The Courageous Brides Collection
Page 2
“I didn’t know that,” she said, uncertainty in her tone.
“What do you know?”
“Pa said someone back in Washington gave the Ponca land to the Sioux during their treaty negotiations. Now the Sioux are trying to drive out the Ponca.”
“Your pa’s right.” Joel peered at her under the brim of his broad hat, but her expression showed genuine concern. “I’d be suspicious, too, if my farm was taken away and I was sent packing.”
“I still don’t understand why they don’t fix the treaty.”
“I don’t have the answer to that. I don’t suppose anyone does.” Joel sympathized with the Ponca, even felt anger toward the tall-hatted men in Washington who made their laws and signed their treaties with little regard for those they were supposed to protect.
But he didn’t like to think about the treaty too much. At one time, all the land around the Niobrara and the Missouri Rivers belonged to the Indians. What if the treaty was overturned? And then another and another? Would he have to give up his farm? The land where his parents and Sadie’s ma were buried?
He’d worked alongside his pa since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, and then he worked alone. That work meant something.
Course it meant something for the Ponca, too. They’d been settled at the Niobrara long enough to build homes and grow crops and gardens. They weren’t a roaming tribe, not anymore.
Beside him, Marcy sat quietly, her gaze fixed on the far horizon. Her thoughts hid behind eyes narrowed with worry. He couldn’t read her mind, but her expression told him she wasn’t thinking about what to wear to the town’s next social event.
Maybe he’d misjudged her.
Marcy stared across the horse’s back toward the edge of the broad prairie. Joel’s words echoed in her thoughts, as dark as the clouds filling the sky.
“I wasn’t talking about your pa.”
He meant Benjamin. And he was right.
After Pa told her about the mistaken treaty, she’d tried to discuss it with her fiancé. But he’d laughed away her concern. His future wife didn’t need to worry her pretty little head about such affairs.
Benjamin didn’t think she needed to be spending time with Doc, either, or giving Pa a hand in the lumber mill when he needed it. “Once we’re married, you’ll be too busy for any of that,” he’d said. More than once.
Though he’d never been clear on what she’d be busy doing.
But he loved her, and she wanted to be a dutiful wife. So she heeded his mother’s advice on posture and poise and learned the rules of etiquette that guided the family’s social events. High-falutin’ nonsense, her pa called it. But Marcy appreciated the elegance the Hollingsworth family gave to the frontier community. One day soon, Benjamin’s parents would announce their engagement. Then she’d belong to that elegance, too.
Lightning flashed in the distance, and Marcy grasped Joel’s arm.
“We’ll be there soon,” he said. “Sure hope your pa doesn’t tan my hide for taking you out to the camp in this weather.”
“He’ll understand.” Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Pa knew she couldn’t ignore a sick child. Benjamin must know that, too, though he hadn’t been pleased when she went with Pa to deliver Chief Standing Bear’s table.
“I went to the Ponca village once,” she said. “Shortly after I moved here.”
“That so?”
“It wasn’t at all what I expected.”
He glanced at her, an amused smile playing at his lips. “You expected tipis and scalps?”
“I didn’t expect wooden houses and vegetable gardens.”
“But that’s what you found.”
“Yes.” She’d also found a friend. “I met a woman there. She was about my age, but she already had a baby. A little girl who was teething and crying and making her poor ma miserable.”
“Don’t tell me. You held the baby, and she stopped crying.”
“She went to sleep in my arms.” Marcy smiled at the memory. “Her mother didn’t speak English, but her husband called the baby their Beloved Child.”
“Their firstborn. It’s a Ponca tradition.”
“It’s a lovely thought, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is.”
“She’d be about eighteen months old now,” Marcy said. “I always meant to go back.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She opened her mouth to respond then closed it again. What could she say? She didn’t have a reason—at least not one that mattered. The days had sped by as she got used to living with Pa after being separated from him for so long. Their neighbors had welcomed her into the rhythms of the small community—the quilting bees, the church dinners, the harvest festival.
And then there was Benjamin. He’d swept her off her feet, leaving her breathless with his charm and his lavish gifts. He made sure she spent most of her free time with his family.
She snuck a peek at Joel beneath the brim of her bonnet. He’d been at the mill on the day she arrived in Neligh, and at the time she thought he liked her. But after she met Benjamin, Joel seemed to avoid her.
Her thoughts returned to her only visit to the Ponca village. Even though they couldn’t communicate, the women had been gracious and welcoming. Their children, smiling and curious, had stared at her blond hair and took turns wearing her best Sunday hat.
These same women and children were being forced from their homes because of a bureaucratic mistake.
“Is this the only answer?” Marcy’s voice startled her. She hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud. Apparently, Joel was surprised, too, given the wide-eyed look he gave her before turning his attention back to the trail.
“What are you talking about?”
“Why won’t the army protect the Ponca from the Sioux?”
“They’re following the orders they’ve been given.”
A crack of thunder prevented Marcy from answering, and large raindrops pelted the wagon. She pulled her shawl closer and subconsciously leaned closer to Joel.
Toby picked up speed, following the track as it curved past a grove of trees. Joel’s house and barn appeared, and he tightened his grip on the reins to control the horse.
“Not going home yet, boy,” he said.
Toby neighed in protest and shook his head, but Joel directed him past the farm. Marcy silently prayed the wagon wouldn’t get stuck in the thickening mud or, even worse, tip over.
Finally, ghostly images appeared in the blur created by the steady rain. The tents and crude lean-tos of the encampment.
Chapter Three
Inside the dimly lit tent, Marcy huddled beside the feverish toddler. She placed a cool cloth on the small forehead and smoothed back the child’s long dark hair. Moon Hawk knelt on the other side of the pallet, rocking back and forth as she muttered desperate prayers for healing. Marcy gave her a slight smile, but the gesture meant little. Not when her baby girl, her Beloved Child, was so ill.
Marcy removed the mustard poultice from White Buffalo Girl’s bare stomach. She grimaced at the small blisters appearing on the skin. If only there was another treatment—one that didn’t cause harm of its own.
But she’d tried a tonic when they first arrived, and there’d been no improvement.
With careful movements, she replaced the poultice with another one, almost too hot to touch, from a kettle hanging over a low fire. White Buffalo Girl stirred and tried to swat away the pungent cloths.
“That’s it, little one,” Marcy cooed as she placed a worn blanket on top of the poultice to keep in the warmth as long as possible. “Fight.”
The flap opened, and a rain-soaked gust blew into the tent. Except for its chill, Marcy welcomed the fresh air. Joel entered, carrying blankets and a stew pot. Black Elk, Moon Hawk’s husband, followed closely with a large basket.
Disgusted by the lack of supplies he could scrounge up from the army—though to be fair, the soldiers were as much in need as the Ponca—Joel and Black Elk had ridden through the d
ownpour to his farm. He’d gathered as much as he could spare.
Joel hung the pot over the fire then helped Marcy cover White Buffalo Girl with a few of the blankets. He placed a patchwork quilt over Marcy’s shoulders, and she gave him a quick smile of thanks.
Black Elk handed Joel the basket and knelt by Moon Hawk. The fire cast shadows on his strong cheekbones and bronze skin. His eyes darted from White Buffalo Girl to his wife. He said something to her, but she didn’t respond.
Marcy adjusted the blankets around White Buffalo Girl and moistened the child’s lips with a damp cloth. If only Doc were here. Surely there was something else she could be doing. Should be doing.
As soon as the stew bubbled, Joel ladled it into bowls, giving a couple to Black Elk then handing one to Marcy. She shook her head.
“You have to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“At least try. It’s not bad if I do say so myself.”
“You made this?”
“Sure did.”
She took the bowl, grateful for its warmth in her cupped hands. Dampness seemed to permeate the tent, and the fire radiated only a small circle of heat.
Black Elk murmured something to Moon Hawk. He appeared to be pleading with her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder but still refused to eat.
“You can feed a little to your daughter if you’d like,” Marcy said. “Only the broth.”
Black Elk translated for his wife. A moment passed while Moon Hawk took in Marcy’s words and found in them a glimmer of hope. Marcy raised the little girl’s head while Moon Hawk pursed her lips and cooled a spoonful of liquid with her breath.
White Buffalo Girl swallowed a few tiny mouthfuls then coughed. Momentarily strengthened by the broth, the child mumbled something Marcy didn’t understand. Moon Hawk grasped her daughter’s hand and repeated the same word, a Ponca word.
“She asks for her doll,” Black Elk said. “We had to leave, and the doll was lost.”
Moon Hawk spoke quickly, her words tripping over each other. When Black Elk replied, he kept his voice soft, his words few. Moon Hawk didn’t answer, but anguish accentuated the fear in her dark eyes.
Marcy didn’t need to know their language to understand Moon Hawk had expressed her dismay, perhaps even disappointment in her husband, that White Buffalo Girl didn’t have her cherished toy to comfort her.
“I’m sorry,” Marcy said.
Moon Hawk’s nod was barely perceptible. She spoon-fed more broth into her daughter’s tiny mouth while shrinking within herself. Her fear hovered in the shadows, another presence inside the dismal tent.
During a lull in the storm, Joel drove the wagon the short distance back to his farm. He wiped down and fed Toby then saddled his mare. Buttermilk, the color of her name, nuzzled his hand as he slipped the bit into her mouth. “You ready for a ride, girl?” he asked. “Sorry to take you out in this weather, but I need to check on Sadie.”
Buttermilk whickered her eagerness, and Joel chuckled at her willing spirit. But she was always one for an adventure no matter the weather. He had found her several years ago, a young colt standing over the body of her mother, and brought her home. His inquiries had gone unanswered, and now he no longer worried someone would claim her. Whatever happened on the prairie remained a mystery.
He shrugged into his oilskin duster, adjusted his hat, and then led Buttermilk from the barn. The late afternoon sun, barely visible behind rain-heavy clouds, might as well set for all the good it was doing. He’d have to hurry to get back to the camp while there was still light enough to see.
Miss Taylor invited him in, but he declined. No need to drip water on her floor. Sadie showed him the embroidery sampler her teacher had given her to work on, and he dutifully admired her stitching.
“How’s that rabbit?” he asked.
“He’s sleepin’ on the back porch,” Sadie said. “I think he had a rough day.”
“I think he did, too.” If only a rabbit’s injured paw was the worst thing the day would hold. Somehow he didn’t think it would be. Marcy had seemed reluctant for him to leave her, and he’d offered to bring her home. She’d gathered her resolve and refused. Seemed she had more spunk than he gave her credit for.
But she was afraid. He’d seen it in her eyes.
Joel tapped his hat against his leg. “I gotta go back to the camp. As soon as I see Mr. Whitt. Let him know Marcy is fine.”
“Don’t worry about Sadie,” Miss Taylor said. “She can stay here all night if you need her to.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I think we better plan on that.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow.”
He nodded good-bye then rode to the lumber mill. A carriage stood nearby, and Joel blew out air in frustration. The last person he wanted to see.
Benjamin Hollingsworth.
Joel sheltered Buttermilk beneath a three-sided pole barn then entered the mill.
Thad Whitt emerged from an inner office and limped his way across the sawdust-covered floor. He was one of the lucky ones—at least he’d survived the war. Benjamin followed behind, and both men looked past Joel.
“Marcy at the house?” Mr. Whitt asked.
“She’s still at the camp.”
Benjamin glared, a grim expression on his face. “You left her out there? Alone?”
“She’s not alone.”
“Of course not. She’s with a bunch of no-good Indians who are being sent away from here. About time, too.”
“That’s enough, Benjamin,” Mr. Whitt said quietly and turned to Joel. “My girl all right?”
“She’s fine, sir. But the child…I’m not sure Marcy can help her.”
Benjamin made a harrumphing noise and stepped closer. “Then she doesn’t need to be there, does she?”
Joel kept his eyes on Mr. Whitt. “I offered to bring her home, sir. She wouldn’t leave.”
Mr. Whitt wiped his forehead with a large bandanna. “No, I don’t suppose she would. Not as long as there’s a chance.”
“Not even when there’s not, I’d say.”
Mr. Whitt met Joel’s gaze and slowly nodded. “You’re right, son.” Weariness softened his voice. “Not even when there’s not.”
“Did she say anything about our plans?” Benjamin demanded.
Joel slowly turned toward him. The man reminded him of a tiresome nag his pa once had. Cantankerous and out of sorts when things didn’t go her way. “Plans?”
“My mother is hosting a dinner party this evening.”
“In this weather?”
Mr. Whitt made a strange noise, something between a snort and a cough, then turned away and seemed to choke. “Sorry, fellas,” he finally said.
“The date was set weeks ago,” Benjamin said. “No one could have predicted this storm.”
“Or that a child would need medical attention.” Tired of Benjamin’s petulance, Joel turned to Mr. Whitt. “I need to get back to the camp. Just wanted you to know Marcy is fine.”
“You’ll stay with her,” Mr. Whitt said. “You’ll take care of my girl?”
Joel glanced at Benjamin, expecting he’d want to take that responsibility.
“I told you,” he said petulantly. “I’ve got plans. So does Marcy.”
“So she does.” Joel clenched the brim of his hat with both hands as a slow burn filled his gut. He shifted from one foot to the other, resisting the urge to grab Benjamin’s bolo tie and haul him out to the buggy. Only a low kind of man cared more about a dinner than his gal. To show that kind of disrespect in front of her father sank him even lower.
Mr. Whitt stepped between them and gestured toward the door. “There’s Marcy’s coat. Take it with you. Do you need anything else?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“I’ll see you out then.”
As they headed for the door, Mr. Whitt grabbed Marcy’s coat from a peg and handed it to Joel. Once they were outside, Mr. Whitt closed the door behind him. �
��Once he leaves, I’ll join you. Tell me what you need.”
“We’ve got blankets. Food and shelter. There’s no need for you to be out in this weather.” Joel eyed the horizon. The sun touched the rim of the world, and more clouds scurried toward the town. “It’ll be dark soon, and more rain’s coming.”
“That girl’s all I’ve got.”
“I’ll take care of her, sir. You can count on me.”
Joel didn’t waver under Mr. Whitt’s measuring gaze. Finally the older man nodded.
“God be with you, son.”
“With all of us.”
Chapter Four
Joel slipped between the flaps of the tent and paused to give his eyes time to adjust to the dim lighting. He knelt beside Marcy, who seemed oblivious to his presence until he gently touched her shoulder.
“Your pa wanted you to have this,” he whispered as he placed her coat about her shoulders.
“How is he?”
“He wanted to come, but I talked him out of it.”
“I’m glad.”
“How is she?”
“She’s still crying for her doll.” Marcy glanced at Moon Hawk then stood. Joel rose beside her, his hand sliding down her back before falling to his side. They huddled together as far from the little family as they could in the confined space and spoke in soft whispers.
“Black Elk told me the army didn’t give them time to pack anything. White Buffalo Girl was already sick, and he begged the captain to let them stay in the village.” Her voice quivered. “But he wouldn’t allow it.”
“What can I do?”
“Will you…please…just stay with me?”
Her simple plea shot like an arrow into his heart. In the wavering light of the smoking fire, he’d have done anything she asked.
“Of course, I will.”
“I’m not sure I can do this.”
“I know you can.”
“She’s going to die.”
“With people around her who love and care for her.”
Marcy’s eyes misted, but beneath the tears shone resolve and courage. Had he given her that?