His back was to her and he didn’t answer. She hobbled toward him. He turned around and she stood still. “May I have water?” In his hand was a small, skinned rodent on a stick, which he was roasting over the small fire.
“Oh!” She hopped several steps back, turning her face away.
When she dared look back, she witnessed him ripping the flesh off his prey with his teeth. She felt sick. Through a mouthful of the greasy meat, he said, “You are a stupid woman. I have food to bring to my people. They wait for me. You must learn quickly. You cannot be a burden.”
“Leave me here. I will find my way home.”
Blue Heron laughed a loud, penetrating laugh. “You will die, and I get no money.”
Jessica placed her hands on her hips and looked around the unfamiliar landscape. Another step had her wincing in pain, a reminder of her plight.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Blue Heron got up and went to his pack. Coming back, he held a small pouch in one hand and the water skin in another. He sat down and untied the string of the small pouch with his teeth. “Sit.” He patted the ground next to him.
With slumped shoulders, she huffed and sat down. Taking her hand, he turned it palm side up. With care, he emptied grayish powder onto her cupped hand. “Be still,” he said as he dripped water on the powder.
Jessica tried to remain steady as he rubbed the water and powder together into a loose paste. His large thumb felt odd in her palm as he swirled the mixture. She rubbed her chin nervously.
“It is ground from willow bark and will ease your pain. Put it into your mouth, then water and swallow.”
She took some with her finger and smelled it. There was no scent. She touched the tip of her tongue to the paste. It was bitter. She remembered Caleb mentioning this medicine to her. She licked her hand and her face puckered uncontrollably, then she quickly drank from the skin. Gagging, she thought he was trying to poison her. Pain or not, she bolted up from the ground but was yanked back. Holding her arm, Blue Heron brought the water to her lips, encouraging her to consume all of the medicine. She took a second drink and swished the stale-tasting water around her mouth until the bitterness was gone. It soon reminded her of the small tablets her mother would make her chew whenever she got sick with a cold or fever, but they had been followed by a spoonful of jam.
After a while her ankle hurt less, and she was on the horse again, wedged against Blue Heron’s back and the edge of the saddle. Her legs splayed over the horse’s broad back, her dress and petticoat raised up around her thighs. She was thankful she had worn her pantaloons.
Jessica tried to remember her train trip out West, what seemed like a lifetime ago. There were hills and valleys, mountains, and large expanses of green. Where were the people? She didn’t recognize anything. The heat was already bearing down. Blue Heron was right. Without food or water, she would perish out here, yet she was only one day and night away from home. What optimism she held was upended as they entered a trail carved into the rugged hills. He rode with renewed purpose.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Caleb placed the fat, coiled piece of silver on the workbench. With a good base and polishing, he would have a place for the stove tools. It would give a nice touch to the ‘parlor,’ as his wife liked to call it. Maybe he could eventually commission sales of his design. He fished into his shirt pocket for a cigarette and lit it when he heard Boones frantically barking in the distance. Something was wrong. He went for his horse and rifle and rode to the river. Boones’ relentless barking was getting closer by the second.
Reaching the top of the knoll, his first sight was the frantic dog walking in circles, sniffing the ground. Caleb looked for his wife, her shiny, dark hair, her pink smock—anything to make the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach go away.
At the river’s edge, he called Boones to him. The dog’s fur was littered with leaves and debris from the forest. “Settle down, Boy, settle down.” Looking around, he found her art supplies strewn about, a jar tipped on its side, and paint brushes spilled on the grass. “Jessica!” He ran along the riverbank, then returned to where she had been. On further inspection, he saw that the grass around his feet was smashed, and divots from a horse’s quick exit trailed into the thick, dark woods. “Christ!”
The trail left trampled vegetation and broken branches, taking him deeper into the forest. Determined, he rode on, calling her name. The open prairie came into view, and looking beyond that, he saw a valley marked by the Diablo’s rockiness. He knew there were farmlands up north, but also wooded areas. His mind was a jumble of possibilities. With his adrenaline surging, he searched the landscape. The afternoon sun was beating down, and he saw no one in the blaring light. “Jessica!” he called to the north. Then he called her name to the east. Waiting for a sound, he only heard the wind hissing through the low brush.
Weighing his odds, he decided to ride to the valley. The wind picked up and whistled around the hills and slopes of the land. Caleb stopped. He was on a wild chase. By his calculations, her captor or captors would be a good twenty or more miles ahead of him, yet he called her name again. A gust of air blew it away. Reluctantly, he turned back. This would take more than a day’s ride. He’d need help and a plan.
On his way back, he cursed himself for not going down to the river with her. His mind searched for answers. Who was behind this? Rex Conrad was his first thought. “Damn it!” He commanded his horse to ride faster.
The sun played with shadows in the forest. As he weaved through the trees and brush, a shiny object caught his eye. Slowing, he directed his horse to a branch where he carefully removed a short string that held two small, metallic beads and a few strands of black hair. He tucked it into his coat pocket. It was another clue, but one he dreaded.
Caleb rode straight to Levi’s parents’ farm on the outskirts of town and found his friend in the barn.
Levi came from around a stack of hay. “Caleb, what brings you here?”
Caleb got off his horse and hurried to Levi. “Jessica’s been taken.”
“Good God. Who you figure?” Levi looked around, then walked farther into the barn. Caleb followed.
“What happened the night you led Rex out of town?”
Levi removed his worn cowboy hat and scratched his head. “He was mighty arrogant and barked he’d get his money one way or another. Thought it was an idol threat.”
Reaching into his coat, Caleb brought out the string with the beads. “He could have hired them to help.”
Levi gave a low whistle. “That sounds about right, but damn it, if that’s so, then we could be looking at a fight. I reckon those runaways could be pretty desperate.”
“I need to find her, Levi. I need your help.”
~
In the early dawn, Caleb headed to the end of town where Levi would be waiting. After informing Ben and Sally yesterday, then Burt and June, he felt profoundly responsible for his wife’s safe return. His neighbors’ expressions of concern barely hid their horror of something happening to one of their own. “We homesteaders stick together,” Ben had once told him. They assured Caleb they’d watch after his livestock. As for Burt and June, Caleb had been relieved June hadn’t been awakened. When Burt came out of his shock, he vowed to inform the sheriff, start a reward, and have posters made up. Caleb thought about the thread this would pull that would start unravelling the truth. What would these good people do if they knew why she was taken? What will Jessica think of him once she finds out? He would have to deal with that trouble later. Caleb could only shake Burt’s hand and promise him he would do all he could to return with Jessica.
Once he met up with Levi, Caleb took on the search with a vengeance. He was going back on the trails and away from the life he worked so hard to achieve. The person or persons who stole his wife had also stolen his peace. He had no ransom money, only a gun full of bullets and the determination to get himself and his wife back home safely.
Chapter Twenty-nine
North Sacrame
nto River
As their ammunition ran low, the cousins’ gunrunning days fell behind them. They supplemented their income by selling housewares and home adornments to the farm wives. It was the alibi they gave to their family to cover their illicit dealings. Now it had come true, and Jacob felt he was scraping the bottom of the barrel. He couldn’t bring himself to write to Jessica until he could claim success. With the real chance of her finding someone else, he let his pride lead his decisions. He looked at the map but his mind was elsewhere.
Sitting by the fire, Jacob thought of her smooth skin and soft lips, and of quiet moments wrapped in each other’s arms in a place outside of society’s reach.
“What about all this stuff we packed on that tired ol’ horse?” Will asked.
Without looking up, Jacob replied, “We’ll sell it. We have to get rid of the rest of the guns … and ammo, too.” He went back to poring over the map. “Before pulling you out of that saloon last night, I caught wind of runaway Indians along the northwest side of the river. It might be a waste of time, but it’s on the way. No more trading, though. Cash only.” He smirked at his cousin.
Will shrugged. “I was on a winning streak.”
“No, you weren’t.” He was worn thin from this vagabond life and his cousin’s appetite for gambling and prostitutes. A deep desire for a more respectful living had taken hold of him. He got up and went to an old fallen tree. After swiping at the surface of wet leaves, he sat and lit a hand-rolled cigarette. He peered up into the changing sky. The clouds were rolling in, leaving only a patch of blue above their camp. Then his mind wandered. He pulled on his cigarette. “I want our import business to sell fancy things, like items from the Orient and Europe”—he exhaled the smoke from his lungs—“not that junk.” He raised his chin to the packhorse laden with blankets, pots and pans, and scrub boards, along with an array of useless trinkets. The horse shifted his weight.
Will inhaled the last drag of his cigarette, then snuffed out the butt under his crusty boot. He pointed his dented tin cup toward the animal. “If we can sell this shit, we can sell anything.” Then he drained the last dregs.
“I think you’ll have to call it by another name. ‘Shit’ just doesn’t sound sellable, unless you’re a farmer.”
Will laughed and raised his cup in the air. “To china and porcelain and silk and all the beautiful things we can get our hands on!”
Heartened to see his cousin come around, Jacob rubbed his whiskered chin and murmured, “Women.”
“What about them?”
“Women will love what we have. We’ll get the finest goods … those little treasures they can’t get enough of. Buy cheap, sell big.”
“Aunt June and Sophie and Laura could help, too,” Will added. “What about Jessica? She has refined tastes. Last time I saw her, she was up to her elbows in it.”
It didn’t take much for Jacob to remember the September when the family gathered in Clermont City to surprise him and Will. Their journey from Colorado was long and tedious as they ran from the law while selling the guns and ammunition they had acquired from a deal gone wrong. Their foreman, Caleb Cantrell, haunted Jacob’s dreams. He had killed a man to save his life and, to this day, Jacob wasn’t sure the sin of murder was worthy of the man, a man he would most likely never see again.
Visiting his mother’s brother in Clermont City was just what they had needed. The shock they got was almost more than Jacob could bear. His mother and father had moved to Clermont City from Hartford, Connecticut, and Jessica and Frederick lived in San Francisco—all without his knowledge. Reuniting with Jessica all the way out west was like a dream to him. It lifted him up from his troubled life. Making love to her in his parents’ home the night before her husband was to join the family was worth giving his soul to the devil. He drank her in like a refreshing stream after a long walk through the desert. Now she was divorced and a free woman, and their lovemaking in her tiny art studio nearly a year ago brought a rush of blood to his chest. It was a memory he cherished each day. It got him through the hardships of a life that no longer served him.
Jacob heard Will talking about doing their research on foreign trade. He coughed. He couldn’t let himself linger in his escape from reality. “Let’s get on our way.” He stood and kicked dirt on the campfire until the fire was smothered.
Will gathered the blankets and adjusted the load on each horse. “Hey, Jake, I wonder if Burt can lend us the money to start our business. Why not go straight to him and ask?”
Jacob gave Will a doubtful look. “Yeah, I think my father would be overjoyed with me right now.” His glibness was not lost on Will. “Why, he would positively jump at the chance to back our risky, if not impossible, enterprise.”
Will laughed. “And my father would be delighted. Good God! The looks on their faces if they could see us now.”
“We’ll be rich someday,” Jacob said and went to his horse. He mounted Otis and waited for Will to do the same with Drake.
The morning sky was darkening as they rode with renewed purpose, lumbering along with the packhorse in tow, heading down the west side of the Sacramento River.
Chapter Thirty
May 20, 1889
Jessica heard a distant yelp, and Blue Heron answered as if to echo it. A fresh wave of nerves rose up in her chest and her ears rang. He turned to her. “We are close now.”
How could she alert someone—anyone—that she was being held against her will? She hadn’t seen a soul in days. She tried to hold on to the thought that Caleb was not far behind, yet her hopes were fading. Ten days, she counted … a ten-day journey back home. Every step she took, every clip clop of the horse, took her farther away. Each day blended into the next but for the rising and setting of the sun.
At nightfall, she was afraid of what Blue Heron would do to her, yet every night, he slept soundly. Or so it seemed. Stealing his horse, once he began to snore, proved harder than she thought. One night, she crept toward the towering beast. Out of nowhere, Blue Heron appeared, sending her heart leaping into her throat. “I was relieving myself,” was her excuse.
“Then do it away from my horse,” was his reply. She winced with acute humility and decided she would have to escape on foot.
The next day, they came to a ridge. A valley lay before her in swirls of greens, browns, and golds. In the distance, a stream of smoke rose above a rocky hill. Blue Heron stopped his horse and slid down behind Jessica, then helped her to the ground.
“We will rest here,” he said.
It was an odd place to stop, Jessica thought. Nothing but a rocky cliff. “Why here? Why not go to your people now?” She pointed to the stream of smoke.
“How do you know that fire comes from my people?”
“I just assumed. Am I right?”
He huffed and curled his lip. “We stay here for now.”
The day was sweltering, and her clothes felt more like heavy wool than cotton. With modesty a distant concern, she sat down and removed the strip of leather from her ankle and took off her shoes, then her stockings, sticking each black hose into the pocket of her smock, which she also relieved herself of. After rewrapping her ankle, she loosely tied her shoe around the swollen foot. Rising, she placed her smock around her waist. The kitchen towel would become her shield from the midday sun, and she wrapped it around her head. All the while, Blue Heron looked out onto the valley. There had been only sporadic conversation between them in the days they had been together. Jessica grew curious.
“How old are you, Blue Heron? How do you know English?”
Turning from his outlook, he answered, “I am twenty-four years. My father’s brother married a white woman and she taught me. She’s dead now. The white man stays on our land and brings with him teachers. What age are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-four in July.” She took another stab at reasoning with him. “Why can’t you understand? I cannot marry another man when I am already married. I love my husband. You are in danger by kidnapping me. You place
your people in harm’s way.”
“I will make you understand.” He stood closer to her, and she smelled the now familiar heavy musk of his body. “Your husband is an outlaw. He will bring in good money. We trade you for his freedom and money—a good price for me and my people and a good price for the scout. If he does not pay, he will no longer be your husband … I will.” She spoke, but he cut her off. “You will know our way, and you will be happy with me and my people.”
She shook her head. “This is preposterous! My husband is a silversmith, a farmer, and a good man.”
Blue Heron shrugged. “I do not know him.” His answer rang true to her ears, and her fear of Caleb being a part of this man’s plan eased but wasn’t totally washed away.
“How did you let a scout talk you into kidnapping me? He might be an outlaw himself.” By his expression, Jessica thought she struck a chord. “Yes, this might be all for nothing and he will cheat you.” She backed away as he rushed to her.
“Quiet! You know nothing!”
Cowering from his rage, she limped back to the ridge and evened her breath. The horse whinnied, and she stroked its dark, shiny coat. “Nice fella,” she said as her hand petted his neck. If only she could steal away on him.
Nothing changed for what seemed like hours. She sat on the ground against the trunk of a squatty tree bent in one direction from years of wind. She dozed until Blue Heron nudged her shoulder. “We go.”
Wiping her sleepy eyes, a thought sparked. She suppressed a yawn. “Caleb Cantrell knows the Klamath tribe and has friends within the reservation there.” She waited.
Sacred Terrain (Traveled Hearts Series Book 2) Page 13