Jordana nodded. “Yes, I am a woman.”
The old woman grunted and went to the far side of what Jordana now recognized as an Indian tepee. The woman brought a bundle of clothes and thrust them at Jordana. “These for woman.”
Jordana smiled. “Thank you.” She realized quickly that she wasn’t about to get her old clothes back, and being in no position to make demands, she simply smiled and accepted the woman’s offering.
After the woman left, Jordana struggled against a blinding headache to put on the mismatched outfit. The clothes, apparently those taken in a raid on white settlers, were mostly too big. Pulling on a cotton chemise, Jordana laughed as it fell down to her ankles. The design was fairly straight and didn’t allow for a great deal of movement, so Jordana tore a slit up each side to give her more mobility. Next, she pulled on a well-worn calico dress that had apparently suited a much heavier woman. The length wasn’t so bad, but the width of the waistline left Jordana’s petite frame swimming within the garment.
The old woman returned, and seeing the way the clothing fit, or rather did not fit, she went again to the far side of the room and rummaged amidst a collection of goods before bringing back a leather belt.
Jordana smiled and again thanked the woman as she pulled the belt around her waist and caught up the bulk of the material with it. Then she turned and asked the old woman if she could help button up the back. The woman didn’t appear to understand until Jordana turned and pointed to her back.
Grunting, the old woman did up the buttons, then pointed to the closed flap. “You rest plenty. Now you come.”
Jordana nodded and followed. There seemed no other choice.
Stepping outside the relative warmth of the tepee, Jordana shivered as her bare feet touched the snowy ground.
“May I have my boots back?” she asked the old woman.
By now a group of other women and children had formed just beyond Jordana. They pointed at her as they talked amongst themselves.
The old woman didn’t understand, so Jordana raised her skirts and showed the old woman her bare feet. Nodding in understanding, she then ducked back into the tepee. When she returned she held up a pair of pounded-hide moccasins. Jordana accepted them gratefully and while balancing on one foot and trying to keep her skirts from interfering, she pulled first one moccasin on and then the other. The hides were soft and supple. Jordana relished the protection they afforded.
“These are very nice.” She smiled in a friendly manner.
The old woman nodded, then pointed Jordana in the direction she wished her to go. “You go there.”
Jordana walked as instructed toward another cluster of tepees. Apparently she was to move to another location, but for what purpose, she had no idea. The gathering of women and children followed after her, chattering in their native tongue, while the old woman padded along beside her in silence. Jordana had no idea what to make of it.
She didn’t have long to wonder. Within moments the old woman shoved her toward the largest of three tepees and pushed her through the opening. Jordana came face-to-face with a council of seven men. They sat gathered around a fire, their hardened brown faces no longer bearing the paint of warriors.
Reaching up, Jordana nervously touched the edges of her hair, which had grown down past her ears. She had figured to have Caitlan cut it again before they returned to California but hadn’t managed to get around to it. Thinking of this caused her to wonder about her brother and sister-in-law. Were they dead? Were they alive and here, somewhere within this same camp? The thought made her suddenly very courageous.
“Where are my brother and his wife?”
The man at the center of the group looked at her rather harshly. “You will not speak until I give you permission.”
It was clearly the voice of the man she’d heard earlier. That refined voice with a knowledge and understanding of proper English. She wondered how and where he had come by such refinement. But curbing her reporter’s curiosity, she turned her full attention on him and took a defiant stand. She had always heard from Rich that Indians admired courage. She prayed it was true.
“I’m not going to stand here in silence until I know if my brother is alive and well.”
The man fixed her with a steely gaze, then nodded. “Your brother and his woman were left unharmed.”
“So you were only there to get me?” Vaguely, the conversation between this man and the white man she had heard earlier came back to her. How long ago had that been? But she had to focus on the immediate conversation.
“Yes,” the well-spoken Indian replied.
“Why?”
“That is not important. You are not what you appeared at first. You were thought to be a man, but you are a woman.”
Jordana nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Why were you dressed as a man?”
“It’s a long story, but suffice it to say, I found myself better protected against harm as a man.” She forced her voice to remain even. She had to prove herself strong and courageous. Just then a Bible verse she had memorized as a child came to mind: “Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” God was with her even here in the middle of this Indian camp. It gave her strength to go on.
“Why am I here?” she asked suddenly.
The man seemed surprised that she should question him on the matter. “You will not question me.” The man to his right leaned over and spoke in a low voice. The first man nodded.
“You will stay with us. We are to move to the south and you will come.”
“I don’t wish to go with you,” Jordana replied bravely. “I don’t understand why I am here, and I don’t understand why I am being held captive.”
“It is not important that you understand. Only that you know if you do not do as you are told, you will be punished. We do not seek your harm, but you will not disobey.”
Jordana felt that perhaps it would be best not to argue with the man. Instead she nodded.
“It has been suggested that you should become wife to one of our braves.”
Jordana felt her resolve give way to fear. Wife? She started to say something, but the old woman began chattering at the man. He in turn grunted out a reply and turned to his council as if to consider what they had to say about the matter.
Oh, God, Jordana prayed, please help me. This is too much to deal with. Please don’t force me to endure such a thing. The idea of marriage to any man was more than she wanted to consider. Unless, she realized, that man was Rich O’Brian.
The room once again fell silent and Jordana awaited the council’s decision. The Indian who was the spokesman and interpreter, if not the leader, eyed her cautiously, and his very demeanor suggested that something had changed.
“My mother tells of a vision she had. A vision of a white woman who brought about destruction upon our people. Our braves will not want you as a wife, but until we decide what to do about you, you will work. You are not to speak with our people. You will sleep alone and you will eat alone.”
Jordana found his words a blessing and comfort. As her heart sang out thanksgiving to God, she merely nodded in the direction of the man and his council.
Immediately, the old woman grabbed hold of her and forced her back through the opening and into the cold air. The dusting of snow was even now melting in the warmth of the morning sun, and Jordana prayed fervently that somehow winter might be held off just a few more weeks. At least long enough to give her a chance for escape.
And escape was the uppermost thought on Jordana’s mind. When the tribe collected their belongings and broke camp the next morning, Jordana was loaded with heavy packs and forced to march, dragging long lodgepoles behind her. Her hands were somewhat callused from her time spent along the railroad and the lack of care she had given them while posing as a man, but dragging these poles left them blistered and bleeding.
After several days of
the long, strenuous routine, Jordana began to grow desperate. She had no idea where she was or where she could go, even if she somehow managed to escape. The movements of the sun indicated they had traveled east and south, but otherwise, Jordana was at a complete loss as to her location.
Days passed into weeks, and the trails chosen by the tribe leadership seemed to take them farther east and south. The mountains to the south rose up as a natural barrier, and already they bore evidence of a crowning of winter snow. The air warmed during the day and gave Jordana hope that perhaps they would not have to endure the miseries of winter, but at night it once again grew bitter and her resolve weakened. It seemed futile to escape only to die in a winter wilderness.
Once during the long hours of the night, the silence around her threatened to eat her alive. Her heart was completely void of hope, and discouragement set in oppressively. Tears poured from her eyes as she wept silently. No harm had come to her, save the insistence of her taskmasters that she work from sunup to sunset. But also no one spoke to her. No one smiled or shared any sign of comfort. The old woman had seen that she received her warm coat, but otherwise her things had long since disappeared, and the misery of having nothing familiar was almost more than she could bear.
Oh, Father, she cried softly, please deliver me. Sitting up in the darkness of her lodging, Jordana tucked her knees up under her chin and began to rock back and forth. She thought of her mother and how if she knew about this ordeal, she must surely be frantic with worry. She thought of the adventure of the matter and tried to keep in mind things she could tell about if she should ever manage to escape. If . . .
The winds howled down through the canyon where they’d taken shelter, and nature’s mournful cry did nothing to reassure Jordana’s sick heart.
“Where are you, God?” she whispered. “I need you. Please show me that you are still here—that you haven’t forgotten me.” She thought of Bible stories where David had felt much the same. Cries he had made in the psalms he’d written. Cries of anguish and fear—cries of desertion and loneliness.
That night Jordana heard something move about outside her door. She crept to the opening. There not a foot away stood a pale-colored Indian pony. He looked at her with indifference. Jordana felt her heart begin to race. Would it be possible to take the horse and escape the camp?
She had slept fully clothed with her warm woolen coat tucked under her head as a pillow. Crawling back to her bed, she pulled on her coat and took up one of the blankets she’d been given. She realized escape was foolish, but she feared her despair might kill her just as easily as would the snow and cold. And just the other day, the old woman had mentioned that the men were discussing which one would take the white woman for a wife. It seemed they had lost respect for the old woman’s vision.
Believing she had no other choice and that this could well be the answer to her prayers, Jordana stealthily made her way outside. A light snow had begun to fall, and with it the thick clouds overhead blocked out any hope of moonlight.
Fearful that the horse might whinny or protest should she mount him, Jordana took up a piece of rawhide strapping that had bound her lodgepoles and slipped it around the horse’s neck in a makeshift lead. As she cautiously led the horse away she saw near the edge of the camp a dark figure crouched near the bushes. She stopped abruptly, but she was in clear sight and had no place to hide. Then she saw it was the old woman. Quietly, Jordana moved forward. The old Indian woman said nothing, merely nodding as Jordana came near. Jordana wanted to speak, but fearing discovery, she only smiled as she led the pony past the woman to the outer edge of the camp and down the trail from whence they’d come. The entire time she expected some alarm to rise, but there was nothing save the intense quiet of the night. Why had the woman helped her? And Jordana was certain now that the pony had not materialized on its own. Had the woman also concocted the story about her vision just to save Jordana? But why? Jordana would never know the answer. She would just remain eternally grateful—if indeed she survived this escape.
When she felt confident that she’d gone far enough, Jordana hiked her skirts up between her legs and pulled herself up onto the horse’s back. He remained silent, as if he were as determined as Jordana to escape his life with the Indians. Jordana suspected that the animal’s cooperation had more to do with the fact that after weeks among the Indians she had come so to smell like them that the pony could not tell the difference.
Nudging him gently, Jordana thanked God for the beast and prayed silently that she would somehow find her way to safety.
But from the first moment away from the shelter of the canyon, Jordana realized the degree of her folly. She was in unfamiliar territory and the winter weather was closing in on her. The snows thickened on the ground, leaving great tracks behind her. At one point she thought she heard pursuers and got off the horse to wipe out the tracks, but soon it was evident that no one was following, and she remounted and urged the horse forward.
As the wind picked up she no longer had to worry about leaving tracks in the snow. Jordana couldn’t even tell what direction she’d come from. For all she knew, she might well be retracing her own steps. The skies lightened marginally as dawn approached, but in turn the storm intensified, and soon she was nearly blinded by the swirling white veil around her.
Desperation drove Jordana forward. There was no thought for anything but escape. No thought for the numbness in her toes and fingers. No thought for the icy crust that had formed on her brows and eyelashes. She pulled the blanket tight around her head and shoulders, but still the wind seemed to whip right through and chill her to the bone.
The pony moved more slowly now, and as the snow grew deeper, Jordana realized she would soon have to take shelter or lose the beast altogether. Twice she dismounted and warmed the poor horse’s nostrils with her own breath, breaking away a buildup of ice so that he could breathe more easily. But the efforts were rather futile, and Jordana felt certain that all hope had escaped them.
As night came on, she was no longer able to make sense of her surroundings or even of her own thoughts. She couldn’t remember where she was or why she was so cold. She plunged into a waking dreamlike state. Her hold on reality slipped her grasp. Finally, she heard her name being called over and over, and sliding off the pony’s back, she let go her hold on the rawhide reins and sank to the ground.
“Jordana,” the voice called again.
The Indians had found her.
“Jordana!”
How did the Indian know her name? But it did not matter. All she wanted to do was sleep.
——
The first thought Jordana had upon opening her eyes was that the wind had somehow stopped blowing. The silence and warmth were a comfort to her, and without concerning herself as to where she was or how she had gotten there, she fell back asleep and let the warmth soothe her into sweet dreams.
The next time she woke, she could hear the wind in the distance, and focusing her eyes, she could see that she was inside a cave, and a fire was blazing cheerily near the opening. Moaning at the stiffness in her limbs as she attempted to sit, Jordana fell back and merely lifted her head. She noticed the pony, along with a much larger mount, standing at the back of the cave. From the shadows near where the animals stood, a man appeared.
Jordana forced herself to remain calm. She would deal with whatever came. The man stepped out of the darkness, and in that moment, Jordana thought her eyes were playing games with her heart.
“Rich?”
“Glad to have you among the living, Jordana,” he said casually.
“How? Where?” In shock, she stuttered and, forgetting her aching body, sat bolt upright, shrugging out of the warmth of the blankets he’d obviously placed around her shoulders.
“Just stay put. You’ll get cold.” He moved toward her as if to force the issue. “And after I had a devil of a time getting you warmed up.”
“Where are we?” Jordana asked, looking around her once again.
&n
bsp; “I’m not sure. As best as I can figure it, we’re somewhere south of Bear River.” Rich squatted down beside her. “You gave us all a real scare, you know.”
“Yes, well, it wasn’t my idea to take up camping with the Indians. How did you find me?”
“Brenton told me what happened—”
“Brenton? Then he’s all right?”
Rich nodded. “He and Caitlan are both just fine. Worried half out of their heads, but fine. I alerted all my old army friends to keep their eyes and ears open, and I have been following leads for weeks. Most leads went nowhere, but finally I heard about a band of Sioux that had a white captive. It wasn’t the first such rumor I’d heard, but this one seemed promising because the fellow who told me had heard two Indians in town talking about the white woman with shorn hair. The two Sioux weren’t about to help me, but I managed to track them some distance before I lost them. That was a day before I found you. I just kept searching in the general area hoping to stumble upon their camp. Instead, I stumbled upon you.”
Jordana leaned back against the rock wall and looked at Rich for a moment. The haggard look on his face told her everything else she needed to know. Without a word she reached out and pulled him forward to embrace him. “Thank you, Rich.”
Catching him off guard, the gesture sent him tumbling forward, leaving the bulk of his weight atop her covered legs.
Laughing, Jordana apologized as Rich tried to ease himself away without hurting her. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s so good to see you again. I figured you might never want to even talk to me, much less go to this kind of trouble.”
Rich scooted next to her and leaned back on his hands. “Just call me a glutton for punishment.” He smiled and it warmed her heart.
“So where do we go from here?” Jordana asked, realizing that the statement could very well be taken two ways. She’d leave the direction to Rich.
He watched her very carefully for a moment, his blue eyes giving careful scrutiny to her face. Jordana held her breath, feeling as though he could read her thoughts—know her heart. And then, the moment passed them by and Rich looked away toward the mouth of the cave.
Judith Pella, Tracie Peterson - [Ribbons West 03] Page 17