by Tia Dani
Their friend's eyes were dull. "Getz is dead. I went out to his place this afternoon to offer him a job. You know, so Sarah and the boys could have a decent place to live?"
Matthew and Joseph both nodded. "He laughed in my face. Said as soon as he got over his damned sickness, he was coming to get Sarah...whether anybody liked it or not."
Luke's voice broke, and he cleared his throat. "I reminded him that it was too cold to bring babies out in rain like this, but he only laughed harder. He said he didn't give a tinker's damn about the little shits. If they got sick and died it wouldn't be any loss. All he cared about was getting Sarah back so she could take care of him."
"Somebody should have shot that bastard a long time ago." Joseph pounded his fist on the bed and immediately grunted in pain.
Matthew agreed but refrained from saying so. Luke looked miserable. The man always hated violence, any violence. "How did Getz die? Did you kill him?"
"No, I wanted to but couldn't face Sarah afterward. Luke wiped his hands over his face, leaving streaks of white skin showing around the mud. "She would have never forgiven me."
"Then how did he die?" Matthew kept his tone neutral.
As if haunted by memories, Luke closed his eyes. "Getz was still laughing when he went inside the poor excuse he calls a house. I stood in the rain for a while, wondering what I could do to convince him to change his mind. I decided to try one more time. I went to the door and knocked. He yelled for me to leave. I pounded the door with my fists. My pounding must have done something. There was this noise. It came from the building."
He looked at Matthew then at Joseph. "It sounded a lot like when one walks through mud, you know, that low sucking sound a person hears?"
Again they both nodded together.
"Getz opened the door carrying a rifle. Told me to get off his place or he'd shoot me. I stepped back not about to test his word. He slammed the door and locked it." Luke's voice quavered. "Then it happened."
The room chilled. Matthew fought the urge not to rub his arms. "What happened?"
"The dirt roof collapsed. Getz screamed. It was like being caught in a slow motion nightmare. The side wall followed. I tried to dig an opening so Getz could climb out, but the dirt was so wet and heavy..." He looked at his mud covered arms and hands. "After awhile, Getz didn't scream anymore. I tried looking for him, but I kept sinking to my knees, a couple of times almost to my waist. I finally quit, afraid I might be sucked down into the hole with him."
"It's the rain, Luke," Joseph said softly. "It's all the rain we've had this week. You know how dangerous a sod house can be after this much rain."
"I know, but, Sarah..." Luke straightened. "Somebody has to tell Sarah."
Matthew thought of the older couple sitting in the kitchen. "Did you say anything to Katherine or Theo before coming in here?"
"No, I wanted to talk to you two first. Tim said you were back. When I didn't see you in the kitchen, I figured you'd be in here with Joseph."
"Let's go tell them." Matthew stood and started for the door.
"But what about Sarah?"
He hesitated, knowing how Luke felt. He didn't want to be the one to tell Sarah either. Reluctantly, Matthew offered a suggestion, "Let Libby tell her. She and Sarah are close." He remembered he hadn't seen Libby since he'd arrived home. She hadn't been the kitchen with Katherine and Theo, and, Katherine hadn't mentioned her being in the bedroom with Sarah. He frowned. Where was she?
John Anderson had told him they were seeing signs of Indian trouble again. With winter coming, more raids were likely. The Indians might not like having the white man on their hunting grounds, but they helped themselves to white man's goods to get them through the winter. He'd have to remind everybody to stay close to the farm and always be within shouting distance of the house. Especially, Libby, she was too damned independent to suit him. She could be wandering around outside.
"Where is Libby anyway?"
Chapter Twenty-six
Libby stepped out of the one-room soddy and into the afternoon sunshine, relishing it's warmth. The rain ended an hour ago, along with the cold. She lifted her face to the sun and instinctively knew they were going to have one of those wonderful Indian summer days Kansas was famous for.
A dark-haired woman, dressed in a blue-checkered calico dress, stepped up beside her. Libby took in the kindly face, tanned by the wind and the sun, and smiled. "It's heavenly out here, isn't it, Mrs. Blair?"
"Yes, it is."
Libby turned around and studied the house made of hewed logs and sod roof. Surprisingly, it wasn't at all like what she had imagined. They had stayed dry all through the day and night, even during the last heavy rain storm. She supposed it was due to the wide, thick cottonwood boards Mr. Blair had framed tightly underneath the sod, forming a secure ceiling. "You have a lovely home."
Mrs. Blair beamed. "Thank you, my husband and I have worked hard to make it so." Libby thought of the bearded, soft-spoken man who had ridden his horse ninety-five miles in rain and mud to find her and bring her back to tend his three-year-old daughter.
It had been Harold T. who'd told the Blair family about her doctoring skills. Once Libby had heard, from the weeping father, how his youngest child had been bitten on her legs and arms by ants, she didn't hesitate to return with him.
The long, muddy ride on horseback to the man's farm was grueling and exhausting, but worth it. By the time, Libby stumbled through the door, little Mary Blair was barely breathing. Her small body had swollen to almost twice its size. Libby reacted immediately, giving the child a shot of epinephrine kept in her kit. Then she and the parents took turns swabbing the girl with a mixture of mud and ashes.
Around eight o'clock last night, Mary had finally fallen into a peaceful sleep, twelve hours after Libby had arrived. The worst was over. Libby insisted on sleeping on a straw-stuffed pallet by the fire, rather than take the couple's only bed, even though they offered it. Once her head hit the pillow, she didn't move until she awoke to find the morning sun shining through the window, warming her face. As the beautiful day progressed, Libby spent her time entertaining Mary, who kept wanting to scratch, and listening to Mrs. Blair explained how she cooked her favorite recipes on the tiny wood burning stove.
Later, when she walked outside to enjoy the sunshine, Libby couldn't have been any happier. She understood now why she had been brought back in time—to save the lives of people who were meant to do great things in the future.
She'd come to the conclusion after operating on Joseph. Because of her, she'd saved the Basgal line. If she hadn't had been here, Joseph would have died from a ruptured appendix. And, if Joseph died, it meant Richard wouldn't have been born in 1948, because his father, Harry, wouldn't have been born, or his Grandfather Jackson, who was a war hero during World War I.
Libby looked at Mrs. Blair, thinking of the woman's daughter. Who knew, maybe even little Mary was destined to grow up to do great things, or Sarah's boys would—
"Someone's coming."
Mrs. Blair's quiet comment startled Libby. A rider headed toward them at a fast gallop. She shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted, then gasped in surprise.
It was Matthew.
To Libby's astonishment, when he reached the yard, Matthew yanked sharply on the reins and leapt from the saddle before the horse had time to stop. His long legs crossed the distance in no time. He pulled her close and his mouth crashed against hers.
It was a hard, angry kiss, one leaving her stunned and dazed. When he pulled away, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. "Don't do that again!"
"D...do...what?" Libby thought her head was going to fly off.
"Leave without telling me."
"Why should I?" Anger flared within her. "You don't tell me where you're going when you take off."
"That's different." He grabbed her and shook her again. "You're a woman, and—
Libby twisted sideways breaking his grasp. "What's that got to do with anything? Because I'm a
woman I'm helpless?" Before he could respond, Libby stomped her foot. "Where do you get off thinking I have to come to you and ask permission before I go anywhere?"
He scowled. "Get off?"
"Yes, get off. It—"
He waved a hand, stopping her. "I don't have time for one of your strange explanations. Get your things. We're leaving."
Libby's jaw sagged. Did he delight in causing her temper to explode or was he stupid? Snapping her mouth shut, she folded her arms over her chest. There was no way on God's green Earth she was going with him anywhere, not now. "We," she said snootily, "are not leaving!"
"Yes, we are."
"Hello, Lieutenant Domé. It's nice to see you again."
Mrs. Blair's soft voice broke off their arguing. Matthew turned, acting as if he noticed her for the first time. "Hello, Mrs. Blair. I'm sorry. It's been a while since I've been by."
"Yes, it has." Mrs. Blair smiled. "Harold T. said you're no longer in the volunteers. Is that right?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm back to being a civilian. Where's Frank?"
"Hunting, we're stocking up extra meat for the winter."
"Do you think he'll be back soon?"
"Not sure. He left right after the morning meal."
"Which way did he go?"
"East, over that rise."
Matthew turned to Libby. "You," he said tersely. "Be ready when I get back."
"What?" Libby nearly snarled. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready."
Matthew ignored her and retrieved his horse's reins. He swung into the saddle and politely said to Mrs. Blair, "See she's ready, will you?"
Unable to take any more of his arrogance, Libby swung around and searched for something to throw at him. "Why you...you..." By the time she found the rock she wanted, Matthew was too far away for it to do any good.
* * *
They'd been riding for hours.
All the while, Libby was determined not to speak a word. Even if she lay dying, and Matthew was the only person left in the world to save her, she wouldn't ask his help.
She couldn't remember a time when she'd been this mad. Not only did they leave, he ignored her protests while he placed her on the horse.
To be spiteful, Libby deliberately trailed her horse a few yards behind his. No reason to ride beside him. How in the world she ever thought she liked him was beyond her? He was pig-headed, stubborn, insensitive and a royal pain-in-the-ass.
"If you're through shooting daggers through me, I suggest you get down and stretch your legs a bit."
Libby jerked her head up. Somehow, he had stopped, dismounted and waited for her to ride up without her paying attention. Arching her nose upward and ignoring him, she untucked her cumbersome skirt and petticoats and slid off her horse. The minute her feet touched the ground, she moaned and grabbed the saddle. Too numb to stand, she braced herself from the pins-and-needles spreading over her legs.
Matthew laughed and turned away. Libby stifled a crude retort. After all, she wasn't speaking to him. On the pretense of stretching, she watched Matthew take a drink from his canteen. She gazed at the other canteen tied to his saddle. All she had with her was her first-aid kit, a slicker, and a blanket.
To her relief, once he was through drinking, he held it out and asked, "Want some?"
Libby stepped toward him and reached for it.
"Oh, no," He pulled the canteen back. "In order to drink, you have to say please then thank you."
Libby stomped her foot and shook her head. Damn him. She wasn't that thirsty. She'd show him how stubborn she could be. Spinning on her heel, Libby stalked back to her horse and mounted, ignoring the pain shooting down her legs.
As she urged her horse forward, Matthew grabbed the reins.
"All right. You've made your point."
Libby stared out across the prairie, hoping she was giving him a good impression of indifference. The sun was sinking low, turning the low clouds a burnished bronze. It would be dark soon. Surprised at the late hour, she realized she had no idea where they were. She, who, used to know this country like the back of her hand.
She scanned the area. Nothing looked familiar.
"Libby."
She continued to ignore him, trying to remember her trip out with Frank Blair. At the time she hadn't paid much attention. Concerned for the suffering child and the misery of riding in the rain had filled her mind.
"Look at me."
She still refused obedience. He growled and pulled her off the horse. "I swear, Libby, you're worse than Elizabeth at times."
"I'm not—" Libby bit off the rest. Her shock at hearing Matthew actually speak of his precious Elizabeth made her forget her vow of silence.
"You're not what?"
Libby shook her head, refusing to weaken a second time.
"You're good, you know that? Not even Elizabeth could be this stubborn."
She arched an eyebrow and he laughed.
"No matter, you'll talk sometime. Get your things off your horse. I want to remove the saddle. We're going to spend the night over there."
Libby glanced in the direction he pointed. A sloping hill with large jagged rocks jutted from its side forming a strange-looking bluff. She turned back in confusion. Why were they stopping for the night? Why couldn't they have ridden until they got home?
As if reading her mind, he answered. "This is the only place between here and home with any protection."
Protection? From what?
This time he didn't answer. Matthew led the horses toward the rocks, and she had no other choice but to follow. Maybe not talking to him wasn't such a good idea, not when he seemed to have all the answers and wasn't sharing.
An hour later, Libby sat in a narrow cave. Walls hemmed her, yet she didn't feel claustrophobic. Melon-sized rocks scattered the floor, many of them toward the back. The length of the cave seemed long enough for the two of them to stretch out, but it would have been too small to hold the horses.
Libby chewed her lip, hating not knowing what was going on. Her silence seemed to pen her in more than it locked Matthew out. Despite the encroaching darkness, he hadn't started a fire. He brought all their belongings into the cave, even arranged the slickers and blankets so they could sleep on them, but he hadn't collected any dried buffalo chips and prairie grass for cooking fuel or warmth. What he had done with the horses? When she went outside earlier, they were nowhere to be seen.
Libby chewed harder on her lip. She wanted answers, and the only way to get them was to ask. But she needed to do it without looking like she was giving in. After all, her pride was at stake.
"You sleep over there. I'll sleep by the opening."
Libby jumped with fright. She was so used to the quiet she hadn't expected him to appear.
"Here..."
Something brown and thin flew toward her. Libby reacted automatically and caught the rough strip. Turning it slowly in her hands, she examined it with her fingertips. Dried beef. She had a sinking feeling it was supper.
"Wash it down with water."
The canteen flew next. Libby dropped the beef in her lap and caught the canteen in time to keep it from hitting her in the chest. Cretin, how could he ignore her this way? Libby took a long swig of water then picked up the beef. As she tore off a small chunk of beef, she watched Matthew go to the opening of the cave and look out. Tiny prickles of worry danced through her. Something was definitely wrong.
"Good night, Libby."
Libby stopped chewing. Just like that? Good night? No...let me tell you what's worrying me? She swallowed her piece of meat and watched him stretch out on the blanket and place his hat over his face. Libby ground her teeth then yanked another bite of jerky from the strip. Okay, two could play the game. She crawled to her bedroll and plopped down. If sleep was what he wanted then sleep he'd get.
* * *
A thunderous rumble rose ominously from above and below. Like invisible hands dust pelted her face, clogging her mouth and nose. A shaft of light danced, sketching grote
sque images. She held up her hands, trying to shield herself from the dancers. A man suddenly blocked the light and she was wrapped in body warmth.
"It's all right. Sssh, sweetheart, it's all right."
She clung to the reassuring arms and buried her face in the heat of a solid chest. Beneath and above her, the cave continued to convulse like an erratic wire sheave separating wheat from the shaft. Her childhood nightmare of being smothered claimed her. "No, no, I don't want to do it again. Don't make me do it again."
The arms holding her tightened and a warm breath grazed her cheek. "Sssh, I'm here. I'll not let anything happen to you. You're safe."
Though the words tried to reassure her, her fear remained. Through the cavorting images, another man walked toward her. His movements were familiar. He had come to her before, many times, in her dreams. "Papa? Have you come for me this time?"
Her Papa shook his head.
She started to cry. "Why won't you talk to me, Papa? Have I been bad? Am I being punished? I'm sorry. I'll talk to Matthew."
The man shook his head again, and, as he did so, he came closer. His eyes were warm with love and they seemed to twinkle. Dressed as she remembered in faded green pants and checkered shirt with a patch below his heart, he bent down and kissed her. "Be happy, child," he said softly. "You won't need me to come again. I want you to be brave. Can you do that?"
"Be brave?" She touched her cheek where his kiss had been, "Yes, I can."
"And remember, I love you always."
"I'll remember."
He faded away, along with the sound of thunder and shaking ground. No longer frightened, she scooted deep into the warmth wrapped around her and drifted in place.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Matthew draped his blanket over Libby's relaxed body and scooted backward. He'd held her for hours, murmuring soft words, hoping to help release her death grip on him.
At the opening of the cave, daylight inched its way onto the floor. He was such a fool to show Libby how dangerous it could be on the prairie. He didn't need to scare her like she'd scared him, riding off the way she did. Matthew turned and looked at her. She slept peaceful now. All vestiges of her nightmare gone.