The One Who Waits for Me (17 page)

She was beginning to think that everyone but her prayed. Pa and Ma did, but they never had family prayer. Pa was always so worn out at night that about all he could do was eat and then drop into bed. Bowing her head, Beth tested a prayer on her tongue. “Lord. God. You.” She shook her head. She didn't know the first thing about asking something from someone she couldn't see.

Joanie slept soundly at last, so Beth rose and roamed the camp. Oddly enough, others took no notice of her but simply went about their business as though she belonged there. Meat sizzled in heavy skillets. Coffee perked.

When the sun climbed higher, she ventured deeper around the camp's perimeter, keeping the captain's warning in mind. She was not to wander far away. She was to wait until Walt found them. Captain Montgomery. Her lips still tingled from his kiss. When she even thought about his brashness she shivered. She had enjoyed it. Far too much.

The gurgling stream wound deep into the woods. She followed the trail, listening to bird calls and the sound of river life. Bright yellow butterflies flew overhead, darting here and there. She wasn't in the habit of taking notice of her surroundings. From sunup to sundown she had bent over sacks of cotton, striving to meet both hers and Joanie's daily quota. Joanie picked all she could, but there were hours where she sat in the hot sun and simply struggled to breathe. Beth's hand reached out lightly to capture a butterfly. Handling the insect carefully, she examined its unique beauty. How did such a creature, so intricately formed, come to be on this earth? Lifting her palm she gently nudged the insect to flight. Nothing this beautiful should be restricted. Deeper and deeper she wound her way downstream, losing all track of time.

An unfamiliar sense of freedom empowered her. Her world had been limited to the plantation, but here another world existed. A world of towering trees and blooming wildflowers. Here she could almost forget her former life. Almost.

Memories flashed of earlier conversations with Pa after working thirteen hours under a stifling sun with little water to quench their thirst.

“
How can Uncle Walt be so cruel?
”

“
It's not our place to judge, daughter. He might not be punished here on earth, but he will one day stand before God, and then he'll have a powerful lot of explaining to do
.”

Beth had let the thought skip through her mind all that day. Perhaps there was a God and Walt would answer for his meanness. That only seemed fair. But long ago Beth had come to realize that life wasn't always fair. Not in her eyes.

Locating a large rock, she brushed it clean and sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest. She had nothing to do but sit and admire the beautiful morning and enjoy the scent of blooming flowers, the sight of little rabbits skipping across the path, and the sun's warmth as she sat in partial shade. Her body didn't ache from bending over all day, and her head didn't hurt from the blistering sun.

Glancing up at the sky, she noted with surprise that it was close to noon. She'd been gone longer than she had intended. Joanie would probably wake soon and wonder where she had gone.

Beth started back to camp, lightheartedly picking her way through the thick vegetation that grew along the banks of the stream. When a hand clamped down on her shoulder, she whirled, her heart in her throat as the captain's warning came back to her.

Stay close to the camp
.

J
oanie's sleepy gaze met Gray Eagle's when he touched her shoulder.

“The sun has been up for hours,” the young man said softly.

Sitting up, she looked around and asked, “Where's Beth?”

“Somewhere about. She is safe.”

“Oh.” She glanced up at him and smiled. The scout had become a familiar, secure sight. He was always there to give her cold water when a relentless spasm refused to ease. He would offer her small sips of lobelia tea, and soon the cough would temporarily ease.

Extending a hand, he helped her to her feet. “Come. I have some lunch for you.”

“I'm not hungry. I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite.”

“I have noticed. You are small, like a baby bird.”

She smiled shyly and he kept her hand in his as he led her through camp to the main fire, where a steaming plate of meat awaited her. After helping her to a seat on a pallet, he brought a gourd filled with water and placed it beside her. “Eat.”

Smiling, she took a bite of the meat and found it quite tasty. “Where are the others?”

“Around.” As he made himself comfortable beside her, she studied his tall, lean frame. His nut-brown skin was taut and firm from hours in the hot sun. His long jet-black hair was secured with a leather scrap. He wore bearskin pants, but his broad, muscular chest was bare in the heat of the day.

No wonder the camp maidens couldn't keep their eyes off of him. Joanie struggled to concentrate on her meal. “It's not like Beth to wander away.”

“You will be together shortly. I checked on Trella, and the baby is doing well this morning. It won't be long before the little one can leave the wet nurse.”

A long silence stretched between them. Joanie picked at the meat, her appetite lacking as she tried to think of another topic of conversation. “You scouted for the South?”

He nodded.

“Exactly what does a scout do?”

He met her curious gaze. Leaning closer, he whispered, “We scout.” A glint of humor filled his eyes.

Color heated her cheeks. “And by ‘scout' you mean…?”

“We were actually called ‘pickets.' We were responsible for keeping our unit from ambush on both the front and rear flanks.” He smiled, meeting her gaze. “My position was that of raven spy.”

“Raven?”

He pointed to his neck. “From this day forward, Joanie Jornigan, you will know us when you see us, and recognize us if you see us on the trail. I'll be scouting the front with this tied around my neck.” He tugged on the raven-feathered choker circling his dark throat. “My brother scout will have a strip of wolf skin tied to his neck. He is scouting the rear. Another will be wearing fox skin around his neck, and he will be watching our left.”

“But…the war is over.”

“So it is said, and yet there are battles to be won.”

“You speak flawless English.”

With a flash of even, white teeth, he nodded. “My mother was white; my father, Cherokee. My mother taught me both the white man's and red man's ways.” He paused to look at her. “You said you were educated?”

She nodded. “Somewhat. My mother was a schoolteacher before she married my father. Because my illness wouldn't allow me in the fields many days, mother taught me at home.”

“And your father?”

She lifted a piece of meat to her lips. “He worked for my uncle Walt in the cotton fields.”

“Was he an educated man?”

“No. Not Pa. And because we lived in Uncle Walt's shanty, and he didn't care for books, when he caught Ma with one he would rip it into pieces with his meaty hands and make her burn it. Women with knowledge were dangerous, he always said. No woman on the plantation would ever learn to read or write, but Ma defied him by teaching me.”

The hue of his eyes deepened. “I value books as priceless treasures.”

“You learned this from your mother?”

Nodding, he said softly, “Now that the war is over, I wish to fulfill my mother's desire and become a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Joanie had always wanted to be a nurse. She knew it would never happen, but it was a nice dream.

He met her eyes. “It is my desire also. To help my people.”

Joanie drank in the exciting thought. Money was always scarce in their home, and from what she'd read, an education—the kind Gray Eagle was talking about—would be very costly.

“I have a friend,” he said, as though he read her thoughts, “whose father owns many plantations, and he has agreed to sponsor my education.”

“How soon will you start?”

“Soon. When I return home.”

“You have known and fought with Pierce and Preach?”

He nodded. “I met Pierce many years ago, and though we ended up fighting for different sides, we became friends. When word of the war's end finally reached us, Pierce and I agreed to ride home together. We bumped into Preach along the way, and he decided to join up with us.” He shifted. “You are weary. You should rest and not talk. The coughing will start again.”

Joanie knew he spoke the truth, though she felt as though she could talk to him all day. But the exhaustion deep in her bones was even now pulling her back to sleep. They made their way back to the lodge where she and Beth were staying, and he helped her settle again onto her pallet.

He was kind, and his medicine made her body relax. A sense of calm floated over her, and she was barely aware when he drew up the light blanket. She felt the warmth of his eyes on her—a gentle, caring warmth.

A welcome tenderness.

A
squeal escaped Beth when she came face-to-face with Sister Mary Margaret.

Grinning like a mule eating spring grass, the friendly nun greeted her. “Beth! I thought you and Joanie had moved on from around here.”

Pressing her thumping heart back into her chest cavity, Beth tried to clear the lightheadedness that was close to overwhelming her. “Sister! You scared the daylights out of me.”

The nun's features fell. “Forgive me.”

“Not intentionally,” Beth corrected. She knew instinctively that the good woman wouldn't harm a fly, but her sudden appearance had completely unnerved Beth. She'd thought for certain that she had strayed too far from safety and that Walt or Bear had found her alone.

Mary Margaret's smile swiftly resurfaced. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

The cheerful sister giggled. “The Indians make their summer camp on our land—well, the Lord's land—but the order owns it. We've never said a word to them. It's just an honest mistake. And they don't hurt a thing. I think I shared with you that they are actually very helpful.”

Now that her heart had settled back in her chest, Beth lowered her hands. “What are you doing here?”

“I fear I am easily diverted. Father, forgive me.” Swiftly she made the sign of the cross. “I was working in the vegetable garden this morning, but the day is so lovely that I chased a butterfly much farther than I intended. When I looked up, I spotted you and could hardly believe my eyes.” Her gaze roamed the area. “Where is Joanie?”

“She's with the Cherokee.”

Mary Margaret turned curious. “Why?”

“It's a long story, Sister.”

“I have time for a story.” She offered an encouraging grin.

Mentally sighing, Beth relayed the details, reminding her of the circumstances of their departure and the birth of Trella's baby.

“Trella's milk apparently wasn't rich enough for the infant,” she went on, “so after we left the convent, the soldiers suggested that we locate a wet nurse for the child. The Indian village was the closest settlement we could find.”

Mary Margaret laughed softly. “A wet nurse would have been difficult to find at the convent.”

“Yes. Very unlikely, though we hadn't considered the idea until Pierce mentioned it.”

“Yes. The kind man who came with you on your second visit.” Mary Margaret smiled and then seemed to instinctively reach for a strand of beads hanging from her belt.

Beth watched the nun's nimble fingers trace each bead as she whispered in soft tones. When she finished, Beth hesitantly asked, “Were you praying?”

The sister opened her eyes. “Yes.” She smiled. “You are not Catholic?”

“I'm not anything.”

Mary Margaret's eyes widened. “You most certainly are. You're God's child.”

“I don't believe that. But Joanie prays, and she does it differently. She either bows her head or gets down on her knees beside the bed and just talks.” She focused on the beads. “You touch beads.”

“My rosary.”

Beth studied the strand in the sister's hand. “Joanie doesn't have such a thing. Does that mean her prayers aren't heard?”
This praying stuff is so complicated! Believing in a special, loving person you'd never met to take care of your needs no matter what?
Beth shook her head. She wished she had such faith.

“My goodness, no!” the nun said. “God hears all prayers—unless a man's heart has been hardened—but He hears all of His children's prayers.”

His children? Now, there was another mystery. God didn't sire her; Pa did. And Pa hadn't loved her unconditionally. She got in trouble plenty of times for little things.

The sister's explanation still didn't account for the variances she'd seen in how people spoke to the Almighty. Her explanation made no sense to Beth, but the sister seemed convinced that every sort of murmuring or tolling of bells or whispering over beads reached a higher source. Beth furrowed her brow.