by Easy Jackson
“What if I whittled down two sticks that were kind of narrow and flat like forceps?” Rusty asked.
“We can try it,” Tennie said. “But hurry.” She pointed to two knives with the skinniest blades. “Lucas, which one of these is the sharpest?”
“This one,” he said, picking one up. “Let me hone it against a piece of leather.”
Tennie nodded. “Find a piece for Mr. Hawkshaw to bite down on, too.”
Lucas went to one of the saddles they had claimed from the Miltons, cutting off a flap from the fender. While he ran the blade up and down the leather, Tennie washed her hands. After he finished sharpening the knife, she washed it with Hawkshaw’s shaving soap. Going to him, she knelt down and ripped his pants to expose the wound. Looking at the round, bloody, gaping hole made her feel almost faint. She washed the wound with soapy water, praying God would guide her hands. Rusty came back with the sticks.
Tennie shut her eyes and thought of the times she had witnessed surgery in the war. Who had been the best surgeon? An image of a kindly gray-haired doctor rose in her mind. In her mother’s opinion, he’d been the best in the hospital. Tennie pictured him removing a bullet from the leg of a wounded soldier, replaying in her mind everything she had seen him do.
“I’m going to have to probe for the bullet with my fingers, Mr. Hawkshaw, so be prepared for pain. Lucas, put that piece of leather between Mr. Hawkshaw’s teeth, please.”
He did as she asked, and she turned to Rusty.
“Stay up there by his shoulders, so you can watch me and hold him down if you have to. Lucas, you and Badger hold his legs down.”
“Lay over his legs, like Pa had you do before,” Rusty said.
When everyone was in position, Tennie reached her fingers for the wound. Closing her eyes, she let her fingers probe the path of the bullet as the good doctor had done. Hawkshaw flinched but showed remarkable fortitude in what had to be agonizing pain.
“I found it,” she said. “Rusty, the knife.”
Rusty handed her the knife, and she held it over the wound. Tears sprang from her eyes, and she brushed them away with her arm. “I’m going to cut into the wound so I can get to the bullet,” she told Hawkshaw.
She looked up at Rusty, and he nodded. “Pa always cut bold. That way it only hurt them once.”
It had been the same with the army doctor. He believed in going in as quickly as possible and getting out as fast as he could.
“For Mr. Hawkshaw,” she muttered under her breath, and made a swift clean cut as close to the bullet as she dared get. “Quick, the sticks.”
They were clumsy to use, and Hawkshaw bit down hard on the leather, but Tennie was able to wriggle the bullet out. She threw it beside his leg and exhaled.
“There will be a piece of cloth in there from his pants, Miss Tennie,” Lucas said. “Don’t you remember, Rusty? Pa always said to get that out, too.”
“He’s right,” Rusty said.
That meant she had to go fishing inside the wound again. Tennie nodded, using the sticks to scrape inside the wound as gently as she could until she wormed out the piece of blood-soaked black fabric. She looked up and saw Hawkshaw had passed out.
After washing the wound again, she bound it with more strips of her petticoats. When done, she threw herself down on the ground beside Hawkshaw and stared at the logs of the lean-to above her, breathing so heavily she thought her heart would burst.
Hawkshaw stirred, and she removed the piece of leather from his mouth.
“You finished?” he asked.
“Yes,” Tennie said. “Close your eyes and rest.”
She got up and walked to the cold embers of the previous night’s campfire where the boys were standing. “Thank you.”
They nodded and Rusty spoke. “Bod and Ozzie are beginning to swell, Miss Tennie. We ought to do something with the bodies. There’s a gully we can push them into and try to throw rocks over the bodies to cover them.”
Tennie nodded. “Can you boys handle that by yourself?”
All three nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll do it.”
“Be sure and wash your hands when you are done.” She sat down heavily, not knowing what their next course of action should be. She didn’t have a pot to even boil water in.
They ate some of what remained of the beaver. It was smoky, tough, and chewy, but it would probably last them another day or two, it was so dried out like jerky. As they sat in front of the lean-to, Tennie looked up and thought she saw a flitter of white behind the distant trees.
She wondered if she had really seen it, or if it had been a trick of the sun. She saw another, disappearing almost instantly. “Boys, I think somebody is watching us.”
Rusty and Lucas went for the guns.
Tennie said, “Steady now. It may be someone friendly who is just wondering who we are. Or it may be nothing at all.”
Whoever or whatever it was disappeared and did not show again. Hawkshaw was feverish, and Tennie spent most of the afternoon worrying over him and trying to get him to drink water, even though he disliked her hovering over him and couldn’t stand for her to touch him. The boys tended the horses, which included Ozzie’s old flea-bitten gray mare that looked like she had given birth to one mule too many. Bod must have traded his along the way for a young Appaloosa with a dark body and a blanket of white spots on its backside.
Tennie had heard of the breed, but never seen one up close. They were generally scorned as being an Indian horse, and she supposed Bod had made a good trade for it. Rusty made fun of the horse, but Lucas and Badger were enchanted with it. Rusty declared its eyes were probably so weak, it would never make much of a night horse, but Lucas replied that Bod had ridden it to find them, hadn’t he?
The horse appeared gentle and allowed the two younger boys to climb all over him, riding him back and forth to the creek. Maybe he was grateful the boys had led him out of the barn before they set it on fire.
“Don’t y’all be going out of sight,” Tennie admonished. “We don’t know who might be hiding out there in the brush.”
She went back to Hawkshaw, sinking on her knees beside him. The swelling in his leg had gone down some, but she knew all was not going well.
* * *
Darkness came, and Tennie spent a fitful night. Hawkshaw would moan in his sleep, and because she knew he had a high tolerance for pain, she realized it had to be terrible. She would go to his side, but only so close. If he awakened, her nearness would upset him.
* * *
By morning, even the boys knew things were bad. Tennie prayed for a miracle. Tired of beaver, they turned again to rabbit. The boys would come upon a rabbit hiding in the bushes and drop a knife on it to kill it without wasting bullets or having gunfire draw attention to them. Tennie was tired of beaver and rabbit but didn’t complain. When they had finished eating, they sat staring at one another, wondering what to do.
Lucas stood up. “Miss Tennie, look!”
Tennie turned, jumping up to see the strangest sight she thought her eyes had ever beheld. A Catholic priest in a long brown robe was leading a group of Mexican men clad in white cotton clothes and large sombreros straight for them. The other boys stood, drawn together in apprehension while they waited for the men to approach. When she could make out the features of the priest, Tennie got another surprise. He was taller than the others, slender and handsome with curly dark hair and large kind eyes—a man in his thirties.
He smiled and bowed, speaking to them in English with a Spanish accent. “Please do not be afraid. I am Father Francisco, and this is my little flock. We heard gunfire and thought we might be of assistance.”
Tennie exchanged glances with the boys before speaking. “We were followed and attacked night before last. The men who attacked us are dead, but the man riding with us was wounded.”
The priest nodded. “We would be honored if you would accept the hospitality of our village. It is across the creek and in the hills just a few miles away.”
Tennie looked at Hawkshaw. “We took out the bullet yesterday morning. I’m afraid to move him.”
“We will be gentle,” the priest said, his voice persuasive.
Tennie again exchanged glances with the boys. They were as unsure as she was.
“There is a woman in the village who is a good healer,” the priest said. “Her methods are perhaps peculiar, but they are effective.”
Tennie nodded, wondering how an obviously educated priest landed in such an unlikely place. But they needed to do something for Hawkshaw, for she feared he would die otherwise. “We would be honored to be your guests, Father.”
In Texas, Tennie had had very little contact with Mexicans, besides Poco, the ranger who rode with Wash. Mr. Payton had told her most Texans would be friendly to a man right up until the time they decided to kill him and warned her of the importance of being polite in her dealings with them, explaining that was especially true of those of Mexican descent. “They set quite a store on that, Tennie,” he’d said.
Father Francisco turned to the men and said a few words in Spanish. They removed some of the long poles from the lean-to, being careful not to disturb Hawkshaw.
Tennie went to him, kneeling down to explain. “There is a group of Mexican men led by a Spanish priest who are going to take us to their village not far from here. Supposedly, there is a woman there who has a reputation for being a healer.”
Hawkshaw looked at her as if he thought he might be having a dream. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back. Tennie stayed with him while the men built an H-framed travois out of sinew and horse blankets. They hitched it behind the Appaloosa, while Rusty and Lucas saddled the other horses and readied them for their move. On the spur of the moment, Tennie ripped a piece of her dress and tied it to one of the remaining lean-to poles.
“Will you walk beside me for a while?” the priest asked when they were ready to leave.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry I did not introduce us.” She proceeded to do so, walking beside the priest while holding the reins of her horse.
“The man is not your husband?” Father Francisco asked. His query was so gentle and without judgment, Tennie found herself telling him the entire story. He listened, nodding his head.
It embarrassed her that she had talked so freely to someone she’d just met. To change the subject, she asked if he had been at the village long.
“No, only a few weeks. I usually come once a year, stay for a week, and then leave for another parish to marry, to christen, to pray over the dead.”
“But you are staying longer this time?” Tennie asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “We must walk downstream to a shallower spot in the creek to cross.”
Tennie nodded, following the Appaloosa and hoping Hawkshaw was not being bounced around too much. They came upon a section where the creek ran over a sandbar, and the water was only a few inches deep. Tennie waited on the bank while the men crossed with Hawkshaw. She looked down at her dress, the skirt so shredded and torn by brambles and limbs as to be almost useless. Without hesitation, she ripped another piece from it and tied it to a tree limb. Surely Lafayette, and Wash when he learned of it, would come looking for them.
Getting on her horse, she rode it into the water, crossing the creek to the other side and dismounting to talk to the priest about the village he was taking them to.
“The people are very superstitious,” he said. “Do not stare at their children for too long. If the child sickens, they will think you gave it the evil eye. If you say a child has pretty hair, you must also touch it; otherwise, you will have cursed the child. But, you do not speak Spanish, and I am the only one who speaks English, so that will not be a problem.”
“Oh dear,” Tennie said. “I hope I do not step on any toes.”
The priest smiled gently. “Do not worry, Mrs. Granger. You do not realize it, but we have been praying for a miracle, and you and your stepsons and friend are the answer to our prayers.”
“Pardon?” Tennie thought she misunderstood.
He smiled again. “You are tired. Get back on your horse and ride for a while. I will explain everything to you later.”
She stared at him for a moment. “First, I must check on my patient.” She left the priest and quickened her steps until she had reached Hawkshaw’s side. She touched his forehead—his face was burning. “Will you stop, please?” she asked the men.
They gave her looks of incomprehension until the priest called out a word in Spanish to them. They halted immediately.
Tennie fetched the canteen from Rusty and took it to Hawkshaw. Leaning beside him, she held out the canteen. “Mr. Hawkshaw, you have a fever. You need to drink as much water as you can.”
He was conscious enough to put the canteen to his lips with her help. Water dribbled from the sides of his mouth as he swallowed. After a few sips, he pushed the canteen away, turning his head.
Tennie stood back and nodded for the men to go on. She hoped the woman healer was as good as the priest claimed.
She got back on her horse. Following the travois, her horse took advantage of their sluggish gait to go even slower. On either side of the path they were following toward the rocky hills grew fields of corn, squash, and beans. Little boys in sombreros were watching a few cows and donkeys graze in a meadow. The ground hardened as they approached the hills, and soon they were traveling through a narrow gap between tall rocky outcroppings. Looking up, Tennie could see small boys peering down at them, as if sentinels of a fort. She halted the horse until the priest caught up with her.
“Father Francisco, is this the only way into your village?”
“Yes, it is the only way. It is at the end of a box canyon.”
“We will probably have men searching for us. Will they be allowed to come in? They won’t be shot at, will they?”
“My people have no weapons other than a few bows and arrows,” the priest said. “They would probably be unable to stop them in any case.”
Ahead of her, the going was not as smooth for the travois, and Hawkshaw groaned. After winding through the boulders, they came upon a clearing dotted with trees. Ahead lay a row of cottages made of mud and straw bricks, each with a thatched roof. There were lean-tos against some of the houses, walls and roofs made of more bundled straw. In the center of the village stood a small church made of mud bricks and stucco, its gabled windows covered in wooden shutters. A cross stood in a cutout spot in the arched gabled front.
Chickens clucked in the street, and small children ran to hide behind their mother’s skirts when they saw them approach. The men, children, and some of the women were dressed in coarse white cotton fabric, the men in pants and long-sleeved shirts. The women wore long-sleeved dresses, some of them in faded calico covered in white aprons, their long dark hair tied in braids on each side of the dark heads. Brown eyes stared in solemn curiosity.
Tennie followed the priest’s advice, trying to look friendly without resting her eyes on anyone too long.
The men stopped the Appaloosa in front of a small house, the thatched roof extending out to create a shady retreat in front. The dirt around the house looked swept and packed down. A woman taller than the others came to the door and stood. Tennie dismounted and waited beside Hawkshaw for the priest to introduce them to one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.
CHAPTER 9
“Mrs. Granger, this is Lupe,” Father Francisco said. “She is the healer I spoke of. You and your party will be her guests while you are here.”
With large dark eyes, full dark lips, and a voluptuous figure, the woman looked mature, perhaps in her late thirties.
Tennie nodded her head and said, “Gracias.” She turned to the priest. “It is one of the few Spanish words I know.”
He spoke a few words to Lupe, and she nodded, motioning for the men to take Hawkshaw inside.
The men carried him into the house with Tennie following. At the threshold, she turned to look at her stepsons. They would be on their own. “Tak
e care of the horses, please,” she requested and followed the men inside.
The room was clean with a homemade bed by one window. A crude table and chairs were in the middle of the room. On the other side were shelves and more beds. The men took Hawkshaw to the bed beside the window, the cornhusk mattress rustling as they placed him on a brightly patterned blanket.
The priest lay his hand on Tennie’s arm, warning her to stay back. She obeyed his command and watched as Lupe looked Hawkshaw over. To Tennie’s surprise, she saw scars covering Lupe’s hands. She tried not to stare, however, as Lupe spoke a few words in Spanish, and the men removed Hawkshaw’s boots and gun belt, placing them under the bed along with his hat.
Lupe sat down on a small chair beside Hawkshaw and began removing the bandages from his leg, grimacing at the sight and shooting Tennie a look of disgust. Tennie got the distinct impression she would never be very high on Lupe’s list.
Lupe removed a downturned glass from a saucer sitting on the little table beside the bed. On the saucer lay a white slab covered in black and green flecks. She took it and placed it over Hawkshaw’s pestilent red wound.
“Is that moldy bread?” Tennie asked the priest in surprise.
“Yes,” he replied. “We are lucky she had been using it to treat another patient, and your friend did not have to wait for the bread to mold.”
Tennie kept her mouth shut, watching as Lupe took wide green leaves and placed them over the moldy bread. Hawkshaw was conscious but submitted to her ministrations without comment. She wrapped the wound and its poultice of bread and leaves with a clean cotton cloth.
Lupe rose, and Tennie thought she had finished, but she called for something else. A woman came forward and placed an egg in her hand. The house had become so packed with bystanders, the air became thick and claustrophobic as they pressed closer, watching with eager faces.
Taking the egg, Lupe rubbed it over Hawkshaw’s body. When she was finished with the front, two men came forward and rolled him over, where Lupe proceeded to rub the egg over his backside. To Tennie’s surprise, he again submitted to this without agitation. When Lupe finished, the men rolled Hawkshaw onto his back.