CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As harvest time drew to a close, I started to get more nervous. Now we would have to put our plan into motion, and I was afraid that we might make some mistake along the way, or something might happen that we didn’t plan on. After all, we hadn’t planned on father coming home with a new bride, and a husband for me.
Our whole life seemed to be getting turned upside down, and if Clinton and Bertha did not leave the farm as we hoped, then we would be stuck, camping out over the winter, and regardless of how much food we had with us, we most likely would end up freezing to death.
However, it was the only plan I could come up with, short of killing the two. Even though they had been responsible for my father’s death, I couldn’t bring myself to contemplate killing them or letting Emmet do it. He would probably be willing to do it, though, I thought.
As the day drew closer to where we could not put it off any longer, I started worrying even more. Clinton was getting stronger, and even though we could not get him to go out and pan for gold, or help around the farm, he made it a point to keep a close eye on me. It seemed like he was watching me all the time. He would always find excuses to stop me and talk to me, mostly about how I was going to have to marry him, eventually, whether I liked it or not.
I would just shrug, and ignore him as much as I could. It angered him that I refused to talk to him unless it was absolutely necessary, but at least he had not resorted to losing his temper over it.
I worried about Dorie, because she was starting to get nervous too, and I was afraid she might give us all away, by saying or doing something unintentionally. Nigel mostly stayed out in the field, and kept to himself, and he was smart enough not to talk to Clinton or Bertha, if he could help it.
I could see Dorie’s hands shaking as she prepared the last meal, before we were to leave. Meals were always stressful anyway, because we seldom talked. At first, Bertha tried to keep light conversation going at meal times, early on, after father died, but when no one would respond to her chatter, she fell silent. If Clinton tried talking to me during supper, I pretended like I hadn’t heard him, and after a few outbursts at me for my rudeness, he stopped trying to talk to me over a meal.
Once everyone had gone to bed, Dorie and Nigel would bring the last of the food in the pantry out to the barn. Since I had my room in the barn, I would start loading the wagon with the food stored out there, and later, Emmet would come hitch up the horses. Then we would wait until we were sure it was safe to leave, since we had to bring the cow and her calf, along with a cage full of chickens.
Just before we were ready to pull out of the yard, Nigel would release the pigs, and scare them off into the woods, leaving a bag of corn for them to make sure they did not come back looking for food.
Even if they did come back, there was no food to give them, and eventually they would start looking for their own food. It was a sure thing, that Bertha and Clinton didn’t even know what the pigs ate, let alone thinking to feed them, in order to keep them around. Even if they did manage to get the pigs to stay, I didn’t think Clinton would want to butcher the pigs, which meant Bertha would have to cook them, if he did. They probably didn’t know the first thing about how to preserve the meat, and whatever they weren’t able to eat, over a few days, would just end up spoiling. I even doubted that Bertha knew how to use the cook stove.
I smiled to myself as I thought about how angry Clinton, and Bertha would be, when they discovered we had departed in the night, and left them with nothing. They always acted so helpless, and never turned a finger to help around the place. It was like we were expected to work the farm, feed them, and do all the cleaning. None of us complained, though, because we did not want to give Clinton a reason to get angry, and we knew that eventually, we would leave them behind.
The wagon was almost packed, and Dorie was bringing the last of the food to the barn. Emmet was starting to hitch up the horses, and Nigel was putting the chickens in the cage. Once the wagon was packed, I would tie Buttercup to the back of it, and let her calf follow her behind the wagon. She wasn’t very happy about being tied to it, though, and I was hoping she wasn’t going to balk or bawl, and wake everyone in the house up, when we were ready to pull out. Nigel planned on riding Lightening behind the wagon to encourage Buttercup to cooperate though. The only livestock left in the barn when we departed would be the buggy horse.
My heart was pounding so hard, that I could hear it booming in my ears. I kept glancing over at the house, keeping my eyes open for the slightest flicker of light, that would indicate that either Clinton or Bertha had woken up, and had lit a lamp. As far as I could see, there was no light, so I tried to calm myself.
Nigel was herding the pigs out to the woods, with the help of Sport, nipping at their heels, and Darie had opened the duck pen, letting the ducks and geese scatter down the stream on their own.
Finally, we were all sitting beside each other on the bench, and Emmet was whispering to the horses to pull forward, as he flipped the reins against their backs. We went slowly, and Buttercup, bless her heart, did not make a sound, as we all headed out away from the farm, not certain what challenges we had ahead of us.
Our plan was not completely formed, except for the fact that we were leaving. Somewhere in the future, someone would have to go back to the farm to discover if Clinton and Bertha had left. We weren’t certain how long we should wait to do it, though. We had one month, if that, before it would begin to rain and snow enough to make camping difficult. I was hoping that Clinton and Bertha would decide to leave long before that.
We traveled the rest of the night in silence. All of us were tired, but we were afraid to stop along the way. We wanted to get as far away as we could, before Clinton and Bertha woke up and discovered us gone. Then we would have to find a place to camp until we could return to the farm.
We ate as we traveled, not daring to stop until the next night, when we were certain that no one was following us. Finally, we all tumbled from the wagon, and Emmet made a lean-to with a canvas and some rope, and we built a small fire, but, it didn’t take long for us to fall asleep in exhaustion.
I suddenly jerked awake, trying to recall where I was and what was happening. I thought I had heard twigs cracking, and wondered if Buttercup had managed to get free, or if Hope was wandering closer into our camp sight, away from her mother. Sport, who was laying next to me, let a low growl escape his throat, so I knew it was not Hope, that was approaching closer to our camp.
I reached over and shook Emmet, as I sat up, and pointed in the direction I had heard the noise. At the same time, I pulled my gun from the pocket of my skirt. The fire was barely licking over the last of the wood, and it cast eerie shadows all around us, not really lighting up anything that we could recognize.
“Well, what have we here?” I heard a familiar voice say, and then Clinton stepped forward, so the small remains of the fire caught at his features, distorting them, making him look more menacing than he really was.
It was then, that I saw he was holding a rifle pointed at me.
“Thought you could escape with all the food? Do you take me for a fool, Constance? I knew you were up to something. I just wasn’t sure what it was. You would have left us there to starve!”
“You could always go back to Dodge, where you belong!” I spat at him. I was not worried that he would shoot me, because I knew he wanted me to marry him, and what would he do with a dead bride? “You should be grateful that I even saved your sorry hide! I should have let that Indian finish you off!”
“You are an wicked little prissy girl, aren’t you?” he drawled.
“The only wicked person here is you!” I stated bravely. “You killed my father for his gold, and thought you would get the farm, but as long as I am breathing air, you are never going to get either!”
“Yeah, I found the rocks in the chest,” he growled. “But I am sure I can persuade you to tell me where you hid that gold, along with the money you claimed you had tha
t you were going to use to get back to Missouri.”
“You will just have to kill me, then, because I refuse to tell you anything!”
“Why don’t you simply consider yourself lucky we didn’t shoot the both of you, instead of leaving you to make your way back to Dodge?” Emmet broke in.
“Because I have no intention of returning to Dodge. I came to get a wife, and come hell or high-water, that is what I plan to do, so you can just get yourself up on that wagon of yours, and get yourself back to the farm!”
“Like I said, you will have to kill me, because I would rather be dead, than ever marry you, or let you touch me again!” I said bravely, as my whole body shook in fear.
“Sorry, love, but it’s not killing you, I plan to do. I could kill one of your family, though, if you prove difficult! I wouldn’t miss any of them none. Which one should it be?” His sneering expression cut me to the bone, and I realized he knew exactly how to force me to his will.
“Not if I shoot you first,” I said, lifting my gun, trying to stay brave. “Why don’t you just accept the fact that I won’t marry you, and you have no right to my father’s farm? Go back to the life you were living before your mother tricked my father into marrying her.”
Even though I had my gun pointed at him, Clinton did not look concerned.
“You willing to risk losing another family member? If you shoot me, I will just have to shoot one of them before I drop.”
“Go ahead and shoot him,” Emmet stated. “He’d probably miss, if he did try shooting one of us. It would almost be worth it, to get rid of him once and for all. You should have let me shoot him in the beginning!”
“Which is why I don’t think your sister has the guts to shoot me. There is a kind spot in her heart she can’t control. She even helped save the life of a wild Indian!”
“When it comes to you, I don’t have any more kind spots,” I hissed.
“Sorry, I don’t believe you. You even saved my life, after what I had tried to do to you. You don’t know how to be that mean!”
Just as he spoke the words, I heard him gasp, and then he fell forward, and I could see an arrow sticking up from his back. Was Muraco here once again to save me? I jerked my head, looking around, but it wasn’t Muraco that I saw. Instead, several Indians stepped into the camp sight, glaring at us. I took in my breath in fright. All of them looked like they were about to shoot the rest of us, as they held their bows ridged and pointed at us.
Then I did see Muraco, and let my breath out again, but he did not look as friendly as he once had. He stepped forward, and took the gun from my hand. One of the other Indians picked up Clinton’s rifle.
“You are our prisoners,” Muraco told me in English, and my eyes widened.
“I thought we were friends?” I gasped. “I saved your life, or had you forgotten?”
“It is beyond my control,” he said quietly, glancing at the other Indians, as he said the words.
“She is your fire hair woman, isn’t she?” one of the Indians said in his own language, but I understood the words well enough to know what he had said.
I decided to pretend that I couldn’t understand them though. Only Muraco knew I could speak their language.
“Now you can take her as your own,” another told him.
“She is only our prisoner! I will not take her as my own, and neither will any of you!”
He turned, looking at each of his companions, with fierceness in his eyes. “We will take the wagon of food to the winter camp, since we have not been able to find game,” Muraco stated, in a rough sounding voice, having reverted back to his own language.
I glared at him. If he took our food, we would have nothing to use over the winter, except for what was left in the cave, if we were ever able to escape, and no telling how long that would last.
The others were forcing Emmet, Nigel, and Darie to their feet and tying their hands. Muraco was tying my hands, as well. “I will never forgive you for this,” I said under my breath, in his own language.
“I have no other choice. I would lose face if I allow you to go free,” he muttered.
“And to think I bothered to save your life!” I growled at him, in my own language.
“It is the white man’s fault that we have little food to last us the winter. Whatever food you can offer is needed.”
“We are not offering it! You are taking it!” I said in outrage. “This is the very reason the soldiers came and attacked your village. You and your red brothers keep raiding the white settler’s ranches and farms. What did you expect?”
“The white man has trespassed upon our land and taken it from us, and left us little to survive on, and you complain that we steal food from the white man? We are only taking back what rightfully belonged to us in the first place! You kill our buffalo; you trample our grazing land; you build your houses on our land, and then claim the land is yours! It is you, who are at fault, not us!” He gave a jerk to my tied hands, as he pulled me along with him. Sport was going crazy barking at him, but he merely ignored my dog.
One of the Indians had climbed up in the wagon, pulling Emmet and Nigel up on the bench with him. Another Indian put Dari up on Clinton’s horse, which was the horse father had purchased to pull the buggy. Muraco was putting me up on Lightening. My long skirt spread out around me. He took the rein of Lightening, as he sprung up on his own horse. I could see a worried look in Muraco’s eyes, but his face showed little sympathetic emotion.
“You know you will end up being punished for this,” I continued, as he pulled my horse behind his.
“How much more can they punish us? They want us to die over the winter. Your people want to wipe us away, and pretend like we were never here, so they can have all that once belonged to our people. Every time we make a treaty with them, they change their minds, and give us less and less land to survive on. The reason we were even out here was because there is no game on what land they gave us. They force us to remain on that land, in hopes we will just end up starving to death! If we leave it, they will have an excuse to kill us anyway.”
“I don’t agree with what my people are doing to your people,” I told him. “But since you are treating me like an enemy, after I saved your life, I don’t think I can blame them!”
He looked over his shoulder, at me, a little sadly, I thought. Then his eyes flashed at me, and he turned his head away, not speaking to me again.
I glanced over my shoulder, as we departed. Clinton still lay face-down, and I assumed he was dead. One of the Indians was leading his horse, with Dari on its back, and I thought about Bertha. Now she didn’t even have a horse and buggy to take her back to Dodge. She would probably starve, but it was Clinton’s fault, for leaving her behind in order to follow us, I told myself. It served them both right, for their devious ways. At least, I had left them a way to escape, and they refused to take it. Now we were all going to suffer because of him and his greedy mother!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
We traveled through the night, and I felt completely exhausted, since we had barely gotten any sleep, and we had traveled through the night, just the night before. Muraco did not speak to me. Perhaps he felt his friends would disapprove of him if he did, or maybe he was the one who disapproved of me.
I began thinking about all the mistakes I had made, the first one being, saving this savage’s life! Then I saved Clinton’s life. My very humanity was bringing this all upon me, and I wondered if the adage of do unto others as you would have them do unto you, really held true. My father thought he was helping out a woman who needed a man in her life, and look where it got him? I should have let Emmet kill Clinton the way he suggested. After all, Clinton ended up dead anyway, and if we had done it, we would still be safe at our farm with food to last us the winter.
Now we were heading to an Indian village where they had little food to sustain them, so what would they spare for us, the very people who they believed put them in their situation?
I had thought Murac
o was a trusted friend. After all, he had saved me from Clinton, when we were in the cave, but perhaps it was because he thought he could convince me to go with him, back then. When I refused, this was probably his revenge, I decided. He would make me suffer for turning down his offer, I thought, sadly to myself.
I had only gotten to know him for a mere couple of weeks, so how could I even judge his character? I had omitted the fact that he was actually a wild Indian and just as unpredictable as the rest of his people. They had certain creeds to live by, and apparently he would rather see me suffer than lose face. How selfish can one get, I thought. My opinion of him, and draw towards him was now drastically changing.
I was impulsive and too concerned with the comfort of others than my own welfare, I berated myself. From this point on, I vowed I would be tough and unyielding. I would never trust any man again, either Indian or white. I had been right to have felt contented to live at the farm and never marry. Having a man in one’s life was too complicated. It wasn’t worth the sacrifice to hope for love or someone who truly cared for you above themselves.
I stared at the back of Muraco’s well tended head. His braids were wrapped in fur strips at the ends. Feathers dangling from rawhide strips with beads decorating them, hovered about his shoulders. His very exotic features lost their appeal for me. I was now his prisoner, and he no longer wanted me as his woman, but he was going to make sure no other man in his tribe had me either.
Perhaps I should be grateful that he chose to protect me from his friends, I thought, but the realization that he considered me a prisoner rather than a friend, broke my heart. It was like a wild animal that someone saved and healed and cared for, turning on them in the end. Wild things could never be trusted!
Sport trotted beside my horse, looking up at me from time to time, and giving a helpless whine. He knew something was amiss, but there was little he could do about it either. I looked over and saw the stricken face of my sister, as one of the Indians led her horse steadily along. I feared for her safety, because Muraco never said anything about keeping his eager friends away from her. Her long blond hair hovered about her face as a small breeze caught at it. She had no way to brush it aside, since her hands were tied to the saddle horn, the same as mine were.
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