The One Who Waits for Me (13 page)

“What's wrong with her?” Joanie asked. The effort to speak brought on another coughing spasm.

“Maybe's she's hungry.”

“Trella nurses her every two hours. The baby acts as though her tiny belly cramps with hunger pangs.”

Another five minutes passed. Joanie's cough persisted, and the baby's cries mingled with the sound of croaking frogs. Finally Beth rolled to her feet.

Pierce did the same. They met up by the fire. A tearful, exhausted Trella said to them, “Maybe she's takin' sick. I can't get her to stop crying.”

Beth reached for the infant. “I'll see if I can pacify her.” She accepted the small bundle and began to softly coo. The newborn's hysterical cries grew even more insistent.

For the next few minutes, Beth and Pierce passed the infant back and forth, trying to appease the child.

“That's a hungry cry,” Preach noted.

“I feed her constantly,” Trella said. “She nurses, but she seems hungry minutes later.”

Gray Eagle stepped from the shadows. “Your milk does not console the baby.”

“I don't know what more I can do.” Trella swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. The new mother's pain and exhaustion reflected in her tone. Beth's heart went out to her.

Gray Eagle turned and walked away. Beth watched him, wondering what he was up to.

Pierce carried the baby to the stream bank, bouncing the infant on his shoulder. Everyone was wide awake now. Beth knew they were making enough noise to wake the dead. If Walt and Bear were in the vicinity, there was no doubt they would find them.

Gray Eagle reappeared and walked directly to the baby, inserting the tip of a small bag into her mouth. The infant suckled hungrily.

Joanie coughed.

Turning on his heel, Gray Eagle went to the young woman, knelt, and held a cup of lobelia tea to her lips. Within minutes the camp was filled with only the sounds of nature's soothing tones. Frogs croaked. Cicadas sang.

Dropping to her pallet, Beth absorbed the heavenly reprieve.

Pierce passed by her after handing the baby back to her mother. “What…” Beth caught herself. She shouldn't be asking questions, but curiosity got the best of her. “What did he do?”

“What I should have done hours ago. He made the baby sugar water.”

Beth's cheeks warmed. Why hadn't she thought of that? The field workers often wrapped sugar in small cloths to quiet their babies.

Exhaustion overtook her, and she lay back down as Gray Eagle moved around the fire to his blanket. She noted the look of satisfaction on his face as if he were pleased to have helped the infant and mother and soothed her sister's cough yet again.

For a brief moment Beth wondered if she could be wrong about men.

T
he camp fire burned low. Across the way the women were silent and still. Pierce poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Gray Eagle, who had come back from a quick perimeter check of their campsite. “Are the women asleep?”

“The little one too.”

Shaking his head, Pierce took a sip from his own cup. He'd rather fight a skirmish than try to quiet a newborn. The odds for success were better. “What are we going to do about the baby?”

“She needs nourishment. The mother's milk does not please.”

“So, where do we find a wet nurse in these parts?”

Sitting down cross-legged, Gray Eagle studied the flames. “I have not been here for many years, but when I was a child there was an encampment not far from here.”

“Are you sure they would welcome us?” The conflict had settled down many years ago, but resentment toward the white man and his ways still blossomed. Pierce didn't want a war party on his hands with three women and a child to protect.

“They are my people,” Gray Eagle confirmed with a nod. “These are their summer grounds. At first light I will ride ahead to see if the camp still exists. If so, I am certain nursing mothers will be there who can feed Trella's child.”

“I suppose that is best, though I don't like the thought of further delaying our return home,” Pierce said with a sigh.

He longed for sight of his land and the opportunity to make peace with his father. He could taste his mother's blueberry pies—thick and rich with a crust so light it melted on his tongue. He smiled as a wave of homesickness swept over him.

Gray Eagle turned his cup in his hands. “The one called Beth? She is talking to you now?”

“Not if she doesn't have to.” Pierce's grin widened. “She doesn't favor men.”

The scout's black eyes danced with merriment. “She is very silent around you.”

“You noticed? Can't imagine why. I go out of my way not to step on her bustle.” He paused. “She doesn't speak often, but she is spirited.”
Spirited
. That was a kind characterization. “And ornery as a spiteful mule.”

“Is there a woman waiting for you when you return?”

Shrugging, Pierce said, “There was a girl when I left home five years ago. She was pretty young—fifteen. She said she'd wait for me, but I don't know…I hope not.” He flashed a grin. “I was telling Preach earlier that I can't even recall her name.”

“You do not love her?”

“Love?” Pierce chuckled. “My friend, I was nineteen at the time. I loved all the women.” He sobered. “If she's waited all these years I suppose I'll have to give serious thought to settling down and maybe starting a family. It would please my parents greatly to have grandchildren.” In ways, he wished there was someone waiting for him. A pretty young thing who would share his life and grow old with him. “But what about you? Got a woman waiting for you somewhere?”

Gray Eagle shook his head. “I am like the wind. I blow here and then there. I have no woman waiting for me.”

Pierce winked. “I bet many a young maiden has had her eye on you.”

“Many women do not think clearly.”

Conversation ebbed as each took a sip of his coffee. Pierce glanced at the sleeping women again and then turned back to his friend. “You have said that your mother was a captive.”

“Yes. That happened many years ago when the wars still raged between my people and the white man. She was a missionary's daughter. Her family was massacred during a raid. She was taken to the chief and he married her. She was young with a privileged background. She taught me to read and write. She wanted me to be like the white man, but she couldn't change the color of my skin or the love in my heart for my father.”

“Is your father still alive?”

“He was killed during a buffalo hunt.”

Pierce nodded, remembering Gray Eagle speaking of how his young father was trampled to death when he was caught up in a buffalo stampede. Shortly afterward, the new chief offered Gray Eagle's mother her freedom as a condolence gift. She declined and lived among the tribe until her death seven years ago.

Tossing the remains of his coffee into the fire, Pierce noted, “We'll have an early start in the morning. We'd best get some shut-eye.”

Nodding, Gray Eagle set his cup aside. “I will leave at dawn and return when I have located the site of the Indian summer camp. They may or may not be there. The war had destroyed most of this land and displaced many.”

“While you are doing that, we'll keeping moving forward toward the next town—wherever that may be. You shouldn't have a hard time finding us on the road.”

For Pierce, either the next settlement or the Cherokee camp couldn't be close enough. He'd rather fight a war than face a hungry infant…or women dressed in nuns' clothing throwing rocks at him.

Wearily, he settled on the hard ground and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes.

The fire cracked and sizzled. Overhead stars as numerous as Abraham's descendants twinkled.

Rolling to his left side, he focused on Beth. Her eyes were closed, and he could just make out her long lashes brushing her freckled cheeks. Warmth spread through him at the sight. He flicked the irritating reaction aside. But an annoying thought kept him awake. What if a woman like Beth had waited for him? Would his kids have those feisty wrinkles across the bridge of their noses or her thick hair and sparkling eyes? He rolled onto his back. A man could do worse.

Suddenly his future wasn't as clear as he'd assumed a few days earlier.

B
y mid-morning on the following day, Gray Eagle appeared atop his steed. Reining to a halt, he faced Pierce, who was leading the procession. Not a single community had yet come into sight, though they had made a late start and hadn't gone far down the road.

After Gray Eagle departed for the Indian summer grounds, Pierce had left the women in Preach's care while he went to look for Joanie's Bible as he had promised. Unfortunately, though he had made as thorough a search as possible, he wasn't successful. The little party broke camp and headed out as soon as he returned with the discouraging news. Now they were eager to hear what the Indian scout had to say.

“The camp is still there.”

Relief rippled through Pierce. “How far?”

“We can get there well before noon.”

“Is there a wet nurse willing to help?”

“Two are available. The summer camp is now filled with the old and dying, but some daughters and recent widows have come with aging parents. Two gave birth this spring.”

“Good enough, as long as someone is able to satisfy the child.”

The traveling party rode with purpose now. Beth carried the baby to allow Trella some respite from the infant's crying. Every man and woman in the group felt the child's hunger.

A couple of hours later Gray Eagle came to a halt. “I'll ride in first. The chief is expecting us.”

Pierce stayed back with the rest of the riders as Gray Eagle walked his mount through a stand of poplar trees. From here the village was just visible. Thirty or so lodges, with cone-shaped roofs made of bark and walls covered in long grass, were dotted here and there. Beth's heart hammered. She'd never been near an Indian other than Gray Eagle. She'd seen them passing on the road, their bodies decorated with colorful paint and feathers. The pickers said they were warriors spoiling for a fight with the buffalo hunters, but they never bothered the slaves.

She glanced at Pierce. Did she dare trust that this man wouldn't lead her and Joanie into danger? Despite the stories she'd heard about earlier settlers, and the prices they paid when they encountered savages, she found herself developing a certain amount of respect for this Union army captain. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She and Joanie still had far to go before they would be completely safe. She couldn't go all soft on men just yet.

Trella was holding her baby now, and Joanie rode behind Beth, her head resting on her sister's shoulders. Her coughing increased. Between the coughs and the baby's cries, Beth wondered how long it would be before the men abandoned them beside the road.

She eyed the tall captain. She couldn't claim that he hadn't been kind and exceedingly patient so far, but she knew that could change. It always did with men. She could
not
let her guard down—not for a second. Just the same, she eased her horse closer to him. He glanced over at her and met her eyes with a wicked grin that sent her heart thumping. How could that be? For once it wasn't thumping with fright.

“What's going on? Is it safe?”

“Ma'am.” The captain's look chastised her. “Believe me when I tell you that I have no desire to see my scalp hanging from an old warrior's pony.”

She focused on the little village ahead of them. “I can assure you, sir.
You
will not witness the sight.”

His grin widening, he acknowledged, “I stand corrected. I don't want to witness
your
scalping.”

“I didn't say I wouldn't watch yours.” She nudged her horse forward a little.

“Feisty little wren.” He moved his horse ahead of her, as though to keep himself between her and the village for now. Her eyes took in the strange dwellings. Aging women wearing long deerskin dresses moved across a stream that went down the center of the grouping of dwellings. Others bent over low-burning fires, while still others cleaned animal skins stretched on tall wooden frames.

Though their activities looked peaceful enough, Beth still felt anxious. Would they turn on the uninvited group and leave their scalps hanging on a lodge pole? They were of the older generation. Perhaps…

A second, different kind of shiver slithered down her back, and almost involuntarily she turned again to the captain. He spoke low and comfortingly. “Relax, Beth,” he said as if reading her mind. “These are Gray Eagle's people. They're friendly.”

Just then the scout returned and told them they could move ahead. Beth kept her distance, allowing the others to ride in before her. When they reached the clear stream, they paused, and a young boy dipped a cup of cold water for Joanie. The small, compassionate act touched Beth, easing her immediate fear, yet she remained watchful, ready to gallop away with Joanie if the situation called for it. Ahead, a man stepped from a lodge. He was dressed in bearskin trousers, shirt, and moccasins. His long black hair streaked with gray lifted in a slight breeze. In the past he most likely had been a proud warrior, but the years had bent his once strong frame, and the hot sun had weathered his features. He was old, and his step was uncertain. Standing in front of his tent, his faded eyes focused on the new arrivals.