Bride of the Wild (23 page)

I knew he had just lied, because he hadn’t any control over the situation, seeing we were now hostages, but I appreciated the bravado, and it did make me feel a smidgen better.

We walked for another mile or so, winding down on a new path, which led to a densely wooded area. The aroma of campfire lingered in the air. As we neared, I glimpsed the first of many cone-shaped huts created with willow and covered in bark and brush. Women tended fires, wearing deerskin dresses, while men loitered, staring at us, as we passed through the small encampment. The children had stopped to stare as well, eyeing us with interest. We were taken to one of the larger wickiups, where I assumed we would meet the chief.

I noticed a woman with messy, blonde hair sitting by a fire with other Indian women. For a moment, our eyes met, stirring something in my memory. I had stopped walking, staring at her, wondering why she seemed familiar. A hand at my back pushed me forward. Entering the wickiup, we found ourselves before an older-looking man, surrounded by stern-faced braves. He wore a headdress of feathers, his features weathered and his hands wrinkled. From the deferential way the others treated him, this must be their chief.

The brave who had spoken with Micah began to talk, pointing at us and gesturing. The chief listened attentively, his eyes drifting over Micah and then me. Silas waited by the door, having woken earlier, gazing around in distress. He wisely said nothing, nursing the whiskey bottle, although little remained.

Micah spoke then. This startled the chief, because his eyes had widened. I watched the older man carefully, relieved he allowed Micah to say his piece. He listened with calm resolve, and, hopefully, he was a reasonable man. A woman I assumed was his wife arrived, arranging several wooden bowls filled with edibles. She cast several glances my way, her expression bland, yet I sensed her curiosity. When she had finished, she got to her feet and left.

Micah glanced at me. “This is Chief Quarat,” he murmured softly. “He’s going to talk to the other leaders tonight, and they’ll decide our fate. I told him we came to find the bear that’s been killing our townspeople. We aren’t here to make war or take lands. I told him we were peaceable.”

“We are.”

“They’re going to discuss it now. We are to leave.”

“Where do we go?”

“I suppose we sit outside and wait.”

“All right.” I licked my lips. “Do you think they’ll give us water? I’m nearly dizzy I’m so thirsty.”

“We shall see. Let’s get settled first before we make any demands.”

“I understand,” I said feebly, the stress and exhaustion of the day left me weary.

“Keep your chin up, Saffron. You’ve a reserve of strength in you. This is but a test of your mettle, and you shall overcome it.”

“Yes, Micah. I hope so.”

The brave said something, gesturing and nodding towards us. “He says we are to go now.”

Silas, who had been listening, glanced nervously at the Indians. “What’s happening?”

“Grab an end.” Micah reached for the gurney, waiting for me to take the other side. “We should make haste. I feel we’ve overstayed our welcome as it is.”

My blistered fingers protested, the wounds stinging. “I’ve got it.” We lifted Silas from the ground, shuffling through the opening of the hut. The gurney had begun to fail from use, the strips of cloth tearing.

We sat alone by a fire, not far from the chief’s wickiup, as none of the others had extended a welcome. The Indians glanced in our direction distrustfully, several braves standing guard at a distance. Micah tossed a few branches in, sitting with his arms over his knees, while saying over and over, “
maiku
,
maiku
,” while forcing a smile. He told me earlier this was a friendly greeting, but we continued to be eyed with suspicion.

“How long until the chief decides what to do with us?”

“I’ve no clue.”

Silas, who had finished the bottle of whiskey, struggled to sit, grimacing with each move. “Where the hell are we?”

“A Ute camp,” said Micah.

“Lord in heaven.” He grasped at his side. “I gotta use the privy. I wonder if they’ll let me?”

“Can you get up?” I worried he would open the wound, but I had sewn it with care, and it should hold, unless something traumatic happened.

“I’ll try.” He groaned, struggling to his feet. “It hurts like heck.”

“I don’t know the protocol for this,” said Micah, looking around nervously. “If he goes too far, they might think he’s trying to escape. If he doesn’t go far enough, they’ll think he’s disrespecting their camp by urinating in it.” He shrugged. “This could be interesting.” A wry grin toyed around the edges of his mouth.

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m too tired to care.”

Silas, shuffled towards a bush, releasing his pants. It was rather obvious what he was doing, and no one seemed to mind in the least. I breathed a sigh of relief, because the last thing I wished for was to draw the ire of these people. Our fate rested in their hands. I sat with Micah, staring unhappily into the fire and wishing for a cup of water. A woman approached, followed by the pale-haired female I had seen earlier. I sat up straighter, determined to get a better look at her, as she was not of Indian heritage.

The woman brought over an earth-toned urn filled with water, leaving it at our feet. She was older, her dark hair graying around the temples. Micah smiled, saying, “
Tog’oiak
.” This startled her, because her eyes flew wide. She answered him, their banter volleying back and forth. Her smile stunned me, as she flashed yellowed teeth. “Her name’s Skipoke,” said Micah. “She said we may drink freely. She welcomed us to camp, but warned we’re not to wander off from the fire.”

The blonde woman remained silent, but then Skipoke turned towards her, and they exchanged a few words. The older woman left then, striding away in soft-looking moccasins.

“She can speak English,” said Micah, gesturing towards the blonde. “This should be enlightening.”

The woman wore a deerskin dress, her legs bare. She glanced at me, and I experienced a twinge of recognition, but I could not place it. She said something to Micah, and he answered.

“Her name is Singing Bird.”

“I thought she could speak English?”

“I’m sure she can. I’m certain she understands us, don’t you?”

Singing Bird sat next to Silas, who stared at her with his mouth open. “Who in the devil are you? Have you been kidnapped, my dear? You’re not Indian.”

She took a deep breath, staring directly at me. “Yes, I speak English. No, I’m not Indian, but I am now.” It was then I noticed her belly, which swelled beneath her dress. “I’ve been with this tribe for four years.”

When we had traveled west by wagon train, our group had been attacked. Women and children had been kidnapped. I stared at Singing Bird, wondering if she might be someone I knew. “Daisy?”

She blinked rapidly. “What?”

“Are you Daisy Wentworth? It was longer than four years ago, but I knew a girl who looked just like you on a wagon train. This is either a wild coincidence or I’ve just found Daisy Wentworth.”

Silas stared at her, his mouth slack. The effects of the whiskey lingered. “I’ll be darned. If that’s true, that’s incredible.”

Micah gave me the urn. “Have a sip. It’s clean water.”

“Thank you.” I lifted the pottery to my mouth, as cold fluid poured down my throat. “Oh, it’s wonderful.”

“Saffron,” murmured Singing Bird, who had been staring at me.

I gave the urn to Micah, crawling over to Daisy, who I wrapped my arms around. “Oh, my goodness! I can’t believe it! I was so worried about you. I cried every night for weeks worrying about you. I always thought the worst, and then I thought you’d perished.” I held her at arm’s length. “And here you are. You’re alive and well.” Tears of joy filled my eyes, but I wondered why she had not hugged me back. She had stiffly tolerated the embrace.

“I am.”

“What happened to you? How did you survive?” I settled in next to her, holding her hand, which felt work-roughened.

“It was the Comanche who took me first. I was with them for two years, and then they traded me to the Utes. I married a brave. I have a son. He’s hunting with his father now.”

“You poor thing.” I would never be able to fathom the horror she had suffered.

“The first two years were the worst. We lived on the plains, but I wasn’t alone. There were other women too. We were all treated the same. I tried to be as helpful as possible, and I never argued. If you did not do as they demanded, you were beaten. Being as young as I was, I found an ally with an older couple, and they took me in. I helped them tan hides and make baskets and things. I even slept in the same bed. They were kind to me, but when the man died, I found myself in trouble. The woman didn’t have a need for me anymore.” She glanced at Silas, noting his wound. “That looks painful.”

“It is, but it’s the least of my worries at the moment.”

“What happened then?” I leaned near, eager to hear more.

“A group of Utes came to trade, and they gave me to them. I was older then, and I caught the eye of a brave. His name was To-Quo-Ne. He took me to be his wife.”

“How dreadful.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t as bad as when I was first taken. I suffered repeated beatings at the hands of the Comanche. To-Quo-Ne taught me the language. He was kind and giving, never striking me once. I’m with him now. My son, Tabby, is three-years-old.” She smiled slightly. “You may feel sorry for me, but you need not. I’ve grown accustomed to this life, and I’ve no desire to leave it.”

“They have a way of brainwashing people, these savages,” spat Silas.

“Call them what you will, but they are
my
people now.” She lifted her chin slightly, an air of defiance lingering around her.

“I’m just happy you’re alive. You look healthy.” I ogled her glowing skin and clear, hazel eyes. “You don’t have a scratch on you.”

“I am happy.” She touched my face. “I never thought I’d see you again, but I’m glad. I wondered about you too over the years, but that life is so long past. I know my parents and siblings are dead. I was the only one of our group who survived the Comanches. The others weakened and became sick, while I thrived with the older couple. I did whatever I needed to carry on.” A little Indian boy darted towards us, his tiny feet encased in sandals. She held out her hands, as the boy ran to her. “My Tabby!” She hugged him, smiling. “This is my son,” she said proudly.

The little boy’s glossy, dark hair hung to his shoulders. He hugged his mother, saying something in Ute. The father, who approached, stared at us with cold, hard eyes. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the sight of him, noting the breadth of his shoulders, which were laced with sinew.

Oh, my word. He looks like he wants to murder us.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Silas grimaced, cowering while grasping his belly. Micah stared with interest, although his hand had gone into his pocket, where he had hidden a knife. I grasped Daisy’s hand, worried something dreadful might occur, but she smiled, speaking to her husband, who responded in a deep, raspy voice. Micah understood this exchange, because his hand slipped free of the pocket.

“You don’t have to fear To-Quo-Ne. He’s always ornery around the whites. He means you no harm.”

“Tell that to the men he killed today,” muttered Silas. “We are the only survivors of our party. Your countrymen killed five of our men. This here,” he pointed at his stomach, “is also their handiwork. I might die of infection soon enough.”

“I didn’t know that.” She glanced at her husband, speaking in his language. He gestured towards us, answering her. “He says you people have no right to encroach on our lands. If you had any sense, you’d stay away.”

This incensed Silas, his face darkening with rage.

“I’d just stay quiet, if I were you,” warned Micah. “We’re a hairsbreadth from the same outcome. Our fate is being debated as we speak. The chief has yet to decide what to do with us. I wouldn’t cause a scene.” Micah glanced at To-Quo-Ne, uttering something in Ute. The brave fixed him with a steady stare, and then, to everyone’s astonishment, he laughed. Pointing a finger at Silas, the brave spoke again, continuing to chuckle.

“What did they say?” I whispered to Daisy.

“The mountain man told my husband the blonde is a weakling and a simpleton and his words are empty. He should not be listened to or taken seriously.”

Mercifully, Silas had not overheard that, but I glanced at Micah, giving him a chastising look. “For shame, Mr. Blaylock.” But I wasn’t truly angry, because it had lightened the mood, relieving tension.

He shrugged. “It’s the God’s honest truth.” Mirth shone in his eyes.

The little boy stared at me, his sweet face filled with interest. “You are a handsome little man,” I said. I had wondered what had happened to Daisy over the years, and, knowing the truth, it felt bittersweet. She would not leave the Utes now, nor would anyone ask her to.

She had gotten to her feet, coming to stand by her husband. Several Indians passed this way, eyeing us with distrust and interest, wondering at the white captives who now occupied the abandoned fire. A few children approached as well, shy, but inquisitive, yet they had not come any nearer, lingering by the bushes and chatting happily. Seeing To-Quo-Ne and Tabby among us, they continued to look, wondering what would happen next.

Daisy spoke with her husband, and then she said, “You’re waiting on Chief Quarat to decide what to do with you. I know you’re scared, but I have seen them let captives go. It’s wise to remain as calm and quiet as possible.”

“How long do you think it’ll take before they come to a decision?” I asked.

“Hours. He’s consulting his medicine man.”

“Can he do anything for Silas?”

She shrugged. “I can ask, but I don’t know.”

Tabby inched closer to me, eyeballing my torn skirt, which was dusty and stained. The calico fabric had a pattern, which he seemed to find interesting. “Do you like my dress?”

He hadn’t understood a single word, staring at me.