by Jenna Kernan
With all my love,
Your mother, Sarah West
Lucie lifted her gaze to Black Tail. Could this man who bragged of killing whites be her savior?
Chapter Fourteen
Busy hands kept Sarah from insanity during the following five weeks. In all this time, they had received no word from the Sioux warriors who took up the challenge of recovering her daughter. October’s warm afternoons vanished with November’s frost. Soon the winds would howl. Through the long stretch of days, Sarah worked steadily on Lucie’s quilt. She had chosen the pattern called basket of flowers, set on point, recalling that her daughter once admired a neighbor’s quilt of that design. Sarah bent over her task, plying her needle to create small, neat stitches.
If only she could so easily mend the pieces of her torn relationship with Thomas. He had been cool and distant since she had stupidly invited him into her room. She had apologized, of course, but could tell by the distance yawning between them that she had hurt him deeply once again.
She lifted the quilt top, determined to finish her task, and tied the last knot connecting the final block in the sashing. With a snip of her scissors, the thread severed.
She thumped the fabric upon her lap. Lucie must come home before the snow. The sound of scattered gunfire brought her back to the moment. This shooting did not sound like the orderly rounds fired at rifle practice. Shouts from the ramparts confirmed her suspicion and she set aside her work. One glance to the catwalks showed the soldiers running hither and thither.
Thomas jogged across the yard.
“What is it?” she asked, gripping his arms more tightly than she intended.
“Small band of Sioux picked a fight with one of our patrols. They’re too far from the walls to hit.”
Across the yard, Captain Douglas climbed the ladder to the catwalk and, apparently coming to the same conclusion as Thomas, ordered a ceasefire. Far off, beyond the thick walls, came the pop of distant gunfire.
“There are only ten warriors. Seems like suicide to engage a full patrol,” said Thomas.
Thomas drew her back to the shade of the porch. She resumed her seat but felt taut as a bowline.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the captain as he shouted and waved like a madman. Major Brennan arrived, taking his place beside his second officer. She had never seen the commander on the wall before. Unease made her skin prickle like a pincushion.
The bugler was summoned, and he lifted his silver trumpet toward the west, issuing his call.
Sarah spotted Corporal Abby hurrying across the yard.
“Corporal?” she called.
For a moment she thought he would not stop, but he did, jogging to her porch rail.
“What is that signal?”
“Retreat, Ma’am. Brennan is calling Captain Coffland back to the fort.” He tipped his hat and scurried away.
Sarah turned to Thomas, who was already on his feet.
“Wait here.”
He stepped away and she lunged for him, clasping his hand in hers. It was the first time they’d touched in many days. The simple entwining of fingers sent a jolt of awareness through her. Why did this happen only with him?
“Be careful,” she whispered.
He gave her hand a squeeze. “Always.”
She resumed her seat in the hard chair as he climbed the wall, and she waited for him to glance back. He didn’t. After he disappeared into one of the guard towers, she realized she held the top for Lucie’s memory quilt crumpled in her fists.
Sarah laid the wrinkled cloth upon her knee and tried to press away the evidence of her desperation. Giving up, she laid the project aside in favor of gripping the arms of the chair until her knuckles whitened.
Up on the walls, the soldiers leaned toward the west as the skirmish played out before them. Gradually the sounds of gunfire faded. The afternoon sun cut a band of golden light across the men above her, but it no longer reached the yard. All went deadly quiet.
Sarah slapped her palms upon the smooth maple arms of her chair. “What is happening?”
Thomas returned some time later.
His slow pace told her two things. They were not in danger and something terrible had happened.
She waited in mute dread for his words.
“Coffland disobeyed orders. He followed the Sioux over the knolls to the west, along the river and out of sight.”
The dread coiled her innards into knots. “Will they send a search party?”
Thomas shook his head. “Not until morning.”
“That will be too late.”
“Captain Douglas made that point. Major Brennan thinks it’s already too late and will not send good men after a captain who disobeys orders. Gunfire’s stopped and there’s no telling how many Sioux are waiting over that knoll.”
“Are we in danger?”
“Since the minute we set foot in this god-awful territory. The Sioux are fearless enough to attack a fort with two cannons, but not foolish enough. The major is right to keep his men here.”
“They will have to go out eventually.”
“But not a half hour before sunset.”
“They’re all dead, aren’t they?”
“I hope so.”
Chilling memories filled her mind—the sickening thud of an axe striking flesh, the cry of wounded men. She trembled. Thomas’s jaw clenched as he dealt with the demons in his memory.
Sarah wanted to ask him to put his arm around her. She craved his strength and the comfort of his scent.
She had betrayed him by marrying his brother. Thomas did not owe her any comfort. She gathered the rumpled quilt top and her needle.
She began stitching the border. Thomas leaned on the porch rail, staring out over the wall, keeping his own counsel until she could no longer see to stitch. On her lap lay one completed side of the border.
Thomas turned to her. “’Bout had enough?”
She stretched her cramped fingers and drew her aching shoulders together. Her body had grown as stiff as the wood beneath her.
“Yes.”
Above them on the parapets, soldiers stared westward, as hope of the return of their comrades died with the day.
Sarah broke the heavy silence.
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
Thomas returned his attention to her. “Indians often take young ones to replace ones who died of disease or in battle. She survived the attack and sent a message to us in that book. If she doesn’t do anything foolish, like try to run, she’ll be waiting for rescue.”
“What if she runs?”
Thomas answered only in the grave and steady contact of his gaze. Foreboding froze her blood.
“She’s a bright girl. But she might grow desperate.” Sarah stood, lookinig out across the empty yard. “I’m so frightened for her.”
Thomas came up beside her, close enough for her to sense his uncertainty. He hung back, seeming to want something. She regarded him in the fading light. Could it be he needed her comfort as much as she craved his?
The thought startled her. With awkward slowness she reached out, touching his arm. He jumped and she felt stupid for having made the gesture, but she hesitated a moment longer and in that time he grasped her hand.
His sure grip held the confidence she lacked, and she gave him a tentative smile.
“Gonna be a long night,” he said.
She wondered if he asked indirectly for her company. She nodded her agreement.
“You hungry?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I can’t stomach seeing the worried looks on the men’s faces in there.” She nodded toward the mess.
“I’ll bring you something. We can eat right here on the porch.”
“All right.”
He hesitated and then drew back his hand. With it went the calm she did not even realize he had brought her. She watched him go and found herself tidying up her sewing basket and moving her things aside, making room for him. Then she brought the small table outside.
The evening star appeared in the sky and others followed. If not for the horror awaiting them outside the wall, she would say it was a beautiful evening.
Thomas returned in short order carrying steaks and pinto beans. They ate the meal in silence. When she laid aside her fork, Thomas took up the conversation.
“Are we ever going to feel comfortable together again?”
She started at his words. They expressed her own feelings so closely, she could only stare in stunned silence. At last she found her tongue.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I don’t like it.”
Neither did she. Sarah missed confiding in him and laughing together.
“We should be able to hold a civil conversation. I’m the girl’s father.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
He shot to his feet, outrage in his voice. “What?”
She remained seated and laced her fingers in her lap to keep from drawing her hands into fists. The truce, it seemed, had ended.
“I thought you said there was talk.”
“Yes. Lucie was born only a few days after Samuel married me. That was two weeks after the news came of your death. Everyone knew you and I were sweethearts and Lucie looks so like you. Most folks guessed the truth.”
“So everyone in town knows but my daughter.”
Sarah straightened and met his outraged glare.
“She never asked and I never told her.”
“Why the hell not?”
“What would you suggest? That I tell her that her mother acted like a wanton woman or that her real father promised to come back to me but never did? That the only reason I married the man she called Daddy was to keep the shame from her innocent head?” Her voice rose. “Do you think I married for myself? I didn’t want to live. If not for our child, I would have tied a rock around my neck and jumped into the river!”
She’d imagined it many times—even gathered the rope.
Astonishment echoed hollow in his voice. “You would not.”
She stared, daring him to deny her words again.
“Sarah, you couldn’t.”
“But I nearly did. It hurt that much. First the news of your death, and then the news that you lived. That was worse. Because I’d trapped myself and Samuel. Our life together was never the same after that.”
“Did you love him?”
Sarah stared at the dark outline of Thomas, leaning against the upright beam.
“Yes.”
His sharp intake of breath sounded as though she’d punched him in the gut.
“I loved him second best all his life and he knew it.”
Thomas fell back against the beam hard enough for Sarah to feel the vibration in the soles of her feet.
“You stood between us every day of our marriage and now that Samuel is gone, he stands between you and me.” Sarah rose to her feet. “I’m tired, Thomas. I’m going to bed.” She turned, but his words called her back.
“Samuel would want us to work together to find Lucie.”
Sarah nodded. Yes. That was right. He loved Lucie. If Samuel’s memory drew them apart, Lucie joined them like lock and key.
Chapter Fifteen
The knock upon Sarah’s door in the early hour preceding dawn brought her awake. She scrambled to her feet and dragged Lucie’s quilt top over her shoulders. When she opened the door, she found Thomas dressed to ride. At the hitching post behind him, his buckskin stood saddled and ready.
She had lived through this once already. For a moment she only blinked stupidly. At last she found her wits enough to form a question.
“Are you leaving me again?”
His eyes grew round at this. “No.”
Relief flooded her like sweet spring rain. It was short lived, however, for he continued.
“I’m only going with the men to scout beyond the western knolls.” He held out an open hand, as if begging for her understanding. “Then I’ll be back.”
The last time he told her he’d be back he’d been gone fourteen years and would still be gone if she had not gone to fetch him. The fear of Indian attacks and all the other deadly possibilities that lay just beyond these clay walls rose up in her mind.
“Don’t go.” She repeated words from long ago.
“If we find any warriors alive, Brennan can trade them for Lucie.”
She gripped the latch, trying to draw strength from the cold iron beneath her clutching fingers.
“May I come?” she whispered.
He glanced away, shuffling his feet as if anxious to be rid of her.
“It’s only the soldiers.”
“And you.”
He nodded, then dragged off his hat. “Sarah, this isn’t fair. It isn’t like the last time. I’m only going—”
“As far as Captain Coffland?”
“You have to trust me.”
It was no different from the last time, because she still trusted him. Damn his honest face and sincere eyes. He meant to come back. But just like that day, she understood that things do not always go as we mean them to go. All manner of tragedies loomed, hungry as wolves, ready to rip them apart once more.
What would she do if he didn’t come back?
“You must promise me that this is the last time.”
He didn’t pretend not to understand her.
“All right.”
“You don’t leave me again until we find her.”
His eyes narrowed, and she wished she could call back the words. Why had she said until—until we find her? Because she knew she had no right to hold him longer than that. His face flushed in a way she instantly recalled. Was his anger caused by her mention of their parting, or by her insistence on weighing him down with promises? She longed to know.
Instead of asking she said, “Lucie needs us both. What hope do I have of rescuing her alone?”
“Sarah.” His voice sounded condescending, as if he found it aggravating to have to explain this to her. “I’ll only be gone a few hours this time.”
She lifted her fists, still clutching her quilt top. She meant to strike him in the chest, just above his heart. Instead, she pressed the balled fists into the sockets of her eyes.
“I can’t face this alone. I’d rather die out there with you than face this alone.”
He drew her in and she let him, swaying like a sunflower in the breeze. He held her tight against the reassuring strength of his body. She wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed her face into the warm comfort of his neck, breathing in the scent of him. His hand stroked her uncombed hair.
“Do be careful,” she whispered.
He drew back a few inches, and she lifted her chin to gaze up into his compelling face and sparkling eyes.
She understood he would kiss her then and she tingled with anticipation. She felt the aching pressure in her breasts as they met the hard planes of his chest. He cupped her chin and tilted her head. The first contact was the softest brushing of lips. It was a delicate flame touched to dry tinder. In that instant she ignited, the yearning within escaping in a soft moan.
His reaction was instant. He deepened the kiss as he pressed her close. She wrapped them in the quilt as the years fell away and she held her Thomas once more. He was back, loving her and letting her love him. Sarah’s fingers danced through the thick waves of his hair, sending his hat cascading off his head. The quilt top slipped from her shoulders as his hand slid down her spine to stop at the hollow of her lower back, the calloused palms rough through the light cotton of her nightgown. With the slightest contraction of his arm, he pulled her flush against him, pressing tight as lovers in the dawn.
He tensed and she hesitated. The distant strain of a trumpet broke the link between them.
She stepped back, her fears consuming her once more, making her unable to release the lapel of his coat.
“Let me go, Sarah,” he whispered.
Her fingers uncurled, and her arms fell lifeless to her sides.
“I’ll be back,” he sa
id, his eyes begging her to believe him.
She didn’t, but she managed a nod. She knew he intended to return and the rest was in God’s hands.
He stooped to retrieve his hat and also lifted her makeshift shawl.
“Needs a heavy batting,” he said, passing her the quilt top.
Then he recovered the reins of his horse. In one clean motion he swept into the saddle and turned his mount toward the gate.
She waited for him to look back, lifting a hand in farewell. He never turned. As he crossed behind the stables her raised hand collapsed earthward, and she sank into the chair on the porch. From far across the compound came the thunder of many horses surging together as the men left the safety of the walls.
How long she sat, crumpled like a heap of dirty laundry, she did not know. When she became aware, the blacksmith’s hammer rang out in a steady rhythm and sunlight filled the yard. She stumbled into her room, draped in her daughter’s quilt top like a madwoman.
How near she felt to madness. It was there, just beyond that wall. The turn of fate, the taking of her last loves, and there would be nothing here for her in this world.
Then nothing would stop her from jumping into that river, nothing and no one. Inky black despair threatened to fill her like poison. She shook it off, rising upon unsteady legs.
He would come back this time.
Why hadn’t she made love to Thomas when she had had the chance? Sarah moved to the window, staring out at the yard. Somehow her decisions concerning Thomas forever led to regret. She could not seem to do things right. Always her mind and her heart divided. But no longer. Her love for him was stronger than her fear. When he returned, she would remedy her mistake…if he returned.
Just over the rise in the valley, between an outcropping of rock and the river, they found Captain Coffland and his men strewn upon the ground like wheat before the scythe. The scouts quickly determined they were alone with the dead. All of the party was accounted for.
The Sioux had taken no prisoners, thank God, but the fallen soldiers had been stripped naked. Slash marks across the face, extremities, and torso showed the bodies had been mutilated after death. The corpses little resembled the elite fighting force that had followed their misguided captain over the hill in pursuit of a few hostiles.
