Walks Alone

by Sandi Rog

  Horse hooves closed in on Anna’s heels. There was no way she could catch up to the others. Her chest hurt from the cold, and her legs became heavy under the weight of her swollen belly. Suddenly, Anna was grabbed under her arms and her feet left the ground. The man dragged her onto his horse. The rider’s grip tightened around her, and she couldn’t see his face. For a moment, she thought it was White Eagle, until she didn’t recognize the scars on his arms, scars that were made into deliberate shapes. She glanced up and saw the painted face of a man who wore a buffalo headdress, a man she didn’t recognize.

  The horse tore into the trees, passing Beth, Laughs Like A River, and others. Anna struggled.

  “Be still, or die!” the man shouted in Cheyenne.

  Anna stilled, fearing she might fall off the horse and hurt the baby. Instead, she sent up a silent prayer.

  ~*~

  The woods grew dark, and blackness cloaked the trees. Anna squirmed to break free of her captor’s grasp, but the heavy buffalo skin made moving impossible.

  He urged the horse up a hill, and they raced to higher ground where the snow became less deep. Finally, he tightened the reins, and the horse kept a slow, heavy breathing pace, steam carrying up from his body.

  They came to a bare patch of ground where the horse could tread easily. There, the man reined in and, without warning, yanked her down with him. She stumbled, and her footing caught in the thick cloak, pulling her to the ground.

  He shoved her back, dropped on top of her and wrestled with her cloak.

  She tried to scream, but he forced his hand over her mouth.

  His silence terrified her.

  The exhausted horse spooked and disappeared into the darkness. Something had to be very wrong since it was desperate for rest but still took to the trees.

  She tried to warn the man, but he kept his hand pressed against her mouth.

  A low growl and a screeching cry filled the wilderness as the man flew off her. The outline of a large cat landed on top of him.

  The man’s shrieks carried up through the trees.

  Filled with terror, Anna froze, studying the dark trees and the movement of fur beside her. Dare she move? Suppose the lion turned on her?

  White Eagle’s words played in her mind. Since the horse spooked, and the man had been right on top of her, it must have thought they were one animal.

  Anna knew she had to get out of there. But how? She thought back to White Eagle, how he jumped at that cat, scaring it away. Just don’t act scared, she thought. But don’t act foolish, either. Somehow she had to make herself big, intimidating. Before she could talk herself out of it, she scrambled to her feet, screamed, and waved her arms.

  The cat hissed, and jumped back, cowering to the ground, but not taking its glowing eyes off her. Scared to death the cat might spring, she screamed harder and waved her cloak more vigorously.

  The cat crouched down, watching her, and slowly inched back.

  What else should she do? She’d hoped it’d run away like the cat had done with White Eagle. Quickly, she whipped off her cloak and waved it over her head. This way she looked much larger, like a giant beast. It backed away growling.

  The man moaned, and the animal’s gaze darted to him and then to her. It fled into the trees.

  Relieved, she dropped to her knees at the man’s bleeding side.

  His trembling hand reached up for her, so she crawled closer. He seized her by the neck. Grabbing his wrist, she reared up on her feet and kicked him in his side. He released his grasp, and she fell back. Even with him half dead she wasn’t safe. She crawled to her feet, looking around for another threat.

  A chill shuddered over her spine, so she grabbed her cloak and whipped it back on.

  The man groaned. His revolver caught her eye, obviously taken from a white man.

  Slowly, she crouched down and reached for it. He caught her wrist in a steel-like grip, his bloody fingers biting her skin. She couldn’t break away and reached for the Navy Colt, freeing it of its holster. Screaming, she pounded his arm with the revolver. He loosened his grasp, and she scrambled out of reach, her wrist throbbing in pain.

  White Eagle’s explanations of how to work the revolver flashed through her mind. She cocked the gun, aimed it at an angle in the sky, and fired one shot. The trees shuddered from the blast, and snow floated to the ground.

  At least the shot would help frighten the cat, but she had to find the horse. There was no way she’d get out of the woods on foot in the deep trenches of snow.

  She scrambled to where the horse had been, looking for tracks in the dim light of the moon. Spotting some, she hurried in that direction, holding the revolver up, ready to shoot anything or anyone that dared approach.

  Her feet sank deeper as she came to an incline, making her all the more grateful for the knee-high boots. Thankfully her feet stayed warm, though her hands and fingers became stiff in the biting cold. She had no idea what became of her muff.

  The horse whinnied.

  She wheeled to the sound, and he spooked, only to become caught by his tethers in a nearby tree. Speaking softly and hoping to calm the animal, she trudged to the beast. She watched for the cat, but he wasn’t anywhere that she could see. She stood on a high rock, pulled herself onto the horse’s back, and yanked on his tethers.

  Once he was free she forced her heels into the animal, but before she came in contact with his flanks, he galloped through the woods.

  The revolver flew out of her hand, and she nearly lost her grip on the reins as the horse flew between the trees. She imagined running into a low branch and getting knocked off and left for dead or buried alive in a snow bank, so she leaned down toward the animal’s neck, grasping its mane.

  He galloped faster.

  They ran until the horse foamed and spit. Regaining control, she finally reined the animal in.

  Its breath filled the cold air with mist, and the eerie silence engulfed her. They moved between the trees, and dark shadows cast by the moon’s light spilled onto the white snow. All was quiet but the horse’s hooves and his heavy breathing as they trudged through the white powder between the thick trunks.

  Thankfully, the light of the moon illuminated bright patches on the path before them. A chill tingled from her neck to her spine, and she urged the animal forward, having no idea which way to go.

  What had become of the village? What had become of Beth and White Eagle?

  What would become of her?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The woods thickened, and blackness engulfed Anna. She could barely see her hand before her face and wondered how the horse knew where to go. She had to find an opening through the trees so she could at least be guided by the moon’s light.

  The cold made her shiver. Now she was more than grateful for the buffalo cloak, not to mention the boots. By the high, weary steps of the horse, she could tell the snow was deep.

  An owl hooted in the distance, sending a cold chill down her spine. They had to get out of these dense woods, but she had no sense of direction and just urged the horse forward.

  After what seemed like hours, she spotted a blue, misty glow through an opening in the trees. She steered the horse toward it, thankful for the riding experience she’d gained with White Eagle.

  Low branches brushed along her shoulders and caught in her hair. She tore free and pulled the hood of her furry cloak over her head. Silence hung on the night air. Every so often the sound of a branch above would crack under the weight of snow, while the smells of pine intoxicated her senses.

  Finally the horse came to an opening in the trees, and the field before her stretched out like a quilt with glowing patchworks of white. The horse found better footing and picked up his pace.

  Exhaustion threatened to overcome her, and she knew the horse was tired, but fear kept her holding on tightly. What if she stopped to rest and a wild animal attacked her or the horse?

  ~*~

  White Eagle was glad he had brought his fire horn.
When he’d found Beth and Laughs Like A River, they told him in what direction the warrior had taken Anna. They’d described the brave as having a black slash of paint through his buffalo headdress. White Eagle and Running Cloud had formed a search party and broken off in several directions.

  Now alone, White Eagle held the lit torch over the ground and spotted bloodied clothes, the clothes of a Cheyenne warrior with a buffalo headdress, a headdress with a slash of black paint. An ice-cold chill cut through his veins as he listened to the night sounds. Nothing, other than the hooting of an owl, but that was a good sign. It meant danger was no longer near.

  He dismounted and examined the body. One of Black Bear’s braves. But where was Anna?

  A mass of tracks led away from the body: tracks of a horse, a cougar heading in the opposite direction, and—his heart thundered in his chest—and of boots. Anna’s boots. She must have escaped. He mounted his horse and followed the remaining tracks. They led to the single tracks of a horse, and it had been galloping. He kept his eyes open for any signs that she might have fallen.

  “Anna!” he called, his voice sounding hollow as it carried off the trees.

  ~*~

  Anna ran the horse as far as she dared. He panted, and his coat was soaked. For as long as possible, she stayed in well-lit areas, but before she knew it, they came to a patch of dark woods. Afraid she might run the horse to death, she slowed his pace. If she stopped to let the animal rest, would he freeze under his wet coat? She knew so little about horses and felt sorry for the animal.

  The rushing of a river sounded in the distance. As they drew near, the beast went from a lope to a trot. He must have been thirsty, so she kept the reins loose, allowing the horse to go at his own pace.

  The moonlight glowed on the snow in the trees, and she couldn’t help but wonder at its untouched beauty. She also hoped that if they followed the river, they might eventually come to a town, or maybe the village.

  As they neared the edge of the woods, the sounds of the river became louder. The horse’s body suddenly dipped forward. He whinnied and bucked his head, but they kept falling and sliding down a steep incline. Fear seized her when her feet touched the ground. In desperation, she reached for a better grip on the reins, but they slid faster, knocking her backward off the saddle and against the horse’s rear. He might somersault, so she rolled off to the side and reached for a bush, a rock, anything to keep from falling. Her fingers clamped the branches of a small tree, and she jerked to a stop, but to her dismay the horse kept falling, faster and faster, squealing and whinnying the whole way down. Just as she’d thought, she saw his form somersault, and he hit the bottom of the incline on the banks of a small river.

  Anna froze, hanging onto the shrub. The rocks and cold seeped through her thick cloak as she listened to the silence. Only the rushing sounds of the river below and her own breathing filled her ears. She had to see to the horse, so she secured her feet on a rock, and careful not to trip over her buffalo cloak, she worked her way down the hill.

  The horse lay on his side, breathing so hard it brought to mind a locomotive as it slowed on the tracks. She ran her hands along the wet beast, feeling for wounds. When she couldn’t find any, she tugged on his reins and tried to pull him to his feet, but he wouldn’t budge.

  The animal whinnied.

  She knelt by his side and searched again for any wounds.

  His body twitched as the moisture dampened her palms and cloak.

  What had she done? She’d killed the horse. She wiped away her tears and rested her cheek against the horse’s head.

  “I’m so sorry. So sorry,” she said as she petted his nose.

  His breathing labored, and the moon lit the outline of his weary face.

  As long as she heard his breathing, she stayed there. It brought to mind the day in the hall when she waited to see her father, to hear that he was dying. The ticking of the clock brought her closer and closer to that fateful moment of her father’s death. And now she waited as each breath brought the horse, and possibly even her, closer to death. She kept rubbing the horse’s wet nose and neck, reassuring him with calm words, just like she remembered White Eagle doing the day he had to put down his horse. The animal’s breathing slowed, and became slower, until finally it stopped.

  Tears choked her, and she hugged the animal. There was nothing more she could do.

  When the salty smell of the horse permeated her cloak, she pushed herself up. She had to leave him behind.

  She couldn’t stay there, she had to find help, so she tucked her hands under her arms and decided to head down river, hoping it might lead her to a town. But her toes were cold, despite the warm boots, and her fingers were stiff. She’d never felt so alone. She’d always had White Eagle to take care of her in the wilderness, but now he wasn’t there. What was she to do? With the horse gone, the loneliness suffocated her. With each step she took, loneliness closed in. What if the river didn’t lead to a town? What if she never found the village? What if a wild animal came and attacked her?

  “With the Lord, you’re never alone.” Beth’s words carried through Anna’s mind.

  “Lord, help me. Please help me,” Anna whispered into the darkness. “I realize Your timing isn’t always mine, but I’m sure You’d agree that a quick rescue would be beneficial in this case.”

  The riverbank narrowed, and she found herself facing a small cliff protruding over the water. She’d have to climb the bank to get around. Shadows lurked in all directions, and at this point, they were everywhere. One might move, and another might jump out at her. Her hand flew to her mouth. She had to calm down. Her imagination would get the better of her before the elements or animals would. With heavy legs, she climbed over the rocky edge, dragging herself over its rough slope. At one point her foot slipped, but she secured it against the trunk of a small tree. She rested there until she could catch her breath, holding on with cold, numb hands. Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself upwards.

  With one last pull, she finally reached the top. Her limbs felt heavy, and her abdomen tightened. She rested there for a while, waiting for the pain to go away and worrying that she’d strained herself too much. The sounds of the river filled the darkness. The rushing water was the only sign of life and calmed her nerves. She decided to continue her journey along the river. With renewed strength, she pushed up and hugged herself, trying to hold in the warmth and keep it from escaping.

  After what felt like hours of trudging through pine and lumber, her legs wobbled from exhaustion. She had to rest. She remembered how White Eagle would gather pine needles in a pile for her to sleep on. Funny how something like a bed of pine needles sounded so inviting right now.

  At the base of a large tree, she used a thick stick and dug through the snow. The exercise of shoveling warmed her arms after being so stiff. Beneath the snow’s cold crust lay a thick layer of needles. She pushed the snow away with her boots. Exhausted, she curled up into her cloak on the cold, soft bed.

  She must have slept a while because when she awoke her arm was sore, though it was still dark. She shifted her weight and just began to doze off when a vague sweet odor filled the air. What was it? She listened. The crackling of branches under the weight of the snow was all she could hear. Every so often, small gusts of wind blew through the pines and took the smell with it.

  Hopelessness swallowed her as she thought of her circumstances, alone and lost in the wilderness. How would she survive? There was no hope of being saved. At least when she left her uncle’s house, she could see the ray of hope and run to it. But now, there was no ray. There was no hope. She would freeze out here. She would die.

  If only she were at the village or in White Eagle’s arms. She’d be safe, comforted, happy.

  But now she was alone.

  Completely alone.

  But no.

  She wasn’t alone. God was with her.

  Anna realized the danger she now faced, but a calmness replaced that strangling sense of fear. Tears f
lowed steadily down her cheeks as her thoughts drifted to the scriptures she’d recently read.

  She had never been alone throughout all of this, just like White Eagle had taught her about Jonah and the fish, how God had been with Jonah even in the depths of the sea. Had she been as blind to God’s love as she’d been to White Eagle’s? Running from Him in search of a dream, only to finally realize it was to Him she needed to run?

  She wouldn’t give up. Somehow God would find a way to work this all out for good. She drew on the strength of the Lord and put her trust in Him. No matter what happened, He was with her. He never promised there wouldn’t be problems, but she didn’t have to face them alone.

  Soon the smell faded, and she began to drift off to younger days back in Amsterdam when she’d curl up on her papa’s lap. She’d rest against his chest and listen to the sounds of his breathing, just like now, the sounds of the wind whispering through the pines, swaying and rocking, taking the cold with it—as though she’d curled up on God’s lap.

  Daylight broke, and an unusual light flickered against Anna’s closed lids. She opened her eyes and the strong sun reflected off something shiny. She stretched her aching body and pushed up from her surprisingly warm bed of needles. As the glare came into focus, she spotted her pouch of paste jewelry lying open next to her. She’d completely forgotten about them. Anna slipped the stone back into the pouch and began tying it shut when the smell from the night assailed her, the edge of sweetness turned sour. The stench was enough to make her stomach roil. She got to her feet and followed the direction of the horrific odor. It led to the other side of the tree.

  On the ground lay the half-eaten carcass of a deer.