Woman of Courage (3 page)

Tears coursed down Amanda’s cheeks as she moved away from the grave and headed back to their camp. It hadn’t really been a proper service; at least not proper enough for a man like Papa. But under the circumstances, it was the best she could do. As difficult as it would be, Amanda knew she must keep her promise to Papa. She would go to Oregon Territory and share the Word of God with the Nez Percé Indians.

When Amanda awoke the following morning, she felt groggy and disoriented. She’d had a horrible dream and hadn’t slept well. Glancing across the lean-to, to see if her father was awake, she frowned. He wasn’t there, and neither was his sleeping mat. Maybe he’d rolled up his bedding and gone down to the stream to wash up. Yes, she was sure that must be the case.

Amanda yawned and rubbed her eyes. She needed to get up and fix breakfast so they could be on their way. After she’d stepped out from under the lean-to, she spotted Harvey, poking at the smoldering embers of the fire.

“Were ya able to get any sleep last night, missy?” he asked when she approached him a few minutes later.

“I did sleep some, but it was a restless kind of sleep. I had a horrible nightmare,” she replied, pulling her arms back to get the kinks out of her limbs.

“That’s understandable, under the circumstances and all,” he said, rubbing one finger down the side of his slightly crooked nose.

“Where is my father?” Amanda asked. “Is he down at the stream washing up?”

Harvey squinted his beady brown eyes. “What was that?”

“I said…. Oh, never mind. I need to go there myself, so I’ll talk to him then.” Amanda hurried off toward the stream. She heard Harvey call her name but kept going. She felt a desperate need to talk to Papa. Yesterday he’d looked awfully tired, and she’d been worried about him.

When Amanda arrived at the stream, Papa wasn’t there.
Where in the world could he be?

She turned and studied the surrounding area, searching desperately for any sign of her father. Then, as she moved back toward their camp, her gaze fell on a mound of dirt. Two sticks tied together to form a small cross had been stuck in the ground at the head of the mound. A cold chill swept over Amanda as reality set it. Beneath this ugly mound of dirt lay Papa’s body. It hadn’t been a dream after all. Her beloved father had died last night, and she had read scripture over his newly dug grave.

Amanda dropped to her knees and wailed, “Dear Lord, why didst Thou take my father?”

“Missy, ya ain’t doin’ no good fer yourself like this,” Harvey said, placing his hand on her trembling shoulder.

She looked up at him through a veil of tears, surprised not only by the gentleness in his tone, but also that he had followed her here to the gravesite. Harvey hadn’t been this nice or spoken so kindly to her since they’d left Fort Laramie.

“Come on over and get yourself warmed up,” Harvey said, motioning to the fire he’d started. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had some hot coffee.”

Amanda shook her head. “I do not drink coffee, sir.”

“Well, it’s all I got, and it’ll warm ya from the inside, while the fire takes the early mornin’ chill outta your bones.” Harvey extended his hand. “Come now, missy. It ain’t doin’ a thing for ya to stay here like this.”

Dazed, Amanda took his calloused hand and rose to her feet. She followed him silently back to the camp.

“Why don’t ya take a seat over there?” Harvey motioned to a log near the fire. “Once we’ve had ourselves somethin’ to eat, we’ll clear up the camp, load up Jake and Jasper, and start back for the fort.”

“You mean, Fort Laramie?” she asked, tipping her head as she looked up at him.

He gave a quick nod. “We’re only a full day out, so I can easily take ya back.”

“Oh no.” Amanda shook her head determinedly. “I have already come a long way, and my father hired thee to take us to the Spalding Mission, so that is where I plan to go.”

“Well, if ya do, you’ll be goin’ without me,” Harvey said, narrowing his gaze. “I ain’t takin’ no lady that far by myself.”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause it wouldn’t be right. Besides, I never did think it was a good idea for a sickly looking old man and a little slip of a lady, who looks like she might break, to be goin’ on no trek through the wilderness with some dumb idea about preachin’ to the red-skin people.”

Amanda squared her shoulders and stared up at Harvey with a renewed sense of determination. “For thy information, Mr. Hanson, I am not as fragile as I may appear. I’m a hard worker with a determined spirit, and I won’t go back on the promise I made to my father.”

“What promise was that?”

“Before Papa died, he asked me to continue the journey west to minister to the Nez Percé Indians.” She clasped her hands tightly, as though in prayer. “With or without thee, I intend to keep that promise.”

Harvey tipped his head back and laughed. “You’re sure a feisty one, I’ll give ya that much.”

She made no comment, feeling anything but feisty.

Harvey shook his head and muttered, “Women! They’re impossible creatures to figure out.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re either very brave or just plain dumb to all the trials that could come upon us along the way,” Harvey said sarcastically.

Amanda folded her arms in an unyielding pose. “I am neither of those, sir. I am a woman of faith who is trusting in the Lord to give her courage.”

Harvey spat on the ground. “Is that so?”

“Indeed. Now wilt thou continue to act as my guide?”

Harvey broke a branch off a nearby tree, snapped it in half, and tossed it on the fire. “I may be loco for agreein’ to this, but yeah, I’ll see that you get to where ya wanna go.”

Amanda smiled. “I thank thee for that.”

Amanda reached up a slender hand to shield her eyes against the glare of the harsh afternoon sun, while clucking to her horse. “Slow down, Betsy. Thou art going much too fast.”

“She’s jest followin’ my lead,” Harvey called over his shoulder. “Hang on tight to the saddle.”

“That is what I am trying to do,” Amanda said breathlessly. “It’s hard to stay on the horse when I’m sitting sideways like this.” She bit her lip out of frustration, while opening and closing her stiff fingers. She would never admit it to Harvey, but she really wasn’t cut out for this.
What made me believe I could make a journey of this sort when I know so little about survival in the wilderness?
Amanda wondered.

The words of Ephesians 6:10 ran through her mind:
Finally, my
brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might
. A renewed sense of purpose welled in Amanda’s chest.
I can do this. With God’s help I can do whatever He asks me to do
.

“We can remedy your situation real quick,” Harvey announced. He halted his horse, and the pack mules stopped behind him.

Amanda pulled her horse up, too. “Why are we stopping, Mr. Hanson?”

“I want ya to put on a pair of your pa’s trousers, and then you’re gonna ride that horse like a man,” he said, dismounting.

Amanda gasped. “Dost thou expect me to wear men’s clothes?”

“That’s right, and I wish you’d stop
thee
in’ and
thou
in’ all over the place. Can’t ya jest talk like a normal person?”

“I am a ‘normal’ person,” Amanda replied tersely as she slid off her horse. “And I would appreciate it if thou wouldst not speak to me in that manner.”

Harvey lifted his hand. “Hold your britches, little lady; I meant no offense. It’s just hard to understand when ya talk thataway.”

“It is how we Quakers who attend the Friends’ church speak,” she said, trying not to sound so defensive this time.

“That’s all well and good, but there ain’t no Friends’ church around here, and I’d be much obliged if you’d say
you
instead of
thee
when you’re speakin’ to me.”

Amanda wasn’t sure she could abide by that request, as it simply wouldn’t sound right to her. But rather than start a disagreement, she nodded and said, “I shall try.”

Harvey grinned; then he pointed to her father’s valise. “When ya find some trousers you can go behind one of them trees and change. In the meantime, I’ll put your pa’s saddle on your horse, and we’ll leave the sidesaddle here on the trail ’cause ya won’t be needin’ it again.”

Amanda groaned inwardly. This man surely liked to give orders. Well, as much as she hated to admit it, perhaps wearing Papa’s trousers would be a good idea. It would mean she could sit a little easier on the horse, and it might keep her legs from getting so chafed. She wouldn’t, however, remove her skirt. She would simply put Papa’s trousers on underneath.

A
s Amanda and Harvey mounted their horses the following day, the sunlight filtered through the tree branches overhead, casting rays of misty splendor. Amanda winced, despite the beautiful morning. A few more days in the saddle and she was certain she’d be permanently crippled. She thought by now that she’d be used to it, but even wearing Papa’s trousers and sitting in a regular saddle hadn’t helped that much. She was beginning to feel a sense of bitterness about this trip and the inconvenience of sleeping on the ground every night. Riding on the back of a horse that wouldn’t listen to her for hours on end didn’t help, either. There were times when Amanda wanted to throttle the mare, and more often than not, she would end up hollering, “Slow down, Betsy!” or “Get going, Betsy!” The sturdy quarter horse, with a medium brown coat and a white patch between her eyes, definitely had a mind of her own. It was enough to test Amanda’s patience.

How can I minister to the Indians if I continue to feel this way?
Amanda asked herself.
Perhaps I should have turned back when Papa died
. She clenched her teeth and squared her shoulders.
If I’d gone back, it would have been admitting defeat, and I am not a quitter
.

“You’d better stay alert, and keep that horse of yours right beside me,” Harvey warned. “We’re travelin’ through Blackfoot territory now, and I aim to be extra careful.”

“Didn’t thou sayest the Blackfeet can be quite hostile?” Amanda asked with a tremor in her voice.

“Ya got that right, missy,” Harvey replied. “Some of ’em go to the tradin’ posts and Rendezvous to barter and trade their goods, but there ain’t a one of ’em that I’d trust as far as I could throw ’em. They’re not like some of the other tribes that are a mite friendlier.”

Amanda swallowed hard and gripped Betsy’s reins. “Why are they called ‘Blackfeet’?”

“I’ve heard that it’s ’cause of the dark moccasins they wear on their feet,” he replied.

“Dost thou think we will see any Blackfeet, Mr. Hanson?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “You sure do ask a lot of questions, and I don’t rightly know if we’ll see any Injuns, but I’ll be ready for ’em if we do.”

“Ready? What dost thou mean?” she asked with a feeling of trepidation.

“Well, I ain’t gonna start shootin’, if that’s what yer thinkin’. I weren’t born yesterday, so I ain’t stupid enough to take on a whole tribe of Injuns. Some of them redskins will kill just for the sport of it.” Harvey gave his gun a tap. “Now, if it’s just two or three hostile red men, then I’ll give ’em my best shots.”

Amanda’s face warmed. “Oh dear. I hope we will not have any bloodshed on this trip.”

“There won’t be none if I can help it.” Harvey turned and looked over his shoulder at the two pack mules following, along with Papa’s horse, which was now carrying some of their supplies. “We’ve got plenty of goods and a few trinkets we can trade to the Injuns, so I’m countin’ on that to save our hides, should the situation arise.”

Amanda drew in a quick breath to help steady her nerves. She hoped the Indians she’d be ministering to at the Spalding Mission weren’t hostile.

“What dost thou know about the Nez Percé Indians?” Amanda asked, feeling the need for a change of subject.

He frowned. “I told ya before to stop usin’
thee
and
thou
. I’d rather you’d just say the word
you
when you’re speakin’ to me.”

“I can’t make that promise, but I shall try.”

“I appreciate that. Now about the Nimiipu …”