Woman of Courage (9 page)

When Jim had brought his Indian bride home, he’d given her the name Mary and taught her to speak English. She’d caught on fairly fast, although her sentences were broken, but at least they could communicate. Even though Jim didn’t love Mary, he enjoyed her womanly company.

Jim’s horse whinnied and nuzzled his arm, bringing his thoughts back to the present. “I know ol’ boy. I wish we could hightail it outta here again, but we just got home.” As much as he didn’t want to admit it, a white woman was lying on his bed, and he needed to go back inside and find out who she was.

“You want more coffee?” Mary asked, holding the coffeepot out to Buck.

He shook his head. “Thanks anyway, but I’ve had enough.” He glanced toward the cabin door. “I wonder what’s takin’ Jim so long. He’s been out there a long time, feedin’ his horse.”

“He upset.” Mary set the pot back on the stove. “He be back when he ready.”

Buck gave a nod. If there was one thing he’d learned about Jim Breck, it was that whenever he got mad, it was best not to bother him until he’d cooled off.

“Any idea why Jim’s upset about the white woman being here?” Buck asked when Mary took a seat at the table.

She lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug. “He not like intruders. He very private man.”

“Yeah, I know what ya mean.” Buck raked his fingers through the ends of his hair. “He wasn’t too keen about me hangin’ around when we first met, neither.”

Mary leaned back in her chair and stroked the yellow feather tied to the end of one of her long dark braids. Buck had never seen Mary without that feather, and he knew the reason she wore it was because many moons ago, when she was a young girl, she’d gone into the hills to pray and fast until she found
Weyekin
, her guardian spirit, just as all young Nez Percé children were expected to do. Mary had shared with him once that a yellow bird had come to her one morning during her time alone, and it had sung her a special song. Mary had been sure that
Hanyawat
, the Great Spirit and creator of all things, had sent her guardian spirit in the form of a bird. This Weyekin would be with her to offer assistance throughout her life. From that moment on, Mary wore a yellow feather, and had taken on the name of “Yellow Bird.” Of course, Jim never called her by that Indian name. Said she was Mary, and that was all there was to it.

Buck was about to ask Mary if she thought they should check on the woman in the next room, when the cabin door opened, and Jim stepped in. He lumbered across the room, grabbed a tin cup and the pot of coffee, and poured himself some of the muddy-looking brew. Then he pulled out the chair next to Buck and sat down with a grunt. “So, who is this woman?” he asked, motioning to the bedroom, “and why’d ya bring her here?”

“He not know. He find her along trail,” Mary spoke up before Buck could respond.

Jim slammed his hand on the table, jostling his cup of coffee and spilling most of it out. “I asked Buck, not you!” he hollered, squinting his eyes at Mary.

Mary winced as though she’d been slapped; then she leaped out of her chair and began wiping up the mess with a rag.

Buck felt sorry for her. He didn’t understand why Jim spoke to his wife in that tone of voice. She’d done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to be talked to that way. Jim had been good to him and taught him life skills, but it took all of Buck’s willpower to keep his mouth shut when he heard Mary spoken to like that. She had been taken from her people, just like his own mother, and it wasn’t her fault she was here. Having no choice in the matter, she’d stoically taken on the life that was dealt her. Yet Buck had noticed that there were other times when Jim silently looked at his Indian wife with respect and admiration. Maybe he talked to Mary that way only when Buck was around, trying to prove something. What, he didn’t know. Maybe he should ask, but knowing Jim, he’d probably get mad, and it could ruin their friendship. No, he figured this was one of those things that was better left unsaid.

Jim turned to Buck and leveled him with a look that could have stopped a pack of wild horses dead in their tracks. “Well? Why’s there a white woman lyin’ on my bed?”

Buck quickly explained how he’d found her and said he’d seen no sign of anyone else.

“Humph!” Jim grunted, folding his muscular arms across his chest. “She had to be with someone. No white woman in her right mind would be up here in the mountains all by herself.”

“I’m sure she was with someone, at some time,” Buck countered. “But there was no sign of anyone else, and since she was hurt and needed help right away, I wasn’t gonna stick around to see if somebody showed up. The way she was bleedin’, I couldn’t take the chance. So I gathered up her livestock and things and brought her and everything else over here.”

Mary filled Jim’s cup again, and after blowing on it, he took a drink. “Couldn’t ya have taken the woman back to your place?” he complained. “Did ya have to bring her here?”

Buck lifted his hands. “Didn’t think it’d be right to take her to my dinky cabin. Besides, Mary knows about healin’ herbs and such. The woman probably woulda died in my care,” he added. “What would you have done? Left her there to die?”

Jim stood and began pacing. “Well, she can stay till she wakes up and is feelin’ better, but then she’ll have to go!”

“Go where?” Buck questioned. “I just told ya, I ain’t takin’ her to my place; it wouldn’t be right.”

Jim stopped pacing and tapped his foot, while raking his long fingers through the ends of his full beard. “Guess we’ll take one day at a time for now. When she’s well enough to travel, one of us will have to take her to the nearest fort, and they can decide what to do with her.” Jim lumbered across the room and got the big iron tub. “Mary, would ya heat up some water for me? I need to wash up.”

Mary nodded and went to the stove.

Buck, grinning inside, was glad that Jim had relented and would let the woman stay so Mary could nurse her back to health. He had an inkling, though, that it would be him taking the woman to the fort, not Jim. Since Mary was with child, Jim would no doubt use that as his excuse to stay put, but Buck couldn’t blame him for that.

“Well, I have one more trap line to check before I head back to my cabin,” Buck said, rising from his seat at the table. “Thanks for the coffee, Mary.”

It was the first time today that a hint of a smile passed across Mary’s lips, yet she said nothing.

Buck gave Jim’s back a quick thump. “I’ll be back in a few days to check on the white woman.”

Walking toward his horse, while whistling for his winged brother, Buck wondered if Jim was softening a bit because he was on the verge of becoming a father.

A
s Mary opened the cabin door to breathe in the cool mountain air, she placed her hand gently against her stomach and smiled. The babe had been active today, kicking in her womb almost every time she moved. Jim was outside chopping wood, and she’d been busy cooking and cleaning, so some time outdoors felt good.

After several minutes, Mary meandered back inside and headed into the small room, partitioned off from the kitchen by several deer hides that had been sewn together and draped over a thick rope. Noting that the cabin had grown chilly, she headed for the lofty stone fireplace at one end of the room. Nearby sat two split-log chairs, and a black bearskin rug covered a good portion of the floor. The rug gave the room a feeling of warmth, even when it was cold outside.

Mary stoked the embers in the fireplace, then went to check on the woman fitfully sleeping in the next room. Sometimes, when the fever spiked, the woman would moan or cry out for someone or something she called
Pa-pa
. Mary wasn’t sure what that word meant.

Thinking about her husband, Mary wondered once again why Jim had reacted so strangely when he’d first seen the white woman. She had asked him about it, but he’d pushed her aside and said, “It’s nothin’ for you to worry about. Just do your doctoring and stop askin’ questions.”

It had been seven days since Buck brought the woman to Jim’s cabin, and she’d been running a fever most of that time. She had opened her eyes a couple of times, but not long enough to ask who she was. On more than one occasion, Mary had thought the woman might die, but she seemed to have a fighting spirit and had hung on. That was good. It took a fighting spirit to survive in this wilderness. Courage, too. Mary knew that better than anyone. Still, seven days with a fever was not something to be taken lightly. The blond-haired woman looked so small and frail lying in that big bed.

Mary thought about the day Jim had brought her to his cabin. Mary could hardly take it all in, for she’d never been inside a white man’s home before.

Although larger than what she had been used to, the cabin felt confining. She remembered hearing for the first time the door shut behind her. She had to take in deep breaths, almost suffocating without fresh, outside air. As each day passed, Mary had gotten used to her new routine and became more accustomed to her surroundings.

At first, Mary had been puzzled about many of the things she’d seen in the cabin—especially the big fire-box in the kitchen. She had watched curiously as Jim opened the fire-box door, piled kindling inside, and set it on fire. Mary’s people’s source of heat, and for cooking, was an open fire, and Mary didn’t have the vaguest notion what to do with such a strange-looking thing. As Jim had continued to feed the fire, Mary wandered through the cabin, clutching her parfletch to her chest. When she’d peered into Jim’s bedroom, her eyes had become pools of confusion, seeing the huge bed. She’d never seen anything like it, and had no idea what its purpose could be.

Jim had stepped into the room then, and shouted something at Mary, wagging one finger in front of her face. Then he’d pointed to the ladder leading up to the loft and nudged her in that direction. It didn’t take Mary long to realize that was where he expected her to sleep. Fortunately, sleeping in the loft was easy to adapt to. Like a bird high in the trees, finding shelter in a nest, Mary felt comfortable there. Even now, while heavy with child, she was content to sleep on the floor of the loft, although it was getting harder to climb the ladder.

The other thing that had surprised Mary was the big gray-and-white dog sleeping near the fire. The camp dogs among the Blackfeet, where she’d been living since being taken from her own home, had been downright vicious, often snarling and snapping at anything that moved. Mary wasn’t sure if she could trust having the animal in the cabin. It hadn’t taken her long, however, to realize that the dog Jim called “Thunder” and who was part wolf wasn’t vicious at all. He’d quickly become her constant companion. She felt safe with him around, especially whenever Jim left for several days to check on his traps. Many times while Mary sat by the fire, the dog would come over and lay his head in her lap, looking up at her with his big brown eyes. Thunder and Mary seemed to bond with each other in a silent understanding.

In all the moons she had lived here, there were many things Mary had adapted to. But always in her heart was the life she’d been ripped away from so long ago.

Mary had just bent down to put another log on the fire, when she heard the white woman holler, “Pa-pa! Pa-pa!”

Unsure of what to do, Mary waited and listened. Sometimes, as in the past, the woman would mumble for a while, then fall back into a fitful sleep. Other times, she would continue to holler until Mary came and soothed her feverish brow with a wet cloth. Today seemed to be one of those times, for the woman continued to shout, “Pa-pa! Pa-pa!”

Mary set the wood aside, rose to her feet, and hurried into the other room.

Amanda opened her eyes and blinked several times. Where was she, and why did her head feel so fuzzy? She was in a bed; she knew that much, but where? This wasn’t her bed. Or was it?

She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt too weak. When a small, dark-skinned woman, who was obviously with child, approached Amanda’s bed, a ripple of fear shot through her veins. Had she become the captive of an Indian? But if that was the case, she wouldn’t be in a bed, would she?

“It good that you awake,” the Indian woman said with kindness. “You been sick long time.”