Chase the Wind (38 page)

“Be here, for what?” Jamie was quickly losing patience with the
man.

“Attempted murder, that’s what. You’re gonna stay here until the
circuit judge shows up and decides what to do with you.”

“Attempted murder . . . who? Father Clarence?’ Jamie began to pace the small cell, barely taking three steps before he had to turn
and go the other way. “He tried to kill my sister, several times, then he sells her off to God knows who, and you’ve got me in jail?” He
kicked the three-legged stool and it bounced around in a comer
before it finally settled, upended.

“Don’t have witnesses to any of that.”

“What about Sister Mary Frances?”

“She told me some stuff about the girl fallin’ and breakin’ her arm and such, but she never saw any of it. Father Clarence said
the girl was always lying and sneakin’ around, causin’ trouble.”

“He’s the one who’s lying. He’s hated Jenny since the day we
arrived.”

“You can explain it all to the judge, but I’ll tell you right now,
boy, I saw you chokin’ him. I’m the one that busted your head to
get you to stop. You was plain loco, and that’s what I’m going to
tell the judge.”

“How long until he gets here?’

“Oh, probably a couple of weeks.”

“And I’ve got to stay here until he comes?”

“Yep.”

Jamie rattled the bars in frustration. He needed to go after Jenny
now. By the time two weeks were up, all trace of her would be
gone. He went back to his cot and sat against the wall, his head in his hands as he willed the throbbing to go away so he could think. “I need to see Sister Mary Frances,” he groaned.

“I expect she’ll be ‘round sometime tomorrow.” The sheriff stood
and hitched his pants up, then rearranged his gun belt. “Time for
my rounds. Don’t you go nowhere.” He laughed at his own joke
on the way out the door.

Jamie looked after him, wondering how such an idiot could hold
such an important position. He realized that he was starving. Since
it was dark, he knew it had been hours since he had eaten, if it
was indeed the same day. He wondered about Chase. He had not
looked well when Jamie had last seen him.

“Oh, Jen,” Jamie sighed to himself, the thought of her too painful
for consideration. “Where are you? Oh, God . . .” Jamie put his
head in his hands and wept, the pain of separation more than he
could bear. His heart felt as if there were a hole in it, a hole so
huge and empty that it would never fill up again. He looked up
through russet hair that
had fallen across his eyes to the west, where
he knew his sister was headed. The way to California was long, the
area so vast there was no way he could find her, no way at all. He
lay down on the cot and wrapped his arms around himself, tucking
his legs up under his chin, and cried until he went to sleep.

Chase had felt alone his entire life, always the outsider in the village where he grew up, never accepted, always wearing the label of half-
breed. It hadn’t been any easier in the world of the whites. The brief time he and his mother had spent at the fort before they
started on their doomed trip east had been filled with hostile looks
and insults. When he was in the village he had fought the boys
who taunted him, at first coming away bloody and bruised, but gradually emerging the victor more and more often, until the vi
cious insults stopped, at least in his presence. He knew people
made fun of him when he wasn’t around, and they never accepted
him. He was never invited to join in any play, or later any hunts; that was something he only experienced in the company of his father. At the fort, he had challenged the first soldier who whis
pered “whore” as his mother walked by, but he learned quickly that he was no match for the three or four who joined in for the
pure joy of beating up an Indian.

He realized now that he hadn’t known what true loneliness was before. Now he desperately missed the companionship of Jamie
and Jenny. He had grown accustomed to their easy banter, to seeing Jenny stretching like a cat before she got out of bed each morning.
He missed listening to Jamie read each afternoon, or relate the
events of his day, finding humor in the smallest incident. He
missed watching jenny brush her hair every night until the golden
mass was blindingly bright. He pictured the graceful way she
moved, making the smallest task seem like a dance
...
He shut his
eyes as if he could shut out the memories. The rooms were so
empty now, where before they had been so full of life, even when
they were all sitting quietly listening to Jamie read. He held the
unfinished
Robinson Crusoe
in his lap. The words were easy enough,
but reading it to himself wasn’t the same as when Jamie read. Jamie
made the words come to life, transporting all who were listening
into the world of the book.

Time seemed to stretch out endlessly before him. Sister Mary Frances had confined him to bed again, only letting him get up to relieve himself. She wanted to make sure that his leg was not broken again. She had removed his splint to find his entire shin black
and blue, along with his back, where he had been struck with the cane. She felt sure that he now had some broken ribs to go with
the injured leg.

Sister Mary Frances had been beside herself with worry, she blamed herself for the entire incident. She had begged Father Clar
ence to let Jamie go, hoping to send him on to catch up with Jenny,
but the priest had been unreasonable, saying the guilty must be punished and the Lord’s will must be done. The nun had returned to the infirmary in tears, going to her knees in anguished prayer
only after she had seen to Chase. Sister Mary Frances had prayed
through the long night and was now on her way to town to see Jamie, leaving Chase with the book until she returned.

He flipped through the pages to where Jamie had left off and began reading, but instead of words all he could see was Jenny, sitting in front of the stove with some sewing in her lap, the light turning her golden as she listened to the tale. Chase slammed the
book shut in frustration and let out a snarl, daring anyone to cross
his path, but all was silent, the entire mission in a state of shock
over the events of the previous day.

The crutch Jamie had made was leaning against the wall within reach if Chase needed it. He looked at it, then down at his heavily bandaged leg. He lifted the leg, the muscles in his thigh tightening
as he held the leg rigid above the mattress. He moved his ankle, making circles with his foot, then flexing, pulling the toes back,
then pointing them towards the opposite wall. The front of his shin
was tender from the bruises, but there was nothing more than a slight ache deep in the bone. He looked at the knot that kept the bandages in place. Then, his mind made up, he began to undo them, unwinding the length until he reached the two stout boards
that held his leg straight. He pulled them away, then went through
the whole process again, lifting and flexing, moving the foot in
every possible direction, watching it respond to the commands he
gave it.

He moved over to the side of the bed and gingerly touched the
floor, bearing down with the ball of his foot until he could feel real
pressure. Once again he felt nothing but tenderness and a slight ache. He stood, his bruised back protesting at the movement, but
once he was up, everything supported him well. He took a tentative
step, wincing as the unused muscles protested, but he was standing, so he took another, then another, until he had crossed the room to Jenny’s bed. He turned and walked back, growing more
confident with each step.

He spied his pants in the outer office and decided to venture
there. The pants’ leg had been split to allow him to wear them with the splint, and he took them back into the infirmary, where Jenny’s sewing basket was sitting on her bedside table. He knew that Jenny
and Jamie would have been consumed with laughter over his attempts to run the thread through the eye of the needle, but he
finally mastered the task and went to work on the seam, imitating
the sewing he had watched his mother and then Jenny do for hours
on end. He finally had the seam closed and held it up for inspec
tion, knowing that his stitches were not as neat as Jenny’s but also
knowing that the pants were now wearable.

After he had pulled them on, he searched for his boot, having
worn only one since his arrival. He finally located it on top of the
cabinet where Sister Mary Frances stored her medicines. He shook
his head at the thought of Jamie thinking that was a logical place to put it. Pulling the boot on turned out to be harder than he’d thought; his shin was so tender that even the touch of his fingers made his stomach turn, but once the boot was up over it, the
pressure from the leather seemed to be a comfort instead of a nui
sance. Chase once again placed his injured leg solidly on the ground, testing its strength. When he was satisfied, he went out into the halls, limping noticeably, but walking all the same.

Chapter Eighteen

Chase and Sister Mary Frances had reached an impasse where his leg was concerned. When she had returned that first morning from visiting Jamie, she had been horrified to find him out walking the grounds. The nun had begged him to come in, but he had refused, sticking to the course he had laid out around the various buildings,
limping badly but walking with determination. The leg was supporting him, and that was all he needed to know at the present
time. Chase let the nun examine him when he finally came in that
afternoon, but beyond some sore muscles, there was no further damage. She was not happy about his plan, but he stuck to his routine every day until he was able to jog a bit, then move up to
a run. At the end of the second week he was running at full speed,
and the smaller children would watch him fly by, their mouths wide open as he ran, his face set, his arms pumping, his eyes in
tently focused on something far before him that only he could see. While Chase was regaining his strength, Jamie was losing his,
sinking further and further into a deep depression, until Sister Mary Frances began to fear for his life. Every morning the nun faithfully
visited the jail cell where he was kept, and every morning without
fail he asked for news of Jenny. He showed no concern about his
own predicament, shrugging it off as if it were nothing. Finally a letter arrived from Boston, and her hands shook as she opened it, praying that it held a miracle. Chase was sitting across from her at the table in the office, waiting to rip the letter from her hands if she couldn’t get it open.

“Dear Sister Mary Frances,” she began to read. “It was with great concern that I read your letter regarding our mutual acquaintance Father Clarence O’Malley. You were right in your assumption that he had been sent to St. Jo to remove him from a difficult situation in his own parish. It is with heavy heart that I share these difficulties with you, because after reading your letter I realize that we were wrong about where we placed the blame for the problems Father Clarence experienced. It was brought to our attention that Father Clarence had become infatuated with the daughter of one of his flock, a beautiful young girl with golden hair and blue eyes, if memory serves me, a lovely, graceful, refined lady on the verge of becoming a beautiful woman. It seems that she had become engaged to a young man that her father did not approve of and confessed the fact to Father Clarence, who began to counsel her. Somewhere in the counseling sessions a line was crossed. We were led to believe that the young woman was a temptress of some kind, bent on destroying Father Clarence and his good name. The young woman was sent to Europe to remove her from any gossip, and Father Clarence was sent to St. Jo, where we hoped being around the children would help restore his faith and good works. Now that I have read about the problems your young friend Jenny has experienced, I realize that Father Clarence has an illness of the mind, one that we overlooked in our haste to save face. Please show this letter to anyone necessary in order to ensure the safety of Jenny and any other orphan who may suffer at his hands. We are sending someone to relieve Father Clarence of his responsibilities and escort him back to Boston for a hearing. Until that time, keep the faith and know that I am praying for you and your charges. Your brother in Christ our Lord, Father Timothy Wyndham.” Sister Mary Frances folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope.