by B. J. McMinn
CHAPTER 3
Consciousness clawed its way loose from the darkness that held her captive. Agony made Jade feel as if every bone in her body had been battered against a stone wall. How could someone be this miserable and still live? That’s it. The forest had claimed her, and in her weakened condition, she failed to realize she’d died. No. This misery was of the fleshly sort. Parched throat, thirsty, an ache in the pit of her stomach from the lack of food, and everything moved. Trees overhead swayed back and forth, making her dizzy. Fall leaves, tinted with red, gold, green, and brown blurred before her eyes. The ground she lay on felt soft, not hard, and it rumbled and moved.
The distinct sound of voices filtered through her foggy mind. Faint, but she heard the sound as surely as she felt the soft breeze brushing her cheek. Icy fear froze any movement she might attempt. A thread of hysteria wound itself around her emotions. Had she turned full circle and wandered back into the village. Could the deep male voice be Three Feathers? The woman’s Bird Song’s? No. She forced her confused thoughts into some semblance of order. Bird Song had died and Three Feathers had allowed her to escape. She tried hard to comprehend what she heard. Something clicked in her mind. She understood them. Her head throbbed painfully, she could barely think straight.
Was she hallucinating? No, she understood them. Her heart leaped with joy. They spoke English. Tears formed in her eyes. Squeezing her lids tight, she allowed the warm liquid to run down her face. She didn’t care if the woman said she was dirty, and foul smelling. She understood them. That’s all that mattered. The knowledge that she was among her own people brought peace to her heart and contentment to her weary soul. Eyes closed, she felt safe enough to sleep. She hadn’t had a peaceful nights rest since her journey began.
She drifted back and forth into consciousness. The man’s voice gave her pleasure, a constant timbre, neither harsh, nor abrasive, like water rippling over smooth stone. The sound gave her a sense of belonging. She wanted to reach out and claim it as a safeguard against the pain in her body, and her spirit.
Accepting the grueling pain as a reminder of the miracle of being found. Jade lay unmoving, content to listen, knowing soon pain and discomfort would pull her back into the black realm of forgetful darkness. A place where nothing provoked her to remember what her mind demanded she forget.
~~~
“Are we there yet, Uncle Jason? Janey doesn’t want to play anymore, and she looks like she’s going to cry. I don’t like it when she cries. She’s loud,” Tyler complained.
“Look up ahead. You can see the house from here. I’m sure Cookie will have a hot meal ready for us. Are you hungry?” Jason said to distract the children. They had been content, but he couldn’t expect such good behavior to continue for much longer.
His house, with its porch wrapped around three sides, sat on a small rise. The shake shingles, he had split himself, replaced the once thatched roof. Wood shingles prevented the rain from seeping into the house. To the west lay the cook shack and bunkhouse. South of that stood the newly erected barn with a large corral. Pride swelled in his chest.
“Janey, look there’s Uncle Jason’s house. Can you see it?” Tyler encouraged his little sister. Jason turned just in time to see Janey’s lower lip start to pucker.
“Oh no! She’s going to start, Uncle Jason,” Tyler wailed.
Jason put both lines in his left hand, leaving one hand free to pull Janey to the front to sit between him and Margaret. It helped the problem with the lower lip, but her eyes still glistened with unshed tears. From Margaret’s lap, Emma’s chubby hand reached out to pull the bonnet strings under Janey’s small chin. Janey giggled and scooted closer to Jason.
Tyler stood up behind them. With his small hand braced on Jason’s shoulder, he laughed at Emma and Janey’s antics over the bonnet string. He chattered in Jason’s ear about their newfound prize: the ‘smelly o’ Indian’.
The horses, sensing home was near, with a bucket of oats waiting in their favorite stall, quickened their pace, and made short work of the rest of the journey. Jason pulled the horses to a halt in front of the ranch house. A bowlegged, short, balding man came from the cook shack. He stopped to hitch up his pants that kept falling down around his nonexistent hips before he sauntered up to the horses.
Jason jumped to the ground, then helped Margaret and the children down. Margaret went directly to the back of the wagon. The minute Tyler’s feet hit solid ground he headed straight for the old ranch hand.
“Come see what we got, Cookie. We got us a smelly o’ Indian,” Tyler exclaimed and tugged on Cookies pant leg.
Cookie’s weathered face creased into a smile as he saw Margaret’s eyes roll heavenward. “Let’s see what ya got there partner. Then we’ll decide if’n it’s a smelly o’ Indian.”
He and Tyler reached the end of the wagon at the same time Jason reached in to pick up the still unconscious girl.
“I don’t know if’n it’s an Indian, but Tyler’s right. It sure don’t smell good. What’cha got Jason?” Cookie asked.
“We found her unconscious out by the trail. I think the buckskin clothing she’s wearing is the cause of most of the odor. But, Margaret’s going to take care of it just as soon as we bring her some hot water. Aren’t you, Sis?” Jason gave her a wide grin and winked at Tyler.
Cookie hurried forward to hold the door open for Jason. He carried the dirty bundle to the bedroom beside the kitchen and placed her on the oilcloth Margaret had scurried to put on the bed before he could lay the girl down. Jason brought several buckets of heated water into the room and leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his chest.
Hands planted firmly on her hips, Margaret turned to stare at him. “Jason, you need to leave, I’m going to undress her.”
“I’ll stay. In your condition you might need help in lifting her.”
She gave him a narrowed-eyed stare.
He held his hands up, palms out, as if to ward off any other objections. “I promise I won’t look.”
“Fine.” She held the knife she’d taken from the kitchen in the air and shook it at him. “Just don’t tell her you were present when I stripped the clothing off her.”
Jason averted his eyes as Margaret started the grim task of cutting away the buckskins. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her place the dress and leggings outside the door. She ordered Cookie to burn them. Thankfully, once she removed the buckskins from the room, the odor diminished.
Sounds of Margaret washing the naked girl sent lustful images of soft skin and lush curves dancing through his mind. She’d scrub with lye soap and water until she left no trace of dirt or smell. He couldn’t wait to see what the ragged bundle looked like cleaned up.
“Finished yet?”
“Yes. She never woke up once. Even with all the scrubbing I had to do.”
When he glanced around, she’d rolled the girl off the oilcloth and under the blankets.
Margaret dried her hands on a towel and stared down at her patient. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about her thick hair. Cut it off, I guess,” Margaret reasoned.
“No! Don’t cut her hair. I’ll help you. We could hang her head over the side of the bed and wash her hair in a bucket of water. We could rinse it the same way,” Jason offered.
“Yes, that might work,” Margaret said and gave him a curious glance.
He cradled the girl’s head in his hands while Margaret washed the long matted tresses. It was on the second washing that they discovered the girl’s hair was not dark, but a deep burnished red. The color rivaled the brightest sunset.
“Red, I thought her hair would be black or dark brown at least,” he said, amazed at what lay beneath all the grease and dirt. Short tendrils curled around her small face as her hair began to dry.
“I’ve never seen hair this color before.” For some reason this girl affected him. After nearly a year of being a widower, he felt life stirring inside him.
He reached up and brushed soap away from her face
just as her eyes opened. They held his for a long moment then slowly drifted closed, covered by thick dark lashes.
Green, Jason could not remember every seeing green eyes before, if he had, he would have remembered. He definitely had not seen green eyes and red hair together. An intriguing combination.
Margaret brushed her fingers across the sleeping girl’s forehead. “What if she needs a doctor? There’s not one around here for miles,” she said in a worried voice.
“She didn’t seem to have any broken bones or bruises that would suggest internal injuries,” Jason countered, as he surveyed what little of her that wasn’t covered.
“Jason, she’s pregnant. I’d say more than five or six months along.”
Jason jerked his head up with a snap. He looked at the girl’s body again. He couldn’t see a thing under all the covers Margaret had wedged around her.
How had she gotten that way? No. He knew how. But by whom? If she’d been living with Indians, more than likely she would have conceived during that time. He hoped what she’d suffered wouldn’t leave her scarred emotionally. If she were nearly six months along, the baby would be due in the dead of winter. Another problem for him in the long list he already had. So much for his idea. Again, it still might be a solution, if the girl agreed. Her pregnancy might be an added incentive to his plan. His ace in the hole, in a manner of speaking.
“Let’s wait and see what happens. We have her clean now. Why don’t you try to give her some water or some of Cookie’s rabbit stew?” Jason suggested. He couldn’t give up his plan to have his daughter near. “I’ll get it and help you.”
While Margaret spooned liquid from the rabbit stew down the girl’s throat, Jason sat behind her to help keep her in a sitting position, so she wouldn’t choke. She swallowed what she could, the rest dripped down her chin. The broth slid down her slim throat coming to rest in the hollow of her throat.
Jason stared at the delicate lines of her slim neck, longing to let his tongue follow the trail of warm liquid. Sliding his lips across the pale, soft skin of her throat to sip from the hollow where it pooled. He glanced up quickly to see if Margaret could tell where his thoughts had strayed. She appeared not to notice as she cleaned the girl’s neck with a damp cloth. Clearing away the remnants of Jason’s sensual vision.
The ache in Jason’s groin had grown uncomfortable. He suddenly realized he hadn’t been with a woman since his wife died. Had he been living from day to day for so long until he hadn’t noticed the passage of time? The ranch kept him busy, and his trips to town to see Emma took time, but surely, there had been a woman in there somewhere. He grimaced, if there was, he couldn’t remember one.
He shifted again to ease the tight fit in the front of his trousers. Nothing seemed to help. Margaret finished feeding her patient and laid the spoon and bowl aside. Rising to her feet, she waited for him to lay the girl down. Now what was he going to do? He couldn’t stand up in front of his sister in the shape he was in. Better wait. Margaret eyed him curiously, as if she couldn’t understand his reluctance to lay the girl down and rise from the bed.
Moments ticked by, and the silence had become awkward when a child’s scream distracted her. She slipped from the room. Saved. Now he could lay the girl down without embarrassing himself. By the time, he joined the rest of the family in the kitchen Margaret had the situation under control. Jason thought the same of himself.
Days slipped by as he prepared the ranch for winter. Margaret tended to the house, children, and ‘the girl’. Each day she gained strength and stayed awake longer. She never spoke, and after the trauma she’d apparently suffered, he didn’t press her. Green eyes would stare at him for a moment when he entered the room and then close. Sometimes she went back to sleep and other times he knew she feigned sleep. Margaret told him not to worry. Her body, which had been so long without sleep and proper nourishment, needed rest.
Anxious to set his plan into action, he checked on her often, hoping to get the answers he needed. Where had she come from? Was she free from any commitments? What was her name? He was tired of referring to her as ‘the girl”, especially, when he had begun to think of her as Jade, the color of her beautiful green eyes.
He shut the door behind him, and the smell of fried meat and potatoes caused his stomach to growl. “Supper ‘bout ready?”
“Yes. Seat the children, I have their plates filled and on the table. Are you very hungry?” Margaret asked as she piled his plate high with food.
“A herd of run-a-way buffalo wouldn’t stand a chance against my appetite tonight.” He winked at Tyler.
“Yer funny, Uncle Jason.” Tyler giggled and scooted into his chair.
Margaret cleaned the kitchen while the children played in the floor. Seated in the rocker with Emma tucked into his arms, he gently rocked until her eyes closed in sleep. When assured she wouldn’t awaken, he laid her in her bed.
Tyler and Janey protested when Margaret ushered them to bed. “Get moving you two, your uncle needs to get his rest, he has a hard day ahead of him tomorrow.”
“Night, Sis.”
“Night.” The click of the door echoed in the now silent room.
A whimper and soft cry woke him. When the sobs continued, he realized it wasn’t one of the children or Margaret would have tended to them by now. He rose from his lonely bed and entered the girl’s room. She lay huddled under the covers, her head thrashing from side to side. Her small hands gripped the blanket until her knuckles had turned white. He sat by her side, uncurled her fingers, held her hand, and began to talk. The sound of his voice appeared to calm her so he talked about anything and everything. He told her about Sue Ellen and Emma. He poured out the hurt he felt over Emma having to live with Margaret. She couldn’t hear him, but it felt good to have someone to tell his troubles to.
CHAPTER 4
The man’s voice drifted into the black void where nothing hurt, to soothe the ache in her heart like balm on an open wound. His voice, filled with pain and sadness touched her. Jade clawed her way to consciousness to offer comfort from the grief she sensed he suffered, but deep inside she knew she’d be alone.
Her eyelids flickered opened. In the dim light, she saw a man sitting next to her on the bed. Not alone! Her heart lurched, fear escalated. The fragile hold she had on her sanity unraveled like the threads of a loose knitted scarf. She cringed in fear then relaxed as she shook off the remnants of sleep and became more aware of her surroundings.
He nestled her hand in his and rubbed the back in a gentle soothing motion, telling her about a child he loved and the wife he missed. He spoke of the ranch that was his dream, of the people who made up his daily life.
The voice flowed over her wounded spirit. The fluid motion of his warm hand on hers lulled her back to sleep, to rest quietly in the soft gray of tranquility, not the unrelenting-darkness of despair.
Noise broke into Jade’s quiet world with a vengeance. This was not the soothing sounds from last night. Pans rattled, children giggled, and the smell of food made her realize how long she’d been without a solid meal. Nuts, berries and the dried buffalo in Three Feather’s pouch had sustained her, but now her stomach was putting up a fuss for the delightful aroma emitting from the other room.
She lifted a hand to her pounding head, her fingers brushed against her hair. She brought a lock forward and stared at the red tresses, not the dark hue it had been in the village. The Indians forced her to wear animal fat in it to cover the luster of her own natural color. Now, her hair felt silky as she ran her hand through the mass of curls. Lifting a strand to her cheek, she sniffed. It smelled clean. A smile tickled the corners of her lips. No doubt, the voice that said she smelled bad had washed her hair and bathed her.
She peeked under the blankets. Naked. No buckskins. Just buck-naked. Embarrassed by her state of undress, Jade pulled the covers up and tucked them under her chin. She couldn’t remember a time when she had ever been completely unclothed, except for bathing.
Her gaze s
lid around the room seeking some clue as to where she was. Who had found her on the side of the wagon trail that she’d given up hope of finding? Vague images of a family, a husband, a wife, and children filtered across her memory. By the sounds of rustling of pots and pans, the wife must be cooking. The partially closed door helped muffle the shrieks of children’s laughter. Was the husband the soothing voice she heard during the night, or was there another man?
Little fingers curled around the edge of the door, and a small head peered into the room. The little, dark haired, boy’s eyes grew round as he looked at her. He jumped back, giving the door a resounding slam, hollering loud enough for Jade’s head to start pounding anew.
“She’s awake. She’s awake,” he yelled at the top of his voice.
Jade grimaced as the noise vibrated in her head, reducing coherent thought into tiny scattered images.
The door opened. A woman stood there wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. The little boy shyly peered around her right leg, and a small girl peeked around the other. Over the woman’s shoulder, about a head taller than she was, stood a man holding another child. The group moved in unison as they converged into the room. None became misplaced within the small circle as they shuffled toward the bed.
Distorted images swirled around the family as her mind superimposed other blurred features on each face. Images of her past? A past she couldn’t remember before she had lived with the Indians. Her headache worsened.
The woman must have realized they must look like a batch of newly hatched chicks huddled together for protection against a hawk circling overhead. She stepped from the small cluster. A grin tipped the corners of her mouth upward.
“Goodness, you must be starved. I’ll bring you some breakfast.” She shooed everyone from the room, talking as she gave the small boy an extra nudge to get moving.
The man backed out the door. His blue gaze held her captive. It was like looking into the azure blue of a bright summer sky.