A Gown of Spanish Lace

by Janette Oke

  “Pemmican,” the man informed her. “Boss ain’t got much use for Injun ways—’ceptin’ pemmican. Lets me make it the way I learned from—” He stopped, then shoved something else into her hand. “Hardtack. Eat it. It’s all yer gonna git fer a while, an’ yer gonna need yer strength.”

  Ariana cast a glance toward the corner. She could hear snoring coming from the big man. She took a tentative bite of the hardtack. It was tasteless and hard chewing, but it wasn’t too bad. She took another and washed it down with the coffee.

  She glanced toward the big man. Dared she—dared she ask Sam questions?

  “I…I don’t understand…what this is all about,” she ventured in a quiet voice. “There must be some mistake. I…I’m not who you think I am.”

  Sam chewed off a big bite of the pemmican and spent some time trying to get his teeth to work up the piece before he even attempted a response.

  “An’ who do we think ya are?”

  “I…I’ve no idea. I…I’m just a schoolteacher,” she stumbled on.

  “Got nothin’ agin’ schoolteachers,” said the man, taking a swallow of the hot coffee to wash down the pemmican.

  “But why—?”

  “Now, miss—don’t ya go frettin’ yerself over it none.”

  He took another bite of the pemmican.

  “Don’t fret myself!” exclaimed Ariana, raising both her position and her voice.

  Sam cast a quick glance toward the corner, reminding Ariana that she’d best watch her step.

  She shrank back into her crouched position before the fire. In spite of her strong resolve, tears began to fill her eyes and trickle down her still-cold cheeks. She brushed them away with a trembling hand. Sam continued to eat his pemmican.

  Ariana said nothing more. It was Sam who first broke the silence. He had finished munching on his trail provisions. He had even finished his third cup of coffee. Now he pulled the back of his hand across his unkempt mustache and sniffed.

  “How’s yer wrist?” he asked, as though it was an ordinary question.

  Ariana’s eyes showed her surprise, but she said nothing.

  “Let’s see it,” he suggested.

  She hesitated for one moment, and then held it out obediently.

  He took the wrist in his two hands and ran his thumbs and fingers over the area, bending it forward, then back, nearly making Ariana cry out. He pushed it to one side, then the other, his fingers feeling each bone and muscle as he moved it. Ariana fought the tears.

  “Don’t think nothin’s broke,” he said at last, “but it’s gonna pain fer a while.”

  There was no apology. No offer to give any assistance with the pain. He released her hand and went back for another cup of coffee.

  As he poured out the thick, steamy liquid he spoke again. “Iffen I were you, I’d jest curl up there beside the fire and try to git some sleep. Once daylight comes I ’spect we’ll be movin’ on out—an’ we got a mighty tough ride ’head of us.”

  Ariana nodded. The fire was making her feel drowsy.

  “Here,” said Sam, “use this,” and he tossed his big buffalo-hide coat on the floor at her feet. Ariana reached for it and awkwardly spread it out before the fire.

  Mrs. Benson opened the door as soon as she heard her husband’s steps. Her eyes quickly scanned the darkness, but to her dismay he stood there in the snow alone.

  “What—?” she began, but he brushed past her and into the room.

  She saw his face then and knew that he was just as concerned as she herself was.

  “I…I didn’t find her,” he admitted.

  “Did you try the store?”

  He nodded. “I went to the store first.”

  “Did you go to the school?”

  “Of course I went to the school.” His anxiety made him a bit curt, which was most unusual. His words, spoken in sharpness, brought terror to her heart.

  Tears formed in her eyes, and she began to wring her hands in agitation. He stepped forward and pulled her to him. “Now, my dear,” he said, and she could tell that he was fighting to put down his own fears. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. I’m sure there’s a reason—”

  “What reason?” she cut in, her voice full of panic as she pushed back from him. “What possible—?”

  “I don’t know yet, but—”

  “She has never been late. This is not like her.”

  “Perhaps one of her students had an emergency.”

  It was something to grasp at. She prayed he might be right. But even as he spoke the words, her heart began to doubt again.

  “But—she would have let us know—someway. She’d know we’d worry.”

  “Maybe she had no way to let us know. Maybe—there wasn’t time,” he continued.

  “Come on to the table,” she said, brushing at the snow on his coat. “I’ve got your supper.” Her voice sounded weary—dead.

  He resisted. “No…no, I just came to…to let you know…” His voice trailed off in an evasive manner. “We—I’ve spoken to the sheriff—some of the townfolks. We…we’re going to keep looking. We…we’ll check out the homes of all the students. Make sure—”

  “But it’s dark. And the storm—”

  “We’ll all carry lanterns.”

  Her next protest caught in her throat, between concern for her husband and worry over her daughter. Silently she nodded her head. “Travel in pairs,” she said softly. “Are you dressed warmly enough?”

  He nodded.

  He reached for her again. Her worry had turned to alarm, and now she felt as though her heart were being squeezed. She allowed herself to be drawn up against him, and the tears spilled out and mixed with the melting snow on his shoulder.

  She felt him bend his head and kiss her silvery hair.

  “We’ll find her,” he promised, his voice full of emotion.

  She lifted her head and fumbled for her pocket hanky. “You should eat,” she tried once more through her sniffles.

  “Later.”

  “Travel in pairs,” she reminded him again.

  He nodded.

  “You should have your heavier mittens,” she fussed.

  He nodded. “Would you get them, please?” he asked her.

  She knew he was trying to distract her, but she brought the mittens and watched as he removed the ones he was wearing and replaced them with the heavy pair.

  “I’ll be praying,” she said and lifted her hanky to wipe tears again.

  He again held out his arms to her and she quickly took refuge. He was her minister now as well as her husband, and together they bowed their heads while he led them in fervent prayer. Then with one final kiss on her forehead he released her and turned back into the night.

  The search continued until it was impossible to carry on. Every home that had a student in the local school was called upon. The response was always the same. The children were shocked and bewildered. “She was still there when we left—same as always,” came the reply to the question.

  Little girls cried and young boys shuffled in agitation. It just wasn’t like their teacher—to just disappear. Something awful must have happened.

  At last the tired, hungry searchers returned to their homes, chilled by the cold winds and hampered by blowing snow. There simply was no logic in searching on through the darkness.

  In spite of the continued blowing snow, the next morning the sheriff organized a posse of town citizens to fan out into the surrounding hills and even beyond to the plains. An intense search was made along the creek bank, in the fear that Ariana might have slipped and fallen while crossing the footbridge. No sign of her was found.

  Bernard Dikerson asked his father to post reward money for her safe return, and the man responded. As the day wore on and the searchers drifted back with no news, the whole town was stricken.

  Nothing—not a trace of the missing girl was found. The doors of the school were closed, and folks of the town huddled in whispering groups, shocked and saddened by the tragi
c and mysterious disappearance of the beloved schoolteacher.

  In the parsonage, the fear and grief filled every room. The Bensons clung to each other. They prayed, they cried, they reminded themselves that they had a sovereign God, then they prayed and cried some more.

  “Surely God…surely God knows where she is and…and can preserve her,” insisted Pastor Benson. With her handkerchief clutched in her hand and tears on her cheeks, Mrs. Benson shakily nodded her head in agreement.

  Ariana could not tell if it was day or night when she was roused from sleep by the nudge of a well-worn boot. The big man stood over her, staring down into her face.

  “Time to ride,” he ordered.

  Ariana struggled to stand. She moved nearer the fireplace, brushing futilely at her wrinkled skirts. The door opened and Sam came in. He was shivering from the cold and muttering words of profanity.

  “Fool weather fer anyone to be out,” she heard him grumble.

  “Where’s yer coat, ya dumb ox?” demanded the big man, no sympathy in his tone.

  “Didn’t think I’d need it jest to get the horses ready,” Sam replied, not looking up from the coffee he was pouring.

  Ariana’s eyes dropped to her feet. Sam’s heavy coat had been her bed for the night. She felt her cheeks warming with the thought that he had chosen to face the bitter cold rather than awaken her. It both embarrassed her and gave her reason to hope. Perhaps the man was not all bad.

  “How’re the horses?” asked the big man between gulps of coffee.

  Sam nodded. “Near froze to death, I’m thinkin’. Anxious to be movin’ so’s their blood’ll flow agin.”

  “Then let’s git movin’,” said the big man, and he drained his cup of the last swallow of coffee.

  “Girl ain’t et yet,” remarked Sam.

  The big man turned to Ariana and scowled. “Best grab ya a biscuit or two. Won’t be stoppin’ fer no teatime.”

  Ariana moved forward. Every bone in her body protested. First the ride through the cold. Then the night on the crude bed on the floor. Her entire being hurt.

  She reached for a biscuit, but the pain in her wrist brought a sharp intake of breath. For a moment she felt faint and fought to stay upright.

  Sam made a motion as if to move toward her, but then stopped. Neither made comment.

  As soon as the room came back into focus, Ariana reached out with her left hand and claimed one of the biscuits lying on the table. She switched it to her right hand so she could accept the cup of coffee Sam held out to her.

  The biscuit was hard. The hardest thing Ariana had ever tried to chew. Hesitantly she dipped one edge into her coffee and chewed off the softened portion. It was not pleasant—but at least it was edible.

  Ariana did not have to be encouraged to take full advantage of all of the warmth she was offered. She accepted the heavy mittens, the blanket, along with the moth-eaten beaver hat for her head. Even with this, she still shivered against the cold.

  She could hardly tell if it was day or night. The snow continued to fall, obliterating the sun—if indeed it was somewhere up above. The swirling whiteness wiped out all landmarks. All sign of the world around them. Ariana wondered if the two men really knew where they were going or were simply wandering on through the storm. She dared not ask any questions.

  After what seemed hours and hours of stumbling their way along the hidden trail, the big man pulled up his horse and the other horses stopped in line behind him.

  “Snow’s deep,” he said when Sam pushed up beside him. “Think it might be wise to camp here tonight.”

  “I was sure hoping to git on home to my own bed,” said Sam.

  “It’s been slow goin’. Don’t think we’ll make it home tonight. A bit too risky on thet ridge.”

  Sam nodded. He didn’t seem about to argue on that score.

  “There’s a cave mouth in there somewhere,” said the big man, motioning vaguely. “See iffen ya can find it.”

  Sam moved off cursing. “Jest hope no big bear found it first,” Ariana heard him say.

  The big man turned to her. “Git on down,” he said, not offering her any assistance. Ariana wasn’t sure if her legs would hold her, but she moved stiffly to obey.

  It was as she had feared. Even though she clung to the horse for support, she could not stand upright. Her legs gave way and she found herself in a heap in the deep snow.

  “Women,” groused the big man to accompanying curses. “Don’t got no more starch in their backbone then a snake.”

  Ariana quite expected to remain in the snow until she could find the strength to move—unless Sam took mercy on her. But to her surprise the big man reached down and roughly scooped her up. He carried her easily to the side of the trail and deposited her unceremoniously on a tree stump without bothering to brush off its cap of snow.

  Ariana sat silently, willing herself to hold her tears at bay. They would only freeze on her frosted cheeks, making her even more miserable than she already was.

  Sam returned after some moments and announced he had found the cave—and it was uninhabited.

  Sam moved the horses toward it. Ariana managed to get one foot to proceed the other. With great difficulty she followed the trail broken by Sam and the mounts. The big man brought up the rear.

  They gathered in the cave. Sam built a fire, and to Ariana’s surprise it was warmer than the cabin had been. But soon swirling gray smoke filled the cave and made Ariana’s eyes sting. She moved back into the farthest corner, even though she longed to take advantage of the heat that radiated from the beckoning flames. Sam made the coffee, and along with more hardtack and pemmican, they shared the simple supper. Ariana was only too willing to curl up on spruce boughs and Sam’s buffalo robe. She was exhausted. Besides, it was only in sleep that she could shut out the horror of her present experience—even if only for a few hours of time.

  Chapter Six

  Arrival

  As they traveled the next day, Ariana grieved as each hour took her farther and farther away from her family and home. She ached for her father and mother. If only she had some way to communicate with them. To let them know she had not been harmed—at least not yet. She worried about her students. What would they do? What would they think of her, failing to show up for classes?

  She prayed and worried by turn. Frantic mental searching for ways of escape, followed by clinging to the one word, trust. “Surely God knows where I am, even if I don’t,” she would remind herself, and then turn right back to worrying again.

  Stop it, she scolded herself. I can’t trust and worry at the same time—can I?

  It was so difficult to obey her own admonition.

  The blinding snow still swirled around her. Her tired pony stumbled on and on. Her bones ached. Her flesh felt numb with cold. She sometimes wondered if she was more dead than alive—but they traveled on through the blank whiteness.

  Guessing it to be afternoon, she had a strange sense that more than falling snow obliterated the pathway. She looked around but could make out little of the landscape. At times she knew she was very close to brushing up against something on one side or the other. She caught brief glimpses of solid rock. Is it some sort of passageway? she wondered. But she could not see well enough for her question to be answered.

  She was slumped in her saddle, eyes half closed, when she felt the steps of her horse quicken. Then she heard a neigh from the big black that the man ahead was riding. Sam’s horse pushed at hers from behind.

  From the near distance came an answering whinny. Ariana felt a new stirring of the animals and the two men who guided her. Before her eyes buildings began to take shape. She could not see them clearly through the snow, nor could she count them. Was it a town? But no, they all looked poorly kept. Ramshackle. And then she heard the big man say “Whoa” in his loud raspy voice, and the four horses stopped as one.

  Ariana did not move. She was aware that someone stood near her. She wondered if she would be lifted down or left to fall off her
mount.

  “Git her to the south shack. I’ll have one of the boys take care of the horses,” the big man’s voice instructed, and she was moving off again, her horse being led away by Sam.

  There was no way she could have made it into the building on her own. Sam half supported, half carried her. Once inside, he helped her to a wooden bunk in the corner.

  “I’ll git a fire goin’,” he announced. “It’ll soon be almost livable in here.”

  Ariana did not respond.

  She heard the man moving about the cabin and sensed that the fire had been started. But she didn’t care. Didn’t care about any of it. She was cold clear through and weary beyond belief. Her swollen wrist did not hurt any more than the rest of her. She closed her eyes and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  Ariana woke up stiff and sore and in a strange place with no idea how long she had slept.

  Her first conscious thought was that the sun was now shining. She could see its faint light through the cracked, dirty window. She breathed a prayer of thanks for the sun. Now someone would be looking for her. Now there was some hope she would be found.

  Her next awareness was that she was not alone. She felt a moment of panic and her eyes quickly scanned the room.

  Sam sat on his log stool with his back against the cabin wall. He was tilted back so his feet could extend to be propped up on a rough table.

  “Mornin’,” he said lazily when their gaze met.

  Ariana groaned in response. It brought a little chuckle.

  “Little stiff?” he asked good-naturedly.

  Ariana struggled to get her feet off the bed and under her. Every movement hurt.

  “You’ll git yer bones shook out—all in good time,” Sam commented, cutting himself a chew of tobacco.

  Ariana concentrated hard on standing to her feet.

  “Brung ya the things ya be needin’,” went on Sam, and he dropped his heavy-booted feet to the floor with a clunk.

  Ariana looked about her. The room was small. It had a potbellied stove, the rough wood table, two log stools, and the bunk in the corner on which she had slept. Over by the door, a simple shelf held a dented basin and a sickly green, chipped enamel pitcher. On the floor stood a pail with water. A second pail stood near. Sam nodded at it now.