Carolyn Davidson (18 page)

A rocky section of ground slowed his pace as he lost the trail, riding back and forth over the area. He scanned the surroundings until once more the double set of prints, partially hidden by scattered areas of shale, caught his eye.

Nudging his horse forward, he rode into a grove of maples and up the gentle rise of a hill that was almost covered by the shade of taller trees. The rustle of a small animal in
the grass was loud in the silence, and his head turned quickly at the sound. From a nearby tree a robin sang and then was still once more.

Then from somewhere ahead of him the low sound of a whippoorwill caught his ear and, with a sixth sense, he recognized the call. He halted, his stallion stamping impatiently. Again the bird call sounded, closer this time, and Will waited. Through the trees ahead, the gliding form of Many Fingers approached, his torso almost naked, leather leggings and moccasins his only covering as he came into sight. A long gun in his hand gleamed dully in the shadows and his eyes glowed with a barely pent anger.

He approached silently and spoke only when he stood at the head of Will’s stallion. “The man is in a cave just at the top of the next hill. He has tied Maggie inside.”

“Is she hurt?”

Many Fingers shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it. I think she’s asleep for now. I don’t see a way to get to him without…”

Will nodded. “Show me.”

The half-breed ran ahead, dodging between trees, and Will followed, bent over the stallion’s back to escape lowhanging branches, until they came to where the pony was tied. Sliding from his horse, Will looped the reins over a tree limb and checked his rifle again, before the two men headed over the crest of the hill and down into the small valley below.

Keeping to the shelter of trees, they moved silently ahead. After a few minutes they came to a vantage point from which they could see ahead, to where their quarry had gone to ground. Will peered intently at the place his friend pointed out, and then shook his head, unable to spot their prey. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to slits, looking once more beyond the overhanging trees
to where the side of the hill formed small pockets and hollows of rock.

There, where the sun cast a finger of light through a small clearing, he caught a glimpse of a pale garment. Then another movement caught his eye, and he watched as a horse shifted in the shadows within the small aperture. He looked inquiringly at the man beside him.

“We wait.” With no trace of indecision, the dark-skinned man issued the command, and Will nodded his agreement.

The sun moved across the sky, the shadows shifted place and the two men remained motionless, intent on the small opening in the rocky wall ahead. Then, just inside the overhang, the small figure on the ground twisted and turned with a sudden movement, and a soft cry echoed through the silence.

“Mama? Mama!” Maggie’s whimper carried to their listening ears, and the two watchers exchanged grim looks of apprehension.

“Hush, girl.” The rasping voice of the unseen man within the cave scolded the child, and then he appeared, just a flash of color as he pulled a jacket over a pale shirt and bent to speak to the little girl. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Just behave yourself and you’ll be fine.”

“Can you get a good hit from here?” Many Fingers asked, his words lower than a whisper.

Will shook his head. The danger of a ricochet was too much of a risk to take, given the rocky confines of the cave. Maggie was in no danger for now. He would not place her in peril with his impatience.

Once more Maggie called out. “Mama! I want you to take me back to my mama!”

“You behave yourself, hear me, girl?” Bennett Percival blustered, his attempt at mollifying the child a thing of the
past. “You’re gonna see your mama in a little while. You just stay here and be quiet, and when I come back, I’ll take you to your mama, you hear?”

Maggie was silent and unmoving as her father rose to stand over her. Leading his horse, he moved from the shelter of the cave and made his way down the rocky side of the hill to where a level spot allowed him to mount.

“Now?” Will asked, lifting his rifle to his shoulder.

Many Fingers shook his head. “He can still see Maggie. Don’t give him a reason to shoot.”

“I won’t miss,” Will said quietly.

“Wait.”

Will looked at his friend, lowering his gun slowly. “You want to do this yourself, don’t you?”

“Josephine is my woman. Maggie will be my child. It is my place.”

“If you shoot him in the back, you’re a dead man, my friend. You’ll face a lynching, sure as shootin’.”

Many Fingers shook his head. “I am not a fool.”

They watched as Percival rode past them at a distance, skirting the area where they waited, but without a doubt heading back to the farmhouse.

Moving quickly, the two men ran through the trees and climbed to the opening in the hill where Maggie waited. Her eyes alight with relief, she called out to them.

“Uncle Will! Tall Horse! Did you see him? He made me ride on his horse. Do you know my daddy’s a bad man?” Even as Will untied her hands and feet, Maggie spouted her anger, her tearstained face flushed with a combination of fear and fury.

“It’s all right, half-pint,” Will told her softly, hugging her to himself. “We won’t let him hurt you.”

“Where’s Tall Horse going?” Maggie said, peering over her uncle’s shoulder. “He’s running real fast, Uncle Will.”

Silently, black hair flowing over his shoulders, the lithe form made its way through the trees, disappearing from view in moments. Will stood, holding Maggie closely, unwilling to release her. “We’ll follow him, honey. He’s gone after the man who took you.”

“You mean my daddy?”

Will shook his head, his features grim. “He’s not fit to be your daddy, honey. Don’t call him that anymore.”

At a slower pace than he’d climbed the hill, Will made his way back. Maggie’s hand in his, he led the way through the trees, finally topping the next rise to where his horse waited below.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he told the child, lifting her to his saddle. “We’re goin’ home.”

“You might as well come out, Josie. You’re goin’ with me or you’ll never see hide nor hair of that brat again.”

From the rear of the corncrib the voice of the man she’d put her trust in, and who had betrayed her in the worst possible way, called her name. Josie shuddered, standing next to the kitchen window, her eyes red from weeping, her hands clenched tightly.

“I’ll have to go with him,” she whispered.

“Not on your life,” Cassie told her firmly. “He doesn’t have Maggie with him, and it doesn’t seem to me that his word is worth much.”

“You’d better skedaddle, Bennett Percival,” Clara called from the window. “My son will be on your trail before you can lay tracks.”

The man laughed aloud. “He’s probably in town lookin’ for me to take the afternoon train out of here. No way he could know where the kid is, Josie. You come with me now, and we’ll head out and get her.”

“What do you want me for?” Josie asked pleadingly. “You sent me away just a few weeks ago.”

“I got plans for us, woman. I decided you can earn me a bundle, one way or another. Come on out here, now.”

“I’m afraid for Maggie,” Josie whispered. “What if he gets impatient and goes after her?”

At that, Bennett Percival mounted his horse and appeared around the side of the corncrib, riding toward the house. “You’d better get out here, woman, or I’ll leave that kid to rot. You’ll never find her.”

Josie ran to the door and unlatched it, Cassie fast on her heels. “No, don’t, Josie! Will said to stay inside, no matter what.”

Josie’s tears fell in a torrent as she fought to escape Cassie’s hold. “I have to! He means it, Cassie! He won’t hurt me if I go with him. I’ll be all right.”

Tugging loose from Cassie’s grasp, Josie went out onto the porch. “I’ll go with you, Bennett. Let me saddle a horse first.”

He rode closer. “Just get on behind me,” he said shortly, offering her his hand to lift her. His eyes darted toward the house. “You in there, don’t plan on stoppin’ me.”

“The hell I won’t,” Clara vowed, stalking to the door. As Josie started down the steps to where Bennett waited, Clara lifted her shotgun. “Get back, Josie,” she shouted. Waiting only until her daughter dropped to the ground, Clara pulled the triggers on the double-barreled weapon, her target too close to miss.

The horse’s frightened whinny was shrill in the air, in sharp contrast to the utter silence of the man who fell heavily to the ground. A clatter of hoofbeats followed within seconds, and then the riderless animal halted in its tracks, shivering as blood ran from two or three places on his front quarters.

With a cry of despair, Josie covered her face with her hands. Clara stood stock-still, the smoking gun pointing downward, as if the weight of it were too much to bear. Her face was ashen, her eyes closed, as though unable to bear the sight of the damage she had done.

Cassie rushed past her, only casting one small glance at the man who lay crumpled on the ground, bleeding profusely, the ground a crimson pool beneath his head.

“Josie!” She fell to the ground and lifted Josie into her arms. She held her tightly against her breasts, rocking the slight form to and fro. “Josie, it’s all right. It’s over.”

From across the pasture a sound reached Cassie’s ears, a primitive wailing note, and then the form of a half-naked man, stretched out over the back of a pony, came into sight. “Look, Josie. Many Fingers is coming.”

She forced Josie to an upright position, blocking her view of Bennett’s body, and then, lifting her to her feet, urged her again. “Look! Josie!”

He was there. Sliding from the bare back of his pony and with one scornful look at the crumpled body on the ground, he strode to the woman he had vowed to cherish.

Clara spoke from the porch. “Where’s my baby? Is she safe?”

The half-breed nodded, his gaze intent on Josie. “Did he hurt you?” Guttural and rasping, his voice ground out the question.

Josie shook her head, her eyes opening as he spoke. “Maggie?” The single word was a question in itself.

“Will is bringing her. She was not harmed.”

Josie’s slim form slumped against Cassie, her head bowed, her strength seemingly at an end.

“Josephine, come to me.” In liquid tones he called her name, and she responded, her head lifting, her face radiant as he reached for her. He offered her his hand, much as
Bennett Percival had only moments before, and her response was immediate. Her slender fingers gripped his and he led her, mounting his horse before reaching with both arms to pull her before him, so that she sat upright across his thighs.

“Tell Will we have gone. Tell Maggie her mother will return to her later today.” His horse moved at the urging of his feet and legs and, carrying its double burden, set off toward the west, where meadows and wooded areas spread to the horizon.

The two women on the porch watched, stunned by the departure, by Josie’s ready compliance, and then looked at each other.

Clara recovered first, turning to enter the house, gun across her arms, heading for Will’s office, where the gun rack sat empty. “I can’t believe I pulled those triggers,” she said, shuddering as she looked at the weapon she held.

“Better that you did it than one of the men,” Cassie told her, following in her wake, unwilling to be alone in the presence of the dead man.

Clara’s movements were precise as she put the gun away. She sat down quickly in the chair before the desk, her hands visibly trembling, her mouth quivering. “I killed that man,” she whispered.

Cassie went to her and knelt before her, her hands reaching to enclose Clara’s, her fingers folding around the chill flesh. “You did what you had to, Mother. He deserved to die.” Her words were laced with bitterness—she spoke of Bennett Percival, yet in her heart the face she saw was that of Remus Chandler.

He deserved to die.

W
ith deep, shuddering breaths, Josie fought the tears her eyes begged to shed, blinking to clear her vision.

“Lean on me, Josephine,” the man holding her said quietly, and she obeyed, relaxing against him, absorbing his strength as he enclosed her within the cradle of his arms.

“Where are we going?” she asked, bewilderment alive in her voice. “There’s nothing out here except trees and the meadow, until you get to Eben’s place. Are you taking me to see Eben and Louise?”

He shook his head. “We have waited long enough for this, Josephine. Today I will make you my bride. There is a place I will take you.”

“Your bride?” She shivered as the word passed her lips, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at his fierce profile. “You’re going to marry me? Today?”

“Hush, Bright Eyes. We will be there in just a little while. Then I will tell you the way of it.”

They passed the edge of the meadow, riding beneath overhanging branches, the birds scattering as the pony made his way past their places of shelter. With a flash of pale color a white-tailed deer crossed in front of them, and Josephine’s eyes were wide with delight.

“Watch for a young one to follow.” His voice was hushed as he drew his mount to a halt. The underbrush crackled as a fawn broke from concealment and ran pellmell in pursuit of its mother.

Their eyes met, sharing their pleasure, and Josephine snuggled closer to the warmth of the man who held her.

He rode on, turning his horse into the wooded area, bowing low to protect her from the tree limbs that snatched at their hair. A gradual widening of the path he took led to a clearing in the woods, the sun in the afternoon sky casting shadows on a clear pool of water. Sliding from his pony, he lifted her from the horse’s back to stand before him.

She looked around the clearing and breathed deeply of the sweetness of flowers and grass. “I remember this place from when I was a child. My brothers used to come here sometimes. It seems different somehow.” The pony at her back, the man only inches from her, Josie was hesitant as Many Fingers remained silent, listening to her rambling words.

Then, taking a deep breath, as if she must recognize whatever purpose he intended, she turned to him. “Why did we come here? What do you want of me?” Her eyes wary yet unafraid, she faced him.

His hand lifted her chin and his gaze was dark with passion as he looked at the woman he desired. “I’ve already told you, Josephine. This is where you will become my woman.”

As if in a dream, she stepped from him, looking again at the pool surrounded by lush grasses, the scattered sunlight through the tall trees and the wildflowers growing in abundance beneath her feet. “I didn’t remember it being this beautiful here.”

“This is only a place, each part of it here for a purpose. The sky and sun to warm the water and bring the flowers
to bloom, the pool to lure the animals to drink and the grass to provide them with nourishment.

“This place is natural and right. You are the thing of beauty here, Bright Eyes. Our coming together here will be as it should be. A joining between a man and woman, vowing to spend all of their days together.”

Josie’s face flushed at his words, her smile a beguiling invitation to the man who had chosen her. The fluid melody he wove with his rich voice, the words he chose to describe the act of marriage brought a joy to her expression she hardly seemed able to contain.

He reached to touch his horse on the hindquarter nearest him, several words in a dialect Josie did not understand apparently urging the animal to move from where they stood. The pony nickered softly, walked to the edge of the water to drink, then turned to graze.

“Many Fingers…” Josie began, her words halted by his fingers against her lips.

“No.” He shook his head. “I will not be that name to you any longer. My mother gave me a white man’s name when I went to the white man’s school. She called me Jeremiah. No one else has named me that. I want you to say it for me. I need to hear it from your lips to see if it is right.”

She nodded and he slid his fingers to cup her face, brushing the hair from where it had fallen in tangled locks against her skin. His fingers laced through the dark tresses and he waited.

“Jeremiah.” It was a whisper of sound, and she blinked as she spoke it aloud. Then with a breath that sighed between them, she said it again, with a soft, crooning edge to her voice that made music of the simple name. “Jeremiah?” Her smile was tender. “I like calling you a name that your mother gave you. Will it be mine alone to use?”

“If you like,” he said. “If you want, I can be known as Jeremiah from now on. We can use my other name to follow it.”

“You mean what Maggie calls you? Tall Horse?”

He nodded. “If you like, I will be Jeremiah Tall Horse. It is my white man’s name.”

“You are still Indian, even if your father was not.”

“I will always be Indian, but I will live in the white man’s world with you, Josephine. It is my choice.”

“It may be a long time before the people in town accept you.” Her eyes were sad as she spoke the truth that would cause pain to both of them.

He bowed his head until his forehead touched hers. “I will be whatever I must be to have you, Bright Eyes. In my heart I will be Josephine’s warrior, no matter what name I am called.”

He turned her around until she faced the pool, his muscular body forming itself to her back. His arms surrounded her and she leaned against his warmth. Long fingers touched her dress, skimming the slender bones of her shoulders; and then, with surety, his hands formed themselves to the proud thrust of her breasts. She shivered at the pressure of his firm touch, her eyes closing as she leaned into his caress.

“These will feed my sons.” It was almost an intonation, a chant, his own eyes closing as he uttered the words.

With firm purpose his hands moved to spread across the width of her, reaching from one hipbone to the other, his fingertips brushing against the joining of her thighs.

“Within this space you will carry my sons, and together we will give them life.” His fingertips pressed deeper between her legs, a strangely passionless touch, yet filled with intensity. “And here,” he said quietly, “our sons will come forth and I will hold them in my hands.”

Her head pressed against his shoulder, and from beneath closed lids tears gathered and fell in a shower that only served to add radiance to her glowing countenance.

“Yes!” It was a whisper of affirmation.

Turning her again to face him, he tilted her head and bent to erase her tears, his tongue a gentle touch against her skin. “You cry for joy, my Bright Eyes?”

She nodded. “I know you don’t use the same words I do, but in my heart you have just told me of the love you feel for me, Jeremiah.”

“You are my heart.” His mouth moved to hers, and with whispering touches he kissed the lips he had only dreamed of possessing as his own.

With a fluid movement he lowered her to the carpet of grasses beneath them and his hands were gentle as he took her clothing from her body. His fingers were as water flowing against her skin as he wooed her, his words a strange blend of his native tongue and soft sounds she recognized. She was lulled by the caress of his voice, the endearments he spoke wrapping her within their embrace. He called her his dove, the brightest star of the dawn. He breathed her name, whispered that her scent was sweeter than that of the meadow flowers.

Beneath his touch she called to him, trying the syllables of
Jeremiah
on her tongue. Her hands traced the shape of his head beneath his dark hair as she told him of her yearning to be all he needed, all he would ever desire in a woman.

His kiss gave her assurance, his arms holding her as he told her she was more than he’d ever dreamed of, that her beauty was more than he’d ever expected to hold. He groaned his praises in scattered kisses against her face. “You are the desire of my heart, Josephine,” he said, moving against her.

Her tears of joy flowed as he joined them as one, his touch tender, yet powerful. Soothed by his crooning symphony of endearments, she offered herself to the gentle piercing of her body, her woman’s flesh opening to him, enclosing him in her depths and giving him the whole measure of her womanhood.

There, against the surface of the earth he revered, beneath the sun and sky he greeted each day with his hymn to the dawn, he made her his own, called her his wife and prayed for blessing on their union.

No matter that tomorrow might bring another form of marriage vows to his lips. It was in this moment that for Jeremiah Tall Horse, Josephine Tolliver became his bride. In his native tongue he vowed to the heavens above that he would cherish her for the days of his life. Upon the memory of his mother he pledged to protect her and give her sons of his loins.

He lifted his body above her as he offered his seed at the mouth of her womb, and his exultant cry was a paean of praise to the beauty of their coming together. Her name was a whisper on his lips as he lowered his body to rest against the slender form beneath him.

They blended, her soft parts giving way to the muscular frame of the man she had taken to herself in these moments. She held him tightly, her arms around his waist, her hands sweeping in slow measure across his flesh, fingers tracing small scars as she memorized the length and breadth of his back.

“Come,” he said finally, rising in one smooth movement and drawing her with him to stand in unashamed nakedness in the sunshine. “We will wash in the pool.”

“I can’t swim,” Josie said quickly, nevertheless following him to the edge of the water.

“No need,” he told her, his arm secure around her waist. “It is shallow. We only need go far enough to bathe.”

The sun was beyond the trees as they returned to where their clothing was scattered. The air was cool against their skin and Josie shivered, dressing quickly. Jeremiah knelt to help with her shoes and stockings, then rose to don his breechcloth. Folding the petticoat she had dried with, she turned to the man who watched her.

“I’m ready.” How she would face the family she had walked away from at this man’s command was not mentioned. When they would speak their vows before a preacher and where they would live together was not a matter for them to consider today. It was enough that they had done as Jeremiah Tall Horse had decreed. The wedding they must plan would be for others to observe. This time together had been for two people to share. And with that, she was content.

“Are you planning to put me in jail, Sheriff?” Clara sat at the kitchen table, her expression stoic, her shoulders squared as if she was willing to face whatever consequences she must.

“I don’t think so, Miz Clara.” Carl Mosley stood just inside the kitchen door, hat in hand. He and John Hogan’s boy had loaded the body of Bennett Percival onto a wagon from the livery stable and covered it with a canvas Will had found in the barn. “I doubt you’re going to run off, are you?”

Clara shook her head. “Been here for thirty years, Carl. I doubt I’ll be pullin’ up stakes anytime soon.” Her mouth tilted in a grim smile, but her hands shook as she knotted her fingers together in her lap.

Carl Mosley’s face held compassion as he looked at the
woman who was so obviously holding herself together with tenacious strength.

With a gentleness that appeared contrary to his authoritative demeanor, he explained the procedure he would follow. “We’ll have an inquest when the judge comes in tomorrow, ma’am, but I’m thinkin’ everything is pretty cut-and-dried. You were protecting your family. There’s not a jury in the country that would condemn you for that.”

Cassie’s hands rested on Clara’s shoulders, hoping her warmth would soak into the woman’s chill flesh. “Can I get your shawl?” she asked, bending to whisper in Clara’s ear.

“No, I’m all right. I’m just worried about Maggie. She hasn’t said a word, just curled up on the sofa and went to sleep. ‘Tisn’t natural, not to talk about what happened to her.”

“She’ll be all right, Ma,” Will said quietly. “Josie will tend to her when she comes in.”

“I don’t know why that man took her off that way,” Clara fretted. “She should have been here for Maggie.”

“Maggie had you and me and Cassie, Ma,” Will reminded her gently.

With a nod he signaled to the sheriff, and the two men left the kitchen. “Do I need to bring the women to town for the inquest?” He spoke in an undertone as they walked to the wagon.

“Your mother will have to be there, for sure,” Carl Mosley said. “Just as a formality, but the judge will want to talk to her. Where do you suppose the Indian took your sister?” He glanced at Will, his curiosity apparent.

“He said he’d be back soon. Wherever they went, Josie won’t be long away from her child. She’s gonna be anxious to get her hands on her.”

The sheriff mounted his horse and nodded at John Hogan’s
boy. “Let’s go, son. It’ll be dark before we get to town. We’ll need to bury this fella in the morning, I’m thinking. I doubt anybody’s gonna be lookin’ for him. No sense in puttin’ it off.”

“When will the judge be coming? I’ll bring my mother in whenever you say.”

Carl took up his reins, easing deeper into his saddle. “Probably after noon some time. Shouldn’t take long, Will. Sure is funny how things happen, ain’t it? Josie’s husband showin’ up and causin’ a fuss that way. Seems to me she’s better off without him, anyway.”

Will kept silent, nodding his agreement.

“There’s some good men in these parts who’d give their bottom dollar for a good woman like Josie. She won’t be a widow for long, I’d wager.”

Will smiled. “No, I don’t think she will.”

The death of Bennett Percival overshadowed all else, and the quiet wedding of Jeremiah Tall Horse and Josephine Tolliver took place without fanfare. The pastor of the Methodist church in town interrupted his morning’s study time to perform the ceremony, barely raising an eyebrow as the Tollivers gathered in his church for the brief ceremony.

The ceremony was simple. With a few words spoken over them, with a certificate the genial preacher signed with a flourish, and with the combined embrace of her family behind her as she spoke her vows, Josie became the legal wife of Jeremiah Tall Horse. That the real ceremony had taken place a day earlier was a secret they shared with no one.