Providence (5 page)

“Please, will you help?”

Without stopping to think, Kate
opened the door wide and beckoned them into the warm kitchen. “Put him on the
bench there.” She commanded briskly, though quaking inside. “What happened?”

The two men laid their companion
where she indicated, looking at one another warily. They glanced around as
though searching for something. Finally, the older one spoke, “We are hunting.
Our ponies were stolen or run off. You’ve seen them?”

“No, I haven’t seen any stray
horses near here,” replied Kate. “Your friend, he needs help?” Though she was
fearful, something told her that these men meant no harm, her tension eased
slightly as she spoke.

“Yes. Gunshot. Can you help?”

 “I don’t know. I can try.”
She knelt beside the bench and for the first time realized that this was a mere
boy, perhaps ten or twelve at the most. Her heart went out to the injured lad.
Dried blood stained the woolen coat a deep crimson and brown. “I’ll need help
getting his jacket off and the wound cleaned.” She glanced around making a
mental inventory of what she would need, thanking God that her mother had
taught her basic medical skills. Though she had never treated a gunshot, surely
she could cleanse the wound to help stop any infection. “Can one of you build a
fire in the fireplace? He’ll need to be kept warm. I want to make a pallet for
him on the floor; he’ll be more comfortable there. I have some blankets in the
trunk by the wall, and I’ll need some towels from the cupboard next to it.”

Neither of them moved. They
regarded her silently, as though determining whether she was to be obeyed or
not.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”
She demanded angrily. “Do you want me to help him or not? I can’t do it all by
myself!”

The diminutive woman stood before
them with her hands on hips. After a moment, the one acting as spokesman said
something in a guttural language to his companion, and they each set about the
tasks she had outlined. Sighing with relief, Kate started a pot of water
heating on the stove, and found the leather bag that contained their meager
store of healing herbs and medical supplies.

 The boy was laid on a
pallet of blankets before a crackling fire glowing warmly in the hearth. His
jacket had been removed and placed on the back porch to be cleaned later. Kate
rolled up her sleeves and heard a muffled gasp from behind her. Feeling the
heat suffuse her face, she glanced briefly at her bare arms. Shaking her head
to clear her thoughts, she dipped a towel in the warmed water and began
gingerly to clean the area around the gaping hole in his arm. The wound was not
fresh, perhaps a day or more old, but the bullet had thankfully gone clean
through. As best she could tell, no bones had been broken, and for that she
said another small prayer of thanks. He had lost far too much blood, that was
obvious, but the flow had diminished to a small trickle, and was now easy to
staunch. She dressed the cleansed wound with an herbal poultice of goldenseal
and echinacea, bandaging it with strips of clean cotton rags.

***

Tochoway watched as the woman
worked on Nocona. How could this small white woman heal an Indian boy? A white
man had fired the gun; perhaps the Father wanted a white healer to mend him.
When the woman had begun to give orders, the men had been confused. Women were
meant to serve, not command.

The firelight flickered across
the pallid face of the young boy, danced over the rich brown hair of the woman
as she knelt before him. Why did she pause? Was she praying to her God for
guidance?

Mahseet sucked in his breath as
the woman rolled up her sleeves. “Puha.” He whispered under his breath.

 Tochoway followed Mahseet’s
gaze and nodded his agreement. This woman was marked with a sign of puha, great
power, enabling her to perform supernatural healing. So the Great Father had
led them here. Nocona would surely recover with her spirit guiding him.

***

If she could get some nourishment
into him, let his young body begin the healing process, he might recover in
time. So many things could go wrong, though. If he had lost too much blood, if
infection set in despite her best efforts, if the bone had been chipped, he
might lose the use of that arm, so many possibilities. What would the men
think, what would they do if he didn’t recover? The thought made Kate weak and
sent chills up her spine. Still kneeling before the injured boy, she bent her
head in earnest prayer for his life to be spared and his body to be made whole
again. Taking her strength from faith, she rose to face the waiting men.

***

Jake Insley woke with the dawn as
he did every morning. Nana was already awake, busy putting coffee and bread,
butter and jam on the small table in the corner. Jon was still asleep, Smokey
curled up at his feet.

“Still don’t cotton to dogs in
the house.” Nana Insley said firmly.

 “Nana, we’ve had the same
conversation
‘
most ever’ day for the last two
years.” Jake replied grinning, his eyes twinkling at his stern wife. In the
thirty years they had been married, he had grown to love the gruff nature that
covered her large and loving heart. “You know how he feels ‘bout that pup.
‘Sides, I seen you sneak ole Smoke a treat now and again, haven’t I?”

“Humph!” Nana turned back to her
tasks, smiling secretly to herself.

The small soddy that the Insleys
occupied was set back against the side of the knoll west of the Shaughnessey
home, close but not visible to the main ranch. When the Shaughnesseys and the
Insleys had left Missouri for good and made the land run back in ‘89, they had
agreed to find two quarter sections right together, and combine their efforts
to really make a go of it in their strange new home.

Jake Insley had been a freighter,
carting goods between the forts and the stage stations in the Indian Territory.
He knew the land well, had seen the rich fertile ground and knew that this was
truly a land of opportunity. As Jake brought these stories home, his friend,
Will Shaughnessey and his pretty new wife, Kate were excited about the prospect
of a new life. Convincing Nana of that had proved to be the challenge. She was
set on staying put in Missouri till the end of her days. “I’ll not be moved to
a land of savages, Jake Insley. My girl is buried here, and this is where I’ll
be buried as well,” had been her final word on the subject.

 Their only daughter Hannah
had died giving birth to Jonathan. Her husband had disappeared the next day,
filled with grief and unable to care for a small son. Jake and Nana grieved the
passing of their daughter, but her place in Nana’s heart had been stolen by the
helpless creature that lay in the old wooden cradle that had once held Hannah herself.
In the sixteen years that ensued, Jon became their son and their joy.

“Wake up you sleepy head!” Roared
Jake good naturedly.

Jonathan rolled over sleepily,
then stretching, rose from his warm nest of covers. “What’s to eat, Nana?”

“All you ever think about these
days is that stomach of your’n! Here.” Said Nana thrusting a bundle into his
hands. “Bread, ham and the last of the dried apples. You be sure to get
yourself down to the big house for breakfast proper after you milk them cows!”

“Yes’m.”

“We’ll be plowing the wheat field
today. I’m headed to the barn now to hitch up the girls and make sure the
plow’s ready,” added Jake.

“Aw, papa, Miz Kate said she was
goin’ to ride the fence lines this mornin’, don’t you think she’ll be needin’
my help?” Jon implored.

Jake looked at the boy’s earnest
face. “We’ll ask Kate does she think she’ll need you. But I’ll be depending on
you for plantin’ tomorrow.”

 “Yes, sir, papa.” Jon’s
face beamed at the prospect of mending fences and tending the herd. Jake watched
him leave, Smokey bounding after. He shook his head, knowing that the boy’s
heart lay with ranching, not farming. Sighing, he took his own snack from Nana,
kissed the top of her head, and turned to make his way to the barn.

***

The sun was just rising above the
hills in the east, bathing the land in reds and pinks, lighting the few wispy
clouds with a golden glow as Nana approached the kitchen porch. Something
caught her eye. A jacket, not one she recognized, lay draped over the outer
rail. On closer inspection, she could clearly make out blood stains. Clutching
her heart, she froze. Fearing to go any further, she stared intently at the
windows, as though they would give up the secrets hidden within the house, but
they remained mute, giving no testimony to what might lie within.

After what seemed an eternity,
she found the strength to move. Turning she ran to the barn where Jake was busy
with the horses. Gasping and nearly fainting from fear and exertion, she
collapsed inside the large front door.

“What in God’s name....”

“Kate
-
the house
-
a jacket....”

Not able to make any sense of her
tangled words, fearing for her health, Jake knelt down trying to comfort the
old woman he loved so deeply. “Nana, please, stop, take a deep breath.”

“No! Go - Kate - in trouble,”
gasped the frightened woman.

 ***

“Oh, dear Lord.” Jake ran from
the barn. As he approached the house, caution over took him. He stopped, trying
desperately to assess the situation. The kitchen door opened and Kate appeared,
safe. Her face ashen, she motioned him to be silent, then beckoned to him. He
walked slowly up the stairs, questioning her with his eyes.

Looking back over her shoulder,
she spoke quietly. “There are three Comanche in the kitchen.”

“But they’re supposed to be down
to Fort Sill. How...”

“I don’t know. They said they
lost some ponies, they’re tracking them. One is hurt, shot in the arm. He’s
just a boy. I’ve fixed him up as best I know how, fed the others, and now we
wait.” Her eyes were weary, frightened. “I’ve told them you’d be coming. I
think it’s best if we go on with our normal routine, don’t let them think we’re
scared; though God knows I am.”

Jake nodded soberly.

“Perhaps you best send Mrs.
Insley home?” Kate suggested.

“I believe that might be best.”

***

As Kate watched Jake head to the
barn to care for Nana, a choked scream and a series of semi-ferocious puppy
growls and yips erupted from the house behind her.
Jo! Oh, Lord, protect
her,
she thought briefly, turning and running to the kitchen. The scene
that met her eyes gave her pause. Jo was standing in the doorway, wide eyed,
mouth gaping. The pup was before her barking and growling in her best imitation
of a watch dog. The two men still sat at the breakfast table, now just as
wide-eyed and startled as Jo. Kate calmly strode across the room, heart still
pounding, scooped up the pup in one arm and Jo in the other.

“Jo, we have guests this morning.
I’d like you to meet Tochoway and Mahseet. Their friend, Nocona was hurt, and
needed our help.” Turning to the men at the table, Kate continued, “This is my
daughter, Jolene.” She said setting Jo down. “And this is Candy,” indicating
the small brown bundle that she quickly placed outside.

Jo looked at her mother, then
back to the table, and finally to the young boy on the pallet. “But, momma,
they’re....”

“How about some breakfast, Jo.
The men will be in from morning chores soon, and there’s a lot to do today.”
Kate said brightly, as though nothing out of the ordinary were taking place.

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl replied,
shyly taking her place on the far side of the table.

Tochoway who spoke English, and
was the natural leader of the group, eyed the little girl with mirth. “Pretty
girl. You not know Indians?”

Jo shook her head slowly, staring
at the large man.

 “Well, Jo, I believe this
is the first time I have ever seen you at a loss for words,” Kate smiled as she
placed a bowl of steaming oatmeal and a pitcher of milk on the table for her
daughter.

The men had eaten, and Kate had
gotten to know a little about them during their breakfast. She had learned
enough to know that they were away from the reservation without permission.
They were indeed trying to find three lost ponies belonging to the boy, Nocona.
They had given her accurate descriptions of the missing beasts, and she knew of
the Comanche reputation with horses. They were highly skilled horsemen; their
horses were far more than mere possessions to them. The loss of these ponies
was enough to cause these men to risk severe punishment in the quest for their
return.

Pouring milk over her cereal, Jo
began, “What happened to No.. Noc...”

“Nocona,” her mother supplied.

“Nocona. What happened to him?
Was he shot? Did a panther get him? How long have you been traveling? Where are
you going? Do you live in a teepee?”

“Jo!”

Tochoway laughed, and Mahseet
looked perplexed at the small girl, so full of questions. “We are searching for
ponies, which were taken away. Nocona got shot, the man who shoot, too far to
see.” Tochoway replied. “I lived in teepee as a boy, but I have a cabin now,
like yours some.”