“Why?” Jenny raged as she swung away from the mirror and threw back the curtains from the windows. “Why must I continue to believe You can make this right, Lord? Why can’t I forget what I know to be true? Why can’t I walk away from my commitment to You?”
Jenny fought the urge to get the Bible on the nightstand. Why was God forcing her to reconcile things between them?
Unable to resist any longer, she opened the Bible to Lamentations 3:22: “ ‘It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in Him. The Lord is good unto them that wait for Him, to the soul that seeketh Him. It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.’ ”
Jenny put the Bible down. These were the same verses God had led her to after the death of her first baby. She contemplated them, remembering the pain of dealing with the death of her child. She’d been so young, and David so hopeful.
“ ‘It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed,’ ” she repeated. She had relied heavily upon those words.
Jenny resumed her pacing. Forcing herself to remember her first delivery, she thought of how difficult the labor had been and how all she could concentrate on was the thought of holding her new baby. That baby had never taken her first breath. A tiny, silent girl had been laid to rest in the sandy soil in back of the newly constructed mission house.
Jenny remembered not only the devastation, but also her faith that God was with her. She had mourned for a long time, but within months, she’d learned she was expecting another child. Certain she’d faced the worst, Jenny had begun to anticipate the birth of her child without fear.
The second child, also a girl, had come more easily but much too early. Jenny had held the lifeless baby only a moment before they’d taken her away and buried her. Jenny had been too weak to attend the simple funeral. Her body had slowly healed, but Jenny had not been as accepting of the will of God.
Jenny remembered her feelings at that time well: anger, doubt, betrayal. She had pummeled God with her questions: Didn’t her choice to serve Him mean He would protect her from harm and pain? If not, why trust Him?
But in the face of losing her Indian children, Jenny’s spiritual maturity wouldn’t allow those questions to be raised again. She understood God often led His people through the fire in order to purify them.
Jenny’s thoughts turned to the last of her children. A son had been born with a healthy, enthusiastic cry, and Jenny had rejoiced with David, confident God had blessed them with a child at last.
Within hours, however, Jenny had been devastated for a third time. Her newborn son had stopped breathing. Jenny had once told Lillie Monroe there hadn’t been a shred of pride or arrogance left inside her after that experience. Lillie had wondered how Jenny could trust God after the death of yet another child, and Jenny had replied simply, “How could I not?”
Jenny’s pacing stopped in front of the mirror. She tore her mind from its memories and faced the present. “I must go on trusting,” she declared to her reflection. “David and I should have leaned upon each other and upon You, Father,” she whispered. “David tried to help me and I sent him away; now You are all I have, God. At least for this moment.”
Jenny picked up the Bible and flipped through the pages until she came to Psalm 51:12: “ ‘Restore unto me the joy of Thy salvation; and uphold me with Thy free spirit. Then will I teach transgressors Thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto Thee.’ ” Jenny prayed the words as she read.
Putting the Bible aside, she got dressed with renewed strength. She wished David would come home so she could explain to him she was sorry for the way she’d acted. She still ached for the halls to resound with the voices of children, but at least those children were still alive and she would see them again.
Jenny got busy with her chores and was in the barn finishing the milking, when she heard the unmistakable sound of voices. Thinking perhaps Daniel and Lillie had come to check on her, Jenny picked up the buckets of milk and made her way to the front yard.
She rounded the side of the house and came face to face with three Indians. Jenny immediately recognized them as Apache by the markings and clothing they wore. She screamed, dropped the pails of milk, and turned to run.
When a brave caught up with her and grabbed her arms, Jenny couldn’t stop screaming. She was caught in the past—a ten-year-old girl, watching her family be cut down by Apaches. Blind with rage, Jenny scratched and kicked to get free.
The brave hit Jenny hard across the face. She knew only blackness as her body went limp. The brave threw Jenny over his shoulder and made his way back to his companions.
One man led David and Jenny’s matched bays from the barn. The brave who held Jenny threw her across the back of one of the bays and tied her securely. He issued several quick commands and waited while his men ransacked the house and barn. Smoke betrayed the fact they’d set fire to the buildings.
Jenny began to stir, causing the leader to call out to his companions. The men came running with sacks full of provisions which they tied onto the other horse. The leader directed one of his braves to ride and the other to run alongside. He then mounted behind Jenny’s unconscious form and gave a bloodcurdling yell.
Chapter 15
Jenny was jarred into consciousness by the constant thud of her ribs against the bare back of the horse. Her mind demanded she protest, but Jenny forced herself to remain calm and silent.
They were moving at a good clip across the canyon floor, and with every misstep the horse made in the rocky soil, Jenny became only too aware of the Indian who shared her mount.
At the words of the leader, the horses were slowed to a walk. Finally, they stopped altogether. Jenny hoped her captors would take her down from the horse, so she pretended to be waking.
Her moans caught the attention of the leader. He jumped from the horse and untied Jenny’s bonds. As gently as Jenny would have handled a newborn, the Indian brave lifted her from the horse’s back and set her feet on the ground.
Jenny forced herself to focus on her captor’s face. The hateful dark eyes she’d expected were absent. In their place were eyes full of compassion. He spoke to her in Apache, but Jenny knew only a few words and couldn’t reply. He switched to broken English, but the result was worse. Jenny finally asked the brave if he spoke Spanish.
“Sí,” he replied.
Jenny breathed a sigh of relief which abruptly ended because of a wave of nausea. The constant jostling of the ride had been too much for her stomach. She dropped to the ground and vomited until she could scarcely breathe. Pale and gasping for air, Jenny was grateful for the water offered to her by the Apache leader.
She knew he was making a great gesture. The Apache prized water above all else. Under normal circumstances, hostages weren’t allowed more water than was necessary to keep them alive.
Jenny rinsed her mouth and drank deeply from a canteen she recognized as her own. Feeling marginally better, she struggled to her feet and steadied herself against a rock.
“Muchas gracias,” she said as she handed the canteen to the leader. “I’m Jenny Monroe.”
The man eyed her for a moment, took the canteen, and secured it around his neck before speaking. “I am called Two Knives by the N’de.”
“Who are the N’de?” Jenny braved the questioned.
“The N’de are the people, the Apache,” he replied.
“I know of no Apache reservations for a hundred miles or more. Where do you live?”
“Beyond the big river,” Two Knives said. Jenny nodded, knowing he meant the Rio Grande. “We used to roam the land of our fathers without the white man’s laws. Now N’de must live as animals in a cage on white man’s reservations.”
“But you’re still raiding.” The words were out before Jenny realized. She silently prayed she had not provoked Two Knives’s anger with her words.
“My grandfather refused to be counted on the reservation. He thinks N’de sell their souls for rancid meat and white man’s wickiup. N’de cannot hunt, cannot dance the dance of their fathers, and cannot walk the land the One-From-Whom-All-Things-Come gave to them.” Jenny opened her mouth to reply but one of the braves signaled the approach of danger.
Two Knives clamped a hand over Jenny’s mouth and dragged her along the rock ledge to a place where they’d be out of sight. The other men covered their tracks and hid with the horses behind a boulder on the opposite canyon wall.
As the rider came into view, Jenny’s quick intake of air let Two Knives know she recognized the rider.
“Who is he?” Two Knives whispered, barely lifting his hand from Jenny’s mouth.
“My husband,” she answered in an obedient hush. One of the braves who waited in the shadows across from Two Knives and Jenny leveled his rifle to kill David and claim a much needed third horse. Jenny tensed, knowing she couldn’t save her husband. She turned pleading brown eyes toward Two Knives. His face remained impassive, but he signaled the brave to let David pass.
David rode through the canyon oblivious to the danger surrounding him. He seems happy or at least at peace, Jenny thought. As David passed safely through the canyon and disappeared, Jenny’s strength gave out and she fell back against Two Knives. At least for now, David was safe.
Two Knives took his hand from Jenny’s mouth and signaled his braves to move out. He carried Jenny down the ledge to the canyon floor and set her down. He looked at her thoughtfully.
Jenny, in turn, studied the man before her. He wasn’t as young as she’d thought. His long, straight hair betrayed some gray, and while he was lean and well muscled, his face was etched with lines of experience and age.
“Come,” Two Knives commanded, and Jenny walked quickly to keep up with him. The braves moved the horses skillfully down the side of the canyon and onto the rocky floor. They spoke in Apache to Two Knives as they joined him.
From what little Apache Jenny understood, she knew they were questioning him about his decision to let David go free. Two Knives quickly put an end to their questions with an angry scowl. He lifted Jenny onto the back of her horse and leaped up behind her. She was thankful Two Knives didn’t re-tie her hands and feet. She knew this was a sign of trust, and she had no desire to betray that confidence.
Once through the canyon, they turned south, picking out the easier trails through the mountainous land. The sun beat down, and while the men seemed not to notice the heat, Jenny grew increasingly weak.
Two Knives sensed Jenny’s struggle and signaled his braves to change course. He led the party to a small cave whose entrance was hidden by surrounding vegetation. Two Knives slid down the horse’s broad backside and reached up to pull Jenny down. Jenny felt ashamed when her knees buckled, and Two Knives lifted her into his arms. He displayed only disinterested reserve as he entered the cave and placed her on the ground.
The air was cool, and Jenny welcomed the rest. She was confident she wasn’t in any real danger. Two Knives could have easily killed her at the mission. With this realization, Jenny crumbled to the floor of the cave and slept.
Several hours later, Two Knives was shaking her awake. Jenny sat up with a start, forgetting where she was. She put the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. Two Knives seemed unconcerned and handed her a piece of the smoked meat they’d taken from her larder.
“We go now,” he said and helped Jenny to her feet.
Jenny nodded and accepted the meat. Her stomach was growling hungrily. She followed Two Knives outside where the horses waited impatiently.
Knowing the matched bays were a docile pair, Jenny was alarmed to find them stomping the ground and snorting at the dust. “What’s wrong with them?” she asked in English only to repeat herself in Spanish.
“They smell the water. Big river is just beyond the pass.”
Jenny suddenly realized how far the horses had traveled without receiving much water. She wondered at their ability to continue and thanked God for providing the needed refreshment to keep them strong.
Two Knives lifted Jenny across the horse’s back. Instead of mounting in back of her, he led the horse. Night was coming quickly and a missed step could mean the end to a much-needed means of transportation.
Jenny had a great deal of time to think as she clung to the horse’s mane. How long would they travel before Two Knives was reunited with his renegade band? Why had they taken her? Would she ever see David again? Woven throughout Jenny’s thoughts were the vivid memories of a terrified ten-year-old girl who’s vowed to hate the Indians, especially Apaches.
Brilliant stars filled the moonless night, and Jenny could hear the rushing water of the Rio Grande in the distance. They walked the banks of the Rio Grande until Two Knives stopped to water the horses. Jenny felt them cruel to allow the bays such a small amount, but said nothing as Two Knives joined her on the horse’s back. The bays were spirited and agitated as they were forced to move away from the water.
“Pull up your skirts,” Two Knives said to Jenny. He waited for her to obey before edging the bay back to the river.
The remaining braves doubled up on the other bay and followed Two Knives. Jenny gasped at the icy cold as the horse waded in chest high water. Her legs grew numb by the time they reached the opposite bank.
Two Knives helped her down and instructed her to rub her legs with her dry skirt and petticoat. Without hesitation, Jenny sat on a rock and vigorously rubbed her legs until she felt the blood warming them. She was thankful she’d not argued when Two Knives had instructed her to hike up her skirt. Surprised by his thoughtfulness, Jenny contemplated the Indian warrior as he once again allowed the horses to drink from the river.
Three days later, Two Knives was reunited with his people. Jenny was startled to find most of the renegades to be elderly and feeble. She said nothing as Two Knives helped her from the bay and led her to an old man.
“Grandfather,” Two Knives said as he embraced the man. “I have brought you a gift.”
Jenny realized she was being given to the old man and tried to appear congenial about the matter.
Two Knives turned to her and spoke in Spanish, “You are to care for my grandfather and his two wives. They are old and cannot gather the wood and food as they could when they were young. I will bring fresh meat and you will prepare it for them. Do this and you will be treated well.”
Jenny nodded and moved to stand beside the aged warrior. “I will do this with a glad heart,” she answered. Two Knives nodded in appreciation and showed a hint of a smile.
u
Summer arrived, and Jenny worked hard to help the old man she simply called Grandfather and his aging wives, Wandering Doe and Mescal Blossom. Grandfather had once been an important chief among Water’s Edge People, his clan. His wife Mescal Blossom was a medicine woman who taught Jenny many things about using herbs and roots. Wandering Doe was Mescal Blossom’s sister. As was often the case, she was wife number two to her older sister’s husband.
Jenny kept a watchful eye toward the horizon, hoping and praying David would come for her, yet she feared if David engaged the cavalry at Santa Fe, the elderly band of renegades would be murdered. Funny, she thought to herself, she didn’t hate these people who held her captive.
With each passing day, Jenny also realized she could no longer ignore the changes in her body that pointed to another baby. The Indians were sure to notice her once trim figure was being transformed. It frightened her to think about bearing another child, so she plunged into her duties with new zeal that surprised her as much as it did the aging Apaches.
Jenny had worked hard to learn the Apache langua
ge, so when Grandfather stopped her one day as she gathered firewood, she no longer felt the need to struggle with each word.
“You work like one of the people.”
Jenny knew he was offering her a compliment.
“Thank you, Grandfather. It pleases me to help you.”
“Sit with me,” he motioned and eased his body onto the ground.
Jenny quickly joined him but offered no help. It would have disgraced him as a warrior to accept the assistance of a woman, especially a white woman.
“You carry a child,” he said matter-of-factly as his white hair, secured by a leather beaded band, blew across his shoulders.
“Yes,” Jenny replied softly. She had tried so hard to forget the child she carried, but God wouldn’t let it pass so easily from her heart.
“Mescal Blossom told me this when you first arrived,” the old man announced. Jenny’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but she said nothing. “My wife is very wise about such things. She bore nine children, and Wandering Doe, another five. She is very wise.”
Jenny nodded and asked, “Where are your children now, Grandfather?”
“They live on the reservation,” he spoke stiffly. “They live as dogs under the white man’s table, waiting for the scraps of food the white man throws them.”
“Why didn’t they stay with you?” Jenny asked curiously.
“Some did for a time. Others were taken away in chains. They did not desire to go, but they had no choice. Many died in great battle. Most of my children walk in the spirit world under the earth.”
“Tell me of it, Grandfather,” Jenny encouraged, wanting to understand the Apache way. She was beginning to realize she had the opportunity to witness to these elderly people.
“The underworld has two homes for the spirit people. One is beautiful and green. The people who have performed great deeds and have met the approval of N’de go there. The other is a barren desert where witches torment their souls. One must live a good life and die a good death to avoid that place.”
Tender Journeys Page 11