The Preacher's Bride (Brides of Simpson Creek)

by Laurie Kingery

  * * *

  He hated to quench the flicker of hope he saw in her eyes.

  He looked away. “When I was here before, Makes Healing told me if I ever returned he wouldn’t be able to save me.”

  Her eyes widened. “He...he’d let them kill you?”

  He was done with lies and half-truths. “He said if I ever returned I would die.”

  Tears trickled down her pale cheeks once again.

  “It’s all right, Faith, if that’s what must happen. But I’m hopeful I can persuade him, somehow, to let you go.” He had to find a way to do that, he thought, desperation squeezing his heart. He’d seen the way that brave with the red war paint had been threatening Faith. Gil would let them kill him a thousand times if it meant removing Faith from that monster’s clutches.

  “We must pray that both of us are released,” she said then.

  Something about the way her eyes shone with an extra brightness alerted him then.

  “‘We’?” he repeated, his eyes searching hers.

  “When I went out to Milly’s I asked her things about faith and—” She shut her mouth then, for someone was entering the tepee again.

  What had she been about to say? Had she regained her belief in God?

  It was Makes Healing, Gil saw as the older Comanche straightened.

  “Gil Chadwick,” the man said. He assisted Gil to sit up, then lowered himself to his haunches next to Gil. His eyes gave nothing away.

  “Hello, Makes Healing,” Gil responded.

  “He speaks English!” Faith murmured in surprise.

  “You should not have come,” the medicine man said, allowing Gil to see the sadness in his black eyes. “Did I not warn you?”

  “Yes, but I had to try to rescue the woman I love,” Gil said. He nodded toward Faith, lying on the other side of him. “Makes Healing, this is Miss Faith Bennett, the lady I want to marry.” How surreal it seemed to be making an introduction as if they were sitting in a parlor, instead of in a Comanche tepee.

  The Comanche nodded solemnly at her, and she at him.

  “My son rode through the night to find the place where I sought a vision,” Makes Healing said. “He told me that she is your woman, but Black Coyote Heart took her for his slave.”

  “What a fitting name,” Faith said tartly. Then she focused on what else the medicine man had said. “Then they weren’t going to kill me? But I’d rather die than be a slave!” she declared.

  Gil saw Makes Healing transfer his gaze to Faith. “If a slave does not obey, she will die,” he told her. “A slave who obeys is given more trust and kindness, and in time may join the tribe. A woman slave can become the wife of her captor, or if another man gives horses for her, the wife of that man.”

  “Never,” she said.

  “Makes Healing, please, can’t you make them let her go as you did with me?” Gil asked. “I’m willing to pay the price for returning here, but she’s done nothing wrong. I kept faith with you—I told no one this camp is here.”

  Makes Healing looked down at his hands for a long time. “You are a brave man, Gil Chadwick, for coming here to rescue her when you knew it meant death. Black Coyote Heart considers your woman his property, and the other young braves lust for blood. Panther Claw Scars, our chief, does not wish to always refuse them. I do not know if I can change their minds.”

  “Please,” Faith said. “I’ll stay here, if you can get them to release Gil.”

  “Faith, no!” Gil exclaimed. “You must not make such an offer!”

  Makes Healing gave Faith an approving look. “Your woman loves you and is a woman of spirit. But it would never work. Your people would do anything to save a captive white woman. We would be hunted.”

  “That’s true,” Gil said. “So it would be best for the tribe if she was released. The cavalry would ride in and rain destruction down upon your people. Perhaps they would kill Runs Like a Deer,” he added, hoping he was not going too far.

  Makes Healing’s eyes narrowed dangerously. But Gil knew he was bargaining for Faith’s life, and he was willing to risk it. After all, he was going to die anyway.

  The medicine man rose to his feet. “I will speak to the chief. He will decide what is to be done. I will not return tonight. You will be told at sunrise of the chief’s decision. He must seek the will of the Great Spirit.”

  “The Great Spirit is your name for the Lord,” Gil said boldly. “His Son, Jesus, wrote in the Good Book which our people read, ‘Blessed are the merciful.’”

  Makes Healing looked at him for a long minute. “Do not try to escape,” he said. “There are braves outside the tepee standing guard. If you try, they will not be merciful or wait for the chief to decide what to do with you.” He left the tepee.

  “As if we could,” Faith said, jerking her head to indicate the leather thongs that bound both of them hand and foot, and the squaw who now watched their every move with beady black eyes that missed nothing.

  Gil nodded ruefully, although he couldn’t help but remember how both Peter and Paul had been loosed from jails in the book of Acts.

  He wanted to distract Faith from her worry, so he asked her what she had been about to say when the medicine man came to the tent.

  Her eyes brightened again in the fading light. “It was all so clear after I spoke to Milly. She said I only had to have faith the size of a mustard seed, and it would be enough. I still have questions of course, but I am a believer once again, Gil!”

  “Thank God,” he breathed. “I’m so glad, Faith.” At least if he wasn’t able to buy her freedom with his blood, Faith was a child of God.

  “Your coming here to save me, offering your life for mine, is like Jesus coming to the world to save us,” she said solemnly.

  “No sacrifice I could make could equal what Jesus did for all of mankind,” he said. “But yes, he died to ransom us.”

  “But we’re going to pray for a miracle,” she told him. “God is a God of miracles, isn’t he? If He wills it, He can save both of us.”

  Gil nodded. If God only chose to save Faith, that would be miracle enough for him.

  They prayed for their miracle then, first Faith and then Gil, both of them ignoring the suspicious eyes of the Comanche woman across from them. Faith also prayed for her parents and for Gil’s father.

  Lord, wouldn’t she make a wonderful preacher’s wife now? Gil thought. Maybe You could find some other young preacher for her to marry if I don’t make it through this.

  Faith fell asleep after that, but Gil lay awake for a long time, listening to the crackling of the campfire and the occasional murmur of the braves outside the tepee.

  Simpson Creek Church would go on without him, as it should. He prayed that Faith and his father also would be able to. Gil hoped she would be able to report he died bravely, and prayed God would give him the courage he would need so that it would be the truth.

  Thy will be done, Lord.

  * * *

  At dawn the squaw left the tent, returning minutes later with food. One of the braves—not Black Coyote Heart, she was relieved to see—removed their wrist bindings so they could eat.

  Faith was given only water and more pemmican, but Gil was given a hunk of roast venison and a bowl of boiled mashed corn with his water. He tried to share with Faith, but that seemed to upset the Comanche woman, so Faith insisted that he eat all he’d been given. Her stomach felt as if it was too full of grasshoppers for her to be hungry anyway.

  Makes Healing returned to the tepee in the morning shortly after they finished their breakfast.

  “You have eaten well, Gil Chadwick, and that is good, for you will need every bit of strength you have.”

  Gil raised an inquiring eyebrow, but waited in silence for the medicine man’s explanation.

  “I have persuad
ed Panther Claw Scars to give you a chance to win your freedom and that of your woman, Faith. It is not much of a chance, for you are a holy man, not a warrior as Black Coyote Heart is. But being a holy man gives you strong medicine, Gil Chadwick. You are to fight Black Coyote Heart to the death.”

  Gil was pale, but Faith saw him nod resolutely. “If I win, Faith goes free and we leave here together,” he said.

  “It is so,” Makes Healing said. “But if you do not win, your woman will die. It is clear to the people that she would never be content to live among us. If you die, she will die, too, to honor your death.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gil swallowed hard. He had known he would be fighting for Faith’s freedom—now he was fighting for her very life.

  He shifted his gaze from Makes Healing to Faith, and saw that even though she was very pale, her eyes met his steadily. “It’s all right, Gil. If the worst happens and you die, I wouldn’t want to live anyhow.”

  He winced. Lord, I’m a preacher, not a fighter. Couldn’t the odds be more in our favor?

  Gil turned back to Makes Healing. “When?”

  “The fight is to take place when the sun is at its highest point,” Makes Healing said.

  “Will we be using weapons or is this a bare-knuckle fight?” Gil asked, then wondered why he bothered. It wasn’t as if he was good with any weapon.

  Makes Healing pulled a long-bladed knife from the sheath at his waist and proffered it. “I would be honored if you would use mine. I have said a blessing over it, for I hope for your victory. Black Coyote Heart does not follow the way of peace that the chief and I would prefer. His spirit is evil and full of hate.”

  “The honor is mine, Makes Healing,” Gil said. “Thank you.” If only he’d done more with a knife than just some whittling as a boy. He’d known men in the army, during the war, who could throw a knife with deadly accuracy and were lethal in a hand-to-hand knife fight, but he hadn’t been one of them.

  “You will have until the sun is high to prepare your spirit,” Makes Healing said. “But you must not leave the tepee.”

  It would have to be a time to pray and say all the things to Faith he’d been holding back for so long, all the endearments he could think of until they met again in Heaven.

  The moment the medicine man left the tepee, Faith flew to his arms. He’d never dreamed their first kiss would take place inside a tepee, with red men eager to kill them surrounding it. But the moment Faith’s lips touched his he forgot all that and concentrated on the sweetness of them, on the warmth of her, the steadfast beat of her heart.

  “I love you, Gil,” she said, when they finally drew apart. “I always have, even when I thought I had no right to. When this is over, I want to be your wife just as soon as we can possibly get married.”

  He could see her faith in him shining from her eyes and wished he deserved such faith and trust in his ability.

  “I love you, too, Faith,’ he said. “With all my heart. And if God gives us the victory, that’s a request I’ll gladly fulfill.”

  They spent the rest of the time on their knees, holding hands and praying for that victory.

  * * *

  At noon, they were led out to the middle of the camp. The entire tribe lined the open space, whooping and catcalling at them. From somewhere near the chief’s tent, a drummer kept a steady beat on a tom-tom. Everyone seemed to be wearing their best, Faith observed as they tied her to the post once again—beaded buckskins and moccasins, their hair black and flowing, feathers in the scalp locks of the young men. The young braves who had ridden with Black Coyote Heart jeered as Gil took his place in the center of the open space. The women, especially the younger ones, looked at Faith with implacable hard eyes.

  She spotted Runs Like a Deer standing at his father’s side next to the chief. He looked worried, but when he noticed her looking at him, he gave her a hopeful smile.

  Her heart was touched despite the danger she and Gil faced. No wonder the man she loved had wanted to protect this boy.

  Gil waited in the open space, his face resolute. He had told her he would not look at her once the fight began, and asked her to do her best not to cry out. He would need every bit of concentration he possessed.

  Black Coyote Heart came out of a nearby tepee and strode toward the circle then. The young braves cheered and lifted tomahawks and lances into the air.

  He had painted his face with a combination of red, black and white paint so he looked even more hideous than he had the day she had been seized on the road from Milly’s ranch. He darted a scornful glance at Gil, then sidled up to the pole Faith was bound to and favored her with a leer that turned her blood instantly to ice. He leaned closer, so close she could smell his sweat, mixed with the pungent tang of the buffalo grease in his hair. With a fiendish laugh, he drew his knife with painstaking slowness from its sheath and slid it along her throat from one ear to the other, not so hard that it would draw blood, but leaving her with no doubt as to how eager he was to actually cut her throat.

  He turned and pointed at Gil, then took his knife and rolled the flat of the blade along his own scalp. The message was clear.

  She tried her best to suppress a shudder. Ignore him, Gil. He’s trying to rattle you. The Indian’s gesture had tightened Gil’s jaw, she noted, but he merely shifted his gaze to the chief, who stood and appeared to be giving instructions to the combatants. The medicine man translated for Gil, but Faith couldn’t hear what he said.

  Black Coyote Heart made a ceremony of removing his buckskin shirt, tossing it to one of his warrior friends among the onlookers. Gil merely rolled up the sleeves of what remained of his dusty, stained shirt.

  Lord, I believe You can give Gil the victory if it is Your will. Please, Lord, save us!

  The chief held up his hand. Both men tensed and the drumbeat sped up. Then suddenly the chief let his arm fall and the battle was on.

  Quick as a striking snake, Black Coyote Heart lunged at Gil, jabbing at his left forearm, his knife leaving a long gash. He shouted and raised a triumphant fist at achieving the first “coup,” and his warriors cheered.

  The sight of the crimson rivulet running down Gil’s skin sent waves of nausea churning Faith’s stomach, but he merely wiped his arm on his pants and kept his eye on the Comanche, dancing out of reach when the Comanche lunged again.

  Jeers erupted from the crowd as they saw Gil retreat, but Faith saw his strategy. He was less powerfully built than the Comanche, but that made him more agile.

  The Indian shouted something at Gil. Makes Healing called a translation—“He says if you give up now, he will kill you both quickly and not make you suffer. Do not believe him, Gil Chadwick!”

  The next time Black Coyote Heart sprang at him, he waited till the last possible moment before jumping aside, then raked his knife down the Indian’s right arm.

  The Comanche bellowed in rage, his eyes blazing with hatred. Gil had cut deeper than he had, and now the blood flowed over the hand that held his knife, no doubt making the rawhide-thong-wrapped haft slippery. The throng murmured uneasily, but Faith thought she detected a measure of admiration for Gil, too.

  Black Coyote Heart bared his teeth and threw himself at Gil, but Gil feinted just in time. The Indian’s knife, however, managed to tear a red stripe down Gil’s ribs—not deep, but long.

  Faith closed her eyes as lightheadedness threatened her consciousness. Give him strength, Lord, don’t let him get dizzy from loss of blood!

  When she opened her eyes, Gil was once more crouched, readying himself for the savage’s next move, seemingly oblivious to the blood that dripped into the dust. The air was full of the sound of the men’s harsh breathing now and the smell of sweat and blood.

  The Indian snarled, apparently ready to stop playing with Gil, and sprang at him. This time Gil wasn’t able to danc
e out of his grasp, and the two went down in a tangle of red and white skin.

  She heard a thud as Gil got in a punch, and used the moment that his opponent was stunned to roll out of his grasp. He jumped to the balls of his feet and waited.

  Black Coyote Heart spat out a tooth, leaving a trickle of red dripping down his jaw, then charged Gil like a maddened bull. Gil let him come, then danced aside again, but reached out and grabbed hold of the brave’s flying black hair, yanking him back.

  The Comanche nearly lost his balance on ground that was now slippery with both men’s blood, but recovered and threw himself at Gil. Once again Gil wasn’t able to dodge and the two grappled with each other. Then Black Coyote Heart managed to hook a leg around Gil’s and both men went down, the Comanche falling heavily on Gil.

  Faith saw a knife skid away from the two men—but whose? It didn’t matter, for now the two men struggled for sole possession of the one knife between them.

  Now Gil was on top, but was he losing his grip on the knife? The arm that Black Coyote Heart had lacerated fell away from the hilt.

  Faith’s heart quailed within her. She shut her eyes, afraid to see him lose the fight and die at the hand of the murderous Indian.

  But no, he’d only pretended to falter to distract his enemy and land a haymaker to his opponent’s jaw. Then he slammed a fist down on each of the Indian’s wrists in turn, and Faith heard bones crack. She saw the big Comanche’s arms and limbs flail and then grow limp and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  Gil rolled out off Black Coyote Heart, gasping for breath, but keeping a wary eye on the fallen Indian.

  “Kill him, Gil Chadwick,” Makes Healing said. “You are the victor. It is your right.”

  “It is not right for me as a man of God,” he panted, “for our holy book says ‘Thou shall not kill.’”

  Black Coyote Heart was stirring now, but with two broken wrists, he could only stare dully at Gil. He muttered something, then let his head fall back limply in the dust.

  Makes Healing said, “He begs you to kill him. He is disgraced by losing to a white man and will have to be fed like a small child until his bones heal.”