He smiled. “Thank you.”
“How do you feel? Can you move now?”
He sighed deeply, stretching a little again, then slowly sitting up. “I feel a lot better,” he answered. “I think I’m all right.”
She stared at his powerful shoulders and broad chest where the blankets had fallen away. “What is wrong with you? How did you get all those scars?” she asked curiously.
She reddened when his eyes fell on her abundant bosom for a moment before he lay back down with another weary sigh. She was self-conscious of her breasts, which had somehow matured before the rest of her. She was sure he must think her oddly shaped, with her big bust and crooked foot, and she had never thought of herself as pretty. She was suddenly embarrassed and felt like crying. “I… I ask too many questions,” she said quietly, turning to crawl out of the tent.
“Wait,” he told her. “It’s all right.”
She darted out of the tent to tell her mother he was awake, and moments later the older woman brought him a plate with bacon and biscuits on it.
“My daughter says you are better. I suppose she was asking you many questions. You must forgive her. She is only fifteen and asks whatever comes to her mind.”
“I do not mind.” Caleb sat up again, managing to get to a full sitting position so he could put the plate in his lap. The woman moved to the back of the tent as the man came inside with a cup of coffee for Caleb.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Much better. Your daughter tells me I slept all afternoon and all night. I hope I have not slowed you down.”
The man smiled. “No more than the rain. And our son might be badly hurt if not for you. Who knows how long the mud would have protected him?”
Caleb took a bite of a biscuit. “Mmm. I’m hungrier than I realized. I have been traveling hard and haven’t stopped to eat much.”
“You should slow down and take care of yourself or you will never get where you are going,” the man told him. He held out his hand. “I am James Whitestone and this is my wife Ellen. My family and I are headed for Unorganized Territory. I have a piece of paper that shows where there is land I can farm for a small price to the government. We have left Georgia to go there.”
Caleb shook his hand, quickly swallowing the biscuit. “My name is Caleb Sax. I am part Cheyenne and am headed back to my people. I have a little boy living with them. He is three summers and his mother is dead. I was going to get him.” He frowned. “It is wild country where you are going. Why do you go?”
Whitestone nodded. “I am aware it is dangerous land. But some of our Cherokee friends have already gone there.”
“Why have you left Georgia? I heard the Cherokee Nation is strong there.”
The man nodded. “It is, but there is trouble coming. One day the Cherokee will be forced to leave their beloved homeland, just as other Indians farther east have had to leave theirs. Some think us foolish to go, and they laugh when I say that some day terrible things will come to the Cherokee in Georgia. I do not want my family to suffer. So we leave now. We will join some friends on the Canadian River. We will farm.”
Caleb sipped some coffee before asking, “Farm? Out there?”
The man nodded. “A good man can farm any land. I have grown up farming. As a boy I worked for a white man who owned much property. I learned to speak English then. My woman, she learned from white missionaries. Our children speak both Cherokee and English, and they can read. When we join our friends we will form a small Cherokee community in Unorganized Territory. We will be among the first settlers there, and some day, when the Cherokee are forced to leave Georgia, we will already be settled and can help the new ones who come.”
Caleb finished his biscuit and ate a piece of bacon as the man talked. He glanced out of the tent opening as Marie went by, and he grinned, realizing she was listening. He looked back at James Whitestone. “You take a big chance traveling alone.”
The man nodded again. “We are aware of that. But we could not get anyone else to come with us, and I was told in a dream I must leave. Perhaps there is a reason you happened upon us. You are Cheyenne. Marie told us. You must know this land where we go. And you are traveling alone and in the same direction. You have trouble with your back. We could help each other. You could guide us and be an extra hand to help protect my family. And we would be there to help you if you had trouble with your illness again. We would be company for you in your travels, and when we reach our destination, you could go on to the Cheyenne and get your son.”
Caleb frowned, surprised at the offer from a man who hardly knew him. Their eyes held a moment, and Caleb realized James Whitestone was half begging him to help. He was probably somewhat lost, Caleb thought, and afraid his family would come to harm from his decision. But he was also too proud to go back.
“We have plenty of food,” the man added. “And I can even pay you.”
Caleb looked at Ellen Whitestone. Her eyes asked him not to damage her husband’s pride. They were pleasant people, and they were, after all, heading in the same direction as he. Again he felt strangely led by fate, happening upon these Cherokee in a land where he had expected to see no one at all. He could get into dangerous trouble if his back brought on the paralysis and he had no help. The important thing was Tom. He had to get to Tom, and these people could help make sure that he did.
He frowned. “But you know nothing about me.”
James Whitestone smiled. “We know that you have a good heart, that you risked great pain to help save our little boy. That is all we need to know. If you choose to tell us more about yourself we will be glad to share your joys and your sorrows.” He looked toward the open end of the tent with a grin. “Especially our Marie,” he said louder.
They heard a rustling nearby as the girl hurried away, and the girl’s father laughed lightly. Caleb grinned, feeling comfortable and welcome with them. “All right. I will guide you,” he told the man. “But as soon as I get you where you are going I must go on. It has been a long time since I have seen my son.”
The man nodded. “I understand. And I am grateful, Caleb Sax. The spirits have brought us together, I believe. I prayed for help and you came.”
Caleb drank more coffee, wondering if Emily had been right when she said his heart was too soft. He hoped he was not getting himself into some kind of new trouble. He had had all the trouble he ever wanted to see for the rest of his life, but he was only twenty-one. And like Bo Sanders had once told him, his life would probably take many more turns before it was over. He wondered where it would go next. Cherokee. He had never known Cherokee before, and now he would be leading a whole family of them into Unorganized Territory. But at least it would give him some company on his journey, something to help keep him from thinking about the past, about Sarah.
Caleb rode forward to greet five Indian braves. They were nearly naked, riding painted ponies, wearing feathers in their hair and bedecked with assorted weapons, Caleb wished he had his blue quill necklace to prove his Indian heritage, but he had only his dark skin and long hair. He guessed the braves to be Arapaho, friends of the Cheyenne, but they could be Pawnee or Kiowa in these parts.
He moved closer, eyeing them squarely, noticing tufts of horse hair at the tops of the feathers in their hair, a custom of the Arapaho. When he lived with the Cheyenne they had begun associating heavily with the Arapaho, and he remembered some of their language. He made the sign for Arapaho and pointed at them. One of them nodded. Then Caleb made a snakelike sign indicating Cheyenne, and pointed to himself.
From the wagon Marie watched in fascination. As the weeks had passed she had become totally and helplessly in love with the handsome Cheyenne man who had befriended and guided them. Caleb Sax was a god to her, strong and beautiful and brave. He had killed a grizzly that had threatened their camp one night, bringing it down with a shot from his musket, then finishing it off with his knife when it stirred. They had greatly enjoyed the sweet meat, and made a blanket out of the bear s
kin. Later, Caleb had brought down a buffalo cow with bow and arrow. He had patiently shown Marie and her mother how to skin and clean the carcass of the great beast, how to carve out the meat, use the bones and skin and intestines, smoke and cure the meat. The Plains Indians lived very differently from the Cherokee, and it was obvious that the lifestyle of the Cherokee in this new land would be very different from what it had been in Georgia.
Marie watched Caleb talk to the five braves who had appeared seemingly from nowhere, looming up out of the tall prairie grass to face them as they moved toward the endless horizon that would be home. Marie’s heart swelled with pride as she watched Caleb use a mixture of words and sign language to communicate with them.
Slowly but surely they had learned his story, and she wanted so much to tell him everything was all right, that she loved him desperately and would take care of him and be his companion if he would only ask.
But Caleb Sax seemed to have no desire for her. She knew his heart was full of one called Sarah, that he still grieved and would for a long time to come. But she wondered if, even when he was ready to love again, he could ever look at her that way. Surely such a handsome, virile man would want someone much more beautiful than she, and she could tell he looked at her as though she were a child. Sometimes she wondered if he truly noticed her at all, if he ever saw the love in her eyes, understood what a good wife she would gladly be to him if he would let her.
He rode back. “Arapaho,” he told her father. “I think I can please them with a little tobacco if you have any. They mean us no harm. They’re just curious. I have told them we are peaceful, that we just want to go through this land to our new home on the river. They say the river you search for is not many miles ahead.”
Marie’s heart tightened at the information. It meant they were almost to their destination and Caleb would be leaving them soon, going on to find his son. He would probably never come back. She had to think of something to make him stay.
Her father transferred some tobacco from a tin to a leather pouch Caleb handed him. Caleb rode back to the Arapaho, speaking with them a few minutes longer. Marie knew that if they attacked Caleb would fight valiantly. She could just picture him riding against the Crow when he told them about his vengeful raids after his Cheyenne wife was killed. A woman would never have to be afraid in this land with a man like Caleb Sax at her side.
The Arapaho stared at Marie as she drove the wagon past. Caleb watched, thinking what a strong good-hearted girl she was. Marie drove the wagon every day while her mother rode alongside with Lee. The extra horses were tied to the back, and Mr. Whitestone rode the fourth horse, herding the cattle. Caleb rode ahead, keeping watch for Indians or other dangers.
Marie turned and smiled at him, and he smiled back, aware of the youthful crush she had on him. He sometimes felt awkward about it, for he couldn’t return her feelings. He wanted nothing now but his son and some peace in his life. He could not love again, he was sure; even if he could, Marie was very young. Fifteen was not so young to the Indian, but Marie seemed even younger than fifteen sometimes, especially when she smiled. She was like a curious little girl, and now a lovesick one. Caleb had no idea what to do about it, other than to be himself and be patient with her. He would be gone soon anyway, and she would soon forget him.
Still, he did not truly look forward to leaving the Whitestones. He liked them and would worry about them once he left. They had been good to him, and welcome company. Teaching them about living in this land had been an experience, an Indian teaching Indians. It seemed strange to Caleb that there could be so many different tribes in one country, people that were so different yet one in spirit at the same time.
The wagon rattled over one rolling hill, then another, a great sea of prairie grass and undulating lifts and falls, until finally they stopped to make camp. Marie worked hard at preparing a good supper, hoping to impress Caleb.
“I’m sure you will be at your destination in a day or two,” Caleb told James Whitestone. “You can finally rest and get settled. Will there be many others there?”
“A few,” the man replied. He smiled. “We are very grateful, Caleb. You have helped us in so many ways.”
Caleb nodded. “I am also grateful. It has been good not to have to travel alone.”
“And you seem stronger than when you first came to us.”
“I feel stronger.” He glanced at Marie. “Thanks in part to your wife and daughter’s fine cooking,” he added.
The women both smiled, and Marie blushed. Caleb walked off to tend to Tonoeva, taking a brush from his saddle bag and walking over to the unsaddled animal. He curried the horse briskly, stopping when he sensed someone near. He turned to see Marie watching him, the love in her eyes so evident it made him feel sorry for her.
“We’ll be there soon,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You will leave us then?”
Caleb turned and continued brushing Tonoeva. “I will. The weather is getting colder. I must get to the Cheyenne before winter sets in.”
She struggled desperately not to cry. “I… I hope you find him well.”
“Thank you.”
She watched him, trying to memorize every detail about, him so she would remember his beauty always.
“Your son will need a home. Will you stay with the Cheyenne?”
“I do not know,” Caleb answered. “I really have no other place to go.”
She breathed deeply for courage. “You could… come back here. We are your friends now. You would always have a home here.”
Caleb stopped brushing and turned to face her, their eyes holding for a moment. “Thank you, Marie.”
“We need help. And you need a home. You… you speak of not knowing where you belong. Here we live between the white man’s world and the wilder Indians. Perhaps this is where you belong, too, Caleb.”
The hope in her eyes was almost pitiful. He knew she desperately wanted him to give her some kind of sign that he could be interested in her.
“Perhaps,” he answered. “I will think about it. If I return, it will probably not be until the spring. I will miss you, Marie—all of you. It has been good to find new friends.”
Her lips quivered slightly, and she gazed into his hypnotic blue eyes. “Will you… miss me the most?”
He smiled, again feeling pity for her youthful devotion. “Yes. I will miss you the most.”
She smiled at his words, looking as though she wanted to run up and hug him. “I will miss you, too, Caleb. We have all been together many weeks, and you have shared your sorrows with us. You have taught us many things, helped us. God sent you to us, and I know you will come back here. I know it. I will pray for you—and your son.”
“Thank you.”
She turned and ran off, as though to prove that even with a club foot she could run. He knew her well enough by now to look beyond the deformity to her inner beauty. He hardly noticed her limp anymore, and he saw behind her frail body and childlike face the makings of a very pretty woman. He knew he could have her if he wanted, that in her youth she would give herself to him willingly enough. But he did not want to use her that way, and he would be doing just that. He had no feelings of love for her, not the kind of love a man should have for a woman he wanted to marry. All he had right now were tiny pricklings of manly desires long buried, desires he did not want reawakened. It was too soon. To awaken that part of him would be to open the wounds of lost love, to relive the painful memories of those days in the cave with Sarah.
No. He wanted none of those things. Soon he would leave the Whitestones. Soon he would be back with the Cheyenne, with his son.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
THE early winter winds raged across the prairie as Caleb made his way to the place where the Cheyenne usually gathered for the winter. Finding nomadic Indians in such vast territory was not easy, even for one who had lived with them. He knew only the general area in which to look, and it had taken longer to track t
hem than he had anticipated. He was low on supplies, and the harsh winter was taking its toll on his spirit.
His loneliness was keen in the great emptiness of the land. Sometimes it seemed he was the last man on earth, and he found himself wondering if there really would be a son waiting for him when he reached the Cheyenne.
Tonoeva struggled through deepening drifts, and Caleb knew he could soon be in trouble if he couldn’t find shelter. In open land the snow blew with uncontrolled fury, and the snows could drift as deep as a man stood. He kept pushing Tonoeva, desperate to find some kind of shelter, sure that not far ahead lay Hinta-Nagi, the place of thick timbers where the Cheyenne usually made winter camp. But the winds blew with such force that he could not listen for the sounds of people or horses, and the snow blinded him, making it impossible to look for campfire smoke.
He finally came upon a hill big enough to shelter him from the wind. He would nestle into the bank and try to wait out the storm. He forced Tonoeva as close against the side of the hill as possible. He pulled off the buffalo robe he had kept from the kill he had made when he was with the Whitestones. He had taken it knowing winter would set in soon and he would need the warmth. Caleb threw down the robe and rolled into it, tying Tonoeva’s reins to his wrist so the horse could not wander away. He pushed away the snow so the horse could get to the grass beneath it.
Caleb pulled his hat down and closed his eyes to rest, fighting a small panicky feeling that he might die in this place, buried in the snow. He tried not to let his thoughts go to Sarah, as they were prone to do when he stopped. He concentrated on Marie and the small Cherokee village he had left behind. They would have a hard time in this violent land. Already many of the other Cherokee had died from disease, accidents or Indian raids. He had to admire their courage and determination, though. James Whitestone was a man of vision. Caleb did not doubt he was right about what the future held for Cherokee in Georgia. It had already happened to too many Indians in too many other states farther east. At least out here a man like Whitestone—and himself—could be free.
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