Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] (37 page)

Daniel had no idea what he was talking about. “Don’t you worry about the bell. I’ll get it for you.”

Josiah nodded, seeming comforted.

Daniel brought his own horse around and lifted Elizabeth into the saddle, unable to tell whether she understood what was happening or not. He climbed up behind her and pulled her against him. She didn’t fight anything he did.

Travel was slow, and he kept peering through the trees on the right side of the trail, hoping and praying he was remembering it correctly. And that it was still there. He kept offering the canteen to Elizabeth and stopped to make sure Josiah was drinking as well. It was near dusk when he heard it.

A hawk’s screech.

He reined in and looked up. No hawk in sight. The weight inside his chest eased a fraction.

He returned the call, and Makya stepped into a clearing a ways down the path. The Ute stretched out his arm in greeting and started toward him.

“Wait!” Daniel raised his hand, and Makya paused. “Sickness is with me, friend. I come for medicine, and food if you can spare it. I don’t mean to bring harm to your camp.”

Makya stared. “Do you have the sickness?”

“No, but the dark man does. The woman is unwell, but it’s because of white man’s medicine, not a sickness.”

“I will see them.” Makya started toward them.

Daniel lowered Elizabeth into Makya’s arms and he laid her on the ground. She groaned and held her stomach as Makya felt her head and throat, then studied her eyes and listened to her chest.

“She has a poison inside.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Daniel nodded, helping Josiah off his horse. “Yes, she does. The same poison I told you about that I had years ago.”

Josiah’s legs buckled, and it was all Daniel could do to support the man’s weight. He was heavier than he looked, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. Daniel laid him down and covered him with the fur.

Makya knelt beside him. “He smells bitter. Like death waits to visit.”

“Do your people have medicine to help him?”

Makya’s answer came slow. “The woman, we can help. The man, I do not know. I will go before you. Wait until I return.”

Daniel wanted to tell him to hurry, but there was no need. Makya ran.

33

S
ometime during the night, the eldest of Makya’s four wives delivered a clay pot with something tangy and sweet smoldering inside it, similar to burning pine needles. The warm air in the tepee grew moist and smoky, and Daniel felt the effects deep inside his lungs. Elizabeth would have too, if she were awake.

He lay beside her in the firelight, listening to her restless sleep and knowing what she was going through. Earlier, the shaman had insisted she drink a dark-colored concoction. Makya explained that the mixture would bring healing to her body. From her reaction, the potion had been none too pleasant tasting, and apparently had a sedating effect, because she’d been asleep ever since.

Makya’s eldest wife returned at first light, and Daniel went to check on Josiah. He was located in a tepee pitched farther from camp, one Daniel figured was used in cases of quarantine. The shaman was there when Daniel arrived and Josiah was awake, his eyes wide and watchful of the Ute doctor, his body still racked with fever.

Daniel stood where Josiah could see him, not wanting to interrupt whatever was underway. Beadwork and bunches of dried herbs hung from the sloped ceiling, and the shaman, chanting something, crushed a green leafy plant on a flat stone, then sprinkled the pieces into a cup of liquid and swirled it over the flame. When offered, Josiah drank it without question, just as Daniel would have done.

Once the doctor left, Daniel moved closer.

“Mr. Ranslett . . . glad to see you again, sir. H-how’s Miz Westbrook?”

Daniel sat beside him, touched by what his question revealed. “She’s resting. She had a rough night and has some rough days still ahead, but she’ll be all right.”

“What’s in that bottle that . . . done her such harm, sir?”

“Morphine, in a syrup, that’s supposed to calm the nerves. Her doctor prescribed it, and she’s been using it for months. Once you start taking it, your body grows accustomed to it and wants more. When you refuse to oblige, your body rebels. I know because I relied on it for nearly two years, after I was wounded in the war. A friend saw what I was doing to myself and helped me stop. I’m sure I would’ve died if he hadn’t.”

“That friend be the sheriff, sir?”

Daniel smiled, nodding. “McPherson and I grew up together.”

“I thought I seen a kinship between you two, sir.”

Daniel removed the cloth from Josiah’s forehead and soaked it afresh in a basin of water. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m ’bout to die, but heaven ain’t sure they’s ready for me yet.” Josiah sighed when Daniel reapplied the damp cloth. “That feels good, sir. Thank you. I just so tired . . . my body feels heavy, sir. Like I’m ’bout to sink through the earth.”

Daniel watched him, wishing he could do more. “You kept saying something about a bell earlier. Do you remember?”

Acknowledgment showed in Josiah’s face. “I don’t remember sayin’ it, but I ain’t surprised I did.”

Daniel waited, figuring he would say more if he wanted to.

“You see my clothes anywhere, sir?”

Accepting the turn in conversation, Daniel looked around. He spotted some things set to one side of the tepee and recognized the leather pouch he’d picked up the night he found Josiah by the stream. “I see what was in your pockets, but I’m guessing your clothes are gone.”

“You see a pouch, sir?”

“Yes . . .” He rose to get it and pressed it into Josiah’s hand.

“Thank you, sir.” Josiah’s chin trembled, and several moments passed before he spoke again. “You read any of what’s in here, Mr. Ranslett?”

Having been tempted to the night he’d first found it, Daniel was glad now that he could answer truthfully. “No, I haven’t.”

Josiah held it out. “Take it.”

Daniel hesitated.

“Take it, sir, please. And you reads it.” Josiah nudged it forward. “When a man gets close to dyin’ . . . it be a comfort to have a body near who understands what his life was like. Leastwise a little. Makes him feel less like he’s by hisself.”

Humbled, Daniel took the pouch.

“You keep it and show it to Miz Westbrook, when she’s able. And whatever comes, if you need to . . . leave me behind, sir, I understand. Miz Westbrook, she an important woman. She gots her schedule to keep.”

“Miss Westbrook’s schedule is no longer her own, Josiah. And we’re not leaving without you—she wouldn’t have it.”

A brief smile touched Josiah’s mouth. “I sure would like to see them caves she talked about, sir.” He shivered. “Seein’ things from long ago still standin’ . . . gives me hope somehow.”

“I feel the very same way, Josiah. You just concentrate on getting well, and I give you my word, I’ll get you there to see them.”

Over the next three days, as Daniel alternated between caring for Elizabeth and Josiah, he read the frayed pages tucked inside the leather pouch, and quickly began to feel like an intruder. He’d even begun to hear the faintest inaudible echo of a woman’s voice as he read. The voice of the woman who had penned the words—only one woman, in his estimation, whose voice was penetrating, fragile with pain, and whose story he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know.

Judging from the journal’s personal nature, whoever had written it had probably assumed the thoughts therein would remain private, and with good reason. The handwriting was slow to read and difficult to decipher, and the words were written more from how they sounded rather than with the proper spelling. No dates were given, no names, and the pages weren’t in any identifiable order.

But telling by the tattered edges, Josiah had read them often.

Elizabeth stirred on the pallet beside him. Her eyes fluttered open. Daniel laid aside the page he’d been reading and held a cup of water to her lips. She drank the cup dry.

“You want some more?”

She shook her head, wincing. “I want my head . . . to stop pounding.” Her voice was hoarse from disuse.

He caressed her forehead. “It will . . . soon. And if it helps any, you’re through the worst of it now.”

Skepticism knit her brow. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“I promise, you are. In fact, I’m so sure of it”—he watched her—“that I’m willing to strike hands on it.”

She looked at him. Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you’d never strike hands with a woman.”

He shrugged. “I did. But . . . people change.” He offered his hand.

She stared for a second, then reached out. Her grip was weak, and he kept the exchange gentle, yet firm enough to make it real. She held on for longer than necessary, and a protectiveness rose inside him.

He spoon-fed her some lukewarm broth, and she gradually slipped back into sleep.

He picked up the journal page he’d laid aside, finished reading it, then pulled the next sheet from the pouch. His gaze fell upon the sentence at the top, and a tide of trespassing—and injustice—washed through him.

i iz maed to stande neked in frunt of him. he did not tuch me at furst. he jus luk at me wit thos eyez thae bern my sken. i tri not to shak but canot hol bak frum it. i pritende u iz tuching me but u wud not be ruf. i clen misef when he dun. i wan to tel u but he sade he kil u if i do.

Daniel winced at the scene forming in his mind. Disgust curdled the pit of his stomach. He smoothed a finger over the page where deep scratches from the quill had indented the paper, and only then did he notice that this particular page appeared different from the others he’d read so far.

It was nicer paper, heavier by the feel of it, a stationery of some sort. But absent of any embossment. He thumbed through the remaining pages and saw a few more sheets like it. He read on. . . .

peple in tha haus tel me he sint u a wey. it heps sum to no thaet but it stil herts. u r mi hom. i wil nevr b hom agin az longe az u r gon. i mis u. i luk fer u evre dae. wer did u go. if i canot git a wey from heer i think i will di. i prae i will di.

He turned the page sideways and read what was written in the margin.

this wuz a gud dae. he did not sho hemsef. thae tel mee he is gon for sum tiem an i iz hapie for it. the ladi of tha hous cal me to hr and ast if i wont to lern to rite. she seam hapie to lern i no sum aredi. the ladi iz nis. i liek hr.

Daniel stared at the words and felt his spirits lift. He didn’t even know this woman, and yet was glad she’d had a good day, after so many bad ones. She was a slave—that much was clear. And what she revealed on these pages shed a painful light on another side of a world he’d once thought he’d known.

i woek screemin. u iz stil gon. i luk fer u evre dae but du not se u. he wuz heer agin. he see me to an i node wat wuz in his minde. he tok me to tha wuds. latr i ast god wy he evr maed me. but he do not anser. i thenk he terns his hed bcuz it herts him to se. but he shud not tern his hed. he maed us an he shud fx us.

The words blurred. Daniel blinked, and the tear narrowly missed the page. It took him a moment before he could continue.

The next page was more crinkled, and some of the words were smudged.

i iz wit chile. i iz sik at first dae but beter az it gos. i hv not tole u yet. bcuz i am not shur it iz yur sed. i prae it iz or prae the chile diez insied me. The ladi of the hous cam an braut presnz todae. she got pritty eyez. i do not thenk she nos wat hr huzbend do to me.

Anger built inside Daniel swift and hot. He realized he was gripping the page and laid it against his thigh to rub out the crinkles, but the paper tore at the corner.

By the time he finished reading the last letter in the pouch, he thought he knew who the woman was in relation to Josiah, and wondered—if she was still alive—if she had ever given birth to the child.

Elizabeth awakened, feeling depleted in every way she could imagine. She wasn’t hungry, but her body craved something down deep, and she knew what it wanted. She tried to rise up, but pain shot across her forehead, forcing her back down.

“Hey there, take it easy.” Daniel appeared over her and she instinctively reached for him. His hands were warm, his grip solid. “They brought you some breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

Wanting to fill the voracious void inside her with something, she nodded and ate without asking what it was. “How’s Josiah doing?”

Daniel smiled. “He’s better. He got up and walked around yesterday. The Ute are amazed by him. Most of them have never seen a Negro before, and especially not a man like him.”

The Ute men and women she’d seen in recent days were friendly people, always smiling, and they were beautiful with their dark skin, hair, and eyes. She wished again for her camera in order to capture this world that was relatively unknown by
Chronicle
readers.

The consistency of the porridge-like substance was peculiar. It tasted unlike anything she’d had before, but she ate it with gratitude. She teared up thinking of that day at the Tuckers’ and how she’d responded to their generosity. She finished chewing and swallowed. “It’s not squirrel, but I guess it’ll do.”