Grace and the Guiltless

by Erin Johnson

  Far below, the town of Tombstone appeared in miniature. Too small to even see people walking the streets as dusk closed in. Off to the south lay scarred land and her family’s homestead, now only a blackened smudge on the red clay.

  From here all Grace could make out was a small brown blob that might have been the burial mound she’d made, or maybe it was only a speck of dust in her eye. She blinked to clear her vision, but the scene only grew hazier. Her eyes filmed over with moisture until the whole landscape became indistinct.

  A whinny from across the pasture caught her attention.

  “Bullet!”

  The horse hobbled toward her, and Grace flung her arms around his neck.

  “Oh, Bullet, it hurts so much. I can’t bear it.” She buried her face in his mane, careful not to bump against his torn side or bandaged legs.

  Bullet’s quiet neigh sounded sympathetic.

  “You miss them too, don’t you?” Grace breathed in the warmth and comfort of the horse’s skin. The ache in her chest expanded until it turned into gasps, and the tears she had dammed back threatened to overflow.

  She had no idea how long she stood there, gulping back sobs, before a gentle hand touched her shoulder. When she turned and saw the look in Joe’s eyes, all the tears she had been holding back streamed down her face. She cried until her tears were spent, then sank to the ground, exhausted, staring into the distance.

  The sky darkened, and the stars came out.

  Still Joe sat beside her, silently.

  CHAPTER 11

  A loud argument awoke Grace at dawn. Though she couldn’t understand the words, the tone was unmistakable. She peeked her head out of her kuugh’a anxiously. After the merriment of the previous evening and the kindness of the tribe, it shocked her to hear such hostility.

  Sequoyah spotted her looking out and hurried over. “I am sorry they woke you.”

  Grace rubbed her puffy, sore eyes and tried to make sense of the crowd of angry men. They all seemed to be directing their ire toward one scowling man who stood apart from the group, legs planted defiantly. “What’s happening?”

  “That is Tall Tree. He does not take care of parents as he should. He is bad. Very bad. Good sons help parents. Feed them, fix the kuugh’a . . .”

  “But what are they doing to him?” Grace asked as one of the men pointed to the woods and gave Tall Tree a shove.

  “Joe say white men put bad men behind bars. Like cages. That is called prison?” Sequoyah looked at Grace with a question in her eyes.

  Grace nodded. She supposed prisons were like cages. Cages she’d like to see filled with the faces of her family’s murderers. “You do not have prisons?”

  “No. We send the bad ones out into the wilderness. It is sad, but Tall Tree did not listen to the council. They gave him many chances.”

  After Tall Tree vanished into the woods, life at the camp resumed to normal. But Grace couldn’t get him out of her mind, especially after Sequoyah explained that those who were banished could never join another band. He was destined to live life alone. And that was the way she was . . . though she had done nothing wrong.

  Her sense of loneliness only increased as the women began preparing breakfast for their children. Families gathered to eat, and Grace ducked into her kuugh’a before any of them saw her and motioned for her to join them. Her heart hurt too much to sit with a happy family.

  A short while later, another commotion began. Looking outside, Grace saw that it was only a small group of men who were gathering to go hunting — and Joe was among them.

  She hurried over to him. “Could I come along?” Grace asked. “It would be good training for me. I could see how you track game, or —”

  Just then, one of the hunters rushed over to Joe and grabbed his arm. Grace recognized his face and his badly scarred chest. Tarak. He chattered rapidly to Joe, sending angry glances toward her. When he gestured toward their weapons and then jabbed a finger in Grace’s direction, she tugged on Joe’s arm, frowning.

  “What’s he saying?” She knew whatever it was wouldn’t exactly be complimentary.

  Joe sighed. “He doesn’t want me to teach a white girl Ndeh ways.”

  Tarak glared at her with narrowed eyes as Joe spoke.

  “Well, tell him —” Grace began. “Wait! Does he understand English?”

  “A little. He understood that you were asking to come along on the hunt.”

  “Then I’ll tell him myself.” Grace turned and met the fury of Tarak’s gaze with her own icy glare. “If someone killed your family, you would take revenge. I am the only one left to get justice. So I must learn.”

  Tarak said something that Joe didn’t bother to translate.

  Grace folded her arms and persevered. “Sequoyah told me the story of Gouyen, the woman who killed the Comanche chief to avenge her husband’s death. Joe said it’s a true story. If she can get revenge, so can I.”

  Tarak refused to answer her in English, but what he did say, he practically spat. Grace took a step back at his angry tone.“What did he say?” she asked Joe, not taking her eyes off Tarak.

  “You don’t want to know. But he is upset that you compared yourself to a Ndeh hero when you are not Ndeh.”

  “So I’ll compare myself to . . . to . . .” Grace couldn’t think of any white women who had avenged their families. In their cabin, though, Foxe’s Book of Martyrs had stood on the fireplace mantel with the Bible and the primer. She narrowed her eyes. “Tell him I’m like Joan of Arc.”

  Before Joe had gotten out more than a few words, Tarak stalked off. But not before sending one more hate-filled glance her way.

  Grace shivered. She clearly had at least one enemy in this camp. How many more were less open about it? She shook her head, irritated.

  What had she done to anger him?

  She turned to Joe. “Why does he hate me so much?”

  “It’s not you. It’s any paleface. He lost his whole family in that raid I told you about. The soldiers tortured and killed his father, then . . .” He hesitated, looking at Grace. “Then they raped his mother and sister before slitting their throats. The whole time two men held Tarak down, forcing him to watch. Afterward they tortured and knifed Tarak and left him for dead. He still bears the scars.”

  Grace stared at Tarak’s retreating back. So that was the reason for the ugly scars on his chest. The scars inside must be worse. After a pause, Joe continued, “Cheis adopted him the same way he adopted me.”

  At least he had a family to take him in. That was more than Grace had. “So he hates me because I’m a paleface? We’re not all the same, you know.”

  Joe raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, remember how you thought of the Apache?”

  Grace sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

  He stared off into the distance. “From the beginning, he hated me for the color of my skin. And when Cheis adopted me, Tarak made my life miserable until Cheis found out and made him stop. I think now he’s worried that Cheis will adopt you.”

  “I hope you made it clear that I don’t intend to stay. As soon as Bullet is well enough to travel, I’ll be on my way.”

  “I haven’t had a chance. You saw how he walked away.” Joe smacked his fist into his palm. “He does that any time I try to talk to him.”

  While Grace and Joe were talking, the hunters farther down the path talked among themselves, and then one approached Joe. The two of them talked seriously for a few minutes and then Joe nodded.

  He turned to Grace. “They have asked me to tell you to stay with the women. Gather wood, pick nuts and berries, scrape buffalo hides.”

  “And you agreed with them?” Grace’s words were edged with indignation.

  “I’ve already explained how the Ndeh decide things, Grace,” he said, though she could tell he felt conflicted. “It’s a group decision. The hunters don’t wan
t a girl to join them. I’m sorry.”

  Grace bit her lip to hold back an angry retort. It wasn’t Joe’s fault, but it still made her blood boil.

  Joe held out an imploring hand. “Try to understand. Ndeh women can hunt small game like woodrats or rabbits, but they don’t go on hunts like this. We’re not just doing a short hunt; we’ll be gone for days. And we’ll be sneaking through enemy territory.” His eyes glittered. “This is the first bison hunt the band has attempted for a long time. You can’t blame them for not wanting a new hunter along.”

  “But —” The word burst out of her, but before she could finish, Joe held up a hand.

  “I know, I know. You’re a good hunter. Not as good as me, of course.” He grinned to let her know he was only teasing.

  One of the men beckoned impatiently. Joe gave Grace a brief wave and then hurried to catch up with the other men who were making their way out of the camp.

  Grace ground her teeth. She would find some way to prove she was a worthy hunter, even if the men wouldn’t help.

  When Joe and the other warriors returned, she would be a better shot and better tracker than when they left. And as soon as Bullet was well enough, she would be ready to take on the Guiltless Gang.

  * * *

  Each day seemed to drag while Joe and the other men were away. Grace duly worked with the women when they needed her, but her mind was not really on the tasks. Now that she was starting to feel better, she took every opportunity to sneak away and start training in earnest on her own.

  She set up targets and practiced her aim with a pistol, her quick draw, and her skills with the Ndeh weapons too. She set traps and checked them each morning like Joe had taught her. But with each skill she set herself to master, she couldn’t help feeling that there was something missing. Grace had to admit to herself that what she was missing was having Joe there to teach her, to encourage and help her, to laugh with her . . .

  She tried to shake the feeling away, even when her thoughts drifted to him as she lay in her kuugh’a at night, trying to fall asleep. Along with the usual concerns about having nightmares of the trauma she had been through, she couldn’t help worrying about Joe while he was on the hunt. Was he safe? Was the hunt going according to plan? When would he be back?

  After what seemed like ages to Grace, the hunters finally returned bearing two hulking bison. The bison hides were thick with dark, bloodstained fur, and even Grace had to admit that bagging such beasts was a feat.

  As the women and children crowded around, cheering and congratulating the hunters, Grace sidled up to Joe. It was a relief to see him back safely, but she was also desperate to continue her training with him. She begged him to begin teaching her more now, while everyone was distracted.

  “I’m exhausted.” Tired lines ringed Joe’s eyes. “Can it wait?”

  Grace’s shoulders sagged, but she nodded. “All right. I’ve been waiting so long; another day won’t matter . . .”

  “And you missed out on this hunt too.” Joe flashed her an understanding smile, and Grace grinned back. Having been left at the camp all this time without him, it felt good to have Joe around. He stared at her for a while, a difficult-to-read expression passing over his face.

  Perhaps he had missed her too? “All right,” he relented. “I’m still in hunting gear. Let’s go.” He stopped, looking down self-consciously. “Oh, let me wash off the bear grease first.”

  Grace laughed. “You don’t have to. I’ve gotten used to the smell.”

  Joe smiled. “Go get your gun while I wash up. Meet me here in a short while.”

  By the time he returned from the stream, shaking the water from his hair and loaded down with weapons, Grace was waiting, impatient to get started. The rest of the camp had begun preparations for a celebratory feast, so no one noticed them slipping down the path into the woods. No one except Tarak.

  He shouted at them, his angry words slicing through the air so loudly that he silenced the joyful crowd. Joe spun to face him, and the two of them exchanged heated words as the rest of the band stared.

  Grace looked between the two of them impatiently, her blood boiling at Tarak’s constant intervention. “What is he saying?”

  Joe frowned. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It’s about me again, isn’t it?”

  “And me.”

  Tarak pinned Grace with a glare and switched to English finally. “You are not Ndeh. A paleface woman should not learn ways of the Ndeh hunter.” His face contorted, and he spilled out another torrent of words she didn’t understand.

  Grace’s anger ignited like gunpowder. “You —”

  Joe quickly set a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not worth it.” Then he turned her around and led Grace, who was still spluttering, away.

  Tarak’s taunts followed them down the path.

  “Why didn’t you let me have my say?” Grace’s hands were still clenched.

  “Tarak’s anger isn’t just about you.” Joe sighed. “Today he’s even more upset than usual, because it was me who killed one of the bison. His shots went wild.”

  “So you’re the hero?” Grace grinned teasingly, and her anger subsided a little.

  “You could say that.” Joe suppressed a grin of his own and motioned for her to move down the path. “Enough about me. Come on, let’s turn you into a warrior.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Joe suggested he start by showing her how to find water if she wasn’t near a stream, but Grace declined. “I’d rather learn how to kill something. The way you did with the bison. Something hard to shoot.”

  Joe shook his head. “You’d be better off learning about survival, like what plants to eat.” He gave her a stern glance. “Or not eat.”

  Grace glared at him and crossed her arms. “Will you never let me live that down? I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Yes, but you’ll probably make another.”

  “Let’s not argue. There’s too much I need to learn.”

  Joe opened his pouch. “I found some bullets for your Colt when I was at the mercantile the other day. Now you have no more excuses about not having enough bullets.”

  Grace bit back a sharp retort and forced herself to thank him, but his kindness weighed on her conscience. One more thing she’d have to pay him back for. She slid some of the bullets into the gun while Joe set up some targets. Then he came and stood beside her. “Let’s see what you can do.”

  Grace’s arm felt much steadier than it had last time. She had done this with Pa; she could do it again and finally show Joe. Taking a deep breath, she fired.

  The first shot went a bit wide but nicked the edge of the target. The report of the gun threw her back a bit and she tutted under her breath, but she waited until the black smoke cleared, then steadied her arm. She took a breath and aimed again.

  Just slightly off center.

  “That wasn’t bad,” Joe said.

  Hmm, he thought so, did he? Wait until he saw her next few shots. She was just getting warmed up. Her sore arm throbbed, and her palms were still tender, but she gripped the gun, took her time aiming . . . then fired.

  Bull’s-eye!

  Grace turned and laughed to see Joe’s look of surprise.

  “Just luck,” he said with a wink.

  Grace let out a short scoff of indignation, then squeezed off a few more shots in succession. All of them hit dead center or very close.

  “Whew.” Joe pretended to wipe off his forehead. “Sure glad you weren’t aiming at me.”

  Grace raised an eyebrow. “I could be.”

  Joe threw up his hands in mock surrender. “No, no. Please don’t shoot,” he said in a falsetto voice. “Besides,” he said, returning to his normal voice, “who’d teach you all the other things you need to learn?”

  “Right,” said Grace. “So now that you know I can shoot, what�
�s next?”

  “You know, you should do some competitions. Good way to earn money. But you have to learn the Fast Draw.”

  “What’s that?”

  Competitions and earning money sounded good to Grace. She needed to find some way to support herself — and pay Joe back. Once she had taken care of the Guiltless Gang . . .

  Joe holstered his gun. “Watch.” His hand hovered above his gun, then he clicked his tongue and in one rapid motion, he slid the gun out of the holster, tilted his body back, and fired.

  “Wow. How do you do that? You didn’t even take time to aim.”

  “It takes practice, but it’s a great skill to have.”

  “Show me,” Grace demanded.

  Joe spent the next few hours demonstrating the technique. “In a competition you have to keep your hand in a ready position but can’t touch the gun until they give the signal. That’s why I’m making that clicking noise with my tongue. When I make it, you try.”

  Grace learned quickly. She wasn’t as accurate as when she took her time and aimed, but she was getting the hang of it.

  “You’re doing great,” Joe said. Then he added, “But you’ll never be as good as me.”

  Grace gave his shoulder a gentle shove. “You think so? We’ll just see about that —” Then she clapped her hand over her nose. “Ugh, what’s that awful smell?”

  Joe laughed. “At least I know it’s not me this time.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a tree. “Watch and you’ll see.”

  A pack of hairy pigs stampeded toward them. No, not pigs — they had tusks.

  “Javelina,” Joe whispered.

  Grace tensed. “Will they attack us?”

  Joe shook his head. “Stay still. They have terrible eyesight. Chances are they’ll pass right by without seeing us.”

  The stench grew worse as the animals charged through the clearing, snorting and grunting. Grace pinched her nose shut.

  Joe waited until the last one had disappeared before stepping out from behind the tree. “They’re gone. But javelina aren’t usually dangerous, anyhow.”