“Is Alex inside?”
“Yes. I have him hard at work restructuring the housing for the blade. Don’t distract him for too long.”
“A man has to eat.” She smiled. “In fact, I have enough food here to feed you as well.”
“No, but thanks. One of us has to keep working. Besides, I just got back from eating at home.”
She laughed. “And there I was starting to feel sorry for you.”
Grace made her way inside and found Alex at the top of a ladder. Hammer in hand, he pounded nails into the side of a wooden structure, completely oblivious to her presence. For a moment she just watched him work. He had shed his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and never had she thought him more handsome.
She smiled and called out to him. “I’ve brought you something to eat.” She went to a small table nearby and began to take things out of her cloth sack. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Alex put the hammer aside and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’m famished.” He slid down the sides of the ladder, making Grace gasp.
“You should be more careful. You could break your neck.”
He ignored her protest and pulled her into his arms for a long kiss.
Grace could have stayed there forever, but she had far too much to accomplish. Pushing him back, she grinned. “You won’t get proper nourishment that way.”
“You’d be surprised.” He gave her a look of mischievous amusement. “How is it possible that you grow more beautiful each day? I can hardly believe you’re mine.”
“Well, I am. You’re stuck with me. Now, come on. I have some bread, cheese, and ham, as well as some cookies. Oh, and apple cider.” She went back to the sack and finished producing the food, including a small jug.
Alex picked up a piece of ham. “What have you been doing with your day?”
“Plenty. Amory Holbrook rode out to the house.”
Alex raised a brow. “To talk to Hope?”
Grace frowned. “Yes. He insists her testimony is needed at the trial. He said since she was actually in the kitchen and witnessed the attack on Dr. Whitman firsthand, it is her duty to tell what she saw.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.” He picked up the cheese. “Is Hope going to do it?”
“She says she will. She didn’t want to, but Holbrook mentioned the possibility of the Cayuse going free without proper witness identification. Apparently there has been talk about letting them off as a goodwill gesture to win over the Indians and secure peace.”
“The governor doesn’t feel that way. I heard him just yesterday declaring that he will see them hanged. He says the only way to get the Indians in line is to use force. It’s not looking good for anyone of native blood. My guess is that the government will do what they did back east and start rounding up the tribes and putting them on sanctioned land with military guards to ensure they stay there.”
She pulled up a stool and sat. “I know you have many friends who are native. I feel so conflicted when it comes to figuring out solutions.”
He focused on the food for a moment, and Grace wondered if he would say anything at all. She knew he loved his friend Sam Two Moons and the other Nez Perce who had taken him in as if he were one of them. Alex even had good friends among the Cayuse.
“I worry about Sam and his family,” he finally replied. “His band moved north, but I don’t know if they remained there. They might well have joined up with one of the other bands to consolidate their strength. I haven’t heard anything about them in over a year.”
“I hope they’re safe.”
Grace didn’t know much about the Nez Perce, but Sam had been a good friend to her. When the massacre at the Whitman Mission took place, she had been at another mission some seventy-five miles away. The news had sent her hurrying back to Weyiletpa, as the Indians called Whitman’s mission area. Sam and Alex had urged her not to go, knowing she might well be killed or taken hostage with the others, but she had slipped away from them in the night. They caught up with her before she reached the mission, and only after Sam threatened to tie her up did she agree to let him go on alone. He risked his life for her and her sisters, knowing that the hostile mood of the Cayuse might cause them to overlook their ongoing friendship with the Nez Perce.
“I worry about Hope.” Grace’s statement seemed to take Alex by surprise.
“What?”
She shook her head. “I worry about Hope having to testify. I worry that the strain will be too much. She’s only just started to let down her guard. This trial may ruin all the progress she’s made.”
“She’s made of stronger stuff than you give her credit for. She made it through the attack and the shame she felt. She bore a child that she wished dead. And she came back here when she might have gone anywhere to start a life unknown. Hope will get through this just fine. She won’t like it—none of us will—but once it’s settled, I believe she and the other women will feel this nightmare is finally over.”
Grace hadn’t considered it that way. The death of Telokite and Tomahas might well set Hope free.
“You are a very great and wise man, Alex Armistead.”
He shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin. “I know.”
She laughed. “And so humble.”
Chapter
2
Hope tended the last of the new lambs as best she could. Alex had arranged for a man to come on Saturday to dock their tails and castrate the males, but in the meantime it was her job to see that the ewes were safely delivered and to keep a record of the new births.
The sheep were used to her now. They recognized her as their mistress, and when she walked among them, they remained at ease. They were funny animals. They seemed to know her moods and in their peaceful manner offered comfort. Of course, the ram was a different story. He was a cantankerous soul who liked to assert his authority, which garnered him his own pen and isolation unless needed for breeding.
There were now thirty good breeding ewes in their flock. In the two and a half years since they’d arrived in the territory, the ewes had lambed twice. This would be their third year, and already two dozen lambs had been born. Some of those had been twin births, and many were males. The males would be raised until late fall, when they’d be sold for meat, while the females would be kept for breeding. In time, they would buy another ram or two, but Grace felt there was no need at the moment. There was even talk of getting a dog to help with herding as the flock grew.
After checking the pen fence to make sure there were no problems, Hope inspected the shelter Alex and Uncle Edward had built. It was a long, large lean-to with multiple stalls where the ewes could be separated during birth. With a pitchfork and wooden wheelbarrow, Hope cleaned up and made sure there was plenty of fresh straw. Outside in the large enclosure, the bleating of hungry lambs caught her attention. Their mothers were easily located and the babies satisfied as they settled in to nurse. Hope paused a moment just to watch. It gave her great peace of mind to see this orderly contentment. Would that every part of her life could be just as well arranged.
She drew water from the creek and began to fill the trough. The distance between the pen and the creek was only about fifty yards, but it would take at least twenty trips to ensure the animals had enough water. Uncle Edward and Alex planned to dig a well, but that would take time, and for now the creek served. It was laborious, but with help it worked well enough. Right on time, Mercy appeared to lend a hand.
“Grace said to tell you that the beets Mrs. Reynolds sent are on the porch.” Mercy squatted down and reached through the fence to stroke a sleeping lamb. “They’re so little. I just love them.”
“I do too.” Hope couldn’t deny that the animals held a special place in her heart.
Mercy straightened. “In school today they talked about the trial for the Indians.”
Hope stiffened. She had hoped to avoid the topic. “Did they?”
“Everyone wants the Indians to be hanged. They really hate them.” Mer
cy took one of the wooden buckets from Hope’s hand. “I’ll help you bring up the water.”
She started toward the creek, and Hope followed, hoping the conversation would turn to something else. It didn’t.
“I thought it was terrible that they were so excited to see them hang. After all, those Indians are human beings just like we are. No one should take a human life.”
“Well, many of them were held hostage by those human beings.” Hope was unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone. She filled her bucket with water.
Mercy was such a gentle soul that in spite of all that had happened to her, she was ready and willing to forgive and let the matter go. There were obviously others who felt the same way, if Mr. Holbrook was right.
Mercy dipped her bucket in the creek then followed Hope back to the trough. “I was one of those hostages too. I don’t think we have to kill people who commit murders.”
“An eye for an eye.” The words were out of Hope’s mouth before she really thought about them.
“But Jesus said that was the old way. He said to turn the other cheek—to pray for those who use you.”
Hope poured her bucket of water into the trough. “Jesus wasn’t at the Whitman Mission.”
“Of course He was,” Mercy countered. “I’m not saying that the men who killed at the mission were in the right. They should be punished, but I don’t think they need to be killed.”
“What do you know? You were a child. You’re still a child.”
Mercy frowned. “I’ll be fifteen in the fall. That’s old enough to know the truth.”
Her words caught Hope by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I know what happened to the women there. I’m not a fool. I knew then that the men were . . . were . . . violating the women.” She shook her head. “I know what they did to you and what you did for me—how you kept me safe. I’ll always love you for the way you cared for me.”
Hope was surprised by Mercy’s words. Her little sister suddenly seemed years older. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt by them—in that way.”
“And I’m sorry that you were, but I don’t think you really want to see them dead. Do you?”
Hope couldn’t hide her hatred of the Cayuse. “I do. I would gladly take my gun and do the job myself.”
“Oh, Hope, you couldn’t really kill another person.”
Mercy’s belief in Hope’s goodness was unfounded. “When I think of those men—when I remember how gleefully they killed and raped—I want revenge.”
“But revenge belongs to God.”
“So it does.” Hope headed back to the river, knowing it was futile to continue the conversation. She’d never meant for it to go on this long. Neither of them would ever convince the other.
She dipped the bucket into the cold water and fought back the urge to cry. She hated moments like this. It had been two and a half years since that fateful day, but when people talked about it, it felt like yesterday. Just talking about it brought back the smell of Tomahas and the feel of his touch. She shuddered.
Mercy joined her at the edge of the water. “I’m sorry, Hope. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please forgive me.”
Hope straightened and drew a deep breath. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re entitled to your opinion.” She forced a smile. “You are, as your name suggests, full of mercy.”
They finished filling the water tank in silence. Hope tried to keep her thoughts to herself. She couldn’t expect Mercy to understand the depths of her misery at the hands of Tomahas. Mercy knew nothing about the pregnancy Hope had endured—the nightmares she had about giving birth to a hideous creature, the baby she’d given away. Hope’s scars weren’t visible ones. If she could show the world what Tomahas had done to her spirit, to her peace of mind, then maybe they’d understand.
When the water was taken care of, Hope and Mercy made sure the confined ewes had plenty of feed. Once all the lambs were born, docked, and castrated, Hope would move them out to graze on the pasture land, but for now they were completely dependent on their owners.
Mercy picked up a lamb and snuggled it close. “Have you named them yet?”
“No. Would you like to help me?” The offer might smooth things over between them.
Mercy smiled and kissed the lamb on the head. “Yes. Shall we do it now?”
Hope glanced at the cloudy sky. “Looks like rain.”
“It always looks like rain,” Mercy said with a smile. “At least a good portion of the time.” She nuzzled the lamb again. “I think we should call this one Beth, after my friend.”
“Speaking of which, how is Beth? Grace said you two are working on a sewing project.”
“Yes.” Mercy put the lamb down. “We’re helping each other make things for our wedding chests.”
“What kind of things?” Hope knew very well what went into a wedding chest, but at least with Mercy focused on that, she wouldn’t be talking about forgiving the Indians.
“All sorts. We’re embroidering dishtowels right now. Beth’s mother and Grace each gave us a few flour sacks. We bleached them and then made our own design. Mine is a basket with flowers, and Beth is making a hen and chicks.”
“I bet they’ll be beautiful when you finish.”
“Have you made things for a wedding chest?” Mercy asked.
Hope didn’t even stop to think about it. “I don’t ever intend to marry, so no.” What man would want her after an Indian had touched her? Had left her with a baby to bear?
When Mercy didn’t reply, Hope forced a smile and put aside thoughts of the past. “Let’s go help Grace get supper on. I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. After that, we can start thinking of names for the lambs.”
Hope would just as soon ignore Sundays, but living in a small community, it was expected that you would be in church unless you were sick.
So Hope faithfully attended services with her sisters and Alex. She didn’t mind the sermons or the singing. In fact, she loved to sing. Grace said she sounded just like their mother, who had often sung to them at bedtime, and for some reason that comforted Hope. She missed her mother dearly—especially after the massacre. Hope missed Da as well. When she was little and afraid, her father always made her feel safe. Now she never felt safe or without fear. And while she knew other women from the massacre probably felt the same way, Hope avoided any interaction with them or discussion of what had happened.
But Sundays, they all came together. No one spoke about what had happened or asked each other if they were still having nightmares about it. Instead, they watched her, she watched them, and everyone pretended not to care about the past.
Few people in town didn’t know or at least have a good idea of which women had been victims of the attack on the Whitman Mission. It was understood that what had happened to them was unspeakable. No one would have ever confronted Hope with the truth, but she couldn’t help feeling judged. Even though what had happened wasn’t her fault.
Sometimes, when she caught sight of someone who had been there, she saw acceptance and understanding in their eyes. But even then, little was ever said. It was as if speaking about it might somehow bring it all back to life.
Some of the women had remarried or even married for the first time, and they definitely didn’t want the reminder of what had happened. Hope couldn’t blame them, but neither could she seem to forget. She had convinced herself that once the Indians responsible were killed, she would finally be free. If only they could be hanged tomorrow, then maybe the nightmare would finally be gone for good.
As she sat alongside Mercy and Grace, Hope tried to focus on the pastor’s words. She had made her peace with God, but their relationship was still fragile. She no longer felt anger toward Him, although anger toward the Indians continued to course through her. But even with her anger toward God abated, she still felt that He had somehow betrayed her. It was hard to acknowledge that in His almighty power, He had stood by and allowed all that had happened that November
in 1847.
With the sermon concluded and the final hymn sung, Hope waited while the pastor prayed a blessing over the congregation.
“May the Lord bless and keep you throughout the week, and give you courage to face the things that you must face. May He give you strength of mind and body to do your duty and care for your families. Amen.”
“Amen,” most of the congregants murmured in unison.
This was the time Hope hated most of all. “The fellowship of believers” was what the pastor called the gathering of friends and family after the service, and he encouraged people to remain at the church as long as they liked and speak encouragement to one another. It required an intimacy that Hope would just as soon avoid. Nevertheless, she smiled and nodded to one person and then another, mentally counting the minutes until they could leave.
“I trust you got the beets,” Mrs. Reynolds said after greeting Hope.
“I did. Thank you.”
Mrs. Reynolds was diverted to answer a question from another woman, mercifully cutting the conversation short.
“Hope?”
She turned to find Lorinda Bewley—no, she was Lorinda Chapman now. Hope hadn’t seen her since she moved to Yamhill County. “Lorinda.”
“I wondered if we might have a private word.”
Lorinda had been horribly misused by the Cayuse after the attack. She had been taken from the mission grounds and given to an Indian chief whose village was some distance away. They had also killed her brother Crockett, who had been sick at the initial massacre and wasn’t murdered until days later.
“All right.” Hope moved to the far side of the room, not wanting to discuss anything related to the Indians but knowing it was what Lorinda had in mind. “I presume this is about the trial?”
“Yes. We came to stay a few days since the trial starts Tuesday.” Lorinda lowered her voice. “Have they asked you to testify?”
“Yes.”
Hope could see by the misery in Lorinda’s expression that she had been asked too. “I thought because they had my sworn statement that it wouldn’t be necessary to appear in person. At least I won’t have to face Five Crows.”
Beloved Hope (Heart of the Frontier Book #2) Page 2
