by Gordon, Rose
Any other time and Jack might have chuckled.
Instead, they plodded on in silence, broken only by the steady tattoo of their horses’ hooves hitting the ground and their heavy, rhythmic breathing.
“Why did you come?” Jack asked.
“You mean other than to satisfy my curiosity about what happens after I die?”
“Yes, other than that.”
Gray grunted. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to make sure your wife got the care she needed.”
Jack eyed him askance. “In a way, yes, because I believe you don’t think I’m capable.”
“Do you blame me?” Gray burst out. “Last year, after Allison arrived, you spoke so casually about her, saying you could ‘use’ a wife.” He made a sound of disgust. “How else were we all supposed to take those words? You could ‘use’ a wife? Women—no matter who they are—are not meant to be used, Jack. After an announcement such as that, what was I supposed to think of your ability as a husband?”
Jack gritted his teeth and clenched his reins a fraction tighter. “I’m not using Ella.”
“Good. Make sure that you don’t.”
Jack snorted. What a change that was. Gray was the one who had no problem sampling the wares of every trollop who passed through yet thought to lecture Jack on using women. He was about to point that out when something bright flickered through the trees ahead: fire.
Both men slowed their horses. They were still too far out to have reached the main camp. This had to be one of their hunting parties, full of savage men waiting for a chance to kill. It wouldn’t do to charge into their camp and startle them; then they’d attack for sure.
Whirrrrr—pffft.
Jack and Gray came to an abrupt stop, both eyeing the arrow that had just flown past their faces, narrowly missing their noses and sticking straight into the tree to their left. Then slowly, they turned their gazes to the right where a man who wore an array of necklaces with beads and claws and had a piece of leather tied around his waist stood. His bow was poised to shoot again, making it perfectly clear that this time, he wouldn’t miss. Not that Jack thought he’d missed by accident last time. It was probably a warning shot.
Panic filled Jack’s chest and his skin crawled. He lifted his hands into the air to show the man that he had brought no weapons with him and meant him no harm.
Gray did the same.
Keeping his stance, the man motioned for them to get down.
They did.
Keeping their hands lifted above their heads, they were ushered forward to his camp, which consisted of a sizable fire and a small group of half a dozen men who sat around it.
Given a large parcel of land, the Cherokees had more room than most to move their camp when they needed to follow the food. Often during summer months, small hunting parties like this would form.
Around them, words swirled that sounded more like caws and crows, sounds mostly. But it was their language. One he didn’t understand.
Nor did they seem to understand him.
“Dark Moon,” he said to the man who was now pacing around them. “Dark Moon.”
The man paid him no mind, shouting words that they couldn’t understand at them.
Jack’s only response was to call for Dark Moon.
The man yelled another string of words foreign to Jack.
Jack and Gray exchanged hopeless expressions.
“Dark Moon,” Jack shouted again. Through the years of trade, there were several of them who understood English, albeit not a lot, but apparently none of them were in this group. Surely they’d recognize the name he was calling.
Suddenly, four men ran up behind him and Gray, bound their hands together with a coarse rope, and dragged them backwards toward two large trees.
They hoisted him and Gray up into the air and tied them to the tree with ropes around their middles, leaving their feet to dangle a good three feet above the earth.
The impending doom finally set over them. This was it. Whatever torture they might pick to inflict on Jack and Gray was about to ensue. Or perhaps not yet. Maybe part of the torture was to tie them to the tree and make them wait for the physical torture to begin.
Either way, this was not how he wanted to die.
The vile string of curses escaping Gray’s lips only confirmed he felt the same.
In one last attempt to be heard, Jack opened his mouth and bellowed, “Daaaaark Mooooooo—”
He was quickly silenced with a hard jab in his side.
He gasped for breath and let his eyes wander the crowd where a young man not much younger than he came forward. “Stop shouting Dark Moon,” he said in soft, broken English. “He crazy. They think you crazy, too.”
“Well done, Jack,” Gray muttered sarcastically.
Jack ignored Gray and regarded the man. “We need to see him.”
The young man nodded and started speaking in his native tongue. He turned back to Jack and Gray. “You want to kill him?”
“Kill him? No. We need medicine.”
The boy was expressionless as he turned back to the others and began to communicate with them again, gesturing to Jack and Gray occasionally as he spoke.
A split-second after he stopped speaking, Jack had a sense of falling. Then he hit the hard, root-covered ground with a painful thud.
Gray joined him with a grunt a split-second later.
Jack pushed to his feet and made eye contact with their savior. “Thank you,” he said softly.
The man pushed his matted hair from his face, then made a “come here” movement with his hand.
Jack and Gray obeyed.
“We need to see Dark Moon,” Jack explained again. “We mean him no harm.” He lifted his hands and gestured to his waist where his gun belt generally hung but was visibly absent today. “We just need medicine.”
“Come.”
Jack followed him, and Gray was right behind Jack.
“Why you need medicine?”
“My wife is very sick. She has a bad infection and a high fever.”
“Dark Moon help.”
“I hope so,” Jack said, following the man to where they’d had to desert their horses.
“We ride.”
Gray’s gaze shot to Jack’s. There were only two horses and three men... Someone would have to walk, or share a horse.
The uncomfortable tension between the men grew when ‘Saving Grace’, as Jack would forever think of this man for his saving interference, hopped onto Gray’s horse.
“Come,” Saving Grace commanded, then nearly lost his balance and toppled off the horse.
Grimacing, Gray mounted his horse behind the other man. “If you breathe a single word of this to anyone at the fort, I’ll marry your widow.”
Jack took his meaning and grinned at him as he mounted his own horse and followed.
Twenty minutes later, a large teepee came into view and they slowed.
Saving Grace clumsily dismounted and walked over to talk through the leather.
A minute later, a man wearing nary a feather, save the ones on the ends of the braids that stopped just above his naked waist, emerged.
Jack immediately jerked his gaze to the man’s face. “Medicine,” he blurted.
“Aaaaah,” Dark Moon said. He lifted his hand and gave a jerky gesture for them to enter.
Without hesitation, Jack went in. It took a minute for a slow-moving Gray to join them.
Dark Moon didn’t seem to understand English very well other than the word medicine.
Jack turned to Saving Grace and tried to explain what he needed.
When Jack mentioned the spider bite, the man’s eyes tripled in size. He immediately turned to Dark Moon, and Jack wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined, but it seemed the man started speaking faster.
“Aaaah,” Dark Moon said, getting up from where he’d been sitting on the floor. He walked over to a table that was covered with countless jars and picked up a few. He sniffed one, dipped his finger into and
tasted another, and then shook a few others. He then poured this one into that one, then dumped it into another and shook it.
Jack watched the man in something akin to awe. How did he know what to mix and how much only by looking and sniffing? Not that it mattered. It didn’t. All that mattered was Ella recovering.
Dark Moon set his concoction down on the table, then grabbed a small leather pouch. He opened it and sniffed. Then seeming pleased, he picked up the jar of mixed ingredients he’d set down a moment before and thrust both items into Jack’s face.
Jack took them and softly thanked the man, accepting another little jar of paste he didn’t recognize.
The man seemed irritated by Jack’s response and started making shooing motions toward the door.
Jack and Gray were out of there with no further delay.
“We go now,” Saving Grace said, this time mounting Jack’s horse.
Gray shot Jack a smug smile.
On the way back to where Saving Grace was camping, he explained to Jack what to do with the medicine and tea he’d been given.
By the time Jack arrived back to his room, however, his hopes for Ella’s recovery weren’t so high when he was informed she hadn’t woken or stirred once, her skin was even hotter, and her pulse had grown weaker.
He woodenly walked over to where she lay lifeless on the bed, covered in only a sheet that was soaked through. He knew it was foolishness to hope the sheet was wet from her sweat. The reality was that Allison and Mrs. Lewis had probably had to remove her old chemise and had placed a soaked sheet over her to keep her as cool as possible while still keeping her covered.
“Hold on, Ella,” he whispered, kneeling by her side and brushing a kiss on her temple. “Just a while longer, please.”
Fortunately, Wes and Gray had the good sense to stay out of the room while Ella was in such a state of undress. Jack was thankful, however, that Allison and Mrs. Lewis stayed to help where needed.
He asked Mrs. Lewis to start brewing the willow bark tea Dark Moon had given him for Ella’s fever. For her part, Allison wiped Ella’s leg as best she could, then gave Jack a reassuring nod when he began to apply the liquid to the center of her wound and the paste around the blackening edges.
Jack winced and grimaced each time he touched her. She might be sleeping deeply, but he knew she’d be hurting if she were still awake. What he wouldn’t give to have her yelling at him now.
Just as he finished applying the medicine, Mrs. Lewis put the lid on a pot of steeping tea then pulled down a cup.
Jack put the medicine away in order to save the rest for the series of applications that needed to occur over the next three days as instructed.
“I didn’t make the tea too hot,” Mrs. Lewis said.
Jack nodded his understanding. “Allison can you help me?”
“Of course.” She reached forward and helped Jack move Ella into a position that would allow the liquid to flow down her throat.
When Jack was satisfied that he wouldn’t choke his wife with the tea, he took the cup from Mrs. Lewis and poured a little into her open mouth, then massaged her throat to help work the liquid down. Saving Grace had said half a cup would be enough, but a whole cup would be best, leaving Jack reluctant to settle for any amount less than the entire cup. He didn’t care how long it took to help her drink it. He’d do what he must.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lewis, Allison, for cleaning her up while I was gone and for—” he took a hard swallow— “and for helping me.”
“You’re most welcome, Jack,” Mrs. Lewis said.
Allison offered him a small smile from where she stood combing her fingers through Ella’s hair with one hand and running a wet rag over her shoulder and the top of her chest with the other. She looked tired. They both did.
He wanted to tell them to go on to bed but didn’t wish to seem rude. He was spared when, a few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door.
Mrs. Lewis answered it, then came back to announce that Gray had taken over in the watchtower for Colonel Lewis and she was on her way to bed.
Jack nodded, relieved. “You can go, too, Allison.”
“A-are you sure you don’t need me? I don’t mind and I know Wes won’t mind if I stay.”
“No. Go.”
With one more look back at Ella, she walked to the door.
“Jack?”
Jack turned to look at Wes, who stood with his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained on the floor. “Yes?”
“We can stay if you’d like to rest.”
“No, that’s all right.”
Wes sighed. “You won’t be any good to her if you die of sleep deprivation.”
“I know.” He turned back to Ella and straightened the sheet over her. “I’ll take a little nap once she finishes her tea.”
“Be sure that you do,” Wes said with a shake of his head. “If you need us, we’re just right there.”
“I know. Thank you.”
~Chapter Fifteen~
Savannah, Georgia
Michaela closed the door to the room she’d shared with Ella with a soft tap. It had been close to three and a half weeks now since Ella had gone to stay with Aunt Charlotte in Richmond, and their father was beginning to comment about the lack of correspondence.
Michaela, however, wasn’t too concerned. They might have never spoken about it, and it might have hurt Michaela’s feelings just a bit that Ella hadn’t confided in her, but two girls who had shared a room their entire lives were unable to keep secrets. There wasn’t any way to avoid it; which meant that unbeknownst to Ella, despite her best efforts to hide it, Michaela knew her sister had never gone to stay with their aunt but had traveled west to become a mail order bride instead.
And just now, their father was learning the truth.
Michaela tiptoed to Ella’s old bed, which was located in front of the window that overlooked the drive, and watched as Aunt Charlotte disembarked from her carriage. Anticipation built in Michaela’s breast. Pa would be furious. First at Ella, then at her.
She squeezed her hands into fists and licked her lips. He could be angry all he wanted, but Michaela knew the man’s most damning secret; one he likely wouldn’t want anyone else to know, and if he’d like to keep it that way, he’d better keep his temper in check.
Aunt Charlotte had disappeared from view now, which could only mean one thing: she’d reached the door.
At first, there was a deafening silence that seemed to fill the house, presumably only because Pa hadn’t laid eyes on Aunt Charlotte yet—
“What do you mean she never came to visit?” Pa’s booming voice echoed throughout the house.
Michaela couldn’t hear her aunt’s answer and didn’t relish the thought of sneaking down the stairs to overhear the conversation. She had little doubt her father would be up in her room to demand answers in a trice as it was.
When she’d first seen Aunt Charlotte’s carriage coming this morning, she’d briefly entertained the idea of hiding down by the pond, or in the cotton fields, or even in the street—the little area of cabins and clapboard houses where the field hands lived. She’d dismissed the idea of course. Pa would only be angrier if he had to come seek her out. It was best to face his wrath now rather than later. Of course, she wasn’t a complete featherbrain and knew it would be safer if he at least came to her room—a place where she often felt more comfortable and could hold onto her strength—rather than to present herself to him down in the entryway like a sacrificial lamb.
“Where’s Ella?” Pa demanded, swinging the door to Michaela’s room open.
Michaela swallowed and looked directly at the man. He was exactly six feet in height and as broad in the shoulders and chest as a whiskey barrel. He’d been a general for six years before leaving the army four years ago to return Ma to the plantation she’d loved so dearly. She’d died suddenly only two years later, but he’d stayed. Unfortunately, being a plantation owner hadn’t softened him and made him more relaxed as Ma had hoped
it might. Instead, he was still the same imposing General Samuel Davis who treated his daughters as if they were men under his command in the army.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t know where Ella was at the moment.
Pa crossed his arms over his chest. “Where did she go?”
When worded that way, his questions were a little harder to evade. If she said west, it would be the truth, but it would also be belligerent—an attitude her father didn’t approve of. She took a deep breath and replied, “She answered an ad to be a mail order bride.”
Pa’s moss green eyes blazed into hers and his nostrils flared. “Why didn’t you tell me this, Michaela?”
She licked her lips again. “I wanted to wait until I heard from her.” She was certain that Ella would send her a letter once she arrived. It was only because of that, that she’d never stopped her sister from going or told Ella that she’d found her hidden letters.
“Why would you do a foolish thing like that?”
“B-because I wanted to know that she was safe and happy before I told you.”
“And if she’s not?” he barked.
“Then, I would have told you that, too.” Though she’d prayed nightly that Ella would find a good man on the other end of those letters, she had every intention of traveling to Fort Gibson and reclaiming her sister if she read one letter containing bad news.
“What if she cannot write, Michaela? What if her husband is cruel to her and will not allow her to write letters? Or worse—” his voice cracked— “she was hurt along the way.”
Unease settled over Michaela. She’d never considered that.
“I take it you haven’t heard from her, then?”
Michaela shook her head. It was all she could do.
“How long did you plan to wait to hear from her before informing me of this—” he waved his hand in a circle— “deceit?”
“Two months.”
“Two months could have been too late,” her father snapped. “Hell, right now it could be too late.”
“Two months seemed a sensible amount of time,” Michaela countered with shaken confidence. “I needed to give her enough time to arrive and post a letter.”
