by Sara Luck
Christian thought that an orange grove would be much easier for Phoebe to handle than the obstreperous ostriches.
Christian decided what America needed was a man who had the strength of character to lead the country to make decisions that would benefit all the people. From what he’d read, President McKinley, who was running for reelection, didn’t have that trait. Neither did William Jennings Bryan, the man running against him. But Christian liked what he’d heard of McKinley’s choice for vice president. Christian believed that, if given a chance, Arizona would come to appreciate the young Teddy Roosevelt.
After almost an hour, Will began to move. He raised his head. “The brothers, what happened to them?”
“I think they went home to see their mama, and I think we should go find your mama, too.”
“She’s not worried. She knows I’m with you.” Will turned and hugged Christian. “I’m so glad you didn’t leave us.”
“I’m glad, too.” A knot formed in Christian’s throat. “Now, let’s find our horse and get out of here.”
• • •
On the way back to the house, Will sang little songs that his mother had obviously taught him. He tried to get Christian to join him, but they were songs Christian had never learned. When they arrived, Christian rode up to the porch and lowered the child to the ground.
“There you are. I was beginning to think you’d kidnapped my son.” Phoebe laughed nervously. “Did you have a good time?”
“Wet read me a story. It was about a wolf.”
“Oh, dear. What was that about?” Phoebe frowned at Christian.
“The wolf went to sleep and then he came home to find his mama,” Christian said.
“It sounds like a good story. By the way, the bunkhouse is going to be a little crowded. Trinidad came home while you were gone.”
Christian pursed his lips. “I guess that’s my cue to ride out of here.”
“No! I don’t want you to go!” Will yelled as he moved toward Christian.
The horse, frightened by the sudden movement and noise, reared up, his hooves thrashing at the air in front of him.
Phoebe screamed as she pulled Will out of the way.
The horse was bucking wildly as Christian tried desperately to get the animal under control. When he did, he jumped down to find Phoebe lying still on the ground. Will was sitting beside her, not reacting at all.
“She’s dead.” Will’s eyes were wide. “Your horse killed her.”
Christian was confused by the child’s reaction, but he knelt beside Phoebe. He saw a big lump forming on her forehead as he checked to see if she had a pulse.
“You have to help me,” Christian said as he picked up Phoebe. “You have to get me a cloth with some cold water. There isn’t any ice anywhere, is there?”
Will didn’t move.
Christian ran toward the house carrying Phoebe. When he looked back, Will was still sitting in the exact same spot as if he were in a trance. As loud as he could, Christian yelled for July, hoping he was within hearing distance. He knew he shouldn’t leave Will, but Phoebe needed him more.
He carried her into her bedroom and laid her on the bed. He felt for her pulse, and when he found it, he uttered a silent prayer. Her breathing was shallow, so he knew she was alive, but she’d been knocked unconscious.
Leaving her on the bed, he went to the kitchen and found a cloth. Taking it out to the cistern that was beside the house, he began to pump, but no water came.
“July!” he called. “July, I need you now!”
July came running. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Phoebe. The horse kicked her in the head and she’s been knocked out. Now I can’t get this damned pump to work.”
July leaned over and picked up a small container of water. He began to pour it down the top of the pump. “Now try it.”
Christian pumped harder, yet no water came. “Why does she stay here? Nothing works the way it’s supposed to.”
“You pour. I’ll pump.” Within an instant the water was coming. “There it is. The leathers just had to get wet.”
Running back into the house, Christian hurried to Phoebe. He placed the cool cloth on the bump looming on her forehead.
“Christian?” July called as he came into the house. “Where are you?”
“In Phoebe’s bedroom.”
July hurried into the bedroom, where Phoebe was lying on the bed. Her face was ashen and she lay motionless. “Is she alive?”
“Right now she is. Did you see Will?”
“Yes, he’s outside.”
“Go take care of him. Phoebe needs to see a doctor, but I don’t think we have time to get him out here, so I’m going to take her to town. She said this Trinidad is back. Have you seen him?”
“Yes, I met him.”
“Well, tell him to hitch up the buggy. No, I’d better take the buckboard so I can lay her down in the back.”
“All right.” July hurried out of the room.
“Phoebe? Phoebe?” Christian said softly.
Phoebe groaned and opened her eyes. She tried to move her head but squeezed her eyes tight as she grimaced. “What happened?” she mumbled. “Where am I?”
“You’re in your room right now, but I’m going to take you to see a doctor as soon as Trinidad gets the buckboard hitched up.”
She lifted her hand to her forehead, and when she touched the bump, she winced in pain. “What happened?”
“You were kicked in the head.”
“By an ostrich?” Her voice rose in fear as she tried to get up.
“Not an ostrich, a horse.”
“How . . .”
“It was an accident.” Christian mopped her forehead with the cloth. “You were trying to save Will.”
Her eyes shot open and she grabbed Christian’s hand. “Is he dead? Is my baby dead?”
“No, honey, you saved him. He’s with July.”
“July? Why isn’t he with Edwin?”
Christian was swept with compassion when he heard her question. He knew that sometimes head injuries resulted in delusions, and he wanted to choose his response carefully.
“Because Edwin isn’t here.”
A scowl crossed her face. “He never takes care of our baby.” Just then a wave of nausea hit Phoebe. She tried to sit up, but she stopped and put both hands on the bed.
“Stop it! Stop spinning me around, stop, please stop!”
“Lie back down. Then you’ll feel better.”
“Oh, the room. It won’t stop.” Phoebe’s fingers clutched the bed. She closed her eyes and Christian sat beside her, trying to comfort her until Trinidad came in.
“The buckboard’s ready.”
“Thank you. You must be Trinidad.” Christian extended his hand. “I’m Christian De Wet. Can you drive the buckboard into town? I want to get Phoebe to a doctor.”
“I thought that’s what you would want. I made a bed in the back.”
“That’s good.”
Christian lifted Phoebe from the bed and carried her out to the waiting buckboard. He saw Will sitting in the same spot where the accident had occurred. July was with him.
“Hold up a minute,” Christian said after he had put Phoebe in the wagon. “I need to tell Will what’s happening.”
Christian walked over to where Will was sitting. He knelt down to him and tried to hold him, but Will’s body stiffened.
“I’m going to take your mama to town to see the doctor, but you’re going to stay here with July. He’ll need you to help him take care of Wapi. Then, when your mother gets back, you’ll know how to take care of her.”
Will did not acknowledge Christian’s words. He turned to face him with a look that was beyond the child’s years.
“She’s going to be all right. I know she is because she has people like you and me who love her. We’ll take care of her.” Christian took Will in his arms, trying to offer him what comfort he could give him, but the child was unreceptive. “July, I have to go.
Has he said anything?”
July shook his head. “Not a word. He’s just been sitting there, staring straight ahead.”
“He saw the whole thing, so I’m sure he’s scared to death. Stay with him and try to get him away from this spot. I hate to leave him but I have to go.”
“I know. I’ll do my best.”
Christian got into the back of the buckboard and sat so that Phoebe’s head was cradled in his lap.
“All right, Trinidad, let’s go. Drive as fast as you can but try to avoid the rocks. I don’t want Phoebe to be jostled any more than she has to be.”
Trinidad slapped the reins against the back of the team and they started out with a jolt.
• • •
July watched the buckboard until it disappeared down the road.
“Don’t you think we should go inside?”
Will didn’t answer.
“All right. Let’s go up to the porch. We can sit in the swing while we wait for your mother to come back.”
Will still didn’t answer, but he didn’t protest when July scooped him up and carried him to the house.
July tried to engage Will by picking up some of the wooden animals, but Will sat silently.
“I think you need a new toy.” July stepped out into the yard. He found a piece of wood and brought it back. “What do you think I should carve? A cow? A dog? A lamb? I know what I’ll carve. You’ll have to tell me if you know what it is.”
For the next hour, July carved on a piece of wood, gradually shaping a giraffe, all the while keeping up a one-sided conversation with Will.
Seeing a cloud of dust billowing up from the road, July thought at first that it was Christian returning, but when it got closer, he saw it was a buggy. It stopped in front of the house and a man stepped down. He ignored July completely and addressed the child.
“Get your mother. I have some papers for her to sign.”
Will didn’t move.
“Did you hear what I said, young man? When I tell you to do something, you do it.” Frank walked toward the porch. “Now, get your mother, like I said.”
“She’s not here,” July said.
“And how would you know that?”
“She was in an accident.”
“An accident? What kind of accident?”
“She was kicked by a horse.”
“Is she dead?”
July didn’t answer.
“So where is she?”
“She was taken into town to see a doctor.”
“And she left this boy alone.”
“No, sir. I’ve not left his side.”
“Humph. In my opinion, she did leave the boy alone. Who are you, anyway?”
“Julius Van Koopmans.” July used the name Christian had given him.
“And what are you doing on my brother’s property? Surely you haven’t been hired by my sister-in-law.”
“No, sir, I came with Christian De Wet.”
Frank cocked his head and squinted his eyes. “De Wet? Is that the man who is bedding my sister-in-law?”
Again July was silent.
“Your failure to answer my simple question is all the answer I need. Come on, boy, you’re coming with me.” Frank advanced toward Will.
July put out his arm, putting Will behind him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. His mother will expect him to be here when she returns, and I intend to see that he is.”
“Do you have any idea who I am? I’m the boy’s uncle, and I have no intention of leaving him here alone. Now, Will, you’re coming with me.”
“He’s not going.” July reached down to pick up Will.
“You can’t keep me from taking my nephew who’s been abandoned by his mother—left in the care of some black man with an uppity accent. Now, I’m going to demand you give me my nephew.”
Will, who had been passive through this whole exchange, threw his arms around July’s neck and buried his head on his shoulder.
“I think Will has spoken,” July said. “I’ll not let him go with you.”
“If you don’t let him go right now, you’ll find out what it’s like to rot in an Arizona jail—that is, if you don’t wind up swinging from a rope. Now, for the last time, give me my nephew.”
Frank reached out for Will, but as he did so, July wrapped his hand around Frank’s wrist and began to squeeze.
“Just keep that up, you son of a bitch! I’ll add assault to your list of crimes.”
July squeezed harder, and Frank went down to his knees in pain.
“Trap,” Will said, speaking for the first time.
“Let me go!”
“Trap,” Will said again.
July released Frank’s arm and he got up, then backed away, wrapping his hand gingerly around his wrist. “I think you broke my wrist.”
“I don’t think so. If I had wanted to break your wrist, you would’ve known it. Now I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Will was left in my care, and he’s going to stay with me until his mother returns. Whatever business it was that brought you out here can be discussed when she gets home.”
“We’ll see how big you are when I come back with the sheriff,” Frank said angrily as he turned and walked back to the buggy. “He’ll have a warrant for your arrest, and an order making you turn the boy over to me as his lawfully appointed guardian.”
Still favoring his wrist, Frank got into the buggy and drove away.
July watched until he was some distance down the road. “Come, Will. I think you and I need to go visiting this afternoon. Maybe Miss Gwen will have some cookies.”
• • •
“How long was she unconscious?” the doctor asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe five or ten minutes.”
“Has she been nauseous?”
“Very much so.” Christian thought of the ride into the town. “I would say . . . I don’t know how to explain it . . . but explosively so.”
“Projectile vomiting. It’s quite common in concussions.”
“How serious is that?”
“It can be serious if there’s bleeding in the brain, but I would add that, in most cases, there is full recovery.” The doctor shook his head. “Of course that wasn’t true for her husband. God rest his soul. You know he was killed by one of those damned birds?”
“I didn’t know that. Did the child see that happen?”
“Oh, yes, poor little fellow. Likely never got over it.”
“And now, seeing his mother being kicked as well, no wonder he’s so upset. I want to take Phoebe back to the house if that’s possible, just so he knows she’s all right.”
“I don’t think so—not tonight anyway. She’s sleeping now, but it’s still touch and go whether she’s out of the woods yet. She could slip into a coma, and if that happens, I want to be nearby. If everything is all right, you can take her home tomorrow.”
Christian walked over to the bed where Phoebe was quietly lying. He picked up her hand and began to stroke it. “The doctor wants you to stay here tonight.”
“Will?” She opened her eyes and looked at Christian.
“That’s a good sign,” the doctor said. “She remembers her child.”
“He’s with July now, and I’m going to him. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of Will. You just try and get better. We all need you to be well.” Christian leaned over and kissed her lightly.
She smiled and closed her eyes.
9
When Christian and Trinidad returned, Will wasn’t there. Instead, there was a note, written in Afrikaans.
Ek neem seuntjie huis waar ons was voor. Oom het vir hom sal terugkeer met balju.
The note told him that Frank Sloan had come for Will, but July refused to give him up, so Sloan was returning with the sheriff. Now July and Will were over at “the house where they were before.”
Christian smiled. July had written the note in Afrikaans so Sloan couldn’t read it when he returned. And “the house where they were before” referred to
the Prinsens’, July using that phrase because, even in Afrikaans, the name would stay the same.
“Where do they go, the big man and the boy?” Trinidad asked.
“They are somewhere safe. Trinidad, I’m going to leave you here by yourself tonight. I’m not going to tell you where Will is because, that way, if Sloan returns with the sheriff, you can honestly say you don’t know where he is.”
Trinidad chuckled. “It’ll be good to fool the sheriff. He kept me in jail because Senora Phoebe did not have the fifty dollars the sheriff said I must pay to get out.”
“I’d heard you were in jail.”
“The sheriff said I don’t wear my gun where people could see. I told the sheriff, ‘Why should I wear a gun so people can see? Would that not scare them?’ But the sheriff said it is the law.” Then the smile on Trinidad’s face was replaced by a look of concern. “If I don’t tell the sheriff where the boy is, can he put me in jail again?”
“No, Trinidad, it’s not the same thing. You’ll not get in trouble, the boy will be safe, and Phoebe won’t have to be worried.”
The smile returned. “Good. This I will do with much júbilo.”
• • •
Yhomas Prinsen met Christian when he rode up to the house. “How is Phoebe?”
“She has a concussion. The doctor thinks she’ll be just fine, but he wants to keep her for the night. Where’s Will?”
“I think he’s in the kitchen.”
“Has he said anything yet?”
“He may have spoken to the girls, but I haven’t heard him speak.”
When Christian walked through the swinging door that led to the kitchen, he was met with the aroma of baking cookies. Gwen and Adeline were animated and talkative, while Will sat on the floor leaning against the wall, saying nothing.
“Christian.” Gwen looked worried. “What can you tell us about Phoebe?”
“The doctor says she’s going to be just fine. But he wants to keep her overnight, just as a precaution.”
