by Jenna Brandt
“It is very simple. They took her in the first place to get me to come to them. They want me on their ground so they have the advantage. What they do not know is that Estella’s mother was Indian. Her father was full Spaniard, but he married an Indian woman. Estella loved visiting her Indian side of the family, and when I married her, I went with her many times. I got to know her people and their ways. The Sioux people are quite different from the Cheyenne who have Margaret. Estella’s people are kind, loving people who are honorable and good, unlike the cruel kidnappers we have to deal with now.”
“Yes, they do seem to be the most horrible, debased people I have ever met. But what do the Sioux people have to do with any of this?”
“During several of my visits with Estella, some of the warriors showed me how to fight as they do. Added with my military training, I feel that I can win the fight they will definitely challenge me to when we arrive at their camp.”
“I agree. You are the best fighter I have ever met. You would even beat me, I say. But what concerns me is what happens after you win. They will not let you just walk out of there.”
“Actually, I believe they will. You see, as despicable as this group might be, all Indians live by a certain code of honor, something that is central to all the tribes. If someone wins a challenge fairly, then they let him go. They will honor that, and they will let Margaret go too,” he said as he pulled out his gun and looked down the sights.
“All right, that is best-case scenario, but what happens if it does not go that way?”
“I have a contingency plan,” Cort said as he cleaned his gun with a rag.
“Pardon?”
“Reserve, if you will.” He loaded the chamber with bullets. “Estella’s Sioux uncles and cousins have a debt to settle with this same group. I had one of your men deliver a message, right before we left, telling them about what has happened. If I am not mistaken, they are traveling a couple miles behind us. They will be there if we need them. I am actually betting that once the three of us get out of there, they are going to present their own challenge to them.”
“My, my, you have been busy. I had no idea you had all this planned out. I am impressed.”
Cort snapped the chamber shut and cocked his gun. “I am just thankful we have God on our side.”
Feeling hopeful after picking up the Indians’ trail again, Cort made them push their horses as hard as possible, taking as little time as possible for sleep.
“We are almost there, Randall. I can feel it. Soon we will have Margaret back home where she belongs and this will all be over.”
“Yes, it will be good to get home. I do say, I am missing my wife tremendously.”
“I bet you are, and with her being pregnant, you really sacrificed a lot to come with me.”
“Yes, well, Maggie risked coming to France to find me. She never gave up on me, and I owe her everything.”
“Soon, you will be able to tell her that yourself.”
Cort looked out over the horizon and wondered what Margaret was doing right then. He constantly prayed God would protect her and keep her safe until he could rescue her. He loved her more than anything and would stop at nothing to save her.
“From what I can tell, we are less than a day’s travel away from their camp. Remember the plan we discussed. You are to only be my reserve, Randall. Do not get into the middle of it, and whatever you do, do not turn your back on any of them. They will kill you first chance they get.”
Randall nodded. “I just hope we are doing the right thing.”
“We do not have any other choice. This is Margaret’s best chance.”
Randall nodded again. “Understood.”
Both men sat quietly by the campfire. It would be their last night before they reached the camp.
She realized quickly as the weather changed and the sun began to blaze overhead for longer periods of time, the chief had not been threatening her as much as warning her. If she did manage to escape, she would not make it out in the sun more than a day or two. Her fair English skin would burn without coverage and cause her to die from dehydration.
So she did the only thing she could do: waited. She waited what seemed like forever for a sign, any sign that her husband was coming for her.
It was two days later, while she was sitting in the tent weaving some mats for the chief’s squaw, that she heard a commotion outside. Margaret jumped to her feet and poked her head out between the flaps.
In the distance, she saw two horses galloping up with sweat-clad riders gripping their reins. Margaret put her hand over her eyes and squinted, trying to make out the faces of the cowboys approaching. Was it Cort? If it was, why didn’t he bring help? There was no way the two of them could manage to get her free and all of them make it out alive. What was he thinking?
Margaret bit her lip anxiously as she saw the chief approach the horse. There was definitely something familiar about the men. The one in front dismounted first, followed by the other one. The chief was standing in the way, making it impossible for her to see if it was her husband.
Chapter 14
Cort and Randall arrived at the Indian camp at dusk. They had their hands on their guns as they rode in on their horses. Neither one of them let their guard down as they dismounted and stood quietly. It was obvious why they were there as they waited for the chief to come out from his tent.
Moments passed by as the two of them waited, their backs to each other, hands on their holsters.
The tent flap opened and two Indians emerged, one young and one old, followed by two squaws.
“You come, white killer of my son. I wait long time for vengeance.”
Cort now understood why they had gone to such length to get him there this way. “I killed your son? Is this what this is about?”
“Yes, you kill my son when you saved Heart Full of Fire. We take her to bring you here.”
“Where is she?”
“Not matter now. Now we settle blood debt.”
“Yes, it does matter. I will not fight you until I know Margaret is safe.”
The old chief narrowed his eyes and stared at Cort for several seconds before turning to the Indian next to him and whispering something.
The Indian went back into the tent and, after a few seconds, came back out with something. He walked forward to Cort and placed the item in his hands. Cort looked down and recognized that it was a piece of baby’s clothing. In the left corner were the initials JCJ. The stitching of the lettering was unmistakably in Margaret’s style. She had been teaching herself how to sew before the Indians took her. There were several other pieces of baby clothes at their home she had finished. He smiled as he thought of her doing this to keep herself busy as she waited for him.
It also gave him hope that the baby was still alive. If she was working on this, she was still pregnant. The initials also meant that she had decided on a name: James Cortland Junior, after him. She must be hoping it was a boy.
He tucked the piece of baby clothing into his pocket and looked up at the chief. “I am ready to fight. I too have a blood vengeance to settle. The warriors I killed were responsible for killing my wife and daughter. But some of them escaped. I’ve come to finish the job this time.”
“You kill my son and many sons of this tribe. With your death, debt will be met. You fight my other son.” He motioned for the man standing next to him to come forward.
“Move away, Randall. It is time to get this settled.”
Cort never took his eyes off the two men in front of him as he pulled out his knife from his belt. He gripped it with ease and crouched in a fighting stance as he waited for the young warrior to make his move.
With quick and deadly precision, the warrior lashed out with a knife he had been holding behind his back.
He dodged the blade as it slashed toward him. The warrior lunged again as Cort ducked out of his way a second time.
Cort circled the Indian as he looked for an opportunity to strike back. But every time h
e made a move, the warrior met his blow with a defense and an attack of his own. The blow-for-blow match continued steadily until the flicker of something from the side distracted Cort just enough to allow the young Indian to thrust out and forward. Cort managed to see the glint of the knife just in time to dodge the jab that was directed to his stomach. But the Indian was trained well and quickly followed his last attack with another, and this one managed to strike across Cort’s upper arm.
Cort stepped back quickly, sucking in air as he forced himself to focus past the pain. He had to win this fight. God knew what would happen to Margaret if he didn’t.
Cort crouched and lunged toward his opponent, missing him. The other man circled him, looking for an opening. From his lower position, he noticed that the young warrior had a habit of leaving his lower left side vulnerable. That was where he would attack.
Cort slashed forward and this time nicked the Indian’s ribs. Without any warning, Cort quickly jumped over and landed on top of the Indian, placing his knife to his throat. “I am honored to have fought you, brave warrior.”
“Kill me, white one. My life nothing after defeat.”
Without another word, Cort hit the young warrior on the side of the head with his fist hard enough to knock him out. He was through taking revenge into his own hands. God had shown him that mercy was the true way of a Christian, and that when a man took his own form of revenge, he only ended up doing more damage than good. Christ showed mankind mercy, and Cort would do the same to others.
After standing up, Cort backed away slowly, still gripping his knife tightly in his right hand. “I won this fight. All of you here are witnesses. All I ask is that you return my wife to me, and then our debt will be settled.”
The Indian chief stepped forward, then turned his head to the side, saying, “Bring Heart Full of Fire.”
Cort eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “Where is my wife?”
A few moments later, Margaret emerged from the tent behind the chief. Though her hair was in tangles and she was wearing Indian clothes, she looked like she was healthy. Cort’s eyes dropped to Margaret’s belly. She was still visibly pregnant, and Cort signed with relief.
She rushed into her husband’s arms. “I knew you would come for me,” she whispered against his chest.
“I will always come for you, Margaret, until my dying breath,” Cort vowed. Turning his attention to the group of Indians, he said, “You made a poor choice in taking my wife. You will regret that decision.”
“Big talk, no action,” the chief said smugly.
Cort backed up to his horse and jumped onto it, pulling up Margaret behind him, then he pulled his shotgun out. Keeping it pointed toward the Indians, he said to Randall, “Let’s go.”
As they turned and headed out toward the sunset, Cort put his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly. As Cort, Margaret, and Randall moved south, the sounds of screams and the smell of blood followed them. It seemed Estella’s people still wanted to settle their debt with her killers.
Chapter 15
Several days had passed and Margaret had been seen by the doctor. Though the baby seemed to be fairing well, he ordered her to remain inactive until the baby came after all she had endured.
Grateful to have an excuse to be alone, she either sat by the windowsill and looked out the window or she laid in bed resting.
She heard a faint knock at the door and a soft boy’s whisper. “Mama, I know you’re resting, but I want to see you, tell you I love you.” There was a short pause. “I’m going now.”
Margaret started to stand up, paused, and then sat back down.
What was she doing? That was her son on the other side of the door. Though she was still shaken from her ordeal, he needed his mother and she needed him.
Margaret jumped up quickly and rushed to the door. She opened it and saw Henry’s disappointed retreating figure. Hesitantly, she whispered only loud enough for him to hear, “Henry, darling, come back, please.”
Pausing, he slowly turned around to make eye contact with his mother, a giant smile on his face as he said, “Mama, I’m so glad you want to see me.”
Margaret felt a blush of shame cover her body. She was embarrassed, knowing that she had only just moments before actually decided to change her mind. She hated that she had hurt him.
Stepping through the door and out into the hall, Margaret replied, “Oh, my darling son, I always want to see you. Never doubt that.”
A look of relief crossed Henry’s face while tears welled up in his eyes. Margaret felt even more regretful that she had caused her son to doubt her love.
“Thanks, Mama,” Henry said with a sheepish grin.
Margaret crossed the distance between them and gathered Henry into her arms. “You are always welcome to come and spend time with me. I love you so very much.”
“I’ve missed you. I’m glad you’re home.”
“I know. I have missed you as well, and we have a lot of catching up to do.”
He smiled up at his mother and nodded.
“Good, then let us get started.”
This made all the hard parts of coming home worth it. She had her son back, and soon, she would get her life back—no matter what it took. Witherton had not been able to destroy her; she would not let the Indian chief have that power either.
Having Henry around made things easier for Margaret to readjust. Even though she had been away only a few months, her son had changed and matured, becoming a young boy rather than the toddler she left behind. And even though she was upset that she had missed the start of those changes, she was glad that she had managed to make it back to see the rest.
Things were not entirely different between Margaret and her brother. They had fallen right back into their old ways and were getting along just like old times. Jackie and her new baby girl were inseparable, and Margaret loved spending time with both of them.
But however smoothly things were going with the rest of her family, the situation with Cort was becoming, if anything, more troubled. Margaret did not know why, but for some reason, even though she wanted to let Cort get close to her again, something inside her kept him at a distance. She was trying so hard to let him in, but no matter how hard she tried, she only ended up putting more of a distance between them.
And it was not that Cort misunderstood what she went through. On the contrary, he did not push, he did not get angry, and he never showed her anything but love and acceptance. But even though he hid it well, Margaret knew her distancing hurt him deeply.
She wished she knew how to fix what was, or rather, what was not going on between them, but she had no clue as how to go about it.
But if Margaret was completely honest with herself, a great deal of it stemmed from the fact that she could not bring herself to let go of all the feelings that flooded her, no matter what she told herself. She felt broken from her dreadful experience, and she did not know how to communicate that to Cort.
Margaret was still lost in thought as she heard Randall and Cort talking down the hall. They must have thought her asleep.
“Randall, I have no idea how to get through to her. I have tried everything I can possibly think of and have prayed until my knees ache, yet nothing seems to make a difference. I feel like I am losing a little bit more of her each day, and I am afraid that soon, I will lose her altogether.”
“Cort, I do not know what to say. I do not have any answers for what is going on with her.”
“At least she doesn’t have any problems with you. Why do you think that is?”
“I think that she does not fear me because I am her brother. I do not think she knows how to open up to you at the moment.”
“Do you think she blames me? If I could have gotten to her sooner, I would have, and I gladly would have laid down my life to keep her from what happened.”
“She knows that, Cort, even though it might be buried deep down. She knows that you are a good man. She just needs to slay these ghosts before she can l
et that truth come back up to the surface.”
“I suppose the only thing I can do is trust God to work things out.”
“Yes. He can and He will.”
“I believe that. God always makes a way.”
Margaret was thinking of her past as she stared out the window, trying to make sense of what was going on in her life. She had come through so much, yet felt like she had lost so much more. She wanted to love Cort, but something was keeping her from doing it.
Did she blame him? Logically, she knew it was not his fault what happened to her, but part of her wondered if she had put up a wall without knowing it.
Then the most wonderful thing happened. From out of the blue, she remembered the conversation she had had with her father and how her father had described love.
“Love is gracious and honest. It can withstand anything and always bears hope…. You see, love is not only a feeling but an action. Even when your heart does not feel like loving, you act it out. Emotions are fickle, and one moment you feel one way, and the next you feel completely different. But true love will act and trust that the heart will follow behind.”
Her father’s words rang true, even after all these years. Was God giving this to her? If she acted out love toward Cort, the feelings would have to follow. It made such perfect sense when she looked at it that way. She needed to show Cort that she still loved him, even though her heart refused to feel it right now.
Since Margaret had returned, she had not been down for dinner on doctors orders. Instead, every meal, Cort brought up a tray to her while trying to initiate a conversation. But every night, she had feigned being tired and responded with detached pleasantries.
Tonight was going to be different. She was going to be different. She was not going to push him away like she had been, but instead was going to make her best attempt to let him in.