Captive Trail

by Susan Page Davis

  Taabe stood back from the hole and watched as Sister Adele climbed out and replaced the cover, the mat, and the table.

  The hole was not big enough for all of the sisters. What would the others do if the mission were besieged?

  Ned watched the tenders hitch the fresh team to the stagecoach. The Phantom Hill station agent held the door for the passengers. Isaac Trainer climbed inside with five other men, and the agent closed the door.

  Henry Loudon ambled toward Ned, his shotgun resting on his shoulder. “Where’s Trainer going?”

  “I’m taking him to Fort Chadbourne to see if he can talk to that Comanche captive I was telling you about.”

  Henry shook his head. “I wouldn’t trust that one.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s thick with the Injuns.”

  “I figured he’d be useful.”

  “Mebbe so.” Henry headed for the stage, and Ned followed. Once on the driver’s box, he gathered the reins and released the brake. He clicked to the mules and steered them onto the road westward.

  He glanced at Henry. “You think I’m making a mistake?”

  Henry shrugged and pulled a plug of chewing tobacco from his pocket. “Hard to say. He might be just the man you need. On the other hand, I wouldn’t turn my back on him.”

  Taabe sat with Quinta in the small parlor after morning prayers, sewing the bodice of her new dress. Stitching the factory-made cloth was different from sewing leather. In some ways, it was easier—certainly she needed less effort to run the needle through the material. But Sister Adele scrutinized her work frequently, and she was very particular. She demanded tiny, even stitches on every seam.

  Quinta muttered darkly as she worked on one of her sleeves. Taabe could sympathize, but she would rather use her energy to master the craft. She had learned the painstaking art of beadwork from her mother among the Numinu. That had taken many sessions and hours of exacting labor. Her Indian mother, if anything, was more strict than Sister Adele when it came to stitching.

  But the Garza household had been without a woman’s influence for some time. When Quinta visited the mission, and again when she arrived to stay, no mother came with her. Over the last few days Taabe had engaged in several conversations with the high-spirited girl and learned much through simple words and drawings on their slates.

  Quinta had four brothers, and her mother now rested somewhere in a grave marked by a cross. The girl had sketched a graveyard with several such markers. For the first time, Taabe connected the crucifixes hanging on the walls throughout the mission with the crosses white people put over their loved ones’ graves. Somehow the cross was a symbol of their belief in the tortured man. Scraps of knowledge teased at the fringes of her mind, and Taabe often lay awake at night pondering what it was she didn’t know—but once knew—about the cross.

  “The stagecoach is coming.” Sister Marie popped her head into the parlor and was gone again before Taabe could look up.

  “It’s Ned!” Quinta threw down her blue fabric and ran for the entrance.

  Taabe realized she’d heard the hoofbeats, but had been so lost in her thoughts and her stitching, the significance hadn’t penetrated the fog. She tucked her needle into the cloth and laid her project aside.

  She heard the nun lifting the bar on the front door, and Quinta’s chatter. She stepped to the doorway behind them as the coach rolled into the yard. Ned halted the horses and lifted his hat.

  Taabe couldn’t help smiling. When Ned and his friend, Brownie—who never came inside unless there were supplies to unload—arrived at the mission, everyone smiled. Ned was the sisters’ link to the outside world. For Taabe, he was more than that. She looked forward to his visits with an eager optimism. Ned brought treats and special supplies for her and the sisters. He brought people who were eager to help her find her family. He brought her hope, and his arrival always made her feel more alive in this new life she had chosen.

  “Ladies! I have a visitor for you.” Ned hopped down and opened the door of the stagecoach.

  Sister Natalie and Sister Adele came into the hallway.

  “Is it Mr. Bright?” Sister Natalie asked.

  “Yes.” Taabe stepped aside and let them pass her, following Sister Riva and Quinta outside.

  Quinta ran straight for Ned. The sisters waited near the door. Taabe was about to step out with them to greet Ned when she caught sight of his passenger. She caught her breath and scanned the bearded man alighting from the coach. She had seen that man before.

  Taabe backed away from the doorway, then turned and ran to the kitchen.

  Sister Marie was peeling potatoes at her work table. She looked up with startled eyes as Taabe dashed across the room and shoved the small table aside.

  “What are you doing?”

  Taabe flipped the mat away and clawed at the boards.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sister Marie gasped and ran to her side, still holding her paring knife. She stooped and put a finger into a small crevice at one edge of the trapdoor and raised the section of connected boards. “Quickly, friend, quickly!” Sister Marie held the cover while Taabe scrambled down the short ladder.

  The hole was deep enough for her to stand upright. She beckoned to the sister to replace the boards. An instant later, darkness engulfed her. Taabe stretched out her arms. Her right hand touched a cold wall of earth. She sucked in a breath. Her heart raced, and she pressed her hands over it, willing herself to calm.

  The cellar smelled of dirt, with a faint trace of Sister Marie’s baking. Taabe bent over and felt about. She found the barrels and tried to orient herself. Over her head came a dull thumping, then a scrape as Sister Marie moved the mat and table back in place.

  Taabe’s cold fingers touched the woolen blanket. She opened it one fold and sat down on it. Looking up, she couldn’t see even a crack of light. She inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly, through pursed lips.

  She imagined the bearded man going from room to room of the mission, searching for her. He had been to the Numinu camps many times. He had brought the chiefs gifts. Peca had sat down with him and smoked and told stories. Was he here to find her for Peca? Would he tell the Numinu where she was?

  She wished she had brought her parfleche and all of her Comanche things down here so the buffalo hunter would have no chance of seeing them. If things turned out all right today, she would ask Sister Natalie if she could put all her things in a bag down here.

  Over her head, Sister Marie’s comforting footsteps moved about the kitchen. Taabe’s heart pounded, and she made herself breathe slowly and deeply. In her mind, words formed. Help. Do not let him find me.

  But to whom were those words aimed? Was this prayer? Did the Father God hear such desperate thoughts? She couldn’t remember the English prayer Adele had begun teaching her and Quinta. The nuns knelt when they prayed, but Sister Adele said you didn’t have to do that. You could just talk to God and He would listen.

  Taabe clasped her hands so tightly, her fingers hurt. “Please hear me,” she whispered.

  Ned walked to the cluster of nuns with Quinta hanging on his arm. She lifted her feet, putting her whole weight on him while she peppered him with questions about home.

  “Is my mustang all right? Has Diego ridden him? Does Papa miss me?”

  “Here, chica, you’ve got legs of your own. Use them.” Ned laughed and plopped her on the ground. “Your papa’s fine, and we all miss you.”

  “Tell him I’m learning to sew. He’ll like that.”

  “I will.” Ned grinned and addressed Sister Natalie. “Ma’am, the man I brought today speaks Comanche. I thought maybe we could speak to Taabe Waipu and learn a little more about her background.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that would be helpful.” Sister Natalie turned and looked to the doorway, then frowned. “Sister Adele, please find Taabe and ask her to come to the parlor.”

  Sister Adele hurried off, and Sister Natalie smiled at Ned. “Our guest is making great progress in her l
anguage lessons, but there is still much to be learned. Won’t you bring the … gentleman into the parlor?” She eyed Trainer, taking in his worn buckskins, tangled hair, and scruffy beard. “Sister Riva, some coffee for our guests, please.”

  They had been seated with Sister Natalie only a moment when Sister Adele appeared in the doorway. She glanced at Ned and Trainer, then approached her superior and spoke in hushed tones.

  Sister Natalie rose. “Excuse me a moment, won’t you, gentlemen?” She glided out the doorway with Sister Adele in her wake.

  Ned heard quiet murmuring in the hallway, but he couldn’t make out a word. Perhaps they were speaking their native French. He hadn’t liked the way Sister Natalie’s eyebrows had quirked when Sister Adele came in and whispered to her. Not one bit.

  “What’s going on, do you s’pose?” Trainer asked.

  “I’m not sure. I expect we’ll find out soon.” Ned rose and paced the room. Maybe Taabe was ill again.

  Sister Natalie returned, and Ned stepped toward her before Trainer could get up.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bright, but the young woman you’re seeking is no longer in the house.” Ned blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

  Sister Natalie smiled apologetically. “It seems I was mistaken when I said she would be able to meet with you. She’s not in the mission just now.”

  “Not …” Ned eyed her. He was sure he’d seen Taabe in the shadows of the doorway when he first drove up. She was standing back, behind the nuns, and his pulse had quickened with anticipation. Then Quinta had distracted him, and he’d had to introduce Trainer. Something had happened in those moments.

  “Here, now!” Trainer’s loud voice seemed out of place in the quiet, dim adobe. “What is going on here? I rode a good many miles to see this young woman. Why can’t you produce her?”

  Sister Natalie’s brown eyes hardened. “As I said, Mr. Trainer, I was mistaken. Our acquaintance is not in the house just now.” She spread her hands in supplication.

  “Well, where is she?” Trainer glared at her.

  “Not here.”

  “Is she out back, or in that barn yonder?”

  “I assure you she’s not,” Sister Natalie said calmly. “I am sorry to disappoint you.”

  Ned shot a glance at Sister Adele. She stood near the door with her hands folded, but she kept her eyes on the floor. Something was up. The nuns had closed ranks, and he could think of only one reason—to protect Taabe. Sister Natalie had met him at the door and invited them in to see the young woman. Now she claimed Taabe had left—of all the insane notions. He knew she was here. They wouldn’t hide her away and refuse to let him see her, would they? The girl had seemed happy here. She’d always come out to talk to people who wanted to see her and ask about captives. She’d given no impression she wanted to leave until her birth family came and claimed her. Only one thing was different this time. Trainer.

  Ned looked at the buffalo hunter. Trainer’s breath was too shortened, his face too red. He was angry, but why? He’d be paid for his time, whether he saw the girl or not.

  The hair stood up on the back of Ned’s neck.

  “Sister Natalie, I’m sorry we’ve disturbed your day,” he said.

  “What?” Trainer reared back and eyed him. “You’re going to just leave it at that? These women are up to no good.”

  “I’m not sure what you are suggesting, Mr. Trainer,” Sister Natalie said, “but I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Yes,” Ned said. “We need to keep our schedule.” He clapped Trainer on the shoulder. “Come on, we’ll be at the fort soon, and I’ll get you some dinner.”

  “Hold on,” Trainer said. “I want to know what happened to that girl. Did she run away, or what?”

  “Sorry. We aren’t supposed to stop here—it’s not a regular stop on the line—and if we’re late with the mail, we’ll get in all kinds of trouble.” Ned steered the shaggy man toward the door. “If the girl’s not here, we’ll just have to forget it.”

  “I could stay here and look for her. I’ll bet I could track her. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll walk to the fort when I’ve finished.”

  “No, Mr. Trainer, you will not.” Sister Natalie’s voice had gone cold. “When I tell you the person in question is not here, you can rest assured that it is true. I cannot tell you where she has gone, but I tell you one last time, she is not in this house. Please do not come back. Good day.”

  Ned propelled him outside and toward the stagecoach. He glanced back at the three nuns standing like blackened statues under the eaves of the adobe. He longed to know what had happened, but a stronger instinct told him to get Trainer away from the mission. Brownie, who had joined him at the Bright-Garza station, replacing Henry Loudon, had climbed down and stood near the mules’ heads. He eyed Ned curiously as they approached. Ned yanked open the door of the coach.

  “Get in, Trainer.”

  “Leave me here. I could—”

  “No. You heard the sister. They don’t want you here, and this is private property.”

  “But she thought the girl was here when we came. Either that nun is lying—which I wouldn’t be surprised to hear—or something’s happened to the girl. She’s run away or something worse.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Been snatched, maybe, or hung herself in the barn.”

  Nat stared at him, shocked by his bluntness. “How could you think that?”

  “Easy. Those captives can’t adjust when they come back. If she did herself in, she wouldn’t be the first. And if they’re trying to hide something like that—”

  “They wouldn’t,” Ned said. “They’d be deeply grieved. But I’ve met this girl several times. She isn’t like that. She wouldn’t hurt herself.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. It’s more likely she got back enough strength to travel and decided to go back to her people.” As Ned almost shoved him into the coach, he met Brownie’s quizzical gaze. “Let’s go,” he said, and climbed quickly to the driver’s box. He shook out the reins and set the mules into a quick trot. “Make sure he doesn’t jump out.”

  Brownie’s eyebrows shot up, but he immediately looked back. “Trouble, Ned?”

  “Maybe.” Ned gritted his teeth and reached for the whip. He wouldn’t make it easy for Trainer to jump out. And his first act at Fort Chadbourne, once the mail was taken care of, would be to consult Captain Tapley about Isaac Trainer and the incident at the mission.

  Dear Lord, what have I done to that poor girl?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  We’ll take you back to our home station tomorrow,” Ned told Trainer when they’d barreled in to Fort Chadbourne a half hour early. He’d punished the mule team, but he’d make Mr. Stein, the station agent, understand why. “And I’ll make sure you’ve got your through ticket back to Fort Phantom Hill.”

  Trainer looked toward the fort’s parade ground, his eyes narrow slits. “I might just decide to stay here a while. Where’s the best place to get a drink?”

  “Probably yonder.” Ned pointed toward the town that had grown up around the fort. He knew at least three saloons had opened, along with the trading post, a blacksmith shop, and a laundry. Probably more businesses had popped up since the last time he’d paid attention.

  “Your outfit is paying my expenses, you said.” Trainer waited, not smiling.

  “Yeah.” Ned reached in his pocket and took out two dollars. “This should get you a meal and bed. And breakfast.” With the ten he’d promised Trainer for coming and the price of his ticket back to Phantom Hill, Ned would be strapped for cash until he got paid again. And for nothing. Less than nothing—for endangering Taabe Waipu, unless he was mistaken.

  Trainer took the money and walked toward the saloons, staggering a bit as he got his land legs under him.

  Brownie came around the back of the stage. “We taking him back tomorrow?”

  “Yes. And we’re not stopping at the mission.”

 
; “What happened there?”

  Ned sighed. “I’ll tell you when we eat. Right now I need to go see the captain.”

  Stein was already unloading the mail sacks, so Ned walked over to the fort. His discussion with Captain Tapley didn’t satisfy him.

  “I’ll have Trainer brought in later and talk to him, if he’s sober,” the captain said. “I’ll see if I can get anything pertinent out of him. He may have seen captives in some of the Comanche bands when he was out hunting. He might even give us an idea of where this young woman came from.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Ned’s chest felt as though a stack of rocks sat on it. “She saw him, and she hid. She’s afraid of him. That means she knows who he is—she’s seen him before. So if he saw her, he’d recognize her too. And that might be bad.”

  The captain leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “It may just be that she’s afraid he’ll give away her whereabouts. Or it could be something more sinister. Perhaps there’s bad blood between Trainer and some of the Comanche.”

  “I wish we had a good translator.” Ned shook his head. “That’s all I was trying to do.”

  “I know.” The captain sat forward. “We’ll keep an eye on Trainer and make sure he doesn’t leave the fort tonight.”

  “Maybe my shotgun messenger can help,” Ned said. “Brownie Fale—he’s a good man. He’s over with the Steins now. Maybe I’ll ride out to the mission this evening and talk to Sister Natalie. I think without an audience, she’d tell me what’s up. I can borrow a mule from the stagecoach’s string.”

  “I’ll lend you one of my horses,” Tapley said. “I’ve got a good gelding that will get you there quickly.”

  An hour after sunset, Ned rode into the mission’s dooryard. He knocked at the door and called softly, “It’s me, Ned Bright.”