Beyond the Heart

by Jeanie P Johnson

  Callie continued on into her bedroom. The moment she walked through the open door, all the memories of that day flooded back to her, with mixed emotions of the fear, she felt at the time and the way Chayton had gently attended to her. It was bittersweet, bringing her child into the world; a child she hadn’t even wanted to be saddled with along with Rolletta’s children. How differently she felt now.

  Callie gazed down at her infant in her arms. She had to put all that behind her now. Chayton’s son would become her son, and her little daughter, would become his sister. Perhaps it would be better if she put the memory of those mystic people out of her mind altogether. She decided to call Tsahle-ee Jogul simply Joey, and P’ee-shan, Shanny, so their names would sound more American. It was going to be hard enough on Joey to be raised around people who shunned the Indians. Once he grew up, he may resent being taken from his people.

  She placed both the babies in Rolletta’s old crib, after she had fed them, and then went outside to see what the children were doing. Connor ran up to her, the moment she came to the door, holding a shovel in his hand.

  “Come with me,” he demanded, and she, along with his sisters, followed him out behind the house.

  “Papa showed me where he put his money, in case anything happened to him,” Connor told Callie. “So I know right where to dig.”

  Callie watched Connor roll aside a rather large rock, and then begin to dig where the rock once rested. A few moments later, he was pulling a wooden box from the ground. When he opened the box, there was a coffee can inside. Connor removed the lid to the can. Inside was a roll of greenbacks, and a large collection of silver and gold coins. Callie took in her breath. Connor was right. Now all she had to do was discover how much money had been stashed in that can.

  Connor handed the can to Callie.

  “I told you it was here,” Connor smiled.

  “Yes,” Callie breathed. “Now we have to count it all. Do you know your numbers?”

  “Yes. Papa made me keep track of how many heads of cattle we had,” he said proudly.

  “Then let’s get to it,” Callie smiled, and the troop followed her into the house, where they sat down at the table, and Callie emptied the can, then began counting the bills, while she told Connor to count the coins. When they were finished, Callie sat stunned. There was enough money in the tin to build three houses, she thought, so why hadn’t Chet built that house for Rolletta?

  “How many heads of cattle have we sent to market?” Callie asked Connor.

  “Around a hundred, but they always lose some on the way for one reason or another,” he told her.

  “At 34 dollars a head, even if we lost half the cattle, it would bring us around 1700 dollars. After paying the drovers a hundred dollars each, that would still leave us 1200. I know there are other expenses to run the ranch, but after nine years of selling cattle, Chet could have built your mother a house ten times over.”

  Connor shrugged. His eyes looked worriedly up at Callie

  “During the war, Mama said we hadn’t done so well, but afterwards, we did much better. Only Papa was angry at her for not giving him more sons,” Connor mumbled. When Ina was born, I was too little to know anything about it, but by the time Tommy was born, papa was expecting another boy. I saw him slap mama, and tell her the next one better be a boy. He told her until she gave him more boys, he wasn’t going to build that house for her… like it was her fault she only had girls, except for me. Mama tried again, but Beth was born, and then papa was really mad. He was throwing things around, and he yanked mama out of bed and started slapping her. I was afraid he wasn’t going to quit, but then the baby started crying, so he did quit. It wasn’t having a baby that made my mama die. It was not having a son that caused it.”

  Callie’s eyes widened, as she saw a tear escape Connor’s eye, and other things started to fall into place, in her mind.

  “When Rolletta was born,” Connor continued in a shaking voice, “Papa kept beating on Mama, to punish her. I should have stopped him. It was my fault she ended up dying. After that, she refused to eat. She told Papa she hated him and hoped he rotted in hell. He made us swear never to tell a soul why Mama died, and he told everyone she died in childbirth. Since he’s not here now, I can tell you.”

  Callie just stared at Connor, wondering what Chet would have done to her when he discovered her first child was also a girl? Now she did not feel guilty for wishing Chet was dead. He deserved to be dead since he had killed her sister.

  Callie put her arms around Connor and gave him a long hug. Now it all made sense to her what Connor had said when he told her he wouldn’t let her die if she didn’t have a boy.

  “It was not your fault, Connor,” she whispered. “If you had tried to stop him, he probably would have hurt you too.”

  She gave all the children a reassuring smile.

  “We’re going to build that house the way your mother wanted if it is the last thing we do,” Callie promised them all. You are never going to have to worry about me dying, or anything happening to you again.”

  Connor came around the table and put his arms around Callie’s neck. Then his sisters all came, hugging Callie as well.

  “Promise you will never leave us,” Connor begged. “Like Papa said, you are our mother now, and we need you.”

  “Of course, I will never leave you. We are not only going to build that house, but we are going to turn this ranch into the best cattle ranch around these parts. Cooper is going to come back and help us with the ranch, and by the time you grow up, you’ll have something to be proud of.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Callie shot bolt upright in bed. She thought she had heard a noise in the other room. She had been dreaming that the Indians were ransacking the house again, but then she realized someone actually was in the house, making noise in the next room. Perhaps one of the children was up and wandering around, for some reason, she tried to reason. She lit the oil lamp on the bedside table and picked it up with shaking hands. Only she couldn’t imagine who would come into her house at night, so it must be one of the children.

  Callie cautiously opened her bedroom door and held the lamp above her head, so it wouldn’t blind her. The room seemed still now, so it all must have been part of a dream, which she believed was real. She lowered the lamp and started to breathe easier, but when her eyes fell to the floor, she gasped.

  “Chayton!” she cried when she saw him sprawled on the floor, blood dripping from his clothes.

  Callie placed the lamp on the table and fell to the floor, putting Chayton’s head on her lap, in spite of the blood she was getting all over her nightgown.

  “Chayton, you are alive!”

  Only she could tell he was narrowly holding onto life. His eyes could barely focus, but when he saw her face, he managed a weak smile. He reached his hand up, and touched her cheek, smearing more blood on her.

  “Where are you shot?” she asked, because she was certain, he had been shot when the drovers had gone after his band since Buster had claimed they had ‘plugged all the Injuns’.

  She started unfastening the silver buttons of his shirt and pulling it free of his body. It was saturated with blood, and she tossed it in the sink. She wondered that he was still alive, after losing so much blood.

  Once the shirt was removed, she grabbed a towel and started wiping away the blood on his skin, so she could find the wound. Clay was mixed with the blood, and she could see where Chayton had packed the clay against the wound in his side. Blood was still seeping out of a hole, and she knew if she left the ball inside of him, he could possibly die.

  It appeared that Chayton had passed out, but he was still breathing, so it gave Callie hope. She built up the fire which was starting to die in the cook stove after she had fixed the evening meal. She then placed a knife on the burner lid. While Callie waited, she made some makeshift bandages with one of the dishtowels. She lit more lamps, to give her better light.

  “What is happening?”

&nb
sp; It was Connor, standing inside the doorway of his room.

  “Close the door so your sisters do not wake up, Connor, and come over and help me. Chayton has been shot!”

  “What are you going to do?” Connor asked in a shaking voice, but he still obeyed her.

  “I need to remove the rifle ball from his wound before he wakes up. “Go outside to the barn, and find that bottle of whiskey, your father kept there. I am sure you know where it is.”

  Connor nodded and took one of the lamps with him to light his way. While he was gone, Callie wet the towel and wiped all the clay free from the wound. When Connor returned, Callie put a small amount of whiskey in a bowl, and then immersed the hot knife in it, causing it to sizzle, when it hit the liquid. She poured some of the whiskey into the wound, as well.

  “Hold his arms, just in case he wakes up,” she told Connor, and he did as she asked.

  Callie took a deep breath, and willing her hands to stop shaking, she pushed the knife into the hole in Chayton’s side. She wasn’t even sure what she was doing and hoped she did not cause any complications, but she knew she needed to expel the ball. After a moment, she had managed to find the ball. Slowly, she was able to fish it out and place it in the bowl, tossing the knife beside it.

  The wound was bleeding more now, and she covered the hole with a pad, while she had Connor put the knife back on the burner. Callie poured some whiskey on the wound again, and once the knife was heated, she cauterized the wound, with the hot tip of the knife.

  The smell of burning flesh met her nostrils, and when she did that, Chayton groaned, and his eyes opened, almost glaring at her.

  “Don’t die,” she whispered. “Your son needs you!”

  She paused, looking into Chayton’s pain filled eyes.

  “I need you, too,” she added.

  Chayton slowly closed his eyes, but she could see a slight smile resting on his lips.

  Callie finished cleaning him up and wiped the blood off of the floor. She had Connor hold him in a sitting position, while she wrapped the bandages around his waist.

  “Help me take the rest of his clothes off,” Callie instructed Connor.

  Connor began removing Chayton’s moccasins, and then they both pulled away his leggings, leaving his breech-cloth at his waist. Between the two of them, they managed to lift him enough so they could slowly drag him into the bedroom, and place him on the bed.

  “Is he going to live?” Connor asked in a hushed voice.

  “I hope so. It isn’t fair that they shot all those Indians. I know they killed your father, but in a way, they did us a favor!”

  Connor turned from her room and went back to his own room, and Callie closed the door. She turned, looking down at Chayton. He no longer appeared like a wild Indian to her. She thought of him as a friend, and she didn’t want him to die because he needed to live so he could raise his son, the way he was meant to do. At least, that was what she told herself.

  Callie sat down on the bed and continued to look upon the mysterious man, now lying in her bed, thinking of the nights she had slept beside him, and how he had caressed her shoulder, in a strange, caring way. She relived the night in the river with him, and the gentle way he had kissed her when she apologized for the misunderstanding between them. She recalled that heart-stopping kiss, just before he sprinted away, and she thought she was never going to see him again. Her hand went out and gently pushed a strand of his long, black hair out of his eyes. Chayton’s arm shot up, and his hand grasped her wrist in a vice grip, his eyes flashing open, and the look in his eyes frightened her. When he saw it was her, his grip loosened, as his eyes captured hers.

  “You have to get better,” Callie whispered. “Once you recover, you can take your son back to your village, and raise him as an Indian brave, the same as you.”

  “You are his Khaw Khaw, now. He needs you since there is no one else to care for him,” he whispered.

  “He needs you too,” she insisted.

  “Then you must care for me also,” he said, as he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Lie beside me. I need your warmth. I feel so cold.”

  “You lost a lot of blood. Since you are awake, you need to drink some water.”

  Callie left the room, and returned with a cup of water, holding him in a sitting position, so he could drink, and then placing the cup on her bedside table.

  “Don’t stop holding me,” Chayton begged, as she helped him to lie back down.

  “My nightgown is covered in blood,” she whispered, pulling away.

  “Then take it off,” he whispered back. “I need you to warm me.”

  Callie boldly pulled her nightgown over her head, and blew out the candles, crawling into the bed beside Chayton.

  “I need your arms around me,” Chayton murmured. “Don’t let go of me.”

  “I won’t,” Callie whispered, placing her arms around him, and holding him to her.

  Callie rested her head against Chayton’s shoulder, as unexpected emotions seemed to surge through her, while his skin began to warm, at her touch. She too felt warm and contented. What was she going to do, she wondered? When Cooper came back, he may try to kill Chayton, if he found him there. She hoped Cooper would stay gone long enough for Chayton to recover. Only she knew that once he recovered, he would have to leave. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

  Callie lay beside Chayton, listening to his shallow breathing. She was afraid to fall asleep, in case he needed her, and worse yet, for fear of him dying. Her thoughts went back to when she had seen his face in the gas light on the street, outside her parent’s house, and how his face continued to haunt her. It frightened her, at the time. Now she wondered what it meant since she was no longer frightened of Chayton. Had it been some omen? Had this been her destiny?

  Callie thought of the last year and a half she had been with Chet. He had scowled at her when it seemed to take so long for her to conceive, which made him want to constantly use her until she proved fertile. She thought of the letter her sister had written about how unhappy Chet had been when she hadn’t conceived right away. She thought about how Connor told her the way Chet had treated his mother when she only produced girls. She was happy Chet was dead, and could not plague her any longer. Only she didn’t know what she was going to do about Chayton.

  It felt right, having him lying beside her, having the warmth of his bare skin, against her own, and breathing in the familiar smell of him. Her thoughts lingered on how he had helped deliver little Shanny. She thought of all the nights she had lain beside Chet, and resented it, looking forward to when he would leave on his cattle drive.

  How could she feel so close to this wild Indian, she barely knew, while hating Chet the moment she met him, back when her sister married him? She must have instinctively known the kind of person Chet actually was. So did this mean that Chayton was someone she could trust? She did not have any of those misgivings about him, she realized; except when she saw the vision of his face in the lamp-light. Only back then, she had not known what part he would end up playing in her life. She still did not know.

  She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She didn’t even realize she was dreaming. In her dream, Chayton was holding her, telling her of his love for her, and she was expressing her love for him, also. She jerked awake, fearing that Chayton had died during the night, but instead, she discovered that his arms were around her, clinging to her, as he pressed her to him.

  Callie started to stir, but Chayton’s grasp tightened.

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “I need your warmth.”

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “I have felt worse. A bear once mauled me.”

  He placed her hand on his shoulder, bringing it down over the scars on his chest. She had wondered about those scars when she had first seen him bathing.

  “Your touch is tender and kind, On-thoe-gyah. The name I gave you, suits you.”

  “You need to rest,” Callie said, feeling self-conscious, abo
ut the way he was holding her so close to him, and now his hand was pushing back her hair, as he gazed into her eyes.

  “Rest beside me, until the babies need feeding,” he insisted.

  Callie started to relax against Chayton’s shoulder again. The feel of his hands on her back, lightly caressing her, consumed her. She never wanted this moment to end, she thought. It was the kind of tender moment she had longed for since she arrived at Chet’s ranch.

  “Cooper has taken the cattle to market,” Callie whispered. “When he returns, he has agreed to remain here to help me run the ranch. I don’t know how long he will be gone, but once he returns….”

  “Hush,” Chayton said softly. “He is not here now. You are here. You have saved me. I now owe you my life. You saved my son. I owe you more than my life.”

  Callie could feel his lips against her forehead. They felt soft and tender, as he kissed her skin.

  “I will heal quickly. We are a strong people. Once I am healed, my life will be dedicated to keeping you safe from harm.”

  “How can you do that, if you return to your people?” Callie asked. “I cannot go with you to your village, Chayton. I have responsibilities here. I am going to build a house for my sister’s children, and myself. This ranch belongs to me now, and I intend to build it up, so Connor will have his inheritance, the way he deserves. If you have any feeling for me, you will not insist I leave with you again.”