Woman of Courage Page 6

  Since Buck spoke the Nez Percé language, he’d tried talking to Mary, but she would barely look at him and refused to say a word. Since that day, Buck had gotten to know her a little better, and small talk had become more comfortable to her. He had learned that Mary’s real name was Yellow Bird, and that a group of Blackfoot Indians had stolen her from her people one night two years ago. For the last year she’d been living as Jim’s wife in the mountains. Mary still spoke very little to Buck, and during his frequent visits, he’d noticed that her eyes remained sad. Early on, he’d suggested that Jim look for her people, but the answer had been a firm no. Now that Mary was heavy with child, Buck figured it was best for her to remain with Jim. After all, Jim was the baby’s father.

  Mary reminds me of my mother, Buck thought. She has the same dark eyes and gentle spirit and is always willing to help someone in need. For all the good my mother’s sweet spirit did her, he fumed. She should have fought back.

  As Buck sat at the table, he felt the heat from the fire burning steadily in the woodstove. Even though his buckskin pants and shirt kept him warm enough, he was chilled after the exertion of bringing the injured woman inside, so the fire’s warmth was inviting.

  Sometimes Buck felt like a lifetime had passed, instead of just his twenty-four years. Other than his shoulder-length red hair, Buck looked as Indian as Mary. His dark-skinned muscular body was tall and lean, without an ounce of fat, and dark brown eyes constantly assessed his surroundings.

  Buck’s mother had been married to a white trapper, Jeremiah McFadden, until he’d been killed at the hand of a Blackfoot warrior. Buck’s mother had been pregnant with him at the time, and some Blackfoot Indians had taken her captive. When Buck was born, she’d named him Red Hawk and explained early on how they’d come to live in the Blackfoot camp. Until he was five years old, Red Hawk and his mother had lived with the Blackfoot tribe. Then they were traded to a white man named Silas Lothard. Silas was cruel, often beating Red Hawk and his mother into submission. He taught them to speak white-man-talk, and had changed Red Hawk’s name to Buck. Silas claimed to be a Christian, and he constantly reminded Buck’s mother, whom he’d called Sarah, that she was nothing but a heathen who made a good slave. He forced Buck and his mother to listen while he read from a black book he called “God’s Word,” which Buck quickly came to resent.

  Buck’s jaw clenched as he remembered how one day his mother had tried to take him and run away. They’d been caught, and as punishment for her disobedience, Silas had traded her to another man. But he’d kept Buck, who was then ten years old, continuing to mistreat and belittle him, often threatening that if Buck didn’t do as he said, he would die, and his soul would go straight to hell. Silas also told Buck that his mother had been killed and that the only family he had left was him.

  One day when Silas began beating him with a strap, twelve-year-old Buck decided to fight back. In the process of the struggle, Silas fell on his own knife. Once Buck realized the man was dead, he lit out on his own. At the age of fourteen, he met Jim Breck, who trained him to hunt, fish, and trap. Buck vowed to always treat people with kindness, the way his mother had done.

  Buck’s thoughts were interrupted when Mary stepped into the room. “The woman very sick,” she announced. “Need rest, food, and drink.”

  “Is she awake? Can I talk to her?” Buck asked, jumping to his feet.

  Mary shook her head. “She not wake up yet. I cleaned wound and stitched skin in place. Now she need rest.”

  Buck craned his neck, trying to glance around Mary for a look at the woman lying on the bed. “Maybe I should stay until she comes to. I’d like to talk to her—find out who she is.”

  Suddenly, the cabin door opened, and Jim stepped inside, a wide smile on his bearded face. “I thought ya must be here,” he said, striding across the room and clasping Buck’s shoulder. “Saw your horse, and two others, plus a couple of mules. Where’d ya get ’em? Is someone here with ya?”

  Buck nodded and motioned to the bedroom.

  Jim headed quickly for the back room. He returned a few seconds later, red-faced and squinting his brown eyes at Buck. “I don’t know who that woman is lyin’ on my bed, but she’d better be gone by the time I get my horse fed!” With that, he jerked the cabin door open, stepped out, and let it slam shut with a bang.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jim’s hands shook as he poured oats into a bucket and set it in the small corral he’d built for his horse. He was overreacting, but that woman lying on his bed reminded him of Lois. What is she doing here, and why did Buck bring her to my cabin? Of course, Jim reasoned, Buck don’t know what Lois looked like, since I’ve never described her to him. Truth was, Jim had said very little to Buck about the life he’d led before coming to the mountains.

  Watching his horse eagerly eat, Jim leaned on the fence and reflected on his past. He and his childhood sweetheart, Lois, had grown up on farms near St. Louis, Missouri. It was expected that Jim would follow in his father’s footsteps and take up farming, too, but Jim had other ideas. He loved being in the great outdoors and wanted to do something that could earn him money without having to rely on the right kind of weather to produce good crops. He wanted to live in the mountains, where the air was clean and a man could survive off the land. Jim had dreams of adventure, and his enthusiasm for it had led him in that direction.

  Jim ended up going west, where he’d taken up trapping and trading. During those early years, he’d done quite well, and when he wasn’t setting or checking his traps, he’d built a small but cozy cabin, nestled deep in the woods. A river flowed nearby, making it an excellent place to trap beaver, fox, otter, and rabbit. A multitude of deer, elk, and bear roamed the area, as well, and barring anything unforeseen, Jim figured he’d have a good many years to enjoy trapping, trading, and selling his furs.

  Once the cabin was finished and Jim had enough money saved up from two years of trapping and trading, he left the mountains and returned to Missouri, where he married Lois. Three days later, they headed west. Jim was filled with excitement and eager to show his new bride the rustic home he’d built for her. Lois’s folks had been against the move, saying they were worried about their daughter living in the rugged wilderness. But like Jim, Lois was adventurous and daring, so she’d eagerly agreed. Being the good Christian woman that she was, she’d quoted some scripture to her folks about cleaving only unto him and said in no uncertain terms that her place was now with her husband. Then she’d looked at Jim and, quoting something more from the Bible, said, “ ‘Wither thou goest, I will go: And where thou lodgest, I will lodge.’ ”

  Jim drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. His beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed Lois had taken sick before they reached the cabin, halting their journey. Jim did his best to bring her fever down, but it raged on for several days. Jim begged God to save his wife, and it felt like a spike had pierced his soul as he stood by helplessly, watching her slowly slip away. His young heart nearly broke when she died and he had to bury her beside the trail. He returned to his cabin in the Rockies alone, crushed of spirit, and for weeks that was where he stayed, until he had to get back to the task of living. Jim had vowed never to love another woman. He blamed God for taking Lois and determined in his heart that no matter what situation he faced in the future, he would never call on God, for He obviously did not answer prayers—at least not his, anyway.

  If God is truly loving, as Lois often said, then how could He take her from me? Of all people, Lois, who fully trusted in God, should not have died, Jim fumed. It had been ten years since Lois’s death, but there were times like now when it felt like only yesterday. He’d thought he had pushed the memories aside—until he discovered that woman on the bed he’d made for Lois. Even Mary didn’t sleep in that bed; she slept on a mat in the loft overhead. However, it was getting harder for her to climb the ladder now that she was heavy with child, so it wouldn’t be long and she would need to bring the mat down and sleep on the floor near the fireplace, whic
h was where Jim spent most of his nights when he needed to be alone.

  Jim and Mary had been married a year, and he had to admit, she was a good wife, always eager to please and obedient to his wishes. He felt no love for her, though; just a healthy respect. But then, he was sure the feeling was mutual.

  Jim still couldn’t figure out why he’d let that preacher man at the Rendezvous talk him into marrying the Indian woman. For that matter, he’d never really understood how he could have made the deal with the Blackfoot Indian to trade two blankets and a gun in exchange for Mary.

  “I had to be outta my mind,” Jim mumbled. “Either that, or it could’ve been that I just wasn’t thinkin’ straight ’cause of all the whiskey I’d drunk that night.”

  The only good that had come from the trade was that he now had a wife to cook, clean, and do other chores, which gave him more free hours to hunt, trap, and enjoy the great outdoors.

  When Jim had brought his Indian bride home, he’d given her the name Mary and taught her to speak English. She’d caught on fairly fast, although her sentences were broken, but at least they could communicate. Even though Jim didn’t love Mary, he enjoyed her womanly company.

  Jim’s horse whinnied and nuzzled his arm, bringing his thoughts back to the present. “I know ol’ boy. I wish we could hightail it outta here again, but we just got home.” As much as he didn’t want to admit it, a white woman was lying on his bed, and he needed to go back inside and find out who she was.

  “You want more coffee?” Mary asked, holding the coffeepot out to Buck.

  He shook his head. “Thanks anyway, but I’ve had enough.” He glanced toward the cabin door. “I wonder what’s takin’ Jim so long. He’s been out there a long time, feedin’ his horse.”

  “He upset.” Mary set the pot back on the stove. “He be back when he ready.”

  Buck gave a nod. If there was one thing he’d learned about Jim Breck, it was that whenever he got mad, it was best not to bother him until he’d cooled off.

  “Any idea why Jim’s upset about the white woman being here?” Buck asked when Mary took a seat at the table.

  She lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug. “He not like intruders. He very private man.”

  “Yeah, I know what ya mean.” Buck raked his fingers through the ends of his hair. “He wasn’t too keen about me hangin’ around when we first met, neither.”

  Mary leaned back in her chair and stroked the yellow feather tied to the end of one of her long dark braids. Buck had never seen Mary without that feather, and he knew the reason she wore it was because many moons ago, when she was a young girl, she’d gone into the hills to pray and fast until she found Weyekin, her guardian spirit, just as all young Nez Percé children were expected to do. Mary had shared with him once that a yellow bird had come to her one morning during her time alone, and it had sung her a special song. Mary had been sure that Hanyawat, the Great Spirit and creator of all things, had sent her guardian spirit in the form of a bird. This Weyekin would be with her to offer assistance throughout her life. From that moment on, Mary wore a yellow feather, and had taken on the name of “Yellow Bird.” Of course, Jim never called her by that Indian name. Said she was Mary, and that was all there was to it.

  Buck was about to ask Mary if she thought they should check on the woman in the next room, when the cabin door opened, and Jim stepped in. He lumbered across the room, grabbed a tin cup and the pot of coffee, and poured himself some of the muddy-looking brew. Then he pulled out the chair next to Buck and sat down with a grunt. “So, who is this woman?” he asked, motioning to the bedroom, “and why’d ya bring her here?”

  “He not know. He find her along trail,” Mary spoke up before Buck could respond.

  Jim slammed his hand on the table, jostling his cup of coffee and spilling most of it out. “I asked Buck, not you!” he hollered, squinting his eyes at Mary.

  Mary winced as though she’d been slapped; then she leaped out of her chair and began wiping up the mess with a rag.

  Buck felt sorry for her. He didn’t understand why Jim spoke to his wife in that tone of voice. She’d done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to be talked to that way. Jim had been good to him and taught him life skills, but it took all of Buck’s willpower to keep his mouth shut when he heard Mary spoken to like that. She had been taken from her people, just like his own mother, and it wasn’t her fault she was here. Having no choice in the matter, she’d stoically taken on the life that was dealt her. Yet Buck had noticed that there were other times when Jim silently looked at his Indian wife with respect and admiration. Maybe he talked to Mary that way only when Buck was around, trying to prove something. What, he didn’t know. Maybe he should ask, but knowing Jim, he’d probably get mad, and it could ruin their friendship. No, he figured this was one of those things that was better left unsaid.

  Jim turned to Buck and leveled him with a look that could have stopped a pack of wild horses dead in their tracks. “Well? Why’s there a white woman lyin’ on my bed?”

  Buck quickly explained how he’d found her and said he’d seen no sign of anyone else.

  “Humph!” Jim grunted, folding his muscular arms across his chest. “She had to be with someone. No white woman in her right mind would be up here in the mountains all by herself.”

  “I’m sure she was with someone, at some time,” Buck countered. “But there was no sign of anyone else, and since she was hurt and needed help right away, I wasn’t gonna stick around to see if somebody showed up. The way she was bleedin’, I couldn’t take the chance. So I gathered up her livestock and things and brought her and everything else over here.”

  Mary filled Jim’s cup again, and after blowing on it, he took a drink. “Couldn’t ya have taken the woman back to your place?” he complained. “Did ya have to bring her here?”

  Buck lifted his hands. “Didn’t think it’d be right to take her to my dinky cabin. Besides, Mary knows about healin’ herbs and such. The woman probably woulda died in my care,” he added. “What would you have done? Left her there to die?”

  Jim stood and began pacing. “Well, she can stay till she wakes up and is feelin’ better, but then she’ll have to go!”

  “Go where?” Buck questioned. “I just told ya, I ain’t takin’ her to my place; it wouldn’t be right.”

  Jim stopped pacing and tapped his foot, while raking his long fingers through the ends of his full beard. “Guess we’ll take one day at a time for now. When she’s well enough to travel, one of us will have to take her to the nearest fort, and they can decide what to do with her.” Jim lumbered across the room and got the big iron tub. “Mary, would ya heat up some water for me? I need to wash up.”

  Mary nodded and went to the stove.

  Buck, grinning inside, was glad that Jim had relented and would let the woman stay so Mary could nurse her back to health. He had an inkling, though, that it would be him taking the woman to the fort, not Jim. Since Mary was with child, Jim would no doubt use that as his excuse to stay put, but Buck couldn’t blame him for that.

  “Well, I have one more trap line to check before I head back to my cabin,” Buck said, rising from his seat at the table. “Thanks for the coffee, Mary.”

  It was the first time today that a hint of a smile passed across Mary’s lips, yet she said nothing.

  Buck gave Jim’s back a quick thump. “I’ll be back in a few days to check on the white woman.”

  Walking toward his horse, while whistling for his winged brother, Buck wondered if Jim was softening a bit because he was on the verge of becoming a father.

  CHAPTER 10

  As Mary opened the cabin door to breathe in the cool mountain air, she placed her hand gently against her stomach and smiled. The babe had been active today, kicking in her womb almost every time she moved. Jim was outside chopping wood, and she’d been busy cooking and cleaning, so some time outdoors felt good.

  After several minutes, Mary meandered back inside and headed into the small room, part
itioned off from the kitchen by several deer hides that had been sewn together and draped over a thick rope. Noting that the cabin had grown chilly, she headed for the lofty stone fireplace at one end of the room. Nearby sat two split-log chairs, and a black bearskin rug covered a good portion of the floor. The rug gave the room a feeling of warmth, even when it was cold outside.

  Mary stoked the embers in the fireplace, then went to check on the woman fitfully sleeping in the next room. Sometimes, when the fever spiked, the woman would moan or cry out for someone or something she called Pa-pa. Mary wasn’t sure what that word meant.

  Thinking about her husband, Mary wondered once again why Jim had reacted so strangely when he’d first seen the white woman. She had asked him about it, but he’d pushed her aside and said, “It’s nothin’ for you to worry about. Just do your doctoring and stop askin’ questions.”

  It had been seven days since Buck brought the woman to Jim’s cabin, and she’d been running a fever most of that time. She had opened her eyes a couple of times, but not long enough to ask who she was. On more than one occasion, Mary had thought the woman might die, but she seemed to have a fighting spirit and had hung on. That was good. It took a fighting spirit to survive in this wilderness. Courage, too. Mary knew that better than anyone. Still, seven days with a fever was not something to be taken lightly. The blond-haired woman looked so small and frail lying in that big bed.

  Mary thought about the day Jim had brought her to his cabin. Mary could hardly take it all in, for she’d never been inside a white man’s home before.

  Although larger than what she had been used to, the cabin felt confining. She remembered hearing for the first time the door shut behind her. She had to take in deep breaths, almost suffocating without fresh, outside air. As each day passed, Mary had gotten used to her new routine and became more accustomed to her surroundings.