Captive Trail (The Texas Trail Series Book 2)

by Susan Page Davis

  With the perspective of years and distance, had she really been well treated? She hadn’t been beaten much after the first few weeks, but deprivation and frequent humiliations had forced her to conform. She remembered many times she’d cowered in the shadows, whispering English words to herself—poems? verses of Scripture?—and hoping none of the Numinu would notice her and call for her to do more work for them.

  Tears ran down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her sleeve and cuddled Fluffy close. The kitten meowed and licked her hand. She hoped the calico kitten wasn’t sniffing about the trapdoor, trying to find her sister.

  Light footsteps moved across the kitchen overhead. Sister Marie. All was well.

  Taabe sat back feeling calmer. Sometime she would have to ask Sister Adele if God would listen to anyone, in any language.

  Before Ned could reach the front step, the door flew open. Quinta charged out to embrace him.

  “Ned! What are you doing here? Did you forget something?”

  Sister Riva was only a step behind her.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Bright,” the sister said as Ned disentangled himself from Quinta’s hug. “We didn’t expect you again so soon.” She looked past him to where Cat held the horses.

  “I’ve brought another translator. Captain Tapley vouches for him. He scouts for the army, and they’ve found him reliable. Could you please ask Taabe if she’s willing to see him?”

  “Of course. And I will fetch Sister Natalie.”

  “Thank you,” Ned said.

  Sister Riva turned and went inside.

  “Can I ride your horse?” Quinta asked.

  “He’s not mine, chica. I borrowed him, so I think not.”

  “Aw, just around the dooryard?”

  Ned laughed. “All right, but you have to give your word not to go farther.”

  They walked out to where Cat waited. Ned picked Quinta up, tossed her on the bay gelding’s back, and smoothed her skirt down to cover her black stockings.

  “Now, this is a cavalry horse, so don’t go blowing any charges, will you?”

  She gave him a tolerant smile and accepted the reins from Cat, eyeing him curiously.

  “This is Mr. Thompson,” Ned said. To the scout he added, “She’s Patrillo Garza’s daughter.”

  “The freighter?”

  “Yes. She’s a student here.”

  Cat nodded and smiled up at Quinta. “Call me Cat.”

  “I’d be delighted to.”

  Both men laughed as she turned the gelding and urged him into a smart trot around the yard.

  “No doubt she’s happy to have permission to call a grownup by his first name,” Ned said. “On the other hand, she likes cats.”

  Cat smiled. “She seems like a firecracker, that one.”

  “Oh, yeah. Just wait a few years.” So far, Ned liked Cat. He hoped his trust and the captain’s were not misplaced.

  The door to the mission house opened, and Sister Natalie came out. Her lips smiled, but her eyes raked over Cat. She seemed satisfied by the time she reached them. “Mr. Bright, won’t you come in and bring your guest?”

  “Thank you, Sister. This is Cat Thompson.”

  Sister Natalie bowed her head slightly. “You are welcome here.” She looked at Quinta as the girl brought Ned’s horse around to where they stood. She frowned. “Quinta, perhaps you could take both the gentlemen’s horses into the barn.”

  Ned raised his eyebrows. She’d never made this offer before.

  “As a precaution,” Sister Natalie said. “We have no livestock of our own, but Sister Riva and Quinta have been working to make it habitable for the cow Mrs. Stein is procuring for us. I think your horses will find it acceptable for a short time.”

  As Quinta slid to the ground, her skirt caught on the stirrup, exposing a quantity of petticoat and pantalets. Sister Natalie reached over to swat the skirt down. “Modesty, Quinta. Always remember modesty is the best cloak for young ladies.”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  Ned was impressed by the girl’s meekness. Quinta did not seem cowed by the severe nun, but obeyed instantly. She always rambled on happily whenever he talked to her. It seemed she had made a successful adjustment to life at the mission school.

  Quinta took Cat Thompson’s reins and turned to walk both horses to the barn.

  “Can you handle them both, señorita?” Cat asked. “Easy as pie.”

  Cat grinned at Ned. “You’re right. Her father’s going to have his hands full.”

  “Our new pupils, Laura and Kate, and Laura’s parents are in the parlor with the girls and Sister Adele, discussing the curriculum,” Sister Natalie said. “I’ve asked Taabe to meet us in the dining room. Right this way, gentlemen.”

  The door to the sitting room was closed, and Ned heard the soft murmur of voices as they passed. He wondered if the out-of-towners had met Taabe yet. Would they object to leaving their daughters in a household that contained a young woman who’d lived with the hated Comanche?

  The dining room was empty when they entered. Sister Natalie said, “Mr. Thompson, won’t you take a seat, please? And Mr. Bright, if you could join me in the kitchen for just a moment.”

  Mystified, Ned followed her into the adjoining room. Sister Marie looked up from her work table, where she was preparing food, and nodded.

  Sister Natalie closed the door. “Taabe is in hiding again. She refuses to come out until you tell her it is safe.”

  “I trust this man,” Ned said.

  “But you don’t know him.”

  “No, but in the short time I’ve spent with him, I don’t see any deceit or slyness about him. The captain said he’s served the army well, and he’s promised to keep this visit quiet.”

  Sister Natalie nodded. “You trusted Mr. Trainer as well, I believe.”

  Ned huffed out a breath. “No. I didn’t really, but I was desperate. I shouldn’t have brought him here. But it’s different now. Even if we didn’t have a translator, in time I’m sure Taabe would learn enough to tell us the details we need. But time is important too. The captain has inquiries from several families of lost children and new information from the Indian agent. The sooner we find her family, the better.”

  “I agree,” Sister Natalie said. “You may rejoin Mr. Thompson. I will ask Taabe to come.”

  Ned heard a small creaking. He whipped toward it, searching for the source. The small rag rug under a table moved, pushing upward. The floorboard beneath it rose until a crack a couple of inches wide showed.

  “I will come now,” said Taabe’s voice.

  Sister Natalie touched his sleeve. “Help me move the table, Mr. Bright.”

  A moment later, Taabe stood next to him, holding her orange kitten. “Man good,” she said. “Yes,” Ned replied. “I believe he is.” Taabe nodded. “We talk.”

  She set Fluffy down on the floor with the calico kitten and looked at Ned expectantly.

  “Come then,” Sister Natalie said. “In the dining room.”

  Ned sent up a swift prayer as they walked the few steps. If Cat betrayed Taabe’s whereabouts to the Comanche, things could get ugly.

  The scout was peering out the narrow window in the dining room when they entered. It faced the back of the house, toward the garden. Was he looking at anything in particular? Ned shook away the doubts.

  Cat turned. His gaze homed in on Taabe. He gave a slight smile and a nod.

  Taabe looked at Ned, then back at the stranger. The change in her expression was subtle, but Ned could detect some hesitation as she and Cat looked each other over. Taabe wore the lavender dress again—the one that had belonged to Elana Garza. The soft hue gave her an air of gentle femininity.

  Cat looked impressed. What had he expected—a filthy, half-wild creature?

  “Taabe Waipu, may I present Mr. Cat Thompson?” Sister Natalie said. “He is here to translate for you and Mr. Bright.”

  Taabe made a shallow curtsey, no doubt one of the graces the sisters had taught her.

&nb
sp; Sister Natalie pulled out a chair, and Ned hastened to hold it for her. Cat watched then went around the table uncertainly and held a chair for Taabe. She looked at him with astonishment in her eyes.

  “It’s all right, Taabe,” Sister Natalie said. “It is one of the courtesy gestures we’ve been speaking about in Quinta’s deportment class. Gentlemen in our culture hold a lady’s chair for her.”

  Taabe sat down cautiously, eyeing Cat sidelong as she positioned herself in the chair. Cat went to the end of the table and sat down. Ned was glad Cat had distanced himself enough that Taabe shouldn’t feel too intimidated by his presence. Sister Natalie was their chaperon and would not budge during the interview. In Ned’s opinion, this spoke more about her willingness to leave Taabe in his care for short periods than about her lack of trust in Thompson. Sister Natalie would never imagine leaving a young lady alone with two men, one of whom was an unknown quantity.

  “Taabe, thank you for letting me bring Cat Thompson,” Ned said.

  She nodded and darted a glance at Cat. Cat spoke to her in Comanche, what seemed a rambling greeting.

  Taabe listened, her eyes downcast, then nodded. In a whisper, she spoke the simpler words of greeting Ned had learned.

  Cat looked to Ned. “What do you want me to ask her? I believe we’ll have no trouble communicating.”

  “Please ask her to tell us what she remembers about her capture.”

  Cat spoke to Taabe. She replied, hesitantly at first, but then her words poured out. She began by looking at Cat, but after a moment shifted her gaze to Ned. He felt that she was speaking to him from her heart, as she had longed to do at other times.

  After several sentences, she paused and looked at Cat.

  He cleared his throat. “She says it was many years ago. She was small, scarcely tall enough to reach your belt when you are standing.”

  Ned nodded with a smile.

  “She does not remember her white name or where she lived, but she recalls a few things about that day. She was riding a horse. A dark horse, and very beautiful. It was her own mount, though she was young. She stresses that.”

  Ned watched Taabe’s face while Cat talked. A girl scarcely eight or ten years old had her own horse. He shouldn’t be too surprised—Quinta had a mustang she claimed as her own at the ranch.

  “Go on,” he said.

  Cat nodded. “She was riding out across a field to see someone. To meet someone. She doesn’t remember who. She crossed a stream, and the Numinu rose up out of the grass beyond. Three of them. They caught her bridle and pulled her off the horse.”

  Ned sat still for a moment. His heart was racing as he imagined the little girl’s terror. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what happened next.

  His voice cracked. “And then?”

  “One of the Numinu took her horse. It had a saddle on it. He got on, but the saddle was too small. He cut the girth and dropped it.”

  Ned nodded, watching Taabe. Tears stood in her eyes.

  Cat spoke to her for a moment. Taabe flicked him a glance, then returned her gaze to Ned and began to speak again.

  Ned listened to the cadence of her voice. He couldn’t guess what she was saying. She showed no grief, except for the unshed tears. Finally she paused and Cat began translating.

  “The warrior rode her horse. Another took her on his mount—a sorry, brown-and-white spotted one. She remembers thinking how thin all their horses were, compared to hers. They met up with more Comanche men, and they rode for many days and nights. They gave her only a little food and a mouthful of water when they ate.”

  “Ask her how many there were, and what direction they went. And if there were other captives.”

  Cat relayed the questions, and Taabe answered.

  “She says there were at least six, maybe eight. She’s not sure now. The others had a boy with them. She tried to speak to the boy once, and the warrior she rode with slapped her. Later she heard the boy speak, but she didn’t understand him. She thinks now he was Spanish.”

  “Or German,” Ned said, thinking of the names on his list. “Ask her what became of the boy.”

  When Cat spoke to her, Taabe shrugged and gave a brief reply.

  “She doesn’t know. They separated after a while, and she never saw the boy again that she remembers.”

  “All right, we can see if any boys were taken about the same time as a girl. That may help us identify her. What about direction and distance?”

  “She said the sun was in her eyes in the afternoon. She was relieved when it went down and didn’t hurt her eyes. Sometimes it was behind them, though. They rode for many days, hardly stopping. Then they began to stop at night. They traveled more than a week, she thinks. Perhaps two.”

  “They were heading west.” Ned frowned. “North and west? Heading for the Llano Estacado?”

  “They may have started far south of here, or east of here, nearer the coast,” Cat said.

  “True.”

  Ned turned to Sister Natalie. “I should have thought of it—would you have something I can write on? I want to be able to tell the captain and the Indian agent these details, and I don’t want to forget anything important.”

  Sister Natalie rose and left them for a few minutes and returned with paper and a pencil.

  Cat continued to prompt Taabe, and Ned jotted notes.

  “She had a family. She believes she had a sister. She remembers a girl with golden hair, older than she was.”

  “That’s progress.” Ned wrote it down. “What else?”

  “She remembers men—tall, like you. One she thinks was her father. And a mother who made sweet cakes. She missed her mother’s cooking for a long time, until she got used to the Comanche ways.”

  “I can understand that,” Ned said. “What about names? Does she recall any of their names?”

  Cat spoke to Taabe, but she shook her head.

  Ned looked into her eyes across the table. “Taabe, do you know the name ‘Morgan’?”

  Frown lines appeared on her forehead.

  “There was a girl named Billie Morgan,” Ned said slowly. “She lived in a place called Victoria, on a ranch. She was about your age, and she had blue eyes and dark blond hair. Billie Morgan.”

  Taabe’s face showed pain or extreme concentration, but she shook her head slightly.

  “Billie,” she whispered, still frowning.

  Ned sighed. “What about the cat? Ask her about Fluffy.”

  At his mention of the name, Taabe’s eyes cleared. “Fluffy.”

  Cat spoke to her in Comanche. Her face lit up and she spoke with more animation than Ned had seen before.

  When Cat turned to him a minute later, he was smiling. “She had a kitten. It was orange. Its name was Fluffy. How did you know?”

  “That’s what she named her new kitten here.”

  “I see.” Cat spoke to her again and then told Ned, “Her cat was the same color as the one you bought her at the fort. Did I get that part right?”

  “Yes, I got it from Lassen.”

  “She loved it a great deal, it seems. And she remembers horses, lots of horses. All of them were dark brown or black. No pintos or palominos.”

  “That’s odd.”

  Cat shrugged. “She admits she’s confused. The Comanche had lots of horses. But she thinks that where she came from, most of the horses were solid colored. And one thing she held against her captors was that she never got her horse back. Later, when she was allowed to ride, she had to use a poorer mustang. One of the chiefs claimed her original mount as his war horse. The day came when he went out raiding and came back without it, riding a different horse. She never forgave him.”

  “Wow.” Ned sat back and looked at Sister Natalie. “I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I’m exhausted,” she said. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “That would be nice, ma’am,” Cat said. Ned added his thanks.

  “I should check on our guests as well,” Sister Natalie said. “As much as I’d like to
hear the rest of her story, I’d probably better send in one of the other sisters while I entertain them.”

  Taabe rose when Sister Natalie did.

  “Where are you going, Taabe?” the sister asked.

  “I go. I come back.”

  Sister Natalie nodded and smiled at Ned. “I’m sure she’ll return in a moment.”