One True Love (12 page)

C
louds skittered across a cold moon. Anxiety settled over the camp as women carried coffee to Dyson. Refusing food, he took the coffee and let the flap down. Talk once again centered on the fort and what lay ahead. All were relieved to be moving on come morning, but lingering concern tainted relief.

“Before we move on, I think Mike and Richardson ought to ride out and have one more look-see around.” A man drew his wife closer to his side. “We're just as anxious to be on our way as the next person, but we want to be sure those Injuns ain't waiting to jump us somewhere on down the road.”

Discussion erupted, and they took a vote. Caution won out. Mike and Richardson agreed to scout the area one last time before the wagons moved out.

Copper trailed Adele to the wagon, knowing that sleep would be long in coming tonight.

“Copper?”

She turned to see Redlin approaching. Adele continued to the wagon as the wagon master approached.

“Got time for a cup of coffee?”

“Yes. Is something on your mind?”

A weary smile surfaced. “Just feel the need for your companionship.”

She smiled. Turmoil brought out the best in this man. “You heard Dyson has asked for coffee?”

“I heard, but don't read anything into the request. The man wants a drink, not coffee.” They returned to the fire and Copper started toward the chuck wagon box. “Let me get that,” Josh said, as he retrieved two cups. “You don't need to be taking any more steps than necessary.” The considerate side of him was always close to the surface.

Copper made a place for him next to her. He handed her a cup and sat down. “You wanted the train to move on, didn't you?”

Nodding, she cupped the hot liquid in front of her face and breathed the fragrance. “Time's passing. I love these people, and I want them safely to their destination before heavy snow flies.”

“Every day we sit brings us a day closer to worsening weather, but one more area search is wise. The red man is like the wind. Here one moment, gone the next.”

She settled next to him, absorbing the warmth of his body, which, oddly enough, felt completely normal. “I understand.”

His gaze fixed on the low-burning embers. “Do you?”

She glanced up. “Do I understand?” She wasn't sure she'd caught the meaning of his question.

“You don't think I'm making a mistake by not moving on quickly?”

“You? Misjudging a situation?” She sobered. “No, I trust your reasoning. Better safe than sorry. Isn't that what they say?”

He glanced at her, and amusement hovered at the corners of his mouth. “Well, great day in the morning. We are making progress.”

Her features sobered. “The Indian woman hasn't passed?”

He shook his head, then removed his hat and laid it on the ground. “I hate to leave her, but I'm responsible for many more lives. She can't last. She hasn't eaten or taken water for who knows how long.”

“You hesitate to leave her? You can say that after what you've just witnessed?”

“I believe it's likely that she was a captive, and unless I miss my guess, she is Kiowa. Could be that she was caught up in a fight she didn't initiate. Maybe the savages didn't realize she was here.” Shaking his head, he admitted. “Hard to say. Could be she wasn't captive, that she was only trying to join her family on a reservation. There's a lot of tribes being forced to government land. Family ties are strong among these people. No one will ever know what happened.” He fell silent, then observed, “Makes you wonder how long it will be before all the Indians are on reservations.”

Suddenly Josh's hand went to his holster. Copper set her cup aside and listened. Nothing but the crackling fire met her ears.

“What?”

“Quiet.” Josh eased to his feet, his gaze scanning the camp's perimeter. Alert now, the two watched a horse emerge from the shadows. The rider was an Indian wearing a breechclout and thigh-length buckskin leggings. He carried a lance pointed down at the ground. Decorated with beads and feathers, it had a white flag attached to the tip.

Copper eased closer to Josh until she crowded him.

“Easy,” he cautioned.

Her heart wedged in her throat. “How many are there?”

Uncertainty invaded her thoughts. Was this savage part of the same band that had attacked the fort earlier? Had he returned to make another kill?

The Kiowa walked the horse into camp. The men's eyes locked while hysteria rose to the back of Copper's throat.

The red man reined up. He sat in the middle of the corral, eyes fixed on the wagon master.

“Stay here.” Josh moved to meet the newcomer.

She caught him back. “You can't go out there!”

“Stay here,” he repeated. “And don't make a sound.”

He eased her aside and slowly walked to the war pony. Copper focused on the Colt strapped to his thigh. He wasn't defenseless, but how fast could he draw if the Indian moved first?

Copper held her breath when the Kiowa spoke first. From this distance, she could distinguish that he spoke perfect English.

Josh paused twenty feet away. “You speak English?”

The man nodded.

The two men exchanged a few brief sentences. Though she couldn't hear the entire text, the conversation appeared to be nonthreatening in tone. Copper resisted the urge to
awaken the camp; Josh had said to remain quiet, but every nerve in her wanted to scream.

The warrior reined his animal around, and the horse walked out of camp.

Copper bolted to meet Josh. “What was that about?”

“He says the woman is his mother.”

“The dying woman?”

He nodded. “He's asked permission to remain with her until she passes.”

“You're not serious.” Her gaze traced the line of thicket.

Grim-faced, Josh nodded. “As serious as death.”

“You're not going to grant him permission, are you?” After what they'd witnessed, she couldn't imagine the savage would have the gall to come here and ask such a thing. This could be a farce, a trap to snare them all into certain death.

Rubbing a hand across his unshaven face, Josh admitted, “I don't know. I have to think about it.”

“You have to
think
about it? You can't be serious! Why, the folks on this train will never permit it!”

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”

Disbelief came out in a whoosh. “Don't quote Scripture at a time like this.” She couldn't imagine him even considering the request.

“It's late.” He turned and emptied his cup onto the fire. “You need your rest. As soon as Richardson says it's safe, we'll pull out. I'll stop by your wagon and say good-bye.”

“Josh.” She caught his arm, her eyes imploring him. “You can't be serious. How do we know he isn't setting us up for another raid?”

“I don't know that.”

“You can't put this train in further danger.”

“I'm aware of my responsibilities, Copper. Let me handle this.”

She couldn't. She couldn't let his overwhelming compassion trump conventional sense. “You have to put this to a vote. Do you realize what you are risking if you allow this?”

“Yes. And I realize what this man risked when he rode in here. The woman is his mother. And there is a chance that out there in the brush a daughter is waiting. The Kiowa women are close. All he wants is respect for his dying parent.”

“
If
she is his mother.”

“If,” he conceded.

“It could be a trick.”

“It could be,” he acknowledged.

His words sank in. She glanced at the darkness outside the circle of wagons and thought about her mother. How she wished she'd had a few minutes alone with her before that ship sank. “Do you really think that woman is his mother?”

He shrugged. “He claims he wasn't part of the marauding band, but he knew she was being held here. Word has spread about the raid, and he came to ask for her body. When I told him that she was alive he asked to be with her until her death.”

The gravity of the situation threatened to undo her. Did Josh trust this heathen's word enough to grant him last moments with his mother? To risk endangering the whole wagon train? Or would he turn the man away? She sighed. “This is just plain wretched. We're cursed if we do and cursed if we don't.”

“Or just plain cursed,” he agreed.

Blessed are the peacemakers.
But the Lord gave men common sense.

Their gazes met, and she succumbed to his empathy.

“Oh Josh. What will we do?”

“We?”

She looked away. “If you tell the others they will surely turn him away.”

“They surely will, and I have to decide if I can live with that or if I put my trust in a son's word.” His gaze locked with hers. “What would you have me to do?”

She was both flattered and aghast that he would ask her opinion. She wasn't equipped to make such a monumental decision. Her heart said let the man be with his mother in her dying hours, but sanity told her the Kiowa could be using this as diversion while they organized for another attack.

“I can't choose. I'm not wise enough.”

He nodded. “Nor am I. The Comanche are tight with the Kiowa. That much I do know. There could be hundreds of them setting out there waiting for the right moment to swoop down on us.”

Suddenly the silence seemed deafening. Behind the row of trees sat a son. Perhaps a daughter. Waiting.

Or perhaps hundreds of savages with a thirst for blood.

This brave was waiting to mourn or waiting to kill. Which was it?

Behind the fort wall a woman, maybe a mother, lay near death, alone, without her people. Christianity, being Christ-like, involved more than words. She knew the Indians put their trust in many things…rocks, animals, the wind, the Great Spirit. The problem was that Josh didn't know this
particular warrior's beliefs, and one mistake could doom the whole wagon train. Did the fact that he spoke English make him more trustworthy?

Josh turned and walked away. Her eyes followed him as he went to the side of Adele's wagon and paused.
He was praying
. The realization sank in. As firm as he could be at times, he believed in a higher source. A man of his strong convictions would seem more at home in a pulpit than leading a wagon train.

The moon crept higher in the sky. Cold wind buffeted the circled wagons.

Finally, Josh returned to the fire where she stood waiting. “I'm going to let him go to her.”

Fear struggled with pride within her. She knew in her heart of hearts that this was the right decision, but she also knew the significance of this decision was weighing like an anchor in Josh's mind.

“May I come with you?”

He nodded. “I'm going to get Richardson and a few men up and armed in case this turns out to be an ambush.”

“Oh Josh…”

He shook his head. “We'll know soon enough. I may be crazy, but I see a hurting son. I may pay a price for my error.”

Or the whole train might.

With a sigh, Copper said, “Let's hope God's got his eye on you right now.”

 

Walking their horses, the three riders approached the fort. Even though the slow pace would seem to indicate nothing but a peaceful purpose, Josh called out, “Friend.”

The two guards lowered their guns. “Josh?” Doug Millet frowned. “You should be asleep this time of—” When the man spotted the Kiowa, his rifle shot to his shoulder.

“Let him pass!”

“Pass? Redlin, have you lost your mind?” Doug steadied the rifle. “He's one of them.”

The redskin spoke. “I bear you no harm.”

“Lower your gun,” Josh said, in a tone that had the authority of a rifle shot.

The guard slowly lowered the hammer on his rifle, but he kept it firmly fixed to his shoulder.

Josh led the small party through the gate. The animals paused in front of the office and the riders dismounted.

Carrying a lantern, Redlin led the party to a figure lying on a pallet near a fire. Sadie sat nearby.

Kneeling, the savage reached for the woman's hand.

The dying woman opened her eyes, and awareness filled the dark brown recesses. She spoke softly in her native tongue.

The man answered her.

Closing her eyes, she tightly gripped his hand.

Sadie eased closer to Copper. “What's going on?”

“This man is her son.”

“Her son.” Sadie closed her eyes. “Merciful God. She's been holding on for some reason. Good Lord knows how she's lasted this long.”

The Kiowa held to her hand, his eyes focused on the frail figure. He glanced up to meet Redlin's gaze. “May I have some room?”

Nodding, Josh motioned for the group to move back.

Somehow, at that moment, the man seemed more indi
vidual and less Kiowa. He lifted his face to the heavens and spoke in a strong baritone. “Great Spirit. I ask that you have patience. This woman is good. She has not harmed others. She has walked in the paths of peace. Give her life. If this cannot be, then I ask that you travel with her in her journey.”

Wind whistled through the cracks in the wall. The scene was surreal; a lone savage kneeling beside his dying mother but surrounded by men who, on the whole, were more interested in killing him than understanding his grief. What must the great Creator think of such senseless tragedy?

Moments passed. The son held his mother's hand. Finally, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

Copper turned away when she saw tears rolling from the corners of the son's lids.

Lifting one hand, the mother gently wiped away his tears, whispering softly. Somehow, Copper knew she was saying good-bye, expressing her love. A mother's love for a devoted son.

Copper glanced at Josh. She was so proud of him. The decision had not been an easy one, and when others learned of what he'd done he would be accused of reckless behavior, but she would accuse him only of fully comprehending the meaning of love. She knew he'd made the right decision. She hoped that when her Creator called her there would be a man like Josh Redlin nearby.