Captive Trail (The Texas Trail Series Book 2)

by Susan Page Davis

  “Come on. Marcos made plenty of tortillas, and I think there’s some gingerbread left, though we weren’t expecting so many passengers to feed. How’s my chica doing?”

  “Quinta’s fine. Full of chili peppers.” Ned chuckled. “I’m supposed to tell you she sewed a new dress. And she’s picking up a few words of Comanche.”

  “Well, there,” Tree said. “Pretty soon she’ll be able to translate for you. That girl chatters all day long.”

  “You may be right. I hope she has Taabe chattering back pretty soon—in English. Quinta misses her horse, and I expect she misses her brothers too, though she didn’t say as much.”

  “She is missed here,” Tree said. “I will go and see her soon. It’s too quiet, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Ned hung up his hat and sat down at the long table.

  Diego brought him a heaped plate of tortillas, beans, beef, and applesauce.

  “That looks good. Gracias.” Ned bowed his head for a moment and silently thanked God as well.

  “There’s been some Indian trouble farther up the line,” Tree said.

  “Bad?”

  “They raided a couple of ranches. Stole some horses and wounded a man.” Tree poured himself a cup of coffee and brought it to the table. “Ned, do you think Quinta’s really safe at the mission?”

  Ned swallowed a bite. His throat suddenly seemed tighter. This was his question all along—and now Patrillo was having second thoughts.

  “They have a hiding place,” he said. “Don’t mention it to anyone. But yeah, I think she’ll be safe. I hope.”

  “You don’t sound sure. Maybe I should bring her home until things quiet down again.”

  Ned grimaced. “Let me tell you what happened with Trainer, and you see what you think.”

  Quinta always made Taabe laugh. No one could drive away her anxiety the way the dark-eyed girl could. She talked constantly unless the nuns chided her to keep still. Taabe soon realized she was fluent in both English and her native language—Spanish—and was rapidly learning Comanche. The morning Quinta attempted to make a joke in Comanche, Taabe not only laughed until her sides ached, she also realized Quinta could be her link to the outside world—and to the past.

  Sister Natalie announced at the noon meal that another girl—perhaps two—would arrive in two weeks to attend school. This news brought a stare of dismay from Quinta.

  Taabe patted her shoulder. “Is good. You have new friend.”

  “You’re my new friend,” Quinta said.

  “Now, Quinta, finish your luncheon,” Sister Natalie said. “You’ve got arithmetic and sewing yet to do this afternoon.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the man who chased Taabe,” Quinta said.

  The dining table fell silent. Taabe and the four nuns waited for her to continue.

  “We should have a plan, in case he hears where she is and comes looking for her.”

  Sister Natalie caught her breath. Sister Adele looked anxiously at Taabe. None of them had spoken directly of this fear since the day they’d shown Taabe the hiding place. While the nuns calmly accepted the situation and went about their daily routines, the nine-year-old girl had obviously been considering what should be done about it.

  “Has Taabe spoken to you about this man?” Sister Adele asked, with a glance at Sister Natalie.

  “A bit. His name is Peca, and he left six horses outside Taabe’s house. Well, not house, but the tepee or whatever—where she lived.”

  “Six horses?” Sister Adele’s eyebrows shot up, and the nuns gazed at one another.

  “Why did he do that?”

  Quinta frowned. “I think he was hoping she’d take care of them for him.”

  Taabe puzzled out what she meant and shook her head. “For family.”

  “Oh,” said Sister Marie. “He gave your family six horses?”

  Taabe nodded slowly.

  “That was kind of him,” said Sister Marie.

  “No. Not good.”

  “Not?” Sister Marie was clearly baffled.

  “He must be a bad man,” Quinta said. “Was he the one that stole you?”

  Taabe frowned. “Stole Taabe?”

  “You know. When the Indians raided your parents’ ranch and snatched you.”

  Taabe looked helplessly to Sister Adele. “When …?”

  Sister Adele cleared her throat and glanced at Sister Natalie before speaking. Her superior made no protest and Adele said, “I believe Quinta is referring to the time when you were a child. When the Comanche took you. You were young, like Quinta. You remember when they took you from your home?”

  Slowly Taabe nodded. She did remember her terror those first few weeks. Riding, riding, day and night, with only a mouthful of food now and then—food that seemed foul at the time. She thought she would starve. When she fell asleep on the horse and tumbled to the ground, they had tied her on. She’d wept and wept until she felt as dry as an old corn husk. And at last they’d come into a deep canyon with houses built along the cliff wall—fantastical palaces, she’d thought. A wrinkled Comanche woman had taken her and fed her and laid her on a pallet of buffalo robes and let her sleep.

  Quinta tugged at her sleeve. “Was Peca the one who kidnapped you?”

  Taabe stared at her, troubled at the memories flooding her and the fact she didn’t know the words Quinta used.

  She turned to Sister Adele, lifting her hands.

  “It means stole,” Sister Adele said. “We call it kidnapping—stealing a person.”

  Taabe gazed toward the wall where the crucifix hung. After a long moment, she said, “Peca did not steal me.”

  “But he wants to steal you now,” Quinta said.

  Taabe’s throat tightened. She looked into Quinta’s open face. So innocent and blunt, this girl was.

  “Yes. Peca kidnapping now.”

  “We’ve seen no sign of the Comanche,” Sister Natalie said. “Unless …”

  No one spoke of the shadow in the woods.

  “It’s what I said.” Quinta looked at the sisters. “We need a plan.”

  “We have the hiding place,” Sister Marie said.

  “Yes, but we need a warning system. So that if one of us sees Peca—or any suspicious men—skulking about, we can warn each other at once.”

  Taabe was confused by Quinta’s words, but she waited to see what the sisters said.

  “That’s an interesting idea, and it’s not far off from thoughts I’ve been having,” Sister Natalie said. “Tell us what you have in mind, Quinta.”

  “Whistles are good.” She turned to Taabe. “Don’t the Comanche use whistles to signal each other?”

  Taabe frowned, studying Quinta’s face and trying to force a meaning on the words that tumbled from her mouth.

  Quinta pursed her lips and gave a sharp whistle. Taabe flinched.

  “Like that. Or how about an owl?” The girl gave the eerie call they had heard outside the mission walls in the evening.

  Taabe smiled. “Good. Man come—” She repeated Quinta’s owl call. “Bad man.” She hooted again.

  Quinta’s grin revealed her white teeth. “That’s it! We can all tell each other without having to run inside.”

  “You had better run inside if you see a bad man,” Sister Riva muttered.

  “And won’t the Comanche know the owl’s call is out of place?” Sister Marie said. “They don’t usually come out in the daytime.”

  “We can use different birds.” Quinta’s brow furrowed. “We could invent a whole language of signals.”

  “I think it would be best to keep it simple,” Sister Natalie said. “That way we’re not apt to become confused.”

  Quinta pressed her lips together, and Taabe almost laughed. The girl must feel sorry that all these older women feared they couldn’t remember a dozen or so different whistles and keep them straight.

  She placed her hand on Quinta’s wrist. “Good. You tell us. Good man. Bad man. Run.” She shrugged.

  “Yes,” s
aid Sister Adele. “Two or three distinct whistles. We shall all have to practice them, and Quinta, you will be the teacher for this lesson. You must make sure we all make the signals correctly.”

  Sister Natalie cleared her throat. “Shall we have our whistling lesson right after arithmetic class?”

  “Why not before?” Quinta asked.

  “Oh, I think not,” Sister Natalie said. “Arithmetic is very important, and there are not likely to be any kidnappers about before sunset, do you think?”

  Taabe couldn’t wait to suggest the signal she’d thought of. She touched Quinta, and when the girl turned to her, she said, “Stagecoach.”

  “Stagecoach?” Quinta’s eyebrows shot up.

  Taabe made a mournful call of several notes, dropping low at the end.

  Quinta laughed. “Yes! Perfect.” She turned to the nuns. “That will mean the stagecoach is coming—it’s a roadrunner.”

  On Tuesday morning, Quinta gave her roadrunner call. Taabe lifted the hem of the long, black robe she wore and ran out to the entrance. Sister Natalie had refused to let her go to the fort in her regular dress, but had conceded that she would probably not be recognized if she wore one of the Ursuline habits.

  All the nuns gathered in the yard to watch the coach roll in. Ned blew a blast on a gleaming brass horn, and Quinta clapped her hands, bouncing with glee.

  Brownie jumped down and held the lead mules’ heads while Ned strode toward them, grinning.

  “Good morning, ladies! We’ve no other passengers today. How many of you are going?”

  “Just Sister Adele, with Taabe and Quinta, if you think it’s safe.” Sister Natalie nodded toward Taabe.

  Ned’s eyes widened. “You have a new nun.” He stared at the fifth “sister.”

  Taabe wondered what he was thinking. He almost looked disapproving. He liked the sisters and treated them with respect and kindness, but he didn’t seem to like her wearing their dress.

  “A postulant, we would call her,” Sister Natalie said, “and she wouldn’t wear this habit if she truly were here for that purpose, but … well, you and I agreed that this is probably best.”

  Ned nodded slowly. “Yes. I just didn’t …” He cleared his throat. “It makes sense. No one will look closely at her in that getup. Not at all what they’d expect of a returned captive.”

  “That was my conclusion as well,” Sister Natalie said.

  Both of them looked anxious as they surveyed her. Was she doing something wrong by wearing the black dress?

  Ned knelt and held out his arms to Quinta, who had waited impatiently, dancing about on one foot. “Come here, chica!” She catapulted into his arms, and Ned placed a hearty kiss on her cheek. “That’s from your papa. He asked me to tell you that he’ll try to come and see you Thursday, when I’m at home to tend to business for him. And he sent you this.”

  Ned held out a silver chain with a diamond-shaped pendant. The necklace held a blue stone, and Quinta sucked in her breath and grabbed it.

  “Oh! Where did he get it?”

  “From one of the Mexican traders.”

  Quinta examined it briefly, then flung her arms around his neck, spewing Spanish.

  Sister Adele laughed. “What did she say?”

  “That he’s the dearest papa in the world.” Ned smiled. “I’m not sure how you say ‘spoiled’ in Spanish …”

  Quinta slugged his shoulder.

  “Hey! First hugs, then hitting?”

  “Quinta,” Sister Natalie said. “That is not how ladies behave.”

  “Gentlemen don’t go about insulting ladies.” Quinta drew back, her lips in a pout, and carefully pulled the chain over her head.

  “That looks lovely on you. I’ll tell your papa.” Ned ruffled her hair. “Shall we go? We haven’t much time to spare today.” He turned his smile on Taabe.

  Her heart lurched. So he wasn’t angry with her for wearing the black robe. Was that gleam in his eyes all for Quinta, or was a little of it for her? She hoped he was happy that she was going with him. She would ride in the tall stagecoach for the first time. No, that wasn’t right. Sister Adele had told her that Ned had brought her here in the coach when they’d first found her, lying in the road injured.

  She barely remembered when she’d opened her eyes and stared into a horrible white face. She’d feared for her life. Now she knew that face well—it was Sister Natalie, who was kind if somewhat severe. In her haze of pain and confusion, she’d wondered if a skeleton had come to steal her spirit. Sometimes the Numinu spoke of such things. And there had been a man. Ned. He’d lifted her and carried her. She didn’t remember riding in the coach. But she would never forget that she’d felt safe for the first time she could remember when he lifted her. She had relaxed and stopped trying to fight the pain and fear.

  They all walked out to the stagecoach. Brownie nodded and called, “Good morning.”

  The three sisters who weren’t going along watched as Ned gave each passenger his hand and helped them into the coach. Quinta slid across the middle seat and stuck her head out the window on the other side. Sister Adele climbed in carefully and smoothed the skirt of her habit as she settled on the back seat, facing Quinta.

  Ned held out his hand to Taabe. She reached for it, as she’d seen the others do. When he clasped hers in his big, warm hand, she caught her breath. Why did this man have such an effect on her? She lifted her skirt enough to allow her to put her foot on the metal step. Sister Natalie had insisted she wear a pair of black shoes belonging to Sister Marie, and they felt heavy and awkward. But no one would believe she was a sister if she wore her Comanche moccasins.

  As she pushed against his firm hand and rose, Ned placed his other hand gently on her shoulder. She wanted to linger there in midair, but that was impossible. She leaned forward and brought her other foot up, into the stagecoach. Several bulging sacks sat on the floor between the front and middle seats. She settled beside Sister Adele, so she’d have the cushioned back to lean against. Quinta’s seat was covered in leather, but had no back so the passengers using it could face either way. The inside of the coach smelled like leather and wood.

  Ned closed the door firmly. Sister Adele leaned forward and looked past her, waving at the three somber figures standing outside.

  “Good-bye!”

  Kneeling on the seat, Quinta leaned out the other window and yelled, “Blow your horn, Ned!”

  A moment later, a clear, loud blast sounded, making Taabe’s spine shiver. Quinta pulled back inside, laughing and clapping.

  “Ned’s a very good driver. I’ll bet he’s the best driver on the whole Overland Mail route.”

  Sister Adele smiled faintly. “Don’t say ‘I’ll bet,’ Quinta.”

  The stagecoach started forward with a slight jerk, and Quinta’s knee slipped off the edge of the seat. Sister Adele caught her arm and slowed her tumble to the floor.

  “There now, sit down as you should.”

  Quinta frowned but took her seat, bracing herself with her feet and holding on to a leather strap that hung from the ceiling.

  Taabe gazed out the near window as they bowled along the dirt road. She didn’t recognize anything. The hills and fields wore drab shades of brown. The few scrubby pines they passed didn’t impress her. Nothing about this land drew her.

  They passed a small adobe house that had a barn four times its size and several holding pens.

  “Do you think you’ve been here before?” Sister Adele asked.

  Taabe shook her head.

  In less than an hour, Ned guided the team into the barnyard at another house, but this one lay close to a town. Taabe had seen several large buildings, and many people walking about, riding horses, and driving wagons. She couldn’t remember ever seeing so many people, except at a winter camp of the Numinu, when several bands settled close together along a river for a few months, and never so many whites.

  Another blast of the horn sounded, and Taabe jumped. Quinta shrieked with delight.

 
“Settle down, Quinta,” Sister Adele said. She seemed to have taken on Sister Natalie’s role.

  The coach came to a stop, and Ned appeared at the door. He opened it and swept off his hat. “Welcome to Fort Chadbourne, ladies. If you wish, you can eat dinner with Mrs. Stein, in that house, for twenty-five cents each. If not, I’d be happy to escort you to the trader’s after the mail is seen to.”

  Taabe looked to Sister Adele.

  “We brought our luncheon, to eat on the way home.” Sister Adele patted the bag that hung from a strap across her habit.