Chase the Wind

by Cindy Holby - Wind 01 - Chase the Wind

  Jamie looked after him, wondering how such an idiot could hold such an important position. He realized that he was starving. Since it was dark, he knew it had been hours since he had eaten, if it was indeed the same day. He wondered about Chase. He had not looked well when Jamie had last seen him.

  “Oh, Jen,” Jamie sighed to himself, the thought of her too painful for consideration. “Where are you? Oh, God . . .” Jamie put his head in his hands and wept, the pain of separation more than he could bear. His heart felt as if there were a hole in it, a hole so huge and empty that it would never fill up again. He looked up through russet hair that had fallen across his eyes to the west, where he knew his sister was headed. The way to California was long, the area so vast there was no way he could find her, no way at all. He lay down on the cot and wrapped his arms around himself, tucking his legs up under his chin, and cried until he went to sleep.

  Chase had felt alone his entire life, always the outsider in the village where he grew up, never accepted, always wearing the label of half-breed. It hadn’t been any easier in the world of the whites. The brief time he and his mother had spent at the fort before they started on their doomed trip east had been filled with hostile looks and insults. When he was in the village he had fought the boys who taunted him, at first coming away bloody and bruised, but gradually emerging the victor more and more often, until the vicious insults stopped, at least in his presence. He knew people made fun of him when he wasn’t around, and they never accepted him. He was never invited to join in any play, or later any hunts; that was something he only experienced in the company of his father. At the fort, he had challenged the first soldier who whispered “whore” as his mother walked by, but he learned quickly that he was no match for the three or four who joined in for the pure joy of beating up an Indian.

  He realized now that he hadn’t known what true loneliness was before. Now he desperately missed the companionship of Jamie and Jenny. He had grown accustomed to their easy banter, to seeing Jenny stretching like a cat before she got out of bed each morning. He missed listening to Jamie read each afternoon, or relate the events of his day, finding humor in the smallest incident. He missed watching jenny brush her hair every night until the golden mass was blindingly bright. He pictured the graceful way she moved, making the smallest task seem like a dance ... He shut his eyes as if he could shut out the memories. The rooms were so empty now, where before they had been so full of life, even when they were all sitting quietly listening to Jamie read. He held the unfinished Robinson Crusoe in his lap. The words were easy enough, but reading it to himself wasn’t the same as when Jamie read. Jamie made the words come to life, transporting all who were listening into the world of the book.

  Time seemed to stretch out endlessly before him. Sister Mary Frances had confined him to bed again, only letting him get up to relieve himself. She wanted to make sure that his leg was not broken again. She had removed his splint to find his entire shin black and blue, along with his back, where he had been struck with the cane. She felt sure that he now had some broken ribs to go with the injured leg.

  Sister Mary Frances had been beside herself with worry, she blamed herself for the entire incident. She had begged Father Clarence to let Jamie go, hoping to send him on to catch up with Jenny, but the priest had been unreasonable, saying the guilty must be punished and the Lord’s will must be done. The nun had returned to the infirmary in tears, going to her knees in anguished prayer only after she had seen to Chase. Sister Mary Frances had prayed through the long night and was now on her way to town to see Jamie, leaving Chase with the book until she returned.

  He flipped through the pages to where Jamie had left off and began reading, but instead of words all he could see was Jenny, sitting in front of the stove with some sewing in her lap, the light turning her golden as she listened to the tale. Chase slammed the book shut in frustration and let out a snarl, daring anyone to cross his path, but all was silent, the entire mission in a state of shock over the events of the previous day.

  The crutch Jamie had made was leaning against the wall within reach if Chase needed it. He looked at it, then down at his heavily bandaged leg. He lifted the leg, the muscles in his thigh tightening as he held the leg rigid above the mattress. He moved his ankle, making circles with his foot, then flexing, pulling the toes back, then pointing them towards the opposite wall. The front of his shin was tender from the bruises, but there was nothing more than a slight ache deep in the bone. He looked at the knot that kept the bandages in place. Then, his mind made up, he began to undo them, unwinding the length until he reached the two stout boards that held his leg straight. He pulled them away, then went through the whole process again, lifting and flexing, moving the foot in every possible direction, watching it respond to the commands he gave it.

  He moved over to the side of the bed and gingerly touched the floor, bearing down with the ball of his foot until he could feel real pressure. Once again he felt nothing but tenderness and a slight ache. He stood, his bruised back protesting at the movement, but once he was up, everything supported him well. He took a tentative step, wincing as the unused muscles protested, but he was standing, so he took another, then another, until he had crossed the room to Jenny’s bed. He turned and walked back, growing more confident with each step.

  He spied his pants in the outer office and decided to venture there. The pants’ leg had been split to allow him to wear them with the splint, and he took them back into the infirmary, where Jenny’s sewing basket was sitting on her bedside table. He knew that Jenny and Jamie would have been consumed with laughter over his attempts to run the thread through the eye of the needle, but he finally mastered the task and went to work on the seam, imitating the sewing he had watched his mother and then Jenny do for hours on end. He finally had the seam closed and held it up for inspection, knowing that his stitches were not as neat as Jenny’s but also knowing that the pants were now wearable.

  After he had pulled them on, he searched for his boot, having worn only one since his arrival. He finally located it on top of the cabinet where Sister Mary Frances stored her medicines. He shook his head at the thought of Jamie thinking that was a logical place to put it. Pulling the boot on turned out to be harder than he’d thought; his shin was so tender that even the touch of his fingers made his stomach turn, but once the boot was up over it, the pressure from the leather seemed to be a comfort instead of a nuisance. Chase once again placed his injured leg solidly on the ground, testing its strength. When he was satisfied, he went out into the halls, limping noticeably, but walking all the same.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chase and Sister Mary Frances had reached an impasse where his leg was concerned. When she had returned that first morning from visiting Jamie, she had been horrified to find him out walking the grounds. The nun had begged him to come in, but he had refused, sticking to the course he had laid out around the various buildings, limping badly but walking with determination. The leg was supporting him, and that was all he needed to know at the present time. Chase let the nun examine him when he finally came in that afternoon, but beyond some sore muscles, there was no further damage. She was not happy about his plan, but he stuck to his routine every day until he was able to jog a bit, then move up to a run. At the end of the second week he was running at full speed, and the smaller children would watch him fly by, their mouths wide open as he ran, his face set, his arms pumping, his eyes intently focused on something far before him that only he could see. While Chase was regaining his strength, Jamie was losing his, sinking further and further into a deep depression, until Sister Mary Frances began to fear for his life. Every morning the nun faithfully visited the jail cell where he was kept, and every morning without fail he asked for news of Jenny. He showed no concern about his own predicament, shrugging it off as if it were nothing. Finally a letter arrived from Boston, and her hands shook as she opened it, praying that it held a miracle. Chase was sitting across from her at the table in the office,
waiting to rip the letter from her hands if she couldn’t get it open.

  “Dear Sister Mary Frances,” she began to read. “It was with great concern that I read your letter regarding our mutual acquaintance Father Clarence O’Malley. You were right in your assumption that he had been sent to St. Jo to remove him from a difficult situation in his own parish. It is with heavy heart that I share these difficulties with you, because after reading your letter I realize that we were wrong about where we placed the blame for the problems Father Clarence experienced. It was brought to our attention that Father Clarence had become infatuated with the daughter of one of his flock, a beautiful young girl with golden hair and blue eyes, if memory serves me, a lovely, graceful, refined lady on the verge of becoming a beautiful woman. It seems that she had become engaged to a young man that her father did not approve of and confessed the fact to Father Clarence, who began to counsel her. Somewhere in the counseling sessions a line was crossed. We were led to believe that the young woman was a temptress of some kind, bent on destroying Father Clarence and his good name. The young woman was sent to Europe to remove her from any gossip, and Father Clarence was sent to St. Jo, where we hoped being around the children would help restore his faith and good works. Now that I have read about the problems your young friend Jenny has experienced, I realize that Father Clarence has an illness of the mind, one that we overlooked in our haste to save face. Please show this letter to anyone necessary in order to ensure the safety of Jenny and any other orphan who may suffer at his hands. We are sending someone to relieve Father Clarence of his responsibilities and escort him back to Boston for a hearing. Until that time, keep the faith and know that I am praying for you and your charges. Your brother in Christ our Lord, Father Timothy Wyndham.” Sister Mary Frances folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope.

  “It’s a little late for it to do Jenny any good,” Chase remarked.

  “Yes, but it might save Jamie.” The nun stood up. “Let’s go to town.”

  “You’re taking me?”

  “Yes. Jamie needs to see you.”

  While Chase went to ready the wagon, Sister Mary Frances showed the letter to Sister Abigail, who cried in relief, promising to share the news with the other sisters, who had been living in tight-lipped apprehension since before Christmas. Sister Mary Frances soon joined Chase on the wagon and they drove to St. Jo. Chase was anxious to see Jamie; it would be the first time in two weeks. He sat proud and tall on the bench, enduring the second glances of the civilized folk who were not used to seeing an Indian in the middle of town.

  “The two of you together will attract a lot of attention, that’s for sure,” Sister Mary Frances commented as they tied the horses to the rail outside the sheriffs office.

  “Jamie would say it’s because of our good looks.” Chase was clearly excited, and she did not want him to be disappointed by what he saw when he went inside.

  “Jamie’s not saying much these days, but I hope he will soon enough.”

  Chase stopped short, then nodded in understanding when he saw the look in the sister’s eyes.

  When the two entered the office, Jamie was in his usual position, curled up on his bunk, but upon seeing Chase he jumped to his feet and ran to the bars, sticking his hand through to touch Chase as if he were a mirage. Chase was momentarily taken aback by Jamie’s pale face and unkempt hair, but he took Jamie’s arm and squeezed his hand in greeting.

  “Chase, you’re walking!” Jamie exclaimed.

  “Have been all my life,” Chase replied with a cheeky grin. Jamie flashed his own grin at his friend’s dry humor and felt an immense sense of relief wash over him as he saw the confident look on Sister Mary Frances’s face.

  “Wait just a minute!” the sheriff protested. “I didn’t say you could bring that half-breed in here.”

  “You didn’t say I couldn’t, either,” Sister Mary Frances pointed out as she turned her lovely smile on the sheriff. “I have received a letter that may have bearing on this young man’s case; may I show it to you?” The sheriff held out his hand to take the letter and read it loud enough that Jamie could hear. Chase held on to Jamie’s arm as he read to keep him from exploding in a fit of temper that would keep him locked in the cell.

  “So, what you’re telling me is that this letter verifies all the claims you and this boy have been making against the priest?” the sheriff asked as he leaned back in his chair.

  “Yes, it proves that Father Clarence was out to hurt Jenny. Wouldn’t you react the same way if it had been your sister?”

  “Shoot, ma’am, I woulda horsewhipped him if it had been me.” His boots hit the floor with a thud as he opened the desk drawer and pulled out the keys. “Boy, I’m gonna let you go. Do I need to tell you to stay away from that priest?”

  “No, sir, I’m leaving here as soon as you open this door.”

  “Going after your sister, then?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “They got a two-week start on you, you know.”

  “Yes, sir, but I’ve still got to find her.”

  The sheriff swung the cell door open. “Don’t let me catch you round these parts again. You too,” he added to Chase. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you seem like you’d be trouble.”

  Jamie blinked as he walked out into the bright sunshine, standing on the porch of the office as if to orient himself to the outside world again. He shoved his shaggy hair back and looked around for his hat, as if he expected it to magically appear in his hands. Sister Mary Frances pointed him in the direction of the buckboard, and he helped her up before climbing aboard himself.

  “Any word?” he asked as he settled onto the wagon.

  “No,” Sister Mary Frances answered. “I’m so sorry. I feel as if this has all been my fault.”

  Jamie squeezed the nun’s arm as she picked up the reins. “It’s not your fault. I should have got her out of there when she asked me to. I was just afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” she asked, concerned.

  “This,” Jamie said, motioning with his hand all around as the wagon began to move and the people began to stare, at the scarred boy who had been locked up, and at the half-breed sitting in the wagon bed behind him. “I can’t hide from it anymore. Jenny’s out there somewhere, and I’ve got to find her.”

  “We’ve got to find her,” Chase corrected him.

  “You’re coming with me?”

  “Yes. I haven’t got anything else to do right now, and besides, you need me.”

  Jamie flashed his grin. “I need you?”

  “Yes, you do,” Sister Mary Frances answered for Chase.

  “All right then, we’ll leave as soon as we get back.”

  “No, you’ll leave as soon as you take a bath,” Sister Mary Frances

  declared. “You are absolutely rank.” “You ought to try being downwind of him,” Chase said from the

  back of the wagon. “It’s not like I’ve been staying in a luxury hotel.” “You can get cleaned up, and we can see what kind of provisions

  we can put together for you.” The nun began to make a mental

  list. “I wish we could come up with some horses for you.” “I have horses,” Jamie declared. “I just have to go get them.”

  Early the next morning the two set out on the road to Council Bluffs. They had let Sister Mary Frances fuss over them the night before, and she had prepared them for their departure as best she could, giving them blankets, a bit of money and a sack of food. Jamie had risen early and gone to the barn, where he removed his gun, his father’s knife and the carved angel box from the hiding place and wrapped the items carefully in his jacket before rolling the lot up in his blanket. The blanket was now slung over his back, both ends tied with rope to keep the contents from spilling out.

  “What’s the big secret?” Chase asked after they had said their goodbyes to Sister Mary Frances, who had made them promise to write as soon as they found Jenny, then had burst into tears after hugging them both.r />
  “Ill show you after we get to Council Bluffs,” Jamie promised. They were soon picked up by a wagon, where they rode in back, their long legs dangling over the road as Jamie told Chase about Gray Horse and where they might possibly find him.

  Instead of going into town, they left the wagon and circled west on foot; Jamie was not ready to deal with the townsfolk and their questions. Memories came rushing back as the landscape became familiar, and he set a course to the north, between the town and what had been his family’s land. They made camp close to the glade where Ian had first met Gray Horse.

  After they ate, Jamie carefully unrolled his blanket and the treasures it held. Chase looked on with amazement as Jamie examined the pistol that had been a gift to him from his father the last Christmas they had spent together. He carefully cleaned it and loaded it before strapping the holster on. He lined some rocks up on a fallen log, then took aim and shot. He missed the first, but hit the second and the third. He returned the gun to its place, turned away, then whirled back and drew at the same time, hitting the next three rocks in quick succession.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Chase asked when the last whine of the bullets had died away.

  “I taught myself, mostly—just practiced a lot, that’s all.” Jamie shrugged indifferently at the display he had put on.

  “Have you ever shot at anything besides targets?”

  “You mean have I ever shot anyone?”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

  “No, but I would have if this hadn’t happened.” Jamie motioned down the side of his scarred face. “And if I ever meet up with the man who did this, I won’t even think about it. I’ll just shoot.” Jamie reloaded the gun and replaced it at his side. “What about you, you ever shoot at anyone?”

  “Yes,” Chase stirred the fire as he drifted back to his life before the mission. “We had to protect ourselves from raids from other villages, from the white settlers, who couldn’t tell one Indian from another, from the horse soldiers who didn’t care. The threat of attack was something we lived with every day.”