Captive Trail

by Susan Page Davis

  Ned pointed to himself and offered one of the last Comanche words he’d learned. “Tenahpu. Man.”

  Taabe reached out and touched the front of his leather vest. “Yes. Ned Bright. Man.”

  Sister Adele laughed. “In no time she’ll be communicating fluently.”

  “I think you’re right,” Ned said. “Taabe, soon I hope to bring another man here. A man who speaks your language.” Taabe frowned, watching his lips.

  Ned puzzled over how to get his meaning across. He pointed at her and then at Sister Adele. “Woman. Woman.” He touched his chest. “Man.” Taabe nodded.

  Ned gestured as though someone else stood near him. “Man. Another man.” Slowly she nodded.

  Ned touched his mouth. “Talk. Man talk … to you.” He pointed to her.

  Taabe turned an uncomprehending frown on Sister Adele.

  Sister Adele touched her arm. “Ned Bright will go.” She made walking motions with her fingers. “He will come back.” She demonstrated, and Taabe nodded. “Another man will come with him.” She handed Ned the slate and made two sets of walking legs from her fingers. “He will talk.” She moved her lips and at the same time moved her hand, close to her mouth, opening and closing the fingers to signify talking. “To you.” She pointed to Taabe.

  Taabe nodded, but she still seemed unsure.

  “When will you do this?” Sister Adele asked Ned.

  “I’m not sure. The next time I take the stagecoach to the fort—which will be Friday—I hope to find someone who can translate for us.”

  “You’re not with the stagecoach today?”

  “No. I came with my partner, Patrillo Garza. He brought his daughter to meet Sister Natalie. He hopes she can come here as a pupil.”

  Sister Adele’s eyes lit. “I would like to meet her.”

  “I’m sure she’d like to meet you,” Ned said. “Especially if you are to be one of her teachers. Of course …” He glanced at Taabe. “She’s especially eager to meet Taabe. Do you think that’s possible?”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea.” She turned to Taabe and made a fluttering motion near her cheeks, like flowing hair. “Woman.”

  Taabe nodded.

  Sister Adele held her hand palm down, about waist level. “Girl.”

  “Girr.”

  “Girl.”

  Sister Adele seized the slate and drew a hasty portrayal of a stick woman wearing a long, triangular skirt. “Woman.” Taabe nodded. Beside the woman, Sister Adele drew a smaller figure like it. “Girl.”

  “Girl.”

  “Yes. Come, let’s go and meet a girl.” Sister Adele took Taabe’s arm and led her out through the gate.

  Ned followed at a leisurely pace and closed the gate. When he reached the front of the house, the door was open, so he went into the cool hallway. In the sitting room to the side, Quinta was chattering eagerly. He stepped into the room and saw that Taabe was the object of the girl’s excitement. Patrillo, Sister Adele, and Sister Natalie stood by watching with amusement. Taabe’s bright eyes were riveted to Quinta’s face.

  “Did you have your own horse?” Quinta asked. “Did they let you ride?”

  “Horse,” Taabe said.

  “I knew it! What did it look like?”

  Taabe frowned and shook her head.

  “Your horse. What color was it?”

  “I’m afraid her English isn’t that good yet, my dear,” Sister Natalie said.

  Taabe turned to Sister Adele and took the slate and chalk. She wiped out the simple figures with her palm and sketched the outline of a horse, then added splotches on the animal’s side and face.

  “You had a spotted horse!” Quinta grabbed Taabe’s hand and bounced up and down. “You must have had a grand time with the Comanche.”

  “Quinta,” Patrillo said sharply. “Her time with the Comanche was not for fun.”

  “But she got to have her own horse, Papa.”

  Patrillo sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sisters. My daughter has much to learn.”

  “She is charming,” Sister Natalie said. “As you know, we expect to take other students. We’re preparing rooms for them now. So far we have two interested families. If you think you would like to place Quinta here, just let us know. She is welcome any time.”

  Patrillo hesitated. “Sister, do you think you will be safe, you and the girls? You have no one here to protect you.”

  “Yes, we do.” Sister Natalie’s serene smile seemed to calm him. “We’ve come here in answer to God’s calling. We believe He wants a school here—one where girls can receive a spiritual education as well as an academic one. He will watch over us, Señor Garza.”

  “But the Indian trouble …”

  “We have heard of none since we moved here,” Sister Natalie said. “Of course, it has only been about two months. I’m sure there will be incidents, but we trust the Lord to protect us.”

  “Papa,” Quinta said.

  “What is it?”

  She looked down at the floor. “Nothing.”

  “We can talk later.” He smiled at Sister Natalie. “Thank you for showing us the mission. If I decide to send Quinta, I will bring her and her things when the stagecoach comes.”

  “Very good, Señor Garza.” Sister Natalie bowed her head.

  “All right, Quinta. Say good-bye.” Patrillo nodded at his daughter.

  Quinta glanced up at Sister Natalie and Sister Adele. “Adios. I mean good-bye.” She turned to Taabe, and her face brightened. “Good-bye. I hope to see you again, and you can tell me more about your horse.”

  Taabe chuckled. “Good-bye.”

  Patrillo led Quinta out, and Ned nodded to the sisters and Taabe.

  “Ladies. I hope to see you again soon.” His gaze lingered on Taabe.

  She was watching him, and his pulse galloped. Carefully and distinctly, she said, “Good-bye, Ned Bright.” He nodded and clapped his hat on as he hurried out the door to where Patrillo and Quinta waited.

  As soon as she was strong enough to walk about the mission, Taabe began to work. Women always did the work of the family, and in a family of only women, they all had their chores. Sister Marie did most of the cooking. Sister Riva prepared the garden for planting in the spring. She also kept their water buckets and the box beside Sister Marie’s stove full. Sister Adele did the laundry and much of the cleaning. Sister Natalie helped with all these things and many others, but she also spent many hours in the dim room the sisters called “chapel.”

  Taabe saw her coming and going from the room. Once Taabe had drawn back the curtain over the doorway and peered in. Several candles flickered within. Unlike the other rooms, this one had a floor of flat stones. Sister Natalie was kneeling at a low bench, facing the wall farthest from the one slit of a window. On the wall was a figure like the one in Taabe’s room, only larger. The dying man on the torture rack. Taabe shivered and dropped the edge of the curtain. Someday, when she knew enough words, she would ask Sister Adele about that man.

  Since Sister Adele spent more time with her than the others, and since she seemed so eager to teach Taabe new words, she was the one Taabe most wanted to help. Taabe couldn’t carry heavy loads yet, but she could help Sister Adele when she wiped dust from tables and shelves, scrubbed floors, or washed clothing. When Adele went to Sister Marie’s kitchen to wash dishes, Taabe followed her. She made her intentions clear by taking the scrub cloth from Sister Adele’s hand and saying, “Me.” The sisters understood and allowed her to do light work.

  After each session, they insisted Taabe rest for a while. She did not like to admit weakness, even to herself, but leaning on her crutches for a short time while she cleaned the dishes did drain her strength.

  The day after Quinta’s visit, Sister Adele accompanied Taabe to her room to help her remove her outer skirt and settle on her bed. The sister leaned Taabe’s crutches against the adobe wall, where she could reach them easily.

  Taabe reached out and patted the stool beside the bed.

&
nbsp; Sister Adele looked at her in surprise. “You want me to stay?”

  “Song.” It was one of the new words the nun had taught her. Taabe felt shy, not certain she should ask, but she wanted to hear Sister Adele sing again. Specifically, she hoped to hear the song that had sounded familiar.

  Sister Adele sat and began softly to sing one of the songs the sisters sang in the chapel room. Taabe closed her eyes. It was not the one she had hoped to hear, but she would wait.

  Every day the sisters went into the chapel at certain times. All of them went early in the morning, and again after breakfast. Late in the afternoon they gathered again, before supper, and once more after the sun had set. Taabe heard their songs, and sometimes quiet chanting.

  Sister Adele finished her song and started to rise.

  In Comanche, Taabe said, “Wait.”

  Sister Adele peered at her.

  “Song,” Taabe said.

  Sister Adele smiled and resumed her seat. She began singing—the same song she had just sung.

  Taabe’s frustration grew. How could she explain? She sat up and felt along the edge of the bed for her parfleche. She took out her small flute and began to play.

  Sister Adele’s jaw dropped. After a moment she sat back, smiling.

  Taabe finished the simple melody and lowered the flute. “Song?”

  “That’s ‘Frère Jacques,’” Sister Adele said. “How clever of you!”

  Taabe raised the flute and played the tune again. Sister Adele sang with her, softly.

  “Frère,” Taabe said, eyeing the nun.

  “It means Brother Jacques—or James, I guess.” Sister Adele went to a shelf near the door and took down the slate and chalk. She sat and quickly sketched four stick figures. “Family. Father, mother, brother, sister.” She pointed in turn to each figure.

  Taabe frowned and took the slate. She pointed to the figures and said slowly, “Man, woman, boy, girl.”

  Sister Adele nodded, smiling. “Yes, but this is a family.” She drew a small bundle in the woman’s arms. “Baby.”

  “Baby,” Taabe said.

  “Yes. Papa, Mama.”

  “Mama.”

  “That’s right. Baby.”

  “Baby.”

  Sister Adele pointed to the boy. “Brother.” She drew a line between the boy and the girl and pointed to each. “Sister. Brother.”

  Taabe was familiar with the word sister. She placed her hand on Adele’s wrist. “Sister. You.”

  Sister Adele laughed. “Yes, I am Sister Adele. We are all called ‘sister,’ but that’s different. In a family—” She tapped the slate with the chalk. “—the sister is the girl.” Again she touched the boy and girl figures. “Brother. Sister.”

  Taabe frowned. It was too confusing.

  Sister Adele went through the entire family again. “Father. Mother. Baby. Brother. Sister.”

  Suddenly it all fit together, and Taabe caught her breath. “Mama.” She pointed to the woman.

  “Yes.”

  “Sister.” She touched the girl.

  “Yes.” Adele’s face glowed.

  Taabe put her hand to her chest. “I. Sister.”

  “You are a sister?” Adele frowned. “You have a sister?”

  Taabe thought of Pia, the girl she had grown up with, whose lodge she had lived in after their mother died. She whispered the Comanche word for sister. Her eyes burned with tears. She did miss Pia and her family. The life among the Numinu was a hard one. They had no beds, no stoves, no storerooms full of food. But she did love Pia and her baby girl. The others of the people she cared about as well. Perhaps she was making a terrible mistake to leave them behind. What lay beyond this temporary life with the sisters?

  She touched the nun’s sleeve, still confused over the words. “Sister?”

  “Oh, I don’t have any sisters,” Adele said. “Well, not outside of the church. We’re all sisters here because we’re sisters in Christ.” She pointed to the carved figure on the wall.

  Taabe looked up at the man hanging there, more baffled than ever.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The westbound stage arrived a few minutes early, and Ned was still in the ranch house. He grabbed his hat and whip. “Papa, I don’t want to live at the mission.” Quinta set the pitcher of milk on the table with a thump. Patrillo frowned at her. “We will talk about it later. Right now you get the table set. We have three passengers to feed today. Quick!”

  Ned followed Patrillo outside, where the passengers—three men who had come from Fort Smith—were taking turns at the water basin.

  Patrillo carried the sack of mail straight to the stagecoach. Ned paused under the eaves and called to the passengers, “Dinner is ready, gents. We leave in ten minutes.”

  The men rushed inside. Ned ambled to the stage and took the pot of grease from Benito. He worked his way around the coach, applying grease as needed to the wheel fittings. By the time he’d finished, the boys had the teams switched, Tree had settled the mail sacks inside, and Brownie had stowed his small bundle of belongings in the driver’s boot.

  “One of the passengers asked me to put a packet in the treasure box,” Tree told him softly.

  Ned nodded. So far they hadn’t carried much for valuables, other than the mail. It wasn’t as if they were in the middle of a mining district. But the desolate miles they traveled made them vulnerable to holdups. Reports had come from other areas of road agents robbing the passengers and stealing the mail sacks. The fact that the stagecoaches came to them after traveling through Indian Territory seemed to lend a little insurance. The tribes between Fort Smith and Texas knew that if they attacked the mail coaches, they would be severely punished and their agents along the route would lose their commissions. Still, a lot of people were leery of riding the stage through Indian lands.

  “Are you going to put Quinta at the mission?” he asked.

  Tree gritted his teeth. “I don’t know. She gets wilder and wilder. Yesterday she rode clear out to the cliffs by herself. I wanted to tan her hide.”

  “Think the sisters can tame her?”

  “I don’t know.” Tree shook his head. “Sister Natalie thinks so, but I’m not so sure. I’m thinking on it. She’d have to speak English all the time.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I want her to be able to speak good English. People think better of you then, and treat you better.”

  “Really?” Ned grinned. “Maybe I’ll treat you better if you start talking better.”

  Tree laughed. “Maybe so. Are you stopping by the mission?”

  “If I can find a translator.”

  “I thought maybe I’d send something else for that girl, Taabe. They’re doing a good job with her.”

  Ned looked up at the sun. “Save it for next time. We need to get rolling.”

  “Right. I’ll go tell the passengers you’re ready.”

  Ned climbed to the driver’s box.

  The door of the house flew open and Quinta ran out and streaked toward the corral. In her overalls and plaid shirt, she looked like a little boy, except for the long, dark braids that flew out behind her.

  Tree looked up at him. “If you see the sisters, tell them I’ll bring her to them for a week. They can see what they think.”

  “Will do.” Ned looked at Brownie. This gave him an excuse to stop by the mission, regardless of whether he found someone who could speak Comanche.

  Brownie shook his head. “Can’t say I envy the sisters.”

  Taabe sat on the floor in her room, playing her flute softly. She ran through the melody of “Frère Jacques,” then mimicked one of the songs she’d heard the nuns singing in their chapel room. Dissatisfied with that—she wasn’t quite getting it right, and this displeased her—she went back to the melodies she had learned in the camps of the Numinu.

  As she played, images of the people she’d known danced across her mind. Pia, the baby, and Pia’s husband, Chano—a stern warrior, but gentle with his family. The ol
der woman who had been her mother for so long, until she died two winters ago in a time of sickness and near starvation. Others who had died—some that she loved dearly. Then there were the Numinu children she had played with as a child, men returning from raiding with painted faces that frightened her, and captives that drew her pity.

  Peca. She shuddered at the thought of the man who had pursued her. She had been here with the sisters many days, but Peca had not come to take her back. Her flight must have angered and shamed him. She couldn’t imagine the proud warrior ignoring the slight. No, Peca had followed her. He may have lost her trail, but he had surely found her horse. And so many white people had come to stare at her. If they all knew she was here, Peca would find her eventually.

  She continued to play songs of the Numinu, but she stared up at the figure on the wall. “Cross,” Adele had said. The man hung on a cross. And he was God’s Son. That much Taabe had grasped. The sisters believed their God was bigger than any other spirits. Taabe wasn’t sure why His Son was being tortured on the cross, but she knew now that when the sisters spoke with their eyes shut, they were talking to Him. Praying, they called it.

  Somehow that seemed normal to Taabe. White people prayed. How did she know this? The soldiers, the farmers, people like Ned Bright the stagecoach driver—did they all pray? In the shadows of her memory she could see white people with their eyes closed, their lips moving, speaking to their spirit God.

  She had left her door open a crack, and now it creaked open. Sister Adele came in.

  “That is lovely, Taabe. May I sit and listen?”

  Taabe understood her name and “sit.” She nodded. Adele seated herself on the stool.

  “You heard Mr. Bright say that Quinta Garza will come to us soon?”

  Taabe hesitated then nodded. Ned Bright’s brief visit that morning had left her longing for the chance to spend more time with him—so different from the feelings Peca inspired in her. Ned had greeted them all cheerfully and told Sister Natalie something concerning Quinta. Sister Natalie had smiled and nodded, so Taabe guessed it was good news. And that must mean the girl would visit again.