“See that you do, or you’ll be out a job. I’ve only kept you on here because you know the girl and are probably the only one who can find her for me. So far you have failed both times you tried.”
“I’ll bring that girl back, and I’ll be collectin’ the money you promised. But if I find her, I want your promise that I can do what I want with her on the way back.”
Sam Gates grinned. “She’s already been spoiled. Whatever you do to her makes no difference to me now. Just don’t leave any scars on her. She might be valuable still as a pretty thing for my customers—or I might even be able to sell her, or use her at my coal mine.”
Tommy’s eyes shone with vengeance. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave any scars—at least not the kind you can see.” He grinned, but Sam Gates’s dark eyes showed no humor.
“When I’m through with her, her scars might be visible,” the man growled. “But if she gets that kind of scars, I want to be the one who gives them to her.”
Tommy grinned more, finding pleasure in the remark. He had worked for Sam Gates long enough to know how cruel the man could be to some of his women, especially those who would not cooperate. Emma Simms would most certainly not cooperate. Tommy only hoped he could be a witness to her suffering.
Rachael Mary Rivers was born in March 1826. This time the birth was surprisingly easy, and afterward River Joe downed a great deal of whiskey to celebrate, something he rarely allowed himself to do. But the birth of a healthy daughter with no problems for his wife was something to celebrate.
Emma had thought her greatest joy had come when Joshua was born. But now she had two babies. Fourteen-month-old Joshua seemed huge compared to the tiny newborn daughter in her arms, and for the first few weeks Joshua constantly hung on to his mother and tried to crawl into her lap whenever she held and nursed Rachael.
Both River and Emma were beside themselves with happiness. Every night Emma thanked the Maker of Breath for her beautiful children and her precious husband. All her life she had been afraid of having babies, and now here she was with two of her own, a strong son and a beautiful little girl with blue eyes and hair so light it was almost white.
Watching River hold his new daughter was a sight to behold, for at first she seemed to fit in one hand. Joshua was even more jealous when his father held the baby than when his mother did, and he always seemed to fall down and hurt himself or use some other ploy to divert his father’s attention from Rachael.
Spring moved into early summer, and life was good. There had been no more raids, and with the birth of Rachael, River seemed to be fully himself again, his moodiness leaving him. July came, warm and bright, and Emma knew she wanted to stay there forever, high in the mountains, living among the Cherokee who had become her family.
“You have made him such a happy man,” Grace told Emma as they walked with Mary through the woods searching for fresh anuh, as the Cherokee called strawberries. “I hope to be with child again soon. Jonathan is already eighteen months. You are so lucky that in that length of time, you have had two children. I envy you.”
“River says the children come from the Maker of Breath. He will bring you another when the time is right, Grace,” Emma answered.
Three-month-old Rachael rode strapped to her mother’s back while Joshua and Jonathan toddled behind the woman. Red Wolf and Martin had gone off hunting, and River Joe walked a short distance from the women, guarding them from whatever might be lurking in the forest beyond the village, be it man or beast.
“Esaugetuh Emissee has decided the time is right for me,” Mary said then.
Emma and Grace stopped walking and stared at Mary. “Mary!” Emma exclaimed. “You are going to have a baby?”
The young girl smiled and nodded. “It is about time. I am almost eighteen summers like you Emma. And you already have two babies. Here I am with none. Martin is so excited.”
They all squealed with delight, hugging together.
“You are supposed to be hunting strawberries,” River called out to them. “What is going on over there?”
“Do not tell him,” Mary pleaded with Emma. “I do not want to tell my brother. It is better that Martin tells him. It makes my face get all red and hot.”
They laughed again, separating and looking for more berries. Joshua and Jonathan lagged behind, doing their own exploring, then suddenly separating, Jonathan running toward his mother and Joshua chasing a butterfly.
“Joshua, stay with mama,” Emma called after him.
He ran wild and free, already displaying his father’s traits, already big for his age. Emma called after him again, then called to River to go after him. “I can’t run with Rachael on my back,” she yelled.
River grinned, his smile quickly fading when Joshua seemed to disappear. “Joshua! Wait for papa,” he called, breaking into a run. His heart pounded and Emma froze in place when they all heard a growl.
“Joshua!” Emma whispered. She turned and headed toward where River was running, and Grace and Mary followed, Grace grabbing up Jonathan.
“Stay back!” River shouted. He stood on a bank, looking down where Joshua had fallen over to a flat piece of ground that lay in front of a cave entrance. A pair of bear cubs played near the entrance, and a huge brown mother bear came lumbering out of the cave, rising on her hind feet and growling at Joshua, who was crying from his fall and trying to get up. “Stay still, Joshua!” River yelled. But the words were to no avail. Joshua cried harder, standing up then and picking up little rocks to throw at the big mother bear. His movements only angered her more.
River raised his musket and took careful aim. Fire spat from the end of the rifle barrel as River fired, and the cubs ran off. The mother bear tumbled backward, but to River’s horror she rose again. Wounded and angry, she headed for Joshua.
River could hardly believe his shot had not killed the bear. There was no time to reload. He threw down the musket and jumped over the bank, positioning himself between the bear and Joshua.
“River!” Emma screamed. She moved closer as vicious growls increased. Her heart beat with wild fury as she heard her son’s crying and the horrible snarling of the bear. She reached the edge of the bank and screamed for Joshua to stay still, then stood in helpless horror as River and the bear rolled together on the ground.
“River! Somebody help him!” Emma screamed.
“Oh, my God!” Mary whimpered, she and Grace moving beside Emma.
Joshua stood crying in terror while great claws dug into his father’s neck and chest. River scrambled desperately to get his knife out of its sheath. The bear tumbled him onto his back, and he felt his own warm blood soaking his clothes. Life and energy oozed out of him along with his blood, as he finally found his knife and used what strength remained to sink the big blade into the bear’s side.
He stabbed at the animal over and over, wondering which one of them would finally die first. He didn’t care if it was he who died, as long as he kept the animal from Joshua until someone else came.
The bear tumbled off him at last, kicking wildly while odd growls of pain came from her throat. The kicking slowed, and she finally quieted, the life leaving her massive body.
Emma stared in horror at River, who was covered with blood. She told herself not to panic. River and Joshua both might need her. River rolled to his knees, then managed to get to his feet. He started to walk to Joshua, then collapsed.
“River!” Emma screamed.
He lay quietly, his knife near his right hand. He made no response when Joshua toddled over to him crying. The boy bent down to touch his father, trying to make him wake up.
“Oh, God, River!” Emma groaned.
“Watch Jonathan,” Grace said to Emma. “I will go down to be with Joshua.” She grasped Emma’s arms. “You stay right here with Rachael and Jonathan. Do not try to go down.” She looked at Mary. “Go and get some help!” she ordered her sister. “And get Peter.”
Grace turned to climb down, and already some men were coming, having he
ard River’s gunshot and the women’s screams and the growling bear. They carried muskets and knives, but they were not needed now. Grace grabbed Joshua close, then knelt over River.
“Joe?” She touched his shoulder, leaning closer.
“Joshua,” he groaned.
“Joshua is all right, Joe. We will get you some help.” She looked up at Emma. “He is alive. But he is losing much blood.”
Mary came running back, and several Cherokee men climbed down the bank. In moments more came with a blanket and rigged up a sling-line device with ropes and hauled a groaning River Joe to the top of the bank, then helped Grace and Joshua to the top.
Emma felt sick at the sight of all the blood. Surely the Maker of Breath would not take her husband from her. Not now! Not River! How would she live without River?
“You must be very strong now, Emma,” Grace said. She hung on to Joshua, trying to quiet him as he reached for his mother. Emma grabbed him up, in spite of the weight of Rachael on her back. She hugged her son tightly, realizing what could have happened to him if River had not reached him in time. The bear’s attack would have killed little Joshua. She could only pray it would not kill her husband.
River had helped her through so much, had saved her from hell, had given her two beautiful babies and been at her side through both births. Now it was her turn to help him. She struggled against panic as she saw blood drip steadily from one of his arms that dangled over the side of the makeshift stretcher as men carried River Joe to their cabin.
“Papa hurt?” Joshua wept.
“Yes, Joshua. But he’ll be all right again.” She followed the man and the stretcher, realizing that she could easily follow without seeing them. All she had to do was follow the trail of blood River was leaving behind.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma forced back the terror of realizing what life would be like without River Joe as part of it. She sat on an old blanket on the floor of their cabin, River’s head in her lap. Mary and Grace worked frantically to stop the bleeding.
“Josh…Joshua,” River mumbled.
“Joshua is all right,” Emma said, bending over and kissing his forehead. How many times had she reassured him his son was fine? In his present state of mind, all he must be able to see was the bear ready to pounce on his tiny son. The thought of it made Emma shiver. Such wounds as River had now would have killed Joshua. They might also kill River, especially if they became infected.
An old woman came inside then, carrying a leather bag full of remedies for River Joe. She was Ramona, the adawehi, a trusted medicine woman of the village. She lived among the Cherokee with whom Emma and River and the others had settled.
“Hurry, Ramona,” Grace said. River Joe was already stripped down to his loincloth, and everyone had been banished from the cabin except Emma, Mary, and Grace. Some other women looked after Joshua and Rachael, and Emma gently stroked River’s forehead, bending close and telling him again that Joshua was all right.
“And you’ll be all right, too, River. Ramona is here. We’ll all help you.”
Grace began carefully peeling pieces of rawhide out of deep gashes on River’s chest, where the material had embedded when the bear ripped at it and gouged its claws into River’s skin. River groaned as Ramona sat down beside him and began sorting through the remedies in her leather bag. After every piece of material that Grace pulled from River’s skin a trickle of blood followed.
“We’ve got to stop all this bleeding,” Emma insisted.
“Here. Most of it comes from here,” Ramona said, taking a piece of cloth and holding it tightly against a deep puncture at River’s right shoulder, near his neck. “From a tooth. Hold this tight on here, white woman, and do not let go until I say.”
“A tooth!” Emma pressed her hand against the cloth, her eyes wide with dread. “It could get infected. Isn’t it true that wounds from an animal’s mouth usually get infected?”
“Any wound can get bad spirits.” The old woman shrugged. “It is a matter of waiting. If it is full of bad spirits, we will burn them out. Now keep still while I decide which medicines will be best.”
Emma pressed her lips together, wanting to scream from terror. She knew River needed her now, knew she must not lose control, but Ramona’s sharp answers did not comfort her. Ramona was old and crotchety. She had no use for Unegas, and she tolerated River Joe only because he had been raised by the Cherokee. It was not that she hated him or Emma personally, but that she hated whites; and she constantly complained that the presence of River Joe and Emma in her people’s village would only bring them trouble.
Emma was not offended by the woman’s curt order. She knew Ramona, knew that the woman was ill-tempered with just about everyone. But right now she wished the old woman could be a little more understanding. Still, what mattered was that the woman was good at what she did, and Emma trusted her. She had seen Ramona save a boy from a snakebite and save a baby from a blazing fever. Ramona was all they had, and Emma kept silent as the old woman began removing strange concoctions from her bag, pouches of this, jars of that, tins of herbs.
Emma held the cloth tight on the deep puncture as Mary and Grace continued to pull material from deep gashes.
“Josh,” River groaned again.
“Josh is fine, River. He’s over at Rising Moon’s cabin. You can see him as soon as we’re through cleaning you up.”
“Got…to see…”
“River, he’s fine. I promise,” Emma repeated. “I don’t want him to see you like this—all bleeding and hurt. It would frighten him. He’s all right, River.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I’m right here, River. Emma’s here, and Joshua and Rachael are fine. Just hang on, River. You’ll be all right. The bear is dead. You killed her, River. She never touched Joshua.”
Suddenly River began gasping for breath and coughing, his whole body jerking oddly. He rolled over and spat up blood.
“Dear God,” Emma groaned, trying to hang on to the cloth she still held pressed to the deepest wound.
“Be strong, white woman,” Ramona instructed. “I have seen this before. It will pass.”
The coughing finally calmed, and they rolled him onto his back again.
“I think we have most of the cloth out of the cuts, Ramona,” Grace said, glancing at Emma and seeing the devastated look on her face. “He will be all right, Emma.”
“We will put this mineral in warm water, then bathe the wounds,” Ramona said matter-of-factly. Into a kettle hanging over the fire in the fireplace she poured a white substance and stirred until the powder dissolved.
River lay groaning, physically still for the moment. He coughed again, but this time he did not turn over and cough up blood. “Emma,” he whispered.
“Yes, River. I’m right here.” She put a small, gentle hand to his face. “You’ll be well in no time.”
“If…something happens…to me…”
“Nothing will happen, River.”
“Got to…hide…maybe go far away. Decker might…come…nobody to help you…”
“He won’t come now, River. He’s given up,” she reassured him, wishing she could be sure of it. “Look how long it’s been, and we’ve moved around so much he’ll never find us. But it doesn’t matter. You’ll be well soon and you’ll be able to protect us.”
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 the
ir 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.
The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition) Page 26
