Chase the Wind (34 page)

Jenny woke with a start, drawing air in with a hoarse gasp as
she sat up in bed. Father Clarence was standing before her, peering at her over his half glasses as he leaned heavily on a stout stick that
had been polished to a high sheen.

“You seem to have recovered from your injuries,” he said. He raised the stick and began to poke at the mattress where her feet
had been. “It will do you no good to hide from me. I can feel your
evil all around this place.”

Jenny retreated against the headboard of the bed and searched the area for a weapon. She remembered well the damage the
broomstick had done; there was no doubt in her mind that the
stout stick he now carried was more dangerous. Behind the priest, Chase the Wind was sitting up, his hands braced around the upper
thigh of his broken leg to swing it out of traction if need be. His
eyes narrowed at the back of Father Clarence’s head as the priest
continued to poke at the mattress, coming closer and closer to
Jenny’s retreating feet. There was a pitcher of water on the bedside
table, and Chase the Wind reached out and sent it flying to the
floor with a crash, drawing the attention of Father Clarence.

“I knew I never should have allowed that heathen in here. They
don’t know how to act in civilization,” the priest said to Jenny.

Sister Mary Frances came rushing in, pulling a robe around her
gown, her short hair spiked out in all directions.

“Sister!” he exclaimed. “You are not properly dressed.”

The nun smoothed her hand over her hair as she quickly took in the situation. “It’s the middle of the night, Father. I thought
perhaps there was an emergency and my patient needed some as
sistance.”

“Except for being incredibly clumsy, he seems to be all right,”
the priest said, waving his cane in the direction of Chase the Wind.
The nun began to pick up pieces of the pitcher from the floor.

“Was there something you needed, Father, that brought you to
the infirmary at this time of night?” she asked as she carefully placed the shards in what was left of the pitcher. She looked at
Jenny as she talked, and Jenny silently made her way down to the foot of her bed, where she could leap through the door if need be.

“I came to check on our new resident. The sheriff left him in my
care, and I realized I don’t even know what his name is.”

“His name is Chase the Wind. He is part Kiowa Indian,” the nun
replied. Finished with the pitcher, she rose, taking a position between the two beds. Father Clarence stuck his cane out in the
direction of Chase the Wind’s bed.

“I know he is a heathen, that much is obvious.” Chase the Wind jerked his head, his eyes narrowing again. “We shall have to save
his soul and baptize him with a Christian name. I will not have
any heathens in residence here.”

“I plan to leave as soon as possible,” Chase the Wind ground
out between clenched teeth.

Father Clarence poked at the youth’s bed with the cane. “How
old are you, boy?”

“I have just passed my seventeenth winter,” came the answer.

Father Clarence leaned on his cane and peered at him over his
glasses. “It might be too late to undo the damage done by all the
years he’s spent among the savages. I will have to consult with my peers to learn the best way to help him. We may have to scourge the evil from him
...”
He left the room, still muttering to himself.

Sister Mary Frances crossed herself as he left. Jenny melted into a heap on the bed, pulling the covers around her as she began to tremble. The nun put her arms around her and smoothed her hair, which was in wild disarray from her nightmare. Jenny sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, placing her forehead against them. Chase the Wind was slumped back against his pillows, his eyes shut, his full mouth a thin line as he clenched the blankets in
hands that were curled into fists.

“Who was that man?” he finally asked when his rage was under
control.

“Father Clarence—he runs the mission,” Sister Mary Frances ex
plained.

Chase the Wind looked over at Jenny, who was still sitting up
in the bed, her hair falling around her shoulders and covering her
knees. “He hates Jenny?” he asked.

Jenny raised her head and looked at him with wide blue eyes
that held fear in their depths. “Yes,” she said.

“We don’t know that,” Sister Mary Frances said, laying her hand
on Jenny’s arm.

“I know it. He hates me. I don’t know why, but he does. I’m
afraid he’s going to kill me,” She whispered.

“Jenny, you know I will never let that happen. I’m sure we will
hear something from the bishop soon.”

Jenny jumped from her bed and went over to the window, where
the first glimmer of dawn was lighting the cluster of snowflakes
that had gathered like lace on the pane. “How will we hear any
thing? No one can travel in this, and you know the storm is moving
east. It might be months before you hear anything, and even then,
they might think that you are the one who is crazy, not him.”

She whirled back around, her hair swinging out about her. She
gathered the mass in her hands and knotted it again, flipping it
back over her shoulder as she began to pace the small confines of
the room. Chase watched her, while she prowled about like a
mountain cat, her movements graceful as she made her way around
the chair, kicking a missed shard under the bed. “I have got to get out of here before something happens to me, or worse, to Jamie.”
She was talking to herself as she paced from bed to window, window to bed. “As soon as the weather breaks, we have to leave. He’ll
have to go with me.”

Sister Mary Frances stopped the pacing by placing her hands on
Jenny’s shoulders. “You can’t go anyplace until spring gets here.
You know that.” She looked up into Jenny’s eyes, forcing the girl
to focus on her words. “We’ll move Jamie in here until then. He
can sleep in the office, and if something else happens, hell be here
to stop it. I think Father Clarence is afraid of him, or else Jamie
wouldn’t be getting away with cutting class and eating in here with
us.”

Jenny looked at the nun and then over at Chase the Wind. He
smiled at her, an encouraging smile, showing perfect white teeth in his bronze face. There was a dimple there also, and it looked so out of place in his regal face that she smiled back.

“Okay,” Jenny said to the nun. “Can we move him in today?”

“Ill take care of it,” Sister Mary Frances assured her. “Why don’t
you try to get some more sleep?”

Jenny nodded as she suddenly realized that she was shivering, whether from the cold or the shock of the morning’s events she could not tell. She climbed back into bed and pulled the blankets up under her chin. In the other room, she could hear Sister Mary
Frances stirring up the fire in the office. Then all was quiet as she
went to prepare for the day.

“What injuries?” Chase the Wind asked after they heard the door
close behind the nun.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jenny closed her eyes, hoping
to discourage any more conversation.

“The priest said you have recovered from your injuries. I was
wondering what they were.”

Jenny held a palm out towards the other bed so Chase the Wind
could see the scattering of small scars there.

“What happened?”

“I fell on some broken dishes.”

“Is that all?”

Jenny sat up and looked over at the other bed. Chase the Wind had turned his upper body so that he was lying on his side, the
leg turned slightly in the sling.

“Yes, that’s all. I fell and cut my hands and knees on some broken
china.”

“It doesn’t seem like that would be serious enough to confine you to the infirmary for so long.” Chase the Wind was tracing
patterns with his long bronze finger on the sheets in front of him, but he looked up as he talked to her. Jenny felt as if her very soul
was laid open to him as he looked at her, his eyes like a hawk’s
that could see everything as it flew over the plains, searching for
food.

“I broke my arm, too,” she said.

“Oh, I see.” He propped himself up on his elbow and pushed
the blankets down around his waist; the heat from the stove was
beginning to drift into the room. He grimaced as he put weight on
the injured shoulder, but decided he could bear it for a while. “How
did you fall? You don’t seem like the clumsy type.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in what happened to me
several weeks ago?” Jenny demanded. She began to rearrange her blankets with exaggerated motions, folding the sheet over the blan
kets and creasing it until it suited her.

“I was curious, that’s all. I thought maybe...”

“Maybe what?”

“I want to know if Father Clarence had anything to do with your
injuries.”

Jenny looked at him in horror, then looked out into the office
to make sure no one was around. “Please, don’t mention that to
anyone. Don’t even suggest it.”

     
“Why?”

    
“Because I’m afraid of what might happen.”

    
“To Jamie?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s his duty to protect you and avenge you.”

“I don’t want him to avenge me. I just want to leave.”

“So your brother does not know that the priest attacked you.”

“No.” Jenny felt she was going to cry, and struggled to keep the
tears at bay.

“The nun knows.”

“Yes. She’s doing her best to protect me until we can leave.”

“Why does Father Clarence hate you?”

“I don’t know. I think he has me confused with someone else, someone he used to know. He talks crazy sometimes when he’s
around me. Sister Mary Frances wrote a letter hoping to find some
thing out, but it’s been months since she sent it.”

“You won’t hear anything until spring.”

“I just hope I survive that long.” Much to her amazement, Chase
the Wind was smiling at her. “You think I’m kidding?”

“No, but you are being a little melodramatic.”

Jenny flung a pillow at him, which he deflected with his arm. His eyes were dancing with laughter, and she realized that he was trying to lighten her mood. “Melodramatic—how did you learn a word like that, growing up in a Kiowa village?”

“You’d be surprised to know what I know. What makes you think you know more than me anyway?”

Jenny could not find an answer that would not sound condescending, so she just did what worked with Jamie. She stuck her tongue out at him. Chase the Wind fell back on his pillow and started to laugh. Jenny was surprised at how nice it sounded. It had been a long time since she had laughed from the heart. She grinned at him, flashing white teeth while he enjoyed his moment of having her at a loss for words. His laughter finally trailed off, and in the quiet they heard the sounds of the mission coming to life.

“Were your parents killed in a fire?” he asked after a few minutes.

“No. Oh, you mean because of Jamie?” She motioned down the side of her face, and he nodded. “No, they were murdered. We don’t know who, or why. Jamie’s burns came from a stray bullet that day; it hit a lantern, and the oil and flames went over him.” She shuddered at the memory.

“I’m sorry.”

“What happened to yours? I mean your father.” Jenny looked at
him
with tenderness in her deep blue eyes. “I know you don’t want to discuss him, because of your beliefs, but I was just wondering. You said you had to leave the village ...”

“My father was killed by white soldiers who were coming to rescue white captives. They didn’t know that some of them did not want to be rescued. The tribe blamed my mother because she was white. Many warriors were killed that day, so the tribe made us leave.”

“But you’re part Kiowa.”

“They never saw that part. They only saw the white blood in me.”

“Then your mother was killed by Indians.”