The One Who Waits for Me

by Lori Copeland

  He rubbed his head, wincing. “Gray Eagle and I were on the way to cut wood when my horse threw a shoe. I told him to ride on. Then I spotted the deer and thought the sisters would enjoy some fresh meat.” He turned to her and said, “Seriously, Beth. What are you doing here, alone and outside the camp?”

  She cleared her throat and glanced away before meeting his eyes. “I took a walk and ran into Sister Mary Margaret. She takes care of the abbey’s bean and turnip garden.” She pointed to the patch up the hill. “I told her I’d come back tomorrow to help.” She was chattering now. Definitely chattering.

  He slowly rose to his feet, still rubbing the injury. For the moment he appeared to have forgotten to ask how the blow had occurred.

  She said, “Do you have an extra knife?”

  He glanced at her. “Why?”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “You can dress a deer?”

  The question was almost comical. Pa had had a weak stomach, so she, Ma, and Joanie had dressed all the fresh kills. “I can,” she said. “As well as any man.”

  “I’d appreciate the help. I’ll get you a knife.” He walked toward his horse on unsteady feet. Beth waited beside the deer as a sense of regret moved through her. Regret that Bear hadn’t gotten what was coming to him. Regret the captain had taken Bear’s punishment.

  The feeling fled as dread crowded her throat. She would have to tell the captain she had struck him. How would he react?

  Pierce returned carrying a second skinning knife. Together they set to work cutting away the hide. Beth’s feelings confused her. On the one hand, she was relieved it was Pierce and not Bear she’d encountered. On the other, she didn’t especially like the emotions the captain caused in her. Squishy, girlie feelings. And always the sense that she was safe in his presence. She’d never been around a man like that before. He was kind and generous. Never mean to her. How could that be?

  Stripping the hide from the carcass, she set it aside, knowing the Indians would value the gift.

  “Pierce?”

  He glanced over. “Yes?”

  “I…” She drew in a deep breath and then winced as she finished. “I hit you from behind.”

  He cut a large steak from the hind quarters. “I figured as much,” he said, with no trace of malice in his voice. “Care to tell me why?”

  “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “So you go around knocking strangers out cold with rocks? I know you have a thing about men, but I didn’t know you carried it this far.”

  “No…it wasn’t…I thought you were Bear.”

  His knife instantly paused. “Has he been around this morning?”

  “Not that I know of, but you warned me to be cautious. So I had it in my head that he might be…and I was being cautious.”

  “You darn near killed me!”

  “I wasn’t going to kill you—or Bear, even. I just wanted to teach him a lesson. Give him a knot he wouldn’t forget.”

  Pierce touched the back of his head again with his probing hand. “Job accomplished.”

  “I’m truly sorry.” She met his eyes. “But was it hard enough? I mean, if it had been Bear instead of you? Because he has been a thorn in my side since the day I was born.”

  “Oh, indeed. You taught him a lesson he won’t soon forget.”

  She flashed a grin. “Thanks.”

  “Glad to be of service.”

  They worked in comfortable silence for a while before Beth picked up the conversation again. “If you’re from around here, why did you fight for the North?”

  “I believed every man had a right to freedom. I still do, but I’m starting to see my father’s wisdom…” His voice trailed away as if he were in another time, another conversation. Then he looked back at her and continued his work. “A man is only free if he can afford to feed his family and keep a roof over his head. The plantation owners fed, clothed, and housed many people. Some slave owners were tyrants, but others were like my father. Honest. Good to their help.” He paused again, the blade of his knife glinting in the sun. “I’m not sure I did the blacks any favors, and I know I hurt my father deeply. I regret that so much.”

  Beth’s family had never spoken about the war. She imagined they didn’t know much about it. Uncle Walt employed hundreds of slaves. Beth’s entire childhood consisted of working acres of cotton—known in these parts as white gold—right alongside them.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Life seems to have been pretty hard on you so far.”

  She’d spent her whole life just trying to survive. How could she have feelings about it one way or the other when so much of it was outside her control? She regretted Joanie’s struggle; she regretted Ma’s death and that the two of them hadn’t been better friends. Ma was closer to Joanie than her. She supposed it was natural. A mother always took to her wounded sheep.

  Beth wasn’t wounded. She sometimes thought she was the strongest person in her family—at least in will. She worked the fields, ate her meals, did her chores, and wasn’t afraid to fight Uncle Walt and Bear. She’d accepted her fair share of lashings for her independent streak.

  Come dark she’d drag herself up the ladder to the loft she shared with Joanie, and she would fall asleep almost instantly listening to her sister softly read from the Bible by the moonlight filltering through the small window. She’d never had time to think about war and death. Images of the fire danced before her eyes and she sighed. “I suppose I’ve had a few regrets as well.”

  “What are your regrets, Beth Jornigan?”

  Beth shifted to the back of the animal, cutting at the meat that remained there. “I regret that my ma married my pa.”

  “Oh?” His blade paused again.

  Nodding, Beth kept working.

  “Okay. There’s still more to your story than what you’ve told me. Do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

  She refused to meet his eyes. “We’re field dressing a deer.”

  “Come on. I’m not a fool.”

  “It’s none of your business.” Because he treated her as an equal didn’t mean she should lower her guard. He’d been thinking of riding off and leaving her here, with strangers, while he went home to his nice quiet land where he planned to build a house, sit on the porch, and drink sweet tea. She had her land too, and she was going to taste sweet tea someday. She glanced at the still swelling knot on the back of his head.

  Actually, he was fortunate to be alive. She’d struck him hard.

  Shame washed over her, but she almost didn’t recognize the emotion. She’d experienced it so few times in her life. Then, for the life of her, she didn’t know why the words popped out of her mouth, “Ma would have been far better off if she hadn’t married Pa and brought me and Joanie into the world.”

  His features remained calm. “You love your sister. Think of what life would be without her.”

  “I wouldn’t be here either.”

  He paused to face her. “And that would be one fine shame.”

  Color crept up her neck and she lowered her head and concentrated on her work.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Please…don’t tell anyone I said such a thing…” She lifted her head and pleaded with him with her eyes.

  “I won’t tell anyone, but I would like to hear why you feel you’d be better off having never been born.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. How many times had she heard her mother repeat the old adage? Now that the worst was out, she might as well complete the thought. “Pa was good and honest, but he was a weak man. He couldn’t stand up to his brother—or anyone else, for that matter. He just buried his head in work and didn’t think about tomorrow.”

  “In a sense, that’s what the Good Book teaches.”

  She paused, meeting his blue eyes. “Do you pray, Pierce?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Don’t you?”

  “Not really. Though I tried it this morning and…it wasn’t so bad.”

  “Go on.”


  She lifted a shoulder. “There’s not much to tell. Pa and Uncle Walt never saw eye to eye, but Walt wouldn’t let up on Pa. He constantly threatened him and us with all sorts of harm if he didn’t tell where the deed was hidden. Pa knew that Walt knew men—men of importance who were even meaner than him—and if Walt ever got his hand on that deed, he’d see that Pa was cut clean out. Pa couldn’t fight him, but he could sure be mule stubborn.”

  “Sounds like a case of like father, like daughter.”

  She stiffened and concentrated on her work. “I’m nothing like Pa.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve seen a hint or two of uncertainty in you, but you do take good care of your sister.”

  She felt him move to her side.

  “Look. I’m not making light of you, but for the life of me I don’t know why your pa would stand by and let your uncle run roughshod over him or your family.”

  “Pa had his flaws.” She glanced over. “I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about that. You’re strong. Independent.”

  “I thank you, ma’am, but I’m as faulted as the next man.” He winked at her, and her stomach jumped. “When you and Joanie reach your piece of land, how do you plan to build lodging?”

  “Can’t say for sure. I’m pretty good with a hammer and nail. Actually, we haven’t talked much about it. Everything happened so fast. Ma, then Pa dying, the fire.”

  “How did Trella get mixed up in this?”

  “Well, right after Ma died the three of us worked together in the fields that afternoon. Trella overheard me and Joanie talking about running away if Pa went too, and she begged us to take her along. She was close to having her child, and Uncle Walt—well, you’ve heard enough about Uncle Walt. We both knew he would work her till she dropped, and when the baby was born he’d likely take it away from her.” Her tone dropped. “Trella isn’t married.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “She feared Uncle Walt so badly that she said she would do anything to escape him. It was a risk we were willing to take. We all knew if he caught us he’d…” She shuddered at the lengths he would go to punish them.

  Pierce reached over to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Your uncle needs a horsewhip taken to his back.”

  Biting back tears, she let the soothing words wash over her. No one had ever listened to her fears, much less offered such words of kindness. The hand resting on her shoulder was like the touch of…of an angel. “Neither Joanie nor I was afraid to strike out on our own because we both knew it was Joanie’s best hope.”

  “You pa wouldn’t even fight for his ailing daughter?”

  Shaking her head, Beth said, “I never understood why he wouldn’t, or why Ma kept quiet too. I guess they were afraid of Walt. Afraid that he’d set us out in the cold. As long as Pa knew where the deed was hidden, Walt wouldn’t throw him off the plantation.”

  Pierce reached for his knife and went back to work. “He could have retrieved the deed and taken your uncle to court if he tried anything funny.”

  “Walt had a lot of crooked friends in this area, a judge, even, and Pa didn’t have the money to defend his rights. And though Pa was given the deed, he was still the second son.”

  “Beth—”

  “Please. Can we…can we not talk about this anymore? It does no good. What’s done is done, and Joanie and I just have to make the best of things now.”

  He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but then he apparently decided to honor her request and went back to work beside her in silence.

  As they continued to tend to the deer meat, she watched him from the corner of her eye, berating herself for her impulsive tongue. Why had she told him so much about her life? She felt exposed. Now he probably wouldn’t be so quick to keep his promise to see them to safety. Or risk a second kiss. The thought of that brought heat to her cheeks.

  Now for sure she and Joanie would have to leave. The moment she got back to camp, she’d get Joanie and they would say they were taking a walk. Nobody had bothered her this morning. Most likely no one would bother her tonight. Once they were near the fields, they could hide in the long corn rows. Nobody would find them. Eventually they would find the main road.

  The image of Uncle Walt filled her mind. He was likely still out there. Her teeth worried her lower lip while she worked. She had looked forward to working with Sister Mary Margaret in the turnip patch. And Joanie was so well tended by the Indian women…

  Oh, why had she opened her big mouth? Because of her, she and Joanie would have to be on the run again. Her heart ached.

  She knew better than to trust a man.

  The afternoon light was waning by the time Beth and Pierce delivered the fresh kill to the nuns. Reverend Mother was delighted with the gift. She unlatched the door to the smokehouse and helped store the bounty as the captain built a fire to preserve it.

  The sunset was a sight to behold as Beth and Pierce returned to camp. His horse’s saddlebags contained the deer hide.

  Nestling close to the captain’s back, Beth drank in the last of the perfect day. Golds, pinks, and oranges painted the sky. The hot sun cooled to a warm breeze. Joanie ran to meet them, her eyes filled with concern. “Where have you been?”

  Pierce helped Beth down from the horse, and she embraced her sister. “I’m sorry to cause you alarm.” She told Joanie about the events of the strange day. Then, easing her aside, Beth examined her sister’s pale features. “What about you?”

  Joanie bent and rested her head on her sister’s shoulder, her words disheartening. “The cough has worsened.”

  Gray Eagle stood to the side, his dark eyes focused on Joanie. Beth met his gaze for a moment, not sure what to make of the man’s attention.

  Surely the Indian didn’t have designs on her ill sister. But if Joanie was interested…and he was interested…she shook the image of the unlikely pairing aside.

  Joanie couldn’t be that fanciful.

  Twenty-Five

  Pierce looked up as he loosened the saddle strap and watched Gray Eagle approach.

  “I was concerned,” the Indian said.

  Flashing a grin, Pierce put his worry to rest. “After I stopped to take care of Sue’s shoe, I spotted a deer. Beth had been taking a walk in the woods, and so she helped me field dress it for the nuns. I thought they might enjoy a fresh venison roast.” He hefted the leather off the animal. “Sorry about not helping you cut wood.”

  Gray Eagle stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Joanie is very sick.”

  “Has the lobelia tea run out?”

  “The herb is not enough.”

  Pierce shook his head. “Do you know of an alternative? We’re not even sure there’ll be a doctor in the next community.” Doctors were scarce in these parts. He hadn’t wanted to dash Beth’s hopes, but he knew the war had depleted the supply. Even if they got the women to the next town, there wasn’t any assurance there would be anyone there who practiced medicine.

  “This is my fear as well. I’m going to speak to the chief.”

  “And ask what?”

  Gray Eagle didn’t answer. Pierce studied him for a long moment. The man was clearly torn about something. He had seen the same emotion cross the scout’s features more than once this week.

  “There is one course of treatment I would like to try, but I would need his permission.”

  With a short nod, Pierce said, “It goes without saying that whatever you can do to help her, you should do it.”

  The village had settled down for the night. Smoke curled lazily from the low-burning cooking fires. Overhead, a summer storm drew close. Lightning illuminated the building thunderheads. Pausing before the chief’s dwelling, Gray Eagle gathered his thoughts. A woman standing by the entrance turned to greet him. Gray Eagle asked to speak to the chief.

  Moments later the old man appeared. When Gray Eagle spoke in his native language, the chief stepped out of the house and the two men walked to the river.

  “The coming rain will
be good for the corn,” the chief said.

  “Yes. It has been dry this year.”

  “You speak your mother’s tongue.” The chief’s observation was not a question. Gray Eagle had visited the village many times in his youth. His great-grandmother had lived among this tribe.

  Smiling, the younger Indian said, “I am the son of Walks-with-Sun.”

  “Yes, I remember your mother. She was good woman.”

  “I have come to make a request of you.”

  “Speak.”

  “The young woman, Joanie?”

  “The Coughing One.” Already the women of the tribe had given Joanie a name.

  “She is very ill. May I take her to the river?”

  The chief’s faded eyes focused on the stream next to them.

  “Not this river,” Gray Eagle said when he saw the direction the chief’s eyes had taken. “The Healing River.”

  The chief remained fixed on the path. “You ask a great favor.”

  “I would be deeply grateful if you would consider my request.”

  The men walked in companionable silence. Overhead, night birds called to one another as the storm moved closer. “It is peaceful here,” the chief observed.

  “I find great harmony in this place,” Gray Eagle admitted.

  “You have fought in the war?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have won?”

  “No. The North won.”

  The older man glanced over and a smile surfaced. “But you gave them a good fight.”

  “The best I had.”

  “Perhaps you knew my good friend, Stand Watie? His Indian name is Takertawker. Do you know the meaning?”

  “Stand!” Gray Eagle broke into a grin. “We fought together at Bird Creek. I believe the name means to stand firm, immovable.” Stand was immovable all right, and more. He had been ready to support his convictions at any cost.

  “My good friend is a most honorable man,” the chief said. “We met as young men. He came with family to the new territory many years ago.”

  “Some say he was the only Indian to garner the rank of brigadier general,” Gray Eagle said. “Others say Ely Parker, a Seneca, also shared that great accomplishment.”