by Rita Hestand
He knew why he didn't like Laura, she wanted to change him, make him into something he wasn’t. He didn't need that. He liked his life.
What had he been looking for all these years? Maybe he'd been leading her on a bit too long. He enjoyed the meals she sent over to them. And he wasn't blind to what she was up to. She was close to his age, and it was hinted a few times she was reaching old age material.
But marrying Laura was out of the question. She was pretty enough, but she was too refined for him, always telling him how he should do things proper. He didn't consider himself a proper man. He was a rancher, not a gentleman. If a woman did come along, she'd have to take him like he was. And who in the hell would do that?
Had he become too set in his ways? He knew that answer too!
He hadn't ever admitted it to himself but maybe he was too much a bachelor.
He rode out to the back pasture and made sure the cattle were alright, checked their feed and water and once satisfied headed back to the house. He admired the huge bales of hay standing in the field. They planted it every year and ranchers from all around bought some for their stock, it kept them in a little money, and it fed their own too.
When he came in for supper, his dad had a rabbit stew cooking again. Problem was there wasn't much stew to it, some rabbit and gravy, but not many vegetables in it. Of course, he made the same old dry biscuits and it did soak the gravy up.
Because of all the work that had to be done, they'd let the garden go, now they were paying for it.
Clay's stomach growled. What he'd give for a nice juicy steak about now.
"Dad, how about we build a smoke-house, and have some beef for a change?"
"Now that's a good idea, I'm tired of this stew myself."
"Good, that's sounds like a project we should work on."
"Fine with me, son." Charlie smiled.
The storm was kicking up now and thunder could be heard from far off. It wasn't long before the sound of the rain hitting the tin roof made a powerful noise. It made Clay sleepy just listening to it. Rain gave them both an excuse to take an afternoon nap.
He was acting as old as his father. He had really gotten into some strange ways lately. Perhaps his father did have a point.
Why did his dad have to worry over him like he did? What woman would put up with a man that had to have a nap every afternoon?
Chapter Two
A shutter in the bedroom was flapping against the outside wall, and Clay went to pin it up, he was closing the shutters when he saw two horses riding up.
They seldom had company, so it was a surprise.
Whoever they were, they rode slow and he didn't recognize either one of them. He didn't recognize the horses either.
The rain came fast and furious, beating against the tin roof, creating a music of its own. It was hard to make out their company though. Clay went to the front door and held it open as they approached.
"Who's out there?" his father called.
"It's a white man and it looks like maybe an Indian woman." Clay told his father.
"Hello!" Clay yelled to them.
"Howdy. Mind if we come in and get out of the rain?" The man asked with a friendly demeanor.
"No, come on in. We were just sitting down to supper, come on in and join us." Clay insisted, eyeing them with curiosity.
Out in the country, far from a town, Clay was cautious about people approaching. But he never minded feeding anyone that was hungry.
The man was much older, having a well-lived in face, but a ready smile that Clay seldom saw on a man. Obviously, the old man had taken an Indian wife, she was quite pretty too and a lot younger. Her glance was cast downward, but her long black hair hung to her waist in a braid. She wore a band around her forehead, dressed in deerskins and covered with a long fur, it was hard to tell much about her.
That was strange, how quickly he assessed her.
They came in and Charlie greeted them and introduced himself. "Sit down, dry out and have some supper with us." Charlie encouraged. "I'm Charlie Nelson, and this here is my son, Clay."
The old man smiled stomping his feet at the door to knock the mud off and nodded at the girl.
Clay watched them as he closed the door and came to join them at the table.
The old man was white headed, short and well weathered as his face carried a lot of wrinkles.
The girl was young and rather shy, Clay noticed.
Charlie got out two more plates and poured them both a cup of coffee. But when she took her coat off, Clay saw the baby. That, he hadn't expected. What a strange pair, he thought to himself.
Maybe the man wasn't as old as he looked. A bit shocked he sat down at the table so as not to stare at them.
"Traveling far?" Clay asked.
"Just came from the Apache camp up on the other side of the Red." The man said, casting a glance at the stew.
Clay nodded. "I see. On the reservation?"
"Yeah."
"Help yourself," Clay told them.
The woman said something to the old man, and he nodded, "Can she change him somewhere?"
"Sure," Clay intimated the bedroom.
She went inside.
Clay eyed the old man, "Visiting your wife's people?"
"Actually yes, I was there to get my daughter, Willa?"
"You daughter?" Clay questioned.
Seeing what Clay was thinking the old man chuckled. "Why son, she's not my wife. That's my daughter." He said as though Clay should have known that.
Charlie who'd been quiet perked up, "Your daughter huh?"
"Yeah, I pulled her off that reservation, most of them are starving up there. But they weren't too happy. I sort of kidnapped her. I didn't know she had a kid until we were fixing to leave. She kept him hid under that fur thing she's got on her shoulders. But he's kin I guess, so what could I do?"
"Where's her Ma?" Charlie asked.
"Her Ma's dead, died of the smallpox. That's why I went to get her. She belongs with me, even with that baby. They made her marry the chief's son, to stay with them, and she had the baby later."
"She didn't want to marry him?" Charlie asked.
Clay needled him in the ribs and frowned as though he'd spoken out of turn.
"No, but they were sending them to the reservation, and the chief told her to leave, or she'd have to marry. At that time, her mother was still alive. And she wanted to be with her, so she married the buck. When I heard her Ma died, I came on the run. I wasn't exactly a welcome guest and they sure didn't want me taking her and the baby. The buck fought me, I had to shoot him. But she's not too upset. You see, he's dead now. She never had feelings for him."
"What happened?" Charlie raised a brow.
"I killed him." The old man snickered. "Had too, he come at me with his knife when I tried to take her. I didn't realize why, until the baby cried for his dinner. Then I understood what was going on. The kid is my grandson."
Clay and Charlie looked at each other in shock.
"It wasn't her he was trying to keep, it was the kid, but she wouldn't have come without that baby. She's as protective of him as any woman I've ever seen. I don't much blame her, he's a good kid."
"Then you got some on your trail?"
"Probably. But we've come a fair peace…we should have lost them by now." The man answered as though it was no matter.
Clay frowned, and then went to look out the window.
"Uh, I don't think they are that far away… and it looks as though you didn't lose them." he turned to look at the old man. "And to my knowledge, you don't lose Indians when they are on your trail."
"Aw hell, I should have known," The old man got up from the table, and glanced over Clay's shoulder out the window.
Clay turned to look at him. "Known what?"
The old man glanced at Clay. "Well, her husband was the son of the chief, so he wanted that kid, and the old chief is probably pretty mad about me killing his son, and taking his grandson, but I had to do it." Th
e man fretted. "He wasn't going to let her go. She's my daughter and that's my grandson. She wasn't about to leave the baby there; he's not even weaned yet. And I couldn't blame her. He's blood kin."
"Who are you?" Clay asked.
"Sorry, I should have introduced myself. The names William Turner," He stuck out a hand to shake.
Clay stared at his hand, "And her?"
"Willa…"
Now that she returned to the table, he got a better look at her. She was small, almost delicate looking. The girl had the shiniest black hair that fell to her waist in the back in one long braid, and huge brown eyes, but those eyes never looked at him, only at the ground. "Maybe you better go talk to them." Clay insisted.
"They'll kill me. I cain't go out there now!"
"Look, there's no need all of us dying for this." Clay insisted.
Charlie got up from the table and opened the door. He studied the Indians staring at him now. "I'll go, I speak a little of their language."
"Dad… this isn't our fight."
"Maybe I can reason with them." Charlie insisted.
After a long talk, Charlie walked back to the cabin slinging mud on his boots.
"They said the woman can go, but they want the child." Charlie looked from the Indian girl to her father.
"I will not give them my child," the girl spoke perfect English now and raised her eyes to meet the frown on Clay's face.
"You speak English?" Clay frowned.
"Of course, my mother taught me. I am half white." She raised her chin in defiance. "She insisted I know both languages."
Clay noticed her skin wasn't as dark as most Indians he'd seen.
When an arrow flew inside the window and hit the wall, they all ducked.
Clay and Charlie got their rifles, William pulled his handgun. The girl merely watched and held her child close to her.
Clay stared at the girl. "Do you want to go back with them?"
She seemed to think about his question before answering. "No," she met his gaze now. "My father risked his life to come get me, I will stay with him. Before my mother died, she told me he would come for me, and that I must go with him." She said, as she hovered over her child. "My husband is dead; I have nothing to go back to. Besides, on the reservation I'm just another mouth to feed, and they don't need that. My baby is a little over two months, I will not leave him with them. I will die first."
Clay turned all his attention on the Indians. They were not going to give up.
An hour of fighting wore them all down. The ammunition was getting low, arrows were all over the place, and Clay was scrambling for ideas on how to run them off. The rain had finally stopped.
But Clay glanced at his father and noticed an arrow sticking out of his arm.
"Dad!" He shouted and came up to him.
The girl came too and pushed Clay away. She had lain her baby down on a blanket in the other room, then rushed to Charlie's side. "I will take care of him."
Clay stared at her a minute, then nodded.
William turned to his daughter, "I couldn't leave you there Willa, you'd have starved…"
Willa nodded. "I know… It was my mother's wish that I be with you, I will stay, and so will my son."
About that time an arrow pierced William's back and he fell to the floor, dead, Clay realized by the blank stare in his eyes.
Willa ran to him and cried, "Father…. You cannot die now… I won't allow it." She said as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Clay shot her a look of sympathy.
With silent tears she looked up at him, their eyes meeting. "I am sorry, I have brought this on you. I will go… " She moved toward the door, after gathering her child in her arms.
"No… " Charlie hollered from the bunk in the far corner. "You stay put. Your pa didn't want you with them, you won't go. We'll handle this." Charlie shook his head adamantly.
She had pulled the arrow from Charlie's arm, and bandaged his wound as though she were well used to doing such things. He stood up now and got his gun.
After Charlie and Clay managed to shoot three or four of them, they gave up and left.
Clay slid to the floor with a long hard sigh. "They'll probably be back."
"Maybe…" his father shot him a glance.
Charlie stared at the girl, who was nursing her child right in front of them.
Clay's mouth fell open. He'd been prepared for a lot of things, but not this. He couldn't pull his gaze from her now; it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She had draped a soft blanket over her shoulder and was staring lovingly down at her child. She wasn't exposed but the way she smiled at her child lit her face, and Clay swallowed hard at the beauty of the moment. It hit him in the gut, as though just now aware of a woman who would nurse her child in front of him. Still, she was Indian and to them it was commonplace, Clay reasoned.
But the sudden notion that he had no idea what to do with this woman hit him square in the face, too. His dad was hurt, her dad was dead, and that left, him, the girl, and the baby.
The Indians had gone, but Clay was sure they hadn't heard the last of it.
Chapter Three
"What are we going to do with her?" Clay asked his father the next day as he gathered the eggs and his father followed along, carrying the kitchen scratch bowl and pitching it on the ground. The chickens quickly gathered around them. They'd spent the entire morning pulling arrows off the cabin exterior. Charlie absently rubbed his hurt arm.
"Not sure yet. Her father just died yesterday, son. It ain't right to boot her out so soon." Charlie insisted. "We'll bury him today and see what she wants to do."
"Well, she can't stay here!" Clay shouted. His father's head jerked up and stared at him.
"Why not? We need a cook."
Unaware that the girl was standing not far from them now Clay was embarrassed she'd heard him.
"I will go." She bent her head, turned and went back toward the house. Misery was clearly written on her face, and the slump of her shoulders.
Clay frowned; he hadn't meant to sound so cruel, but he knew he had. Charlie went toward her. "You can't leave now. We'll figure something out."
"I am a burden and I do not wish to be." She explained. "It is clear your son does not wish me to be here. So, I must go."
"You don't understand, Clay isn't used to having a woman around. He's been a bachelor too long. He didn't mean to be rude. Please, forgive him." Charlie looked back at Clay, who was watching them. "You aren't a burden. It's just— you see my son and I have been here alone for a lot of years. That's all."
"You owe me no explanation. I do not belong here." She insisted. "I must find my place."
"Then where do you belong?" Charlie asked.
She stared at the old man, and one lone tear drifted down her cheek. "I do not know… had my father lived, I might could answer that, but he did not. I must find my way."
"Then it's settled, you'll stay." Charlie affirmed.
"I do not think that would be wise. And I do understand." She said turning away again. "I will not make trouble for you."
"Did your father have a place you were going to or something?"
Willa bowed her head. "No, my father had no home, he wandered the prairies picking up jobs where he went. But when he came to get me, he was determined to make a home for us somewhere. I do not know where."
"My son meant no offense. We're just bachelors set in our ways; I suppose. And look at the place, it isn't fit for a woman, but we can change that."
"Where are your women?" she asked, as though it just occurred to her to ask.
"My wife died some years back, and Clay, he's never been married." Charlie explained.
She glanced at Clay for a moment. "He is a fine warrior."
Charlie stared at her for a moment, as though something clicked in his head, and he slowly smiled.
Clay heard her and his head jerked to stare at her. And for the first time in his life, he was really looking at a woman. His gaze went from the t
op of her beautiful black hair to her mocassins clad feet. She was small, and yet well built for a woman. In the deerskin dress she wore, her figure was outlined quite well. Something stirred within Clay just looking at her that way. It doesn't make any sense, why this woman?
"We've fought our share of Indians, meaning no disrespect." Clay told her as he came toward them.
Charlie smiled and looked at Clay. "Actually, we could use you. I can't cook too good and the house could sure use a woman's touch. We could build another room on, and you and the baby could have that room."
"Oh but…. I do not think so. People would talk and give you trouble for having me in your home. I will not bring grief upon you."
"Come to think of it, that's a really good idea. We've been talking about a cook lately too." Charlie snickered.
"Can you cook?" Clay asked.
"Yes, I can cook." She said. "But I don't think…. "
"You let me do the thinking." Charlie grinned. "In fact, why don’t you make something now. Nothing makes a man more agreeable than a good meal." He said and cast his son a glance.
Clay watched his father and Willa and smiled.
Charlie showed her around the kitchen, and she got started. It was plain she didn't think this would work, but the old man insisted, so she began preparing a good meal.
By dark she had a meal ready and hollered out the door, "It's ready."
Charlie nodded and went to get Clay out in the pasture. Charlie had put her father out in the lean to on a board.
When Clay saw what his father was up to, he studied him a long time, but didn't say anything.
Willa had set the table for the three of them. She had prepared chicken and dumplings, something Clay and Charlie hadn't had in a long time. In fact, Clay didn't remember having dumplings since his mother died ten years ago.
Willa had taken one of the chickens, rung its neck and plucked its feathers until it was clean as a whistle. The dumplings were tender and light. She dug up some of the last of the carrots and prepared them with the dumplings.
"This isn't an Indian meal, is it?" Charlie asked with surprise.