Bittner, Rosanne (16 page)

She pinched the edges around the soft, raw crust of a pie, deciding that if and when God intended for her to have a child, she would have it, and that was that. Life with Luke, in spite of the dangers and hardships, had brought her more happiness than she ever dreamed she would have after the agony of her rape and the terrible loneliness that had followed; and she was glad that in turn, she and Nathan and all the other children she would have could help fill the emptiness Luke had known before meeting her.

She glanced over at Nathan who was piling up some blocks Luke had made for him. Katie crawled over to where he played and promptly knocked over the little tower. Nathan pouted and scolded her, then began showing her how to stack them up again. Lettie's attention was drawn from their play when Pup began barking and Jim knocked on the front door.

"I think he's comin', Mrs. Fontaine."

Lettie hurried over to the door and opened it. Jim pointed to the east, along the road that led to Billings. Pup, who seemed to gain a pound a day, bounded from the porch, out toward the road, and back again, still barking excitedly. "Horace rode out to greet him," Jim told her. "Paint was comin' in slow, and it looks like Luke was kind of slumped over, like he's hurt."

"Oh, dear God," Lettie muttered, stepping farther out onto the porch. She could barely make out horse and rider, but it did indeed look as though Luke might be hurt. She waited anxiously. It seemed to take forever for Horace to reach Luke, and she thought how in this land nothing was as close as it seemed. Whatever landmark a person picked, it took twice as long to reach it as one would estimate. Finally Horace reached him. He stopped for a moment, then dismounted and climbed up onto Paint behind Luke. "Jim, he
is
hurt. Horace is getting on Paint in order to hang on to Luke. Go out there and see if he needs more help!"

Her chest tightened as she waited and watched helplessly. Jim ran to the bunkhouse and mounted his own horse, yelling out to Zeb Crandal to get back to the house. Zeb was mending a fence several hundred yards down in the valley and was able to hear Jim only because the strong wind carried Jim's voice.

The wind. The constant wind. She remembered how it almost drove her crazy that first winter. Now she was so used to it that she hardly noticed it anymore, except on days like today, when the sight of her wounded husband reminded her how quickly one could get hurt and die out here. The land was so beautiful, and at the same time so cruel. A hundred things could happen to a man out hunting alone—flash floods in spring, drought in summer, ravaging cold in winter, wild animals... Indians. Had Luke been attacked by the Sioux? Was he dying? Was he dead already?

She reached down and petted Pup, who jumped up on her, tail wagging. He was already proving to be a good watchdog, guarded the children fiercely, slept on the front porch every night like a sentinel. "He'll be all right, Pup," she said absently, more to assure herself than the dog. She turned and went inside, ordering Nathan to take all his blocks into the bedroom he shared with Katie and to keep the baby in that room out from under people's feet.

"What's a matter, Mommy?" he asked.

"Daddy might be hurt. You be a big boy and help Mommy by staying out of the way."

The boy's lips puckered and his eyes teared as he hurriedly picked up a handful of the blocks and carried them into his room. Lettie did not have time to comfort him. She hurried into the bedroom and pulled back the bedclothes, then grabbed some clean towels from the washroom and set them on a table near the bed. She brought a wash pan from the bathing room and set it, too, near the bed, then checked to be sure the kettle of hot water sitting on the stove was full. She threw some more wood under the burner and said a quick prayer that whatever was wrong with Luke, it wasn't life threatening.

Zeb came riding up to the house then on his sturdy black mare. He was a short, hefty man who always wore buckskins and seldom shaved, a hard worker who spoke little. "What's wrong, ma'am?"

"It's Luke. It looks like he's hurt. Jim and Horace rode out to help him."

Zeb dismounted and tied his horse, then walked to the other side of the garden at the east side of the house. The three riders disappeared temporarily behind a stand of pine trees, then came into view again. Jim was leading Horace's horse while Horace remained on Paint hanging on to Luke. Finally after several minutes that seemed like hours to Lettie, the men made it to the gate at the east entrance to the drive leading to the main house. Lettie ran partway out to greet them, then struggled not to gasp when she saw Luke. The May weather was warm enough to go without a coat, but the wool jacket Luke had worn was still on him, although in shreds. Every stitch of clothing was soaked with blood, and more blood had crusted on the side of his face. He looked white as the snow that lingered on the surrounding mountaintops.

His eyelids drooped when he looked at Lettie. "I'm... all right," he muttered. "...grizzly." His eyes closed then, and he started to slide from Horace's hold.

"Oh, my God," Lettie groaned, trying to help catch him.

"Don't you be strainin' yourself," Horace told her. The slim man was having trouble holding up the much bigger Luke, and Jim quickly dismounted to help. Zeb grabbed

Luke about the waist and Horace dismounted then. The three men carried Luke up the hill and into the house, laying him on the bed as Lettie instructed them to do. She quickly poured hot water into a the dishpan beside the bed and asked Jim to keep an eye on the children, while Horace and Zeb helped get off Luke's gun belt, boots, pants, and shirt.

For a moment Lettie froze, just staring at the deep claw marks on her husband's body and one side of his face. He had lost a lot of blood, and her first thought was that if the wounds didn't kill him, infection might. There was still no doctor in Billings that they could send for. There was no one but herself and these two men to help, and they could only act on instinct and what little they knew about what to do for such wounds.

"You all right, ma'am?" Zeb asked. "We can tend to him if you want."

"No," she answered quickly. "I'll do it." She struggled against an urge to scream and weep. "I'll just need you to stay close by, help me turn him over after I get the front of him washed."

Both men saw the terror in her eyes. "In all my years, I've known the Indians to use moss to help against infection, ma'am," Horace spoke up. "It can work pretty good. Once we get him cleaned up, I'll ride up and down the streams, check out the north side of some of the pine trees and such, see if I can find some. We can use it to pack against the wounds."

Lettie swallowed, thinking how just minutes ago she had been so full of resolve, baking bread and pies, sure they could survive here after all. She had been worried about an Indian attack, but it was a grizzly that had nearly taken her husband from her. Luke had just written his father to tell him about the beautiful place where he had settled, that he had a wife and two children and another on the way. He was so happy and proud to be able to tell his father how well he was doing.

She wet a towel and laid it gently against the wounds on his chest to soften the dried blood so she could wash it away. His eyes fluttered open for a moment, and he smiled at her. "I still have... a lot to learn... about living out here... don't I?" he tried to joke. He grimaced with pain then.

"We'll learn together, and we'll make it, Luke," she assured him.

"Meat. I left... a nice buck... and a dead bear... up by Turtle Creek." He looked at Horace. "Take Zeb... try to salvage some... of the meat... before the wolves get it all. We'll need it... this winter."

Horace nodded. "We'll see if we can find it. Just don't you worry about it, Luke."

Luke closed his eyes again. "So much... to do. I can't... lay here too long."

"You'll lie here as long as it takes for you to be completely well," Lettie scolded, needing desperately to cry. She couldn't now. She had to be strong. She suspected Luke had no idea just how badly he was wounded. She gently washed away some of the blood, and already she could see signs of infection, a deep red in the skin along the line of the cuts.

Dear God, don't let him die,
she prayed inwardly. She turned to rinse the towel, shivering at the sight of blood swirling in the water as she wrung it out... Luke's blood. He had shed blood in the confrontation with the outlaws. Now he was shedding blood again, all for this land he was bent on calling his own.

Lettie lay listening to her husband's deep, steady breathing. Silent tears slipped down the sides of her face, tears of joy as she inwardly thanked God for giving Luke's life back to him. After eight days of terrible suffering, his fever was finally gone, and he seemed to be healing; but for the rest of his life he would carry scars from the grizzly attack.

It seemed that life out here was nothing but a succession of joy and sorrow. For the moment she was just glad she had hung on to her baby despite watching her husband's agony. Horace had planted the potatoes for her, as well as a few vegetable seeds. He and Zeb had retrieved a good share of the bear and deer meat and most of it had been smoked for preservation and was hanging inside the stone smokehouse.

Life went on. Spring wildflowers bloomed everywhere, the children were fine, and Luke was sleeping peacefully by her side. Just yesterday Luke had mentioned that Perry Ward should be back from Oregon any time to let him know what kind of deal he could get on cattle from there. Next spring he would start building a herd, and the thought of it was helping him heal and get back on his feet. She hoped he would hear something from his father, prayed the man would show at least a little interest. That would make Luke so happy.

The thought made her realize she owed her own parents a letter. One thing was certain, her letters to them must be food for wonderful entertainment, describing what life was like here in Montana. Now she would be telling them about how Luke had been attacked by a grizzly. At least Paint had not been hurt or killed. Luke loved that horse.

She quietly rose, walking into the main room and getting some paper and ink from the drawer of a fine pine desk Jim had built for her. She thought how Will had done a good job of finding help for them. He was a good friend. She would tell her parents about Jim and Zeb and Horace... and the fact that a third grandchild was on the way.

She sat down at the desk and dipped a pen into an ink well. "Dear Mother and Father," she wrote. She paused, a strange feeling of alarm rippling through her. Something was wrong, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. Quiet. Yes, it was awfully quiet tonight. Almost too quiet. She strained to listen, heard a couple of horses whinny somewhere down by the barn. She decided not to worry about it. After all, Zeb was keeping watch tonight, and Horace and Jim were close by in the bunkhouse. She returned to her letter, but she could not concentrate. Her chest tightened in fear then when she thought she heard a man cry out. It was such a short, quick cry, and so distant, she couldn't be sure.

She got up from the desk, looked in on Luke. She hated to disturb him. It was midnight, and he'd been sleeping well since about eight o'clock. This was the best he'd slept since being hurt. There was no sense in waking him up without knowing there really was something wrong. She walked to where Luke's rifle hung in a rack above the door and took it down. She cocked it, went to look out a front window, pushing lace curtains aside.

At first she saw nothing. There was just a sliver of a moon tonight, not enough light to see much. She set the rifle aside and cupped her hands at the glass to get a better view, wondering why, if Pup was out there, he had not barked at the strange noises she had heard. She thought she saw shadowy figures darting silently about. She remembered Will saying how quiet and stealthy Indians could be, and instinct told her it was not white men moving about out there. "My God!" she whispered. Where were Zeb and Horace and Jim? What was going on?

She leaped to her feet and quickly closed the wooden shutters over the window, then ran to another window to do the same, but too late. A log came crashing through it, wielded by a painted warrior who quickly jumped inside, cutting his leg on the way in but paying no attention to the wound. Lettie screamed and ran for the rifle, but just as she reached it a tomahawk swished past her, narrowly missing her and landing in the wall beside the rifle. She gasped at the thud, whirled to see three more warriors had come inside, wielding an array of weapons ranging from rifles to knives. She decided that to fight them could only end in death, and with Luke helpless, what would happen to her children then?

She stared wide-eyed at the wild-looking intruders, petrified, not for herself but for the children and Luke. Were Zeb and Horace and Jim already all dead? "What... do you want?" she squeaked, feeling ridiculous asking the question. From the look in their wild eyes, they wanted blood. Maybe they were here to carry her off and do horrible things to her, or to kill Luke for killing one of their own. One of them stepped forward, his face disfigured, part of his nose gone.

Half Nose! This was the one Will had told them about, a warrior feared by all whites and even some of his own kind.

"Lettie? What's going on?"

Luke! She could not find her voice when he appeared in the bedroom doorway. Surely Half Nose wanted him dead!

Everything happened in a matter of seconds then. Luke lunged for the rifle, but quickly three warriors were on him, beating him. At the same time Nathan and Katie came out of their bedroom, awakened by Lettie's screams and Half Nose's loudly barked orders. Lettie started to run to the children, but by then three more braves had come inside, and two of them grabbed her and held her back. Nathan ran to her, grabbing the skirt of her dress and beginning to cry, keeping his stuffed horse, which he still slept with, enclosed tightly in one arm. Katie began crawling across the floor to her mother, also crying.

Half Nose shouted another command in the clipped Sioux tongue, and Luke's attackers let go of him and let him slump to the floor, still too weak from his injuries and now from the reopening of some of his wounds, to put up any real resistance. One of the warriors grabbed the rifle out of Lettie's hands and Half Nose stepped closer to Lettie, his dark eyes drilling into her. She waited in frozen terror, sure he was here to murder all four of them. He looked down at Luke then, knelt in front of him and grasped hold of his hair, jerking his head up to study his bloody face. He said something to him then in the Sioux tongue, the words spit out bitterly. Lettie waited for the man to take out a knife and lift Luke's scalp, but instead he let go of him. He said something to one of the other warriors, who came over and shoved a rifle against Luke's throat.