The River Girl's Christmas (Texas Women of Spirit Book 4)

by Angela Castillo

  She tried to keep her tone light and cheerful, but she’d helped her friend, Molly, with plenty of injuries. I only have a few minutes to stop the blood flow. He could die right now.

  Pulling her canteen from her shoulder, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks she hadn’t chosen to fasten it to her saddlebag instead. She poured the last of the lukewarm water over the wound. “All right, let me get this tied up. It will probably feel better.”

  “Of course it will,” said Lone Warrior through clenched teeth. “Augh. If only I could have met those men on a battle field. Cowards.”

  “Yes, they were. But right now we need to get you fixed up.” Tearing strips from her petticoats, Soonie fashioned a quick, neat bandage. To her satisfaction, no blood seeped through the cloth.

  “All right, my love. You stay here. I heard a stream a little ways back, and I’m going to fetch more water.

  Her husband nodded, and she went off through the trees.

  The stream was nothing more than a silver trickle, but enough to serve her purpose. She dipped the canteen in, watching the hollow of water created by the mouth.

  More wagon wheels from the road. And this was a heavier wagon. She grabbed the canteen and ran towards the lane.

  A buckboard. A man was driving with a young woman beside him. A little boy sat in the back.

  The woman turned toward, caught sight of Soonie and gripped the man’s arm. Blond hair wisped from beneath her smart straw bonnet. “Connor,” she shrieked.

  I know her. “Claire!” Soonie cried out. “Claire Blakeman? It’s me, Soonie. Remember? We went to school together.”

  “Oh, yes.” Claire’s brow furrowed.

  I must look a fright. Soonie glanced down at her blood-spattered, torn dress.

  The man beside Claire frowned. “Do you know this woman?”

  “Y-yes.” Claire lowered her eyes. “It’s been a long time.”

  The boy dangled his feet of the back of the wagon and stuck his tongue out at Soonie.

  “Please,” said Soonie. “My husband is hurt. If you could just give us a ride to town. He needs to see a doctor.”

  “Of course.” Claire tapped her fingertips against her lips “Connor, could you go take a look?”

  The man handed the reins to Claire and ambled down from the wagon.

  “Oh, thank you so much!” Soonie beckoned for him to follow. “He’s right under this tree.”

  Lone Warrior had slid down to the ground all the way now. His eyes were closed and his head lolled to one side. His long braids twined around his shoulders like curled snakes.

  “Oh.” Connor stopped short. “I didn’t realize . . .” He squinted at Soonie. “Ma’am, I was forgetting my horse, she’s been acting a bit lame and I think the added weight might be too much for her to pull.”

  “I’ll walk beside. Surely you can help me?”

  Connor moved quickly back to the wagon and spoke to his wife in low tones Soonie couldn’t understand.

  Claire glanced back at Soonie, her lips pale and her face white. She nodded.

  They aren’t going to help. They’re going to leave us here. Soonie felt as though her insides had plummeted to the ground.

  For the second time that day, she watched helplessly as the wagon rattled out of sight.

  4

  Grits and Grit

  Zillia squinted at the tiny lines of writing wobbling over the yellowed paper. She’d managed to sneak Grandma Louise’s recipe book from her pie safe, but she hadn’t realized the recipes would be in Swedish.

  “It’s no use.” She sighed and closed the book and turned back to her wash basin full of dishes.

  Wylder came in, carrying Margo. “What’s the matter?”

  He sat the little girl in his lap and slid a tin plate close enough for her to reach it. “Eat your grits, Sweetheart.”

  Zillia looked up and rolled her eyes. “Don’t let her eat on her own, she makes such a mess.”

  “A little mess never hurt anyone. She needs to eat some real food, not just milk all the time. Why, when I was her age, I could polish off a side of ham in five minutes flat.”

  I’m sure you could. Zillia opened the recipe book again.

  Margo grabbed a handful of grits and spread the mush all over her face. The yellow, grainy substance dripped down her cheeks.

  Wylder gave Zillia a slanted look and wiped Margo’s face with a flour sack. He gestured to the recipe book. “I haven’t seen that book in a while. Grandma never makes Swedish recipes. I suppose it’s too hard for her to find the right ingredients here. Did you borrow that from her?”

  “You could say that--only she doesn’t know I took it,” Zillia looked down at her hands. “I thought maybe I could find one of her recipes from Sweden and make something special for Christmas. She’s always talking about how much she enjoyed the holiday when she was a little girl.”

  “Hmm.” Wylder took the book with one hand, trying to hold it away from Margo as he examined the pages. “Can’t help much there. I know more Comanche than Swedish. Maybe Grandpa could make out some of the words.” He glanced up at her. “It’s a nice idea, but even if you can get the recipe translated it might be too tricky to make. Especially considering your—ahem—past cooking adventures. Didn’t you already make Grandma a present?”

  “Yes, a scrapbook for all her letters and keepsakes. But I wish I could do something more. She does so much to help us.”

  Wylder balanced a glob of grits on the end of a spoon and poked it towards Margo. “Come on, sweetheart, just a little bite!”

  Margo’s pink lips parted and Wylder pushed in the spoon.

  “See, they taste good.”

  A shower of grits flew through the air as Margo sprayed her father, her mother and most of the kitchen. She banged the table with her fist and laughed.

  “Perhaps we can try the grits another day?” Zillia wiped off the recipe book and placed it on top of the kitchen hutch. She put her chin in her hands.

  “Nonsense.” Wylder scrubbed at his face and swooped in with another spoonful. His teasing smile turned into a frown. “I’m sure you’ll figure out something nice for Grandma.”

  “It isn’t that.” Zillia attempted to smooth the worry lines on her forehead. “I’ve been thinking about Patsy, that little girl at Mrs. Barnes’s house. She’s only seven, too young to care for an invalid. And they didn’t have enough food in the house to feed a gnat.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Fowler will check in on them,” said Wylder.

  He doesn’t know what it’s like to go hungry. For years after Zillia’s mother died and she’d cared for her baby brother on her own, she had mostly been able to scrounge some kind of food for them, and kind neighbors and friends shared extra produce and meat. But a few times the last piece of bread or cupful of beans had gone to Orrie, and she’d been left with nothing but dreadful pangs gnawing on her innards.

  “I think I’ll go talk to Mrs. Fowler again tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course.” Wylder stood up. Grits covered his shirt front and peppered his beard. “I think Margo’s full now.”

  The baby laughed again. Her brown curls stood on end, stiff with the breakfast food.

  “Maybe.” Zillia sighed and swished the flour sack in her wash water. I really didn’t need any extra work this morning, and now I have to clean this up.

  The outside porch stairs creaked and the door flew open. Orrie ran in, banging the door behind him.

  “Orrie! Please don’t slam the door. And don’t forget to wipe your feet!”

  “Sorry, Zillie.” Her little brother looked back at the mud he’d tracked in and gave an apologetic smile. “I had to tell you about Soonie.”

  “Is she here? Did she come with you?” Zillia ran to the door and fumbled with the handle.

  “No, no, but Grandpa Walt got a telegram from Austin. Soonie sent it yesterday morning.”

  “Austin?” Wylder came in from the bedroom and picked up his hat from the mantle. �
��They should be here by now.” He frowned. “They should have been here last night.”

  “It’s still early,” Zillia protested. “You haven’t even started the milking yet. They probably decided to spend one last night in the open air before they got here.”

  “That’s what Grandpa Walt said.” Orrie grabbed a piece of cornbread from a platter on the table. “And Grandma said, ‘Our girl would come home as fast as she could.’ And Grandpa smiled all silly and said something about young love.” Orrie wrinkled his nose. “That’s when I left.”

  Zillia pursed her lips and looked over at Wylder.

  He drew his eyebrows together. “Hey, Orrie, will you grab the milking pails and take them into the barn? I’ll be right there.”

  “Sure.” Orrie dashed back through the door, slamming it again.

  Wylder put his hat on and came over to Zillia. He cupped her chin in his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be all right. It’s probably that Kiowa man. Maybe he decided to go off and raid some innocent travelers.”

  “Wylder Eckhart!” Zillia gasped. “How can you say such a thing? You’re part Comanche yourself!”

  “Yes, but you don’t see me skulking out in the bushes and leading folks’ sisters into danger.” He opened the door. “I’m off to milk before the cows burst their udders.”

  Zillia closed the door after him and finished wiping the last traces of grits from Margo’s face. She’d had no idea Wylder felt that strongly about Soonie marrying Lone Warrior. If anything, he’d seemed indifferent. She sighed. I should know him better than that. We were friends for years before we got married. He’s never been one to spout out his feelings easily. But still, for him to make a personal remark about someone’s heritage . . . he’d have to be extremely upset.

  As she swept the cabin floor, Zillia prayed for Soonie and Lone Warrior to arrive safely. And she prayed that Wylder’s attitude would change. I’m sure once they get home, everything will be fine.

  ###

  A twig tickled the back of Soonie’s neck, and she brushed it away and sat up. First light filtered through the trees, washing over Lone Warrior, whose breaths came shallow and quick. A stand of evergreens shielded them from the road. A thick bed of leaves protected them from the moist, cold soil.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to sleep.” Soonie tugged the canteen down from the branch where it had been hanging and crawled to her husband’s side.

  Sweat beaded Lone Warrior’s forehead, despite the cold December morning. She’d covered him with her woolen shawl and underskirt, but he still shivered.

  All night she’d debated whether or not she should leave him and get help, but the danger was too great. A cougar or coyotes could be drawn by the scent of blood, or worse still, another treacherous human could find him and decide to finish the job. How could people be so cruel? They know nothing about us.

  She patted his good shoulder until he opened his eyes.

  A weak smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “Good morning, my love.”

  “Good morning. Can you sit up? You need some water.”

  He lifted his head, but then rested it back down.

  He’s so much weaker than yesterday. She drizzled water into his mouth. Though most trickled down his cheek, he managed to swallow some. “Good. You need to keep drinking.”

  The men had taken most of their belongings along with the horses, including her flint and matches, so she’d had no way to start a fire. Somehow this didn’t sting as much as the loss of the Christmas presents they’d brought from Oklahoma, and her Bible. ‘We’ve got to make it to town somehow.”

  “Why?” Lone Warrior closed his eyes. “So someone can shoot me again?”

  “Not everyone is like that here. We encountered the wrong people at the wrong time. Remember the man who rented us the horses? He was very kind.”

  “He’s not going to be so happy when he finds out we can’t return his beasts.” Lone Warrior sighed.

  “We can’t think about that right now. I’ve got to figure out how to get you somewhere safe so I can make it to town for help. First thing I need to do is move you off the side of the road. No telling who’s going to ride by. Though it’s colder today, and I don’t know if there’ll be as many travelers. Do you think you can walk a little?”

  Lone Warrior sighed. “My head aches.” He gave a shaky laugh. “Some warrior I’ve turned out to be. In my life I’ve been stabbed, sliced by an axe and kicked by a horse. I’ve never felt this bad.”

  “Even though we stopped the flow, you lost a lot of blood. You’re going to be weak for a while.” Soonie walked around the edge of the road, testing the larger branches littering the ground. Most were rotten and brittle. A cluster of pine saplings caught her eye. She picked out two the thickness of her wrist, pulled out her knife and hacked them down. Stripping the branches from the trunks, she crossed the sticks at the tops to create an ‘A’ shape.

  After a few moments of poking around, she found three sturdy sticks and lashed them to the poles with strips of cloth from her dress, like rungs of a ladder.

  “I know it’s cold, but I have to use the shawl. You’re going to need some kind of padding.” She took the cloth and spread it over the sticks.

  “All right, let’s get you on here.” She pointed to her makeshift travois.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I know you’re strong, but can you really pull me on that?”

  “We only need to go a short way. The bridge can’t be far from here. And if we can’t make it there we can at least get off the road a bit so we won’t be attacked again.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Lone Warrior, I’m so sorry about this. I was the one who wanted to come. I know evil people can be found wherever we go, but I never thought something like this could happen.”

  His hand crept up and settled on her arm. “Soonie, you have so much faith in people. You believed in me, even when I wasn’t the best person. How can I be angry with you for the thing I love about you the most?”

  “The worst part will be rolling on here. Might as well get it done.” Soonie dragged the travois so it was parallel with her husband’s body.

  “I can manage a bit.” Lone Warrior pushed himself up on his elbow. After quite a bit of tugging on Soonie’s part and more than a few Kiowa words that weren’t very nice, he was settled on the travois.

  “Lord, give us the strength to get to where we need to be,” Soonie prayed.

  “Amen,” said Lone Warrior.

  “Give me a moment.” Soonie pulled the knife from its sheath once more and surveyed the trees that faced the road. Choosing a stout cedar that twisted up from the ground, she carved a large bird in flight into the bark, with its beak pointed in the way she intended to go. She hacked a strip of blue lace from the hem of her skirt and tied it above the bird. This will have to do. Hope Wylder comes looking for us. She and her brother had played a game where they took turns hiding in the woods, with only the little bird carvings to show where they went. Of course he will. God, please help him to see it.

  Soonie stepped inside the upper frame of the travois and grabbed the top point. She hoisted the contraption to the level of her waist and pulled. The travois slid across the ground much more easily than she expected it to. “I can’t see behind me, so you have to tell me if you’re slipping.”

  “Yes. I know.” Though she couldn’t see her husband, she could tell he was speaking through gritted teeth.

  Lifting her chin, she pressed through the trees. Staying off the main road and still finding smooth enough ground to drag her husband through without jostling him would be tricky.

  “We have to be close to the bridge. If only we could get to town, I have many friends there. The doctor. Mr. and Mrs. Fowler. Sheriff Andrews. He was always kind to me.”

  “Sheriff Andrews, huh? How old is this sheriff?”

  “My goodness, is that a hint of jealousy I hear?” Soonie set down the travois and stepped back. Her arms ached already.

  Lone Warrior was
smiling. “Just teasing. I have to do something to pass the time back here.”

  “Sorry I can’t go any faster.” Soonie picked up the sticks and began dragging them again.

  “Don’t talk crazy. I know you’re going as fast as you can.”

  Soonie racked her brain for something else to talk about. “I wonder how Molly is doing, teaching the school.”

  “She probably decided to quit early for the holiday. I would have with the unruly bunch you teach.”

  She could hear the teasing in his voice again, and she knew he was doing it to keep her spirits up. The light tone had a tiny edge, a lace of pain that ran through it, urging her forward.

  I will make it to town. And he will be fine. If only we can find friends to help us.

  5

  Patsy

  “That’s it.” Wylder took a gulp of water, swirled it in his mouth, and spit it out on the ground. “I’m going out to look for them.”

  Zillia handed him two molasses cookies, fresh from the oven. “I’m glad you decided to go. I can’t imagine what could be keeping them. Will Grandpa Walt be able to ride with you?”

  “Yep.” Grandpa Walt rode through the front gate on his splendid chestnut mare, Ladybird. “Would have left sooner but Grandma Louise kept on about this fiddle-faddle with young love.”

  Didn’t Orrie say Grandpa Walt had been the one talking about that? Zillia glanced over at Wylder and he gave her his lopsided smile.

  “We should be back before supper, I reckon.” Grandpa Walt’s thick white eyebrows bristled under his hat. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I’m thinking one of the horses threw a shoe or something like it.

  “I’m thinking Soonie and her man will want to eat at our house when we get back. Zillia, Grandma told me to ask you to bring the children and spend the day, if you like.”

  “All right, we’ll be right over.” Zillia reached up and kissed Wylder on the cheek. “Please be careful.”

  “Of course.” Wylder swung up into the saddle.

  “Be nice,” Zillia said so only he could hear.