The Yellow Rose

by Gilbert, Morris

  Clinton grumbled but then contented himself with sitting down cross-legged on the floor, talking to Ethan. The children gathered around him, and Clay said to Moriah, “I feel like a new man just seeing you here, daughter.” He hesitated, then said, “Was it bad?”

  “Some of it was very bad.”

  Jerusalem was sitting on the other side of her on the couch. She put her arm around her and said, “Well, God brought you back.”

  Moriah was quiet, then she said, “I may as well tell you. Bear Killer will come for Ethan. Not for me, but for him. You know how Comanches love their children, and he’s a determined man. He wants Ethan to be chief of his band someday.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. He won’t get within ten miles of this place, not the way we’ll watch.”

  Moriah took Clay’s hand and held it. He patted it and said, “It’s gonna be fine.”

  “I worry about Ethan. They’ll call him names like half-breed.”

  Clay’s face darkened. “Why, they’d better not. Not in front of me! I’d cut ’em off at the neck—and so would Clint and Zane and Brodie.” He looked over where Clinton was still sitting on the floor playing some game with the children, and he noticed that Ethan had joined in. “You know, I got a feelin’. That boy is gonna be the best of the Hardins, Moriah. You wait and see.”

  Moriah squeezed his hand and sat there, pondering all that had happened since that day she had been captured. After the years of fright and humiliation, she was home again, and she knew that there would be hard times ahead. But she had family now, and that gave her the courage to go on. God had been faithful, and she would continue to trust Him.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-THREE

  Brodie came into the room he shared with Quaid. Christmastime had come, and the weather was cold, but the sun was bright as it beamed through the window. “You’d better get yourself ready, Quaid. Ma’s been cookin’ on this meal for two days now. I aim to plumb founder myself.”

  Quaid leaned over to pull on his boots and made a face as he did so.

  “Them cuts still a-hurtin’, ain’t they, Quaid?”

  “Not bad.” Quaid straightened up and smiled. “I appreciate you buyin’ me these new clothes, Brodie. My old ones was about past goin’.”

  “Well, I got them clothes put away.”

  “Put away? What for?”

  Brodie grinned and came over and tapped Quaid on the shoulder gently. “Why, them’s gonna be famous clothes, worth a heap of money someday.”

  “What are you talkin’ about? They’re nothin’ but bloody old rags.”

  “I can see it now,” Brodie said, waving his hand in an eloquent gesture. “For only one dollar you can see the very bloodstained clothes that the great Comanche killer Quaid Shafter wore when he fought the chief of the Comanches, Bloody Hand, to the death!”

  “His name wasn’t Bloody Hand. It was Lion, and nobody would pay a dollar to see any bloody old clothes.”

  Brodie laughed. “I’m keepin’ ’em anyway. Someday you’ll get to be a crotchety old grandpa, and when they don’t treat you right, you can drag out them bloody old rags and say, ‘I expect a little bit more honor around here. After all, looky here what I done.’”

  “You do carry on, Brodie, but I’d never made it back if it wasn’t for you and Moriah.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t have rescued Moriah if it wasn’t for you, so we can settle down and brag on each other for the rest of our lives. Now, come on. Let’s go down and see if we can destroy ourselves with Ma’s cookin’.”

  The two men went downstairs, and they were greeted on all sides.

  Everyone was there, Clay and Jerusalem, of course, with Rachel and Sam, the twins. Mary Aidan peppered everyone with questions. Clinton and Brodie, Zane, Moriah and Ethan, and Julie and Rice Morgan were standing around talking, waiting to sit down and enjoy the meal Jerusalem had labored to make.

  Jerusalem said, “Will you children be quiet, and you, too, Clinton! I declare, you get louder every year.”

  “I do not,” Clinton argued. “I talk just like I always done.”

  “Well, anyway, all of you sit down and try to eat what Moriah, Julie, and me fixed.”

  The women had worked for hours doing all the cooking. There was wild turkey, cornbread dressing, sweet potato pie, pecan pie, and fresh bread.

  Quaid was quiet during most of the meal. Brodie, who sat beside him, kept his plate filled until finally he protested. “I’m about to bust now, Brodie.”

  “Why, you ain’t hardly ate nothin’,” Clinton said loudly. “You got to keep your strength up. That’s what the Bible says.”

  Everyone laughed, and Rice Morgan said, “Where does it say that a man ought to eat until he nearly busts?”

  “Well, I ain’t exactly sure, Reverend, but it says it somewhere. If it don’t, it ought to.”

  “You ought to write a book, Clinton,” Zane grinned. “It’d be called Things the Bible Don’t Say but Ort To. ”

  Quaid felt very strange, and his eyes kept going back to Moriah. She was wearing a simple light blue dress and no jewelry at all. Her hair had been cut and was no longer in pigtails but formed a soft red wreath around her head. He noted that her hands were hardened and scarred by the hard work during her time as a captive. Aside from that and the darkness that the sun had left, she looked much the same as he remembered her. More than once she looked up and caught his eyes and smiled, and he returned the smile.

  Clinton piped up, “Quaid, I want to hear that story about how you killed that Indian.”

  “Not at the table,” Julie said. “Don’t you have any manners at all, Clinton?”

  “I got perfect manners,” Clinton said indignantly. “I’d like to know anyone who ever found any fault with my manners.”

  As always, when Clinton made an outlandish statement like this, everyone laughed, and he stared around, saying, “What’s so funny about that?”

  “Nothing, Clinton, and we’d all like to hear Quaid tell the story, but not at the table.”

  It was a happy time for them to all be back together, and eventually the talk turned to politics. It was Zane who started it by saying, “I’m beginning to doubt if Texas will ever make it into the Union.”

  “We’ll get there someday, Zane,” Clay said quickly.

  “Well, it don’t look like it.” Zane shook his head with disgust. “I’ve heard talk that we might join up with England.”

  “How would we join with them? They’re over the water,” Clinton said. “Who needs them Limeys anyway, or them Frenchmen either.”

  The talk went on, but Clay turned and said, “Well, Brodie, you’ve had a nice long vacation chasin’ after Comanches. Now you can come back to work.”

  Brodie was sitting next to Moriah, and he had taken Ethan from her and was holding him on his lap, feeding him bites of the pie from the plate in front of him. “No, sir,” he said. “Don’t reckon so.”

  Everyone turned to look at Brodie, and Jerusalem said, “What do you mean, son?”

  “I’ve decided to join the rangers.”

  No one spoke for a moment, and then Clay shook his head. “All they do is get shot and fight Indians and Mexican bandits.”

  As soon as Clay mentioned the word “Indians,” Quaid glanced quickly at Moriah, who showed nothing. But she spoke up and said, “Don’t do it, Brodie, not on my account.”

  “It’s somethin’ I want to do. I can’t say why.”

  “But, Brodie, this place will belong to you one day, or part of it,” Clay said. “That’s what Jerusalem and me have always wanted, to have family here, and have the biggest ranch in Texas.”

  “I guess I got a taste of runnin’ free, Pa.” Brodie grinned. “I wish you wouldn’t pester me about it because my mind’s made up.”

  Brodie’s news came as a shock and a disappointment, for Jerusalem, especially, had looked forward to the time when Brodie would be back. He had always been a favorite of hers, and she had missed him greatly while he a
nd Quaid were out hunting for Moriah. To hide her disappointment, she turned to Quaid and said, “What will you be doing, Quaid, when you get your strength back?”

  “I thought I might go back to Santa Fe.”

  “Santa Fe,” Clay said, frowning. “There ain’t no point in goin’ back to Santa Fe.”

  “Why, I reckon not,” Clinton said. “There’s plenty of work on this place. I do most of it myself, so I ought to know!”

  Clay shot Clinton a disgusted look and shook his head. “I can’t let you go back to Santa Fe, Quaid. With Brodie leavin’, I got to have help.

  This ranch is growin’ faster than I can keep up with.”

  Quaid glanced over at Moriah, who was looking at him intently. He could not read her expression but said, “Well, that’s a mighty kind offer, Clay, but I’ll have to think on it.”

  Afterward, when the women were cleaning up and the men were sitting over at one end of the big room singing with the youngsters, Moriah said, “It’s the best Christmas I could have imagined, Ma.”

  “It is with you back.” She shook her head. “I wish Brodie wouldn’t go off and join the rangers. It’s a hard, dangerous life with no reward to it.”

  “I think it’s something he just has to do.”

  Two days after Christmas, at Jerusalem’s insistence, Moriah climbed into the wagon with Ethan, and the two women drove toward Jordan City. The sun had come out and was bright as they bumped along the rutted road. Jerusalem had waited for Moriah to tell more about her experiences during her captivity, but she had kept silent. Now, however, as they rode along the open spaces, something seemed to break within Moriah, and she began telling her mother about her time with the Comanches. She spoke slowly at first and then more freely, and finally she said, “Ma, when I first was captured, I thought the Indians were nothing but beasts. But after I’d been there awhile, I began to see them as real people. They’re not what I expected.”

  “How do you mean, Moriah?”

  “Well, when we think of them, it’s always of a warrior comin’ in with a scalping knife to kill us or ambush settlers, but when you’re with them, you find out that they love their children and they laugh a lot. That surprised me, Ma. I didn’t think about Indians laughing. They love a good joke. They love their children better than white people do, I think.” She went on speaking of how she’d had her eyes opened. She told her of how she had suffered from the other women, and then she told her of Loves The Night, saying, “Loves The Night was the best friend I had. I’ll always miss her.”

  “Maybe you’ll see her again.”

  “No,” Moriah said quickly. “I’d have to go back to their camp for that, and that’s the last thing I want to do.”

  The two women looked back at Clinton, who was riding his horse behind them and singing to himself loudly as usual. “Clinton’s plumb foolish about Ethan,” she said. “All of us are. I don’t want you to worry about him, daughter.”

  “Ma, I’m scared to death to go into town. Everybody knows about me now and about my Indian husband.” She was silent for a moment, then said, “I never thought of him as a husband. I didn’t have any choice about that.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Everybody understands that. And as for Ethan . . . he’s a fine boy. Aren’t you, Ethan?” Ethan was wearing cast-off clothes from Sam. They had been cut down and, more or less, tailored to fit him.

  He had on a bright red knit cap that covered his ears, but he looked up and smiled.

  “Yes,” he said, then he looked back and called, “Clinton!” He watched as Clinton waved his hat and then turned around and sat quietly.

  “He’s a quiet boy, isn’t he?” Jerusalem said.

  “Most Indian babies are very quiet. Of course, when they get to be as old as Clinton, they play and shout and carry on and fight just like we do.”

  After a few more miles, the outline of Jordan City came to view, and Moriah grew quieter and quieter. Clinton rode up beside the wagon and said, “Let me give that boy a ride on a real horse.” He reached over and took Ethan as Moriah handed him up and put him in front of him on the saddle. “Hang on, Ethan. I’ll show you how a real Texas cowboy can ride.”

  He spurred his horse, and the gelding shot ahead as if shot out of a gun.

  Moriah watched them go, but her face was still cloudy.

  When they reached town, Moriah pulled the wagon up in front of the general store. Clinton came galloping up, pulled the horse up short, and stepped out of the saddle. “Come on, Ethan. Me and you are goin’ in there and buy some store-bought candy.”

  “Candy?” Ethan said. He had no chance to ask more, for Clinton snatched him up, tossed him up on his shoulder and swaggered over the boardwalk and disappeared into the store.

  The two women walked toward the store and had not gone more than ten feet when suddenly a voice behind them called out, “Well, I swan, it’s Miss Moriah!”

  Moriah turned, along with Jerusalem, to see Sheriff Bench headed for them, his face wreathed in a smile. He came forward and said, “You look good enough to hug.” He put out his hand instead, and when Moriah took it, he covered it with both of his. “I tell you, Moriah. It’s a sight for these old eyes to see you. I thank the good Lord for bringin’ you back.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff Bench. It’s good to be back.”

  “You’re gonna find how many friends you got. The whole town’s talkin’ about how Quaid and Brodie snatched you right out from the middle of them Comanches.”

  “It was God’s doing,” Moriah said.

  “Where’s that boy of yours? I want to see him.”

  Nervously, Moriah said, “He went in the general store there with Clinton.”

  “Well, I’ll just go along and make my howdys to him. Welcome home, girl!”

  Bench was just the first of many who came to Moriah, all delighted to see her. She gradually began to relax, and after making some purchases in the store, Clinton came and said, “Come on, let’s all of us go and see if we can get somethin’ fit to eat down at the restaurant.”

  There was no resisting Clinton when he made up his mind on something, and the four of them made their way down the boardwalk. They passed by the Silver Dollar Saloon, and the usual loafers were sitting there.

  They had passed by them, and Moriah saw every man’s eyes were on her— and on Ethan.

  They were ten feet away when the voice of one of them came clear enough to understand. “There’s the squaw and her papoose. I reckon she might be gettin’ cold this winter without her buck to keep her warm.

  Maybe I can do somethin’ about that.”

  Instantly, Clinton whirled and started back, but Moriah grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t go, Clinton.”

  “Don’t go? You reckon I’m gonna let scum like that talk about my sister? I don’t reckon!”

  “You can’t fight everybody, Clinton. Come along,” Moriah said.

  Clinton struggled to control his anger and glared fiercely at the men who had fallen silent. He said loudly, “My womenfolk are with me now, but I got you fellers all in my mind’s eye. The next time I meet one of you, you’d better take off because I’m gonna skin ya. You hear me?” He glared at them but got no answer and turned and walked away.

  Moriah held on to his arm and said quietly, “Thank you, Clinton, but don’t fight over me or over Ethan.”

  “Why, I certainly will!” Clinton said with astonishment. “The Bible says that.”

  “Says what?” Jerusalem demanded.

  “It says to stomp any scum who talk bad about your sister.”

  Moriah could not help but smile a little, although her heart was grieved. “It doesn’t say that. It says pray for those that despitefully use you. Now, you behave, Clinton.”

  “Why, I always do,” he said. Then he reached down and picked up Ethan and said, “Tell you what. Maybe they got some candy. You like candy?”

  “He doesn’t know what candy is, Clinton.”

  “Well, he’s in for a treat. I’m gonna t
each him.”

  Neither Moriah nor Jerusalem mentioned the incident of the roughs in front of the saloon, but, of course, Clinton did. He told the story to Quaid, saying, “I got their faces all in my mind’s eye, Quaid. I plan to accidentally run into ’em, and then I’m gonna stomp a mud hole in ’em!”

  “You don’t even know which one it was.”

  “Don’t make no never mind. I’ll whup every last one of ’em. That way I’ll be shore to get the right one.”

  “But the others didn’t do anything!”

  “They deserve a whuppin’ for hanging out with a skunk like that!”

  Quaid shook his head but said little about it. After Clinton left, he went to find Moriah, who was in the kitchen by herself.

  She greeted him with a smile and saw that he was disturbed. “What’s wrong, Quaid?”

  “Clinton told me about what happened in town. I wish I had been there,” he said grimly.

  Moriah turned and faced him squarely. “Would you have shot him, Quaid?” He did not answer, and she said, “Would you have beaten him up?” Still no answer, and she shook her head. “You and the rest of my family can’t shoot every man who makes a remark about me and Ethan.”

  “It’s not right,” Quaid said, his jaw clenched tight. The scar on the left side of his face was healing, but it would always be there—a reminder of his knife fight with Lion.

  Moriah had intended to say nothing, but she turned then, and her voice was a mere whisper. “It’s worse than being taken.”

  “Don’t say that, Moriah,” Quaid said. He came over to stand behind her and tried to see her face, but she kept it averted. “You can leave this place.”

  “And go where? I can’t leave Texas. It’s my home. It’d be the same anyplace Ethan and I go.” Quaid reached out and touched her arm, and when she turned to face him, he saw the tears in her eyes. “And Bear Killer will come for Ethan. You know he will, Quaid. He’ll kill anyone who tries to stop him.”

  “We won’t let him do that.”

  “You won’t be here. You’ll be in Santa Fe.”

  “I been thinkin’ about it. Haven’t made up my mind.”