“Oh, Sarah, what a terrible story. Such a past you have had.”
Sarah smiled at the kindhearted woman and leaned back against her pillow. “I was a long time recovering, and by then I knew I was pregnant with Caleb’s child. I needed a husband. I hated Byron Clawson, but my father forced me to marry him, telling me how disgraceful it was to be pregnant and without a husband, extolling how kind Byron was to be willing to make my baby ‘legitimate.’” She shook her head. “Byron moved with me to Washington, D.C. He was cruel, Mildred. So cruel.” The words were spoken in a near whisper. “He beat me, forced himself on me in the night. He was drunk more often than sober. Then when Lynda was born, he took her away from me—told me she had died …” Sarah broke down in tears. “He kept me so drugged after that, I never knew the truth and half the time wasn’t even aware of where I was,” she continued in a broken voice. “He put Lynda in an orphanage and later he divorced me, after discovering my father was going broke and there was no money for him to inherit. He left me a near cripple, sent me home to St. Louis. My father died shortly thereafter. I’ve never visited his grave.”
“And Caleb? How did you find him again? And your daughter?”
Sarah fingered a tie on the quilt that covered her. “Caleb lived. A woman we had known as a young girl at Fort Dearborn, Emily Stoner, lived in New Orleans then. Caleb had seen her there a year or so earlier, when he fought at the Battle of New Orleans.” She decided not to tell Mildred Handel that the woman was a prostitute. Emily had been good to Caleb, saved his life. That was all that was important.
“Caleb was nearly dead,” she went on, “but he managed to tell the men who found him to take him to Emily. She nursed him back to health, and then he went back west to get Tom, thinking me dead. We went on that way for years, thinking each other dead. Caleb met a Cherokee family on their way to Texas. He got Tom and joined them there, wanting to start a new life for himself and Tom. That’s when he met Marie, who he married several years later. They had two sons, and then Marie and one of the sons were killed in a fire after an outlaw raid. Of course you already know all about that.”
“Yes. We had only just come here when that happened. It was so sad.” Mrs. Handel patted Sarah’s arm. “Do you want more tea?” she asked.
“Yes. I think I do.”
The woman poured more from a pot, handing the cup to Sarah. “And you? What happened to you?”
“I stayed in St. Louis. My stepmother died and I stayed in the house and opened a sewing business. Then one night a young girl came looking for work. It was raining that night. She was dripping wet and looked so sad and lonely at the door. And she was so young. I had to let her in. She told me she was an orphan and later explained the man she’d been traveling with was killed in a fight over a card game on a riverboat. She got off in St. Louis, alone and afraid, knowing no one. She walked the streets looking for work. Since she had worked in a garment factory back East, I gave her a job helping me. Later she told me about a blue quill necklace that had been left with her when she was dropped off at the orphanage.”
Sarah shivered at the memory. “I’ll never forget that moment. Caleb had given me a blue quill necklace. Byron took it away from me the night Lynda was born. I asked her to show me the necklace, and we knew then—she was my daughter.”
“Oh, such a gift from God!”
Sarah’s eyes teared and she sipped more tea. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It was a miracle. Byron, too, had returned to St. Louis by then. I confronted him, much as I didn’t ever want to see him again. But I had to know for sure. He admitted Lynda did not die—that he had put her in an orphanage. We knew for sure then. Several months later, Lynda and I saw an article in the local paper about Texas, saw Caleb’s name and read that his son Tom was in St. Louis. Lynda went to see Tom and found out it was indeed my Caleb Sax.” She met Mildred’s eyes then. “You know the rest. We came to Texas.”
Mildred Handel clapped her hands. “Such a story! See what a lucky woman you have been after all? And that Caleb was lucky, too. All the time we knew him before you came here, always I saw such loneliness in those handsome blue eyes. Always we felt so sorry for that man, and angry at how some of our neighbors talk now—against the Indians who have settled here, too.” She grasped Sarah’s hand. “But no more bad things for you now, hm? God will be good to you—and He will bring back your Caleb from those Comanche.”
She released Sarah’s hand and Sarah took another swallow of tea. “You have a great deal of faith, Mildred.”
“Ah, and you are stronger than you think. Now you try to sleep. Do it for Caleb. He’d not want you sitting up and fretting this way.” She stood up and fluffed Sarah’s pillow. “Tomorrow my Wil and I are going into San Felipe. You are walking around now some. Would you like to go with us—ride in the back of the wagon and perhaps visit one shop—buy yourself a new dress for Caleb’s return, perhaps? You can show him how you are getting back your lovely shape.”
Sarah handed her the cup and put a hand to her waist, which to her was still too thick but was at least improving. “Yes. If the weather is good, maybe that would be a good idea. I need more exercise, and I’ll do anything right now that will help keep my mind off Caleb.”
James started to fuss, and Mildred lifted the baby from his cradle beside the bed, laying him next to Sarah. Sarah opened the blankets to study the tiny package. The boy was already putting fat on his knees and elbows. He drank as though the milk might run out any time and it would be his last meal. He was going to be a big, strong son. Her eyes teared again. What other kind of son would Caleb Sax father but a strong, healthy one?
“James. My beautiful James,” she said softly. She snuggled down and opened her gown so the child could suckle his midnight meal. Outside the same yellow moon shone down on the Handel ranch that was shining down on Caleb Sax, as he moved on his belly like a snake toward the Comanche camp.
“Hey, you big bull, we’ll kill us some Comanche tonight, huh?” Tom shook back his long, black hair, enjoying the feeling of being Indian.
Lee grinned and gave him a shove, the white war paint against his dark skin seeming to glow in the soft moonlight. “I will kill more than you. You think the Cheyenne are better than the Cherokee.”
“Smarter and faster.”
“You will find out, nephew.”
“I will help you when those Comanche get you in a fix, uncle.”
The two always teased each other about being uncle and nephew, even though they were nearly the same age and had grown up like brothers and were now also brother-in-laws. Both were trying to make light of what they knew was a dangerous situation, as they waited anxiously for Caleb to return.
“They won’t get me in a fix. I’ve got a wife at home with a baby in her belly,” Lee answered. “And it’s about time you started looking for a woman, Tom Sax.”
“Find me one as pretty as that sister of mine you married and maybe I will get serious. You don’t deserve her, you know.”
Lee laughed lightly. “I didn’t see you trying to stop me from marrying her.”
“That’s only because you both had such a lovesick look in your eyes I thought I would get sick myself.”
They both laughed then, but kept everything on a low key, not wanting to be heard by Comanche scouts who might be about. Their smiles faded then and their eyes held in the moonlight. Both of them wore buckskins and moccasins, clothing that blended into the surroundings.
“You think he’s all right, Tom?”
Young Tom fingered a small rock. How he loved his father—worshipped was more like it. “Sure. My father can do anything. He’s all Indian, remember? At least right now he is. You’ve heard him talk about what he did to the Crow. And he painted our faces. We will have much power now.”
“Yeah.” Lee sighed, adjusting the weapons belt he wore crossed over his chest. “Hey, don’t you sometimes wish you could have known your Cheyenne mother?”
“Sure I do.”
“I bet she wa
s pretty.”
Tom nodded. “I think she must have been, the way father talked about her. It’s funny about feelings. Your sister Marie was not my mother, but I loved her the same as if she was. Yet there is this real mother I never knew, buried somewhere in the mountains to the north. My father has had many experiences in his life—many losses.” He swallowed. “I hope he doesn’t lose John. It would be very bad for him.”
They heard a call then, like a small night creature.
“It’s Caleb,” Lee said softly.
A moment later Caleb appeared, calling their names softly.
“Here,” Tom answered.
Caleb moved closer. “I know which tipi he’s in. They brought him out once, arguing over whether to sell or keep him. He looks tired and hungry, and his wrists look like they’re bleeding from rawhide straps, but he’s okay otherwise. The Comanche are drinking like crazy. We have to hope they don’t decide in their drunken state to torture John for fun and games. If we wait just a little longer, a lot of them will be passed out. It should be easy to get into the tipi and get John out. If we ride off fast tonight, it will take them a while to get themselves together to come after us—probably not until later in the morning. We’ll have a hell of a start on them by then.”
“It is still risky. Are they all drinking?” Lee asked the question.
“As far as I can tell. I think if we’re quiet and quick enough, the only ones we’ll have to deal with are the two or three that might sleep in the tipi where John is kept. I can’t stress enough to either of you the fact that we must be very fast—no hesitating, understand?”
“Sure, we understand,” Tom told him. “We’ve gone against Indians and outlaws before, Father. We can do it.”
Caleb pulled a huge knife from its sheath at his waist. “And we’ve always done it on our own land—never this deep in Comanche territory. Believe me, if they weren’t drinking, they’d know we were here and we would be stretched out for a nice long death right now. Maheo is with us. He has helped us in the form of rotgut whiskey.” He put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You bring the horses. You’re best at keeping the animals quiet. Stop about halfway down the path and wait. Lee and I will go in. If you hear a lot of shooting and yelling, get the hell out of here, do you hear me? Don’t try to be heroic. There are too many of them and death would be better than what they would do to you. Promise me right now—both of you. If things look bad and you have a chance to get away, do it.”
Tom sighed deeply. He knew it was important to his father that they agree. “All right. I’ll get out if I have to, but I’ll by God come back with half of San Felipe!”
“I wouldn’t count on too many back there helping us. We’re Indian, remember? That’s why I didn’t bother asking for help in the first place. Lee? I want to hear your promise.”
“I promise. I’ll get out. But I’ll be carrying you and John both on my back!”
Caleb grinned. “Come on. We’ll wait a little longer. Then I’ll go in and slice open the back of John’s tipi. Lee, you follow me inside and we’ll take care of whoever is in there.” He put a hand on Lee’s arm. “Now is when you must be all Indian, Lee. This is our war now, and all our lives are at stake. It’s important that no one survive inside that tipi so that everyone thinks they’re just sleeping. That will give us a lot more time in the morning. The same goes for you, Tom. If anyone comes your way other than John, he’s dead. Understood?”
Both men nodded.
Caleb put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Maheo be with both of you. Let’s go.”
The camp was quiet, the central fire burning low. Several Comanche lay sprawled in a drunken stupor near the fire, and more were snoring in tipis.
Caleb touched his blue quill necklace and ducked low, leaving his musket behind on his horse and moving toward the camp with only a side gun and his huge knife. He and Lee crept to the bottom of the canyon, then went onto their bellies. Yes, they were Indian this night; moving stealthily, slowly, being careful where they placed hands and knees so as not to crack a twig or make scraping noises on gravel.
It seemed to take hours for them to reach the tipi where John was being kept. Caleb snaked toward it, stopped at the back and lifted the edge just slightly to peek inside. Only a few feet away he could make out a Comanche warrior lying on his back, snoring. Caleb tapped Lee on the shoulder. Then he took out his knife and rose to his knees. He looked around carefully, quickly jabbed the knife into the tipi, and ripped downward.
Everything happened fast after that. Caleb ripped all the way through to the bottom of the tipi skin, throwing back the flap and ducking inside like a shadow. Lee followed. Inside, a small fire shed just enough light to see John and two men. John’s eyes widened with joy and he started to open his mouth, but Caleb put his fingers to his lips. He moved to one of the men as Lee also moved inside, just in time to see Caleb grasp the Comanche’s chin, pull it up, and slash the man’s throat quickly and quietly.
Lee froze, surprised at the viciousness of Caleb Sax. Just then, a woman bolted up behind Lee and the second man inside the tipi stirred. Caleb knew the first danger was the second man. He noticed the woman had a lance in her hand and hoped Lee would make his move fast. But Lee just stared at her, his soft heart trying to drum up the courage to kill her.
The woman, however, was quick; she was defending her husband. She rammed the lance into Lee, just as Caleb slammed his knife with a soft thud into the second Comanche before the man could cry out. Lee stumbled backward and the woman stabbed him again. Caleb dove into her, knocking her to the ground. She started to cry out, but Caleb’s knife slashed across her throat without hesitation before she could make a sound.
John was watching the scene in terror. Caleb rammed his knife into its sheath and knelt over Lee, who was shaking violently, blood pouring both from his chest and from a hideous wound between his legs.
Caleb’s heart felt ripped in half, and his eyes filled with tears. “My God, Lee …” But looking at Lee’s wounds, Caleb was too devastated to speak. Only by drawing on his deepest strength did he manage to say, “I’ll help you out of here!”
Lee reached toward him as Caleb moved away to cut the ties on John’s wrists. John quickly wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.
“It’s all right, John. There will be time for reunions later,” Caleb whispered. “We have to get out of here fast! Tom is waiting a few yards up the canyon path. You know where it is. Get outside—and be quiet as a mouse. I’ll bring Lee.”
The boy let go, his dirty face stained with tears. “I can’t leave you behind, Pa.”
“Don’t argue. Do what I tell you. Go, quickly.” He shoved the boy toward the cut in the tipi and John ducked out, crawling into the darkness to wait. The boy shook with fear that his father would not get out in time. How could he possibly make it if he had to carry Lee? Lee was as heavy as a buffalo, and badly wounded. Surely he couldn’t live.
Inside, Caleb bent over Lee to pick him up.
“No,” Lee whispered hoarsely. “I … am dying.”
“You’ll not die! Think of Lynda.” Caleb grabbed the man’s shirt. “Goddamn it, Lee, why didn’t you kill that woman? Don’t do this to me! I can’t go back without you!”
Lee’s lips twisted in a grimace of pain. “You know … I am dying.” He made a strange gasping sound and arched. “She got me … down there … Can’t go back … to Lynda … like this … Not a man …”
Caleb’s blood chilled with the horror of it. He moved his eyes over Lee’s wounds. Blood had already soaked his chest, and it was pouring from between his legs. There was no way he would survive and even if he did, the hideous wound would leave him less than a man. For someone like Lee, that would be worse than death.
“Tell … Lynda … love her so much … take care of the baby …”
“Lee, I can’t leave you here. You aren’t dead. Maybe you’re dying, but if you aren’t dead yet the Comanche will only make it worse for you.”
“Kill me.”
Caleb froze. Lee lay panting and weeping while Caleb’s mind raced. He had to get out if he was to have any chance of saving Tom and John. No man in his right mind would think Lee could possibly survive the vicious wounds from the Comanche woman’s lance.
“Kill me,” Lee repeated, a begging sound to his words. “Take care … of my Lynda … my baby.”
Now it was Caleb who hesitated. If he tried to take Lee with them, they would never move fast enough to get out of Comanche country alive, and Lee would leave a trail of blood that would bring the Comanche right to them. He was dying, but if Caleb left him and he had the misfortune of not dying quickly enough …
He leaned over Lee. “God, I love you like a son, Lee. You know that.”
“I know.” Lee actually forced a smile. “If you really love me … kill me now … quickly. Get away … Caleb … do it … for me. Thanks for letting me … have your daughter … for a little while. She made me … so happy.” He reached up with a hand that shook almost violently. He grasped Caleb’s arm. “Your God … would understand. Hurry, Caleb.”
Frontier Fires Page 6