Captive Trail (The Texas Trail Series Book 2)

by Susan Page Davis

  Ned had paced the small room only half a dozen times when the older nun joined him. Close behind her came Sister Marie with a tray.

  “Would you care for some coffee, Mr. Bright?” Sister Natalie asked.

  “That’d be nice. And thank you for seeing me. I’m sorry for disturbing you this afternoon.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t your intention to upset anyone.” Sister Natalie sat down. Ned took a chair close to her, and Sister Marie poured coffee for them both. “Thanks to you and Frau Stein, I can offer you milk to go in it.”

  Ned usually drank his coffee black, but he poured a few drops from the small pitcher into his cup.

  “I met Trainer up at Fort Phantom Hill, and I thought he’d be a good translator. Guess I was wrong.”

  “Taabe recognized him. She ran to the hiding place we’d prepared. None of us realized she’d gone until I sent Sister Adele to get her. Sister Marie told us she’d helped her hide and that Taabe was greatly agitated. That was enough for me. I did my best to get you to take the man away without alarming him.”

  “He was suspicious,” Ned said, “but under the circumstances, you did well. I took your statements to mean that Taabe was not within the building, though she was close by.”

  “That is correct.” Sister Natalie raised her cup to her lips. She seemed perfectly calm now.

  “I also inferred that she hadn’t run away.”

  “No. She is safe. I wish I could say she was in her own bed now, but she won’t come out of the refuge. I believe she’s afraid that man will come back in the night, looking for her.”

  Ned took a sip of his coffee and set his cup down. “I spoke to Captain Tapley at the fort. He and his men will try to make sure Trainer stays put tonight. I think the captain understands how important it is to keep her whereabouts quiet—though that’s difficult with so many people wanting to try to identify her. So many already know where she is that it’s probably no longer a secret.”

  “Yes.” Sister Natalie sighed. “The poor child. And Quinta!”

  “Was she frightened?”

  “Not really. But she is very tenderhearted. She insisted on staying hidden with Taabe, to keep her company.”

  “Will that endanger Taabe?”

  “I don’t think so. Quinta takes the matter seriously. She’s an unusual child, Mr. Bright.”

  Ned smiled. “Isn’t she? She’s had it a little rough since her mother died, but she hasn’t lost her spirit. And she is much loved.”

  “That is good. I sensed that her father brought her to me, not to be rid of her, but because he truly felt she needed a feminine influence. That and religious instruction.”

  “I’d say that’s a fair assessment. Patrillo cares deeply what happens to his children. But he’s so busy, he’s afraid Quinta isn’t getting all she needs from him and the boys.”

  Sister Natalie placed her cup and saucer on the tray. “Would you like to see her and Taabe?”

  The final weight lifted from Ned’s chest. “I would like that very much.”

  The sister rose. “I think it’s safe to bring her out while you are here.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.” Ned stood.

  “It’s not. She is only steps away. Let me refresh your coffee, and I’ll bring her.” She refilled his cup and left the room.

  Ned couldn’t hear her footsteps, but a few muffled sounds came from another room. He forced himself to sit and sip the coffee.

  Sister Natalie returned, entering the room first, with Taabe behind her.

  “Quinta fell asleep, so we didn’t disturb her.” Sister Natalie stood aside and let Taabe pass.

  She bounded toward him, her face glowing. “Ned Bright!”

  She held out her hands, and he clasped them, smiling down at her. Her hair shimmered over her shoulders in the lamplight. Her upturned face held a sweet eagerness.

  “Hello, Taabe. You have a new dress.”

  She glanced at the navy blue fabric. “Yes. I sew.”

  “You made it yourself?”

  She nodded, smiling. “And Quinta and Sister Adele.”

  “That’s wonderful. The beadwork is very pretty.”

  “Beads.” Taabe put a hand to her collar, where the colored beads caught the lamp’s glimmer.

  “If you will excuse me for a moment,” Sister Natalie said.

  “Of course.” Ned tried not to let his surprise show. The nuns usually hovered like hens over their one chick. Perhaps she thought Taabe might say something to him that she hadn’t expressed to them, or wouldn’t in her presence.

  Sister Natalie picked up the coffee tray and left the room.

  “Come sit down.” Ned drew Taabe to the two chairs drawn close together, where he and the sister had talked. They both sat, and he gazed into Taabe’s eyes. They seemed a darker blue tonight, perhaps because of the dim lighting and the dark cloth of her dress. Within their depths, he found the same delight he experienced. He would do anything to keep her safe and to help her find her family. If that family couldn’t accept her as she was—though he couldn’t imagine that—he would undertake to help her find her new place in life. More than anything, he would strive to see her happy.

  “Man,” Taabe said. “Stagecoach.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry I brought him. I thought he could help us talk. He speaks Comanche.”

  She frowned and nodded.

  “Numinu.” Ned had learned the Comanches’ word for themselves. “Talk. Man, you, me.”

  She said something in the tribe’s language.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know those words.”

  Taabe looked about in frustration. She rose, pressing down on his hands, indicating he should stay where he was, and hurried out of the room. A minute later, she returned carrying her slate and chalk, with Sister Natalie following.

  “Taabe asked me to return,” the sister said. “Perhaps she feels that among the three of us, we can communicate better.”

  “I’m sure you understand her better than I do,” Ned said. “I believe she’s trying to tell me something about Trainer.”

  Taabe drew a four-legged beast Ned eventually realized was a buffalo, and a man. A line extended from the man to the buffalo.

  “Yes,” Ned said. “Trainer hunts the buffalo.” Taabe nodded and sketched several triangles in the distance.

  “Tepees?” Ned asked.

  She drew an arc from the man to the triangles.

  “Perhaps she’s signifying that Mr. Trainer visited the Comanche village,” Sister Natalie said.

  “Yes.” Ned touched Taabe’s wrist. “Man came to your people? The Numinu?”

  “Yes.” Taabe held her hand up and tilted it, as if she were drinking. She did it several times and tapped the sketched village with the chalk.

  “He … ate with your people?” Ned asked.

  She shook her head and made the motions again.

  “He drank with your people.”

  Taabe rose and staggered about the room.

  Sister Natalie cleared her throat. “It seems to me that Mr. Trainer gave the Comanche some alcohol.”

  “That makes sense.” Ned stood and took Taabe gently by the arms. “When Trainer went to your camp, what happened?”

  She frowned and shook her head.

  Frustration overwhelmed Ned. “We need a translator.”

  “Yes,” said Sister Natalie. “But her language skills are improving rapidly. I shall ask Sister Adele to concentrate on vocabulary that will help her explain to us her life among the Comanche. I fear that until this point, we’ve been more concerned with helping her learn to cope in this world. But if she can tell us her story, that may help us find where she truly belongs.”

  Ned rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe it would help if she visited the fort.”

  “The fort?” Sister Natalie’s eyes widened.

  “It’s possible she might recognize the place. Or if it set off some other memory for her, that might be a big step forward in finding her family.”


  “But everyone would see her.”

  “I doubt anyone would know who she is, except the few military men who know she’s staying with you, and possibly the Steins. But dressed the way she is now, she bears little resemblance to a Comanche woman.”

  Sister Natalie rose and surveyed Taabe from head to foot. “What if she were dressed as we are?”

  “You mean … in a habit?”

  “Yes. Then she would be almost invisible.”

  Ned realized that when he’d first encountered the nuns, he’d done everything he could to not look directly at them or attract their attention. Anyone at the fort who wasn’t Catholic would probably feel the same unease and avoid speaking to the sisters.

  “That’s a good idea,” he said. “She’ll need shoes, though, not those moccasins. I could ask Mrs. Stein …”

  “I think we can take care of that,” Sister Natalie said.

  “Good. When I come next Tuesday, if I don’t have any passengers along, I’ll take you and Taabe and maybe another of the sisters. Whatever you think.”

  “And Quinta?”

  Ned grinned. “Even better.”

  Taabe stepped forward and spoke a few words in Comanche, looking from him to Sister Natalie with a puzzled frown.

  Ned pointed to her and smiled. “You. Stagecoach.”

  Her eyes flared, and she turned to Sister Natalie. “Stagecoach? Taabe?”

  The nun smiled and patted her shoulder. “Yes, dear. We’ll talk about it. I’ll see if Sister Adele can get it across to you. But there’s nothing to worry about. Mr. Bright will make sure of that. Won’t you?” She turned a stern look on Ned.

  He felt suddenly like a guilty schoolboy. “Yes, ma’am. I surely will. It’s getting late. I should get back to the station.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Bright.”

  He clapped his hat on and looked at Taabe. She still seemed mystified.

  “See if you can explain why I won’t be here tomorrow,” he told Sister Natalie. “And Tuesday I’ll be back.”

  Taabe went back to the cellar. Her anxiety was eased, but she did not want to be caught in a vulnerable position if the buffalo hunter returned. Besides, Quinta lay sleeping on her blankets in the hole. Taabe didn’t want her to awaken and find herself alone.

  Sister Adele helped her climb into the hiding place and put the trapdoor partially into place. “We’ll leave a space, so more air can get in.” She replaced the mat almost in its usual position and pulled the table closer, so that if the alarm were given, one of the sisters could quickly close and cover the trapdoor.

  Taabe curled up next to Quinta. The girl stirred.

  “Is it morning?”

  “No.” Taabe patted her head and lay down on her pallet. In a few days, she would ride in the stagecoach Ned Bright drove. He would take her and one of the sisters to another place. She thought she was too excited to sleep, but the next thing she knew, the trapdoor was moved aside and light poured into the cellar.

  Sister Marie smiled down at her. “Good morning.” Taabe nodded and rose, careful not to jostle Quinta, but her eyes were already open. She jumped to her feet. “I’m starving, Sister Marie.”

  The nun chuckled. “Then climb up here and go get washed, Miss Quinta. Put on your school dress, and you can help me fix breakfast.”

  That day all of the sisters moved extra quietly. They went to the yard often and looked about. When Quinta asked to go outside, Sister Natalie refused her.

  “I want to see Ned when the stagecoach goes by.”

  “Not today,” Sister Natalie said. “Next time.”

  Quinta’s face drooped. “Is it because of that man he had with him yesterday?”

  Sister Natalie glanced at Taabe. “Yes, Quinta. We’re not sure he is a friend, and we’d rather you and Taabe stay inside until we know he’s no longer in this area.”

  That seemed to satisfy Quinta, and she went about her lessons with more enthusiasm than usual. When her schooltime was over, she coaxed Taabe to play her flute. They sat on Taabe’s bed, and Quinta hummed along as she played the Numinu songs softly.

  After she’d finished one melody, Taabe held the flute out to Quinta.

  “You.”

  “Really?” Quinta’s eyes glittered as she gingerly took the thin wooden instrument. “What do I do?”

  Quinta was able to blow a few different notes on the flute and tried to make a melody of them. Taabe showed her again how the Indians produced the simple, flowing music, and the girl tried to imitate her.

  They spent an hour together, laughing and singing in different languages. Some of the songs Quinta knew didn’t even sound like English to Taabe’s ear, but they were happy songs. She was glad the girl had come to the mission. The nuns were kind to Taabe, but Quinta seemed more normal, more like the people she thought she had known long ago. The sisters were from another place, another culture.

  Of the black-robed women, Sister Adele seemed to understand Taabe’s longings and fears the best, but even her friendship did not take away Taabe’s loneliness. Adele was one of the sisters, and every few hours when the bell rang, she hurried to the chapel. She spoke little except during their lessons. Every time she allowed Quinta and Taabe to laugh or speak loudly, Sister Natalie seemed to appear, frowning.

  But Taabe’s times with Quinta took her back to a place of warmth and happiness. Quinta sometimes fell into a bad temper, and often she reacted childishly, but she was always interesting. At the end of their beading and music hours, Taabe realized she was not lonely when Quinta was near.

  Quinta lowered the flute and rested her small hand on Taabe’s arm. Taabe looked at her and smiled.

  “Are you sad?” Quinta asked.

  Taabe wasn’t sure what she meant. It wasn’t a word the sisters had taught her. She raised her eyebrows in question.

  “Sad. You know.” Quinta made fists and scrubbed at her eyes.

  Taabe smiled. She streaked her fingers down her cheeks like tears.

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean.” Quinta gazed at her soberly. “Are you sad, Taabe? Do you miss your family?”

  Taabe knew the word “family,” but not which family Quinta meant—the Numinu family she had abandoned, or the white family she barely knew existed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ned was glad to be home. The sixty-mile run to Fort Chadbourne seemed to get longer every time—especially those times he didn’t stop to see Taabe.

  They rolled into the ranch’s barnyard after dark. The new driver and shotgun rider were waiting to take over for the run to Fort Phantom Hill, and Tree’s sons changed the teams out quickly. Trainer lurched inside the house with the other three passengers and ate a hasty supper. The stage would take them as fast as possible to their destinations, but they would have to sleep in the mail coach.

  Ned waited until they were ready to board again. He stopped Trainer as he left the house. “Here’s your ten dollars.”

  The buffalo hunter took the money and crammed it in his pocket. “Too bad it didn’t work out.”

  “Yeah.” Ned hesitated. “I guess she went back to the Comanche.”

  “You couldn’t have stopped this morning and asked if they’d found her?”

  “Could have, but I’m not supposed to. The captain will let us know. Look, don’t broadcast it about the girl, will you?”

  “What, that she ran away?”

  “Anything.”

  “I thought you wanted to find out who she is. The only way to do that is to let people know.”

  Ned scowled. “Folks would be awfully disappointed if they went to see her and she wasn’t there, wouldn’t they? And we wouldn’t want anyone bothering the nuns. We’ve been telling folks to see Captain Tapley if they’re looking for a missing girl.”

  “Time to board,” Tree called from beside the stagecoach.

  Trainer nodded at Ned and strode to the coach.

  Ned let out a sigh and leaned against the wall of the ranch house. The stagecoach pulled out,
and Tree walked over.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Not exactly.”