by Marie Caron
Frantically I held on, trying to keep myself from falling out of the wagon. Papa was there too, and he was clinging to the side of the wagon, just out of reach. As I watched, the dark water rose over his head, and just like that, he was gone. Realizing I couldn’t save him, I cried out, “Papa! No!” I was terrified. The wagon was tipping even more now. Soon I would fall into the rushing water and drown just like Papa. I was hanging on as tightly as I could, and my arms were getting very sore. I knew I couldn’t hold on much longer.
All of a sudden I heard a familiar voice. “Samantha, honey, wake up.” At the sound of his voice, I felt a sense of calm come over me. John is here; he will save me, I thought to myself.
“Samantha, wake up!” he yelled. John had never yelled at me before. In fact, I had never heard him raise his voice to anyone. Something was very wrong. My eyes flew open, and I blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes and the fog from my head. The first thing I saw was John looking down at me. Good golly, this isn’t a dream; he’s really here!
“John! I was just dreaming about you,” I told him as he sat down next to me. Without a thought to propriety, I threw my arms around his neck and clung to him. “I knew you’d come for me,” I said softly against his neck, the scent and feel of his warm, smooth skin soothing me even more. My joy at seeing him was overwhelming, pushing aside thoughts of what was proper behavior for a single woman clear out of my mind. Though deep down inside I knew it was socially unacceptable for me to behave in such a brazen manner, all I could think about was how much I wanted him to hold me. What did it matter if I showed him how much I cared for him? Out here in the wilderness, we were far removed from the censure of society. Who was there to care if I showed appreciation for rescuing me? Who was there to care if I showed him how much he had come to mean to me? No one, that’s who! So why was he pulling my arms from around his neck? Why wasn’t he kissing me instead of backing away?
“John, what’s wrong?” Tears stung my eyes as I stared up at him. Surely I hadn’t been wrong about his feelings for me. But I was too embarrassed to ask, and as he sat opposite me on the floor of the teepee, he explained what had happened.
Upon returning to our camp, he had been told I was missing. He had tracked me all the way here, and from his hiding place in the trees, he’d seen the women emerge from the largest of the teepees. He knew that very soon the self-appointed chief of these renegade people would expect to enjoy his newest conquest over the whites.
“I had no doubt that once your body had been used for the chief’s pleasure you would be relegated to the lowest standing in the chief’s household. If your union with the chief produced a child, it would be an outcast, never accepted by the people.”
I didn’t have to ask. I knew that he understood what it was like to be an outcast; he was treated like an outsider by both his mother’s and his father’s people. Apparently prejudice was as common among the Indians as it was among the whites. My future with these people would be bleak to say the least. But what was he saying? Had he saved me from a fate worse than death?
“What did you do?”
“Forthrightness and honesty are the best way to deal with these people, so I rode into their camp with my weapons in plain sight. A number of braves came out to meet me. They are Kiowa, and I speak their language. The men are armed, though their weapons are either knives or single-shot rifles. Their women and children seem happy and healthy. Their clothing is in good repair, and their camp is about as prosperous as an Indian camp can be under the circumstances.
“I sat with them at their campfire, shared a meal, and told them my story. The leader wanted to keep you for himself, but I talked him out of it.”
“How?”
“I told him you were mine. He argued, saying, ‘If she is yours, why does she not ride with you? When my braves found her, she was alone.’ I said I usually keep you by my side, but I was hunting, and you do not ride a horse very well. Taking you along would have made my task more difficult, so I left you with the others of your kind. I told him you were supposed to stay in camp, but you do not listen,” John finished.
I found myself resenting John’s criticisms. Even if they were intended to gain my freedom, they wounded my pride. But my pride wasn’t important just now. My main concern at the moment was my freedom. “So, the chief just gave up his claim on me?”
“Not right away. He said I should sell you to him and find a woman who would be less trouble…a woman of the people. He offered me his cousin who is thirteen summers and in need of a husband.”
“Thirteen!” I was shocked that such a young girl would be expected to marry.
“Yes, a girl is considered a woman as soon as she bleeds. But I declined his offer. I told him I am happy with the white woman because she can sew and cook and because she is good at warming my bed at night.”
John said this with a straight face while I ducked my head and blushed, my inexperienced mind contemplating what sort of warming he meant. “What did he say next?”
“He said if I wanted you, I would have to pay him. I asked if he would accept my old rifle in exchange for a troublesome woman. I offered to let him examine it, but he pointed at the one still in the scabbard. It was a new Winchester I’d bought in Missouri before we set out. It was a good rifle, the best I’ve ever owned,” he said, and I thought he looked wistful. “The chief decided to trade. He said the rifle would serve him better than a woman who does not listen, and I agreed.”
“I’m sorry you had to give up your favorite rifle, but I’m very glad you did. Thank you for saving me. Can we go now?” I was very eager to get out of there. I couldn’t get the idea out of my head that the chief might change his mind.
“No. We have been invited to spend the night. It would be rude to refuse. Get some rest. I’ll take you back to the wagon train in the morning,” he replied, and then he moved to the opposite side of the teepee, where he settled down with his back to me. It wasn’t long before I heard the sonorous breathing of the man as he slept.
Still feeling embarrassed by the way I had thrown myself at him, it took hours for me to fall asleep.
Chapter 8
The following morning, the Indians returned my clothing, and we were allowed to leave.
For hours John and I rode together on his big horse, Thunder, stopping only to give the sturdy animal drinks from the streams we crossed. We were making good progress and had decided to push on rather than stop and eat. The sun was high in the sky when the gelding began to limp. John held my hand as I slid from behind him to the ground. Then he got down and pulled Thunder’s left front hoof up to look at it. It took him only a few seconds to examine the hoof and determine the problem.
“He’s picked up a stone.” He dropped the ailing hoof and gave the horse a pat on the neck. “I’ll have to dig it out,” he pronounced as he removed the saddlebags and handed them to me along with the canteen. “There’s some jerky in one of my bags. Help yourself,” he added. Then he turned back to his horse, which he led into the shade before setting to work on the injured hoof.
As he worked, John talked to Thunder in a soothing tone of voice that intrigued me. His affection for the horse was plain to see. He didn’t treat the big animal as though it was merely here to serve him. The stone must have been wedged in tight because it was a few minutes before he was able to dig it out. With a look of disgust, he flung the offensive pebble hard, and it bounced and landed in the nearby creek.
“Is he all right?”
“The rock’s out, but the hoof is bruised bad. It will take many days for the injury to heal completely.”
“Days! What if the Indians come back?”
“They will not bother us. We will stay here until Thunder can walk without doing himself permanent injury.” Now that he was finished with the hoof, John led the horse to a spot by the water, where there was plenty of grass for him to eat.
I had dropped the saddlebags beside a log before plopping down on it in the shade. No
w I began chewing on a piece of the jerky I’d found in John’s bag, taking sips of water in between small bites of the dry, tough meat. There hadn’t been any other food in the bag, and I figured we’d need to make the jerky last. While I ate, I watched John as he gave Thunder a quick rubdown using the saddle blanket. While he worked, he talked to the horse in a soothing tone of voice, as though it was his child. I could tell John cared a great deal for the big gelding, and the horse seemed to trust John. It had barely made a sound when he had used his bowie knife to dig out the stone. Once he was finished, satisfied that he’d done all he could for the faithful animal, he left him to graze in the little grassy area next to the creek. Then he sat down on the ground next to me in the shade of the tall pines.
Leaning back against his saddle, he worried a dandelion stem between his teeth, his expression thoughtful. Several minutes passed before he spoke.
“We’ll camp here for a night or two. Give him some time to heal a bit,” he said, staring across the creek to the thick forest beyond.
The intensity of his stare had me worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Once the sun sets, I won’t be able to see a thing through those trees. It’s not the best campsite in the world, but it will have to do; I won’t risk Thunder’s life.”
I knew what he meant. A crippled horse had to be put down, and without a horse, it would take us days to catch up to the wagon train…if we ever did. So we would wait here until he was better. John obviously didn’t expect any more trouble from the band of Indians that had taken me, so that was one thing in our favor. But what if there were other Indians out there who weren’t as agreeable? I had hoped to get back to the wagon train by sundown. Now we were being forced to spend more time alone together, more time when I would have to fight my attraction to him. I wondered what he was feeling. Did he regret coming after me? He had told the Indian chief that I belonged to him, but if he wanted me the way a man wants a woman, wouldn’t he have said or done something by now? After all, we were totally alone out here in the wilderness. I realized then that I knew very little about men and what they thought about such things. My mind was whirling with questions when John suddenly rose up, his rifle in his hand.
“What’s wrong?” I asked again, my heart in my throat.
“We’re gonna need more to eat than that stuff,” he replied, his eyes shifting to my mouth. “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said, and then he marched off into the trees.
“But…” Before I could ask where he was going, he was gone. I swallowed the last bite of jerky and sat still, looking around at the trees. The sun was moving behind one of the taller pine trees. Soon the sun-drenched area where I sat would be in shadow and the forest would be even darker. A thousand Indians could be lurking behind the trees, and a thousand other things I couldn’t name could be out there too. I hadn’t spent any time alone in the woods before, and all I could think of were the dangers of being in the wilderness alone, of the warnings I had heard as a child.
“Don’t ever go into the woods alone. Don’t stray from the cleared ground around the fort, Samantha. Any number of wild beasts could get you,” my father had warned me repeatedly as I was growing up.
Suddenly I heard what sounded like a large animal crashing through the woods to my left. A moment later, John came stomping across the grass to me with a dead rabbit in one hand and a pile of firewood in his other arm, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
After sharing the delicious meal John cooked for us, I lay on the blanket he’d given me, berating myself for being so useless. I couldn’t have skinned and cooked that rabbit to save my soul. I didn’t know the first thing about surviving in the wilderness. It was no wonder he didn’t want me. Tomorrow I’d be back with my people, and he would go back to his job, riding on ahead of the wagon train, keeping the miles between us. But I was just stubborn enough not to give up my dream of marrying for love. If I didn’t speak my mind now, I might never have the chance. But it was hard to say what was in my heart; I had never had a conversation of such a personal nature with anyone. My heart was beating as fast as a bird’s, and I started to shake.
“What’s wrong? Are you cold?”
“Yes,” I replied in a tiny voice that didn’t even sound like my own. I was miserable, and I began to cry. I knew I was drowning in self-pity, but I couldn’t help it.
To my great surprise he came and sat beside me, pulling me onto his lap. I rested my head on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his heart beating under my cheek. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to be held by him like this. But I still couldn’t stop crying.
“What’s wrong now?” he asked sharply. His concern seemed to be turning into anger at me, and my heart felt as though it was breaking.
“You…you don’t…want me,” I stammered in between sniffs, my voice cracking with the raw emotion I felt. I loved this man, and he was rejecting me, and it hurt like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
“Lordy, woman, if I wanted you any more, I wouldn’t be able to walk,” he told me with a laugh. I had no idea what wanting me had to do with walking, so I concentrated on the part I understood; he wanted me.
“Then why…” I just couldn’t put into words what I was thinking. The subject was too embarrassing.
“Why what? Why don’t I mount you like some bull in heat?” he asked, and I nodded as my face heated.
“Goddamn, woman, I may be a half-breed, but I’m not an animal. If that’s what you think of me, then you don’t know me at all.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” I told him as I wiped my nose on my sleeve.
“Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a red bandana. I used it to dry my face and blow my nose.
“I’ll wash it and return it to you,” I said when he indicated I should keep the bandana.
“I know you’re young and all, so I think I need to tell you a few things so you’ll understand. It’s not that I don’t want you, ’cause I do. But I know nothing good can come of it. Ya see, I’ve been in this situation before. I was young and naïve back then, still innocent enough to believe that people would overlook the fact that I was a half-breed. They didn’t, and I lost everything I cared about, my wife and my baby son.”
“What happened?” I asked, and the story he told me made my heart ache for him.
“I was going to school at Fort Collins when I met Sarah. Her father was the post’s new chaplain. They’d only been out west for a few weeks, and Sarah didn’t know the first thing about living in the wilderness. She also didn’t know how cruel folks could be. But I was determined to make her my wife. Her parents wouldn’t give us permission, so we ran away. My father had taught me how to trap, and that’s what I did. She had another month or so to go before the baby was due, so I left her at our cabin and went to check the traps.”
Here John seemed to falter, biting his bottom lip. I could tell that this was hard for him. He wasn’t a talkative man, and I appreciated that he wanted to tell me something so personal. I grabbed his fingers in my hand and hung on, praying that he wouldn’t pull away.
“Go on,” I encouraged.
“We’d been in town a few days earlier, and I’d gotten into it with two men. They’d called her a squaw, meaning they thought she was no better than a whore. Sarah tried to break up the fight and got knocked down. She said she was all right, but…I never should have left her alone. When I got back, she was in labor…had been for hours. She was in a lot of pain, and I could tell something wasn’t right. Our son was born the next day, but he never took a breath. Sarah died a few hours later. She would still be alive if I had listened to her parents. We weren’t meant to be together.”
“I’m so, so sorry. But it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” he said, shaking his head.
“You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault,” I repeated
“You’re wrong. She’d still be alive if she hadn’t married a half-breed. I was a foo
l to think that people would forget what I was. I can’t stand the thought that I could lose everything again. I care about you more than is good for either of us, and I should never have allowed you to nurse me when I was hurt, to get this close to me. A white woman who gives herself to a half-breed is no better than a whore in the white man’s eyes.”
John went back to his bedroll on the other side of the campfire, leaving me feeling bereft, as though someone had died. I turned my back to him and hoped he would think I was asleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he was asking me to give up, a man I loved and who might love me in return, and I couldn’t keep my tears from falling. If he heard me crying and came to me, there was a good chance we’d end up making love. A part of me wanted nothing more. I turned onto my back and glanced at him from under my wet lashes. I could tell that he was trying to ignore me, slumping down on the other blanket with his head on his saddle. His eyes were partially closed, and his body looked rigid with determination. After a couple of agonizing minutes, I called his name. I couldn’t stand him ignoring me any longer. We were in this together; I had to make him see that.
“John, are you awake?” I asked. He looked over at me, and I sensed all of his determination flying away on the cool evening breeze. As I had hoped, he simply couldn’t ignore the plaintive, pitiful sound of my voice. Lifting up on one elbow, he turned toward me. I was only a few feet away, and I was certain he could see the tears glistening in my eyes. I prayed they tugged at his heartstrings. I could tell he wanted to comfort me, but he was afraid to get too close. I would have to remedy that. I shivered and pulled the blanket up around my neck.
“You warm enough?” he asked
“Not really,” I replied honestly. It was autumn, and it wouldn’t be long before the nighttime temperatures got down to freezing. The wagon train was supposed to get through the highest mountain passes before the first snowfall, but before that happened, I would have to endure a lot of cold weather. But maybe not tonight. In the moonlight I saw him get up and come toward me, carrying his blanket. My heart began to pitter-pat inside my chest.
