Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (39 page)

Simon almost reared up in bed, opened his eyes, and said, “Don’t you touch her, you sonofabitch. She’s mine.” Then he lay back down. “I love you . . . I love . . . you. . . .” The words were almost in-audible, his breathing heavy.

During the afternoon he called for his mother, cursed a drunken riverman, and hallucinated his fight with the Indians during the rainstorm. Over and over he pleaded for time to tell Berry that he loved her.

The minutes piled slowly one on top of the other until an hour passed, then dissolved and started the process all over again. All the while Simon’s breathing remained ragged and uneven, from heavy labored breathing to breathing so light that Berry was afraid he wasn’t breathing at all.

“What if he gets worse?” she asked Will, who had taken over the chore of bringing water from the spring. “He can’t take much more of this.”

“I wouldn’t worry overly much. He’s tough.”

“You sound very sure.”

“He ain’t goin’ to die. But you’re goin’ to worry yourself crazy a-thinkin’ he is.”

Berry thought Will might be right. Her bones ached. She had no appetite; and thoughts born of this lonely waiting began to drift through her mind. She thought lingeringly of Simon’s words:
What’s love? Foolish fancies, but then you’re only a child. If a woman finds a decent man she should take him without expecting love to be part of the deal.
Then she thought of the words that had come boiling up out of his torment:
Berry . . . I love you. I love you.
He had shouted them as if to put up a barrier between himself and the agony of the whip. Silent and serious, he hid his loneliness behind the closed-in look that pulled all feeling out of his face.

“Poor, lonely little boy,” she whispered over the lump in her throat. “You’ve got me now. I’ll love you, make you laugh, make you feel good. We’ve been through too much together for me to lose you now.”

She leaned down, intending to kiss him on the cheek, but he rolled his head so that her lips found his mouth instead. The gesture, which was meant to be a fleeting caress, became something entirely different. His hand found the back of her head and pulled her lips firmly to his. Berry gave a little gasp and drew back. His eyes were open but glazed and unseeing. As she watched, his eyelids fluttered and closed and his hand fell limply to the bed.

The waiting and the silence ran on, with Berry sinking deeper and deeper into her misery. She slumped forward and put her hands over her face, refusing the comfort of tears lest he should wake and see them.

The sounds of voices roused her. She looked up to see Rachel going out the door. She shook her head to clear it, got shakily to her feet, and followed Rachel. Two horses were trotting into the yard: Light, on Simon’s stallion, and an Indian woman on a spotted pony.

Berry grabbed Rachel’s arm. “She’s an Indian!”

“She’s Light’s aunt.”

“Rachel! I’ll not have her shaking a rattle over Simon or . . . wrapping a snake skin around his neck! He needs a doctor, not some Indian witchcraft!”

“Shhh . . . Don’t be rude!” Rachel started forward. Berry refused to release her arm.

“Rachel, please . . . I didn’t know she’d be an
Indian!
”

“Berry, for crying out loud! Straighten up! She’s all the help we’ve got. Light knows what he’s doing.” She shook off Berry’s hand and went to meet the woman.

Berry had to admit that the woman who slid off the pony was an arresting figure. Her jet-black hair was worn in two braids that hung down over her breasts. She was a tall, handsome, full-bodied woman, dressed in a colorful long shirt and buckskin leggings. A red, beaded sash was belted tightly around her waist. Her strong features were curiously expressionless. It was the same mask that Light had worn last night while he listened to Will, Jeff, and Fain.

“We’re grateful to you for coming,” Rachel said slowly, spacing her words. She waited for some response, but the woman merely stared back at her. Rachel’s face flooded with embarrassment. She looked around uncertainly, not knowing what to do next. Light led the horses away. The Indian woman picked up a twig basket that Light had been carrying and stood silently looking Rachel over and then Berry.

“Howdy, Nowatha.” Will came from the shed. He was obviously pleased to see her. “How’re ya doin’?”

“Why you say this to me, Will?”

“’Cause it riles ya, I guess. How’s your daughter?”

“She big with papoose again, damn her.”

Will laughed. “How many does that make?”

“Eight girls. Five live. She don’t know how to make a boy,” she said without amusement, then turned back to Rachel. “Where this man? Light say I come help.”

Rachel led the way into the house. “He’s been unconscious since about this time yesterday. This morning the fever struck.”

Nowatha, oblivious to Berry, who stood protectively close to Simon at the head of the bunk, bent and lifted the oiled bandage from Simon’s back. She studied the swollen lacerations, then leaned close and sniffed. She felt the lump at the base of his skull, then ran her hand down over his body. She rocked back on her heels and continued to study the deeply scored back.

It seemed to Berry that Nowatha was never going to speak. Then she uttered a short, grunting sound and looked directly at her. “Hurt bad.”

“I know he’s hurt bad,” Berry retorted. “He needs a
doctor.
”

“Me doctor. Me fix.”

“What’re you goin’ to do?” Berry demanded. She looked up to see Will standing behind Nowatha and laughing soundlessly. He reached for Berry’s arm and urged her across the room and out the door. “I’m not leavin’ him with
her!
” she protested. But he drew her around the corner of the house and pushed her down on the wash bench.

“Sit ’n’ tell me ’bout where ya come from.”

“You’re just tryin’ to keep me out of there. I can’t sit here and gossip when Simon’s in there with that . . . witch doctor.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll not boil a toad or smear him with chicken dung.” His eyes mirrored his amusement.

“Be serious. Please!”

“You’re just upset ’cause she could say more than ‘ugh’!”

“I’m not! I thought she was Light’s aunt from the other side of his family.”

Will laughed. “Berry, girl, Simon’s goin’ to have a time with you. I wish I’d-a seen ya first! C’mon. I gotta set your mind to rest.” He put his hand beneath her elbow and lifted her to her feet. “We’ll watch and see that she don’t scalp him.”

“Will, you’re a . . . pissant!” She flashed him a quick grin in spite of herself.

When they returned to the room they found Nowatha pulverizing some dried leaves, which she then added to a pan of steaming water. This was not the first ingredient to have gone into the pan, Berry knew, because already a pungent, spicy odor wafted across the room. Nowatha stirred the concoction, bent to sniff it, added more powdered leaves, and continued to stir, completely indifferent to her surroundings.

When she was satisfied with the brew, she lifted the pan from the flames and dropped a square of cloth from the pile on the table into the liquid. She turned her attention to her basket, selected more dried leaves, and crumbled them into a cup she’d taken from the shelf. She poured water from the teakettle into the cup, swirled it around, tasted it, and looked over at Will.

“Lift man, damn you. We pour this down.”

Will obediently went to the bunk and lifted Simon into a half-sitting position. Nowatha forced his mouth open and poured the liquid down his throat. He spat and sputtered, but she doggedly persisted until the cup was empty.

Berry spent the next couple of hours sitting in a chair, her head resting against the wall, watching the Indian woman take the bandages from the brew in the pan and place them on Simon’s back. She repeated the process over and over, all the while keeping cold wet cloths on his head and legs. She and Will poured cup after cup of liquid down his throat. Finally, Nowatha dried his naked body, laid one last bandage across his back, and left him alone.

“He better now.”

“Are you sure?” Berry asked hopefully.

“I say it, damn you,” Nowatha said coolly, as if she was unaccustomed to having her word questioned.

Evening came. Fain roasted a turkey over a fire that Israel built in the yard. After they ate, the men came, one at a time, to stand beside the bed and speak to Berry in low tones, then move on. Rachel took care of the evening chores and put Faith to bed. Nowatha came periodically to dampen the bandage on Simon’s back. Berry sat beside the bed and watched the big man who meant everything to her. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully. There was a different rhythm to his breathing. Berry slipped to her knees, rested her cheek against Simon’s hand, and went to sleep.

*    *    *

On the second morning Simon drifted up from the black, bottomless pit and saw a pale-faced girl with raven hair, curly and unruly, slouched in the chair by his bed. Her elbow was propped on her knee and her chin rested in her palm. Dazed green eyes were looking directly into his.

“You look tired, Berry.”

Startled by the suddenness of his voice, Berry’s head jerked away from her palm and she peered intently down at him. His lips were cracked and peeling, there were deep caverns under his cheekbones, and his cheeks and chin were rough with whiskers, but his eyes were clear.

“Simon! Darlin’, are you awake?”

“I think so,” he said weakly.

Berry touched his head, his cheeks, his arms, as if she was unable to believe that the fever was gone. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been kicked by a mule. I’m weak, but my back doesn’t hurt so much.” He made a weak attempt to lift himself onto his elbow.

“Are you hungry?”

“Hungry? Lordy! I could eat a buffalo.”

“I’ll cook you one!” she laughed joyously.

“Ahhh . . . that’s what I wanted to hear. I want to hear you laugh every day for the rest of my life. I love you. I was so afraid I’d not get to tell you.”

“And I love you.” She fell to her knees beside the bed and kissed his chin, his cheeks, and his dry lips. “I’ve got lots to tell you, but it can wait. Darlin’, I’ve got to tell everybody. We’ve all been so worried.”

Berry ran to the door and called out happily, “He’s awake. The fever’s gone! He’s goin’ to be all right.”

Nowatha came and lifted the bandage from Simon’s back. She grunted with satisfaction and moved aside so that Berry could see. “I say I make well,” she said coolly, with a proud lift of her brows.

“I don’t believe it!” Berry exclaimed. “Oh, Simon! The cuts are closed and the swelling is down. You’ll be all healed in no time at all.”

“I make well more than that.” Nowatha flicked her fingers at Simon’s back indifferently. “You think me dumb Indian, damn you.”

“No! I didn’t think that. . . .”

“When time come to drop papoose, send Light. I come and make water on you so you get boy.” She lifted her head arrogantly, her proud body stiff with disdain.

Berry saw an instant flicker of amusement in the woman’s obsidian-colored eyes. Her happy laughter rang through the room like a silver bell.

“You’re teasing! Nowatha, what a treasure you are! Oh, thank you, thank you!” She threw her arms around the tall, domineering woman and hugged her fiercely.

“Ahhh . . . God the damn hell!” Nowatha disengaged herself from Berry’s arms. “I go home now.” She picked up her basket, gave Berry and Simon a steady look, then turned away.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” Berry got down on her knees beside Simon’s bed.

“Not as wonderful as you. Give me a kiss, sweet-heart, then get me something to eat. I’ve got to get my strength back.”

Berry kissed him, giggled, and leaned away from him so that she could look into his dark, love-filled eyes. Her own eyes glinted with mischief.

“You’d better eat a lot and get strong quick. I’ve got lots of lovin’ saved up for you.”

T
he story of the siege at the MacCartney homestead and Berry’s heroic effort to save her lover from Linc Smith, the mad riverman, spread up and down the Mississippi and Missouri rivers like petals in the wind. The pioneers had a heroine, and on her wedding day they came to wish her well.

Silas and Biedy and three of their four boys arrived two days before the appointed day so that Biedy could help prepare the wedding feast. Jeff, Light, and Will followed soon after, with an antelope and a half-dozen turkeys. They had helped to pass the word to the settlers, and shortly after daybreak the local families began to arrive. The women came to the house to introduce themselves and to leave contributions to the wedding feast.

The men, under Fain’s supervision, set up long tables in the yard. The women gathered wild flowers to make a bower for the couple to stand under during the ceremony. Ernest Wenst and his family arrived from Saint Louis, as did Della, the girl who had come to the homestead with her granny the night Faith was born. She rode in on horseback with her pa and little brother. Rachel made all her guests feel welcome.

The homestead buzzed with activity. Children played, running beneath the table, and were scolded by their mothers. The men gathered in front of the shed and drank whiskey from the keg placed conveniently on the wash bench. It was a time to get acquainted, exchange gossip, and argue politics.

Shortly before the ceremony was to begin, a blast from a riverboat was heard. A young boy came running to the homestead with the exciting news that Zebulon Pike had arrived for the wedding. The flamboyant Pike led a detail of six men up the trail from the river. He doffed his feathered hat, dipped into the whiskey barrel, and entered into the festivities.

Berry and Rachel came out of the house at straight-up noon. Berry made a picture that the assembled guests would long remember. She was attired in a beautiful white dress Simon had had made for her in Saint Louis and Ernest Wenst had delivered this morning. Her raven hair was piled atop her small head and entwined with white blooms from the dogwood tree. She wore soft kid slippers, and pinned to a white ribbon encircling her neck was a delicate gold brooch, Simon’s gift to his bride.