Rush

by Jayme Mansfield

  Thomas looked at me wild-eyed and pale-faced. “She’s been like this most of the morning. Couldn’t get her to sleep last night either.”

  Lucy only nodded and continued pacing the room, rocking the baby and speaking softly. It were as though a stranger held the child. Lucy’s bloodshot eyes and tousled hair made her look so different. Her face was sagging and gray, longing for sleep, or even a moment of rest. What happened to the confident, cheerful, and bubbly young woman who had become my dearest friend?

  Wesley or one of the twins had cried out in pain from a stomachache or teething, but never like this. Lila’s cry was one of pure agony, and her tiny body could only shake and heave. I prayed for God to show me how to help.

  Thomas wrapped his arms around Lucy. Tears dripped down her face—a mother’s heart breaking with the realization she was unable to comfort her baby.

  “They’ll be here any minute.” Thomas kissed his daughter’s forehead. “You just hang in there, my little darling.”

  “Who?” I glanced into the front yard.

  “Rode into town before sunrise to get Roy. Figured he might know what to do or could bring the doctor with him.”

  Sure enough, two riders galloped across the field a moment later and dismounted. One was Roy. I figured the other must be the town doctor until he walked closer. He was dark-skinned, and long braids fell at each side of his face. His trousers and shirt had been patched more times than a quilt, and the brim of his hat flopped above high cheekbones.

  “Roy.” Thomas gave his brother a quick hug and glanced at the other man. He looked back at his brother. “No luck getting Doc Wilson?”

  “This here’s Adam. Friends call him by his Indian name, Adahy. He’s come along to help the baby. That’s what took me some time. I was lucky to find him this morning.”

  An awkward silence hung above the four of us like a cloud of unwelcome gnats.

  “Pleased to—” I extended my hand just as Lila let out another cry. “Let’s hope you can help her.”

  Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but my stern look shushed him. “Quickly now …” The stranger was waved into the house, followed by Roy. Before Thomas slipped in behind them, I touched his arm and whispered, “I’ve heard about him. William—the older boy who came for schooling—his father owns the carpentry business in town.”

  Thomas nodded but looked worried.

  “William nearly cut off his fingers helping his father. This man … he saved his hand. Wrapped it with herbs and oils and completely healed him. Mr. Hill said he’s a medicine man, a healer.”

  Thomas’ face contorted as though wrestling with what to believe—the chance that an elderly Indian could heal Lila or the prejudices and hateful words that were as commonplace among most people as sipping tea on a summer’s day.

  “At least let him try. What else can we do?”

  His mouth twitched with his best attempt at a smile before he stepped inside.

  Lucy’s eyes were wide as she clutched Lila to her chest.

  “It’s all right,” Roy said to her. “Adam has a way with healing, but you have to let him see the baby.”

  Thomas went to his wife and whispered in her ear. Lucy’s teary eyes darted between the baby and the stranger, but she placed Lila in Adam’s arms.

  As Adam whispered soothing words to the baby in an unknown language for several minutes, the intense crying subsided, replaced by sporadic whimpers. Attempts to hide our slight smiles didn’t last long as the baby’s cries were replaced with tiny hiccups.

  The skin on Adam’s hands was wrinkled and wore scars of hard use. Deep creases etched the back of his neck and alongside his dark eyes. How old is he, and, more importantly, why is he alone in these parts? Most of the Creeks and Cherokees were far to the east and southeast, scattered beyond the Arkansas River and into less desirable areas. Plenty of dark-skinned people, many whose families had traveled West for a new start after slavery ended, formed smaller communities. But for the native people, they were like tumbleweeds, blown across the open plains, uprooted and tossed by unrelenting winds.

  “Boil water.” Adam motioned to Roy.

  “Here, let me help,” I said.

  Lucy and Thomas huddled next to Adam as he laid the baby in the cradle and massaged her stomach with the palm of his hand.

  “Beautiful baby … curly hair like her mother’s.” The Indian untied the strip of rawhide on his leather bag and reached inside. He pulled out several handfuls of plant stems and leaves. “Gripe water. Make her stomach better.”

  “What’s that?” Thomas inspected a purple sprig, a green stalk with feathery leaves, a variety of green leaves, violet berries, and a yellow and white flower. “Looks like a daisy.”

  “Chamomile.” Adam plucked a petal and rolled it between his fingers. “Calm her belly. Fennel, peppermint, and aloe get rid of pain.” He held a berry between his thumb and forefinger. “Tiny berry make her poop very much.”

  “I don’t understand.” Lucy teared up again. “You aren’t having my daughter eat plants, are you?”

  “Both of you. Mother and baby.” He patted his chest. “Mother’s milk, baby’s food. What you eat, baby eats.” He grinned, and the creases on his face deepened. “Hialeah will drink.”

  Lucy sniffled and swiped at her tears. “Who’s Hialeah?”

  Adam pointed to Lila. “Beautiful meadow. Her Indian name.” He stood at the table, tearing off small parts of the plants and wrapping them in a piece of thin flour sack. When the water boiled, he took the pot from the stove and submerged the cloth. “Wait. Then you and baby drink.”

  “But how will she drink? She can’t use a cup yet,” Thomas said.

  Adam pulled a small eyedropper from his bag. “Like mother bird feed babies.”

  *****

  I prepared lunch while Lucy rocked her peaceful baby. My friend was exhausted from worry and lack of sleep. When her eyes closed, the lines disappeared from her forehead.

  As I stirred the ham and bean stew and cooled the hard-boiled eggs, my mind wandered to my own children and how much I loved them. Even death couldn’t separate me from the profound feeling—so powerful that it often hurt. Strange how such a wonderful thing as love could be the root of so much pain.

  The twins and I had too short a time together, and although I believed we would someday be together in heaven, it would be a long time until I held them again. But I had Wesley, and we were a family—even without a father.

  Tuck. The once vivid memories of him faded more and more as the year passed. Like the sun-faded photograph of Mother on the ledge in the soddy, the image of my husband blurred and receded into the distant shores of my mind. Sometimes, he waded back into my thoughts in a certain way Wesley laughed. Or when I slipped on the same nightdress I wore while waiting for him too many nights. Then he floated away, back into the past.

  Thomas tucked Lila in her crib while Lucy took a much-needed nap. He joined the other men around the table where they spoke in hushed tones as they ate. Two of them I knew as fathers, brothers, and husbands—honest and hardworking men.

  I wondered if Adam had his own children and a wife. Did someone care for him as he did for us? He shared his gift of healing with white people—the race that brought destruction to his people’s traditional way of life.

  Within minutes, Adam emptied his bowl and consumed several eggs. I served him another full ladle, and he thanked me with a chip-toothed smile.

  “No beans or turnips for Mother.” He nodded towards Lucy. “Baby not like it—make her cry.”

  Thomas leaned in closer. “That’s practically all me and my wife have been eating until the garden started to sprout.” He scratched his head. “That’s what was causing all this crying?”

  Adam patted his stomach with a grunt.

  Roy wiped his mouth with a kerchief. “Mary, thank you for filling our bellies. Your buttermilk biscuits were delicious.” He pushed from the table. “It’s time for Adam and me to head back to town. The clerks are
probably wondering if I’ve abandoned them. Not complaining, but business doesn’t slow down in these parts.”

  Adam quickly downed the second bowl and joined Roy and Thomas by the horses. Thomas shook Adam’s hand before pulling money from his pocket. The Indian shook his head and turned to walk toward his horse.

  There is so much we don’t understand of each other. I scurried into the house, wrapped the remaining biscuits and eggs, and returned as the men hoisted themselves into the saddles.

  “These are for you.” I lifted my hands toward Adam.

  He reached down and took the bundle of cloth. “Thank you. Share with wife.”

  “That’s good. I’m sure she’s as wonderful as you. Thank you for helping the baby.” It was a relief to learn he had someone who loved him.

  As the men rode away, Thomas waved and then turned toward me. “I’m ashamed of myself.” He pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “Because he’s an Indian, I didn’t want him in my home or anywhere near my baby and wife. Assumed he was up to no good. Scared me a bit.”

  “Thomas, you’re a good—”

  “Not with thoughts like that.” He rubbed his face. “I got nothing up on him. Never have and never will. Darn it, Mary. It disturbs me thinking he has so little, and I’m sitting like a fat hen. For all I know, my house is sitting on what was his land in the first place.”

  “Did he talk about that?”

  “No, but Roy did. The Indians understand they’re considered nobodies. Not even official citizens of the country.” Thomas scratched his head as if trying to make sense of it all. “Not that they’d want to be. But because of it, they don’t have land to call their own anymore.”

  “Why do you think he helped us?”

  “It’s a mystery to me.” He kicked at a loose rock with the toe of his boot. “Maybe because the world still has some good people in it, and he happens to be one of them.”

  Thomas’ words left me thinking as I silently walked back into the house. When the kitchen was tidy and the laundry folded, I kissed Lila on the forehead and started for home.

  CHAPTER 38

  Mary ~ Return, June 20, 1894

  At the edge of the Andersons’ property, my foot found the closest steppingstone before crossing the stream. A small pool waited patiently aside the slow current. From it, my reflection stared up at me.

  In the gentle water was the person I had hoped to find again. For so long, she had been lost somewhere along the deep valleys and seemingly dead ends of life. As if wandering in a heavy forest, hoping to find light, she emerged from somewhere in my mind—a peaceful woman, no longer defined by the dark veil of fear and pride she’d worn for so long. She was free now, liberated by the promise that comes from trust and hope.

  One by one, I tiptoed on the other stones and made my way safely across and onto my land. Anxious to see the barn’s progress and hug Wesley, the field of knee-high grass welcomed me, and I ran into its embrace.

  At the slight rise in the field, I stopped to catch my breath. The sun tilted toward the west, casting a glare that forced me to squint and lift my hand above my eyes to dull the blinding light.

  Four silhouettes were in the distance. The small one was clearly Wesley, the others, Nate and Ben. The last figure seemed familiar. I took several more steps then stopped again.

  Daniel.

  For a minute, my feet wouldn’t move. The old part of me wanted to turn and run, back across the creek and far away from where my heart urged me to go—someplace where pain and loss couldn’t find me.

  But my reflection in the water, if only in my mind, whispered a gentle reminder. There is no place, at least on this side of heaven that promises those things. If you must run, run away from the past, and into the future. Like wild horses on the gallop, my heart thundered, and for the first time in so long, it was not from fear and doubt, but from excitement and anticipation.

  I must have looked like a schoolgirl released from the last day of school. I gathered my skirts and ran through the field. As our distance lessened, his silhouette faded, and his whole being came into focus. He wore a wide smile, and the sun danced off his hair when he lifted his hat. I slowed to a stop, unsure what to do next. Was he here for me or did he have other business to attend to? Please be here for me.

  As if in answer to my questions, he opened his arms. Without hesitating or wondering if it would be proper, I fell into his embrace.

  “Mary.” He held me tightly. “I’ve missed you.”

  “It’s you. You’re really here.” My fingers touched his cheek and then traveled alongside his eye. “Turquoise … from heaven.”

  “Pardon me?” His look was quizzical, but he spoke softly. “I do know this. You are the one from heaven.”

  “Mama!” Wesley leaped through the grass and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Daniel’s come back. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “It is wonderful, Wesley. It couldn’t be any better.” The three of us stood wrapped together—me, my son, and the man who allowed me to trust … and love again.

  *****

  When the sun set, the men laid down their tools. To raise a barn in one day was a lofty goal. Surely Stanley would understand when his sons needed to return in the morning for another day’s work. Jim had waited a long time for a barn. Another night without shelter would be fine. Besides, as much as the boys’ hard work was appreciated, my heart was filled with joy when Nate and Ben rode away. Now I could spend time with Daniel—and find out the full details of why he’d returned.

  He and I sat at the supper table while Wesley sprawled on the bed flipping through the pages of his gift from Daniel. Beautiful Joe was a new novel that was winning the hearts of young and old across the country. According to Daniel, the story about an abused dog had brought him to tears more than once as he read it on the train. At first, he had considered a different gift for Wesley, but as he followed Joe’s story, he fell in love with the dog and knew we would as well.

  More than once, we caught ourselves staring at each other. Perhaps we needed reassurance that our shared company wasn’t a dream.

  “It’s good to see Nate and Ben have come around,” Daniel said. “Not up to their usual mischief.”

  “Their father set them straight. He’s an unusual man. Intent on wanting me out of here but then deciding he needs me as his neighbor and friend. But the past troubles are settled.” The locked chest in the barn came to mind. “From what I understand, he loved his wife very much and is still heartbroken over losing her. She was an artist, like you.”

  Nearly every day of Daniel’s absence, I had studied the painting on the ledge, absorbing its composition and color, following each brushstroke as if the painting held secrets of who Daniel McKenzie really was … and why I couldn’t erase him from my mind.

  Tonight, like so many other times, my fingers moved along the vibrant orange and pink horizon. “I remembered you, just like you asked.” I felt his eyes follow me around the room. “Tell me, why did you come back?”

  He was silent for so long it seemed he wasn’t going to answer. When he spoke, his voice was full of emotion. “I couldn’t forget you, not for a moment.”

  “What’d talking about?” Wesley rolled off the bed and settled into the chair next to Daniel.

  “Young man, it’s what are you talking about.” I busied myself with clearing a few dishes. “Besides, it’s nothing of importance. Only catching up.”

  “So why else are you here?” Wesley propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. “Besides you couldn’t forget her.”

  Daniel covered his mouth with his hand, but an embarrassed grin couldn’t be hidden so easily.

  “Young man, you have the ears of an elephant.” I gently tugged his ear.

  “To be honest, Wesley, I couldn’t forget you either.” Daniel settled back in his chair and stretched his arms high above his head. “And the paper has sent me back for a follow-up story.”

  “Is Finn in town too?” I hoped th
e answer was yes. Nothing like a good laugh with the young Scot.

  “Ah, Finn. He’s madly in love and getting married this summer. Our editor assigned him work on the East Coast. Good to keep him closer to his bride-to-be. A gentleman by the name of George Hardy is paired with me on the job.”

  A sick feeling overcame me, and my head felt as light as a dandelion puff. “Then you’re leaving again … when your story is finished?”

  Daniel was quiet and smoothed the faded tablecloth with his palm. Wesley looked back and forth between the two of us.

  “So, that’s the real reason you … came back.” My voice wavered. “Things have changed plenty since you left. The town has tripled in size—hardly recognizable from the last time you saw it.” Holding tightly to the back of the chair helped conceal my shaking legs as my words came faster. “There are farms and ranches in every direction, new roads, trains coming in …” Tears filled my eyes, and I pretended to look out the window. It was dark outside now. No breathtaking sunset—only my distorted reflection cast by the kerosene light on the glass, laughing at me. “You’ll have quite a new scene to paint before you head—”

  “Mary, stop.” Daniel stood behind me, his hands on my waist.

  An unexpected shiver ran up my back. Was the woman encased in the window a cruel reminder of my foolishness? To actually believe I could trust … and fall in love again?

  His words were soft. “The truth is the Globe sent me here because everyone knew how miserable I was not being with you.”

  My breaths came in short gasps. Was he telling the truth? Or was he only wanting a woman … any woman?

  “Mary.” He took my hand and turned me toward him. “Please know this. I love you like I have loved no other. And I think you love me as well.”

  At that moment, it didn’t matter that Wesley watched with wide eyes. The two of us stood holding hands, standing on the precipice of another world, unwilling to let the other go.

  In my dreams, the words had replayed in my mind like an old, familiar song. I released them as though opening my palms and setting a captive bird free. “I do love you, Daniel McKenzie, possibly from the first moment I saw you.”