Savage Horizons

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Well, dear, I see you’re awake,” Byron told her, bending down and kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry about the baby, I truly am. We had to bury her right away, of course. You’ve been sleeping for two days now.”

  She wanted to lash out at him, to kill him. But she couldn’t even move. All she could do was stare at him and shake with wrenching sobs that tore her soul apart.

  “By the way,” Byron added. “You were holding an Indian necklace in your hand during the birth. I supposed it was something special to you, so I took it and buried it with the child. I thought you might like to know that.”

  Sarah saw the victory in his eyes. Caleb Sax was dead, now his child was dead, and Byron had removed her only other link to the man, the blue quill necklace. She began shaking violently, and the doctor was there immediately with more medicine. They were making her drink it. She didn’t want to drink it. But she was helpless. She coughed and choked as it went down, and seconds later all was black again.

  “That will keep her quiet for a good long time,” the doctor told Byron. “If you keep her drugged long enough, she’ll eventually become very weak, and as a result very submissive and dependent on you. That is what you requested, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I want to keep her quiet for awhile, until I’m sure she’s given up and is convinced the baby is dead.” He smiled wryly at the doctor. “I guess I’m not a total villain,” he said to the man. “I could have had you kill the baby. But in all good conscience I couldn’t quite go that far.”

  The doctor grinned and shook his head. “You’d be surprised what I can do for enough money,” he answered. “But I only do what I’m paid for, and you paid for a cover up, Mr. Clawson.”

  Byron watched the man put away his instruments. “If the damn brat hadn’t been so dark I might have let her keep it. If it had been fair like her I could have stood it. But that one was all Indian. How would I have explained that to my associates?”

  “I understand. My lips are sealed.” The doctor turned and they shook hands. “Keep giving her that medicine I’ve left on the table, two tablespoons every time she wakes. When the medicine is gone, let me know and we’ll see how she’s progressing.” He walked to the door. “Call on me if you need anything else.”

  Byron nodded, turning to Sarah as soon as the man left. “Now you are totally mine, Sarah Sax Clawson,” he said. “I’ll not share you with some other man’s brat. And I’ll not have you mooning over that damn Indian trinket either. It’s with that bastard child where it belongs. Let the child wonder where the hell it came from.”

  “All right! All right!” The stout woman who ran the Pennsylvania orphanage pulled her robe tight as she lumbered to the kitchen door. The pounding continued.

  “This is an ungodly hour to be comin’ to call,” she hollered. She flung open the door to see a carriage rattling off into the darkness. A crate sat on the back step.

  The woman bent down to check the contents. Her eyes widened when she peeled back the blankets and found a baby.

  “Well, I might have known,” she muttered. She leaned farther out the door, shaking her fist in the direction the buggy had gone. “Cowards! Bring me another bastard, will you? Can’t own up to your own mistakes?”

  She bent down and picked up the crate, carrying it inside to a table and setting it down. When she picked up the baby something fell back into the crate. The woman frowned, hoisting the baby into the crook of one arm and reaching into the crate with the other. She pulled out a blue quill necklace. She looked from the necklace to the baby, a beautiful child with dark skin and a shock of jet black hair.

  “Indian, are you? I’ve never had an Indian child in this place before.” She examined the necklace. “I suppose somebody wants you to have this—a gift from someone you’ll never know now, little one. We’ll hang on to it for you.” She shook her head. “Now what would an Indian be doing in these parts? And Indians don’t drive fancy carriages.” She unwrapped the blanket to see that the baby was a girl. “Well, I guess we’ll have to pick out a name for you and hope you’re lucky enough to get adopted soon. You’re too pretty to be slaving away in a factory all day.”

  The baby opened her eyes, eyes as blue as the sky. The woman’s eyebrows arched. “Well, well! Now I think I understand. A little half-breed, are you? And which one had the blue eyes, hmm? Your mama or your papa?” She laid the necklace across the baby’s chest. It was almost as big as the baby. “Looks like this was made for a man,” she mused. “Is that it? Is your papa the Indian?”

  She turned and headed up the stairs. “I guess that’s something we’ll never know, will we, child?”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Four

  IT was hard work, clearing the land, planting, weeding, harvesting. And Caleb worked harder than any of them, because he wanted to keep busy. Tom was at his side every minute of every day, toddling through the fields or riding in the wagon with him when Caleb made trips to a trading post on the Arkansas River.

  Caleb and Tom were so close that the Cherokee joked about it. “I think there is an invisible cord tied between them,” one would say. “The boy can go only so far and then the father pulls him back.”

  “Have you seen Caleb and the boy today?” they would ask, never, “Have you seen Caleb?”

  Marie Whitestone had been ecstatic the day she saw Caleb Sax ride into the settlement. It was the spring of 1816 when he came, and the prairie was alive with wildflowers. It was a time when a young girl’s heart is softest, her hope the greatest, her love the most painful. Caleb had returned and she was sick with love for him. She had dreamed of him all that winter, praying daily that he would come back.

  But her joy was short-lived, for she soon realized Caleb’s whole world was his son. She could not blame him, knowing what he had been through and what the boy meant to him. And she certainly couldn’t blame the child, a sweet and beautiful four-year-old. She only blamed herself, sure he did not find her attractive because she was crippled. She wished that she would get taller, but she only grew stronger and more stout, beginning to develop the solid build of her Cherokee mother. She could imagine how beautiful the one called Sarah must have been, with her red-gold hair and green eyes. And it seemed most white women were more slender than Indian women. Surely after loving one like that Caleb Sax could never find someone like Marie Whitestone desirable.

  And so her heart loved secretly, painfully. Caleb paid little more attention to her than he did to any of the other settlers. He built his own cabin and shared it with his son. He began taking the child with him into the mountains to the east to search for wild horses, and by the end of that summer he had a corral full of mustangs.

  “I am not so interested in farming,” he told the Whitestones one night. He had been invited for supper, and Marie had cooked the entire meal, hoping to impress him. She brought him a large piece of berry pie, and he hoisted Tom onto his lap and let the child poke at it and eat some while he talked. Marie’s heart fell. Caleb did not even take a bite of it.

  “Horses,” he continued. “That’s my kind of crop. I will break them, and sell them to new settlers, maybe herd some to the trading post. Soon more people will come here and they will need horses. I love the animals, love raising them. I think I can do well.”

  James Whitestone nodded. “Each man must do what he does best. For me it is farming.” He laid some pods in front of Caleb. “Try these.”

  Caleb frowned, turning one of them over in his fingers. Tom picked one up and put it in his mouth to suck on it and Whitestone laughed. “You must break the shell,” he told Caleb. “Then eat the nut inside.”

  Caleb urged the boy to spit out the pod. He broke it open then, tasted one of the nuts inside and gave the other one to Tom. “This is very good,” he told Whitestone. “I’ve never seen a nut like this before. What do you call it?”

  “Some call them groundnuts, some goober peas or ground peas. I call them peanuts. The Cherokee grow them in Georgia. They grow under the ground and
have to be roasted after they are harvested.”

  Caleb ate another one, giving part of it to Tom again. The boy grinned brightly, poking at the piece of pie and sticking some gooey berries into his mouth.

  “Do you not like the pie, Caleb?” Marie finally asked. “I baked it especially for you.”

  Caleb glanced at her, and when he saw the hope on her face he felt suddenly cruel. He had seen that same look whenever he was around her. He had avoided it, deliberately ignored it. He had no use for loving again, but he knew perhaps she misunderstood his reasons.

  He gave her a wink. “The meal was the best I have had in a long time. And I intend to eat the pie, more than one piece if I can have it.”

  She brightened, visibly reddening under her dark skin. He noticed she wore a pretty yellow dress, appreciating the way she filled out the bodice. Marie Whitestone was most certainly well endowed, and although a bit stout, she had a very pretty face, a face full of love and sweetness. She would obviously make a very good wife some day. But that day was far away for him, if it ever came at all.

  Caleb politely finished two pieces of pie, more for Marie than because he was hungry. Lee, now five, took four-year-old Tom aside to play a game with beads, and Caleb stretched and rubbed his stomach. He lit a pipe. “I’m so full, I think I’ll walk outside for a few minutes and smoke my pipe,” he told James. “Do you mind if Marie walks with me?”

  The girl met his eyes, then blushed, feeling flustered.

  “By my guest,” James replied, aware of his daughter’s crush on Caleb.

  Marie hurriedly found a sweater, wondering how she kept her legs from folding beneath her. She walked to the door and Caleb followed her out, taking her trembling arm.

  “Let’s walk over here,” he said, leading her to a bench made from two stumps and a log laid between them. “Sit down, Marie.” She did so gladly, and Caleb sat down beside her. He puffed his pipe for a moment, then set it aside, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Marie, I wish … I wish we could somehow remove the awkward feelings between us. I mean, I see the way you look at me, and it hurts me to not be able to return that look. You’re a young woman with a good heart, full of love to give unselfishly, and there are many fine young Cherokee men in this settlement.”

  Marie felt tears fill her eyes at his hesitant speech. She sniffed. She had lost him without ever having him.

  “Don’t cry, Marie. I did not bring you out here to make you cry.”

  “I can’t help it,” she blurted. This was her only chance to tell him. “I love you, Caleb. If I could make myself stop, I would. I—I try to. I know I am plain and crippled and you don’t care about me that way, but I can’t stop how I feel.” She started to run off, but Caleb grabbed her arm, forcing her back down to the bench. He faced her, grasping both her arms.

  “Is that what you think? That I don’t like the way you look … or that I find you undesirable becáuse of your foot?”

  She couldn’t reply.

  He leaned closer. “Marie, listen to me. I do not look at you the way you think. In you I see a great beauty, a goodness that can make a man feel the way he should feel about a woman he cares for. I treat you as I do because… because inside I am terrified. I do not fear Indians or outlaws or the elements or wild animals. There is only one thing that I fear, and that is to love again. I do not let my son out of my sight because I’m so afraid of losing him. Death stalks me like a spirit. It has taken all those I have ever loved—” His voice broke and he swallowed to stay in control. “You have to understand, Marie. You have to let me heal. But that does not mean we cannot be good friends. And it doesn’t mean that I could never look at you as a woman I would want. It only means that I do not want you pining away for me. If some Cherokee man takes a liking to you, you should think about him. Do not wait for me. I have no desire to love a woman again—not for a long time.”

  His face was so close, so beautiful. “You… you really think I am pretty?”

  He gave her a handsome grin. “Of course you are pretty.”

  “And if not for your sorrow you could… want me?”

  He studied her for several moments. “Yes,” he answered in a near whisper. “I could want you.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “Would you kiss me, Caleb? Just once? I promise I will never bother you again.”

  He smiled, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “You are not a bother. I only want you to understand so you do not feel bad. Do you understand?”

  She sniffed. “I understand. Can I help you take care of your horses sometimes, and watch little Tom for you? He is such a beautiful boy. You have to let go of him, Caleb. You will smother him.”

  He frowned, then nodded. “You are wise for sixteen, Marie Whitestone. I know you are right. I am just afraid.”

  “You should not be afraid. Everything will be good now. And one day you will love again, be happy again.”

  A warm breeze ruffled her long hair. He leaned forward then, meeting her lips tenderly, surprised at how quickly just touching her mouth awakened feelings he preferred to keep buried. Every nerve seemed to tingle painfully, and he knew he was not ready for this. It still hurt far too much.

  Marie felt herself melting under his kiss, sure in that quick moment that Caleb Sax must be everything she imagined as a husband and lover. She would never be afraid with Caleb. She longed to be the one to please him in the night again, to give him more sons. How wonderful it would be to be Caleb Sax’s woman.

  He left her mouth, kissing her cheek then before pulling back. “No more sad eyes,” he told her. “And no more thinking it has something to do with you. Promise?”

  She nodded, unable to find her voice.

  “Good. Now let’s go back inside. I want some more of that good pie.”

  She stood up on shaking legs and he put an arm around her as he walked her back. “Right now what I really need are friends, Marie. Be my friend.”

  “I will always be your friend,” she answered, finding her voice. Surely there was hope. He had kissed her, and he wanted to be her friend, and he walked with his arm around her. He could tell her to pay attention to the Cherokee boys, but she would not. Caleb Sax was all she wanted. She licked her lips, trying to grasp the lingering taste of his mouth on her own. She would remember the magic of it forever.

  “What the hell is wrong with her, doctor?” Byron paced beside the bed while the doctor examined Sarah. “She hasn’t come around in weeks. She’s an absolute invalid. I’ve had to hire a nurse to clean up after her.”

  Dr. Zajac straightened, looking over his spectacles at Byron. “I’d say she’s had some kind of reaction to the drug you’ve been giving her. I told you not to give her more until she was fully awake. Yet the whole bottle is gone. That combined with the heavy bleeding Tilly told me about must have done this to her.”

  Byron frowned. “Damn it, I didn’t want her to get like this.”

  “Are you suffering from guilt, Mr. Clawson?”

  Byron’s gray eyes turned glassy. “I have nothing to be guilty about. She does! I just can’t stand the way she’d look at me, with those knowing green eyes. I wanted to make sure she was weak enough not to put up a fuss. I want this whole thing over with, and I want to mold her into the right kind of wife for Byron Clawson. She’s beautiful. I want her on my arm at social events, and I want her to need me—for the drug or whatever—just so she needs me. The baby is gone now and that damn Indian is dead. It’s time she started living a normal life with me. I’m still willing now that the bastard child is gone.”

  “Well I’d say that won’t happen for a long time, Mr. Clawson. She’s had a reaction to the drug and she’s slipped into some kind of coma. I don’t have any idea what to do about it or how long it might last.”

  Byron paled. “No idea? What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying it could be two weeks or two years.”

  “Two years!” He glanced at Sarah’s limp, thinning body. “I’m not going to pu
t up with that… that thing in my house and my bed for two years! You’ve got to do something! What will I tell her aunt and uncle?”

  “Calm down. You can simply tell them she bled heavily after the baby and slipped into a coma. It does happen, although we don’t know just why. If you want her out of your bed, then send her back home. Let her aunt and uncle take care of her.”

  Byron turned to look at Sarah again. He had gotten his way with her, although it hadn’t lasted as long as he had hoped it would. Terrence and Mary Sax certainly couldn’t blame him if he wanted a divorce from this useless creature. If only she had cooperated he could have given her a grand life. It wasn’t easy finding someone as beautiful as Sarah Sax, but she wasn’t worth the hardship of caring for her the way she was now. He had done Terrance Sax a favor by marrying her. It wasn’t his fault the baby had “died” and Sarah Sax had gone into a coma. He nodded.

  “Yes. That’s an idea. I’ll just send her back home. I’ll pay for the best ambulance wagon and driver. In fact, I’ll go along. They should see how distraught I am.” He turned to the doctor. “I needn’t tell you what I’ll do if any of this gets out—the drug and baby and all.”

  The doctor met his eyes squarely. “You needn’t tell me. That’s what you paid me for, remember? I’m sorry she’s slipped off on you, but you didn’t follow my directions.” He turned, putting away his instruments. “So, you’ll ship her off to Saint Louis and you’ll be free as a bird here in Washington, free to pursue your own career without the burden of an invalid wife.” He closed his bag. “Do you intend to divorce her?”

  Byron shrugged. “I’ll have to think about it.” There was, after all, Sarah’s inheritance to consider.

  “Of course. You’re a brilliant young man, Mr. Clawson, with a promising future. Should the time come, I know some eligible young ladies who might interest you and who could help you in Washington. You could hardly be blamed for a divorce, and there are some very wealthy ladies here in town.”