Blue Heron’s expression became serious. He lifted his chin up, his eyes looking down at her. “They have given in to the ways of the white man. We”—he pointed to the line of smoke in the distance—“were not so willing to farm the land for your government or cut the trees for your houses and forts. Much money comes from it, but it does not buy our freedom. We are free now. We do not live on the reservation you speak of.”
His words gave new insight to her circumstances. He and the others who waited were a group of renegades, and the scout, for reasons still unknown to her, had hired Blue Heron to take her. What had Caleb done to have this thing happen? What secrets did he keep? Her loneliness and despair grew.
“Can we not be friends? My husband and I will do what we can to help your people.” She gave him a slight smile.
Blue Heron’s eyes widened and he laughed out loud. “You are not as I hoped.” He tapped a finger to his temple at her lack of intelligence. “I will ask the spirits to help you learn.”
The ride down the ridge and into the valley was treacherous, and Jessica held on tight while Blue Heron led his horse on foot. The horse stumbled and nearly toppled onto the jagged rocks and gravel. The motion made her head swim. Coaxing the horse along the switchback trail, Blue Heron turned for a moment and looked out onto the land. Suddenly, the large beast reared up, throwing Jessica all the way back and onto the ground. The towel flying off her head, she landed with a thud. The wind was knocked out of her. The sound of a rattlesnake shot panic through her, and she rose and ran down the side of the rugged hill. A sharp shriek and whish of air came from behind her. Stopping, she turned to see Blue Heron standing with a large, decapitated snake held high in the air like a trophy. She slumped to the ground, heaving sobs of despair.
Once they got to level ground, he helped her remount. The coiled, dead rattler had been wrapped in her kitchen towel and tied to one of his packs. She remarked, “Must we take it with us?”
“Good food,” he replied, as he again revealed his disappointment in her with a shake of his head.
As they made their way across the open plain toward the smoke, she wondered with renewed fear what the next chapter in her nightmare would bring.
Chapter Thirty-one
The expressions on the faces of the Indian men surrounding Jessica were serious, almost foreboding. Piercing, black eyes looked at her from under thatched, grass rimmed caps. Other faces were framed in bandannas with feathers sticking out of each side. Long, braided hair accented with ribbon and beads fell on their bare chests. Deerskin pants decorated with more beads and shells covered their legs. The women looked shy and curious in their cotton shirts, dyed blue or light yellow, tucked into colorful skirts that reminded Jessica of her husband’s woven rugs and blankets, but with frayed edges. Intricate beadwork, shells, and feathers adorned their clothing, and felted wool caps. It was a small group, no more than twenty people by her calculation. She was no longer in the world she knew.
When the group parted, she got a good look at the huts—domed structures of roughly thatched layers of sticks, woven grass, and tree bark, with animal hides laying upon the thatch. A small firepit held long sticks leaning over the flame holding what looked like skinned rabbits. Jessica wondered how no one bothered to follow the smoke and capture them. Her hopes rose. Perhaps it wouldn’t be long until they were discovered.
Blue Heron rode to one of the larger huts, which looked much like the others. He told her he shared this dwelling with his younger brother and his brother’s wife, and now she would live with them. He added that this was home until the elders decided it was time to move on. Its crudeness added to her misery.
Once on the ground, she nervously pulled on her dress and petticoat. Bringing her pantaloons down, she wished her legs weren’t bare. Even though her stockings now had holes and tears, she would replace them as soon as she could. Three men came toward her and she stepped aside. They took the laden horse away.
The sun was setting, and the wind had picked up. A chill seized her, and she jerked with a shiver. Jessica felt a blanket being draped over her. With trembling hands, she caught the heavy, woven material and brought it around her shoulders. A woman with dull, strawberry-blonde hair appeared in front of her. Her complexion was rough and deeply tanned. She was not one of them. “I’m Cara,” the woman offered.
Clearing her throat, she replied, “I’m Jessica. I was taken, and I would like to return to my husband. Can you help me?” Blue Heron spoke sharply to Cara, and the woman receded behind the others.
She spied an older Indian man emerging from another hut. He walked over to Blue Heron and spoke to him in their native tongue. The conversation was heated, and the elder glared several times at her as he talked. She nervously awaited her fate. A hand grabbed her arm, and she looked down to see an old woman pulling at her. “Go with her,” Blue Heron instructed. The woman’s face was heavily creased, her gray braids lay under a headband of dyed-blue material. For all her frail appearance, she had a mighty grip.
The old woman opened the deer flap of the hut next to the one Blue Heron said was his. They both ducked in. Jessica suddenly felt cold and she shook. Sitting on animal pelts were Cara and a younger version of the old woman. The blanket slipped from Jessica as she went to Cara and fell to her knees. “I need your help. Tell Blue Heron he’s wrong about the money, and I must be returned to my husband and family. It will go very badly for them if my people find me here.”
Jessica turned around to the old woman, hoping she was sympathetic to her plight, but to her disappointment, she laughed a toothless cackle. The woman next to Cara looked at her with wide eyes. Finally, the older woman spoke in slow, broken English, and loudly, as if Jessica was hard of hearing. “My child, you need rest.”
“Take a seat.” Cara’s voice was deep and hoarse. “I can only help you here. I can’t help you escape. Sorry, young lady. What’s this about money?”
Jessica closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing the back of her neck, then her shoulder. The pain from her fall took her attention. “Never mind.” She slowly looked around. The makeshift home was larger than she expected. Worn animal skins covered the ground. Several furs and blankets in one area looked to be for sleeping. Small, wooden stumps, smoothed from wear, held copper mugs and wooden plates. A few pipes hung on leather straps from the structure’s frame. To the side of the entrance, arrows stuck out of fur and leather quivers, their bows leaning against them, along with several rifles and boxes she recognized as containers for bullets. It smelled like a barn on one of the farms back in Connecticut, but smoky, with the aroma of incense. The only comfort she could manage came from the sound of the river not far from camp. It might be the Rail River.
“I am From-Wings,” the older woman said. “This is my daughter, Lea. She is John-Tooth’s wife. John-Tooth is Blue Heron’s brother. They share Blue Heron’s home. Jessica acknowledged the woman’s daughter, who looked old enough to be her own mother. Lea gave a shy, toothy smile, then bowed her head.
Cara turned to From-Wings. “I’ll look after her. Let us be alone now.”
The old woman shook her head and reprimanded Cara in her native tongue. Cara argued back, and Jessica was intrigued by her speaking their language. From-Wings and Lea left abruptly, the heavy, hide door flapping shut behind them.
Jessica spoke as quickly and precisely as she could. “Where am I and how can I escape? The mountains are to the east or maybe northeast? We crossed plains, but then there was–”
“Shush!” Cara snapped at her. “You speak too fast. You make my head hurt.”
Jessica caught herself, shocked by the woman she thought certain to be her ally.
“I told you, I can’t help you. Do you know what would happen to you if you tried to leave?” Cara sat up straighter. “You’d be eaten by wolves or bears. Or worse, Mallow would kill you. Don’t give him any reason to do so. Do you really want to die this young?” It seemed as though her eyes would burst into blue flames.
Je
ssica sat back on her heels. “Where is the scout Blue Heron talked about? Who is Mallow?”
“You must be talking about that lousy excuse for a man, Rex Conrad. He came into camp talking about money and a cut for everyone. He stayed awhile, spouting his tongue about how he could make us rich. He spent most of his time around the elder, Sam Farrow, and Blue Heron. He disappeared a few days ago. Now as for Mallow, he’s a mean one. Doesn’t like this business of money for flesh. He might think you to be a spy. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
She got the feeling that Cara could be helpful, but not as she first thought. “I’ll be careful.”
“I’ll point Mallow out to you. Meantime, lie back and wait. If the elder and Blue Heron get what they want from Rex, you go free. If not, you marry Blue Heron.” She raised her hand to stop Jessica from protesting. “Yes, you have a husband, but that will not stop them from doing what they want.”
By now, Jessica was worn out, and the pelts looked soft. She slowly laid her tired, sore body down on one, and Cara covered her with a blanket. With half-closed lids, she listened to Cara speak. “You will help them continue their lives, away from white folks, to bear Blue Heron’s children. You must do your share. Then help pack up when it’s time to move on and carry as much as you can,” she explained, making a circle with her arms to show a large load. “And as far as knowing where you are, well, I certainly don’t have a map. Hells bells, I don’t know where we are. We’ve traveled far from where I once lived … or maybe only in circles. I’ve lost track.” She went silent for a moment, as if a memory had taken hold of her. She brushed away a strand of hair that hung from her loose bun. “This is it, missy. Learn to love this life. It’s yours now.” Cara ran the palm of her hand over her faded, woven skirt. Her legs were covered with long, black stockings dotted with darning. “At least Blue Heron is one of the most handsome and bravest of them all.” Her cheeks blushed a deep red. “The elders have great respect for him, and one day he will be the leader of this new tribe.”
Jessica listened with disbelief. This woman spoke as if she sat in a house of great repute. She reminded Jessica of a silly schoolgirl with a crush on the handsome eldest son. She had seen her fair share of such girls back East in Hartford society, yet this environment sharply contradicted Cara’s words and tone. Her next thought was this couldn’t possibly become her life, even if this woman had clearly resigned herself to it. “How long have you been here?” Jessica spoke softer now, her mind slowing as sleep took her. “Where are you from?”
The sadness on Cara’s face told Jessica she had asked too many questions. “My husband, Harold, was killed when the tractor he was on turned over. I guess I went a little crazy. We were newly married. I wandered from our farm and they took me. I’ve been with Jo Horn for over a year now, or maybe closer to two. This is our hut. Don’t know what became of the farm, don’t care. My family probably has taken it over. Fruit trees and nuts, that’s what we made our living off of in the valley near Medford.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessica said. “Why do you remain here? Don’t you want to go home?”
Cara got up, stooping over so as not to hit the rounded walls. She went for a large pelt, then placed it over Jessica’s road-weary body. “I reckon this life suits me just fine for now. Jo Horn is as good a husband as ever there was one. A good warrior, too. I have nothing to lose here. It’s them that take their lives into their hands.” Sitting, Cara bowed her head and twirled a strand of her reddish-blonde hair around one thin finger. “I’d hate to see anything happen to any of them, though. They’ve become my kin.” Their eyes met. “I suppose I’m a traitor, but I’m here as long as Jo and the rest of them will have me or they get arrested by the government. I suppose if it comes to the worst of it, I’ll pretend I was a victim all along.” She was quiet for a moment, then got up and opened the flap. “You better get some rest. I’ll see what I can find out.” She gave a half smile and left, the makeshift door slapping shut.
Jessica lie under the warm blanket and pelt, plotting her escape. The bears and wolves didn’t concern her. Will and Jacob had taught her how to climb trees. It was being captured again that frightened her the most. This Mallow man Cara spoke of sounded dangerous. As she made her plans, her eyelids became heavy and she could no longer fight sleep. She felt oddly peaceful.
By the end of the next day, Jessica still didn’t know her fate. She spent her time in From-Wings’ hut. It felt good to not be moving. The old woman joined her. She brought out a jar from a woven basket, then examined Jessica. A sudden, sharp pain ran through her back when From-Wings touched her left side. Unscrewing the rusted lid of the jar, she said, “Blue Heron say you fall off horse. I will help the pain.”
Jessica recognized the smell as lavender and chamomile, with a hint of peppermint. She unbuttoned her dress and gave herself over to From-Wings’ touch. The smooth, round hands of the Indian woman moved over her body with intention, and she felt her muscles become like jelly. The tension dripped off her like the warm salve running down her back. From-Wings gave a soft whistle when she came to the torn flesh on her legs. She took another jar from her basket and applied a paste that stung at first, then the flesh became numb. Stinging nettles. Caleb had showed her how to soak the stems and leaves to create a liquid for the garden. The smell had been awful, and she had quickly abandoned the project. Now she could see its benefits, and she would add it to her remedies when she returned home.
After redressing her ankle with a fresh piece of soft leather, From-Wings gave a chuckle.
“You will be good for Blue Heron. It is fine.”
It was no comfort to Jessica. The tension returned to her shoulders and back, even as From-Wings continued to work the muscles loose.
The flap opened and Blue Heron ducked in. From-Wings hurried out.
Jessica sat up. “What has happened? Has the scout returned with the money?”
He sat down crossed-legged in front of her. “We are to marry. Money is not coming. The scout is dead.”
“The scout lied to you. My husband is not an outlaw.” Tears filled her eyes. “We cannot marry!”
He leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “Your husband caught by your lawmen … or dead. Scout tells so to Mallow. That is why there has been no money, Mallow says.”
A surge of acid rose in her throat and she gagged and coughed. “No!”
Blue Heron shrugged. “Mallow says scout was a spy, and now he is dead.”
The thought of Caleb no longer on Earth drained the blood from her head, and she felt as if she might faint. She clenched the blanket. With her breathing becoming shallow, she pleaded with Blue Heron. “Please, tell me exactly what you heard. Is my husband alive or not?”
“I told you. You will get ready.” He left without another word.
She lay back, trembling. Mallow had killed a man he thought was a spy, and now he may think she was one, too. The flap lifted and Jessica cowered. It was Cara, and she came forward, sobbing.
“Missy, don’t cry. What did Blue Heron tell you?”
Taking a ragged breath, she enlightened Cara.
“Well, doesn’t sound for sure, so wipe your tears. That Rex Conrad met his fate. Let’s say your good husband wasn’t part of it.”
“Yes, you may be right.” She wasn’t convinced by her own words, and her chest was heavy with worry. Then she realized she would have to marry Blue Heron. “I can’t marry him, I can’t.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Lea entered with a basket of feathers and beads, along with some leaves and flowers. Having no choice, Jessica let them place the adornments on her. She felt the weight of the beaded and shell necklaces. The animal hide cape draped over her head fell around her shoulders. It was laden with beaded work and stitched decorations. Lea plaited her long hair and put flowers and feathers in the braid that ran down her back. Jessica’s own comb that held up her hair was placed on the top of the braid. Resigned to the fact that she would have to go through with their ritual, sh
e played along, her sights set on escape. When they walked her out for all to see, she thought for sure there would be great laughter and she would be made to feel foolish. To her surprise, most of the small group did not laugh, but a few snickered.
Blue Heron came to her and took her hand, nodding his head in satisfaction.
The ceremony was held around a large, round firepit. Its flame was low and spread out. Men with sweeping gestures danced around it as if trying to change the flow of air. A flower dropped from her hair and she didn’t retrieve it. Another shell necklace was hung around her neck. Behind her, a hand grabbed the comb from her head, strands of hair pulled with it. She reached back to stop the thief, but it was too late—the young woman was putting it in her own hair and looking at Blue Heron with an alluring eye and saucy grin. Jessica furrowed her brow. What kind of society was this? Though she vowed to stay alert, she found herself lured by the quiet chanting and rhythmic dances that went on throughout the night.
During the celebration, Cara came up to Jessica and sat down beside her, crossing her legs. “This is nothing. When I married my Jo, there was lots more dancing and it was much louder. He says we are more vulnerable in these parts, and we have to keep quiet and not be seen.” Jessica followed Cara’s loving gaze to a squat, older man sitting cross-legged on the other side of the ring of people, his mouth shiny with grease as he ate with gusto. Jessica barely felt present. Then a tug to her sleeve brought her attention back to Cara. “And you see him there?” She pointed to a muscular man standing beside Blue Heron. “He is Mallow.” Jessica studied his face. He was shorter than Blue Heron and strongly built. His expression was serious, even angry. He gave her a ruthless look and jerked his chin up at her. With her fright newly ignited, she would take Cara’s warnings to heart.
The meat was freshly killed venison and rabbit. Jessica was ravenous and ate her share, including dried fruits and cooked root vegetables. She recognized the black licorice they passed around. It tasted sweet and reminded her of her childhood. She licked her lips to get every bit of it. The fermented juice she drank made her light-headed, but she didn’t mind. The fire’s flames mimicked the dancers, and she stared into it, slightly rocking, falling into a trance.
Sacred Terrain (Traveled Hearts Series Book 2) Page 14