Woman of Courage Read online

At first, Mary had been puzzled about many of the things she’d seen in the cabin—especially the big fire-box in the kitchen. She had watched curiously as Jim opened the fire-box door, piled kindling inside, and set it on fire. Mary’s people’s source of heat, and for cooking, was an open fire, and Mary didn’t have the vaguest notion what to do with such a strange-looking thing. As Jim had continued to feed the fire, Mary wandered through the cabin, clutching her parfletch to her chest. When she’d peered into Jim’s bedroom, her eyes had become pools of confusion, seeing the huge bed. She’d never seen anything like it, and had no idea what its purpose could be.

  Jim had stepped into the room then, and shouted something at Mary, wagging one finger in front of her face. Then he’d pointed to the ladder leading up to the loft and nudged her in that direction. It didn’t take Mary long to realize that was where he expected her to sleep. Fortunately, sleeping in the loft was easy to adapt to. Like a bird high in the trees, finding shelter in a nest, Mary felt comfortable there. Even now, while heavy with child, she was content to sleep on the floor of the loft, although it was getting harder to climb the ladder.

  The other thing that had surprised Mary was the big gray-and-white dog sleeping near the fire. The camp dogs among the Blackfeet, where she’d been living since being taken from her own home, had been downright vicious, often snarling and snapping at anything that moved. Mary wasn’t sure if she could trust having the animal in the cabin. It hadn’t taken her long, however, to realize that the dog Jim called “Thunder” and who was part wolf wasn’t vicious at all. He’d quickly become her constant companion. She felt safe with him around, especially whenever Jim left for several days to check on his traps. Many times while Mary sat by the fire, the dog would come over and lay his head in her lap, looking up at her with his big brown eyes. Thunder and Mary seemed to bond with each other in a silent understanding.

  In all the moons she had lived here, there were many things Mary had adapted to. But always in her heart was the life she’d been ripped away from so long ago.

  Mary had just bent down to put another log on the fire, when she heard the white woman holler, “Pa-pa! Pa-pa!”

  Unsure of what to do, Mary waited and listened. Sometimes, as in the past, the woman would mumble for a while, then fall back into a fitful sleep. Other times, she would continue to holler until Mary came and soothed her feverish brow with a wet cloth. Today seemed to be one of those times, for the woman continued to shout, “Pa-pa! Pa-pa!”

  Mary set the wood aside, rose to her feet, and hurried into the other room.

  Amanda opened her eyes and blinked several times. Where was she, and why did her head feel so fuzzy? She was in a bed; she knew that much, but where? This wasn’t her bed. Or was it?

  She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt too weak. When a small, dark-skinned woman, who was obviously with child, approached Amanda’s bed, a ripple of fear shot through her veins. Had she become the captive of an Indian? But if that was the case, she wouldn’t be in a bed, would she?

  “It good that you awake,” the Indian woman said with kindness. “You been sick long time.”

  “Wh–where am I?” Amanda asked, rubbing her throbbing forehead.

  “Home of Jim Breck.” The woman touched her chest. “Me, Mary—Jim’s wife.”

  Jim Breck? Amanda thought hard. She didn’t know anyone by that name.

  Amanda placed her hands against the sides of her head as she tried to remember what had brought her to this place. She had no recollection of coming here. What was the last thing she did remember?

  Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and thought hard. She was a Quaker woman, who lived in Dansville, New York, with her father. She was engaged to marry Nathan Lane. No. No, that wasn’t right. Nathan had broken their engagement to be with her best friend, Penelope Goodwin. Soon after that, Amanda and her father had left New York and headed west so they could help the Spaldings minister to the Nez Percé Indians.

  Amanda’s eyes snapped open. “Papa!” she cried. “Oh Papa, why didst thou have to die and leave me alone?”

  The Indian woman touched Amanda’s arm. “Who Papa?” she asked, tipping her head.

  Tears coursed down Amanda’s cheeks. “He’s my father, and he … he’s dead.” She nearly choked on the words. Not only had Papa died, but their guide, Harvey, had died, as well. Amanda shivered, remembering the fear she’d felt when she’d been left alone and had tried to find her way out of the mountains. She’d been trying to get on her horse when it kicked her in the head. Then the world started spinning, and everything went black.

  “How did I get here?” she asked, opening her eyes.

  “Buck bring you,” Mary replied.

  Amanda rubbed her temples, trying to make sense of things. “Who is Buck?”

  “Buck McFadden. He Jim’s good friend.”

  Amanda tried to take in all that this woman who spoke broken English had told her. She was thankful she hadn’t been abducted by hostile Indians or torn apart by some savage animal.

  How many days have passed? she wondered.

  Hearing a grunt, Amanda rolled her head in the opposite direction and saw a large gray-and-white dog watching her from the corner of the room. She cringed and gripped the edge of the blanket.

  The woman, Mary, must have noticed Amanda’s fear, for she quickly explained, “He no bite. Thunder friendly mutt.”

  Just then, a big, burly man with shoulder-length brown hair and a matching beard strode into the room. He was a mountain of a man, and wore buckskin pants and a fringed shirt. He looked more menacing than the big dog. Was he an Indian, too?

  Amanda shook her head, trying to clear her mind. He couldn’t be Indian. He had brown hair and also a beard, which she knew Indians never had. Amanda was sure that underneath that scraggly beard, the man’s face would most likely be white.

  He stopped at the foot of the bed, squinting his pale blue eyes. She didn’t know why, but she was sure this man with the slightly crooked nose did not like her. The question was, why? Did she dare ask?

  CHAPTER 11

  This husband,” Mary said, motioning to Jim. Seeing the young woman’s wide-eyed expression, she sensed her fear. Mary could relate to that, since she’d felt the same way when she’d first met Jim Breck. He was a bear of a man, with piercing blue eyes and a grim expression that made him look like a hungry animal about to devour its prey. Mary hoped the young woman could draw on her inner strength, for she remembered, if not for her own courage, she never would have made it through all the changes and pain that had been forced upon her.

  “Who are you, and where are ya from?” Jim asked, moving closer to the bed.

  “My name is Amanda Pearson, and my home is in Dansville, New York.” The woman’s voice was raspy, and a circle of red erupted on her cheeks. “I am a Quaker, and I’m on my way to Oregon Territory to help at the Spalding Mission and teach the Indians about God.”

  Jim frowned. “So you’re one of those Bible thumpers, huh?” Before Amanda could respond, he quickly added, “Where’s your man? No white woman would be out here in the wilderness by herself.”

  Amanda slowly shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. “When I left New York, my father was with me.” She paused and drew in a shaky breath. “He died soon after we left Fort Laramie, and then a few weeks later, our guide, Harvey Hanson, was killed when a tree fell on him during a terrible storm.”

  Mary’s heart went out to the white woman. She had obviously been through a lot. She hoped Jim would say something to offer her comfort. Instead, he shrugged and said, “The wilderness ain’t no place for a woman like you. Ya oughta go back where ya came from.”

  Amanda shook her head once more. “I promised my father I would continue this journey, and somehow, I will go on. The Nez Percé Indians need to hear about God and how—” Overtaken by a coughing fit, she stopped talking. When it subsided, she lay with her eyes closed, drenched in sweat.

  Mary stepped forward and turned to face
Jim. “Woman need rest. She not well yet.”

  Jim grunted. “I s’pose you’re right, but she can’t stay here forever. As soon as she’s well enough to travel, I’ll see if Buck will take her to the nearest fort.” He turned and started for the door. “Right now, I’m goin’ outside to feed my horse. Get some coffee made while I’m gone!” He glanced down at his dog. “Come on, Thunder, let’s go!”

  Mary flinched as he slammed the cabin door. He was still upset about the young woman being here, and she wished she knew why. Her husband, even when sober, had a gruff way about him, but this was somehow different. She wished she felt free to ask why he was so angry. Eventually she might figure it out herself.

  Sure hope Mary can get that Quaker woman back on her feet soon, Jim stewed as he stepped into the yard. I’ll never get Lois off my mind if I have to keep looking at that gal’s pretty face.

  Jim knew he should let go of the past, but seeing Amanda Pearson made him miss Lois all the more. A man comes on love like Lois and I had only once in a lifetime, he thought. Despite not being in love with Mary, she was carrying his child, and he looked forward to becoming a dad. He knew that Mary with her gentle ways would be a good mother, too.

  Just then, Thunder bounded up to Jim with a stick in his mouth.

  Jim chuckled. “Ya wanna play fetch, don’tcha, boy?

  Thunder dropped the stick at Jim’s feet. Woof! Woof!

  Jim bent down, grabbed the stick, and gave it a toss. The dog raced off and returned a few seconds later with the stick, ready to do it again. Jim quickly complied, and this went on for the next several minutes, until Thunder disappeared into the woods. Thinking the dog had given up on the game, Jim headed for the corral where he kept his spotted horse, Wind Dancer.

  When he’d been able to trade for Wind Dancer at one of the Rendezvous, Jim had been surprised that anyone would want to give it up. It was a beauty. Its front half was black, like the mane and tail, but the horse’s back half was white with black spots throughout. Jim had seen many Indians at Rendezvous with the same type of horse, but none were any prettier than his. Some horses were covered with spots, others had just a few, but Wind Dancer was unique.

  He’d just given the horse some oats when Thunder bounded out of the woods, yipping and running in circles.

  “What’s the matter, boy?” Jim called. “Did ya tangle with some critter out there?”

  As the dog approached, a noxious odor wafted up to Jim’s nose, and he knew exactly what had happened. “Phew! You’ve been sprayed by a skunk, haven’t ya, boy?” Jim pointed at the dog, whose fur still glistened from the spray. “Stop right there! Don’t come any closer! You won’t be comin’ into the house till that disgusting smell wears off.”

  Thunder whined, dropped to the ground, and rolled over on his back. With his feet in the air, he twisted this way and that, as though trying to rub the horrible stench off his back. Jim knew all too well that skunk odor could linger for some time. “Well,” he said, “guess the least I can do is give ya a bath, but I sure don’t relish the idea of gettin’ that close to you, Thunder, ol’ boy. By the time I’m done, I’ll probably smell like skunk, too.”

  As if Jim had just pronounced a fate worse than death, the dog rolled back over, leaped to his feet, and darted into the woods. Jim figured the mutt probably wouldn’t return for a few days. Maybe by then the smell would be less intense so he could stand giving the dog a bath—if he could coax him into the river, that is. Thunder might be brave when it came to taking on some other animal, but he didn’t like water at all.

  Buck urged his horse, Dusty, forward. He was anxious to get to Jim’s and see how the white woman was doing. He’d stopped there a few days ago, but she’d been sleeping. Mary said the woman was still running a fever, which wasn’t a good sign. Buck wondered if the woman might die, despite Mary’s best efforts.

  Buck’s thoughts went once more to his mother. It wasn’t fair that she’d been taken from him. Had she really been killed, or was Silas lying when he’d told Buck that? He wondered if Silas had only said that to make him more miserable. Or maybe it was so the tyrant could have more power over Buck.

  Bitterness welled in Buck’s soul. He still hated Silas, even though the man was dead. How could anyone claim to be a man of God and treat people the way he did? Buck fumed.

  Buck didn’t believe in the white man’s God. He’d been taught by his mother to worship Hanyawat, the Great Spirit and maker of all things, but Buck refused to do even that. Well, I no longer have to worry about Silas, Buck thought. He’s exactly where he should be!

  Pulling his thoughts aside, Buck guided his horse up the trail leading to Jim’s cabin. As he entered the clearing, the Brecks’ property came into view. Jim was in the corral, brushing his horse.

  “It’s good to see ya,” Jim called with a wave. “Can ya stay awhile this time?”

  Buck nodded. “I can stay long enough to have some of Mary’s good coffee, if she’s got any made, that is.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Jim replied. “I told her to make some before I came out here to feed Wind Dancer.” He motioned for Buck to bring his horse into the corral.

  “Ya got a skunk around here?” Buck asked, sniffing the air. “Smells like one’s close. I can almost taste the critter.”

  “Before you got here, Thunder tangled with one somewhere in the woods. He went runnin’ off when I said I was gonna give him a bath.” Jim chuckled. “Ya know he don’t like water.”

  “Guess the dog will be sleepin’ outside for a while, huh?” Buck said, thumping Jim’s back.

  “Yep. I reckon the mutt won’t be none too happy about that,” Jim agreed as he finished brushing his horse. “Can’t have the dog smellin’ up the cabin, though.”

  “I came to see how the white woman is doin’,” Buck said, taking their conversation in a different direction.

  Jim punched Buck’s shoulder playfully. “Is that so? And here I thought ya came to chew the fat with me.”

  Buck snickered. “That, too.” He lowered his voice. “Seriously, how is she today?”

  “She’s awake. Least she was before I came out here.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign,” Buck said. “Did she say who she is or what she’s doin’ here in the Rockies?”

  “Her name’s Amanda Pearson, and she’s on her way to the Spalding Mission in Oregon Territory. Have ya heard of it?”

  Buck nodded. “Heard it’s near Lapwai Creek.”

  Jim shrugged his broad shoulders. “Don’t think she’s goin’ there now, though. Not unless she finds herself a guide.”

  “Who was she traveling with?” Buck asked.

  “Said she left New York with her pa, but he died on the trail.” Jim grimaced. “Then a bad storm hit and their guide was killed by a falling tree.”

  Buck whistled. “I’d say she’s had her share of bad luck.”

  Jim nodded. “If ya ask me, she needs to go back to where she came from.”

  “Guess I’ll go inside and have a talk with her.” Buck moved toward the cabin.

  “Before you go in, I need to ask you something,” Jim said, walking beside Buck.

  “What’s that?”

  “When the woman’s up to traveling, would ya be willing to take her to the nearest fort?” Jim paused as they reached the cabin door. “I’d do it, but Mary could have her babe most any day, and I won’t leave her alone.”

  “I understand that,” Buck said. “I’ll have to think about it, though.” Truth was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone with the white woman.

  When Buck and Jim went inside, Mary greeted them at the door. “Good see you,” she said, smiling at Buck.

  “It’s good seeing you, too, Mary.”

  “You want coffee? It ready on stove.”

  “Maybe after a while, if that’s okay,” he said, even though the thought of a hot cup of coffee was inviting. “I’d like to speak with the white woman first. Jim said she’s awake.”

  Mary nodded. “C
ome see.”

  Buck followed Mary into the other room, while Jim remained in the kitchen. He found the woman lying on the bed, her eyes open. Even in the dim lantern light, he could see that she looked pale and weak.

  “This Buck,” Mary said. “He find you; then bring here.” She looked at Buck and motioned to the woman. “This A-man-da.”

  Amanda smiled slightly. “I want to thank thee for finding me and bringing me here. I am not well yet, but I’m doing better. Mary has taken good care of me.”

  Buck gave a nod. “Jim said your pap and your guide are both dead.”

  Amanda nodded slowly. “Papa and I were on our way to the Spalding Mission to help teach the Nez Percé Indians about God.” She paused and drew in a shallow breath. “If thou knowest of the area, wouldst thou be willing to take me there?”

  Buck shook his head vigorously. “I’ll take ya to the nearest fort when you’re well enough, but I ain’t goin’ into the Nez Percé winter homeland!”

  CHAPTER 12

  When Buck left Jim’s cabin later that day, his mind whirled with unanswered questions. Had he said no to Amanda’s request to take her to the mission because he didn’t want to be reminded of his mother’s people and where he’d come from, or did it have more to do with the fact that Amanda was a Bible thumper? It didn’t matter. Either way, he wasn’t going to act as her guide. He might consider taking her to the fort, but that was all. Maybe she could find someone there who’d be willing to take her where she wanted to go—someone who had no ties to the Nez Percé people.

  Buck had never admitted this to anyone, but he blamed his mother’s people for letting her marry Jeremiah McFadden. If she had married one of her own and stayed with her tribe, there would have been less chance of her being taken captive by the Blackfeet.

  Of course, Buck reasoned, Mary Yellow Bird was stolen from her tribe—right out from under her parents. Well, the past is in the past, and nothin’ can be changed. Buck had no desire to visit the Spalding Mission. He’d heard about the missionaries who were trying to teach the Nez Percé how to live like the whites and worship their God. None of that seemed right to him.