by Jenna Brandt
“What is it, Rand?”
“We would be honored if the both of you would agree to be our baby’s godparents.”
Margaret looked at Cort expectantly, who nodded. “Yes, it seems we are twice blessed today. Not only are we going to be parents again, but we are going to be godparents as well.”
“So, how did the two of you decide that you wanted to follow this tradition?” Cort asked.
Randall looked at his wife, who was in turn smiling at everyone. “A few days ago, I asked Jackie how she felt about the religious tradition of godparents, and she told me she had never really thought about it. But I made it clear that, if anything should ever happen to us, I wanted our child to be raised by parents who would take care of them the way we would.”
“Yes, I see your point, Randall. And that gives me an idea. How would you feel about returning the favor and being our children’s godparents?”
“I would consider it an honor. What do you say, Jackie?”
“I would love to be your children’s godmother.”
“Good, it’s settled. We know now that our families will be taken care of no matter what,” Cort said with a smile.
Chapter 10
A man she could not make out knocked her to the ground. Cort was a few feet from her and she was trying to reach out to him, but before she could, the other man stepped in between them.
Hearing the voice of the other man, she tried to make out what he was saying, but it was muffled.
Fear overwhelmed her as she tried to get up to help Cort. She knew the man between them wanted to kill him; she could hear the hate in the tone of his voice.
When she heard a gunshot, Margaret screamed, and then darkness enveloped her.
A hand landed on her shoulder, and she heard Cort whisper, “It is all right, Margaret. You are safe. I am right here, sweetheart.” She opened her eyes but still felt disoriented. She jerked away from his touch. Apparently, she had been crying and mumbling in her sleep.
“What is wrong, Margaret? What happened?”
Her eyes darted around the room, and when she finally focused her eyes on Cort, she sighed from heavy relief.
“Cort, you’re all right. I was so frightened. I thought you were in trouble, and I was so scared. There was gunfire and something so sinister. I didn’t know what to do.”
He pulled her into his arms. “I’m here, and I’m never going to let anything happen to you. I will protect you with my life.”
She knew she should feel relief, but it was exactly what Margaret was afraid of him having to do. Steadily, for two weeks, she had the same nightmare. Each time, it brought more dread, because deep down, she knew the dream was going to come true. She did not know when or how, but it was only a matter of time. She knew something awful was on the horizon.
The heat was now taking its toll even worse as Margaret struggled to continue to do her normal chores. She hadn’t felt this bad since the first few weeks of the pregnancy. She had told Cort about the dizzy spells that had been coming on regularly the last week. He had made sure to have plenty of water brought up from the well so she would not get dehydrated again. She was told by the doctor that, as long as she drank plenty of water and took a rest when the symptoms started, the dizzy spells would pass.
The time for the baby’s birth was quickly approaching. She was already moving into her sixth month. She smiled as she thought about their future, temporarily forgetting about the sickness she was feeling.
She was finally reaching the point where she could accept that things were going to continue to get better. Every day, she had less and less fear that either Witherton or Catherine would find them. And with that peace, she was finally able to focus on the future of her family.
But even though she felt her life could not be any more perfect, something still felt like it was missing. There was still a pain deep inside her, and she didn’t know how to mend it. What would it take for her to feel whole again?
Margaret had just started to clean again when another wave of dizziness hit her. She leaned against the nearby wall and waited for it to pass. But this time, it did not.
Rest… she just needed to rest. If she lay down, it would pass quicker.
Margaret made her way toward her bedroom, stopping to check on Henry. She bit her lip to block out the sickness as she leaned against the doorframe of his room. Content he was sleeping peacefully, she continued to her own room. Once inside, Margaret sat on the edge of her bed and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons of her dress. It was so hot.
Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, Margaret laid back onto the bed, letting out a quiet sigh as her body relaxed. The tension started to drain away.
“See, all I needed was a few minutes to rest,” she said to herself.
Hearing a noise outside, she jumped up with a start. Then, realizing it was Cort coming back from town, she quickly buttoned up her dress and left the bedroom.
She glanced in the room to see if the noise had woken Henry. As she suspected, he was sitting up and quickly pulling on his shoes.
“Is that Father? Is he home?”
Margaret nodded and smiled. “I believe so.”
Henry jumped up and ran across the room. But as he tried to run past her through the door, she grabbed his arm. “Oh no, you do not. Wait for me.”
Henry bunched his eyebrows together in frustration as he looked up at her. “Oh, Mama.”
She took his hand and pulled him behind her, saying, “Remember what I taught you. Manners matter when no one else is around just as much as when many are present. Running around like a wild Indian does not reflect well on either of us.”
Henry hung his head and replied in a whisper, “Yes, Mama.”
Hearing the hint of shame in his voice, Margaret stopped walking and turned to face her son. She lifted his face so that his eyes met her own.
“Henry, I am very proud of you. You are the best son anyone could ask for. I only want the best for you, and that is why I tend to be strict with you. My father tried to be the same with me, and at the time, I did not see it, but it was for my own good. I love you. You know that, do you not?”
“I do, Mother.”
“Good, and do not forget it.” She winked at him. “Let us go meet your father.”
As they entered the living area, Alfred was in the kitchen with the storm cellar open. He had a large jug in his arms. “I am just putting this inside with the rest of the provisions. Having some water stored seems practical.”
“I just heard a noise outside. I think Cort is home.”
“I will finish this up, and then go help him unload the supplies.”
“Thank you, Alfred.”
As she approached the door, Margaret had an odd feeling that something was not quite right. It was as if God was telling her to be careful. Things were not as they appeared. She put Henry behind her, pausing, then said in a whisper to him, “Go into the kitchen, Henry, and wait with Alfred there.”
“I want see Papa.”
“I said, go into the kitchen.”
She felt him turn around and head toward the kitchen, muttering something about it not being fair. Once she knew he was safely out of view, she grabbed the handgun by the door, which was loaded, and put it in the pocket of her apron. Then she grabbed the rifle, which was also loaded, and took a deep breath.
Throwing open the door, she raised the gun in anticipation. To her surprise, she saw no one. Where was Cort? She did not hear anything. In fact, it was eerily quiet, like everything was standing still and nature was holding its breath.
Margaret started to lower her gun and step back into the house when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
She swiveled to the side, keeping the gun supported against her shoulder.
She gasped in shock and fear. There was a young Indian near the corrals, glaring back at her with a knife in his hand. Margaret forced herself to keep her arms steady. She had to maintain control of the gun or it was all over.<
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“You need to leave now.”
A sadistic grin spread across his lips as he shook his head. “No, you drop gun.”
She pressed her lips together, trying not to show her fear. “If you leave now, we will forget this happened. You can leave with your life.”
“You woman. You not hit me.”
“You are a fool if you believe that. I warn you, I’m a crack shot. I can sure enough hit you,” she yelled at the man. She kept the gun raised and waited for the Indian’s next move. When nothing happened, Margaret asked angrily, “What do you want?”
“You.”
Margaret licked her lips as fear seized her insides. She had heard the rumors of what Indians did to their captives. There was no way she was going with him willingly.
“What do you mean, me?”
“You drop gun, come here.”
“This is your last chance. I am warning you, leave my land now!”
She saw him start to move towards her, quickly closing the distance. Reflexively, she pulled the trigger.
She heard the loud crack of the rifle and felt the recoil push against her body. It did not faze her as she prepared to fire again, planting her feet squarely and firmly on the porch. She looked to see if she had indeed hit her target.
Her eyes met the Cheyenne warrior’s, and she recognized the shocked look in his eyes as blood started to pour out of the wound in his right shoulder.
Unfortunately, he was still holding the knife. She had hoped the impact of the bullet would have made him drop it. No such luck. Margaret watched in horror as he stalked toward her, his hand gripping the knife with anticipation.
She raised the rifle but not in time to stop him. He knocked it out of her hands and grabbed her.
He glared at her, then stated with disgust, “You shoot me.”
“And I would do it again,” she said in defiance.
He slapped her in the face. “You not speak me that way.”
Margaret tried to block out the throbbing flooding her face. She had never been hit before, and it hurt much more than she would have thought. Pushing the pain away, she concentrated on getting the handgun out of her pocket. She pulled the weapon free before the Indian even realized what it was. “I warned you,” she said as she fired.
She stepped back as he fell forward and hit the porch. He rolled onto his side and let out a savage scream.
It was only then that she realized he was probably not alone.
Just as she suspected, two more Indians came from around the sides of the house. Holding the handgun in front of her, Margaret quickly stepped back into the house, shutting the door behind her and bolting it.
She grabbed the last handgun on the rack by the door and ran toward the kitchen. Once inside, she glanced around, and panic flooded her when she did not see him anywhere.
“Henry?” she whispered in a frightened voice.
After a few seconds, she heard a murmur from the cellar. She looked down into it and found him crouched at the bottom of the stairs next to Alfred.
She recognized the terror in her son’s eyes as he asked, “What happening, Mama?”
“Henry, I want you to stay in the cellar with Alfred. I want you to be as quiet as possible. Do not open it or come out, no matter what. No matter what, you stay in there until your father comes to get both of you. Do you understand me?”
His eyes were round with fright as he nodded.
“What are you planning to do, my lady?” Alfred asked with worry.
“They have seen me, and they will not give up until they find me. The only chance the both of you have is if you hide in here and I keep their attention somewhere else.”
Margaret heard the Indians trying to bust in the door. It was barred shut but would only keep them out for a few more minutes at best.
She handed Alfred the pistol. “Shoot only if you have to. The noise will draw them.”
“I’m scared,” Henry whimpered.
“I know, darling, but it’s going to be all right.”
She hugged him and whispered in his ear, “I love you, son. Never forget that.”
“Come in, Mama.”
“I cannot, Henry. I have to stay out here. Be strong for me, darling.”
“I will.”
She closed the door, replaced the rug and table, and left the kitchen, not wanting to attract attention to that room if she could avoid it.
She went to the bedroom and barricaded the door. All she could do was wait them out and pray to God that He would bring help.
Chapter 11
Cort knew something was wrong the moment he got back home. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the area as he made his way toward the house with fear and dread, terrified of what he would find.
As he made his way onto the porch, he stepped over the dead body of an Indian, he glanced down at him and frowned. The Indian seemed familiar. Why was that?
Not having time to think about it, he stepped into the house and made his way through each room.
He tried to block out the memories that were flooding his mind. It was not the same. The house was not burning, which meant they did not just attack for a whim. There was a reason behind it.
It looked as though Margaret had made her stand in the bedroom. She seemed to have held them off for a while, but they had managed to get in through one of the windows.
There was no sign of anyone. He didn’t even see any evidence that Alfred had been with them. Did they take them? Sometimes they took white women and children as slaves.
Then Cort remembered the cellar he had put in. Yes, that was it.
He ran to the kitchen, threw the table out of the way, and moved the rug.
“Anyone in there?”
“Papa?”
Cort sighed with relief and flung open the cellar door.
“Yes, it’s me, son.”
Henry looked up timidly from the bottom of the steps. Relief flooded the boy’s face. Alfred was sitting next to him and the concerned look didn’t leave his face.
Henry rushed up the stairs, falling into his father’s arms. “I glad you here.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes… where Mama?”
“Isn’t she with you?”
“No.” The boy’s bottom lip started to quiver. “She okay?”
Cort forced a smile for Henry’s sake. “I’m sure she is, champ. We just have to find her.”
“Where Mama?”
“I do not know, but I’ll get her back,” he said with steely determination. “Don’t you worry.”
He stood up and looked at his son. “Pack a few things. You’re going to be spending a few days at your Aunt Jackie and Uncle Randall’s house.”
Henry headed for his room without complaint.
“Alfred, I want you to go with Henry.”
“But I would rather aid you in finding Mistress Westcott.”
Shaking his head, Cort stated, “I want you to continue to keep Henry safe. Can you do that for me?”
Alfred nodded as followed after Henry.
Cort continued to look around. It felt like he was missing something, almost like there was a clue as to what happened that he was not seeing.
He went back out onto the porch and looked down at the Indian. They usually took their dead if they could. They had plenty of time to take him with them. That meant they must have left him for a reason.
Crouching down, he turned the Indian’s face from side to side. He seemed so familiar. Then he realized why. He was one of the Cheyenne who had attacked his place the last time, and he was one of the Indians who attacked Margaret’s party on the trail.
So, there was a connection. They must have waited for him to leave to attack. He was a fool for leaving them. There had been no warning signs of nearby Indians, but he should have been more careful. He left a defenseless young woman, and old man, and a little boy to fend for themselves. Now Margaret was missing, and he was to blame again.
Cort stood and started t
o walk back into the house, but stopped when he saw something pinned to the doorframe. He looked closer and sucked in a deep breath. It was Margaret’s wedding ring attached to a bloody piece of buckskin. So, this was a retaliation of some sort, possibly a blood debt. They took her because they were expecting him to come after her. But he knew they had no intentions of letting either of them live.
And the baby. My God, Margaret is pregnant. This might cause her to lose the baby.
He had to stop thinking about all that and focus on getting her back. If she was…. He could not think of that. He had to keep believing she was alive or he was not going to make it through this. He loved her so much, he did not know what he would do if they harmed her. Nothing else mattered except finding her.
He grabbed the ring and buckskin, wrapped them up together, and put them in his pocket. It was time to go get his wife.
Randall opened the door and found Cort on the other side.
“What’s all the pounding about?”
“Our homestead was attacked by Indians. Margaret has been taken captive. I came to ask you, as Henry’s godparents, to watch over him while I go after Margaret. I brought Alfred along too. It’s not safe at our place.”
Jackie came up behind her husband. “Of course, we will take care of both of them.”
Cort gestured to Henry to walk inside. “Thank you for letting them to stay here,” Cort said, as he placed Henry’s sack of belongings inside the front entry of their house.
Jackie nodded as she extended her hand to her nephew. “Are you hungry, Henry? I just made some soup for supper.”
The boy took Jackie’s hand and whispered, “Yes, Aunt Jackie, it sounds good.”
After they left the room, Randall turned to face Cort. “Let me gather a few things before we head out.”
“Your baby is due in a few weeks, which is exactly why you are not coming with me. You need to be here for your wife,” Cort argued.