He eased his large frame from the saddle and told her, “Elsa says that she and her family are bringing Seraphina home.”
Marty’s ears refused to hear the words that echoed inside her broken heart. Her feeble knees lost all feeling and she slipped toward the ground, but Buck scooped her into his massive arms and carried her back to the house. Her head was heavy against his shoulder and her limbs seemed lifeless, as if her reason for living had suddenly disappeared.
“Now that don’t mean nothing,” he said as he leaned over to put her back into bed. “Maybe he got sidetracked. Maybe it’s just taking longer than expected. We don’t know.”
“He’s hurt,” she cried. “I know he’s hurt. I can feel it. I knew it weeks ago but I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it.”
“Now there ain’t no way that you can feel something like that,” Buck argued gruffly as he towered over her.
“I know it!” she cried out, clutching the blankets into her fists. “I know it,” she repeated in a helpless whisper as she turned her face into the pillow and cried.
Buck tried in vain to console his sister-in-law. But he knew in his heart that his presence was not what she needed to make her happy again. He tried to talk her into going back to town with him but she refused, saying that she would remain home in case Caid came back. He stayed with her until her tears subsided and then, he left her to grieve alone while he went to the kitchen to make sure that Linda gave her a dose of laudanum to calm her down.
Marty didn’t hear Buck leave, nor did she recall sipping the cool glass of acrid liquid that had been forced down her throat by her female companion. She stared out the window for what seemed like hours, but was in reality only a few minutes passed before darkness, blessed darkness overtook her.
Days passed, possibly weeks. Marty had no idea how long she sat either in bed with the blankets warming her feet or in the chair next to the window, watching, waiting. She seemed to be caught between wishing that Caid would return to her unharmed and knowing that he was truly dead. Solemnly, she realized that she felt like that poor little fox waiting for Caid to come and set her free from the tormenting trap of uncertainty.
One afternoon, she shot from the chair thinking that she had seen him riding back to her, she ran to the front door and out onto the porch yelling, “Caid!”
But then, remembering the terrible news, she hung her head in despair. Still, in her heart, there was a slight hope that he would actually come home to her. Again, she waited, leaning on the column of the porch for support.
Linda tried to pull her away, but Marty insisted upon standing there, searching for him, calling to him and grieving for him. Finally, her weary body slipped to the top step of the porch and she put her head into the palms of her hands as she whispered desperately, “Come back to me, Caid!”
But he did not hear her. He did not answer her prayers for him to return to her, to take her into his loving arms and to tell her that he was alive and well. He even refused to come to her in her fitful dreams that haunted her every night.
Finally, one blissful night while she slept, she dreamed of him. When she awoke, still hovering between slumber and wakefulness, she saw what she believed to be his face in the darkness and she threw herself from the bed so that she could run into his outstretched arms, whispering, “Caid, you’ve come back!”
Getting tangled in the blankets, she tumbled to the floor and she reached for him to help her but he was gone. Nothing but the darkness of the night embraced her as she lay in the jumble of blankets and wept. No one consoled her but the creaking planks on the floor beneath her. They moaned in unison with Marty while she curled up into the fetal position as if it would make her safe, like when she was still in the sanctity of her mother’s loving womb.
Then, suddenly she was assailed by the tremendous pain in her middle, that same pain that she had felt each time her baby was ripped from her. The cramps grew, sending her body into convulsions until she cried out for Linda’s help.
“Linda!” she screamed in agony as she lifted her hand toward the bedroom door. “Linda Blue Sky!”
The nightmare continued when the stabbing pain blinded her as she crawled toward the door in search of help. Curling up again, she grabbed her abdomen and screamed from deep within her body. There was no stopping it. She was losing the baby.
A frantic prayer was whispered to whoever would listen and grant her wish that she would be able to keep a reminder of Caid and the love that they had shared. When she saw the light shining into her eyes, washing over her like God Himself had heard her plea; she felt her body give in to the intense emotion that overtook her. But when she saw Linda standing above her, overshadowing the light, she knew that, yet again, her prayers were ignored.
The Comanche woman lifted her, summoning the strength to hoist Marty, who weighed more than she did, into the bed. All the while, Linda searched her mind for the vision that she must have pushed aside because it was too painful to watch. This vision of a poor woman who now writhed in agony on the bed, whose life was streaming out of her in a crimson pool, had, for some reason, eluded her. Linda cried along with Marty in her ultimate sorrow, wondering how this could happen to her charge when all she had ‘seen’ for the woman was pure bliss. Over and over, Linda blubbered, “How could this happen?” Then, remembering the rumor of the Comanche woman curse, she sobbed, “It wasn’t me! Linda Blue Sky would never curse you or anyone!”
“I know, Linda,” Marty assured her between constricting contractions that assailed her. She sucked in a breath and patted Linda’s arm while her Comanche companion hugged her as if she could somehow take away her misery. “I have had many miscarriages. It has nothing to do with you or that blasted lie.”
The pain returned in spasms, wracking her body, which doubled over in agony. Clinging to Linda with all of her strength, Marty begged for relief, even if it meant that her horrendous ordeal would be rapidly ceased by the sudden demise of the child inside her.
Her screams were answered by the lone horse in the corral, its thundering hooves trampling the dust that enveloped it in a billowing cloud. Round and round it ran, baring its teeth with whinnying terror, beating its chest against the rails of the corral in frantic fright. A chorus of cries surrounded the farm like a tornado, whipping the grieving wife and mother, the helpless Comanche woman and the anxious animal outside into a whirlwind of dizzying distress.
And then there was nothing. Only numbing nothingness.
Marty lay in bed after Linda went to put on a pot of tea for her. The spoonful of liquid that Linda had forced down her throat had made her feel weak and disoriented. She hugged her pillow and began to think about her wretched situation. Not only had she lost Caid, but the baby as well. She was truly alone. She could not have the man she loved nor, apparently, could she have a reminder of the love that she’d had with him.
She turned her head toward the window where she had watched for Caid to return and tears fell anew. She could have gone with him, she thought dejectedly. She lost the baby anyway. Riding a horse on the mountainous trail to Fort Concho might have caused a miscarriage for her but at least she would have been with him and she might have even prevented Caid’s demise. And if he was truly dead, she could have died beside him, where she belonged. And they would have been together for an eternity. Instead, she was alone, truly, devastatingly, utterly…alone.
Overwhelming, life-shattering grief took over her life during that awful night of her untimely miscarriage. Hours passed as her body expelled the life-giving nutrients that the baby had thrived on for its short existence. Then, the bleeding continued, soaking the bed around her, yet she welcomed death as it knocked upon the door of her life.
Afraid to leave her in order to get Buck, Linda Blue Sky sat with her on the bed watching the blood endlessly flow out of Marty’s body, taking with it the grieving woman’s will to live. Linda was paralyzed by the fear of letting this woman die in her arms while she wrestled with the notion of running to t
own to get Mr. Buck. Then, when Marty slipped into unconsciousness, Linda hurried into the night to find the only man who could save her.
She beat upon the heavy front door early the next morning, having run all the way from Mrs. Marty’s farm, through Fredericksburg and down the street to Mr. Buck’s house at the other end of town. When she saw the doctor’s face, Linda threw herself into his arms and wept tears of despair, sobbing, “Mr. Buck! Mrs. Marty!”
“What about Marty?” Greta called from the top of the stairs.
Buck sent Linda into the parlor before he walked to the bottom of the steps and told her gently, “Go back to bed, my love. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Is she hurt? Is it the baby?”
Buck bounded up the stairs to his wife and he gave her a quick reassuring hug, whispering,“Shhh. Don’t you worry about anything. I’m gonna take good care of your sister.”
Instantly, he recalled telling Marty the same thing months ago when Greta had lain in agony. He tweaked her nose and said softly, “Now, get back into bed. I’ll be back later.”
Greta looked into her husband’s brown eyes and she knew that he would do his best to help her sister and if any problem that could not be fixed by Buck, it could not be fixed. She sighed and smiled, saying, “Tell her that I love her.”
“I will,” he called over his shoulder as he started back down the stairs.
“I love you, Buck.”
“I love you,” he told her as he paused to face her at the bottom of the stairs.
He called to Linda to go into the examination room next door to his office and to bring his bag of instruments, just in case, while he ran out to the barn to get the horse and buggy that he used for his doctor’s visits.
He drove Linda back to Marty’s farm where they tucked her into the buggy and sped back to his house in town. After almost an hour of working with Marty, her body was finally stabilized enough for him to take a break. He had administered laudanum for the pain and a tea of trillium, an herb useful in slowing heavy blood flow, but he was afraid that he was too late. After he waited for the herb to work, and realizing that Marty had lost too much blood, he decided to send Linda to find volunteers for a transfusion, which was the only way that Buck knew to save Marty’s life.
***
Slowly, slowly, light crept into the slits that covered Marty’s eyes. She groaned in painful realization that her heavy and limp body had yet again rejected another baby. Suddenly remembering the painful reason for that repudiation, she tried to sit up to leave the bed and look for her beloved Caid. Strong hands held her into the pillow, or was it her weakness that sent her crashing back into unconsciousness?
It mattered not to her. Darkness was her sanctuary, her saving grace. It embraced her with loving arms and she accepted that reverence wholeheartedly, almost pleadingly. It held her in a swirling trance that bound her in an ever-darkening state of oblivion where no grief, no sadness and no pain existed. She found herself clinging to that void, that blissful abyss of vacuity that filled her with the numbing murmur of a constant buzz that drowned everything out but its deafening drone. A monotony of nothingness. Eradicating yet comforting. Her compassionate companion, Death.
For weeks, she subconsciously struggled with the quandary of whether to give up and die or to fight for her life. For hours on end, she heard a familiar voice calling to her from far, far away, begging her to take the latter path. But, she ignored that voice and she continued to drift on an endless cycle of conscious sanity and mindless madness, a circling battle between her soul’s desire to escape and her body’s need to survive.
Finally, to her heart’s disappointment, she opened her eyes and saw her sister sitting beside her, holding her hand. For an instant, Greta’s smile made her happy to be alive, but that happiness faded when she remembered the sadness that would follow her for the rest of her life and she wished, at that moment, that she could have died.
“There you are,” Greta said with a warm, loving smile as she pulled Mama’s quilt up to rest beneath Marty’s chin. “We thought we’d lost you.”
“I wish,” Marty mumbled under her breath, but did not repeat the remark when Greta asked her to.
“We have to get you well, Sister,” Greta said with exuberance in her voice as she fluffed the pillow behind Marty’s head.
Marty stared away at the window, her heart falling once more at the thought of never seeing Caid again. Tears streamed down her face, dripping onto the pillow beneath her head and she could not stop the terrible sobbing that took over her body.
Greta pulled her sister into her arms and hugged her, wishing that she could take Marty’s pain away. But, she was powerless to do anything that would mend the broken heart that beat sadly inside her sister’s chest.
“Where am I?” Marty asked when she looked around and saw the strange surroundings.
“At our house,” Greta said while she shrugged her slender shoulders. “This was my old room, remember?”
Nodding, Marty recalled the days that she had sat in that very chair holding Greta’s hand while she healed after the wagon accident and after Buck had saved her sister’s life. That seemed like so long ago…
“Why did you bring me here?” Marty asked, looking past Greta at Buck, who stepped forward to answer.
“We couldn’t let you die,” his voice boomed in the room.
“Why not?” Marty heard herself saying and she immediately regretted saying it aloud.
“Because we love you,” Greta said, squeezing her sister’s hand.
“But, you have Buck and soon, you’ll have Seraphina and the baby,” Marty said sadly. “I have no one to love.”
“Nonsense,” Buck growled as he sauntered over to her and towered above her. “You have us.”
A weak smile pressed Marty’s lips together and she nodded with a single word that she managed to say, “Yes.”
Greta patted her sister’s hand and told her, “You’ve been lying here for weeks. If it wasn’t for the transfusion, you would have died.”
“Transfusion?” Marty asked, for she had no idea what the word meant and why such a thing would save her life.
Buck explained, “It’s where blood from a donor is transfused into your body. We had lots of volunteers. But Josie insisted, since she finally realized that love really does exist.”
“Josie?” Marty asked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, she and old Tyree Parnell have somehow found each other irresistible and they are head-over-heels in love!” Buck announced.
“Josie?” Marty asked incredulously, her voice rising a bit. “And Tyree?”
“Yep.” Buck nodded as he continued, “He and Josie went and got married.”
“I don’t believe that,” Marty scoffed. “Josie hates men. She told me herself that she’d never trust another one. And Tyree didn’t love me. He was just using me as a conquest.”
“That could be,” he mused. Then his face lit up when he thought of another solution, “Or maybe he was using you to make Josie jealous!”
“No!” Marty said flatly. “He hated her! And she hated him! There was more than one time that she pointed her shotgun at him.”
But it was true. They were married in Paris where they honeymooned for over a month. Josie, having slipped away in embarrassment that she had gone and married a man after professing her undying hatred for them, had left the note for Marty without an explanation of the reason for her trip. After they returned, Tyree moved into Josie’s house and immediately removed the sign that refused the entrance of his type of human being and he threw it straight into the woodpile. Josie went to work in the store, which was renamed Josie Parnell’s Mercantile, for Tyree had deeded it to her. Josie’s fine dresses were beginning to be displayed in the window for all to admire and to purchase and soon, her expertise was known throughout the Texas Hill Country.
The newlyweds had come to visit her at Buck and Greta’s home but she had been unconscious and barely recuperating
from losing so much blood, which the transfusion of Josie’s blood had aided in her recovery. She had no recollection of their kind words or their happy announcement. All she remembered was Josie’s hateful words, “Men are like dogs.”
“Corn and carrots,” Buck interrupted her thoughts.
He tilted his head with knowing observation but both women looked at him with confused expressions on their faces. He explained his belief, “Corn grows high on the stalk. Carrots are root vegetables. They are exact opposites in the garden, but they taste good together on the plate.”
“What a peculiar notion that those two are in love,” Marty said. Then, she folded her arms in front of her body and said, “Well, if that is what makes them both happy.”
“I guess things tend to work themselves out in the end,” Greta pondered aloud.
Marty drew in a sad breath, wishing that things could have worked out for her. But, she was destined for distress, no matter which path that she took, it always seemed to lead to heartache. She looked at her sister and Buck and let her breath out in a long, wavering sigh before she said, “I’m tired.”
“Of course,” Greta said as she rose to leave the room. “You get some rest. Soon, you’ll be back on your feet.”
Marty smiled even though she did not feel like showing any emotion other than remorse for being brought back to life by transfusion or any other method. And she lay in that bed for days, hoping that her body would give up the fight and let her find her way to Heaven to be with her husband and babies. Yes, she knew that Caid was dead. What else could keep him from running back to her?
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