“Douglas doesn’t like swimming so I was hoping you might like to join me in the pond come summer,” she said. “I know it’s a frivolous pastime, but the water in the pond is clear and the bottom is lined with soft sand. It’s the most marvelous treat to dive into the water when you’re hot as blazes from a long summer day.”
Rose smiled. “I’d love to swim with you, Aunt Joanna. Maybe we can teach the baby to swim when he’s older, too. Daddy taught me young in the rivers back in Texas.”
“Oh yes, everyone needs to know how to swim. It could save your life one day!”
At that precise moment, when they were barely yards from the little pond and close to the tree line, their attention distracted, that something dark streaked from the shadows and was upon them like a cloak of evil descending from the dark.
Joanna shrieked and threw up her arms. Rose was frozen in place, her mouth dropping open with surprise.
It was her captor, the monster who had taken her away before. He was on them in a second, striking out at Joanna, knocking her to the ground. Rose leaped on his back, grappling him so he could not hurt her aunt anymore. She clawed at his shoulders and he screamed so loudly she almost lost her grip and fell to the ground.
He pushed her off him, then caught her by the arm to keep her from falling away. He bent and lifted her at her knees so that she was over one of his shoulders, head hanging toward the ground. She cried for Joanna.
She shouted for Travis.
She fought for all she was worth.
She would not be taken again.
#
Travis heard the first shrill cry from Rose’s aunt above the thudding sound of the axe hacking into the tree trunk. He dropped the axe and turned, his heart fluttering up into his mouth.
He began to run for the field. He saw three figures in some kind of tussle and then he could make out the Indian—half-naked, his black hair loose and flying around his shoulders. He had Rose by the arm and Joanna lay on the field unmoving.
Travis changed direction, making for his gun where he had it propped against the edge of the porch. Once he had it, he flew across the field at lightning speed, his breath coming hard and the spittle drying in his open mouth. He knew this was the most desperate situation he and Rose had ever been in. Before when she was taken, the Indian had been cautious, not wanting to incur the wrath of anyone nearby. This time he had made a bold move that was unlike him. It made him more dangerous to see he meant to abduct Rose in broad daylight, in the company of her aunt, with Travis not far distant at the new cabin site.
Travis shouted, “Let her go! Put her down! Come back!”
The Indian had Rose over his shoulder and was making for the woods. He turned at the shouts and saw Travis closing in on him. Travis wasn’t close enough to see his face, but he imagined it reflected surprise and anger. Hadn’t he seen Travis working in the clearing? Hadn’t he heard the felling of the trees? How had he thought he could do this and get away with it again?
Rose beat at the Indian’s back. Suddenly he dropped her and she went down on her bottom, breaking her fall with her hands. Travis stumbled as he ran, fearful Rose had been hurt.
The Indian withdrew a knife from his scabbard and faced Travis.
He is insane, Travis thought. He cannot hope to thwart me when I have a gun and he has a knife. Slowing as he neared, he cocked the hammer on his rifle and began to bring it to his shoulder. He would shoot the savage dead. He would never touch Rose again. This was the end of it, right here, right now.
#
Broken Bear turned and withdrew his knife. He saw the white trapper as in a dream. There was a halo of light around the figure approaching him from across the winter field. Broken Bear blinked, worried that his vision was lying to him. He knew he had made a drastic mistake. He had always planned to take the Red Hair when she was alone. Alone. But when he’d seen her with the older woman coming close to the woods, he made an abrupt decision. He couldn’t wait for a more opportune time. He had to get her now.
And now, Travis, the legendary hunter and trapper, faced off with him to protect his woman. He was as large as a bear, it seemed to Broken Bear. Large and shimmering and threatening—ready and willing to take Broken Bear’s life.
What had he done to deserve facing the great bear twice in a lifetime? For surely this was no mere man. He seemed to glow from within, light shedding off him in waves. He seemed tall, twice the size of any mortal man.
I will trick him and kill him the way I killed the bear on the cliff, Broken Bear thought suddenly. He dropped his knife. Travis halted in place, just as the bear had done, confused by his strange behavior.
Broken Bear ducked his head and hunched his body and raced across the field headlong. He would knock the bear-man down and choke the life from him. He would tear off his scalp and sail it into the wind. He would win this match just as he had before—with sheer courage and fortitude, with swift action taken without fear.
The blast was a burst of light greater than the light emanating from the man. It was like a bright fire that bloomed from the center of the standing figure. Broken Bear stumbled, thinking he had raced into a bonfire he hadn’t known was there. He felt the light strike him mid-chest and knock him back two steps before his momentum carried him to the earth. He felt the fire catch in his chest and spread out into his belly and brain, his arms and his legs.
Above him the sky rotated and only stilled when Travis came into his view.
“This is the end of it,” the trapper said.
“I…I want the Red Hair.”
“You can’t have her. She belongs to me, forever and forever.”
Broken Bear couldn’t believe he heard these words. They were words spoken to a dead man. He must rise up and strike back. He tried to lift his arms, to get to his elbows, but they would not obey him. He lay sprawled on the field, corn stubble piercing his back, while the bright light surrounding the white man faded, the gray sky blackened, and the claws of a great, roaring beast took Broken Bear into pure darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rose stood before the justice of the peace in Sacramento holding a small bouquet of wood violets Travis had picked for her on the way into town. She repeated her marriage vows solemnly, then turned and let her husband kiss her.
It was a scandal to be getting married in her condition, but there were no witnesses except those clerks from the court required for the service. No one who mattered would ever know she and Travis had not been man and wife before the conception of her baby.
“Now I’m truly Mrs. Caldwell,” she said as they walked out of the cramped municipal building and into the busy streets.
“And I’m a happy man,” he said, holding tight to her hand.
The night before while lying in bed in their own cabin they had shied from one another’s bodies, having made plans to marry today. It was early April, the land coming to life with a green so lively and pure it made the eyes water. Birds twittered in the trees and Doug was in the fields plowing early every morning.
“Did you ever believe we’d be standing here, thousands of miles from Texas?” she asked.
He nodded. “I knew we’d make it. I was determined we would.”
“The Indian almost ruined everything. I still don’t understand why he wanted to take me away.”
“I can’t say as I blame him,” Travis joked. “You’re a mighty fine looker, Mrs. Caldwell.”
“That’s not even funny,” she said, but she suppressed a smile.
Travis sobered. “I think there was something wrong with his mind.”
“Well, of course, there was. Why would anyone stalk a person over an entire continent?”
“There’s that, but it was something more, too. When I killed him, I could tell he wasn’t right thinking. He had to know he couldn’t get near enough to attack me, but he kept coming anyway. He didn’t seem to hear the warning I shouted. He was rushing me like you do when you’re trying to knock a man down. But he had to have se
en the gun. I just can’t fathom it yet, unless his mind was cracked and he didn’t even know what he was doing.”
Rose briefly relived the day she and Aunt Joanna were accosted. She had nursed her aunt for days afterward. The blow she’d sustained to her head had caused a concussion, or that’s what the doctor said when Doug brought him to the cabin. Rose stayed near her bed and bathed her face with wet cloths. She talked to Joanna, speaking softly of happy things, hoping to reach her aunt’s optimistic soul. She was never more relieved than when Joanna opened her eyes and recognized Rose.
“Why, dear, what are you doing with that long face? As soon as I can get out of this bed, we’ll bake a cake together to cheer you.”
Rose had laughed out loud, leaning down and hugging her aunt. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re yourself.”
“Who else would I be? Now hand me my robe. How long have I been in this bed? Who’s been taking care of Douglas?”
Travis squeezed her hand and Rose returned to the moment. “It’s a great day,” she said. “Can we shop at the mercantile? Aunt Joanna insisted I take some coin she’d saved and buy cloth for sewing baby clothes.”
The rest of the day was splendiferous. She and her new husband shopped together, ate sausages stuffed and fried in cornbread batter from a vendor, and drank sarsaparilla in a small café. The city was still a brawling, tumultuous place, but the amenities it offered were various and entertaining. One day Rose believed Sacramento would be a capital city with proper buildings and ordered streets, just like in New York City.
#
The first of May—May Day---the day a game was played by children holding ribbons tied to the center of a “may” pole and circling it singing songs---that was the day Rose gave birth to her baby.
She had been in labor all the night before, but endured it without so much as one complaint. She didn’t want to worry Travis, who she knew paced the floor in the other room of the cabin. Aunt Joanna stayed at her side and as she bathed her face with a damp cloth, it reminded Rose of the days she had done the same for her aunt.
With each new contraction Rose felt something coming into the world that would change everyone’s life—especially her own. She had not thought much about marriage and children, thinking as all young women her age thought that it was a natural progression of a woman’s life. But now as she labored in birth she discovered just how mystical and magical the giving of life could be. She hurt, but hurt in a way that was worthwhile, that aimed toward a conclusion and new life coming into the world.
Joanna tried to keep things light by talking of the future, the rosy future, she said, grinning down at Rose. “You’ll name him John, if he’s a boy?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “John will grow up to help his father and love his mother. If you have a girl named Mary Rose, she will be as beautiful and redheaded as you are, and she will be sweet-natured and helpful.”
“You keep such a lovely picture in your mind all the time, don’t you?” Rose asked. “I really like that, Aunt Joanna.”
“Well, certainly I do! Why be dreary and drab and blue? Life’s a treasure, you know, grander than any amount of shiny gold. Every day is a gift, brand new. We open the wrapping and see what we behold. Around every bend is a new view, ahead lies an open path, and, best of all, God loves those who love His creation. I have to admit, I do love it, I love life, I’m grateful for it.”
By noon the following day Rose gave birth to a son. He was healthy, loud, and kicking. Travis rushed to her side, taking her hand, kissing her knuckles, staring into her eyes to see if she was all right. “Have you seen the baby?” she asked, weary now and tired enough to sleep a month.
Tears stood in his eyes. “Yes, I’ve seen him. He’s…he’s beautiful---like you.”
“No, he looks like you. He’s yours. You see that, don’t you? You’ll love him, won’t you?”
Travis’s voice was choked. He said, “He’s as white as snow, with hair as red as a sunset. He’s ours, Rose.”
“John Travis Caldwell,” she said.
“Yes. We have our Johnny.”
Rose thought she could finally forget the Indian now. She could put him from her mind and be free of his shadow. Until the baby was born, she fretted the child would be half-breed and then they would have to explain it to her aunt and uncle. They would have to spend their lives protecting the child from the prejudice heaped upon half-castes. They would never look on him without seeing the past and the violence that had begot him.
But God had been merciful and granted her the offspring of a love so deep it would run like a mighty river throughout her life.
“Rose, Rose, I’m so glad you’re both okay.”
Rose touched his face with her fingers. “Bring me the baby,” she said. “I’m ready to learn how to be a mother.”
When he left her alone in the room, Rose turned her head to the window and saw the sunshine and the forest gleaming in the distance. Northern California was nothing like Texas; it was nothing like anyplace she had ever been in all the wide country. She loved it here, loved her people, and she very much loved her husband and infant son.
Aunt Joanna was right—life was indeed a treasure shinier than any gold. And Rose Donahue Caldwell loved it all beyond measure.
THE END
Thanks for reading! Please read on for the first chapters of my latest novel, BANISHED.
BANISHED
By
Billie Sue Mosiman
Copyright 2011 by Billie Sue Mosiman, All rights reserved.
Cover art by Neil Jackson, Copyright 2011
"The Magician rearranges the Universe to make himself the center, the Mystic rearranges himself to find the center."
CHAPTER 1
THE LITTLE DEATH
She could barely breathe she was so hot. She could hear the night birds call and the rustle of her mother’s palm grass skirt as she moved about the small hut. She could see just the light from the flames of the fire in the center of the floor, but she could not make out anything beyond.
She closed her eyes to blessed darkness and wondered when she would die. She knew she would never be well again, never stand and walk, never kiss her mother’s cheek, or feel the comfort of her mother’s loving embrace. She had not lived long, a handful of years, so there was not much to miss. Yet she knew she must fight against death. She must not willingly let it take her.
A blanket of coolness slipped over her bare skin and it was not from the water her mother had been sponging onto her. She tried to reopen her eyes to discover the cause, but her lids were too heavy. She was so hot! The coolness that temporarily enveloped her was not helping. She wished they would carry her to the sea and float her in the waves.
Dark grew darker. Grew to pitch black. Grew to encompass a vast void. She struggled to take a breath. It would not come; her lungs would not obey. She thought, Death has me. Death has slipped his arms around me and holds me so tightly I cannot breathe.
Faintly she heard her mother’s wails, but she couldn’t lift a hand for her to come near, nor could she whisper the compassion she felt for the loved one she was leaving behind. She couldn’t even say goodbye.
Take me to the sea, she begged of Death. Take me from this heat and pain and let me float in the cool frothy waves. I always loved…I always loved the sea.
The heat grew like a malevolent cloud in the darkness until it filled the void. She couldn’t feel her body. She knew she was but a pinpoint of matter, a tiny bit of consciousness floating in the emptiness. It seemed time had stopped or it was moving so slowly it would last forever and nothing for her would ever change.
I’m not ready, the child complained. I’m too young.
And then she was swept off into the dark beyond where there was no more thought or heat or life.
She was done with this world.
CHAPTER 2
A NEW TRUE BEGINNING
“Life. A wriggling mass of cells blindly replicating, always in motion, endlessly in search of food. Is that
life? They say it is.”
The girl lay dying. Her week-long fever had put her into a coma and though her mother kept bathing her with cool water, her skin felt like hot coals. Though fevered, her light coffee-colored skin shone smooth and beautiful as a river stone in the flickering firelight.
In the little one-room shack made from date palm leaves the heat was stifling. Not one stray breeze made its way through the open doorway. Flies were so thick they congealed the air and had to be batted away constantly from the comatose child.
The mother, frantic about losing her only child, knowing in her heart death stood close with a skeletal arm extended, ran from the hut crying to the night heavens. She sped along the lone path through the jungle to the witch doctor’s hovel and stood outside wailing loud enough to wake the dead.
In her native tongue she told the witch doctor about the dying child and begged for him to save her.
It seemed to take him forever to gather his special feathers, shells, rocks, and sticks tied in bundles with strings of dried pig skin. As the mother raced back along the path to her baby, the witch doctor stayed at her side, pacing her, a pale sickle moon at their backs.
Bursting into the hut where a small fire in the center of the floor burned, grotesque shadows swathed the little girl who lay against the back wall. Both mother and witch doctor knew it was over and done with.
The child’s arm lay limp off to one side, her head was turned toward them, her eyes open, glazed, and forever stilled.
The mother turned to the witch doctor and in her grief made the ultimate request. She knew of the rumors.
“They say you have raised the dead. Raise her up!”
“I have only raised a few animals,” he said. “Never a human being.”
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