Jodi Thomas (9 page)

Brushing her auburn hair away from the wound on her head, his words grew serious. “My wife does a pretty good job of that without the help of Indians.”

Anna jerked her head away. “I can take—”

“—care of yourself,” Chance finished for her.

True, unrestrained laughter bubbled within Anna. She could no more control it than she could the tears that had fallen earlier. Something about this man and his country had eroded all the restraints on her emotions.

They laughed until tears ran down her cheeks, then Chance took her hand in the familiar manner of longtime friends and led her to the horse. “Come on, my fiery wife, we have to go back.” He encircled her waist with his hands and lifted her onto the saddle.

As he swung up behind her, Anna leaned easily into his chest. “I feel like I’ve lived a month this morning. I haven’t cried like that since . . .” She couldn’t finish. She’d never tell anyone what William had done. He was dead. It was over. She forced herself to look straight ahead. “I don’t remember ever laughing so hard.”

Chance brushed his whiskered chin against the top of her head. She waited for him to speak, but he only nudged Cyoty into action. His silence didn’t worry her, for the gentle way his arm braced her in the saddle told her he cared more than words ever would have. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes, remembering the way he’d held her when she’d cried. Anna silently added another brick to the bridge of trust she was building between them—a bridge she’d never even started with another man since her father left her. A tremor of anticipation of what lay beyond the bridge made her sigh and lean more heavily into the foundation of Chance’s embrace.

B
rown maverick vines twisted among the evergreens that scented the air along the bank of the creek where Anna and Chance set up camp. During their slow ride back to the Indian camp, Chance had talked about the country, which he seemed to know as well as Anna had known her tiny garden in Germany. The spot he’d chosen to spend the night was several yards upstream from the Indians, where the creek twisted, allowing them privacy. As Anna combed the twigs from her hair, Chance knelt and built a fire. The air was warm and an easy silence settled between them.

Aware that he was watching her out of the corner of his eye, Anna thought maybe his interest was as he had told her, nothing more than the fact that he hadn’t been around many women. She wanted to believe they could be friends; otherwise, this would be a long year.

Chance stood, lifting his rifle from the grass. Slinging the barrel across his shoulder, he turned his face to the sun. “If you want to take a bath in the stream, I’ll stand guard at that rock.” He gestured toward the rock that marked the bend in the river.

Slowly, Anna lowered her hairbrush to the fabric-covered box that held her dresser set. Why, she wondered, couldn’t life be as orderly as the dresser set, with its indentations for brush, comb, file, and hair receiver? Right now there seemed to be no order in the world. Maybe a bath would help. “You’ll keep your back turned?”

“Of course.”

She wished she could trust him without asking, but old habits weren’t broken in a day. “I’d like to wash out these clothes, but my other dresses are in my trunk.”

Without a word Chance moved to his saddlebag. He pulled a bar of soap and the white shirt he’d worn on their wedding night from his pack. “You could wear this until your clothes dry.”

She hesitated a moment, then took his offerings. There seemed something very personal about wearing his shirt and yet it was the only practical thing to do. As Chance climbed atop the rock and sat with his back to her, Anna stripped down to her undergarments. She waded into the icy water and as she rubbed the muddy coat and skirt, the crude soap stung her hands. After several minutes, she tiptoed out of the stream and spread her clothes over the evergreen bushes that grew near the water. The sun was warm against her damp flesh, making the water seem even colder as she waded back into the stream and dunked her head.

The clean water washing through her hair felt like liquid heaven. All the days of muddy roads drained from her mind as she sank deeper into the sparkling water. She took great care to scrub her hair and body. Cleanliness had always been her passion, for somehow she felt if she kept herself clean then the dirt from her family would not touch her: her father’s leaving, her mother’s dishonor, the two times William had raped her.

Anna considered removing her undergarments but decided to wash the thin cotton on her body rather than risk being totally nude. All the months of basin baths in tiny cramped places made Anna doubly grateful for the open stream and the continuous flow of cool, clear water. Aboard ship she’d often been the second or third person to bathe in the water provided.

As she splashed from the stream and slipped into Chance’s shirt, the feeling of being clean and fresh enveloped her, calming her mind and relaxing her muscles.

She began to twirl around, letting her hair fly free; then Chance yelled, reminding her she was not alone. The sharp edge to his words brought her good feelings to a halt. “Are you finished?”

Slinging her hair over her head, Anna twisted it into the small towel she’d pulled from her bag and yelled, “Almost.” When she raised her head he was only a few feet from her. His rifle was still slung over his shoulder, but the easy stance of before was gone. His narrowed eyes were focused along the line of trees.

“Someone’s coming.” He lifted his bedroll and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders just as someone stepped from the shadow of the trees.

Anna heard the air leave his lungs as Chance relaxed. Lowering his gun, he walked toward the visitor. A beautiful, young Indian woman—tall and slender, with tiny feathers tied to the ends of her braided, blue-black hair—greeted him with a formal nod. At her side she carried something wrapped in a hide.

Nodding in greeting, Chance said, “Anna, this is Walks Tall’s woman.” His next words made no sense to Anna, but the Indian woman looked from Chance to her, and Anna assumed she’d just been introduced. Anna nodded as she’d seen them do.

When the Indian woman spoke, she lifted the leather package in her hands and gave it to Anna. Glancing at Chance for a translation, Anna accepted the gift.

“She says her husband is going to heal. The medicine woman fixed his arm so it will mend straight.”

When the Indian spoke again, Chance suddenly had trouble keeping from laughing. He translated for Anna. “She wishes to help you. She noticed the leather on your boots is hard and rises above the ground in the back like you are walking on sticks. She would like you to take this gift from her.”

“But—” Anna opened the leather bundle to find a pair of soft Indian boots that looked as if they laced all the way to the knee. They were a warm brown, with a pattern stitched into the seams. They were unlike any boots she’d ever seen.

Chance interrupted. “Take the gift or you will shame her.”

Anna smiled and accepted the gift. She ran her hand lightly over the leather, hoping to show how fine she thought the boots were.

Walks Tall’s woman said a few more words and turned to retrace her steps. Then she disappeared into the shadows of the trees as quietly as she’d appeared. Anna wondered how Chance had heard her approach, for her steps were as light as a blossom’s brush against the ground.

He grinned and winked at Anna. “We’ve been invited to dinner. You’ll have somewhere to wear those new boots.”

Anna looked at the leather leg wrappings and shook her head. “I’m not wearing these things.”

“Oh yes you are. It must have taken her days to make those boots. Indian women soften the leather with their teeth.”

Anna’s eyes glowed with anger, but the tiny curve of her mouth betrayed her insincerity. “And if I refuse?”

Chance didn’t smile. He was almost lost in the wonder of her eyes, but he remained stern as he spoke. “Then I will wear a redheaded scalp on my belt tonight when I go alone to dinner.” With one finger he caught a damp curl that had escaped from Anna’s towel. Your hair looks so much darker when it’s wet.”

Pulling her hair from his grip, Anna answered, “You don’t frighten me.”

His laughter was low and rich. “I guess not, but you will wear those boots tonight if I have to tie you down and put them on you myself.”

Hiding her amusement. Anna turned her back. She almost said she’d like to see him try, but she feared he might accept the challenge. “If I wear the boots, you must shave.”

Rubbing his two-week-old beard, he realized he hadn’t thought much of shaving out here in open country, but if it would calm her, he’d dig out the razor. “Agreed.”

“Good. You’re beginning to look like a bear.”

Chance laughed as he walked toward his saddlebags. “And you’re beginning to sound like a wife.”

Her only answer was the sound of a wet towel flying past his head.

The sun was turning the hills velvety shades of purple when Anna and Chance walked into the Indian camp. She’d combed her hair and tied it into a tight knot at the back of her neck, then pressed her skirt with hot rocks and brushed her coat. Her clothes were clean, with the fresh smell of evergreen dried into the fabric. At first glance she looked the same as the day she’d stepped off the boat in Galveston. But at closer range the soft brush of her leather boots against her skirts could be heard, and she now stood two inches shorter than before.

If she were being honest she would have to admit that the boots were warm and comfortable. The straps of leather held the hides tightly around her calf and ankle. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what the people in the society would think if they saw her tonight dining with savages.

“Now remember,” Chance said as he leaned nearer, “stay close. These people are peaceful and only want to show us hospitality.”

Nodding, Anna followed along the path a step behind him. He looked much like he had at their wedding: His hair was still damp from his bath in the stream, and his face was clean-shaven for the first time since the night they’d married. He was a fine-looking man with a masculine quality about him she’d never seen before. William had been the type of man to sit and ponder everything; Chance was always in motion. Even when he was standing still there was a restlessness about him, as though he were trying to break free from all civilization’s constraints.

Anna smiled as she watched him greet the Indians, thinking she’d chosen wisely. He seemed to be a man of his word and yet he would never be the type to settle down. She would have her farm in the Fredericksburg settlement, and he would be gone in a year.

Pulling her against his side, Chance began the introductions. “Anna, I’d like you to meet Medicine Man’s widow. She is the only medicine woman around.” He laughed. “She’s just told Walks Tall’s woman that she is to be a mother.”

Delighted, Anna smiled at Walks Tall’s wife. The beautiful woman was patting her tummy and excitement radiated from her face. Anna immediately felt closer to the Indian woman. The life growing inside her own womb was her only ray of hope for the future, her one chance to love and to be loved—her one light in the lonely tunnel of her life.

The medicine woman came close to Anna. Her chest was covered with a thick necklace of odd trinkets and tiny bags, and she smelled like a spice peddler’s wagon. She looked as though she’d been rolled in the dirt a few times before coming to dinner. Anna moved an inch closer to Chance as the old woman reached to touch Anna’s stomach. Their eyes met and Anna knew the old woman knew of her pregnancy also, but the woman was silent and pulled her hand away as if it were being burned by Anna’s nearness.

Suddenly Chance was pulling her away to the feast, joining the others in a huge circle around the campfire. There was much talking and laughing. The food was shared from a common bowl. Anna found that the meat stuck in her throat, refusing to move down to her stomach, but everyone was too busy to notice her lack of appetite.

Chance seemed to be a friend to many in the tribe. His words were slower, but he was able to talk with them in their language. Although he didn’t talk to her, he planted his arm behind her and braced her back. After what he’d said about not being able to talk to her before the fight, she decided it might be part of these strange people’s rules that he not address her. Anna was beginning to feel very much left out when someone sat down beside her, brushing her shoulder with his buckskin.

She turned to face the white man she’d seen in the camp before the fight. Unlike Chance and her, he’d made no effort to clean up for dinner. He reeked of months of perspiration and salty horse sweat, making Anna thankful she had nothing in her stomach.

The white man looked past her and addressed Chance. “I see you found your little runaway wife.”

Passing a bowl of roasted vegetables and meat to the man, Chance said simply, “She was only frightened by the fight.” He seemed in no hurry to introduce the stranger to Anna. Was it an oversight, or an obvious insult?