“Nobody here is going to say anything to Walt.” He flashed a grin. “He had it coming.” Pierce stuffed another piece of bread into his mouth.
“You deliberately burnt your home?” Gray Eagle’s frown deepened and he turned to Joanie. “Why haven’t you said anything to me about this?”
“I…I’ve wanted to, Gray Eagle, but…I’m so ashamed of what we did. It was a horrible thing to do.” She started crying.
Gray Eagle turned to Beth. “Why would you do that?”
Briefly Beth explained the plan. “We waited all day to leave, but Pa didn’t pass until almost the next morning. After we dug a grave and buried him, we closed the shanty door and then burned it. It was mostly pure meanness on our part, but I swear I didn’t intend to set the cotton field ablaze.”
Gray Eagle shook his head. “You really are a hazard with fire. You know that, don’t you?”
“She didn’t mean to burn the cotton field. Or the village,” Pierce said, coming to her defense.
“Go on,” Gray Eagle said, his eyes focused on Joanie.
“There seemed no other way,” Joanie said, wiping her cheeks of tears. “We had to leave, and we figured if Walt spotted the blaze it would occupy his time long enough for us to escape. He would have whipped us if he’d caught us trying to get away.”
“And the day your pa died you made your break.”
Joanie’s eyes darted to Beth. “Yes. We had to.”
Beth choked on a bite of meat. Clearing her throat, she met Joanie’s eyes. “I confess—it was my idea. Now I see that we have wasted a lot of time and energy, and we’ll still be in Walt’s hands.”
“About this deed your pa hid—” Pierce began.
A soft gasp escaped Joanie. “You told him about the deed too?”
“I did.” The fact that she’d tell a man anything didn’t make a lick of sense even to Beth, but since the fire she hadn’t been thinking straight.
“I don’t know what she’s told you, but it’s probably not true,” Joanie said.
“Joanie!”
“Well! I think we can trust him, Beth.” Her gaze swung to Gray Eagle. “And him too.”
Gray Eagle frowned. “Now I’m him?”
Color crawled up Joanie’s neck. “Sorry. You’re more than just him.” She reached out and took his hand. “Much more than that.”
Eyeing the show of affection, Beth said, “All right. The deed isn’t in the third cave. It’s in the fifth one.”
“This is your way of speaking the truth?” Gray Eagle asked.
“I’m sorry. I really can’t decide if you’re trustworthy.”
“We’ve delayed our return home. We’re rebuilding the homes you destroyed. We remain to this day to protect you. What exactly will it take to gain your trust, Beth Jornigan?”
“She trusts us. She just doesn’t want to admit it.” Pierce leaned back and ate a strawberry. “Would you tell me the truth if I asked why your pa has the deed and Walt doesn’t?”
Joanie glanced at her.
Beth sighed. “This is the truth. When our grandpa passed, Grandma knew what a wretch Walt was, so she entrusted the plantation deed to Pa until Walt could grow out of his mean streak. She knew that when she died, if Walt had the deed he’d cut Pa out of the land forever.”
“And she did die,” Joanie added. “And Walt’s still just as mean.”
“Your grandmother was a wise soul,” Gray Eagle observed.
“She was,” Beth agreed. “I don’t know how she and Grandpa could raise such an evil man. Pa was good.”
Pierce chose another strawberry and ate it slowly, giving her time to continue.
“I didn’t think setting fire to our home would bother me,” Beth said, closing her eyes, “but every time I shut my eyes I see the flames…smell the smoke.” She paused and then opened her eyes. “So, you see, you are keeping company with two criminals.”
Pierce glanced at Gray Eagle. “I don’t know about you, but these are about the two prettiest outlaws I’ve ever come across.”
Gray Eagle focused on Joanie. “Agreed.”
“I don’t see how you can make light of what we’ve done.” Beth lifted her gaze to meet Joanie’s. “I’m serious, Joanie. If I do ask forgiveness from your God—”
“He’s your God too if you so choose.” She squeezed her sister’s hand. “Ask anything you want in His name.”
“And He’ll answer me?”
“He promises to supply your needs, not your desires, Beth, but that’s still so very good of Him.”
“The point is, I do want to know how to pray properly.”
Gray Eagle spoke. “There is no proper way.”
That only frustrated Beth more. She sighed. “But everyone I see praying does it a different way. I want to know how to do it so God will hear me.”
“Well, in the Bible the Lord says to go into a closet, shut the door, and pray,” Joanie said.
“A closet?”
“Among other ways.”
Pierce rolled to his side and faced Beth. “I’ll tell you what I know about faith and obedience. God often spoke in parables—story illustrations, similar to Gray Eagle’s stories from his youth. This is a story my great-grandfather told me when I was very young and spiritual matters confused me. He said that God came to a farmer one day, and the farmer was complaining about bad crops, lack of rain, grasshoppers, and how he wasn’t sure he had enough faith to see him through the coming winter. Suddenly, a huge boulder appeared before the man, and God said. ‘Do you trust Me?’
“‘I trust You, God. It’s the weather, lack of rain, and the grasshoppers I don’t trust.’
“‘I’ll tell you what I want you to do,’ God said. ‘See this boulder?’
“The farmer couldn’t miss it. It was solid granite and towered above him. ‘I see it.’
“‘I want you to come out of your house every morning and push that boulder. Push it with all your strength.’
“Because God gave the command, the farmer did as he was told. Every morning he came out of his house and he pushed. He grunted and strained, and the rock wouldn’t move. After months of toil, his body grew lean and his muscles were like iron, but the rock refused to budge.
“Eventually the Lord returned and spoke to the man. ‘Have you faithfully pushed the rock?’
“‘I have,’ the farmer said. ‘But I can’t move it even an inch.’
“God smiled. ‘I didn’t ask you to move it. I only asked that you push.’”
Pierce smiled as he met Beth’s thoughtful gaze. “That’s all He asks us to do, Beth. Push. You’re making God too complicated.” He rolled onto his back again, sighing peacefully.
Just then gunshots shattered the silence.
Springing to their feet, Pierce and Gray Eagle ran toward camp with the women close on their heels.
Thirty-Two
What’s all the shooting about?” Pierce shouted as soon as they arrived back at the village.
An elderly warrior indicated up the road, where gunfire still sounded. A bullet zinged past Pierce’s ear. Gray Eagle raced on ahead as Pierce pushed Beth and Joanie to the ground just inside the perimeter of the camp. “Stay down!” He didn’t want to leave them unprotected, but he had to deal with whatever was going on further up the road. Nothing good, that was for sure. “Stay with your sister,” he said to Beth. “Be safe.”
Gray Eagle rode up, leading the captain’s horse by the reins. Pierce leaped into the saddle, and the two men joined a small group of warriors inside the entry gate.
“What’s going on?” Pierce called to the Indians.
“Someone is shooting into the camp.”
The riders moved out, and it only took seconds before they caught sight of the culprits, who by now had stopped shooting. Walt and Bear listed in their saddles, with the younger man drooping over the horn.
Pierce’s jaw firmed. “It figures. They’re drunk.”
“Why do they shoot into our camp and threaten our women an
d children?” a nearby Cherokee warrior asked.
Pierce turned to Gray Eagle for the proper term. “What is the Cherokee word for idiot?”
He answered in the native tongue.
The Indian’s face lit with understanding. Then he looked at the bearded stragglers with disgust before moving away.
“These two aren’t going to give up. I might as well see what I can do.” Gray Eagle nudged his horse a bit closer.
From their appearance, Walt and Bear—dirty, unshaven, and with matted hair—had continued their search for the Jornigan sisters. Pierce wrinkled his nose as an unmistakable odor wafted toward him. The nuisances were soaked in whiskey fumes.
“Greed.” Gray Eagle shook his head. “These two have no concern for anyone but themselves.”
Pierce agreed. “We can’t hand the women over to them, and we can’t move on with our lives while these two roam free.” Shifting in the saddle, he studied the distance, letting out a humorless laugh. “My land is somewhere around here. I could be free of this and drinking real coffee—not that harsh chicory stuff we’ve had over the years—but real coffee each morning. Eating peach pie swimming in heavy cream for dessert at night.”
Gray Eagle met the captain’s eyes. “They only want Beth and Joanie.”
Shrugging, Pierce said, “Well, they will meet their Maker trying to get them out of my hands.”
Gray Eagle nodded. “Or mine.”
Pierce walked his horse closer to Bear. “Drunk as skunks,” he confirmed after he had leaned over to check the now-unconscious man’s pulse.
“Don’ touch my boy!” Walt slurred.
“This one too.” Gray Eagle straightened in the saddle and studied the nearly senseless lout. “How long do you suppose they’ve known where we are?”
Shaking his head, the captain said, “Hard to say.” His features darkened. “You don’t think they’ve been to the abbey?”
Gray Eagle turned his horse. “I’ll check on the sisters.” He rode off in a cloud of dust.
Pierce stared at the miscreants. It took a lot to rile him, but these two were pushing his limits. Glancing at his sidearm, he realized he could put a stop to their chase right here and now. Shifting in the saddle, he debated with himself and then shook his head. He’d had enough killing. He didn’t need two more deaths on his conscience.
Bear and now Walt snored, mouths agape.
Sighing, Pierce caught the bridles of their horses and led them down the road for a while. Far enough away that the drunks wouldn’t immediately know where they were when they awoke. Then one by one he hoisted Walt’s and Bear’s dead weight out of the saddle and dragged them to a thicket, wading through a patch of poison ivy.
He hated the plant as badly as cold winters without a coat, but there was a certain irony that he didn’t miss. A smirk tilted the corners of his mouth.
Stepping carefully, he dumped Walt in the itchy weed, and then moved to haul Bear to an even larger bed.
Twenty minutes later, he stood back and surveyed his work. Both men were now in fetal positions, hands and feet secured, in a sizable patch of poison ivy.
The second part had been tricky but worth the effort. He’d located a large beehive, and then with determined finesse, he’d taken out his pocket knife and made a long pole from a hickory stick. He managed to work enough honey from the hive to make a face cream for Beth’s uncle and cousin. He’d heard honey was good for the skin. No, wait a minute. Maybe that was milk.
Straightening, he searched the fields. Speaking of milk, too bad a cow wasn’t nearby…
So what else could he do to strongly hint that they ought to give up and go home?
He worked another ten minutes, smearing thick honey on the snoring men’s faces—he even dropped a taste or two on their slack tongues. They twitched and tried to swat his stick away but never woke up.
After wiping his hands on the grass, he picked up the men’s firearms, careful to check their clothing for any additional ammunition or weapons.
Overhead, bees buzzed.
Walking back to the road, he stored the guns in his saddlebags. Then he grabbed the reins of the two horses and his mare and turned back to admire his work. If this didn’t quench a man’s doggedness, he didn’t know what would.
His gaze focused on the sleeping men. They were clever enough to shed the ropes once they sobered up, but they would be mighty uncomfortable for a few days. And they’d better have their running boots on. They were going to need them.
Shaking his head, he mounted. Pity some folk had to be so worrisome.
Gray Eagle was back at the camp when Pierce returned. He nodded to the captain. “The nuns are fine. They said they haven’t seen Walt and Bear around.”
“That’s good to know.” After seeing to the horses, the men fell into step.
“What did you do with them?” Gray Eagle asked.
“Not much. Walt and Bear were sleeping it off when I left.”
“You didn’t end the matter?”
“Wasn’t in the mood.”
Gray Eagle sent Pierce a questioning look.
“Short of killing them,” Pierce said, “I don’t know what to do. So I tried a little friendly persuasion.”
“We can’t let them shoot into camp.”
“No, we can’t. But unless it’s self-defense, what can we do?”
The men met questioning gazes as they walked. Beth ran to greet them. “What did you do with them?”
“Gave them a little comeuppance,” Pierce said. “Don’t worry about them.”
Was that appreciation he saw? Affection? Careful, Montgomery. Those big eyes are getting to you.
Gray Eagle smiled at Beth. “Where is Joanie?”
“She’s on her pallet. The excitement aggravated her cough.”
Grim-faced, Gray Eagle excused himself and walked away.
Beth walked along beside Pierce. “What did they do? Walt and Bear?”
Pausing, he turned to face her. “They didn’t do anything. I believe our lunch was interrupted. I’m starved. Is there anything to eat?”
“Um…sure. I’ll fix you something.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back shortly. I want to clean honey off my hands.”
“Honey?”
“I’ll be back shortly,” he said again with a wink. He watched her walk off and wondered if he should have done more to keep Walt and Bear from her and Joanie. He could have ended the matter there and then, but that would mean leaving, and he was getting sort of comfortable in his misery. If the pests rode into camp and demanded Joanie in exchange for Beth’s knowledge of where the deed was hidden, he and Gray Eagle would do what needed to be done.
He’d had his fill of the game.
Thirty-Three
Joanie opened her eyes and met Gray Eagle’s affectionate gaze.
“You are a beautiful woman, Joanie Jornigan.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.” She sat upright on her pallet, fussing with her hair “When you didn’t come back right away, I started to worry.”
The scout sat cross-legged near her bedroll. “I have been chasing—what is the white-man’s term? Fools?”
Grinning, Joanie reached for his hand. He had strong, long fingers hardened by the elements. She drew his right hand to her nose and breathed deeply of his scent. “Fool is an unflattering term.”
“I can think of nothing pleasing to say about your uncle and cousin.”
She started to reply when she was seized by a wracking cough.
His face darkened. “The cough has returned?”
With a sigh she held tightly to his hand and summoned a sense of humor. “Gunshots tend to make it worse.” She smiled. “I’m okay. Really I am.”
“It is time for our walk.”
Joanie laughed when he stood and scooped her up into his powerful arms.
Her eyes scanned the camp, looking to see if anyone noticed his action. “You’re making a scene.” His strength easily held her slight weight.
&
nbsp; “So I am.” Carrying her straight through the camp, he acknowledged curious eyes with an English greeting. “Good afternoon. Lovely weather.”
Mouths dropped open. Women smiled shyly behind their hands. Gray Eagle didn’t seem to care one bit. He walked proudly, as if proclaiming his love in the action. Joanie gazed at his face adoringly. Do I love you too? The answer came before she had a chance to finish the thought.
Joanie’s breath caught when Gray Eagle waded into the pools of bubbling water and gently lowered her into heavenly relief. Closing her eyes, she lay quietly and allowed the heat to ease her aches. The vapors opened her head and lungs, and the cough and wheezing gradually subsided.
“Better?” he asked after a good half hour. Concern filled his voice. His compassion made her light-headed with emotion. She had fallen in love with this quiet man—this man who was far kinder and more handsome than any man she had ever read or dreamed about. His touch brought goose bumps. The intensity of his dark eyes was as sweet and rich as thick molasses. Beth. She couldn’t allow Beth to know the depths of her feelings for him. She would never approve the relationship. If eyes could speak, his would whisper that he also felt the growing bond.
Slipping away from her, he floated on his back in the water, smiling. “I know now why these springs are so revered.”
“Heaven must be a little like this,” she mused.
He smiled. “Yes. I believe it must be.”
“Gray Eagle.”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me a story.” The children’s eyes had lit with excitement when Gray Eagle had spoken to them the other night. His deep voice had carried through the camp, sweeping the listeners away as he told the owl legend.
“Wouldn’t you rather relax?” His drowsy tone indicated his preference—to simply enjoy the water.
“I understand if you’re too tired, but I love to hear your stories. You had everyone enthralled with your tale of the owl and rabbit.”
Paddling back to her, he settled on the shallow pool’s bottom. “They are not my stories. They are the stories of my ancestors.”
“But you chose the white way.”
“I chose both ways,” he confessed. “The legends and stories are part of my heritage, as well as the Bible.”
The One Who Waits for Me Page 18