Captive Trail

by Susan Page Davis

  Ned’s eyes widened. “Yes. That was the name of the child they lost. She was nine years old, as I told you before. And she had a kitten. Taabe, Billie’s kitten was named Fluffy.”

  Tears rushed to her eyes so quickly, Taabe had no time to stop them. They flowed unhindered down her cheeks. She raised her hand to her face, overcome with relief, but not knowing what to do, how to act. She looked to Ned for a hint, and he held out his arms to her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ned stood for a minute, holding Taabe close and stroking her back with small, tender pats. She clung to him as Quinta would in a time of stress, and he tried not to read too much into that. Still, he couldn’t stifle the rightness of it. This was meant to be. God had placed her in the path of his stagecoach on that first mail run, meaning for him to find and protect her. Yet he was the messenger who brought the news that meant she would leave him.

  He rested his cheek against her cool, silky hair. “I believe you are the Morgan girl, Billie,” he said slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. “That is your name. Your brother wants to come and get you. If you want me to, I will tell him to come. Sister Natalie and the other nuns can help you prepare.”

  Her shoulders quaked, and she gave a small sob. Ned reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, and she disentangled herself and stood back. She took his bandanna, mopped her tears, and handed it back to him.

  “Write.” Taabe made gestures as though writing with a pencil.

  “You want to write to Mr. Morgan?”

  “Write. Billie Morgan.” She made the motions again.

  Ned smiled. “You want to write your name.”

  She nodded. In her eyes, Ned saw a longing and a resolution. This was a definitive action—the moment she would claim her true name. She would leave Taabe behind and become Billie.

  For a moment he wanted to discourage her—to tell her she should wait until Mr. Morgan came and they were certain. But that would only prolong her distress. In his heart there was no doubt, and he could not make her wait any longer.

  “I’ll tell the sisters.” He touched her shoulder gently. “I’m sure they will help you learn to do that, and that it won’t take you long.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “You write letter.”

  “I will. I’ll do it tonight.”

  “How long?”

  “How long before he comes here?”

  “Yes.”

  Ned shrugged. “It will take the letter several days to get there—perhaps a week or more. And he’ll have to ride …” He thought about the way the Comanche rode, day and night, disregarding hunger and fatigue. Would Judson Morgan ride that way, coming to reclaim his sister? Or would he take a stagecoach partway, or perhaps even drive his own wagon to take her home in?

  “I don’t know. I guess it will be a couple of weeks, maybe longer.” A thought struck him, and he smiled. “Not before the next full moon.”

  She nodded in perfect comprehension, and he hastened to qualify the statement.

  “I’m guessing. It may be longer, but not before then.”

  “I will … be ready.”

  He smiled, a bittersweet smile accompanied by stinging in his eyes. “I’m sure you will. But I’ll miss you, Taabe. If you go with the Morgans …” He shook his head and looked away.

  She laid her hand against the front of his jacket.

  “You.” She pulled her hand back and touched her heart.

  “Aw, Taabe, I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re that far away.” He looked at her face, wanting to say all kinds of things. But he couldn’t make any sort of declaration now—that might confuse the issue with her family. She had so much to think about, it wouldn’t be fair to ask her for promises when she didn’t know what her future would be. He managed a smile. “I’d better go now, or I’ll be crying next. Quinta wouldn’t understand, and Brownie would rag me all the way to the home station.”

  She pressed her lips together, as though unsure whether to smile. “You come back.”

  “I will. I’ll be here on Friday.”

  Her lips curved upward. “Stagecoach day.”

  “Yes. Friday is a stagecoach day. You’ve got my number, haven’t you?” Her blank look made him laugh. He reached for her hand and pressed it firmly. “It means you’ve got me all figured out. I wish I had you figured out. I’ll see you soon.” He went out, settling his hat as he walked down the steps. Quinta and Sister Adele were talking to Brownie, while Quinta stroked the nose of the near lead mule.

  “All set?” Brownie called.

  Ned nodded. “Let’s move. I’m afraid I took more time than I intended.”

  “Is Taabe leaving us?” Quinta asked.

  “Maybe. Her brother wants—that is, Mr. Morgan wants to come and meet her and probably take her home. If he really is her brother. But …” He looked at Sister Adele. “I can’t see much room for doubt. He was excited to hear about the music and the horses. It’s all true. But the kitten is what clinched it.”

  Sister Adele smiled. “This is what we’ve prayed for all these weeks.”

  “Yes,” Ned said with less conviction than he should. He tweaked Quinta’s pigtail. “I’ll see you Friday, chica.” “You’d better.”

  He grinned as he climbed to the driver’s box and gathered the reins. Brownie let go of the leaders’ bridles and clambered up on the other side. “Let ’em tear, boss.”

  Ned slackened the reins and clucked to the mules. “Tear, you fools.”

  The mules set out in a smart road trot. Ned looked at Brownie and shrugged. “Awful hard to get mules to break any faster than that.”

  Brownie shook his head mournfully. “You wasn’t hardly tryin’.”

  Billie woke each morning thinking, “Soon I shall leave here.”

  The sisters seemed more dear, now that she had this understanding, and each of their small kindnesses moved her. Quinta shadowed her whenever the nuns didn’t require her presence elsewhere.

  “I’ll show you your name, Taabe,” Quinta said the same day Ned brought the news. She fetched her slate and chalk and sat down beside her.

  “I am Billie. I am not Taabe Waipu.”

  “That’s right,” Quinta said. “You must call yourself Billie now, and think of yourself that way. I will help you by calling you Billie.”

  She wrote B-I-L-L on the slate and stopped, frowning.

  “Hold on.” Quinta rose and walked over to Sister Riva who sat nearby mending. “Is it Billy with a Y or with an I-E? I’d think the Y way is for a boy.”

  Sister Riva smiled. “It is I-E. Mr. Bright showed us the letter from Mr. Morgan. She is named for her father, Bill Morgan, who died fighting—” She hesitated and her gaze flickered over Quinta. “I believe he died in battle.”

  Billie barely had time to realize she had understood not only what Sister Riva said, but also what she’d left unsaid—that her father had died fighting the Mexicans. Riva had swallowed that detail in deference to Quinta’s heritage. Billie’s love for the quiet nun swelled.

  Quinta nodded and returned to Billie’s side.

  “Did you hear that, Billie? You are named for a hero.”

  “Yes.” She smiled at Quinta and patted the cushion beside her. “You show me.”

  Billie’s English lessons continued with Sister Adele, and Quinta broadened her vocabulary considerably, including a sprinkling of Spanish sayings.

  Ned was right about Billie’s quickness—she learned to write her new-old name perfectly by the next time he returned. He brought another visitor, a white-haired man looking for his granddaughter. Billie met with him, but the gentleman left disappointed. His lost grandchild would have been only eleven now, and she had green eyes. Billie wondered why people made these arduous journeys when the captain had written to them and told them she was likely not their loved one.

  While Brownie helped the tired old gentleman back into the stagecoach, Ned stole a moment with her. He hadn’t received any news from the Morgan family yet—not enough ti
me had elapsed—but, to Billie’s delight, he still wanted to spend a few minutes with her.

  Sister Natalie sat nearby, reviewing the four students’ most recent essays, while Ned assured Billie he would bring her any news the moment he received it.

  “I practice,” she said to him.

  “What do you practice?”

  “I talk English. I write. I sew. I play the song about God’s grace.”

  Ned smiled and glanced toward Sister Natalie. “It’s hard to believe how far she’s come since she arrived here.”

  Sister Natalie looked up and nodded. “We shall miss our Taabe.”

  “Billie.”

  They both looked at her, and she repeated her true name. “Billie. Not Taabe.”

  “Of course, child.” Sister Natalie’s face held a wistfulness that Billie regretted. She had put that expression there, had caused new worry lines near the dear sister’s mouth.

  Ned had almost the same set to his face. They were grieving already. Grieving because she would be gone.

  But she couldn’t ignore the joy that burgeoned inside her when she thought about meeting her brother. Anxiety, however, was that joy’s constant companion.

  She turned to Ned. “This man—brother …”

  “Judson Morgan.”

  “Yes. What happens …” She reached for the small word that changed a meaning so drastically. “If … what happens if he does not love me?”

  Ned inhaled and looked at her for a moment before speaking. “They already love you. They want you at home. They have loved you all this time. If you are Billie Morgan, they have been looking for you and hoping for twelve years.”

  She nodded slowly. Had it been that long? She supposed it had. So much had happened to her since she went to live with the Numinu.

  “If that happened,” Ned said, “and they changed their minds—I’m sure it will not, but if it did—you must remember that you have people here who care about you. You will never be without a home again.”

  Sister Natalie spoke with a tremor in her voice. “That is true, child. You will always be welcome here. No matter how many pupils we gain, you were our first, and we will always love you. If you leave us and you have troubles in the world, you may come back at any time.”

  Billie knew it was true. Even if the sisters knew every detail of her life in the Comanche camp, they would accept her and treat her with compassion. And now that she had spent time with them, she truly loved each of them, and she felt their love in return. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  But what about Ned? He sat beside her, so confident, pouring out his friendship. His feelings for her went beyond what a man would normally feel for a neighbor in need—she knew that. But did she dare think he would love her?

  Her emotions soared whenever he was near. She must be careful for many reasons. Because Ned did not know everything. When Judson Morgan came, she would tell him—her brother. But she wasn’t sure she would tell Ned. Mr. Morgan could decide whether he would claim her for a sister—or not. But what about Ned? She felt the risk was greater with him. Would he feel the same about her if he learned all?

  Ned rode with Tree to the mission several days later. Tree had clothing and sweets for Quinta, and gifts of cheese and beef for the sisters. Ned just wanted to see Taabe—Billie—again, when he didn’t have to hurry to keep the stagecoach schedule.

  She had seemed worried about meeting her family, and he didn’t blame her. She had every reason to feel insecure. Everywhere he went he heard stories about captives who couldn’t make the adjustment back into normal life, and about the families who tried to rehabilitate them but were afraid of their own children. Some returned captives were shunned. Others were stared at and pestered by the curious. What was Jud Morgan thinking as he made his way north?

  Ned tried to look at the situation from Billie’s perspective and couldn’t imagine her turmoil. Though he’d meant every word he told her—she was loved here—he couldn’t speak for the Morgans. They might reject her or treat her badly because of her past. Ned only knew that if he were in her shoes, he’d be petrified.

  Quinta dashed out from the dining room, where she’d been having lessons with the other girls, and into her father’s arms. Ned smiled as he watched Tree shower her with kisses. He was forgotten when her papa was near, and that was the way it should be.

  Sister Natalie brought Billie into the sitting room. She entered with a shy smile for Ned. He stood and held out his hands to her. She wore the dark blue dress with her beadwork at the collar and cuffs. Her hair still floated free about her shoulders, though all the girls wore theirs in plaits. As he took her hands, Billie caught her breath. She cast a quick glance up at him, then lowered her gaze.

  “Sit down,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

  Once they were seated on the sofa, Sister Natalie withdrew. Tree had claimed an armchair—a new acquisition the freighters had brought the previous week—and sat with Quinta on his lap, hearing her excited account of a spelling bee Sister Adele held among the students.

  “Billie,” Ned said.

  She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, her face calm and expectant.

  “I know I’ve asked you before, but the captain wants me to inquire again, now that your English is better. Billie, when you were with the Numinu, were there other children? Other white children they had taken?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Did you meet other children who were captured like you were? We’ve read names to you and asked you about specific children who were kidnapped, but it seems to me you wouldn’t know their English names. But you’ve seen others among the tribe? Ones they’ve adopted? White Indians?”

  “Yes.” She spoke in a small voice, and her eyes took on an anxiety Ned didn’t like. “Sometimes. They don’t stay where I am. Was. Most of them go with other bands.”

  “Remember the first man and woman I brought to see you here—the Cunninghams? At the time, I’m sure you didn’t understand most of what we said to you. But they had a daughter, Sally. She was also taken, about two years ago, not far from here. She was younger than you. She’d be twelve years old now.” He held up all ten fingers, then two. “Twelve. You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you seen a girl like that in the last two years?” Billie shook her head. “Not now.”

  “Not recently?”

  She nodded doubtfully, and Ned wasn’t sure she caught his meaning.

  “Other girls?” he asked. “Boys?”

  “Boy.” She touched her hair. “White hair.”

  “A boy with white hair.”

  She nodded and pointed to Quinta. “Small like her.”

  “When?” Ned asked.

  Billie shrugged. “Hot. Men raid much. Very hot.”

  “Last summer?”

  “Yes, summer. Bring back boys. One is … brown face. One is white. Hair very white.”

  “A Negro boy and a blond white boy?”

  “Yes. But … they trade them. Peca trade the white hair boy.”

  “Peca?” Ned caught something in her manner when she said the name. A slight squint of her eyes and a touch of hardness to her voice.

  Quinta climbed down from her father’s lap and walked over in front of them. “Peca is the man who chased Billie,” she said.

  “What?” Ned stared at Quinta. “When? Why?”

  “When she left the Comanche. Peca wanted her for his wife, and she ran away. She took one of the horses he left outside the tepee.”

  Ned looked at Billie. “Is this true?”

  Billie nodded.

  “I don’t understand,” Ned said. “She didn’t say anything about this Peca fellow when I brought Cat Thompson here.”

  “Did you ask her?” Quinta’s expression made Ned feel like a witless schoolboy.

  “No, I guess we didn’t. We talked about when she was captured, but not much about when she left them. She did say she took a horse and ran away from them. What else do you know, Quinta?”<
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  “Billie is afraid of Peca. That’s why we have the whistles and the hiding place. If Peca comes, she’ll get in the hole.”

  “What hole are we talking about?” Patrillo came over to stand beside her.

  Quinta looked up at him. “I’m not supposed to tell.”

  “Well, the sisters already showed me,” Ned said. “And your father won’t blab about it.”

  “Of course not,” Tree said. “What’s this about a hole and a whistle?”

  Quickly Quinta explained the nuns’ defense system. Tree gazed down at her for a long moment. At last he pointed his finger at her. “You be careful, young lady.”

  “I will, Papa.”

  Tree stepped closer to Ned. “That place where Cat Thompson told you the Indians take their captives to hide them—the Valle de las Lagrimas—I wonder …” He turned to Billie. “Do you think you could lead a detachment of soldiers to the place where the Comanche hid you?”

  Billie stared at him.

  “Tree,” Ned said, “I don’t think this is the time to consider that. She probably has no idea what you’re talking about, anyway.”

  “They would not come out alive,” Billie said.

  “That’s right. It would be foolish to try.” Ned jerked his head around and stared at her, then smiled. “You understood it all, didn’t you? I’m so proud of you.” He longed to ask her more about her life with the Numinu, but perhaps it was better to wait until Morgan arrived. He didn’t want to add to her distress during this period of waiting, but clearly there were many things he didn’t know.

  Sister Natalie returned carrying a tray with coffee for the men, a glass of milk for Quinta, and a plate of small frosted cakes.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Stein are keeping our cow until spring,” the sister said, “but they send out milk quite often. They have one cow of their own that hasn’t gone dry yet. It is such a blessing, to have milk for the girls.”

  “Thank you.” Ned accepted a cup of coffee. “I told Herr Stein I’ll bring it twice a week when I bring the stagecoach east.”