Earthbound: Science Fiction in the Old West (Chronicles of the Maca Book 1) (7 page)

“Why have you not listened to us?”

Anna's woman's cycle had ended. Her clothes smelled. The tent reeked, her body was a mass of bruises, her hands were swollen, but healing, and still she glared at them.

“Do you promise to act like a human being?” It was the dark-eyed white woman.

“Vhat does dot mean?”

“You will be given to one of our warriors and never speak to the one that came with you.”

“He ist mein sohn.” There was no mistaking her words. “I vill not such a promise make. God vould punish me. I vill not go mitt von of your men. Du are all savages.”

This time they left Anna lying on the ground with both her ears cut off. Blood streamed down both sides of her face. They had not killed her as they were not sure she was sane. Her hair had turned white overnight. Women did not fight as she had when the warriors raided the ranch. Women were to run and hide. Women accepted what men decided for them.

“If she lives, the Great Spirit wills it. She will become a slave. Let her be. She will remain on starvation rations. Sane people soon eat.” The old woman led the others out.

Anna crawled over to the cattails and split two down the middle and then held them against the sides of her head. The white woman had stayed just long enough to translate.

She stopped at the tent flap before leaving.

“Stop being so stubborn. You can have a good life here. My man doesn't beat me like the one in my other life. All of the men here ain't like him, but most are.” Pride was in her voice. “They got a really good way to live. It's just different. Just remember, you caint ever talk to that boy you called son. He has another name and he likes it here.” She stepped out into the sunshine.

Anna had tried not to hear her words. How could Daniel like it here? Didn't he remember any of her lessons, her hugs, her blessings, her prayers, the joy of sitting in church, and at the holiday family dinners?

She felt dizzy, her stomach ready to heave, and her chest was hurting. It was the heartache of losing all of her God-given children. She would not give in to their pagan ways. She was Christian. She prayed she would be brave enough to hold onto her faith in Christ. Anna collapsed on the fur pallet one of the other women had left.

The next morning another woman entered the tent. Anna was still asleep, her face flushed with fever. The woman set the water jug and bowl of food down and backed out of the teepee. There was no need to wake this mad woman. Maybe she could be the slave of her family. Her warrior was a brave hunter with many coups.

A discouraged Kasper Schmidt returned to the Rolfe ranch house where his wife, Gerde, and son, Hans, were waiting for him. Dirty, rough workmen's clothes and boots comprised his outfit. His features, his carriage, his speech all seemed ill-suited to any hard toil. While he had been in Arles, the town's women had looked at him with approval; rough clothes and boots made no difference to their lingering eyes. He was a handsome man, standing five feet and ten inches when most men were at least three inches shorter. His shoulders were broad, his features straight, the mouth firm, and a small cleft split his chin. The dark mustache was luxurious and glossy.

When the word of the Comanche attack on a small ranch in Texas reached the Schmidt's in St. Louis, he had not been surprised. Anna was his twin. He had known she was in mortal danger that summer of 1854 when he doubled over in pain at the parochial school where he taught. His frantic search for information from Texas was futile. Who should he write to beside an unknown lawman in a town called Wooden, Texas? No one knew. His father was too busy with his new family and farm to pursue a lost daughter and her children. Their father felt that all had been murdered by the wild men of the West. Kasper had decided then that he must go to Texas to look for Anna and her children. He knew it was not Christian, but he had always disliked that cold, arrogant man she had wed. He felt honor bound not to read the letter she had given him when she left until he was certain she was no longer living.

The pastor in St. Louis had mentioned that a former parishioner had been a hunter and a trapper who had moved his family to a ranch in Texas. The man still did hunting and tracking on the side. Rolfe's partner was serving as a scout for the 2
^nd
Dragoons. Perhaps both men could help in locating his sister. Kasper had eagerly written down the name, Herman Rolfe and his address. He had written to Rolfe with the offer to hire him as a guide to the town of Wooden. Perhaps they would discover or detect something at his sister's burned homestead. Gerde insisted that she and Hans travel with him.

“What if you never return from that wild place? We are your family.”

She was very efficient in packing what they needed. Kasper had spoken wildly of a new beginning, perhaps even farming his sister's farm. Gerde set her lips in a straight line. Her brown eyes smiled only at Hans and Kasper. She was quite aware of the wild schemes Kasper could propose when he was really a teacher or a pastor by nature. The latter was too late for he had married her before finishing school, but he was more than qualified for any teaching post. She would make sure he stayed on the right path.

Rolfe had met them in Arles. Gerde had been horrified at the primitive buildings, the rough men, the streets of ruts, mud, dust, and a whorehouse but one block off the main street. She refused to stay in that sinkhole of iniquity with their three-year-old son. Worse, there was no Lutheran church and no one who spoke Deutsche. Rolfe had solved the problem by suggesting they stay with Mrs. Rolfe and their two children. Mrs. Rolfe was in the family way and needed someone there. She, like Gerde, did not like the town of Arles. Gerde would act as midwife and defray part of the cost of searching for Anna and her children.

Wooden had been a terrible disappointment for Kasper. A plantation owner by the name of O'Neal with the lilt of Ireland in his speech had shown them the Lawrence's farm and two graves.

“We buried two of the children there. Tis said the Methodist preacher came out to say their prayers for the dead”

“Which two did you bury?” Kasper found it difficult to get the words out.

“There was but one girl in the family that wild, redhead of a daughter, and she's buried there.” He pointed at one of the graves. “I can't say which one of the older boys it was. The baby they took.”

“Comanche don't kill redheads. They avoid them. Young girls they take.” Rolfe had objected.

“Sure, and someone forgot to tell them that. Maybe it had something to do with Lawrence.” O'Neal had sneered on the surname. “One of my hands saw him talking with the Comanche before the attack. He probably set it up. No good Yankee bastard. Why else would they kill a young lass and not the man? We didn't find a trace of him. I've heard he headed south towards Galveston.”

“Who told du dot?” Rolfe could see that Kasper was looking sick.

O'Neal stared at him. “You talk like she did. I thought he was the relative.” He jerked a thumb at Kasper.

“Gentlemen, please, what happened to my sister, Mrs. Lawrence?”

Both men looked at him puzzled. Who would ask such a fool question?

“They took her and the other boys. Do ye want a description of why?”

Kasper had turned white. “No.”

“Did anyvon trail them?” Rolfe was insistent.

“No, we had better things to do than go riding after them without any soldiers. Good day, gentlemen. My Christian duty here is done.” O'Neal mounted his horse and rode off leaving Kasper and Rolfe standing beside two graves set along a crumbling stone fence.

Kasper's voice was bitter when he spoke. “That man did not like my family. Do you have any idea why?”

Rolfe shrugged and spoke in German. “It could be because he considered them white trash. Southerners are that way. If you can't afford a plantation and a couple of slaves, you are white trash. If your brother-in-law had an education, that probably upset him too. He's what they call a 'Mick on the make.' He's not going to admit that his people had nothing when they arrived here.”

“Will it do any good to pursue this in Wooden?”

“No, they directed us to O'Neal. You must have noticed the man that owned the general store had the same surname, and the sheriff directed us to him. I think they pretty well own this corner of Texas.”

“But why is there animosity for Germans? O'Neal has a brogue.”

“Who knows why? Maybe he wanted this land. Maybe your brother-in-law made him feel inferior.”

Kasper had not understood then and he never understood their thinking or the prejudices in all the towns they went through. Men seemed to respect Rolfe, but were not particularly friendly when they heard Kasper was from St. Louis. Too many Yankees lived there. It was good to be back at the ranch where a certain amount of sanity ruled.

Gerde appeared in the barn doorway. “Welcome home. Mr. Rolfe, you should go in immediately. Your wife has given you another son.”

“Is anything wrong with either one?”

“Why, no, there isn't. Young James is a handsome young boy that looks very much like Mrs. Rolfe.” Gerde was staring at him as he turned back to the horses. He was as rough as the rest of the male populace. She addressed her next question to Kasper.

“Were you successful?” She knew they were not as Kasper looked dejected.

“No, mein Frau, we weren't. There was nothing but two graves and no information on the rest of the family other than Mr. Lawrence might have instigated the attack and had traveled south.”

Kasper dumped some hay into the manger, walked to his wife, and gently hugged her. Society forbade a more vigorous reunion in public.

“Where is Hans?”

“He is outside somewhere with Martin and Olga. I let them have a bit of play between now and chore time.”

All three walked into the house. Kasper paused to wash his hands at the basin set outside, but Rolfe hurried into the house.

Gerde looked after him with distaste. “I hope he is going in to see Clara. She and I have become good friends.”

Kasper smiled at her. “That is good news as I have decided to settle here.”

“What?”

“Yes, I used my inheritance from my Grandfather Zeller to buy five acres from Mr. Rolfe. The deed is filed at Arles. We will be to the north by two lots. I'm going to build a general store and livery stable for people traveling through here. A man in Arles has already bought two acres from me. If I sell the next lot, we will come out even on the land. The man bought the two acres that are next to Rolfe's home. He told me that he was moving his horseshoeing and ironworks business here as Arles already has two smiths.

“We stopped at the lumberyard and they are shipping the lumber and work crew here through Blue Diamond. They'll start building as soon as they arrive. I've drawn a rough sketch of our new store and home.”

“But, Herr Schmidt, there is no school here for Hans.”

Kasper smiled. “I intend to start one for extra income. I'll be teaching Olga and Martin for now, and Hans when he is old enough. Herman tells me that the older Tillman brother has a boy that is of school age and Ben Tillman, the younger brother, and his wife have two girls. Both are younger than Martin.”

Gerde was unable to say anything for a moment. She took several quick breaths while her mind tried to find a way to leave here.

“There is no Lutheran pastor or church.” Surely, that would convince Kasper.

“That is true, Gerde, but now we will be two families. We can apply to the Synod for a circuit rider to come through here. Some of the Lutheran churches in Texas are affiliated with the Lutheran Synod of Missouri.” Satisfied that he had met all her objections, hunger reasserted its demands.

“Is there something to eat now, or shall I just wait for supper?”

Gerde almost ground her teeth. How could the man be so considerate on one matter and so dense and inconsiderate on another? Still, she was the good Frau and she responded.

“Ach, ja, mein Herr, you must be starving. You can't have eaten decently during your travels. Come in, come in. I have some stew and biscuits left for you and Mr. Rolfe to share.”

Herman appeared in the doorway from the bedroom and saw that Gerde was setting out the bowls. “We could wait until supper. There's work to do. The ropes, extra saddle, and branding irons all need to be ready plus we need to clean out the saddlebags. If Mac can't make it, I'll be hiring a man to help with a cattle drive up to Chisholm in Indian Territory.”

Gerde looked with horror at Kasper and her voice lowered to a whisper. “Are you going with him?”

Kasper raised his eyebrows. “No, Frau Schmidt, I must remain here to see about our store, stable, and home. Mr. Rolfe needs someone far more accustomed to cattle than I am.”

He smiled at them. “However, if I can be of any assistance now, I gladly offer my services.”

Jesse Owens reined in his mule when he topped a small rise and looked around. He had seen smoke billowing several miles back and wondered who was out in this empty stretch of the Texas plains besides wild animals, wild cattle, wild horses, wild men, wild Indians, and occasional foothills of stone trying to be mountains. This was prairie grass with stands of juniper and scrub oak. Cottonwood and oak trees grew where water ran or percolated up in a spring, but it was too dry for good farming land. He'd seen what looked like maybe two ranches a couple of miles back, but this smoke was more than what came from a couple of stoves. It couldn't be a prairie fire as the smoke was fairly constant and remained in one place. To the east were several high bluffs, more prairie, and rolling hills. The hills became higher and carpeted with trees and continued upward into stone mounds that some might call mountains. They were too low to be like the mountains back in the South where his folks came from. When he looked southward he saw a settlement of three houses, a stable, and two other buildings. One had a steady stream of smoke and now he could hear the clanging of metal against an anvil.

“Well, now, maybe they have something liquid to offer a man.” His brown eyes lighted at the thought and he tapped the mule lightly and rode on down.

He dismounted in front of the building that had a sign proclaiming, “Schmidt's Corner.” The building had been whitewashed and the black lettering over the door announced this to be a General Store. It wouldn't hurt to see what they had. Jesse tied the mule to the hitching rail and entered.

A slender, dark haired man was emerging from what looked like a hall running back to a storage area. “Welcome, you are my first customer of the day.” Kasper smiled as both men took stock of each other.

To Jesse, Kasper looked more like a city person than someone out in the middle of Texas. Kasper's shirt was white and starched, he wore a grey vest, and dark trousers with shined, laced up shoes.

Kasper saw a medium-sized man, tending to the stocky side, dark hair and eyes, dusty, trail-worn clothes and boots. When Jesse removed his hat, it was obvious his hair was beginning to thin although he didn't look more than about thirty.

Kasper moved behind the counter. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I was hoping to find a drink, some beer. It's been a dry trip.”

“I do have beer, but it is by the bottle. Mrs. Schmidt prefers that you drink it outside.”

Kasper bent and brought up a bottle. “You're in luck. I still have a few left before the next freight load comes through.” He became a business man. “That'll be a dime since it would fill two mugs.”

Jesse considered. “I don't suppose there is a tavern here?”

“No, there isn't. I stock the beer because my customers want it. The other business is the Jackson's ironworks and blacksmith shop.”

Jesse fished in his pocket for a dime and came up with two half dimes. “I don't suppose you offer any food with that.”

“No, we don't as we aren't a tavern.”

“Do you get much traffic through here?”

“Not a whole lot.” Kasper hated to admit it, but he depended on travelers passing through, the two Tillman ranches, a few scattered small spreads, the Rolfe's, and MacDonald whenever the man chose to be in the area. He was thankful that Gerde had never upbraided him for settling here. The search for his sister had yielded no information. Rolfe wouldn't be back for another month and who knew when MacDonald would ride in?

“While our neighbors appreciate the fact that I stock the beer, my wife really doesn't like the idea. It brings in the rowdies.” He smiled. “They're not bad men, just young. Our home is in this building and we have a small son.”

“Do tell.” Jesse laid his change on the counter as Kasper opened the bottle. “Since you ain't overrun with customers why don't you step outside with me and tell me more about this area.”

“Gladly, I don't have any children for lessons today.” Kasper removed his apron and walked outside with Owens.

“If you wish to water your mule, the river is behind us. It's not too far and the water is free.” He smiled again. The elder Jackson was a taciturn man and Kasper enjoyed talking with people.

“I'll do that in a bit. I was wondering how much you do in the way of business.” He saw the quick flash of concern in Kasper's eyes.

“This looks like a good place. There's plenty of grass and water. The way you talked, you get enough business with the booze to upset your missus.”

“She'd like for me to give it up, but it is rather profitable and it keeps people coming into the store to buy their sundries here. We get the ranchers, any hands they might have, travelers going between here and the farm settlements further north. While travelers aren't many, there's enough to make a profit on the stable, plus the freighters stop here if it is towards evening when they arrive.”

“So you wouldn't object if somebody came in and put up a saloon.” Jesse winced as soon as he said the word, but why not? Taverns were considered old-fashioned places. He just hoped this Yankee wouldn't take offense.

“My name is Jesse Owens.” He shifted the bottle to his left hand and extended his right.

“Kasper Schmidt.” The two men shook.

Jesse took a pull from the bottle. “Who owns the land between here and the blacksmith and ironworks place?”

“I own the land back to the river on this side of the block up to the blacksmith shop. Herman Rolfe owns most of the land on the other side of the road. His ranch starts on the other side of the blacksmith's house and lot. Across the street a wainwright is planning to open a business and build a house. I was hoping to purchase the land across the road someday, but Mr. Rolfe has already seen the wisdom of dividing it up into lots. We intend to build a church on the other side, but a little farther north.”

Jesse stuck the information in the back of his mind that he had landed among a bunch of Dutchman.

“Mr. Rolfe has taken a small herd of steers up to Chisholm in the Indian Territory. It seems they knew each other while they were trappers. His wife, Mrs. Rolfe, is in the larger house at the end.”

“Y'all interested in selling that land?”

“What sort of saloon do you intend to open?”

Jesse scratched at this scalp under his hat and took another swig while he considered.

“Well, it'd be a small-sized one. Just a regular place where a man could come in, buy a beer, and play a game of cards. Y'all know, like the corner tavern in a big city; a place to get away from the missus and kids for awhile and relax.” He assumed Kasper would find the opportunity a plus since he'd mentioned having a son.

Kasper considered. “As long as it isn't a rowdy place with women, I think it would be an excellent addition to Schmidt's Corner.”

Jesse eyed the man. This one was definitely different. He had a strange sounding name and he was talking like a scholar, plus he seemed to have a bunch of highfalutin morals. It wouldn't matter. Jesse couldn't afford to bring in women. He'd be lucky to afford putting up the building and a smaller place in back to live.

“Suppose we came to an agreement, where can we make it legal like?”

“We could go to the courthouse in Arles. It's the county seat. There's a Justice of the Peace and a Notary there. It takes about four and one-half days to get there. They also have a lumberyard.”

“Well, now, suppose we talk about price?”

Kasper smiled. “The lot is yours for fifty-five dollars.”

“Can y'all make it fifty? Of course, that's after I look at this river to see if there'll be water enough.”

“I believe Mrs. Schmidt and I will accept that. Right this way.”

They walked around and behind the store. He doesn't want to bother his missus, thought Jesse. The walk led to an open space of about forty feet from the river.

“Why is everything set so far back?”

“In case the river floods, we do not have to worry about the damage it could do.”

“Who owns that shack across the river?”

“That belongs to a Mexican family. They were there before I arrived. They have a cow and the woman raises some vegetables. They have a little girl named Olivia.”

“They ever cause any trouble?”

“Why would they?” Kasper was puzzled.

Jesse shrugged. “Y'all never know with a Mex. Does he do any work?”

“Once in a while Mr. Rolfe or Mr. MacDonald will hire him.”

“No complaints from them about his work?”

“I've not heard any. They wouldn't hire him again if it wasn't what they wanted.”

Jesse nodded. He figured he could hire the woman to do some cooking for the saloon. He'd been on the road long enough. It was time to settle down and plant some roots.

“Will this Rolfe have any objections to a saloon?” Jesse realized that a man with a wife or kids could object if the man let his wife browbeat him into doing something to protect the morals of their children.

“Why, no, I don't believe he would. He would probably be one of your steady customers when he is here.”

Jesse smiled widely. “Mr. Schmidt, you've just made a sale.”