He was passing the first level when he thought he heard a shout. That wasn’t possible. He kept climbing.
“Rex.”
Muriel. What was she doing here? He chanced a glance down and waved. A squirrel skittered by his other side, knocking his arm loose. He reached back with his hands but grasped at air. His back bent, and he fell, arms and legs flailing in empty air.
“Rex!” Muriel sprinted for the cliff. Her shoes caught on her hem, and she stumbled. Lord, help! Straightening and picking up her hem close to her knees, she ran as fast as she could. Even so, Rex reached the ground before she did.
Oh, God, please don’t let him die. She dropped to her knees. Check his pulse? See if he was still breathing? While her mind raced with choices, he moaned. He’s alive. Oh, thank You God!
His eyes fluttered open. “Muriel. You’re here.” Then he closed them.
“Oh, God, what do I do?” She couldn’t leave him to go find help. The camp appeared deserted, and no one ever came by this way. Didn’t Rex have a gun? She looked around, her brain scrambling. He must keep it in his tent. She whispered in his ear. “I’ll be right back.” She ran to his tent. In other circumstances, she wouldn’t touch his things, but in other circumstances, she wouldn’t be there. Prying his trunk open, she found a revolver.
Let someone hear and understand. She remembered what her father had taught her about guns, chambered the round and pointed it in the air, pulling the trigger. Once, twice, three times. Let Nascha or Yanaba hear and understand. Keep Rex alive. Give me wisdom. Those prayers and other wordless cries poured from her as she raced back.
Rex had shifted a fraction, and his chest moved up and down with reassuring regularity. His left leg lay at an odd angle, and his left arm draped over his head. Broken bones at the least. She could only pray there was no internal damage.
Rex’s eyes fluttered. “You came back.” His right hand reached for hers, fingers tightening on hers. “I want what you have. I’m not ready to meet God.”
Chapter 13
Tears streaked Muriel’s cheeks. Rex closed his eyes and drifted off again. Don’t die on me now, now that you are ready to live. She lost track of time as sobs shook her shoulders, prayers pouring from her soul in wordless supplication. Brushing back his hair from his forehead, she allowed herself to study his features in a way she had never allowed herself before. Her fingers traced his strong chin, clean-shaven, even though he was alone in the camp with no one to please but himself. The coating of dust on his hair did nothing to tame the waves. She leaned over and kissed his forehead.
She pulled herself out of her daze and glanced at her watch. Half an hour had passed since she had ridden into the camp just in time to watch as Rex flew to the ground from two stories up. Ten, fifteen minutes maximum, had passed since she’d fired the gun. So far no one was riding to the rescue.
His breathing was labored. Had he broken any ribs, or had he injured his lungs? The longer he lingered without medical help, the greater the risk of permanent damage grew. Chewing her lip, she debated her options. Fire the gun again? Since no one answered the first shot, probably no one was in the vicinity. Ride back to the village? That would mean leaving Rex alone, vulnerable to sun and animals and who knew what else. Move Rex to a safer place before she left? Even if she could carry him, which she doubted, she knew better than to move someone with this kind of injury.
All the options involved risk. She decided to try the gun again and wait five minutes. Removing herself a distance from Rex, she fired three more shots. If no one came this time, she would have to find a way to bring Rex back to the village with her. She looked around the camp for materials she could use. Only Rex’s tent remained. She didn’t even see a wagon. Perhaps he had sent instructions with Cook to send it back. Perhaps she could use the sheets from Rex’s cot. She hated to think of the damage that could do.
When the minute hand of her watch crept past four minutes, she stood to go into the tent. In the distance, she saw two figures on horseback, racing in her direction: Nascha and Yanaba, Charlie’s Navajo name as she had learned since staying in the village.
She lifted her face to the heavens. “Thank You!” She gestured widely with her arms, urging them forward. The speed of their horses increased, and she moved back to wait with Rex.
“We heard the gunshots. What has happened?”
Yanaba had already dropped to his knees beside Rex. He ran sure hands over his body, and Rex stirred, moaning.
“He fell from up there.” Muriel looked up the cliff. “About two stories, from where that bush juts out by the door. I’m pretty sure he broke his left arm and leg.”
Charlie ran his fingers over Rex’s left ankle. “He also broke this bone.” Running his hand under Rex’s head, he brought them out and measured his fingers about two inches apart. “A bump on the back of his head about this wide, which may be why he is not awake.”
“He’s opened his eyes a couple of times.”
Charlie grunted. “That’s good.”
“Can you tell about his ribs?”
“I’m not sure. His back isn’t injured. He should heal.”
Thank You, God. “How are we going to move him? And where?”
Yanaba and Nascha glanced at each other. “There is a man in our village who is skilled in these matters. But he knows nothing of the white man’s medicine.”
These people had survived in this environment for hundreds of years. The medicine man—or whatever the Navajo called him—was a good choice, the only choice. “Yes. The sooner, the better.”
“Does Mr. Pride have blankets in his tent?” Nascha said.
“I’m sure he does. He definitely has sheets.” Muriel surveyed the now empty campsite. “Everything is in his tent. They packed out the rest of it when the crew left last week.”
“We will come right back.”
Muriel continued praying as Yanaba worked on making a litter. Each second increased her concern, as Rex sank deeper into unconsciousness. She held his hand, as if that physical touch would keep him tethered to the physical world.
Charlie chopped down three branches of a piñon tree and dragged them to the place where she waited with Rex. Nascha came out of the tent with a couple of blankets, as well as a length of rope. Quickly they lashed the branches together in an isosceles triangle and fastened the blankets to the pole. Yanaba checked the strength of the construction. “It’s ready.” Another length of rope attached the litter to one of the horses before he placed gentle hands under Rex’s body and shifted him to the litter with no seeming movement.
“You can ride behind me.” Nascha invited Muriel to join her on the back of her horse, and they left at a pace that minimized the bumps over the ground.
Rex woke in a dark, enclosed space filled with smoke. Or maybe the smoke was in his head, brought on by the fiery pain searing his bones. Someone waved a bright light in his face, and he tried to move his arms over his eyes. Pain scored down his left arm, and he cried out.
“You have awakened.” The speaker was a man with plaited gray hair and a weathered face who reminded Rex of photographs he had seen of Navajo chief Manuelito. He carried a bowl with steam rising from it that seemed apart from the smoke in the room. “Good. Eat a little.” He raised Rex’s head with one hand. Dizziness flushed his body, and he blinked against the nausea.
“I will help you.” The man held a spoon to Rex’s lips and tipped it in. He tasted corn, onion, and garlic in a meat broth. After the first taste, he ate it greedily, as if he hadn’t eaten for days.
“What day is it?” He looked at the man who was tending to him—obviously Indian. “Where am I?”
“Rest. Answers later.”
Rex fought to demand an answer, to concentrate, but his thoughts grew fuzzy and his eyes drifted shut as he sank against the pillow. Off and on he awakened. Each time, the same ancient Indian fed him soup. He thought he dreamed that the man rubbed ointments into his legs, arms, head, rewrapped the limbs. When he came fully
awake again, the smoke in the room had dissipated, and pale light filtered through an opening overhead. “You’re awake.”
Relief flooded Rex at the sound of Muriel’s familiar voice. “What happened? Where am I?” He tried to sit but his arm collapsed under his weight.
“Did you hurt yourself?” She bent over him, her hair shining around her shoulders like a dark halo.
“Aside from feeling like a hundred bees stung my arm, I’m fine. What happened?”
Instead of answering, she said, “What do you remember?”
“I was spending an extra couple of days on-site to get some final shots. You had left. I was alone.” He turned his head side to side, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Moving his head was slightly less painful that leaning on his arm. “Where am I? What day is it?”
“It’s Sunday morning. You’re in Nascha’s village.”
“That’s not possible. It was just—” His brain reached for the weekday.
“What’s the last day you remember?”
“Wednesday, no Thursday. I got up and…” His mind went blank. “I don’t know. How was I hurt?”
“Sani said you might not remember. And that I shouldn’t tell you, but I should let you remember on your own.”
“Who is Sani?” Memories of an elderly man hovering over him, spoon-feeding him and tending to his wounds, surfaced. “Who’s been taking care of me?” Rex stirred in the bed, forcing himself into a sitting position from his right elbow.
“Sani. He’s the one the Diné—that’s what the Navajo call themselves—go to for medical help.”
So it wasn’t a dream. He didn’t know what happened. And this—charlatan—refused to let Muriel tell him.
“He’s been by your side the whole time, until today.” Muriel continued, oblivious to his mood. “He said you were getting better, and agreed that I could sit with you.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She smiled. “You’ll remember when you’re ready.”
“Why should I listen to some Indian medicine man?” Rex’s voice gained volume. “I want to see a doctor. A real doctor.”
“You shouldn’t move.” The man, shorter than Rex remembered but who radiated compacted power, entered the room.
“You must be Sani. So you think I’m doing better?”
“Yes. For a few days I was afraid you would die. Now you will live. If you don’t do anything that will make it worse.”
The words sent shock waves through Rex. “If I was that ill, why didn’t you take me to a hospital?”
Instead of answering, the man unwrapped the bindings on Rex’s arm where he had pushed into a sitting position. Humming a singsong melody, he also checked his legs. “You are not a prisoner here. You can leave if you want to.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But if you do, you will not walk again.”
Muriel’s heart broke when she saw the fear in Rex’s face at Sani’s words. “I’m not ready to meet your God.” Did he remember saying that? She had never prayed as constantly as she had for the past three days, while Rex slipped in and out of consciousness. Would his admission—I need God—count as a deathbed confession? Or did he need a fuller understanding of his sin and Jesus’ provision?
For now he was alive and likely to remain that way. She prayed his heart would remain open.
She leaned in. “Sani has been taking excellent care of you. When you”—She stopped short of saying “fell.” Sani said it was best for him to remember on his own—“when we brought you here, you were in bad shape. I’ve been praying for you.”
Rex winced at that statement.
“Healing prayers and healing hands. God has kept you alive. Now let Him finish His work on your legs.”
“You’re a strange woman, Muriel Galloway. God and Indian medicine. Quite a combination.” He closed his eyes. “I’ll get out of here after I rest a little longer.” Soon his chest raised and lowered with the rhythm of sleep. Sani left the room.
“You do that.” Muriel spoke to his sleeping body. “Rest and heal.” She followed Sani outside. “I apologize for what he said.”
A smile let Muriel know Sani held no grudge. “I do not mind. Many of my people do not trust the white man’s medicine either.”
Muriel laughed. “I never thought of it that way. I’m sure there is much you could learn from each other.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Tell me. Do all white men believe as you do, that your God will heal a broken body?”
With all her heart, Muriel wished she could say yes. “No, they don’t. But the Bible teaches that God created us. Jesus healed many people when He came to earth.”
“Nascha has spoken of these things. That Jesus put mud on a blind man’s eyes, and he could see again. That He healed a man who couldn’t walk. Like Mr. Rex Pride. Have you prayed for that?”
“Of course.”
“Then why is he not walking?”
Muriel felt confused. “Because he is still recuperating.”
“You say you believe God can make lame men walk. But then you do not think He can do the same for your friend? I don’t understand.” He bent over the cook fire and stirred the pot.
Muriel’s mind sputtered, but she couldn’t come up with an answer for his question.
“I will ask Nascha. Perhaps she can explain.”
Muriel felt properly put in her place.
“Stir this pot from time to time. When Mr. Rex Pride awakens, feed him as much as he will eat. I will fix him some mutton to strengthen his bones when I come back.” Sani straightened and handed her the spoon. “Someone should stay with him at all times. Do you wish to stay?”
Muriel gave a fleeting thought to the Bible study Nascha would lead that afternoon. But Rex needed her, and Nascha could handle the Bible study on her own, perhaps even better, than if Muriel was present. “I will stay. And if something happens, I will ask someone to find you.”
He nodded and walked away, a low hum streaming from his lips.
Muriel took a seat by Rex, wishing she had her Bible with her. At times like this she relied on the scripture passages she had memorized over the years: some for contests, some for public recitation, and some just for the beauty of the words. “Seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.” One summer when she had started to achieve success on the stage, she had committed the entire epistle to the Colossians to memory. Knowing that if she didn’t keep her mind centered on God and His will, she could lose herself. The discipline had served her well, and she brought the verses back effortlessly.
Grasping Rex’s right hand, she focused on the floor and moved her mouth with whispered words. “‘That ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God.’” What was a life worthy of the Lord? She fell so far short, but pleasing Him, that came by faith.
Only today an unbelieving Indian healer had challenged her faith, yet God had used her in spite of her less than perfect life.
But Rex…dear Rex. How she prayed he would come to the Lord.
A soft, feminine voice murmured words. Comforting, soothing, pleading words. They washed over Rex and teased him awake.
“Dear Rex.”
The words brought Rex to full wakefulness. Struggling for comprehension, he added up memories. He was injured, broken left arm and leg, holed up at the Navajo village under the care of a medicine man.
Muriel.
He kept his eyelids closed, not wanting to interrupt, feeling like an eavesdropper, but wanting to hear her heart. Had she really said “dear Rex?”
“You know how much I care for him, Lord. And You have kept him alive. But he needs You. For his broken body. For his broken spirit.” Her voice broke.
Rex could hardly contain himself. Her voice rang with pain and sincerity and—dare he hope?—love. She continued praying, her words flowing over him like a soothing ointment. He could lie all day listening to her voice. In fact, he didn
’t have a choice. He couldn’t move without help. His left arm itched beneath the wrapping, and he wished he could scratch it. A single twitch of the muscles sent shards of pain up his shoulder, and a groan escaped.
Soft fingers massaged his temples. “I wish I could give you something for the pain.”
He opened his eyes and stared into Muriel’s beautiful dark eyes, inches away from his. A smile lifted his lips in spite of the pain. “Looking at you is all I need, unless you have a stiff whiskey on hand.”
“You charmer, you.”
“Charmer. No one has ever called me that before.” He turned his head side to side, grimacing as his right side hit the pillow. “Ouch.”
“You have a nasty bump back there. That’s probably what knocked you out.”
Rex wanted to reach up and touch it, but he couldn’t. He still couldn’t believe he was stuck in a primitive dwelling with a medicine man instead of a doctor who specialized in whatever broken bones and other problems he had. “Get me out of here. Please.”
She shook her head. “Not until you can walk out on your own power. But since you’re awake.” She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Sani said you could sit up for a few minutes and get a bite to eat.”
“A reprieve.” When he struggled to sit, he broke out in a groan.
“Let me help you.” Muriel put an arm around on his weak side. “Here you go.”
Sweat dotted his brow when at last he reached an upright position. He felt like he had climbed a mountain.
A mountain…The memories clicked.
“I fell off the cliff. Didn’t I?”
Chapter 14
Yes, you did.” Fear rippled across Muriel’s face at his words. “What else do you remember?”
Memories washed over him. He wanted to climb to the top tier. Halfway there, he heard Muriel’s voice and waved. A squirrel darted by, knocking his hand enough to send him flying. He flailed at the air, helpless, for the few seconds it took him to plunge to the earth.
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