Captive Trail (22 page)

“Billie,” she whispered, still frowning.

Ned sighed. “What about the cat? Ask her about Fluffy.”

At his mention of the name, Taabe’s eyes cleared. “Fluffy.”

Cat spoke to her in Comanche. Her face lit up and she spoke with more animation than Ned had seen before.

When Cat turned to him a minute later, he was smiling. “She had a kitten. It was orange. Its name was Fluffy. How did you know?”

“That’s what she named her new kitten here.”

“I see.” Cat spoke to her again and then told Ned, “Her cat was the same color as the one you bought her at the fort. Did I get that part right?”

“Yes, I got it from Lassen.”

“She loved it a great deal, it seems. And she remembers horses, lots of horses. All of them were dark brown or black. No pintos or palominos.”

“That’s odd.”

Cat shrugged. “She admits she’s confused. The Comanche had lots of horses. But she thinks that where she came from, most of the horses were solid colored. And one thing she held against her captors was that she never got her horse back. Later, when she was allowed to ride, she had to use a poorer mustang. One of the chiefs claimed her original mount as his war horse. The day came when he went out raiding and came back without it, riding a different horse. She never forgave him.”

“Wow.” Ned sat back and looked at Sister Natalie. “I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I’m exhausted,” she said. “Would you like some coffee?”

“That would be nice, ma’am,” Cat said. Ned added his thanks.

“I should check on our guests as well,” Sister Natalie said. “As much as I’d like to hear the rest of her story, I’d probably better send in one of the other sisters while I entertain them.”

Taabe rose when Sister Natalie did.

“Where are you going, Taabe?” the sister asked.

“I go. I come back.”

Sister Natalie nodded and smiled at Ned. “I’m sure she’ll return in a moment.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two women left the room. Ned turned to Cat. “What do you think?”

“I think she’s being honest. What else do you want me to ask her?”

“I’d like to know more about her life with the Comanche. Where did they take her? Did they treat her well? That sort
of thing. And if she can give you the names of the chiefs she had contact with, it would help the captain pinpoint where she’s been.”

“All right,” Cat said. “I’m not sure what to make of the white people she described. It seems her memory is hazy on that. She may have just fixed her mind on you because you were the first white man she’d seen in years, or at least the first one who was nice to her. That stuff about the tall men with all the horses … it could be a mishmash of things that have happened to her.”

“All right.” Ned found that thought disappointing. “Let’s also go over this list of captives with her. If she recognizes any of the names, it will be a breakthrough for Captain Tapley. He’d love to be able to tell the Indian agent where some of these abducted children are.”

Taabe appeared in the doorway, and the two men stood. She held something that looked like a thin stick.

Ned peered at it.

“What is that, Taabe?”

“Music.” She held up a small, hand-carved flute.

T
aabe held the flute out so Ned could see it.

“Can you play it?” he asked.

She nodded. The eager light in his brown eyes made her happy. She looked at the army scout called Cat. “Ask him if he wants me to make music,” she said in Comanche.

“I’m sure he does,” Cat said.

She smiled and walked to the other side of the table. Slowly she turned to face them and held her flute to her mouth. She played an eerie Comanche melody, with notes wandering up and down, reaching for the wind.

When she stopped, Ned clapped his hands together. “That was beautiful! Thank you.”

Taabe needed no translation.

“Where did you get the flute?” Cat asked.

“From He Sits by the Fire—an elder.” Her throat tightened. “He is gone now. He played one day when I had first come there, and I reached for the flute. He was surprised, but
he let me take it. I played on it, and he was surprised even more.”

Cat laughed. “I believe that.”

“He made me a flute of my own, smaller than his, and I have had it ever since.”

Cat turned to Ned and translated what she’d said.

She positioned the flute again and launched into a spirited rendering of “Frère Jacques.”

Ned laughed. “I know that song.”

“What is it?” Cat asked.

“It’s a French song. I think it’s called ‘Frère Jacques.’ About a lazy priest.”

Taabe lowered the flute and said, “Sister sing.”

“One of the sisters sings that?” Ned asked.

Taabe nodded, but felt she wasn’t being clear.

“Which one?” Ned asked. “Sister Adele?”

“Yes, but …” She turned to Cat and said swiftly in Comanche, “Tell him my own sister sang it. When I was a child, I heard this song. Then Sister Adele sang it here, and I knew it.”

Cat’s jaw dropped. He turned to Ned and spoke earnestly. “She knew the song before she came here. She says her sister sang it. Her own sister, she said. I think she means in her real family—her white family.”

Ned’s face froze. “Is her family French?”

Cat walked closer to Taabe. “Your family—before the Comanche. Were they French, like the nuns here? Did they speak French?”

Taabe shook her head. “English. No French, no Spanish. English.”

Cat laughed and translated to Ned.

“They make music,” Taabe said in English. “Much music.”

“Your family was musical?” Ned asked.

She frowned. “I think yes.” She looked at Cat for help and launched into Comanche. “I played another instrument—with my hands.” She held her hands out before her and wiggled her fingers.

Ned and Cat stared at each other.

“The piano?” Ned asked. “You don’t suppose she played the piano?”

Cat shrugged. “Anything is possible. The nuns don’t have one, do they?”

“I’m sure they don’t.” Ned smiled at Taabe. “Do you remember any other songs your family sang? Anything at all? It may help us find them.”

Cat relayed his message to be sure she got the full meaning.

Taabe hesitated. One melody had haunted her, tickling the edges of her memory. She said to Cat, “I tried to play this once for Sister Adele, but she didn’t recognize it. And I’m not sure all the notes are right. This flute does not play as well as the old one, and it is long, long since I heard someone sing the song.”

After he translated, she put the flute to her lips and began to play softly, reaching for the elusive notes.

Ned walked slowly around the table, wonder on his face. “I know that song. Taabe, I know it.”

She lowered the flute.

“It’s called ‘Amazing Grace.’ But—” He glanced at Cat. “The nuns might not know that one, because I think it’s a Protestant song. I don’t know if Taabe understands about Catholics and Protestants and … Oh, just tell her I know the song and it’s a good one. We sing it in church. It’s about God’s love for us and His grace. Do the Comanche have a word for that?”

Cat smiled. “Just stop talking and let me try to explain to her. She may understand more than you think.”

Taabe listened carefully to Ned’s talk, but many of the
words he used weren’t known to her. She waited impatiently for Cat’s turn.

“Ned knows this song,” he said in Comanche.

She nodded. “I thought so. He likes it.”

“Yes. It is one his people sing in church—when they worship God. You know about church?”

“It is … like the chapel room the sisters have, only bigger?”

“Well … I suppose so. But Ned believes differently than the sisters do.”

She frowned. “Not all white people have the same God?”

Cat glanced at Ned and said quickly, “No, not a different God…. It’s hard to explain, but I think the church the sisters follow have some different teaching from this other church that Ned goes to.”

“Like the Numinu and the Kiowa?”

“Uh … maybe. Not really.” He frowned. “They all worship God and His Son, Jesus.”

“Jesus.” Taabe nodded. Sister Adele was teaching her more about Jesus, and she’d been sitting in on Quinta’s class they called “catechism,” where one of the sisters asked questions about God, and Quinta was expected to give the correct answer.

“Well, the two churches have different songs,” Cat said. “I understand.”

“Good.” He seemed relieved. “The first song you played was not a church song. But the second one was. It is about God and how … good He is. How He gives people things they don’t deserve.”

Taabe cocked her head to one side while she thought about that. “What are the words to sing with it?”

Cat turned to Ned. “Can you sing the song for her?”

“I guess so.” Ned cleared his throat, obviously self-conscious, and stepped a little closer. “It goes like this: Amazing grace, how
sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see.”

Taabe was charmed by Ned’s true, clear voice, but Cat gritted his teeth. “I’m not sure I can translate that.”

Ned looked upset, and Cat said quickly, “But I’ll try.”

He closed his eyes for a minute then spoke in Comanche. “Ned says it’s about God’s gifts that he doesn’t deserve, and how wonderful they are. How sweet and unexpected.” He eyed her doubtfully, but Taabe nodded, so he went on. “Ned says he had lost his way but someone found him—God, I think. And he couldn’t see, but now he can.” Cat held up both hands. “But that’s not real. I mean, he wasn’t really blind. I think the song means it like … in a story. You say a man is as tall as a mountain, but he’s not really. And this song says he was blind, but it means … I think it means he was blind to God. He couldn’t see the things God wanted him to see, but now he can.”

Taabe stood still for a long moment, letting that soak in. She turned and looked at Ned. He might have been holding his breath, he was so still, and his expression was one of dread.

He is afraid I won’t understand—but I do!

She smiled at him. “Sing again.”

Ned let out a short laugh. “Play again.”

She raised the flute and played the notes softly. Ned made the words fit with the music, and she knew they were right. Those were the words she couldn’t remember.
I once was lost, but now am found
. God had found her. He’d brought her here—one of His unexpected, wonderful gifts to her.

Ned’s heart caught as the last notes died away. Singing to Taabe’s music had hit him hard, like catching a rock in the chest. Unless he was mistaken, she had tears in her eyes. Even Cat seemed to be moved by the song.

Taabe spoke quietly to Cat, then jerked her head and her eyebrows toward Ned.

“She wants me to tell you that she used to play an instrument in her old life. It was somewhat like this flute, but it was made of metal. She’s had this one that the old man made her for a long time. Her Comanche family liked to hear her play.”

“It’s amazing.” Ned gripped the back of a chair. “Ask if she is ready to listen to the names. I’d like to read her the list now.”

Cat spoke to Taabe. She nodded and laid the flute on the table.

They spent another hour going over the list and talking in their awkward way about life in the Comanche village. Ned had never felt so drawn to a woman. Every new detail he learned about Taabe pulled him closer to her, until he wanted desperately to find the shadowy family she remembered—the ones who had given her a horse and a flute and a cat. No doubt they had loved her deeply.

If only they had some proof of her identity.

“Ask if she has any birthmarks or scars that would help her family identify her.”

Her answer saddened him.

“She believes any scars she carries were made after her capture.”

Ned sighed and gazed across the table at her. What sorrows had she borne? What pain had she endured?

“I wish I knew what questions to ask,” he said. “I’m sure there’s much more we don’t know that could help us.”

Cat spoke gently to Taabe, and she answered at length. He turned to Ned. “She says that when she was taken, the Comanche band rode north for many days until they reached a place where white men never go.”