So why was the Indian woman crying? Hannah turned to her, and even in the dim lighting, the sharp knife of grief was evident in her hunched rocking. The low sobs seemed to tear from her inmost being.
It was impossible to kneel there and watch the woman’s distress without trying to help. Did she cry because she feared her daughter wouldn’t survive this most recent bought of infection and fever? If Hannah felt that way, she would likely be sobbing, too. Itu was such a dear, loving girl. So brave, especially for one her age.
She reached out and rested a hand on the woman’s back. The young mother may not accept her comfort, may even be angered by it, but she had to try.
At first there was no change in the woman’s demeanor. No lessening of the heart-wrenching grief. Hannah stroked across the crying woman’s back, her fingers finding the steady, circular rhythm that her mother had always used to soothe her.
After long minutes, the woman’s tears began to ease, shifting to dryer sobs. Finally, she glanced at Hannah with swollen, blood-shot eyes, then reached for the blanket covering Itu.
Instead of shifting the top around her arms, she grasped the bottom and raised it to reveal the empty place where the girl’s leg had once been. The leather bandage and newer poultice still wrapped the stump at her knee.
Her mother motioned across the area, and a moan slipped from her, followed by another sob, this one soaked in a fresh round of tears. Understanding swept through Hannah. She was crying for a loss, but not the passing of a life. This was grief for what might have been. The death of her dreams for her daughter—hopes that included two working legs.
Hannah slipped her arm around the woman’s shoulders, this time moving closer to lean into an embrace. She could only imagine the pain of this mother’s heart—not for herself, but for her child.
If Hannah could tell her how desperately they’d tried to save Itu without removing the leg, she would. If she could describe the delirious fever and awful mangled limb, maybe the woman would understand how necessary the loss had been. But maybe knowing those things wouldn’t really help.
Maybe the only true aid she could give was her comfort. A comfort that spread across languages and skin colors. A comfort that stemmed from Christ’s love to her, a love she longed to share with this sister.
And so she held her, with tears slipping down both their cheeks and her heart lifted in prayer.
NATHANIEL’S STOMACH growled endlessly through the next day, but the tiny meals their captors offered were the least of his worries.
The man who he assumed was Itu’s father seemed to grow more restless as the afternoon passed, striding in and out of the lodge with a thunderous glare pinned on his face. He rarely gave Nathaniel a passing glance, but every time the man approached his wife by the girl’s bed pallet, the glare he pointed at Hannah made Nathaniel’s blood boil.
Did the man blame Hannah for his daughter’s sickness? She’d done everything she could to help Itu, exhausting herself day and night, traveling for days with very little food, risking her reputation and likely angering her family. She didn’t deserve this man’s anger.
If anyone was to blame, it was this Indian brave for taking the girl away from the medicines she needed. But Nathaniel couldn’t tell him that. Nor would it be wise, given their current situation as captives.
But he’d be watching the man. And he wouldn’t leave Hannah’s side when this Indian with the death glare was nearby.
He forced his attention away from the father to where Hannah was changing the poultice on the girl’s amputated leg. “How is she?” Itu’s mother had finally started leaving her daughter’s side for a few minutes at a time, and she was gone now, so he didn’t worry about keeping his voice as quiet as before.
“I think her fever’s coming down.” As Hannah spoke, Itu’s eyes flickered open. “There you are, sweet thing.” Hannah crooned to the girl as she dipped her hands in a wash pail to clean them, then focused her attention on the child’s face, brushing the hair from her forehead.
“How do you feel?” Nathaniel’s voice sounded husky in the quiet. He reached to tweak the toes of Itu’s good leg that rose up under the blanket.
She gave a sleepy smile and mumbled some words.
“Are you ready to eat something?” Hannah glanced around, then moved toward a stack of pemmican sitting on a bark plate near the fire. She’d been allowed more movement than him, mostly because she needed to prepare the teas and poultices.
Maybe he should take over that responsibility from her. It would give him something to do at least. But then, maybe Hannah appreciated the chance to keep her hands active, too.
While Itu munched tiny bites of the pancake-like food, he entertained her with a song he’d sung to her back at his cabin. “Oh, where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?” The lyrics were nonsensical, probably something he’d learned from the soldiers on watch when they were out on a campaign. But the line that struck him in the chest just now was one he’d never given a thought to. “I have been to seek a wife, she’s the joy of my whole life.”
He glanced sideways at Hannah as he sung the words, catching the stiffening of her back before she handed the girl another bite to eat. He’d told Hannah he loved her, but he hadn’t actually asked her to marry him. He couldn’t until they were free from this place. Yet he planned to. Did she realize it? Should he tell her?
Not yet. The last thing he wanted was for her to be self-conscious around him. And he didn’t want to get her hopes up in case... Well, he would get them out alive. He had to.
God, I’ll need your help, though.
HANNAH AWOKE IN DARKNESS again, but this time she couldn’t place the sound that stirred her. She’d been trying to sleep lightly so she would hear if Itu needed her, yet nestled against Nathaniel made her want to forget about the unknown noises around her and stay tucked in his warmth and strength. She scooted away from him and pushed the blanket aside so she could rise and check Itu.
She shouldn’t sleep next to Nathaniel like this. She knew it. Yet his hands were still bound and they were surrounded by chaperones, although not as many as the night before. And the protection of Nathaniel’s nearness was one of the only comforts that helped her sleep.
Another sound drifted to her. Someone was up, over near the fire. Thick darkness still showed through the opening at the top of the tipi where the lodge-poles met and the smoke escaped. Whoever she heard must be adding more wood to the fire.
She kept herself still so she didn’t draw the person’s attention. Itu’s mother seemed to regard her with a softer look after their shared moments the night before. But the father...the way he looked at her made her want to hide behind Nathaniel.
But she couldn’t afford to show that kind of fear, so all she could do was pray for the Lord’s protection and do her best to help Itu mend.
There was no doubt in her mind—
A hand pressed hard on her mouth, stilling her thought. The man’s knee pushed into her arm, pinning it to the ground. His other hand grabbed her other arm before she could think to move it.
She tried to scream. Tried to jerk away, closer to Nathaniel, but the man pushed her hard to the dirt floor. She could only draw a shallow breath through her nose, but the stench of unwashed flesh nearly sent bile surging up her throat.
All she could see of his face was loose black hair hanging long, drowning his features in shadows as he loomed over her. Yet, she knew without a doubt this must be Itu’s father. The anger in his grip matched the venomous looks he’d been sending her all day.
In a deft movement, he jerked her upright, keeping a grimy paw over her mouth. Terror surged in her chest as he lifted her like a cloth doll. She kicked out, trying desperately to touch Nathaniel. To alert him of her danger.
But her attacker was too swift. He swung her around and strode toward the lodge door. She reversed the direction of her blows, kicking his leg with her heels. Bending her knees to strike as high as she could.
Nothing slowed him.
The beast carried her outside, between the lodges, then through another row of lodges. No matter how much she struggled, the man carried her like a loaf of bread. So she turned her focus on watching where he was taking her. What did he have planned? Surely the other Indians didn’t sanction whatever awful thing he intended, or he wouldn’t have stolen her away in the dead of night.
Fear wound a tight knot in her belly as he carried her outside the camp, across a stretch of grass, and into a copse of trees lining the base of a mountain. She tried to bite at his hand, anything to throw him off balance so she’d have a chance to get away. Or at least to fight.
But nothing stopped this bear of a man. Her struggles seemed to only anger him more as he hauled her farther away from any chance for help.
At last, he dropped to his knees and tossed her on the ground, face up, with his hand still pressed firmly to her mouth. Her hands were free now, and she clawed at his arm to rid herself of his hold.
He mumbled something she couldn’t understand, then sprang on top of her, straddling her and pinning both of her arms with his knees.
The feeling of him sitting on top of her sent a flood of terror through her chest. Did he plan to take advantage of her? What other reason would he have for bringing her so far from camp?
Oh, God. Help me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was here to help his child. How could he do this thing?
She fought to free herself from him, but the man was like a granite boulder pinning her down. She was already struggling to breathe through the thin opening at her nose, and now with the weight of him and the panic pressing hard on her chest, she could scarcely draw any air into her frantic body.
With a quick movement, he pulled his hand away and pressed a leather strip to her mouth. The action was so sudden, and she had so little breath, she didn’t have time for more than a gasp before he jerked the gag tight, twisting her head to the side so he could tie a knot tight enough to stop her blood from flowing.
Her mouth ached, but that was nothing compared to the awful truth of what he must be planning next. She had to stop him. Lord, give me the chance. Get me away from this man.
When he was satisfied her mouth was bound, he sprung to his feet in a lithe motion, taking her hands with him and pulling them over her head. Now that he no longer sat on her midsection, she took in cleansing breaths, as deep as her gag would allow.
But when the coarse leather pulled tight around her wrists, her mind finally sprang to life. He was taking away her chance for freedom. She raised her legs to kick, but there was no way she could reach him unless she spun herself around. Twisting, she bent herself over and drew her legs up to strike him where he bent over her hands.
He must have been too focused on trussing her up to see the blow coming, for she hooked her feet on his leg.
But like a solid oak, he didn’t budge, only dropped an arm over her legs to hold them next to him.
Fury surged through her, overtaking all fear. She kicked with every bit of strength she had, both to free her legs and to do damage to this brute.
He grunted, then released her feet and stepped away in a single motion. The rope around her hands tightened, stretching her arms far over her head. He must be tying her to a tree.
Terror flooded back a hundred-fold. She writhed, turning herself over and pulling her knees up under her. She’d stop this ogre or die trying. With her feet still bound, it took extra balance to stand, but he wasn’t watching her as he made quick work of knotting the leather cord around a tree.
This might be her only chance.
She dove forward, clasping her tied hands and aiming her fists at his head. It was an all-or-nothing leap. If this didn’t slow him down, her only chance would be lost. Her aim was true, and she would have struck him full in the face had he not stepped back at the last second.
She landed across his arms. He must have planned the movement, for he hoisted her up, shifted back to where she’d been lying, then rolled her off his arms. She landed hard on her back, knocking some of the air out of her.
For a moment, she lay there, trying to collect her faculties. Trying to draw enough breath to still the desperation in her chest. Yet, nothing but freedom from this beast would ease her terror.
He bent beside a tree near her feet, then moved to her legs and pressed a hard knee to her right shin. His weight might have broken the bone, it hurt so badly. And the pain almost distracted her from the knife he now brandished. With a single flick, he cut the straps securing her ankles, then pulled her legs apart and tied a new leather cord around her left leg.
The feeling of her legs being spread, opening herself to his vile plans, even though her skirt still covered her, sent a new bolt of panic through her. She kicked hard with both legs, but only managed to move the one he was tying since the oaf still kneeled on the other.
She could do nothing to fight the strength of this madman. God, you have to help me. Please!
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lord, no!
~ Hannah
Why wasn’t God doing anything to protect her? Surely he didn’t want her to be assaulted like this. Her most sacred possession—her virginity—stripped away in such a ruthless manner.
Tears sprang to her eyes as her captor secured another cord around her final leg, then pulled the leather tight so she lay spread-eagle.
She’d never been so vulnerable. And there was nothing she could do about it. Hot rivulets of sweat rolled down her temples as she raised her heart in desperate prayer.
The despoiler moved to her right side, and as he raised her skirt, she couldn’t help but think of Itu. This was the same leg that had been so mangled and was now missing. Did Itu ever feel this exposed as they worked over her wound?
Hannah pressed her eyes shut. Surely not, since the child had never been tied and gagged. Lord, be with that sweet girl. Heal her, no matter what happens to me. And help Nathaniel. Her heart ached as she thought of Nathaniel. She’d had such wonderful hopes for a life with him. Would he even want her after this...tainting?
Would she survive what this man had in store for her?
She kept her eyes squeezed tight, trying to block out his actions. And it was working, for she felt nothing from him. No touch. No sound of his movement. She’d never known how easy it would be to remove herself mentally from a horrible trauma.
Then a sound broke through. Something like a whizzing. The ring of something striking wood.
“Stop!”
She jerked her eyes open at the man’s voice. A familiar tone.
The Indian still hovered over her, still positioned at her exposed leg. Yet his attention was focused on a point above her. Beyond her.
She wanted to know what he was staring at. To see who had now entered her place of torture. Yet she couldn’t take her eyes off her captor. This creature who’d been so indomitable just a minute before was now frozen.
Something had finally stopped his debauchery.
“Step away from my sister.”
That voice. She twisted her head to see behind her, and the man standing in the shadows sent a frisson of shock through her.
Reuben.
REUBEN SCOTT WORKED hard not to let his rage show as he pointed the business end of his rifle at the Indian. If he’d been five seconds later, the hatchet poised over Hannah might have been the death of her.
A sound from behind nearly pulled his attention toward the new attacker, but he could tell from the tread it was Simeon. His father.
“Reuben?” Simeon’s voice was low, and the question in his tone meant he was still trying to make out the situation. And then his voice changed. “Hannah? Oh, God, help her.”
“I don’t think he’s done anything yet. Cut her loose and use the straps to tie him up. Watch him.” Reuben struggled for Crow words to question the Indian. The man was Hidatsa. Reuben knew that from watching their camp all day. But the two languages were similar, so he may be able to communicate with the snarling man. And there
was always sign language, although that would require moving closer and lowering his gun—an act he wasn’t about to do until this murderer was securely bound.
While Simeon cut his daughter loose, Reuben finally found the Crow words to ask the Indian, “What were you doing to her?”
It had been fairly obvious the way the man was positioned to strike a hard blow with his tomahawk, but Reuben wanted to hear the man’s intentions from his own mouth. Thank God he’d arrived and knocked the weapon out of the man’s hand with a well-place fling of his knife. And the next question would be, why?
The man spat on the ground and looked like he wouldn’t say anything, just glared a menacing look at Reuben. Then he did speak. A string of Hidatsa Reuben would never be able to pick out.
He positioned the rifle so it was perfectly aimed at the man’s heart. “Speak in Crow.” There was a good chance this fellow knew the language. He just needed a bit of encouragement to accommodate.
Simeon had Hannah loose now and moved behind the Indian to tie his hands. The man tried to jerk away, and might have succeed as strong as he was in his youthful prime, but Reuben took a step closer with his rifle.
The Indian’s glare turned harsher, sharp enough to cut iron. But he stopped struggling and allowed Simeon to bind his wrists.
“Better put two straps around him. He’s a strong one.” Reuben switched to English for his father.
Hannah had come to stand beside Reuben, well away from the man who’d held her captive. “What are you going to do with him?” Her voice held a bit of quiver that proved her nerves hadn’t quite settled. And he couldn’t blame her.
“I think we should tie him here ’til we get some answers. Then decide what next.” He didn’t expect to grant this stranger much leeway, but every man deserved a proper trial if there was time.
Simeon nodded as he backed the man to a thick pine. “I agree.”
“Hannah?” Emma’s voice came from the shadows behind them. She’d been sleeping back at camp when he’d heard the sounds and woken Simeon to let him know he was going to investigate.
This Healing Journey Page 17
