“None of that explains how you ended up with those men.”
“For a long time I wanted only to kill whites. I rode with the raiders in Minnesota. I killed many white men, but one day I had the chance to kill a white woman.” He hesitated, and it was obvious the next words were difficult. “I could not do it.”
Faith felt a flood of relief, not even sure why it mattered.
“Not killing the woman made me feel weak, but I knew my father would have thought it was wrong.” He took a deep breath. “The woman ran into the house, and I went in after her because I thought there was another white man inside. Her husband already lay dead on the front steps, shot by one of those who rode with me. But I knew that someone in there had a gun. When I got inside…I saw a movement…and I turned and shot at it.” He was quiet again for a moment. “It was a young boy.”
“Dear God,” Faith whispered. “Did you…kill him?”
“No, but it is bad enough that I did shoot him and he suffered. I took him and the woman to a fort where the boy could get help. I rode off…so the soldiers would not catch me, and I later learned the boy lived. After coming farther west I…made war with Red Cloud. That is when I nearly killed an old man…who was once a friend to my white father. I knew then I did not fully belong with the Sioux. My father’s friend convinced me…that I could help the Sioux by scouting for the army, act as an interpreter, help convince the Sioux and Cheyenne to go to the reservations and avoid more fighting. But then an army officer betrayed me, caused me to betray unwillingly some peaceful Cheyenne. I led soldiers to their camp, and then the soldiers attacked and murdered them, even though…they were making no trouble.”
It was obvious to Faith that the pain of what had happened still ran deep. He paused, clearly hurting and growing weaker again.
“Tall Bear, if you can’t go on—”
“I must explain.” He grimaced as he shifted in the bed. “Again my heart was torn as to where I truly belonged. I wanted to kill the officer in charge, but he was shot during the fighting. I decided I belonged nowhere, and I just left…my people, the army, all of it. I wandered…and then I came to a place called Brown’s Hole. I could see the white men there were bad, but it mattered little to me. For the first time…I tried white man’s whiskey…and it made me feel good. One of them started mocking me because I am Indian, and we ended up in a fight. I beat him badly…then stabbed him to death. The others seemed to respect me for my fighting skill, said I should join them in raiding banks in small towns, stagecoaches that carry payroll…places like this, where we can get free supplies for the price of a bullet. I decided perhaps that kind of life was all I was good for…so I joined them. I have not been with them long, only long enough to learn to like whiskey and to shoot a handgun from the hip…to play the white man’s card game called poker and to lie with—”
He paused and Faith reddened, astonished that she felt a pang of jealousy! She felt angry when a faint smile moved across his mouth. “With bad women. I did not like them so much. I prefer Indian women.” He closed his eyes again. “Now I have betrayed both my own people and white men…” His gaze rested on her again. “And I almost betrayed you. Again I could have hurt a small boy…and that hurts my heart. You must believe me when I tell you I would not have allowed the old woman to be hurt if she were the one who had been here.”
She thought about all he’d told her, trying to imagine what it must be like to live between two worlds as he did. “All right. And if you want the truth, I feel responsible for that old woman’s death myself. The white man who killed my husband did live. He came through here one day, found me. He tried to kill me, and he would have if Hilda hadn’t found us and stopped him. He turned and shot her, but Hilda got off a shot herself and she killed him. She died shortly after. I’ve killed both Indians and white men myself, Tall Bear, things I never thought I’d be capable of doing, but we do what we have to do to survive. In a way that’s what you’ve been doing. I’ve left my family back in Pennsylvania, vowing never to go back, so I suppose I understand better than you think about feeling as though you belong nowhere. The main reason I’m here is because I have no place else to go, but also because I am determined to survive, and running this place has given me a way to do that. Wells Fargo provides all the supplies. It gets very lonely sometimes, but when the railroad comes through, I think this place is going to grow. I just hope I can hold on that long.”
A smirk moved across his lips. “You are a fool to stay here. Think about your son. And you are still young. You should have a man for yourself, a father for your son.”
This last remark irritated her, but she had to admit there had been several times already when she’d needed Buck to help her. She hated being dependent on anyone, was determined to reach the point where she could do anything a man could do. Still, he was right. She had to think about Johnny and the danger to him. Yesterday had made that more apparent. The idea came to her then, but she hesitated, thinking he would laugh, would assume she truly had lost her mind. It was a ridiculous request.
“I know my son needs a father,” she replied, “but I have no desire for—” She reddened. What was she saying! And to this wild Indian! “I don’t care to be controlled by a man,” she finished. “I like my independence here, and Johnny sees plenty of men, some fancy and important, others just good, honest, hard-boned men like Buck. If I can get a school in here someday, maybe build a little town, he’ll have the education he needs. If life ever comes to that, maybe then I’ll have time to think about marrying again, but right now it’s the last thing I want.”
She got up from the chair and picked up the bowl, leaving the cup, which still had water in it. She turned to the doorway, still not sure about her idea.
“I did not mean to offend you,” he told her.
Faith looked back at him. “You didn’t. In fact, you gave me an idea, something that could solve your own problem of not belonging anywhere.”
“Oh?” Again he grimaced as he adjusted his position. “And how can I do that?”
Did she dare ask? It was a crazy idea. It was living this lonely life, that’s what it was. Too long away from civilization had made her a crazy woman…or perhaps just a desperate woman. “You could…you could stay here—work for me.”
He frowned in utter astonishment. “What do you mean?”
She set the bowl on top of a chest of drawers, the idea beginning to make sense. “You could stay here, guard the place for me, help with the horses, stacking wood, all the things that are so difficult for me now that Hilda is gone and I have a little boy to watch. You’re obviously good with a gun, and outlaws are becoming more of a problem than Indians. The best part is that you can handle either one. You know how to talk to Indians. I’m sure that the authorities for Wells Fargo would let me hire anyone I want. I’ve been here long enough that they should trust my judgment.”
He appeared upset, yet she knew he was thinking over the idea. “No,” he answered. “It would not be good for me to stay.”
“You could dress more like a white man. No one would know you’re really Tall Bear, the Indian who rode with outlaws. I doubt they even know what that Indian was called. I heard him referred to only as ‘the Indian.’” She drew a deep breath for courage. “The pay wouldn’t be much, but you’d be out in wild country, which you love. You could take care of the horses and have free room and board, free meals, except that you’d have to go out and kill our meat once in a while. Since you say you have no place else to go, why not stay on right here? You can sleep in the cow shed. It’s small but not such a bad place. Think about it.”
He looked away, and she had not been able to read his expression before he did so. She left the room, figuring she’d given him food for thought, but certainly not out of any wisdom on her part.
She cleaned up the depot, washed Johnny’s face and hands, and walked outside to enjoy the silence…and to think. What choice did she have if she loved Johnny? She either needed someone to help her here,
or she would have to leave, and leaving would break her heart. Besides that, where would she go?
She let Johnny run and play, watched him carefully, played ball with him for a little while. When she went back inside, she looked in on Tall Bear to see what he would have to say, but he appeared to be sleeping. Later, after she put Johnny to bed, she peeked into the back room again. Tall Bear still slept.
She took down one of her rifles and kept a lantern dimly lit in the outer room. She sat down and read an old Bible of Hilda’s until she was sleepy. She got up and checked on him once more. His breathing was steady, and when she reached out hesitantly to touch his forehead, his skin was cool.
She walked back to the main room and lay down on her bed, pulling a blanket over herself. She left the rifle standing against the wall at the head of the bed within reaching distance. The tension of the day quickly caught up with her, and although she meant to take time thinking about the daring offer she had made to Tall Bear, her thoughts quickly drifted into sleep.
She had no idea how long she had slept before she heard it, the sound of a horse galloping away. She gasped and sat straight up. It was morning already—how had that happened? She was sure she’d gone to sleep only an hour or so ago. And what was that horse she’d heard?
She jumped up to check on Tall Bear. Her heart fell when she saw he was not on the cot. Surely he hadn’t—
“Damn him!” she muttered. She grabbed her rifle and went out onto the porch. Everything was still. She hurried to the cow shed, where she had left Tall Bear’s horse. It was gone. “Why?” she cried, surprised at her own disappointment. He had left without a word, not even bothered to say no, he couldn’t stay and work for her. The least he could have done was give himself some time to heal, let her make him breakfast.
The realization of how alone she was after the trauma of the outlaw attack hit her hard, and although it seemed silly, Tall Bear’s leaving made her cry. She needed to cry. She stood there weeping, feeling like a fool, feeling lost and abandoned.
She wiped her eyes. “Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!” she repeated. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” What angered her more than his leaving was her own true reasons why she’d wanted him to stay. He was the most unusual man she had ever met, the first man since Johnny to whom she had felt an attraction. It made no sense.
She walked wearily back to the depot. She would have to be ever alert from now on. Maybe Tall Bear himself would return with Indians or more outlaws. Who could tell what he was thinking?
She felt bone tired, her nerves shattered, her heart hurting from disappointment. There had been so much more she had wanted to talk about. When she had first thought to have Tall Bear work for her, she had felt instantly safe at the thought of his being in charge of her and Johnny’s safety. How strange that she should think that, after the events of yesterday morning. Still, she could understand his actions—a little. He was a very confused man.
And now she was a very confused woman.
Chapter Twenty
Faith counted her money from the sale of horses, saddles, and other supplies “inherited” from outlaws who had tried to ruin her. Some had been sold to drifters coming through, most to a supply salesman headed for Salt Lake City.
Four hundred dollars! She squeezed the money in her hands, sure she should feel guilty for how she had attained her little fortune, but unable to feel anything but victorious. She had earned even more money through her pay from Wells Fargo, and she had a total of seven hundred dollars in cash, some greenbacks, most in gold and silver coins.
She had intended to use the money to add a rooming house on to the station, maybe even find a way to build a real house for herself once Sommers Station became a full-fledged town; but now she still had to decide if she should even continue her life there. She was alone again, and she still had not received a reply to any of her ads. She had to face the fact that Sommers Station could become nothing but a brief moment in history once Wells Fargo’s stage line went out of business. In spite of Tod Harding’s promise that the station would become a major railroad depot, she had not heard from the man, and now with Tall Bear gone, she was for the first time truly losing hope for her dream.
She climbed up on a chair and returned the money to its new hiding place above a beam in the low ceiling. Mice had invaded the former hiding place in the wall, and she worried they would eat the greenbacks. She contemplated where she should go if she had to leave there. How much longer did she have the right to risk poor Johnny’s future, perhaps his very life, by staying there?
The rest of April had brought a return of rainy, dreary, miserably cold weather, unusually wet for those parts, and the depressing weather only enhanced the depression in her own heart. She hated feeling that way, hated being afraid, being so uncertain about the future, her own abilities.
She climbed down from the chair, a new worry burdening her heart. Johnny was sick. So far she’d been able to treat him with hot tea and soup, but she didn’t know what else to do for him. It seemed to be only a cold, and he was a healthy boy otherwise. She had taken for granted the likelihood that he would have the sniffles for a few days, and that would be the end of it, but his breathing seemed dangerously labored and was not getting any better.
She was already washed and dressed and had heated more water for tea for the child, but he seemed to be sleeping more soundly now. Still, she felt a strange alarm. She glanced at the mantel clock, listening to its soft tick. Nine-thirty. Johnny had never slept that late in the morning before. She walked over and bent closer to listen to his rattled breathing. That was when she noticed that his face was nearly crimson.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. She reached out and touched his cheek. It was burning hot. “Johnny,” she whimpered. What was happening to her baby? Maybe he wasn’t sleeping at all—maybe he was dying. “Johnny,” she said louder.
She wrapped his blanket fully around him and picked him up, sitting down in a rocker with him. He opened his eyes, eyes that were normally big and bright. Now they were only slits, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. He began coughing, a deep, rumbling cough that put terror in her heart.
She kissed his cheek, hot to her lips. “We’ll sweat out the fever and you’ll be all right, baby,” she told him softly, struggling not to reveal her fear over how sick he was. She held him close. He was frighteningly listless. She remembered tales she’d heard among the women back in Pennsylvania when she was younger, about what prolonged fever did to a child. It can damage the brain, they’d said. She remembered a little girl among the Quakers who had died of “the fever.” Lung congestion was also dangerous. Even adults sometimes died of fever and lung congestion.
“Oh, dear God,” she whispered. “Not my baby. Not my Johnny. Please don’t take him from me. He’s all I’ve got.” She rocked the boy, holding him close to her bosom. “I know I’ve done some bad things, God, but I didn’t have any choice. I never wanted to kill anybody, and I didn’t steal their horses and things, not really. I only sold them because they were left here. What else was I to do? I had to protect myself and my baby.”
God wouldn’t punish her this way, would he? Maybe he was angry for all those years ago when she wouldn’t sit still and concentrate during prayer meetings. Maybe he was punishing her for killing men, for leaving Pennsylvania. Who could say? She’d done so many wrong things.
“God, please don’t do this to me! I’ll have nothing left to live for without my Johnny!” She’d had so much hope and courage until lately, had never doubted her decisions. There would not be another stage come through for at least four days. There was no one to turn to, no one to advise her on what to do for her baby.
She longed for her mother, missed her, needed her. Her mother would know what to do about this. Perhaps if she tried to force the sweat out of Johnny, she could rid his body of the poison that ravaged it. She wrapped his blanket even closer, her mind racing with indecision. She struggled to remember remedies she’d heard from Hilda and from her
mother about what to do for such ailments, but in her panicked state she could think of nothing but to hold her baby close and try to comfort him, to make him sweat even more and hold him in a sitting position so he could breathe better.
The boy’s body jerked, and he began coughing again, nearly choking on the phlegm. She reached into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a handkerchief, bending the boy over and patting his back as he coughed more, hardly able to stop now. He coughed up more phlegm, and she wiped it away with the handkerchief. Her heart ached at his obvious misery. It seemed every breath he took might be his last, and the fact that he said nothing and seemed so lifeless filled her heart with black dread that he was already very near death.
“Oh, God, oh, God,” she whimpered. “Please, please help me. Show me what to do to save my baby. Don’t let him suffer this way.” She realized then how helpless Johnny would be if the tables were turned and she were the one who was sick. She could even die out here, and Johnny could freeze to death, starve to death, with no one to care for him. Yes, she had to leave this place. Once she got Johnny well, she would leave. If he died, she would shoot herself and be buried right there with him.
Finally the coughing subsided, but when she returned the child to the crook of her arm, he looked dazed. He didn’t cry, he didn’t talk. He only looked at her, pitifully helpless, seemingly asking his mother to please do something for him. But there was nothing she could do.
“I love you, Johnny. Mommy loves you. You’ll be okay.” She kissed his hot cheek again, aching for his misery, wishing she would see the normal brightness in his eyes, his boyish winning smile, the dimples in his cheeks. Maybe she would never see those things again.
She put her head back and rocked, humming a soft tune for him, secretly, desperately praying, struggling to keep from screaming and weeping. Her humming turned to mutterings to God, again begging his help. She rocked and prayed, rocked and prayed, stunned by this sudden terrible sickness. She was so lost in her dilemma and sorrow that she did not even notice the first knock at the door. When whoever was outside pounded a little harder, it startled her out of her near stupor, and she gasped with alarm. Who in the world could it be? No stage was due, and she had not heard anyone ride in. She got up from the rocker.
Tame the Wild Wind Page 23
