Jim pulled out his knife and cut the tattered shirt away from Buck’s battered body. Amanda let out a painful gasp. “Oh my … the gashes on his chest are so deep. It—it looks like the muscle is showing!”
“You’re right, and his wounds are gonna need to be sewn together.” Jim went to one of his parfletches hanging on a wall peg across the room, retrieved the necessary animal tendons, and threaded a large porcupine needle. Then he took out several pieces of cloth and, using what was left from the bucket of water still in the cabin, he washed Buck’s wounds. Next, Jim began the grueling task of stitching him up, while Amanda looked on with obvious concern. Jim was surprised she hadn’t fainted dead away at the sight of so much blood. Maybe Miss Pearson had more gumption than he’d given her credit for.
Except for an occasional moan, Buck lay silent and unmoving. It was an agonizing process, and with a steady hand, Jim finished stitching the last deep gash. The whole process left him exhausted and drenched in sweat. The fact that he’d had nothing to eat or drink yet this morning didn’t help.
Jim covered Buck’s injuries with a poultice of comfrey, then wrapped them with clean cloths. The wounds on Buck’s neck and arms were not as deep as those on his chest, but Jim cleaned them thoroughly and applied healing herbs to them, as well.
“What’s that you’re putting on his wounds?” Amanda questioned.
“It’s an herb called comfrey,” Jim replied. “It’s used freely among the Indians and has been known to mend wounds of all sorts.”
“How do you know so much about the use of herbs?” she asked.
Jim looked up at her and shook his head. “In case you’ve forgot, I’m married to an Indian woman. Mary’s taught me a lot about healin’ with herbs.”
Amanda’s face reddened. “Oh, I see.”
Next, Jim mixed some alfalfa and dandelion with water and tried to get Buck to drink it. When he didn’t respond, Jim pried his mouth open, hoping to get some of the liquid in, but it only dribbled down Buck’s chin.
“I’ve gotta get him to drink this,” Jim mumbled. “It’ll help with his loss of blood.”
“Let me see if I can help.” Amanda knelt on the floor and lifted Buck’s head so it rested on her knees. Then she pinched his nose. Almost immediately, Buck’s mouth opened. “Go ahead and pour a little in,” she said. “Just a small amount at a time, though. We don’t want him to choke on it.”
“Well, I’ll be…. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that.” Jim did as she said, and as the liquid trickled into Buck’s mouth, Amanda gently rubbed his throat, helping it to go down.
Through it all, Buck never opened his eyes, and Jim was relieved that his friend hadn’t choked to death.
“He needs to rest now,” Amanda said. She placed one hand against Buck’s forehead. “His skin is moist and hot, so I am sure he has a fever.”
When Buck began to shiver, Jim told Amanda to step out of the room.
“How come?” she asked.
“So I can get his wet clothes off. Go in the bedroom and get some blankets. Oh, and while you’re there, check on Mary and Little Joe.”
Amanda lowered Buck’s head to the floor and hurried into the bedroom. When she returned, she came in backward, calling over her shoulder, “Here are the blankets. Where shall I put them?”
“Just drop ’em on the floor. I’ll get ’em as soon as I get Buck’s clothes the rest of the way off. How’s my wife and baby doin’?” Jim questioned.
“They are both sleeping.”
“Good.” Jim was glad. Had Mary known about Buck’s injuries, nothing would have stopped her from getting out of bed to help. Jim knew he could do no more for his friend at this time. His doctoring was finished, and now the waiting began.
Amanda started back to the bedroom, but halted when Jim called, “You’d better start prayin’ to that God of yours, ’cause short of a miracle, Buck’s likely to die.”
CHAPTER 17
Two days later, between taking care of Buck and doing the cooking and cleaning, Amanda was exhausted, although she wouldn’t admit it. Mary had said that she was capable of resuming her duties, but Amanda insisted her friend rest for the first few days following her baby’s delivery. Little Joe had been fussy and demanding, so Amanda assured Mary that she could manage and would let her know if she needed anything or had questions about caring for Buck’s wounds.
Yesterday, when Jim flopped down a turkey he’d shot, Amanda wasn’t sure what to do with the bird. Jim had looked at her strangely when she admitted that to him, and she’d been relieved when he’d merely shrugged his shoulders and taken it back outside. Awhile later, he returned, with the turkey feathers removed. Amanda had thanked him for doing that. Later, she felt good when the nicely browned roasted turkey sat in the middle of their supper table. Everyone ate their fill of the succulent meat. Jim had even said how good it was, a nice surprise considering how irritable the man had been when she’d first come to his cabin. Since Buck wasn’t up to eating anything yet, she’d made him some turkey broth.
Amanda yawned and reached around to rub the small of her back, in readiness to begin a new day. She didn’t think she would ever get used to sleeping on the floor in the small loft overhead. Even with the thick buffalo hide beneath her, the floor was unyielding. The loft was hot and stuffy, making it hard to sleep.
Amanda opened the cabin door and stepped outside for a breath of fresh air before starting breakfast. She observed the sights and sounds of nature, and a flicker of homesickness washed over her. The mountains were so beautiful, but they reminded her just how far from home she truly was. Even with those reminders, the grandeur of the Rockies could not go unnoticed, for they were surely glorious. The majestic mountains, with their high jagged peaks and snow-covered tops, were the backdrop to pines and fir trees mixed with oaks, providing shades of green among all the other colors. A meadow to one side bloomed in a rainbow of wildflowers that any artist would enjoy painting.
This area was far different from the rolling mountains she’d been accustomed to back East. Amanda’s father had said many times how he loved those rolling hills, and Amanda had come to appreciate them, too. Oh, how she missed Papa and the love they had shared. She missed the familiarity of their home in Dansville, too. But that was all behind her now, and she had to go on from here, experiencing the beauty of everything God had created and making the best of each new day, no matter what the challenges were.
As Amanda reentered the cabin, she glanced at Buck sleeping on the floor in front of the fireplace. When she’d gotten up this morning, she had checked on him and discovered that he’d thrown the covers aside and was trembling. She’d immediately begun to bathe his face with cool water and given him small sips of the willow bark tea Mary had prepared. Amanda was grateful he’d cooperated, even though he hadn’t appeared to be aware of her presence. She was even more thankful when Buck finally drifted into a deep sleep. His injuries looked somewhat better than when Jim had first brought him back to the cabin, but as Jim had said last night, “He ain’t outta the woods yet.” Amanda had been praying for Buck, asking God to bring down the man’s fever, keep his wounds from becoming infected, and give her the strength to keep up with things. It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d been the one with the fever, so her strength was still lacking. She was trusting God to give her the endurance to do whatever was needed each day. So far her prayers had been answered, as she felt stronger each day.
Amanda had just begun cooking a pan of cornmeal mush, when Buck started moaning. Since Mary and the baby weren’t up yet and Jim was outside doing chores, Amanda removed the pan from the stove and went to see about Buck.
Buck opened his eyes and tried to speak. “The bear … my gun …” A spasm of pain ripped through his body like a jolt of lightning, and when he coughed, his sides ached like he’d been kicked by a mule. Buck’s face felt like it was on fire, and his body dripped with sweat. “Wh–where am I?” he rasped as a woman’s face blurred before his eyes.
“Thou art in Jim Breck’s cabin. Please, drink this,” she said, lifting his head and putting a tin cup up to his dry lips.
“What is it?”
“It’s willow bark tea. Mary said it will bring down thy fever and help with the pain.”
Buck winced as he gulped down the bitter liquid. “Thanks,” he whispered gratefully. His eyes felt like red-hot pokers, and when he reached up to rub them, the woman’s face became clearer. Oh yes. Now he remembered…. It was that Quaker lady he’d saved a few weeks ago—Amanda Pearson. Buck thought she looked even more beautiful than he’d remembered. Amanda was like a vision he’d seen long ago. Or maybe it was just his imagination. Buck’s head felt fuzzy, making it hard to reason things out.
“Do you remember what happened to you?” she asked.
Buck’s head pounded as he squeezed his eyes shut and thought. He’d been out hunting, and then … He moaned. “A grizzly. She came at me fast. I tried to fight, but her claws kept connecting to my body.” Buck paused and moistened his lips. “I … I managed to grab my gun, and then I shot that old bear right in the head.”
“You’re right. It was a bear,” Jim said as he strode into the room. “Didn’t see any sign of her when I found you by the stream, but after I got ya to the cabin and tended your wounds, I grabbed my rifle and walked out in the woods.” He stared down at Buck with a grim expression. “Found the dead grizzly bear that got ya some distance upstream. Seen two cubs not far from her, too. You’re lucky to be alive, ya know that, friend? Nothin’ worse than a mama bear protecting her young.”
Buck nodded weakly and groaned when he tried to sit up.
“Whoa now!” Jim put his arm on Buck’s shoulder and held him down. “It’s too soon for ya to be tryin’ to get up.”
“Jim is right,” Amanda put in. Her piercing blue eyes looking ever so serious seemed to bore right into Buck’s soul. Was she really concerned about him or just the compassionate type?
“Move around too quickly and thou art likely to tear the stitches Jim worked so hard to put in,” she said. “Thou hast lost a lot of blood and art still running a fever, so thou really dost need to rest.”
Buck knew Jim and Amanda were right, but he had traps to check and traps to set. There was no time to be lying around on his backside. Not if he planned to haul some of his furs and hides to the next Rendezvous.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Jim said. “You’re worried about your traps.”
Buck gave another short nod, biting his lips against the pain that coursed through his body when he tried to move.
“Well don’t trouble yourself ’bout that, ’cause I’ll take care of things while you’re letting your body mend.” Jim motioned to Amanda. “This here little lady’s been takin’ good care of you, so just do what she says and try to relax.”
Buck wasn’t sure he liked the idea of anyone taking care of him, because he’d been taking care of himself for a long time. But right now, he guessed he didn’t have much choice. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he was back on his feet. The idea of the Quaker woman taking care of his needs made him nervous. What if she tried to push her religious ideas on him? Well, if she did, he’d have to set her straight, because he had absolutely no interest in God!
CHAPTER 18
It had been four days since Mary had given birth to Little Joe, and she decided to go outside and bring in some more wood for the cooking stove. “I go out to get wood,” she told Amanda, who sat at the table reading her Bible. “You watch Little Joe?”
Amanda smiled. “Of course I will, but wouldn’t thee rather that I get the wood so thee can stay inside and care for thy son?”
Mary shook her head. “Me need exercise and fresh air. Get tired of being in cabin so much.”
“Are thee certain thou art feeling up to it? Thee just had a baby….”
“Indian women have babies all the time. No lie around unless very sick.”
“I understand, but please be careful and don’t overdo it trying to carry too much wood,” Amanda cautioned. “If thou dost too much, thou mayest start bleeding heavily.”
“I be fine,” Mary asserted. She motioned toward the bedroom. “Little Joe asleep on bed. You want hold him while I gone?”
Amanda nodded eagerly. “That would be nice. I have been so busy taking care of Buck that I haven’t had much time to hold the baby.”
“You hold whenever you want,” Mary said. “I care for Buck if he need me.”
Amanda smiled. “As long as thou art able, I guess it would be alright if we take turns.”
Mary tipped her head. “Take turns? What is that?”
“It means that I will take care of Buck whilst thou art busy with the baby, and then thou canst care for Buck while I watch the baby.”
Mary gave a nod. “Is what I said.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. I was just expressing it in a different way.”
Mary picked up one of the baskets she had woven sometime ago and started for the door. “You come get me if Little Joe need to be fed.”
“Yes, I certainly will.”
When Mary stepped into the yard, she drew in several deep breaths. Having been cooped up in the cabin the last several days, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed being outdoors. The air felt clean and fresh as it always did after a good rain. She smiled, glancing at the trees and bushes bursting with green leaves. She felt one with nature, just like when she had been living among her people. Springtime brought new birth, new beginnings. Now it was the same for her and Jim in their small but sturdy cabin. She had given Jim a son, and because of it, she saw in her husband a new appreciation and even respect.
Mary studied her surroundings, taking in all the sights, smells, and sounds. The morning was certainly coming alive after nature’s bath had rinsed everything off. She noticed droplets of water glistening in the morning light while slowly dripping from pinecones not yet opened by daytime warmth. Several chickadees splashed in a puddle, while nuthatches scurried up and down tree trunks looking for bugs. A thin layer of fog hung just above the surface of the nearby stream, and the ground smelled earthy, still damp from the rain. Mary knew it would vanish as the humidity disappeared, and a blue-skied day awaited them.
She stood several more minutes, breathing deeply and taking it all in, then finally moved toward the woodpile. A chipmunk dashed away as she approached. She set the basket on the ground and had just picked up the first piece of wood, when Jim stepped up to her. “Whatcha doin’ out here?” he asked with a look of concern. “Shouldn’t ya be inside resting?”
“I fine,” she said. “Came to get wood for stove.”
“Mary, that can wait. There’s something I need to say,” Jim said, moving closer.
She looked up, waiting for him to continue.
“This ain’t easy for me, but it needs to be said. I owe you an apology for all the hurtful things I’ve said and done since ya came to live here with me.” He cleared his throat loudly, while raking his fingers through the ends of his thick beard. “I’m especially sorry for the times I mistreated ya when I had too much to drink.”
Is this truly happening? Mary wondered. Good things didn’t come to her. She was afraid to believe something decent might happen. Was Jim having a change of heart?
Mary dropped her gaze, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as her mind pulled her back to the first time she’d been the victim of her husband’s wrath.
Yawning, Jim pushed his chair away from the table, causing it to scrape noisily across the floor. “Think I’ll take the chill from my bones,” he said to no one in particular. His feet were clad in soft moccasins, and he plodded across the room to the cabinet full of his personal supplies.
Out came a full bottle of corn whiskey, and Mary watched with concern as he settled himself into one of the split-log chairs near the big stone fireplace. Jim’s dog gave a noisy grunt and flopped onto the floor next to his master.
Mary drew in a deep breath. She wished
Jim would take the bottle into the other room and be out of sight for the night. At one of the Rendezvous her tribe had attended, she had seen what the white man’s firewater could do to the Indian. No doubt it would have the same miserable effect on any man, whether his skin was red or white.
Anxious to get to her loft, Mary hurried to finish her chores in the kitchen.
“Put another log on the fire!” Jim called, as she began her ascent up the ladder a short time later.
Mary hesitated. Hoping he would think she hadn’t understood, she quickly scampered the rest of the way up.
Peeking down from above, she watched as Jim took a long drink from his bottle and wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. With a fierceness in his tone that Mary hadn’t heard before, he screamed, “Get down here, now! If I have to come up there after ya …”
Trembling, Mary was already on her way back down the ladder and almost tripped when her foot got hung up on the bottom rung. She righted herself in time and went immediately to the wood box and placed two good-sized logs into the fireplace.
When she started back across the room, Jim reached out his hand and caught her by the wrist. “Just where do ya think you’re goin’?”
“Me wish to sleep,” she said, head down and eyes focused on the floor.
“You’ll go when I say and not before!” he bellowed.
The pungent odor of whiskey wafted up to Mary’s nostrils, and she fought the impulse to run away. It was all she could do to keep from gagging, as she swallowed the bitter taste of bile slowly creeping up her throat.
Jim shifted in his chair but didn’t release his hold on her arm, causing her to wince in pain. She hated this man, just as she had hated Smoking Buffalo, the Blackfoot Indian who’d taken her captive and traded her to Jim.
He took another hefty drink, then finally released her arm. Believing she was free to go, Mary started toward the ladder.
Jim leaped to his feet, knocking over the wooden chair with a thud. “I didn’t say ya could go!” With a few quick steps, he crossed the room and yanked the razor strap down from the wall peg.
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