Savage Horizons

by Rosanne Bittner

  Emily saw an improvement every day, saw his muscles begin to firm up again, until finally the day came when she arrived at his room to find him standing at the window.

  Standing turned to walking, then slow running, then riding a horse again. By autumn of 1815, Caleb Sax was well enough to return to his son. He was not totally recovered, but he would wait no longer. He needed his son more than ever now, needed the reassurance that life went on, that at least one good thing had come from his own life. And he needed to get back to the land he loved best, away from places that brought him so much sorrow.

  Emily dreaded the day he would leave. For the first time in her life she had found a true friend, one who cared about her as a person. It was understood between them that this was as far as they would go, that they had their own lives that were worlds apart. Yet they had shared intimate feelings, had come to an understanding over the past, and she was satisfied that at least Caleb Sax no longer hated her. She had made up to some extent for what she had done to him, but would always regret that nearly everything that had happened to him had been because he had had to flee Fort Dearborn.

  She helped him pack the horse she bought for him, loading the animal with clothes and gear, a pistol and musket, and a new knife, all things he had lost-in Saint Louis.

  “Sorry I couldn’t supply you with buckskins, but I wouldn’t know how to shop for something like that,” she told him. She looked him over with admiration. He wore fine new boots and dark cotton pants, with a blue calico shirt that enhanced his provocative blue eyes. A new leather hat was perched on his thick, lengthening hair, which was tied at the back of his neck. He wore the new knife on a wide leather belt. “My God, you’re beautiful,” she sighed. “You’re all man again, Caleb Sax.”

  He smiled bashfully, stirring her with the grin that made her feel weak. If only he had let her make him a whole man again, had let her have him that way for just one night. But she knew his mind and heart were too full of someone else, and would be for a long time to come. “Promise me you won’t do something stupid like go back to Saint Louis,” she warned.

  “I promise.” He turned and grasped her arms. “And I promise to send you money as soon as I get my life straightened out and earn some. I owe you so much, Emily, but what I have left I might need for now.”

  “You owe me nothing. What else would I spend it on? I have no family.”

  “I don’t care. It is not right and I feel indebted. I am sending you money as soon as I can. It might take me a year or two, but I will send it.”

  “No. If you really care, Caleb, do this for me. Let me have the satisfaction of feeling I truly made up for what I did to you. I have little to fall back on to keep me out of hell when I die. Let me have this.” Her eyes teared. “Besides, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to hear from you again. It would be easier to pretend you don’t exist anymore. To hear from you and be reminded again would be too hard.”

  He swallowed back a lump in his throat. “Emily, if I could feel that way for you, I would. It has nothing to do with you. It has to do with being unable to love at all for a long time.”

  “Oh, Caleb,” she said chidingly, forcing a smile through her tears. “Do you think for one minute that if you thought you loved me that way I’d let you do something as foolish as taking on a woman like me?” She pretended to laugh. “You’re made for much better things, you and that little boy of yours. I’m used up already, Caleb. There’s not much left for any man to care about. I wouldn’t dream of destroying someone like you. And I’m not about to give up this life. I think I was always meant to be what I am.”

  She had done so much for him. He pushed back her hair from the scarred side of her face and bent down to kiss the scar. “What else can I say or do, Emily?” he whispered.

  She grasped his wrists as her tears fell. “You can go. And you can promise me—the word of an Indian—that you will not contact me again unless you’re in bad trouble. Go away and forget me, Caleb. That’s your problem, you know. Your heart is much too soft for your own good.”

  “But Emily—”

  “Promise me, damn it!”

  He nodded. “All right. I promise.”

  She sniffed and held up her chin. “Now. Go. If I never hear from you again I’ll be glad. It will only mean you’ve found some happiness at last. I know that little boy is just fine and waiting for his father to get the hell out there to him, so get going. But ride easy, Caleb. You’re still healing, you know.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

  Their eyes held. “Good-bye, Caleb Sax. God be with you. I don’t know if he listens to people like me, but I will pray for you.”

  He bent down and kissed her lips lightly. “And I will pray for you,” he said softly.

  She turned away. “Go on.”

  Caleb stood awkwardly for a moment, hating to leave her, but knowing he must. He turned and mounted the shiny black mare. It was a fine animal. “Tonoeva means autumn in Cheyenne, and leaving such a good friend makes me feel the sadness of autumn, which is almost upon us. I will call the horse Tonoeva.”

  She nodded, refusing to turn back and look at him again, smiling through tears at his words. “That’s fine,” she muttered. “Please go now, Caleb, and keep your promise to me.

  There was a moment of hesitation. “Good-bye, Emily,” he finally said. “I love you for the good person you truly are. You will not go to hell, Emily Stoner.”

  She heard the horse trot away, then move into a canter. She waited until she could hear it no more, refusing to watch him go.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Two

  THE rain poured down as if the heavens had opened the gates to an ocean above. Caleb drew his poncho closer and pulled his leather hat farther down on his forehead. It was still daylight and in spite of the rain he wanted to keep going. Now that he was headed west an anxiety to see Tom and get away from the horrors civilization seemed to bring him made him keep a relentless pace, more than he should be doing in his condition. But he paid no heed to his weary bones. Tonoeva proved to be a strong obedient animal that never balked at his orders. The horse seemed to sense the urgent mood of its master, and the mare pranced delicately through red, slippery mud at the base of a high mountain.

  Caleb had chosen to go north through Arkansas Territory, then he would veer northwest into Unorganized Territory. To take the river north would have kept him too far east, and he had no need to go to Fort Dearborn. He also had no desire to go near Saint Louis again. There was nothing left for him in either place, and only danger in Saint Louis, where a vengeful Terrence Sax could have him arrested and keep him from his son.

  Thunder seemed to shake the very earth, and lightning occasionally lit the countryside. To Caleb the storm seemed to epitomize the storm that raged in his soul, a soul that still hadn’t found a home, a soul that was still restless, thundering, raging. He fought the constant temptation to think about Sarah, to remember the beautiful little girl who had taken his hand at Fort Dearborn and had helped him learn the white man’s ways; the budding young woman who had left Fort Dearborn to go to a new life; the ravishing young woman he had found in Saint Louis. Those thoughts inevitably led to their time together in the cave, to her silken skin rubbing against his own, the glory of hearing her whisper his name in ecstasy, the wonder and joy of being inside of her, of pleasing her.

  He groaned aloud, shaking his head and urging Tonoeva ahead, gritting his teeth against the gnawing pain that often plagued his middle and lower back. He supposed he would always be troubled by it, but it was better than the awful paralysis. It had seemed there was nothing to live for then, but he had, and surely he had recovered because God meant him to go and get his son. He still had not made any decisions about what he would do then. He could not think about it, for to think about it meant realizing he must go on without Sarah. It still seemed impossible that she was gone, but he had seen the look of death on her face that day, had seen the doctor declare her dead and cover her.


  Tonoeva slipped on a smooth rock and faltered. “Easy, girl,” he soothed. “You don’t have to hurry in this mess.” The words were meant to calm the animal, but they had to be shouted above the pounding rain. He reined in Tonoeva to let the animal rest a moment, looking around for a cave he could use for shelter. He saw nothing, although the terrain was rocky and mountainous. It was then he thought he heard voices. He frowned, straining to listen above the pouring rain and rolling thunder.

  There it was again, someone shouting. He urged Tonoeva forward curiously, coming upon a clearing around the bend of a jagged mountainside to see deep ruts in the ground apparently left by a heavy wagon. He looked ahead and heard voices again, but could see nothing.

  The wagon tracks curved around yet another bend and Caleb followed, finally coming upon a flatbed wagon loaded down with bulky objects covered with canvas and blankets and tied with an abundance of rope. Six mules were hitched to the wagon, apparently having decided not to go any farther. A woman stood to one side, holding a rope tied to the bridles of four horses, one of which was saddled. The woman was heavyset and wore an Indian tunic. Three cows and a sorry looking bull stood grazing nearby, their heads hanging in the rain. A man who looked dark like an Indian but who wore white man’s clothing was swearing at the mules, trying to make them go. A young girl and a little boy, also dressed like whites, stood at the back of the wagon knee-deep in mud, pushing the wagon and trying to help get it out of mud that oozed right up to the bed.

  The man shouted at the mules again, and the girl and boy pushed. Caleb noticed that just above them the side of the mountain gaped an ugly brown. Apparently there had been a small mudslide, and somehow these people had been caught in it. They pushed again and the wagon gave slightly, but then the little boy slipped under a wheel and the wagon rocked back again, pinning him.

  “Father! Father, make them go! Make them go!” the girl screamed. “Lee is caught under the wheel!”

  The woman holding the horses yelled something in a language Caleb had never heard and went to help push.

  Caleb charged Tonoeva forward at a gallop, jumping off the animal before it even came to a halt and slopping through the mud. There was no time for any of them to wonder who he was or where he had come from. They had help.

  “Try to get them moving again,” he shouted to the man, putting his shoulder against the back of the wagon. Caleb grabbed a wheel spoke. “Get ready to pull him out quickly if I can help move this,” he told the woman. She nodded and knelt by the boy while the man cussed the mules again, whipping them until they finally struggled forward slightly.

  Caleb pushed with everything he had, pain ripping through his back. He shuddered with the strain, finally relaxing when the woman managed to pull the boy from beneath the wheel. Caleb’s legs buckled and he fell to his knees with a groan.

  “Lee,” the man shouted, coming around to the back of the wagon and helping the woman lay the little boy on firmer ground. They felt his body, and the boy said something in the same strange language the woman had used, then grinned. The woman pulled him close and hugged him.

  The young girl knelt beside Caleb then, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, mister?”

  Caleb rocked with the pain. “I will be. I have a bad back injury. It was not good for me to push the wagon.” He didn’t even look at her he was so lost in his pain.

  “Father, he’s hurt,” the girl yelled through the rain. “He cannot get up.”

  The man was instantly at Caleb’s side. “Can I help you? You helped save my son. I am sorry you are hurt.”

  Caleb shook his head. “I have a bad back.” He shivered with fear of the paralysis returning.

  “Stay with him,” the man ordered the girl. “I will find shelter.”

  The man left and Caleb stayed on his knees, unable to even get out of the mud at first. The girl stayed right beside him. “I am Marie. Marie Whitestone. Thank you for helping us.”

  Caleb just nodded, the pain subsiding slightly.

  “We are Cherokee,” the girl added, not sure what else to say to him.

  He turned to look at her then. Though her face was covered with mud, he could see that she was pretty. Her eyes widened slightly, and in her eager youth it was impossible for her to hide her pleasure in what she saw: a very handsome young man who was as dark as she. “You are Indian too?” She asked the question with the bright smile of a curious little girl, but Caleb guessed her to be fourteen or fifteen.

  “I am Indian, too,” he answered, wincing with pain. “I am… part Cheyenne.” He looked away again, bending over, daring to move slightly just to make sure he could.

  “Cheyenne? I have never seen a Cheyenne! There are no Cheyenne in Georgia. That is where we are from. We are going to Unorganized Territory. My father has bought land from the government.”

  Caleb nodded, glancing at her father. The man was pounding stakes into the ground near a rocky cliff that provided some shelter from the wind and rain. The woman walked slowly over to her husband, leading the little boy by the hand and watching him walk to make sure he was all right. Caleb was relieved to see the little boy appeared to be fine, then noticed that the man was building a tent from canvas and blankets.

  “Is the little boy your brother?” he asked.

  “Yes. He is only four.”

  Caleb tried to straighten, but the pain was too great. He moaned, bending over again. “The mud… probably saved him,” he told the girl, suddenly wanting to keep talking. “The wheel just pushed him deeper into the mud and it cushioned him. If the ground had been hard he would have been crushed.”

  “God was with us this day then. And he sent you to help us. We are very grateful.”

  He nodded. “Help me… try to get out of this mud,” he said, trying to straighten again.

  She took hold of his arm. “I will try, but I am small and you are a grown man. I am not sure I can help much.”

  “Just let me hang on to you while I pull myself up with my other hand. I’ll grab the wagon wheel.”

  “All right.” She stood up, taking hold of his right arm while he grasped the wagon wheel with his left. Caleb gritted his teeth against the pain as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. He leaned against the wagon, panting from the effort, then managed to get one foot ahead of the other and make it to firmer ground before collapsing again and rolling onto his side.

  “Father, Mother!” the girl shouted. “He is badly hurt! Hurry!”

  The woman came running, bending over Caleb. “We will help you,” she said in English. “Do not fear.”

  The tent was finally ready, although at the same time the rain finally stopped.

  “Get the feather mattress out of the wagon,” the man told his daughter. “I have put dry blankets over the ground inside the tent. Put the mattress on top of them and we will let him rest inside and try to find some dry wood for a fire. We will all rest here, and everyone should get into something dry quickly.” He turned to his wife. “Go get his horse and find some dry clothing. We must get these wet things off him right away, then the rest of us will change.”

  Marie rummaged under the canvas of the wagon, glad to discover the rolled up feather mattress was dry. She tugged at it and finally yanked it loose. It was heavy with down and goose feathers, and it would not be easy to carry it to the tent. When she turned with it in her arms she could not help staring at the Cheyenne. His shirt had been removed to reveal a magnificent build, but he had many scars, and there was one in the middle of his back that was white and indented, as though there had been a hole in his back. Her heart immediately went out to him. Where had this young man gotten all the scars? And why was he traveling alone?

  She looked away as her father helped the man take off his pants. She wanted very much to look, for he was beautiful, and she had been curious lately about men and how they might look naked. But it was bad to look, and she held the mattress to one side so she could not see as she walked past him.

  Cal
eb caught sight of her as she went by, and for the first time he noticed that she limped because one foot was bent outward. But she walked gamely toward the tent, carrying the heavy feather mattress.

  Caleb awoke to the smell of bacon frying. He stirred, thinking of the cave and Sarah. He spoke her name before opening his eyes and fully awakening. He was inside a tent, lying naked under soft blankets. His gaze fell on a pretty, dark-haired girl whose bosom seemed too large for her small, young body. She gave him a bright smile.

  “Hello, mister,” she said, her bright dark eyes dancing. “How do you feel?”

  He remembered then. “Marie?”

  She nodded. “You fell asleep soon after my mother and father put you in here. You slept all afternoon and all night. You must have been very tired. Have you not been resting?”

  He sighed and stretched, reaching bare arms out from under the blankets. “Not much,” he answered.

  “Who is Sarah? Are you in a hurry to go someplace? Are you going to see her?”

  Caleb looked at her again. “No. Sarah is… someone I knew once. She’s gone now. I have a son living with the Cheyenne. He’s about three years old. I haven’t seen him for a year or more. I was going to get him.”

  Her heart tightened some. A son meant a wife. “Were you going to live in the wilds with your son and his mother? Why did you leave there?”

  Caleb lay back and stared at the top of the tent. Oh, how all the memories hurt. “His mother is dead,” he said quietly. “And why I left there is a very long story.” He met her eyes and saw deep sorrow and concern.

  “I am sorry his mother is dead. Was she the one called Sarah?”

  Caleb held her eyes, but she felt he was looking through her rather than at her. “No. Sarah isn’t his mother.”

  “Your eyes have much sadness, but they are nice eyes. I never saw such blue ones.”