“You’re in the tent. You still need to get outta those clothes.”
Amanda’s teeth began to chatter again, and she sneezed several times. “I will, as soon as you leave.”
“I’ll see about fixin’ something for us to eat.” He smiled and stepped outside.
When Buck came back several minutes later to let Amanda and Mary know that supper was ready, he found Amanda sleeping again, although Mary had helped her into dry clothes. Her breathing seemed labored, and beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. She’d obviously taken a chill from the drenching rain, and he was fairly certain she had come down with a fever.
“Do you have any willow bark?” Buck asked Mary. “I think she’s sick, and being wet from the rain hasn’t helped.”
She nodded. “Always carry willow bark with me.”
“Would ya mind fixin’ some of it for Amanda?”
“I do it now.” Mary handed the baby to Buck. “You hold Little Joe while I make tea.” Before Buck could respond, she hurried from the tent.
Buck tweaked Little Joe’s nose, and the baby gurgled, looking up at him innocently. Buck couldn’t believe how good it felt to hold the infant, and once again, he wondered how it would be if he had a child of his own.
When Mary returned, she held a tin cup full of freshly brewed willow bark tea, known for its ability to reduce a fever and take away pain. Mary woke Amanda and coaxed her to drink some of the tea.
Amanda roused slightly, moaning. “I’m so tired. Please let me sleep.”
Mary held the cup to Amanda’s lips. “Drink tea now. Sleep after.”
“Drink all of it,” Buck said.
Amanda did as he said. “It’s so bitter, and my throat hurts,” she said, groaning as her head dropped back to the mat.
“You have fever. Must rest and stay warm,” Mary insisted.
Amanda coughed and covered her mouth. “At this rate we’ll never reach the Spalding Mission.”
“We’ll get there when we get there. Now rest.” Buck was about to leave the tent when the sound of pounding horse’s hooves and the cries of Indian voices filled the air.
“You women stay here,” he commanded. “I’ll go see who’s come to our camp.”
CHAPTER 36
When Buck stepped out of the tent, he was met by a group of Flathead Indians. He felt relief, knowing they were usually a friendly tribe.
Buck held up one hand and gestured in a motion similar to a wave, the sign of welcome. The leader of the Flatheads dismounted from his horse and with some hand gestures signaled that his tribe would like to set up their camp nearby.
Buck had no objections, knowing there was safety in numbers. He told the chief so, using the proper hand signals.
Ducking back into the tent, Buck nearly bumped into Amanda. She gave him an anxious look. “Who are they? Are they friendly? What do they want?” Her voice was shaky and edged with concern.
Buck eased Amanda back onto her mat. “It’s not good for you to be up,” he said sternly.
“I tell her that,” said Mary, “but she not listen.”
“I wanted to see who was here and find out if you were all right,” Amanda said, as she laid her head against the soft hides.
Buck grinned. “You were afraid for me?”
She nodded. “I am afraid for all of us.”
“It’s a Salish tribe,” he explained. “Flatheads, as the whites call ’em, and they’re gonna make camp along the river. It’ll bring good fishing. There are probably many roots to dig for eating here, too.”
“Are they hostile Indians?” she asked, eyes wide and expectant.
Buck shook his head and fought the urge to reach out to her. She looked so frightened, and he wished to bring her comfort.
“Why are they called Flatheads?” Amanda questioned. “Do they have flat heads?”
“Some Salish tribes make the heads of their babies go flat, usin’ headboards,” Buck explained.
Amanda gasped, causing another round of coughing. “Why would anyone do such a horrible thing to a baby?”
“What seems bad to you, not bad to others,” Mary interjected. “You don’t understand Indian ways.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but I’m trying to.”
“Would ya like to get to know the Flatheads?” Buck questioned.
“Well, I suppose, but …”
“That’s good.” He leaned back on his elbows. “They plan to stay here long enough so their men can hunt for fresh meat.”
Amanda’s eyes widened. “You’re planning to leave us here with those Indians?”
He nodded. “I won’t be gone long, and I’m sure you, Mary, and the baby will be fine.”
“But I don’t know the Flathead language, and I’m sure they don’t speak English, so how are we supposed to communicate?”
“Mary can speak to these people. And if ya want to try, do this.” He held his hands in front of her and made the sign of greeting.
“Buck right. I make Salish talk,” Mary interjected.
“You want me to talk to them with my hands?” Amanda sputtered.
“Yes, if you wanna try.”
Amanda swallowed hard. What is wrong with me? I’ve come through horrible storms, buried three men, lost all my supplies, and traveled for miles, all alone. Surely I should be strong enough to let Buck go hunting. Truly I should have enough faith in God to know that He has brought me this far and won’t abandon me now.
“Don’t be afraid. The Flatheads won’t hurt ya.” Buck lifted the tent flap and stepped outside.
Amanda awoke several hours later to the sound of children’s laughter. She opened her eyes and was surprised to see two young Indian girls staring down at her. The older one, who looked to be about ten years old, poked the other girl’s arm and giggled. The younger one pointed to Amanda and said something in her native tongue, then she knelt on the mat next to where Little Joe lay sleeping.
Amanda had no idea how long she’d been asleep. She held her pounding head a moment, thinking about how miserable she felt. She spotted Mary then, sitting in the center of the tent, stirring something in a black cooking pot over a small fire. The smell of rabbit stew wafted up to greet Amanda’s nostrils. I must be getting some better, she noted. At least my nose has unclogged enough so that I can smell that delicious aroma.
“You feel better now?” Mary asked.
“I feel more rested,” Amanda replied, “but my throat’s still sore.”
“You need drink more willow bark.” Mary stopped stirring the kettle and poured Amanda a tin cup filled with the same bitter tea she’d given her before. It was hard to get down, but Amanda forced herself to swallow it as Mary looked on. “You had fever and bad dreams. You call out once for Buck, then fever broke.”
“What are these two young girls doing in our tent?” Amanda asked, not wanting to hear that she’d called out for Buck.
“They hear baby cry and want to see him.”
“I guess all young children like babies.”
“Want to hear somethin’ funny?” Mary asked.
Amanda nodded, eager to hear anything humorous. Life had been too serious of late. She’d begun to think the west was full of violence and uncouth men like Seth Burrows.
“Flathead chief think Buck is your man.”
Amanda’s mouth dropped open. “Why would he think that?”
“Buck say they should look out for you.”
“I’m sure he asked them to look out for you and Little Joe, too.”
“Maybe so, but they think you Buck’s woman.”
“Did you tell them I am not?”
Mary shook her head. “It better they think that.”
“How come?”
“No Flathead man will bother you if they believe you have husband.” Mary motioned to the tin cup. “Drink rest of tea now. It good for you.”
Amanda did as she was told, then lay back down and closed her eyes. As she reclined there, half-asleep, she allowed herself to think about
what it would be like if she were Buck’s wife. Would they live in the mountains, while he trapped and traded? Would they live at the Spalding Mission and work together, teaching the Nez Percé about Jesus and helping them make a better life for themselves? Would they have children to love and cherish?
Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself. Buck is not a Christian, and there’s no way he would ever ask me to be his wife. Even if he did, I would have to say no.
CHAPTER 37
Amanda, deep into sleep, was awakened by the sound of voices. She opened her eyes, and noticed that Mary was gone. She peeked out of the tent, hoping Buck had come back but saw no sign of him, either. A few minutes later, Mary entered the tent with a young Indian woman, obviously with child.
“What’s going on?” Amanda asked, covering her mouth to smother a sudden coughing spell.
“This woman, she about ready to give birth,” Mary explained.
“But why is she here? Shouldn’t she be with her family right now?”
Mary shook her head. “They say, no family. They all dead. Only husband is alive, and he out hunting.”
“Surely there must be someone in her tribe who can help deliver the baby.”
Mary pointed to herself. “They ask me.”
“Why? Did you tell them that you had delivered Little Joe by yourself?”
Mary nodded. “I also say my grandfather was medicine man. He taught me some, so they ask me to help Silver Squirrel deliver her baby.”
As Silver Squirrel moved across the tepee, Amanda gasped. Beside the fact that the young woman’s stomach was twice the size that Mary’s had been when she’d carried Little Joe, the woman’s right hand was missing. “What happened to the poor woman’s hand?” Amanda questioned.
“She used to be part of Blackfoot tribe. She do something they not like, so they cut off hand and leave her in woods to die,” Mary replied.
“Oh, that is terrible!” Amanda’s mind reeled with what Mary had just said. She shuddered at the mere thought of losing her hand.
“What happened to her then?” she asked.
“Flathead warrior, Two Moons, found her in woods. She weak from hunger and loss of blood. He carry her to his mother’s lodge. They took care of her there. Save woman’s life.”
“She’s fortunate that Two Moons came along when he did,” Amanda said. “She may have bled to death.”
Mary nodded. “They marry soon after that.”
Amanda knew that if Mary was going to deliver Silver Squirrel’s baby, they would probably be here among the Flathead for a while. She wasn’t quite ready to take on this latest challenge, but she had already formulated a plan for when she was feeling better. Using Mary as her interpreter, maybe she could teach these Flathead Indians about the one true God.
Buck felt bad about leaving the women and baby alone but was sure they’d be safe with the Flatheads. They were out of fresh meat, and he’d hoped to bag a deer. He hadn’t been so lucky, though, but he did get a few rabbits. Since Amanda wasn’t feeling well, she needed nourishment, and of course Mary needed to eat well in order to feed Little Joe properly.
As Buck headed back to their camp, he thought about Amanda. Her ways were odd, and she couldn’t seem to stop talking about God. But there was something about the way she looked at him—something in her tone of voice. It was almost as though she were calling to him. Calling him to something he didn’t understand. Calling him somewhere he didn’t want to go.
Guiding his horse to a stop, Buck dismounted and headed for a small lake nestled in the forest. He was in need of a cool drink, and a quick swim would help clear his mind.
He tied the horse to a nearby tree, removed his shirt and leggings, and flung himself headfirst into the water. A few long strokes and Buck was in the middle of the lake. He turned over on his back and gazed up at the clear blue sky, dotted with puffy white clouds. It was a peaceful day, a time when his mind should have been at rest. But a multitude of thoughts had been troubling him ever since the white woman entered his life.
Floating effortlessly on his back, he closed his eyes, but a shrill cry in the sky overhead brought Buck’s eyes open in a flash. Circling directly above was his red-tailed hawk. The bird’s wings were outstretched, and it glided effortlessly, down, down, down, until it came to rest on the branch of a pine tree growing on one side of the lake.
Buck turned over, and swam quickly toward the shore. By the time he reached the shoreline, his hawk had flown to another tree. The flutter of wings, so close Buck could feel the gentle breeze, caused him to inhale sharply. Was his winged friend trying to tell him something?
Buck reached out his hand, and the beautiful bird landed on his arm. “What say you?” Buck whispered. “Have you a message for me?”
As suddenly as the hawk had appeared, it was gone, flying upward toward the sky.
A feeling of disappointment flooded Buck’s soul as he watched the bird disappear. But as he looked down, he spotted a perfectly shaped red feather lying at his feet. It felt like a reminder that Buck’s place was with his winged friend.
He bent down to pick it up, stroking it gently against the side of his face. “There’s only way I can get the white woman out of my mind. I must take her quickly to the Spalding Mission and hurry back to my home in the Rockies.”
CHAPTER 38
Amanda felt concern when a low moan escaped Silver Squirrel’s lips.
“Her time is getting closer,” Mary said. “Soon she will deliver baby.”
“Is everything all right?” Amanda asked, trying to imagine what it felt like to experience the contractions Silver Squirrel was having. “She seems to be in so much pain.”
“Everything seem normal,” Mary responded. “Take longer for some.”
Just then, another Flathead woman entered the tent. She said something to Mary, and Mary nodded.
“Who is she, and what does she want?” Amanda questioned.
“Her name Basket Woman. She came to help.” Mary poured some water from an animal skin into a small wooden cup, then she helped Silver Squirrel sit up, placing several buffalo hides behind her back. She held the cup to the expectant woman’s lips and told her to drink.
“Katsa-yah-yah,” Silver Squirrel murmured.
“What did she say? Amanda asked.
“She say thank you.”
Basket Woman made a low, guttural sound, and motioned for Amanda to move aside. It was obvious that she didn’t want her anywhere near Silver Squirrel, so she quickly did as she was asked.
It’s just as well, Amanda thought. It wouldn’t be good for Silver Squirrel or her newborn baby to get my cold. She seated herself on a mat on the other side of the tent and picked up her Bible to read. She couldn’t do anything for the laboring woman in a physical way, but she could certainly pray for her to have an easy delivery.
Time seemed to drag by as Silver Squirrel fought each passing pain, and Amanda continued to pray. Listening to the agonizing moans coming from the laboring woman was beginning to cause her concern. It was hard not to wince, but Amanda hid her feelings and offered reassurance each time Silver Squirrel looked her way.
Basket Woman went out of the tent and came back to give Mary fresh water, a pouch of freshly crushed herbs, and several handfuls of tree moss, which Mary explained was to staunch the flow of blood that would soon be forthcoming.
Silver Squirrel was crouched in the birthing position now, and Mary had coated the young woman’s loins with bear grease. When Silver Squirrel gave a mighty push, followed by another, Amanda caught sight of a tiny dark head, about to enter the world. She held her breath as the new mother pushed again, and Mary, with hands outstretched, caught the slippery babe.
With the agility of a mountain lion, Basket Woman quickly cut the umbilical cord, cleaned the infant, and draped it across the new mother’s stomach. It was a girl—a healthy-looking, copper-skinned girl with a set of lungs that equaled any cat’s shrill cry. The newborn’s head of black hair, still wet from the birt
h, was thick, just like Mary’s little boy.
Amanda swallowed against the lump in her throat, thinking about the miracle of birth. In an instant, another human being had made an entrance into the world. How could anyone deny God’s hand in something so precious, so astounding?
She glanced at Silver Squirrel, wondering if she was happy she had a baby girl, and was surprised to see the young woman’s face screwed up in what appeared to be more pain.
Suddenly, Basket Woman scooped the baby off the mother’s stomach and handed the squalling child to Amanda. Not knowing what else to do, Amanda grabbed up a small piece of rabbit fur and wrapped it snugly around the infant. What was wrong with Silver Squirrel? Was she in pain from the afterbirth that hadn’t been expelled yet?
Silver Squirrel let out a piercing scream, and Mary positioned herself in front of the young woman once more.
Amanda watched in shocked fascination as another dark-haired baby made its lusty entrance. “Twins,” Amanda murmured, almost reverently. From the size of Silver Squirrel’s pregnant belly, Amanda had figured she was having quite a large baby. Now, her size made sense, with the new mother giving birth to two precious babies.
“Its-welx!” Silver Squirrel cried. She turned her head and spat on the ground.
“What did she say?” Amanda questioned. Why doesn’t Silver Squirrel look happy? She has two babies, and they look perfect to me.
“She say, ‘Huge monster,’ ” Mary replied.
Amanda had no idea what was going on, but what she saw next, horrified her.
Basket Woman mumbled a few words, grabbed the baby from Amanda, and held it next to the other baby. Silver Squirrel squinted her dark eyes as though in deep thought, then, with an agonizing moan, she pointed to the first baby that had been born. Then Basket Woman placed the baby in the crook of her mother’s arm, scooped the other infant up, and promptly left the tent.
Amanda sat there, mouth open and heart racing. Where was Basket Woman going with the other baby? Was this some sort of a ritual when an Indian woman had twins?
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