Holding on to Heaven (21 page)

She glanced to the rifle propped against his left shoulder¯the one he used moments ago to kill Mason and Estelle.

Their eyes locked again, and while she trembled beneath his bold perusal, he remained as stoic as a marble statue. With a flick of his wrist, he set his warriors into motion. Racing toward the outbuildings, they lit the torches in their hands, their bloodcurdling screams nearly bringing Lauren to her knees.

The hostile looked down at her aunt and uncle before capturing her gaze again. Although terrified of the hatchet he held in the air, she stepped in front of Estelle and Mason's bodies, refusing to surrender to mutilation of her loved ones. A brief flicker of admiration passed through his ebony eyes before he lowered the hatchet and gave a brief nod.

Shots near the corral drew Lauren's attention. Sweeping past the dark warrior, she fled down the steps, intent on stopping the bloody carnage playing out before her. A scream tore from her lips and she clutched her throat when blood arced and streamed from a massive wound in Adobe's neck. Her beloved horse fell to his stifles and then hit the ground on his side amid a cloud of dirt.

Pink froth bubbled out of Adobe's muzzle, delivering Lauren into a frisson of hysteria. Flinging her body against the nearest black and white paint, she pummeled the red man's legs with her fists. The horse reared and bucked, hurling his rider into the air.

In the back of her numb mind, peals of laughter roared around her, and then a voice. "This one is not afraid. She attacks her enemy like the mother bear defending her cub!"

The disgruntled brave rose from the ground and charged, his face a mask of fury.

The same voice called out again. "You will not kill the brave white woman!"

A rifle butt slammed into the side of Lauren's head, the red-hot pain pitching her forward in slow motion. White lights exploded behind her eyes and her vision blurred. Darkness converged like a black veil.

* * * *

From the window upstairs, Nelly cradled little Finn in her arms and watched the scene unfold. When Lauren tumbled to the ground clutching her head, she felt the room close in.
Lawdy, what's I gonna do?
She looked down at little Finn and sent a prayer skyward he'd sleep through the bone-chilling screams.

Clutching him to her breast, she ran to Estelle's room a level below and ripped the bed sheets from the bed. She placed Finn on the mattress, tied the sheets together, and secured one end to the leg of the dresser. Inching the window open, she tossed the sheet out, and rushed back to the bed to pick up the sleeping child. In the harsh light of day, the ground below seemed miles away, yet she wouldn't allow herself to think about that now. With Finn tucked under her arm, she climbed onto the dresser and then rappelled down the side of the house one agonizing foot after the other.

By the time her feet touched solid ground, another round of wild shrieks blistered her ears. With Finn in her arms, she fled as though Lucifer had risen from below to hunt her down. Reaching a dense thicket of sumac near the back of the house, she paused long enough to catch her breath and then sprinted into the forest, fearful the red men would search the house and yard soon.

Nelly quaked behind a dense copse of birch until Finn awakened. Hungry and wet, he launched into a wailing jag. "Be still, little one. They is bad men in these woods. Ya don’t wanna let 'em know where we is."

Finn looked into her face and bawled louder than a coon caught in a trap. Forced to return to the house for dry clothes and food, she pulled the crying child to her bosom and set out. Avoiding the small trails, she kept to the underbrush and prayed God would make them invisible.

* * * *

Lost in daydreams, Biddle reclined on the bank and watched his line drift lazily across the stream. After the first shot rang out, he jumped and cocked his ear in the direction of the house. Another shot split the air, then another, and another. He left the pole dangling in the water and came to his feet. Intuition and a lifetime of listening to his gut-feelings alerted him trouble brewed at the ranch.

He wheezed and coughed as his arthritic bones hobbled toward home, the distant echo of screams ringing in his ears. Creeping up on the back of the barn, the hint of a southerly breeze fanned his sweaty brow and then his stomach churned when Miss Lauren attacked a red devil on a spotted horse. Misery washed over him when a man on a pony slammed a rifle against the side of her head, followed by his loud moan when his missus toppled forward and hit the dirt.

A strange voice from the porch said, "Do not strike her again. She will bring gold from the French traders."

Biddle's heart sped into a triple beat and the meal he'd downed hours ago threatened to leave his stomach.
Lord above, help me, what's I gonna do?
He glanced toward the porch and clasped his head in his hands.
Miss Estelle an' Master Mason looks like they is dead.
His gaze drawn to the commotion, a savage grabbed Lauren by her long hair pulled her onto the paint. Biddle clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out and his knees shook. Slumped against the devil's brother, her head bobbed like a rag doll's before Lauren and the heathens vanished into the woods.

An hour passed before Biddle moved. Torn between helping Massah Mason and Missus Estelle and saving his own neck, he prayed to his Lord and Master for strength. He looked to the woods and back to the porch countless times, and nothing had twitched, not a hair, not the trees or the bodies.

Numb with terror, Biddle crept to the porch and stood over them. A rush of air escaped his lungs when Estelle's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He picked her up, laid her on the bench and knelt beside Mason. The man was dead. A blue cast tinged his skin and blood oozed from a wound in his chest. He felt for a pulse before dropping his ear to the man's chest and then he prayed for a heartbeat.

Wringing his hands, he talked to no one in particular. "What should I do? Master Brand is gone and the baby... where's the baby!"

Biddle climbed the stairs choking on his gizzard, terrified he'd find Nelly and Finn with their heads smashed in. Upon entering Estelle's room, he puzzled over the white sheet hanging out the window.

He stuck his head out. "Nelly, ya down there, girl? Nelly!" Met by silence, he crept to Lauren's room. Finding it empty, he crossed himself. "I hopes she gots away with that child. I dunno how I is gonna s'plain this to Master Brand."

Moments later, he stood on the porch again and lifted Estelle from the bench. The red barn loomed in sight. The process of carrying her up the narrow ladder to the hayloft went on at a heel-dragging pace. He laid her on a pile of straw and returned for Mason. Breathless from his endeavors, he dragged the heavy-set man to a spot behind the barn and laid him out between two large bales of hay.

Shivers claimed him when he glanced to the house—so still and empty of the usual laughter and joy, familiar sounds that had warmed his heart since his arrival. He scanned the property. The outbuildings blazed and the horses lay in crimson pools of blood.
Someone will see the smoke. Please, Lord, send someone to help me.

Biddle left the back side of the barn, grabbed a pail of water as he passed the well and hoped Missus Estelle would still be alive after he climbed the ladder again.

His patient babbled incoherently as he tore his shirt in strips, dipped them in the cool water and placed them inside her shirt over the wound.

He tried to comfort her amid a trail of tears streaming down his cheeks. "Hush now, Biddle is here, an' ya gonna be all right. Sleep now, we is gonna wait for Master Brand."

Biddle had tended wounds before, but never near the breast of a white woman. It made little difference now; he had to stop the bleeding. He unbuttoned her blouse and set about dressing the wound, thankful the bullet had passed clear through. While fashioning a splint with strips from his shirt, meaningless words fell from her lips. When she finally lapsed into peaceful slumber, he rose and looked out the door of the loft. The buckboard and carriage were nothing but ashes and what few horses had lived, pranced about the corral, their nostrils flared, their eyes wide with terror.

He couldn't leave Mistress Estelle and he couldn't carry her across the country. Biddle slumped to the ground beside his mistress and for the first time in his life, felt miserably alone and helpless. Images of Miss Lauren raced through his mind. He loved her like one of his own, had fretted and fussed over her since the day she arrived in the world. He thought about what the heathens would do to her and shuddered.

* * * *

Through the trees, Nelly spied the cupola on top of the barn and breathed a sigh of relief.
Praise the Lord, ya is still standin'.
Although terrified of what she'd find upon returning home, she knew she couldn't stay in the woods forever. The Indians would be sure to find them with Finn raising a ruckus.

"Shush, baby," she whispered. "We is home."

Nelly entered the yard, closed her eyes briefly and fought back tears. A dozen horses lay dead, shot at close range and pummeled with arrows. Adobe rested in a dark pool of blood, his eyes open and staring at the sky.

"Why those devils have to shoot the dumb beasts?" She shook her head. Clutching the baby to her breasts, she scurried past the poor wretches. She stumbled across Hank's body and then came upon Justus. "Lawd, Almighty, is they all dead and gone?"

The barn door creaked open and, expecting a blow from a tomahawk at any second, Nelly held her breath.

"Lawdy, Nelly! They done took Miss Lauren an' rode off to the woods! She ain't dead, but close to it I s'pect. Master Mason, he dead an' Miss Estelle, she bad off. I cleaned an' dressed a bullet wound to her shoulder an' she done got a large lump on her head. What we gonna do, Nelly? Master Brand, he gone off to New Ulm an' don’t know how bad off we is."

Nelly placed a finger to her lips. "Hush now, Biddle. All that fussing, they sure to come back an' kill us. Now what you sayin' 'bout Master Mason?"

Biddle scratched his head. "He dead, I done told ya. I put 'em out back, hid 'em in the hay so they don’t find 'em when they come back. Miss Estelle, she in the barn, knocked out again. Blessed thing. What she gonna say when she find out Master Mason done died?"

Nelly placed her fingers to her forehead. "Go to the kitchen an' get bread. Then pull that crock up from the well an' bring milk for little Finn. He powerful hungry. If'n we don't get some food in 'em, he be raising more hell than those red devils. Go to Miss Lauren's room. Get dry clothes an' blankets. Go on now."

Biddle did her bidding, returning with everything she'd asked for. He closed the barn door, latched it from the inside, and climbed the loft again. Finn had taken his fill of soggy bread before he fell asleep in a pile of hay, and Nelly paced the loft with her finger in her mouth.

The hours crept by and darkness arrived at the ravaged land of Full Circle. The only light in the loft came from a tearful moon traveling across a gray sky. Estelle floated in and out, called out for Mason, and Biddle prayed.

Nelly snuggled up to little Finn in the soft pile of hay and wondered what would become of Lauren.

* * * *

Brand reckoned by morning, the earth in all directions would feast upon the blood of the innocent. He forced his mind to focus on the task before him. Reason told him if the savages hadn't found Lauren and Finn yet, they would if the massacre wasn't stopped.

He rode in the wagon, his alert eyes locked on the surrounding terrain, his rifle over his knees. Thick, black smoke billowed above the treetops east to west, north to south and drifted skyward. Reflecting on the morning, he tried to recapture the serenity that claimed him while devouring the scenery surrounding Full Circle.

Mostly, he thought about Lauren.

Approaching the outskirts of New Ulm, all hell broke loose. Horses screamed. Shot from their saddles, riders fell into the hands of savage warriors. Columns of natives surrounded them on all sides, blocking the road ahead. Beside Brand, Harvey Bates, slapped the team into motion and broke through their ranks. Through a haze of smoke and gunfire, Brand jumped from the wagon and returned to the fight, firing at any man or beast adorned with war paint.

Friends he'd known for years littered the forest floor, their bodies riddled with arrows. A trio of braves rushed him. A shot from Brand's pistol rang out and one fell to the ground with a gaping wound to his abdomen. Another he dispatched with his knife, but not before the red man carved out a deep gash in his forehead with a tomahawk.

Pain shot through his thigh and branded his brain. He looked down at the arrow jutting from his leg and tore off the shaft before the third warrior tackled him.

Locked in a deadly grapple, Brand struggled to shake the enemy from his body, his strength dwindling with every passing second. When the blunt end of a hatchet smashed into his ankle, the sickening sound of splitting bone rang in his ears. With one final thrust, he drove his knife into the man's chest and then breathed a sigh of relief. The red man fell on top of him, dead.

Banshees screaming their victory cries echoed around Brand, and moccasins too numerous to count sped past him. Exhausted from the fight, his body numb with pain, he closed his eyes and grew still until they passed.

Deafening silence found him long minutes later. He pushed the dead body from his chest and clawed his way into the nearby underbrush. Fearful they would return to finish him off he stifled the moans clogging his throat.

Several hours later, he crawled toward the river, the pain in his ankle robbing him of sane thought. The rapid sound of the current pounded in his ears. He had to make it to the water. Even the creatures of the forest had grown silent. He imagined them crouching in terror after the brutal invasion of their sanctuary.

He couldn't walk and his head throbbed like a geyser about to erupt. A massive oak limb lay within hand's reach to his left. Grabbing onto it, he pushed it with his good leg, and man and branch rolled down the embankment. He twisted and writhed, soon rewarded by the soothing cool water engulfing him.