Vestige of Legacy

by Sara Blackard

  She groaned and tried to roll over, only to pull on ropes tying her down. She attempted to open her eyes, slamming them closed when sunlight beamed sharply into her brain, making the jackhammer kick into overdrive. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart.

  “So, the little warrior wakes. The gods blessed me today when I crossed your path.” The hard voice of Running Elk filled the air with menace. Any calm she’d gathered left swiftly on the breeze, her heart ratcheting to such an intense speed, she thought it would explode. “And just to make sure you don’t play any more of your games, I’ve bound you, like a woman should be.”

  Samara laughed scornfully, cracking her eyelids and allowing the light to pierce in. “You mean, you tied me down so I wouldn’t beat you to a pulp and break your nose again.”

  A growl and a sharp kick to the side whooshed all the air from her lungs in agonizing pain. “Stupid woman! You brought dishonor on me, made me look a fool to my people. You will pay dearly for your lack of respect, begging me for mercy when I’m done with you. Praying your weak white God takes you quickly.”

  Running Elk spat and turned in anger, stomping to the campfire burning in the clearing. Samara swallowed the whimper that pushed up her throat. That was the crux of her problem wasn’t it, not honoring and respecting God like her parents had taught her. Turning from the loving peace only He could offer. She’d felt it the instant she’d told Orlando she’d stay behind, the minute she let her pride and fear override the love of both God and Orlando she felt taking root deep in her soul.

  No, that wasn’t right, Samara realized. God’s love had always been rooted there, wrapped tightly around her heart, but she had chosen to turn from it. Force it into dormancy, chill it until the only thing that could survive were sharp thorns of despair and fright. But God had never abandoned her. Instead He’d protected her, kept her safe from the worse atrocities brought against her, made her strong enough to survive the evils of this life. Hadn’t He given her the dreams of music when a breeze had blown the newspaper into her face? Without that, she never would’ve known about the Curtis Institute of Music, might not have even gotten off the streets. Through every blessing He’d given, even the incredible miracle of being here, escaping Harry, she’d done nothing but dishonor God in her rejection of Him.

  Samara knew she didn’t deserve God’s love, but she had it anyway. Just like she’d done everything she could to push Orlando away, but he had continued to pull her close, to whisper words of love to her heart. Words that echoed the love of God singing on the breeze, babbling along the brook, and lifting from the strings of her dulcimer. Music that soothed and comforted even when she rejected the Musician.

  Remember, Samara, in Hebrew your name means “protected by God.” Samara’s mother’s voice spoke clear into her head, the words she often whispered at night when Samara had nightmares as a child. Though enemies may come against you, though swords or guns may be brandished before you, our God is always with you, protecting you until we can join Him forever in heaven.

  A sob wrenched from her chest. “Lord, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.” A blast of joy filled her, heating her heart and radiating through her body. Love and peace so complete penetrated her with such intensity she sobbed with overwhelming relief.

  “Your pitiful weeping won’t change my plans.” Running Elk pulled a large knife from the coals of the fire. “I will never forgive you. I can never return to my tribe, so you will never return to yours.”

  As Running Elk approached with the knife glowing red with heat, the song Samara had heard sung by her mother through the window while hidden beneath the bed rose from her mouth.

  “Before the throne of God above

  I have a strong and perfect plea

  A great High Priest whose name is love

  Who ever lives and pleads for me.”

  Running Elk sneered and moved closer, seeming to enjoy the terror his approach would induce. With every step he took, Samara’s voice grew stronger, louder, as she bathed in the peace of God that enveloped her.

  “My name is graven on His hands

  My name is written on His heart

  I know that while in heav'n He stands

  No tongue can bid me thence depart.”

  Running Elk bent one knee upon her chest, pressing her further into the rocks and dirt and trailed the burning knife up her body, not cutting her, but teasing her with the heat that radiated from it. She forced the song from a chest deplete of air.

  “One with Himself, I cannot die

  My soul is purchased by His blood

  My life is hid with Christ on high

  With Christ my Savior and my God.”

  Running Elk smiled wickedly. “We’ll see about that.”

  As he lifted the knife to Samara’s face, the metal radiating like the fury of its holder, she closed her eyes and prayed that God would comfort Orlando. That he wouldn’t suffer guilt from her foolishness. She pulled on the ropes one last time. Her eyes flew open as power coursed through her, causing the ropes to shift as she pulled.

  “Good, you struggle. I prefer that over meekness,” Running Elk sneered.

  Samara pulled, turning her head and watching in awe as the rope frayed and split with a strength she could only attribute to the Lord. The rope snapped loose. Samara’s arm swung up with the sudden release, knocking Running Elk off of her. Samara’s eyes were wide with shock as Running Elk’s hand swung wildly in his off-balance, the knife slicing into his neck before he landed on the ground. Samara turned her head away, her gaze landing on the thick, sturdy rope that hung frayed from her wrist. Samara exhaled in relief and thanksgiving.

  Orlando spotted the thin curl of smoke rising through the trees up ahead. He dismounted, tied Loco to a branch, and motioned for Zeus to approach. His heart pumped so wildly in his chest he feared the noise of it would hide the sounds of his prey. He took a deep breath in and silently prayed. Lord, please. I can’t lose her. I can’t fail again. A peace washed over him, bathing him in a calm that settled his heart and focused his mind. A breeze picked up, scattering the leaves along the ground around him. As it rushed past him, he heard a soft whisper. You are not a failure, my child, but a light of love in the darkness.

  The words made Orlando stumble. He stopped, bowed his head, and thanked God for the acceptance Orlando never knew he lacked. Zeus turned to him and cocked his head in question. In the stillness, Orlando heard the sweetest voice riding on the breeze. Her song of salvation pierced his heart and rushed to his feet, his pa’s voice telling him to move.

  Orlando took off in a noiseless run, signaling Zeus to go. Zeus sprinted through the trees, outpacing Orlando so quickly it was as though angels carried him. Zeus’s growl ahead of him warned Orlando that they’d found the kidnapper. With a bark, Zeus’s large, white body leaped into the clearing. Orlando arrived a second later, horrified to find Samara tied spread-eagle on the ground to stakes, one arm held out in front of her, the rope frayed. A gargled moan turned his attention to her attacker. Zeus stood next him growling low.

  Orlando slid up next to Samara’s side, hollering a command at Zeus as he did. “Zeus, hold.”

  Orlando’s gaze drank Samara in, her eyes wide with relief. Her hair was dark on one side of her head where blood had dried and caked the beautiful strands to her scalp. Blood and dirt smeared her face and neck. He sliced through the rope holding her right arm and moved to cut the next.

  “No, Orlando. Go help Running Elk.” Samara grabbed the knife from his scabbard and moved to cut herself free.

  Orlando hesitated only a second, wanting to pull her into his arms. Yet the garbled noises coming from the man who meant to kill his wife indicated that Running Elk’s life balanced precariously on the edge of death. Orlando moved quickly to where Running Elk lay guarded by a growling Zeus. Running Elk’s hands fumbled along the ground as if searching for something.

  Orlando yanked his handkerchief from his neck and put pressure on the gaping wound at R
unning Elk’s throat that pumped the life from him. Samara crawled up to him, her sorrowed gasp filling the air. She glanced into Orlando’s eyes, the question of Running Elk’s fate clearly written upon her expression. Orlando shook his head and adjusted the handkerchief that was now saturated, knowing the only aid it gave was to protect Samara from seeing the gruesome wound.

  “Running Elk, please, you need to call on God, ask Him for forgiveness,” Samara pleaded as she touched his shoulder.

  “Why… would you… care?” Running Elk’s voice was thready.

  “Because I don’t want you to suffer for all eternity, away from the presence of God. He loves you and wants you with Him when you pass.” Samara’s declaration humbled Orlando and buoyed his heart that she had finally turned back to God.

  His wife had been through too much heartache for one lifetime. Yet, after finding God again, she sat here begging her tormentor to turn to God, extending a forgiveness Orlando struggled to give. He bowed his head and silently prayed for the yielding of his own heart and for the salvation of Running Elk’s.

  Running Elk’s hand pushed weakly at Samara, his face distorted in anger and pain. Samara grabbed his hand, pulling it up to her chest in a hug as she leaned over him.

  “Please, Running Elk, please. Accept God’s love before it’s too late.” Tears tracked down Samara’s cheeks through the grime.

  Running Elk’s eyes steeled, hatred rooting there. “Never.” His voice croaked as he breathed his last breath.

  Samara’s shoulders slumped as she placed Running Elk’s hand upon his still chest. She peered up at Orlando and launched herself at him. He caught her and pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest. She clung to him, burying her face into his neck and fisting her hands into his shirt. Tears coursed down Orlando’s cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. She was safe. He didn’t care if he blubbered like a baby. His worry, fear, and relief leaked out of him, dripping into Samara’s hair as he tucked his face into her neck.

  Samara pulled back just enough to peer into Orlando’s face. She placed both hands on his handsome face and wiped the tears that soaked his beard. He was wrung out, completely vulnerable, and utterly gorgeous. How could she deserve such feelings as what flowed from him to her? She leaned in and kissed him, salt from his tears tasting bittersweet on her lips.

  “You came for me,” she whispered softly against his mouth.

  Orlando pulled back and dug his hands into her hair, gripping her tightly as if to make her listen. He stared into her eyes, and with a voice so strong and determined, it rooted deep within her soul. “I would track to the ends of the earth and back to get to you, Samara. You are my heart, and without you I don’t exist.”

  Joy burst through her as he kissed her with such passion her very cells were claimed by him. Here home resided. Love burned strong and hot and blasted any lingering thorns of doubt and spikes of fear to smithereens.

  Samara pulled back from Orlando. “I’m so sorry—”

  “No, I’m sorry, Samara. I knew you were unhappy. I should’ve talked to you about it. I—“

  Samara placed her hand on his mouth to silence him. “You did. Every night when you pulled me in tight and whispered into my hair, you showed me. Every time you looked at me with such passion and desire I swore my insides would melt, you showed me. The minute I left, I knew I shouldn’t, but I’m a bit thickheaded. Your quiet love led me back to God, so don’t apologize.”

  “We can move, go wherever you want. I know you love to perform—”

  “I think I’d like to just perform for small intimate groups of two.” She smiled at him. A smile he returned with another searing kiss. “Though I wouldn’t be opposed to traveling now and then. I’d love to see the United States as it grows into the country I know in the future.”

  “I think that can be arran—”

  Samara gasped. “Where’s Zach?”

  Orlando slid the straps off his shoulders and handed it to her. She chuckled at Zach who stared at her, contently swaddled in the cradleboard.

  “Well, look at you, little man.” Samara crooned, gently rubbing his cheek where the chicken had gotten him.

  “He’s happy in there. Maybe it’s how tightly he’s wrapped, but he’s been sleeping the day away.” Orlando adjusted the cradleboard so it was propped on a log.

  Orlando came back to Samara and probed the side of her head, pushing on the tender spot and making her wince. She closed her eyes and breathed through the inspection, knowing he was and always would be as gentle as he could.

  “It’s a pretty good-sized gash, and you have a bump the size of a buffalo, but the bone doesn’t seem to be moving.” Orlando turned her face back to him.

  Samara smiled at the concern etched into his face. “So I’ll live?”

  “You’ll live, praise God, though you’ll have a heck of a headache for the next couple of days.”

  “Will you make me some designer coffee to help?” Samara giggled, then thought better of it as she gingerly placed her hand on her head. Now that the adrenaline had stopped flowing, the jackhammer had returned.

  “I’ll make you anything you want.” Orlando stood and picked her up to carry her to the fire. He sat her on a blanket spread there and gently pushed the hair from her face. “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

  “No, you and Zeus arrived before he could.” Zeus sat beside her and placed his head on her lap. She ran her finger through his soft fur, scratching him behind the ears.

  Orlando nodded, his jaw tightening in anger as he looked at Running Elk’s body. He looked back to Samara, relief and regret in his eyes. “I’ll be right back. I need to bring Loco over here. I’m going to get some tea brewing for you, and bury Running Elk. Then we’ll go home.”

  The simple word home sounded so foreign yet right to her ears.

  Orlando left and returned shortly, leading Loco into the clearing. As he tied him up next to Midnight and Running Elk’s horse, Samara thanked God for His mercy. Orlando deftly moved about the camp taking care of everything, often peering at Samara with intense love written across his face. Samara realized the shadows of her past had vanished in the light of love. She closed her eyes with a sigh of thankfulness.

  Epilogue

  Samara hummed a hymn she’d found in the hymnal Orlando had given her. She smiled at the memory of him explaining that the hymnal had been his mother’s. How he’d held it reverently, like the treasure it was. She cherished reading through it.

  She looked up from the vegetables she was chopping for dinner to the man who sat rocking in the chair. He fed Zach, strapped into the cradleboard, and talked softly to the baby, who stared up at his father. Samara still marveled at how the sheep’s milk had changed the baby, settling easier in his belly so he no longer cried constantly from pain.

  She thanked God that in the calm that had come with the simple switch in milk, her confidence as a mother had increased. She prayed every day that He would reveal to her how to be a good mom. Each day He provided, showering such grace on her that she often found songs she hadn’t sung since childhood emerging from her lips in joy.

  Orlando glanced up at her, catching her staring at him. He winked, a smile tipping one side of his mouth in a cocky grin. Her face heated in remembrance of the love they shared. Orlando propped the baby against the wall. A dribble of milk hanging from Zach’s lip made Samara chuckle.

  Orlando sauntered around the table, stepping up behind her, and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I love that you fill this house with music.” He pushed her hair to the side and kissed her neck.

  Samara sighed in the contentment Orlando’s love brought her. Her parents’ legacy of love hadn’t been passed over her, but had been poured on top of her, sinking into every pore until she became saturated in it. She closed her eyes and lifted her voice in praise to the God who had orchestrated it all, as Orlando took the knife from her hand and led her to the bedroom.

  * * *

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  Don’t miss Beatrice’s story. Grab Vestige of Courage today!

  Also by Sara Blackard

  Vestige in Time Series

  Vestige of Power

  Vestige of Hope

  Vestige of Legacy

  Vestige of Courage

  * * *

  Stryker Security Force Series

  Mission Out of Control

  Falling For Zeke

  Capturing Sosimo

  Crashing Into Jake

  Author’s Note

  I grew up in a small town a little less than an hour south of the town of Meeker, Colorado. In school, we learned about local history, including the history of the Utes that once called the area home. I didn’t remember much of what I learned way back in elementary school, but when the story of the Thomas family started filling my head, I knew I wanted to include the Meeker area. With me spending a summer in the area working at a dude ranch for people wanting to experience the scenic west, Meeker became firmly entrenched in Samara and Orlando’s story.

  One summer I took my kids down to Colorado to visit grandparents that still live in Rifle. I determined to spend some time researching Meeker a bit more in-depth, so we packed a picnic lunch and drove to check out the White River Museum. The museum charmed me with its rooms of everyday history and a bit of the exotic, like a two-headed calf. But the part of the museum that caught my attention was the descriptions and history of the Meeker Massacre. I knew I wanted to include this tragic event in one of the books, so I bought all the research they had on it and dived in.