Treasured Grace

by Tracie Peterson

  “But it was not theirs to give away,” Five Crows replied, crossing his arms. “It belongs to the Natítayt—the People. My people.”

  Alex couldn’t help but think back on Grace Martindale’s words during their conversation. He hated to admit that she was right in this situation. The Indians would have to change; the whites would never bend. “The Natítayt must find a way to live with the Boston men. They will not stop coming. If you kill them, they will only send more—and not just to settle the land, but to kill you as well.”

  “Without our land, we are dead,” the fourth chief said. Instead of anger, however, his tone held great resignation.

  Alex felt sorry for them. They had no idea what they were facing. The Americans were hungry for land, and expansion was all the talk back in the states. Oregon Country’s boundaries had only been settled the year before, and now the American government was encouraging citizens to move west with the promise of free land.

  “The earth is life to us,” Camaspelo said. He looked at Alex and then Sam. “It is life to you as well. When the Boston men come to take all of the land, the beaver will die along with the Natítayt.”

  Alex nodded. “What you say is true. In the east where the Boston men have their cities, there are few wild animals, yet it is the Boston men who demand the beaver for their hats. They do not understand what they are doing. Or if they do . . . they do not care. But I care. You are my brothers, and I come here to tell you that you must not harm the Boston men.”

  Sam joined in. “They have great numbers of soldiers with weapons that are far more dangerous than those we carry. If you kill the Boston men, the soldiers will come and kill you and your children. It will be the end of our people.”

  Five Crows said, “Joe Lewis tells us that Dr. Whitman is poisoning our people. He heard the doctor say that they must kill us all.”

  “Joe Lewis is a liar.” Alex refrained from all the other things he might have called the half-breed Canadian trapper. “He enjoys causing trouble.”

  “He is not the only one who tells us this,” Five Crows answered. “There are others who believe this to be true.”

  Alex could well imagine. He could name half a dozen men who had done their best to get Whitman and the other missionaries to leave the area. He tried another tactic. “Dr. Whitman has helped you many times. He has journeyed here from his mission to tend your sick.”

  “And still they die,” Camaspelo replied.

  “But not all,” Alex countered. “If Dr. Whitman meant to wipe out the people, would he not let all of them die?”

  Sam spoke up. “Mr. Spaulding has a mission near my village. He has spoken often of his love for our people, and my people love him in return. His words are worthy of trust. He knows that Dr. Whitman came only to share God’s love.”

  “The Black Robes share God’s love with us. They came to talk to us and asked to pay for land to build a mission. They give us respect.”

  “I do not doubt that the priests from the Catholic Church respect you,” Alex assured. “But so does Dr. Whitman.” Alex wasn’t sure he entirely believed that, but he certainly didn’t want the Cayuse killing the doctor. “You have a tradition that if the tewat cannot save the sick, then he is killed.” The chiefs nodded. “But people will die without the tewats as well as with them. Death is a part of life, is it not?”

  “It is, but Dr. Whitman has been heard to say he wants to kill us.” Camaspelo’s voice rose. “He poisons the medicine and the food he gives us.”

  “Then do not take Whitman’s medicine nor eat the food,” Sam said. “Do not allow him to come to the village and treat the people. If he is evil, then have nothing to do with him, but do not kill him. It will be bad for you if you take his life. It will be bad for all of our people.”

  “We will make it bad for him and his people,” the fourth chief offered.

  Tauitowe held up his hands to halt the arguing. “We will talk no more about it.” He frowned as he met Alex’s gaze. “Talk does no good.”

  Grace took several shirts down from the line where they hung to dry. She thought of Eletta and wondered how her friend was faring so far away. Grace wasn’t at all sure she could have managed, despite the fact that she’d convinced the mission board back east that she could. This was such an isolated, lonely life even when there were other people living nearby. Perhaps she would write Eletta a letter later.

  She gathered the shirts up and put them in her basket, and when she turned back to retrieve the next piece of clothing, she found herself staring into the scowling face of a Cayuse brave.

  “You tewat woman?”

  Grace nodded, never taking her gaze from the man’s face. She could smell him—a mix of sweat and smoke. It was said the Indians could smell fear, but whether he could smell her fear or merely read it in her face, Grace knew he understood she was afraid.

  His expression and tone softened. “You come to village.”

  She shook her head, slowly at first and then more quickly. “I can’t.”

  “You come,” he said, more insistent. “You bring medicine and come.”

  “Dr. Whitman is the tewat. You need to get him.” She pointed to the mission house.

  “No. He not there. He go to fort.”

  Grace licked her lips and took a step back. “I cannot go.”

  His expression changed to confusion. “There plenty sick in my village. You can help. I hear talk that you can heal.”

  “I cannot come to your village.” Grace stood her ground, but only because her feet were frozen in place. “Go away now.” She pointed toward the village. “Go now or I will get the men.”

  The Cayuse reached for her, and only then could Grace move. Turning to run, she saw the trapper Alex and his Nez Perce friend Sam approaching and hurried to them.

  “Please help me. Make him leave.” She pointed to the brave.

  Alex stopped and took hold of her while Sam moved off to speak to the Cayuse. “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s demanding I come to the village and treat his people. He heard that I was a tewat. I told him to go get Dr. Whitman, but apparently he’s gone to the fort.”

  “Do you know enough to help him?”

  “Of course, but . . .” She looked back over her shoulder.

  “But you’re too good to help them?”

  Grace was surprised by his tone of anger. She fixed her gaze on him. “I’m not too good. Dr. Whitman told us never to go to the village. I’m simply obeying orders.” She didn’t want to admit that fear was the real reason she refused.

  “So you respect Whitman’s wishes when it has to do with the Cayuse but not the people here at the mission? I think you believe yourself above them. You don’t want to help them because they’re savages, as I heard you call them.”

  His tone and suggestion that she thought herself better were more than Grace could stand. She wasn’t about to admit to him that she was simply terrified.

  Without waiting for Alex to continue, Grace stalked back toward the Cayuse and Sam. “I will come. Let me get my things.”

  Both men looked surprised but said nothing.

  Grace hurried into the emigrant house, grabbed her bag, and stuffed it with as much vinegar, herbs, and tonics as it would hold, then marched back out to where Alex and Sam stood with the Indian. Without a word to any of them, she headed straight for the village.

  Chapter

  6

  Grace was appalled at what she saw in the Cayuse village. The sick lay on thin tule mats, the same material used to create the walls of the teepee-style lodge. Filth, by her standards, was a permanent presence in their lives. The rash-riddled bodies of the Cayuse were filthy, as were their cooking utensils, blankets, and most everything else. The smells of sickness, rancid grease, and unwashed bodies were nearly enough to drive her back out into the fresh air, but she persevered. And to her surprise, so did Alex and Sam. They remained at her side, acting quickly upon her requests for hot water and translation.

  S
he moved from lodge to lodge, doing what she could to make the sick comfortable, but it was clear to her that many would die. Even so, she did her best to prove to Alex that she wasn’t afraid, nor was she above helping the Indians. Her anger drove her for the better part of the day, but by the time the skies turned dusky and her body demanded she stop, Grace had no more anger.

  The Cayuse were no different than the whites she’d left back at the house. Measles made all men equal.

  Using the last of the vinegar she’d brought to the village, Grace gently dabbed the skin of a small Cayuse girl. The child was going to die. Grace told Alex to explain to the girl’s mother, and the woman began to wail. Her cries pierced Grace’s heart, stirring her compassion for the grieving mother and her people. No matter the color of a person’s skin, the loss of a loved one was never easy.

  When her supplies were finally exhausted, Grace let Alex and Sam take her back to the mission. The sun was long gone from the sky, and heavy clouds blocked any light from the moon. She said nothing, still reliving the day of death and disease in her mind. Alex and Sam were talking, but the words didn’t register. So many of those souls would be dead by morning if God didn’t intercede.

  “Grace, did you hear me?” Alex stopped directly in front of her and put his hand on her shoulder.

  She looked up to see that they’d reached the emigrant house. Light shone from behind the curtains, but she had no idea what time it was. Alex frowned slightly as she finally met his gaze. “No. What did you say?”

  “I told you I was sorry for what I said earlier.”

  She shook her head. “What are you talking about?” A cold wind blew strands of hair into her eyes, but before she could push them back, Alex had done it for her.

  “I was harsh and inconsiderate. I knew you were afraid, but I accused you of thinking yourself too good to help the Cayuse. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  Grace thought again of all she’d seen that day, and exhaustion washed over her in such a way that she wasn’t sure she could take another step. She had no desire to talk to Alex or anyone else.

  “I’m sorry too.” She didn’t wait to hear anything more but forced her legs to move and made her way into the house.

  Entering the room where Mercy lay sleeping, Grace was surprised to find Hope watching over her. When Hope lifted her head and saw Grace, she burst into tears, jumped up, and wrapped her arms around Grace’s weary shoulders.

  “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.” Hope pulled away and her nose crinkled up. “You stink.”

  “I’ve no doubt.”

  “One of the women saw you go off to the village. Why did you go there?”

  “I went to help the sick. So many sick.” Grace’s words trailed off, and with a weary glance she looked around the room. “Where are the others?”

  Hope stepped back. “Everybody’s gone to bed. It’s nearly ten.”

  Grace nodded. “I need to wash. Is there hot water?”

  “I made sure there was some on the hearth. I’ve been wiping Mercy down and making sure she drinks something every hour—just like you told me.”

  “Thank you. I . . . you’re a good sister.” Grace gave Hope a weak smile and felt her knees give way. She sank to the floor. “Maybe I’ll just rest for a minute and then wash up.”

  It was the last thing Grace remembered before she fell into a deep sleep.

  When Grace awoke, it was morning. She stretched and frowned at the smell of her own stench. Sitting up, she found Mercy watching her, but Hope was nowhere to be found.

  She smiled at Mercy and reached out to touch the younger girl’s forehead. “Your fever is gone.”

  “I feel better,” Mercy said, her voice still weak. “But my eyes still hurt.”

  Grace nodded. “I’ll make some more salve. I’m afraid I used up all I had yesterday.”

  “Hope said you went to help the Indians.”

  “I did. They’re in a bad way. I don’t think many of them will live.”

  “That’s so sad,” Mercy said, closing her eyes. “I don’t like them, but I don’t want them to die. You were kind to help them.”

  “Where’s your sister?”

  “She went to get food for us. She told me not to wake you unless it was truly necessary.”

  “I needed the sleep, that’s for sure. Now I need to clean up. Will you be all right until I get back?”

  Mercy gave a slight nod. “I’m much better, so you don’t need to worry.”

  Grace smiled. “I’m not worried. I knew you would pull through.”

  Leaving Mercy to rest, Grace made her way to the fireplace, where hot water was waiting for her. She ladled some into a large pitcher and then took it to the privacy of the small room where house residents tended to their personal needs. Grace poured the hot water into a large bowl and began to wash. The heat felt good on her face. She didn’t even mind the harsh scent of the lye soap.

  She slipped off her filthy gown and hurriedly washed her entire body as best she could. With her bathing complete, she donned her only other dress and put the dirty one to soak in the remaining water. She would see to it later, but first she needed to eat. With all that had happened the day before, she hadn’t had a real meal. Alex had given her some dried meat and a hunk of bread at one point, but other than that, Grace had worked through the noon and evening meals.

  Thoughts of Alex caused Grace to pause. She remembered a gentleness in him when he’d helped her. He was truly a good-hearted man who cared about people no matter their color. She had been touched when he’d helped her by holding a young boy while Grace bathed him. Alex’s dark eyes had betrayed his heart when she whispered that the child was too far gone to help. In that moment she had wanted nothing more than to embrace him and lessen her own sadness along with his.

  When she returned to check on Mercy, Hope had come back, and Mercy was already nibbling a biscuit.

  “I brought you some biscuits and ham.” Hope held out the plate to Grace. “And some berry jam too. I know how you like it.”

  “Thank you.” Grace sat down and began to slather jam on one of the biscuits. “What’s the news from the mission house?”

  “Not good. Mrs. Osborn had her baby—a little girl—but the baby’s bad off. I heard the doctor say he didn’t think she would make it. Silvijane is worse too. The whole family is sick in bed with the measles.”

  Grace nodded. “I wish there was something I could do to help, but at least they have the doctor’s care.”

  “Are you going back to the Indian village?” Hope asked.

  “Yes. I want to do whatever I can to help. You’ll look after Mercy, won’t you?”

  “Of course, but Grace . . .” Hope seemed unable to find the right words. She shook her head. “I wish you wouldn’t go to the Indians.”

  “But they need help.”

  “I know, but they hate us. What if they decide to hurt you? It’s so much safer here.”

  “Try not to worry. I’m doing what I feel God has called me to do—help the sick.” She tried to offer a reassuring smile. “Now, see if you can’t get Mercy some broth. I know the women made some from a chicken yesterday. Hopefully there’s some left.”

  “I’ll get some.”

  Mercy looked up from her pallet and gave Grace a smile. “Don’t worry, Grace. I’m much better.”

  After restocking her carpetbag, Grace gave one last look at her sisters. They looked anxious. “Don’t you two worry. I’ll be fine. Oh, and Hope, if you have a chance, would you wash out my dress? I left it soaking in my wash water.”

  At Hope’s nod, Grace exited the house and blinked at the brilliance of the sun. It looked to be another unusually warm November day.

  She cast a quick glance across the yard toward the mission house. There were several people milling about, but Dr. Whitman didn’t appear to be one of them. Grace hurried around the house and made her way past the pond, hoping the men working at the gristmill would ignore her. Picking her way through the d
ried grass, she prayed for her family and friends, as well as Dr. Whitman and his wife.

  Lord, these people need your help. I need your help. There’s so much sickness, and the people are so weak. She paused, realizing she was not only praying for the mission folks but the Cayuse as well. We need a miracle—a healing miracle. Please.

  “Grace?”

  Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up to find Alex Armistead a few feet away. “I was heading over to the village. Can you come with me to interpret?”

  “Of course. Even yesterday I never intended for you to go there alone. It wouldn’t be safe or appropriate for a white woman. You should never go by yourself.”

  She tried to reply in a way that acknowledged the dangers but didn’t sound haughty. “I do . . . realize the issues at hand.”

  Alex began to walk in step with her. Grace was desperate to change the subject.

  “Why do you dress as they do?” She looked up to meet his gaze, and he flashed her a smile.

  “It’s more enduring and comfortable. Even Dr. Whitman understands that and often does likewise.”

  “It does look comfortable. I can’t begin to imagine all the work that goes into creating such an outfit, though. I’ve done a lot of sewing in my time, but not with hides.”

  “You’ll have to come with me to Sam’s village and have his wife, Sarah, teach you.”

  Grace kept her voice void of emotion. “I’d like that. I’m really not the snob you think I am. Nor am I unable to learn. For instance, I would love to learn about the vegetation in these parts. I’m sure there are plants here that offer wonderful medicinal helps.”

  “There are.” He gave her a sheepish look and ducked his chin. “I am sorry for how I acted yesterday. It was ungentlemanly. I knew you were scared, and I should have done something to reassure you instead of condemning you unfairly.”

  “Yes, you were unfair.” She paused a moment and softened her tone. “However, I appreciate that you are man enough to apologize. A lot of men wouldn’t.”