She debated telling him that it was possible she was pregnant again. Perhaps the news would give him more incentive to hang on. But this was not the right time to add to his burdens. In his condition he would only worry. Besides, it could be false news. She had never had her time since giving birth to Rachael. The other women said she would not get pregnant as long as she was breast-feeding two babies; but it had happened to her before, and now she felt again the little flutters of life that made her wonder if she was again carrying a child.
It seemed incredible, and she realized she and River might have to abstain from making love longer than usual after the next baby was born. Cherokee women had talked about staying away from their husbands for a long time after a baby was born. Emma didn’t want to stay away from River. Making love was simply too sweet, too beautiful. But they had to be practical, too.
“Too many babies too fast no good for young girl,” Ramona had said when the old woman assisted with Rachael’s birth.
The statement frightened Emma, who still carried memories of her mother’s miscarriages and death. But her love for River was stronger than her fear of birth, and right now none of it mattered. River lay bleeding, choking on blood somewhere on the inside, perhaps dying. He might never make love to her again, never hold her again.
Ramona brought over the bucket of hot water and added some cooler water to it. She dipped a clean cloth into it and wrung it out just partially, then laid it flat over some of the deep gashes. River jumped and trembled, and Mary and Grace each took one of his hands.
“Get his right arm here good, too, Ramona,” Mary said then, grimacing at all the blood there from more deep wounds. “He must have used it to push against the bear’s jaws.” The girl’s eyes teared. “Poor Joe.” She looked at Emma. “He saved Joshua’s life.”
Emma nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “He saved mine, too, more than once.”
She kissed his forehead, whispering gentle words of encouragement to him as Ramona methodically and painstakingly washed every wound.
“Hang on very tight now,” the old woman said to them, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. “This good for dirty wounds. Sting bad. Got no choice.”
She began pouring the whiskey over the open cuts, and River Joe gritted his teeth, arching up against the pain. Emma wanted to scream for him, wishing she could ease his suffering by sharing it. But there was nothing she could do but listen to his cries as the whiskey penetrated each wound.
When Ramona finished with the whiskey, River lay in a cold sweat. Ramona began applying a strange-smelling salve and River shook so violently that they all had to hang on to him until the shaking subsided. Finally when every gash had been treated, bandages were wrapped tightly around his right arm and right shoulder, under his arm, and around behind his neck and back down again, so that the deep puncture wound near his neck was covered tightly.
“Done for now,” Ramona said. “I sing prayer song, burn prayer smoke. Tell men come… put him on bed off floor. We wait… watch. If bad infection come, we burn.”
The old woman rose, amazingly spry for her age. She began gathering her things, then set a tin burner on a table, near the bed into which she poured a rich-smelling tobacco. She walked to the fireplace to get a stick to light the concoction while Mary ran out to get some men to lift Joe.
Emma bent closer to him then, holding his face gently between her hands. “It’s all over, River. You’re going to be fine. Ramona will pray for you. We all will pray for you.”
“Josh… want to see… Josh.”
“I’ll have Peter bring him over, but just for a minute, after we’ve covered you up. You’ll see he’s just fine, River.”
She kissed him again, loving him more than ever for what he had done. This man would die, if necessary, for his children and for his Emma. Never had she felt so special, so loved, as now, realizing the lengths to which he would go for her.
Peter and others came in then, carefully lifting River and carrying him to the bed, laying him gently on it. Emma covered him with a light blanket. “Go and get Joshua,” she said to Peter. “River wants to see him and be sure he’s all right.”
Peter nodded, hurrying out and thinking what a fine wife the white woman was making for Joe, wishing he had found the white woman himself. He returned with Josh, who was crying for his mother. Emma took the boy, hugging him tightly, the first time she had really had a chance to hug her son and appreciate the fact that he was alive.
“Josh,” River groaned.
“He’s right here, River,” Emma answered, fighting to keep from breaking down. She sniffed, kissing Joshua over and over and holding him tightly until the boy stopped crying, then held him closer to River.
“See, River? He’s all right. There isn’t one mark on him, except a few scrapes from falling. See?”
River slowly opened his eyes, studying his son. With much effort he reached up, pain searing through his right arm. He touched Joshua’s fat knee and managed a weak smile. “Josh.”
“Papa… ouch,” the boy sniffled.
“Yes, Papa is hurt, Joshua,” Emma answered. “But he’ll be just fine real soon, you’ll see.”
The boy reached down with a chubby hand and wrapped his fingers around one of River’s. “Papa.”
“You… be a good boy… go with… Peter,” River managed to say. His dark eyes moved over the boy, then he looked at Emma. “He’s all right,” he said as though surprised. He closed his eyes then. “Thank God.”
Emma handed the boy back to Peter, then knelt beside the bed, taking River’s hand. “Now you have to be all right, River,” she whispered.
“Esaugetuh Emissee will heal him,” Grace said, coming over and putting her hands on Emma’s shoulders. “Pray to the Maker of Breath, Emma. He is always with you.”
“River,” Emma wept. She felt his hand tighten around her own then, as though to comfort and strengthen her even in this hour when it was he who needed to be comforted. A sweet warmth moved through her, and some of the terror left her.
“Let’s face it. We ain’t gonna find them, Tommy,” Deek complained over the campfire. He swallowed some whiskey, then slapped at a mosquito. “Let’s get the hell back to Knoxville. We’ve been lookin’ for weeks, and it’s hotter than hell.”
Tommy lay back against a tree trunk. “You want to go, go. But I’m not goin’ back this time without Emma Simms. I don’t care if I have to live up in these damned mountains for five years!”
“I think you’ve gone plum crazy,” Deek said.
Tommy leaped forward, crouching near him and clenching his fists. “Say that again and I’ll knock your teeth in, Deek Malone! What the hell kind of friend are you, anyway?”
“The kind who’s thinkin’ of your own good,” Deek answered, rising. “Even if you do find that girl, and then if you manage to get her away from River Joe, what do you think he’s gonna do? You think he’s just gonna let her go without a fight? Maybe you don’t mind havin’ that skulkin’ white Indian lookin’ for you, but I don’t want him after my hide! You heard what he done to that man up at the Gillmore settlement, and we know what he did to Hank Toole.”
“Well, then, we’ll just have to make sure he’s dead when we take the girl, won’t we? What’s so hard about that? You just aim your goddamned musket and shoot it! The man ain’t got an iron gut, you know!”
Tommy whirled, scanning the other seven men with them. At one time there had been five more, but as the search continued to be fruitless and the summer heat wore at them, they had left the search party one by one.
“How about the rest of you,” Tommy sneered. “Who else is too cowardly to face River Joe?”
One man slowly rose, folding his arms. “I ain’t afraid of no white Indian,” he said slowly. “I’m just tired, Decker, and I got matters back at Knoxville that need tendin’ to.”
“Sam Gates is payin you real good, Zack.”
“Sometimes good pay ain’t enough
. I got a woman carryin’, and if I hurry I can get back before the kid is born. I told her I’d be there. I didn’t know this damned trip would stretch out so long. You said it would only take us a month or less. It’s been four months since we left Knoxville, and no sign of the Cherokee or that woman. I’m headin’ out in the mornin’.”
Tommy sniffed, showing his unconcern. “Well, you just go right ahead. The rest of us are headin’ over to the next ridge. I seen smoke risin’ over there yesterday—from chimneys or campfires maybe. Only folks this high up are Cherokee. Me and the rest of the men here will collect that fine reward we get when we come back with the girl. If you want to give that up, you go right ahead. Just remember Sam trusts you to keep your mouth shut. You wouldn’t want your woman to know you visit Sam’s women.”
Zack checked his temper. He didn’t like Tommy Decker. He was too cocky. “If this River Joe or Indian Joe or whatever he’s called is as mean as they say, you’d best be mighty careful,” the man warned.
“It’s him that better be careful,” Tommy sneered. He turned to look at Deek again. “Well? You stayin’?”
Deek sighed deeply. “Dammit, Tommy, you know I will—at least to the next ridge. But if there’s nothin’ there, that’s it. That’s as far as I go. It’ll be hell findin’ our way back as it is. We must be eighty, maybe a hundred miles from Knoxville.”
“Once we have that girl we’ll have no trouble. Just the smell of that reward money is all we need to lead us there.” He punched Deek on the shoulder and laughed. “Won’t Emma just die when she sees us?” His grin turned to an ugly sneer. “And won’t she just want to die when you and the others hold her down while I have at her? Till I get inside her, that is. Then won’t nobody need to hold her down. She’ll be wantin’ it bad enough on her own.”
He laughed again, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from Deek and taking a drink.
Emma bathed River’s wounds again while he lay in sweating pain. It had been over a week since his injuries, and the deep puncture wound, as Emma had feared, had become so badly infected that he could not move his right arm or shoulder, or even turn his head without almost unbearable anguish.
“You know what we have to do, River,” Emma said softly. “You heard Ramona.”
He swallowed. “I know,” he groaned. “But… anything is better… than this. Maybe you… should leave, Agiya.”
She sighed. “River—after all you’ve done for me? And sitting through two babies? I wouldn’t think of leaving you. I can take it. I want to be with you.” Her eyes teared. Today Ramona would burn out the infected wound. “I love you so much, River. I just want you to get well.”
“I will. You’ll see. Just… watching you every day… is all I need to keep me going.”
She sniffed. She still had said nothing about another baby. Besides, it would be another month or two before she could be certain. She took his hand. “You’re so strong and brave, River.”
He managed a grin. “Just being practical. Don’t want… to die… not now. Too much… to live for.”
She leaned closer and kissed his cheek, then rose, carrying the pan of water to the table. River had been improving steadily and was sitting up and talking and eating, until the last two days, when the infection suddenly took its ugly hold and drew him back down into bed. Now he was in so much pain he couldn’t eat and had scarcely slept for three nights. Emma knew his weakness came mostly from exhaustion and hunger. If they could get rid of the infection and he could get some sleep and take food, her strong, virile husband would be back on his feet in no time.
Ramona knocked at the door then. Rachael and Joshua had already been taken to Mary and Martin’s cabin. Mary and Grace would not be present. This would be no job for women. It would take men to hold Joe down while Ramona singed his flesh.
Emma stared at the hot iron already glowing in the fireplace, then went to the door, her legs feeling heavy and slow. She opened it to see Ramona standing there with Peter and Martin, Red Wolf, and a fourth man—one man to hold each leg and arm. Emma felt a wave of nausea, and such terror that she wanted to scream and run away. But she fought it. River needed her. She stood aside and let them in.
The men walked to the bed, Peter nodding to River. “Hey, Joe, you ready for a little party?”
“You looking… to see who’s… strongest?” River retorted.
Peter grinned. “Maybe your little brother is stronger than you think.”
River smiled against his own ugly dread. “Let’s hope so. I… have a feeling I’ll put you… to a good test.”
Peter smiled sadly while Ramona came over to inspect the wound, which Emma had unwrapped and washed again. The old woman shook her head. “Still bad. Got no choice,” she said firmly. “You ready, Joe?”
His fists clenched. “I’m ready.”
The old woman nodded. “You brave man for white man… and strong. You be okay, Joe.”
Ramona turned away and walked over to the fire. “You men… take his arms and legs. Give him something to bite on.”
Peter handed River a piece of rawhide. “Don’t grind your teeth off now, brother.” He slipped it into River’s mouth.
Emma came over to the bed and slipped an old piece of cloth under the injured shoulder to catch blood and pus, then moved to the other side of the bed from where Ramona would stand. She got on her knees, placing both her hands on River’s left shoulder, the shoulder that already carried a scar from Hank Toole’s musket shot.
Red Wolf gripped River’s left arm in two places. Peter took the other arm, and the other two men each took an ankle. Ramona took the hot iron from the coals and raised it, whispering a prayer in the Cherokee tongue.
“Look toward me, River,” Emma said to him.
“Can’t… turn my head,” he muttered, mouthing the words strangely while he kept the rawhide in his teeth.
She rose, bending close to him. “I love you, River. Think about me and Josh and Rachael. I might even be pregnant again. What do you think of that? That’s what comes from us loving each other so much.”
He searched her eyes. “Too… soon.”
She smiled. “That’s all right. We’ll just be more careful after this.”
The wicked rod touched him then and he stiffened, biting hard on the rawhide, jerking arms and legs but unable to get away from the horrible pain because men held him.
“River,” Emma whispered, fighting back an urge to scream for him. The odor of burning flesh stung her nostrils, and she kept her hands at each side of his face, refusing to look at the smoldering wound. River shook violently as Ramona moved the rod around to burn out as much of the infection as possible and cauterize the wound properly.
“Best to only do it once and take a little longer than to go through it again,” she said almost sadly as she finally removed the rod. She turned and walked back to the fireplace, replacing the rod and staring at the flames a moment before returning to River’s bedside.
“It’s all over now, River,” Emma was saying softly. “It’s done.”
He lay panting, a tear running down the side of his face into his ear. But he had made no sound.
“You are brave—you and your man,” Ramona said to Emma then. “I have never known such brave Unegas.”
Emma looked at her in surprise, and the old woman stretched out a bony hand, patting her shoulder. “He will be better now. Give him plenty whiskey. Let him go to sleep. I will leave you a special medicine. Mix it with the whiskey. He will sleep long time.”
Emma nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Thank Esaugetuh Emissee. Only He decides if a man lives or dies.”
The old woman turned, and Emma looked at the others. “Thank you, all of you, for helping.”
“Joe is a brother and a friend,” Red Wolf answered. He gave her a supportive smile and they all quietly left. Old Ramona placed a small brown bottle on a nearby table, then smiled reassuringly at Emma before going out herself.
Her smile surprised and touched Emma, boosting her confidence that River would be all right.
Tommy picked up the rock. It was important not to make any noise, so he couldn’t use his gun. He realized now that he was right. If a man wanted something done well, he had to do it himself. Coming up here alone first to scout the Indian village was smart thinking. One man was hard to spot, and the only way to catch Emma was to surround the village where she might be living before they knew anyone was coming. How these people had managed to hide her and River Joe both the other times he had come, he would never understand, but they were not going to get away with it again.
The Indian scout he was watching stood with his back to Tommy. Tommy waited patiently. There could be no warning this time. If he attacked this scout in any way, the village would be alarmed, and they all might flee before Tommy could get to his men and come back again. His men waited at least two miles below, with orders to make no fires that might signal the Indians that others were present.
“What if they ain’t even Indians?” Deek had complained.
“What else would live up that high, you idiot!” Tommy had snapped. “At least let me go up and find out. I don’t intend to mess up this time. You want to go back, don’t you?”
“Course I do.”
“Then let’s do this right so we can go home!”
Now the scout finally walked off, going to check another area. Tommy ducked and crawled closer. He had to see who was in the village in the clearing just beyond the trees. If it looked like the right village to attack, he would scout the entire perimeter, see where the Indian scouts stationed themselves. He and his men would take care of those scouts first. Then there would be no warning, nothing to alarm the villagers who might warn River Joe and Emma.
He crawled through a thick stand of brush, lying flat then to watch. The village was bigger than he thought it would be. But that would be no problem if they could properly surround it. He watched quietly, his eyes scanning each log-and-thatch house, searching for white skin and golden hair. Such a woman would be easy to spot among all the dark-haired men and women.
Tennessee Bride Page 27
