled down her cheek. She felt so alone and miserable. Auntie was gone now, and there was no one in the world who cared for her, loved her.

  When Scrag leapt from the tree and wormed his way under the blanket, D'lise curled her arms around him, and after a while fell asleep to the comforting sound of his loud purring.

  It was around midnight when Kane was jer
ked awake by whimpering cries coming from D'lise's bed. He sat up, wondering if she was having a bad dream. Should he go awaken her? he wondered. When she began to plead, "No! No more! Don't hit me again!" he flung back the blanket, and, bare-chested, he crossed the short distance to her cedar pallet and knelt down beside her.

  D'lise had pushed the covering down to her waist, and her body was writhing as though she was in great pain. The night air was cold, but when Kane pulled the blanket up and started to tuck it around her shoulders, her skin felt as if it were on fire.

  "My God, she's burning up with fever," he whispered, his voice shaken. He picked up her delicate wrist to feel her pulse and found it racing. He gave a start when her eyes flew open, wild and filled with delirium. "Get away from me, you devil!" she spat at him. "If you ever beat me again, I'll kill you!" While Kane stared at her in amazement, she closed her eyes and rolled over on her side.

  It was then he saw the yellowish-red streaks on her petticoat. How had she hurt herself? he wondered. Had one of the cedar boughs stabbed her? "But that wouldn't bring on a fever," he muttered. "I'd better take a closer look at her back."

  He eased the wide straps of her undergarment over her arms, then pulled it down to her waist. He gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief.

  The thin, narrow back, with its protruding shoulder blades, was criss-crossed with lash marks, some very old, faded to white lines, some showing yellowish bruises, and some put there recently. Two, longer and deeper, only days old, were infected and full of pus. He burned to get his hands around Rufus's fat neck and squeeze the life out of him. But for now he had to do something for the seriously ill girl.

  "We'll clean her wounds first," he spoke to Scrag, who was sitting quietly at D'lise's head, for once not spitting and hissing at Kane as he sat watching, waiting for him to help his mistress.

  The leather canteen was still half-full of spring water, put there when they had stopped at the small cave. Kane gave silent thanks that he hadn't used his handkerchief to wipe his face during the day as he put the clean folded cloth on the infected area, then dribbled water onto it until it was drenched. He gently patted his fingers over the area a moment, then lifted the handkerchief off. The long lashes on the white skin still ran with the yellow poison.

  The next hour was like a nightmare to Kane as he tried to bring her fever down. He had torn a strip off her petticoat and bathed her face and throat and chest, but her skin remained hot and dry, and D'lise continued to beg and plead in her delirium. The only way he had been able to help her at all was when he held a cup of water to her parched lips. Each time she drank greedily.

  But now his water supply was running low, and he hesitated to give her the muddy river water. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. He was not a religious man, but he firmly believed that there was a higher Being that one day everyone had to account to. He dropped his head in his hands and, closing his eyes, earnestly prayed for the young woman who had touched his heart.

  Kane was dribbling the last of the spring water between D'lise's lips when Hound gave a low growl and Scrag arched his back. He dropped the cup and jumped to his feet, cursing the fact that his knife and gun lay on his pallet. When the lean figure of a man came trotting out of the forest, he relaxed with a ragged sigh.

  "Big Beaver!" he exclaimed to his long-time Indian friend. "Am I glad to see you."

  The brave's stoic features were softened by a wide smile. "My white brother speaks like a woman. What is it about me that excites you so? Is it men you like now?" He lifted a teasing eyebrow.

  "I wouldn't pick an ugly-looking one like you if that was the case." Kane smiled back, shaking the hand offered to him. "Aside from being glad to see you after so long a time, I have a very sick woman on my hands. I'm at my wit's end what to do for her."

  He stepped aside so that Big Beaver could see D'lise's inert body. The Indian squatted down beside her and removed the handkerchief Kane had kept wet all night. He studied the yellow pus and black blood on the cloth, then the lashes that still seeped with poison.

  He looked up at Kane with searching eyes. "Since when have you started beating your women, friend?" His tone was sharp.

  "Dammit, Big Beaver, I didn't do that." Kane gave his friend a hard look. "And I resent the fact that you would think such a thing of me. That's the work of her uncle."

  The Indian ran a long finger down D'lise's side as though counting the ribs. "This woman of yours is a skinny thing," he said, "but her face has a beauty that will make men fight over her." At the closed look that came over Kane's face, he said, "I think maybe you have already fought over this one."

  "Only to protect her honor," Kane said stiffly, "and she's not my woman. I'm… like her guardian."

  Big Beaver didn't look convinced. "Then you won't mind when your trapper friends start showing up at your cabin wanting to court her."

  "Look," Kane said, a black look on his face, "can you help her or not?"

  The brave left off teasing and gazed thoughtfully at D'lise's back. "Those two lashes are badly infected." He gently skimmed a finger along the red, swollen cuts. "They must be drained before the poison enters her blood."

  "But how?" Kane ran frustrated fingers through his hair. "The only thing I have, or had, was spring water and she just drank the last of it."

  Big Beaver stood up. "Do you have any salt pork in your grub sack?" When Kane nodded, he instructed, "Slice several pieces thin and place them on the sores. It will help the inflammation until I can get something stronger." He looked off through the forest where the trees were beginning to take shape in the gray dawn. "I won't be gone long," he said and trotted off through the trees.

  Relieved to finally be doing something constructive, Kane sliced the salt-cured meat. When he had several thin slices, he rushed to D'lise's side. He knelt down, then paused. She had rolled over on her back, and the beauty of her breasts was revealed to him. But other than thinking they were beautiful, he wasn't affected physically. He thought only of making her well again.

  He laid the meat down on the blanket, then gently turned her back onto her stomach. She whimpered a bit, then grew quiet as Kane transferred the briny meat to her back.

  Around fifteen minutes had passed, and Kane hadn't stirred from D'lise's side when Big Bear came loping back. In one hand he carried some woods plants, in the other roots and barks. He placed them all on the rock where D'lise had sat the night before, then grabbed the coffee pot and walked to the river. Kane watched him scrub it thoroughly with sand before he returned to the fire. He then pulled the stopper from his own water bag and poured a good amount into the pot. He placed it on the hot coals, then looked up at Kane.

  "When this boils I'll add snakeroot and penny-royal leaves to it," he said, "then let it steep awhile. There's nothing better to bring down a fever." He picked up a third plant. "This is called poke. I will boil it also. You must use it to bathe her wounds."

  A few minutes later Kane stood over his friend, watching him drop the leaves into the simmering water. Big Beaver looked up at him with a crooked grin. "Don't stand there like a dumb buffalo. Go wash me a cup."

  The normally graceful trapper tripped over his own feet as he ran to the river, a cup in his hand. Big Beaver's smile turned into a tickled grin. Never had he seen his tough friend so rattled.

  Five minutes later, Kane watched the Indian lift D'lise's head and press the cup against her lips. Though she tried to move her mouth away from the bitter-tasting liquid, Big Beaver persisted until she had drunk the last drop. By the time he heated more water and brewed the poke leaves, she was resting quietly, her body bathed in sweat.

  Kane looked at the red man, his eyes glistening with gratitude. "Thank you, friend. You have saved her life."

  Big Beaver shook his head. "Nature's medicine saved her life. I only prepared it. Let's take the salt pork off her back now, and later you can start bathing her with the poke water."

  The tall Indian grunted his satisfaction when Kane carefully lift
ed the meat and turned it over. The underneath was black from the seepage of the ugly wounds. Most of the swelling was gone and the belt lashes didn't look quite so raw. He tossed the pork into the fire where it sizzled and crackled. Big Beaver handed Kane the coffee pot of poke juices. "Bathe the area often, and by this afternoon you can be back on the trail."

  "So soon?" Kane looked his surprise. "Won't she be awfully weak?"

  "She will," the Indian agreed, "but not so weak she can't ride. You're not far from home. Shoot a squirrel as you ride along and make some broth from it when you get home. That will strengthen her." He reached into the pouch and brought out a small root shaped like a little man. "This is ginseng root. Have her chew on it as you ride along. It's bitter, but it works quickly to help one regain strength."

  Kane took the dry, shriveled root from him, and without another word, Big Beaver lifted a hand, then took off through the forest. Kane wasn't shocked by the abrupt leave-taking. It was the Indian's way. Unlike the white man, he never wasted time in saying goodbye. He might not see his friend again for months; then one day, unexpectedly, he'd drop by and invite him to go hunting.

  But Kane knew that if ever he had need of his friend, all he had to do was put out the word and the Indian would come to him. And he would do the same for this special friend.

  As he tore another strip off D'lise's petticoat and began to bathe her back, he recalled how his friendship with Big Beaver had begun.

  It had been this time of year six years ago, a warm day, Indian summer having its last fling. He was out scouting new territory to lay his trapline when he came to an animal trial and decided to follow it. He was nearing the edge of the forest when he heard the first gunshot, then voices. He instinctively drew back into the thick foliage of a clump of cedar. A man couldn't be too careful in the wilderness.

  As Kane waited, another shot rang out, followed by coarse laughter. When he heard the words, "Scream, you bastard," he stepped back onto the trail. Some white men must have come upon a lone Indian and were torturing him.