by Cheri Chaise
I chuckled as Bret spoke rapidly in the native tongue with the growing horde surrounding him. Cole caught my eye and smiled before turning to respond to Seth. Or was it Sean?
Those two really needed to wear more than different colored hats to help tell them apart. That way they wouldn’t always be tempted to strip down to show off scars in order to distinguish between the two.
But if they were anything like my husbands, they probably loved nothing more than stripping out of their clothes – especially when there was a pretty and available woman nearby.
A woman like my sister, which explained their constant fawning over her during our jaunt.
“You might be surprised at the craftsmanship these people possess,” I informed Abby. “We have many knives, fine beadwork, clothing, and baskets back at the homestead that came from them.”
“And I have many more fine baskets to choose for trade, Essiestella.”
The familiar voice and the amalgamation of my pet names spun me around to greet my friend in a warm embrace.
“Little Red Fox, it’s so good to see you again.” I pulled back and held Bret’s cousin at arm’s length. Her soft dark eyes reminded me so much of a doe, but it was the reddish hue of her hair that revealed the source of her name – and the mix of her heritage somewhere down the line. “You are looking well.”
“You are also, Essiestella.”
I glanced nervously at the myriad faces surrounding us. “I take it Running Wind is…busy?”
Little Red Fox’s lips thinned when I spoke of her husband. He’d made no attempt to befriend the Carston clan even after taking Bret’s cousin as his bride three years ago. Having seen the animus of whites toward the Indians, I found it disconcerting to discover that sometimes the bitterness went both ways, though I suppose much of that had to do with the restrictions forced upon the native tribes.
“He is…away from camp these last days.”
The dart of her eyes told me there was more buried within her words. I only hoped it wasn’t that Running Wind had abandoned her. Not in this state. The pale deerskin dress she wore dripped with an array of beaded fringe that bespoke her standing – and contained a bulge the smooth and taut skins couldn’t hide.
“I see congratulations are again in order.” A tired smile peeked out as Little Red Fox’s hand rested upon her ripening belly. “Bret will have just the thing for you to help when your time comes.”
The smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. “It is the little one I need to trade for.”
My hand flew to her stomach in concern. “You are laboring?” She hadn’t fully rounded out yet to signify the imminent approach of childbirth. The baby would be too small to survive in this world if delivered so soon.
“Not this little one.” She shook her head and grabbed my hand to tug me along. “Please…come.”
It was only when I felt Abby’s hand on my arm that I remembered my sister. “Come along. And stay close to me.”
Abby nodded in concern, her eyes wide, and kept pace as we made our way to the teepee Little Red Fox shared with her husband. She pulled the flap aside and the three of us bent down to enter in turn.
The inside was warm and cozy, lighted by the glow of the coals in the central fire pit. The edges of the dirt floor were lined with soft furs – within one of which lay the small form of Little Red Fox’s two-year-old son.
She knelt down and cradled the boy’s head with her knees. Each breath was labored and rattling. My hand came away after a brief touch to his heated brow.
“How long has he been fevered like this?”
“Two sunsets. But his struggle to breathe has grown…hard.”
Which meant tonight would make it three – if he lasted that long. “What did the medicine man say?”
I’d learned long ago the need to respect the tribe’s elders and their unusual ways. But this was my friend and her son – family – and she’d come to me for help.
Help I so desperately hoped we could provide.
A tear tracked down Little Red Fox’s smooth cheek. “That the Spirit Wolf waits in the shadows for his spirit to join with it.”
I lurched to my feet. “Abby, stay here while I get Bret.”
“But what if…”
“You’ll be far safer here than alone out there.” A single white woman among strong and virile braves looking for a wife was not a prudent prospect.
I threw back the flap and searched in the growing dusk, weaving through the dispersing crowd where the wagon was last. An arm snaked out to snatch mine, stopping me in my tracks.
The tall brave in deerskin breeches and little else held up a large knife in my face and rattled off a sharp and rapid litany of syllables I had no means to discern. Since most of Bret’s family members spoke passable English, I’d not undertaken to learn the Sioux language.
My heart hammered in my chest at the fervency with which the man spoke as his nose inched closer and closer to mine as if closer proximity and volume might help me understand him better. My fear was assuaged by the fact that everyone here knew I was married to the Carstons.
Unless he was a transplant from another tribe. One with whom we’d had no interaction.
Fingers dug into my arm. I half expected to be dragged away into his teepee at any moment.
Until an icy voice in the native tongue cut through the chatter. The brave’s dark eyes went wide at whatever Bret said, and he immediately released me, his head bowed as if in submission.
An explanation. An understanding. Then what appeared to be an offering, calmly rejected by Bret before the brave slid away quietly into the growing darkness – but not before he glanced one last time over his shoulder to lock eyes with me.
It was only when I could breathe again that I noticed Cole and the twins standing off on either side of me.
“What did he want?” I asked when I found my voice again.
I was surprised when Bret’s lips quirked into a sardonic grin. “He was looking to make a trade.”
“A trade?” I stared off after him again. “For what?”
The smirk broadened into a full grin. “Your sister.”
My sister? Abby.
Little Red Fox.
It was my turn to grab an arm. “Quick…grab your medicines.”
Levity immediately dissipated into seriousness. “What is it?”
“Little Red Fox’s son is gravely ill.”
Nothing more needed said.
Chapter Twenty
Bret
The inside of the teepee was already warm, but we needed it warmer after a quick examination of the boy. The two-year-old’s chest caved in with each labored breath, so opening his airways was my first priority.
“Here.” I dug into my saddlebags and pulled out an oilskin packet to hand over to Essie. “Crush up a handful of peppermint leaves and a pinch of the clove flower.”
The clove was an extremely rare and hard to obtain spice – especially all the way out here. But medical journals had raved about its properties to help the body fight infection. And I saw right away that we were dealing with an advanced case in this child’s lungs.
Without a single question or retort, Essie grabbed the stone mortar and pestle and immediately got to work. The confined space quickly filled with the pungent scents.
“Add plenty of wood to the fire,” I directed my cousin, her dark eyes filled with fear she barely kept tamped down as she did my bidding. “And do you have any onion in your stores?”
“A few.”
“Dice some up as small as you can.”
I then handed my knife over to Abby, who sat on her knees out of the way looking as lost as a trapped hare. “Cut out four, six-by-six inch strips from your petticoat then help Little Red Fox with the onions.”
She just stared at the knife without accepting it. “But I…”
There was no time for hesitation. I turned the knife around to Essie. “I’ll need your petticoat for poultices.”
“I’
ll take care of it,” Essie said as I set the knife down at her knee.
“I’m going to run out and get fresh water. When you finish, put the onions into the pan and heat them thoroughly. Then add the mortar contents and heat them also…briefly without scorching,” I cautioned before grabbing a bucket and heading across the camp.
I really hated leaving my patient, as the fear in the home was palpable. But I wasn’t about to tell my cousin to leave her son’s side. And I definitely wasn’t about to send Essie or her sister out alone among the tribe and create a stir among the braves. Wars had started for less.
Cole caught up to me, his long strides matching mine. “What’s wrong?”
“Little Red Fox’s son…he’s ill with what looks like a bronchial infection.”
“A what?”
“A lung ailment,” I simplified as I bent down at the edge of the stream and plunked the bucket into the water. “Gone into pneumonia most likely.”
“What do you need from me then?”
My brother was always the man we could count on. As the oldest, Cole was always involved in everything that went on around the ranch and with the family.
But this was one area where he wasn’t in charge – and I knew it grated on him to just stand around in a crisis.
“Set up your bedrolls near Little Red Fox’s home,” I instructed as we hoofed it back the way I’d come. “See to the chief and let him know I will be glad to share the pipe with him sometime before we leave.”
“But I’ve never been very good with the language, Bret. You’ve always acted as translator.”
The snort came out before I covered over it and murmured, “You’d be surprised how much of the white speak the chief understands.”
Cole stopped and shoved his hat back on his head. “Well…that old fucker.”
“Don’t let him hear you call him that.” I headed over to my cousin’s teepee. “If you need me, I’ll be with the ladies.”
“As usual,” he called after me.
The heat and heady aromas hit me like a freight train as I stepped through the flap. The fire was up, and Essie was furiously stirring the sizzling onions in the skillet over the flame. The edge of her skirts were hiked up, revealing the strips cut from her petticoat – and plenty of one lovely leg.
Abby was finally doing something worthwhile, slowly cutting through another onion while Little Red Fox diced it into tiny pieces. Their eyes streamed with tears from the offending scents as the sniffles continued in abundance.
I only hoped it’d quickly do the same for my patient and release the phlegm of infection that impeded his poor little lungs.
I dipped into the bucket and ladled out a scoop of water. “Bring the boy closer to the fire.”
Little Red Fox immediately wiped her eyes and scrambled to do my bidding.
“Keep his head up and tilt him forward to keep anything from draining further into his lungs,” I instructed further. “And everyone look out.”
The moment the cool water hit the hot pan, a whoosh of steam filled the teepee. “Hold him in the vapors.”
The rattling continued, but the relief was immediately evident – if only just – in several stronger breaths as my cousin held him over the moist cloud of pungent steam.
“As soon as most of that liquid cooks out, ladle some of the mixture into this cloth,” I told Essie.
Her sister’s eyes were streaming when she glanced over at us then cried out. “Ouch!”
Blood tinged the sweet, pale onion flesh. I grabbed another scoop of water and dunked Abby’s hand into it to clean.
“It burns,” she hissed, pulling against my firm grip to no avail.
“That’s the onion juice.”
“It’s getting worse,” she responded through gritted teeth.
“Keep it in the water for a minute.” I crawled to the saddlebags and pulled out a jar of salve. “Now let me see it.”
The cut along her knuckle wasn’t all that deep, but it still bled pretty good. “Put some of this on.”
“Will that burn even more?”
I sighed, grabbed her hand, and then carefully stroked on a thick layer of the soothing ointment. Her hands were so soft, as if she hadn’t done a day of work in her life.
For the life of me, I couldn’t see what our twin cousins were so enamored about. Yeah, she was comely enough, but she couldn’t do a damn thing. If one of them married her, they’d all die of starvation and exposure before she figured out how to care for a family.
“Now then, what do you think?” I asked as I released her hand.
Tendrils had come loose from the bun at her nape and clung to her pale face. The painful tightness around her eyes eased somewhat.
“Much better, thank you.”
Without further discussion, I snatched up the knife and quickly cut a thin strip from the bottom of her petticoat.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked, curling her legs up tight under her skirts.
As if I’d want to touch any other woman but my Essie. It wasn’t a wonder why her dead husband sought out the comfort of another’s arms if this was how she reacted to the possibility of a man’s touch – and further explained why Abby remained childless after so many years of marriage.
Maybe the twins just thought having her around might lead to a good fuck – but I wasn’t about to hold my breath. She just didn’t act like a woman who’d find any enjoyment out of the act, no matter how much you licked her pussy or fondled her nub.
Not like our Essie did.
“I’m making a bandage,” I said, wrapping the fabric around her finger and tying off the end – maybe a bit more tightly than I should’ve.
She hissed again and jerked her hand from mine. I didn’t bother to wait around for any thanks this time. Instead I returned focus to the little one, pressed my ear against his body and listened to how hard his lungs were trying to work against the phlegm that filled them.
“Where is Running Wind?” I asked my cousin, expecting to see her husband crash through the flap at any moment and order us from his home.
While I didn’t blame the man for his anger at how they’d been confined to the reservation, it wasn’t like it was my fault – or that I could do anything about the white man’s laws. I couldn’t help but think there was more to his bitterness toward me. Bitterness that he was here while I roamed free.
Though sometimes I wondered how long it would be until someone came along and dragged me away by force from Carston Ranch to a reservation. A concern that now included my children.
And I had no doubt my brothers would give their lives to save us – something I’d never be able to live with if I allowed them to step in. Not that I could control anything Cole got into his mind.
Little Red Fox swiped an arm across her eyes as she juggled her son. “Running Wind has left.”
Essie’s head jerked up at the same time mine did. “Left?”
My cousin nodded. “With others…on a hunt.”
A hunt my ass. I bit back the invectives I wanted to spew. Running Wind was always stirring up trouble among the tribe, threatening to disobey the white laws that his elders had agreed to. When he married my cousin, I’d hoped getting a good fuck in every few days would help calm the rage that clung to him. But the birth of his son only seemed to make it worse.
I couldn’t blame him. He wanted freedom for his children. Freedom that his people had once known, not to be forced to stay cooped up within boundaries established by someone else.
But when his actions threatened my cousin’s safety and security, that’s where I drew the line. “He’ll get himself thrown in jail. Or worse.”
“Only if he’s caught,” she returned with a gleam in her eye that wasn’t caused by the heady scents swirling around us.
I left Running Wind to his own devices. My concern for now had to remain focused on my sick patient, not what would happen if my cousin’s husband was caught by the Army, venturing off the reservation.
“How�
�s the poultice coming?”
Essie had the pan off the fire and the first pouch wrapped and ready. “How often do you want a new one?”
I had Little Red Fox sit down and prop her son against her knees as I rested the warm poultice on his small, heaving chest. Sweat glistened across his bare flesh and steam wafted up into his face from the pungent poultice.
“We’ll change them out every ten…fifteen minutes or so.” I placed a hand on my cousin’s shoulder. “Keep a close eye on his breathing. If he starts coughing, be sure and lean him forward so whatever is in there can come out.”
She nodded, sweat pouring down her face like tears from her eyes. “Many thanks to you, Bret.”
I nodded grimly. “Don’t thank me yet.”
Staring at me cautiously, Abby readied to add more onions to the sizzling pan until I held up my palm. “Not yet.”
Her hands immediately halted. I couldn’t tell if the tears were from my directness or simply from the onion and peppermint odors. My words hadn’t been biting. I usually tried to keep my temper in check, even though it still simmered underneath like those onions in the pan.
But when I was focused on a medical crisis, I could be short. Direct. Essie was used to such times when she acted as a nurse, following my instructions without question or comment.
Her sister was not. But I couldn’t worry over hurt feelings right now. I had a child to save. A family member.
While Essie busied with keeping the pan’s contents warm and preparing another poultice, I returned to the mortar and pestle to crush more herbs for the next batch.
After the warm manner in which Abby had initially greeted me, I owed it to her – and Essie – to try my best to establish some sort of connection. No matter how tenuous.
“Have you ever sat at a sickbed?” I finally asked Abby.
She nodded and sniffled delicately. “Once.” Her gaze locked with Essie’s. “Our mother.”
At least it hadn’t been a child. Losing a little one was the cruelest punishment nature offered man – of any skin color.
My eyes watered as the cool and sharp peppermint scent wafted up into my face. “It’s never easy to watch a loved one suffer.”
