Jodi Thomas (20 page)

T
he next morning Chance was at the stream shaving when he heard Anna’s footsteps behind him. Her soft moccasins brushed the earth with a whispery, swishing sound. He turned and watched as she walked toward him, an inner glow alight in her eyes. Without a doubt she was the most beautiful woman God had ever created. The only thing that could’ve made her perfection itself was if the child she carried had been his. But Chance knew that would never happen. He’d sworn to find Storm’s Edge and kill him and Chance couldn’t do that if he allowed love in his life. But the way Anna smiled up at him made his heart feel like it was turning faster than a windmill in a tornado.

“You look like you’re feeling better.” She sat down across from him.

“I feel like I’ve ridden a hundred miles in the past three days. A strong wind would blow me over, but at least I’m alive.”

She had that funny way of looking at him with those forest green eyes that made him know he had to tell her the truth. Her words were light and conversational, but the wrinkling of her brow told him she needed an answer when she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were ill?”

Chance wiped the razor dry on his pant leg. “I didn’t want you slaving over me like you did all those folks in the hospital. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was twelve and I don’t need any mothering now.”

“Even though you could have died?”

Her questions were making him uneasy. “Could have. I figure I should have died eight years ago when my family did. The way I look at it I’m on borrowed time.”

“Tell me about your family.” She propped her chin on one open palm and watched him.

Chance hadn’t talked about his family in years, but her eyes were so full and deep. She was open for the first time since they’d met. How could he pull back and lose the easy comfortable feeling between them?

“My folks bought a farm in the Austin Colony; it’s probably not much over a hundred miles from here. Their land was beautiful. Dad planted apple, peach, and cherry trees all along the north side.” He looked away from her as he spoke as if looking into the past. “They should be giving quite a crop by now.”

“You still own the land?” She was shocked that someone who had his own farm would be roaming around the country.

“Sure, but I haven’t lived there since the raid. It was spring, like now. The smell of blossoms filled the air for miles, and the days had turned warm and, for a kid like me, endless. My mom sent me off fishing while she and my sisters did the wash. Dad was in the fields. I followed along behind the plow long enough to collect worms, then ran off, yelling about how many fish I’d catch for supper.”

Chance fell silent. He didn’t speak for so long that Anna thought he might not continue. Then his words started again, low and painful. “I heard Mom scream first, even before I saw the fire from the barn. I ran as fast as I could from the pond, but she was dead by the time I reached her. Her bloody body had fallen on top of the cradle with my baby sister in it. I ran toward my dad in the field just in time to see a group of Indians cut him down. I yelled like the devil when he fell. They turned toward me.”

Straddling the log she was sitting on, Chance looked into her eyes now filled with sympathy. How many years had he wanted to tell someone who cared, who looked at him as Anna did now? The day had haunted his dreams, stacking his peaceful moments with the promise of death. Now, as he poured the nightmare into the open, it somehow lessened his pain. The pictures of that day were as clear as if they’d happened yesterday and not eight years ago.

“There were twelve, maybe more, Comanches. A huge, young brave was the leader. I’ll never forget how he looked, his face filled with blood lust and a white streak running through his hair like a lightning bolt through the midnight sky. They were all on horseback and I was just a kid standing there without a weapon.”

He glanced at Anna; her eyes begged him to finish. “They rode past me at full speed. One swung his club. It slammed into my face. The next jabbed a spear into my back. I fell flat in the freshly plowed field and the world went black, like all the light just melted out of my sight. They must have thought I was dead, because when I woke up, they were gone.”

“Will you ever go back to that farm?”

Chance shook his head slowly, as if he doubted his own words. “Someday I will, maybe after I’ve fulfilled a promise I made that day. I’m going to kill Storm’s Edge, the Indian who murdered my parents, and until I do, nothing else can matter. That one goal kept me alive through my parents’ funeral, through the years at the mission, through the hard nights on the trail.”

“But how will you find him?”

“If he’s somewhere in Texas, our paths will cross again. I ask about him. That streak in his hair is a brand most folks remember.” Chance folded his shaving gear pouch and smiled at her frown. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you that cabin of yours built and the first crop in before I move on.”

“I’ve been thinking about the cabin.” She wanted to change the subject, wanted to see the anger and sadness pass from his eyes. “I have a few ideas.”

Returning to their camp, Chance downed morning coffee as she told him all about how she wanted the cabin built. They spent the day talking and resting. As evening settled in, Anna moved into Chance’s arms. He held her against him, savoring the feel of her next to him and careful not to upset or frighten her.

By the time dawn touched them again, they were stronger. He woke her with a light kiss, and to his pleasure, she smiled up at him as she opened her eyes.

“Morning, beautiful.”

Anna brushed the hair from his forehead. “Good morning. How do you feel?”

He wished he could tell her how he was truly feeling at that moment, but he knew he’d frighten her. “I’m starving.”

“You’re cured.” Anna laughed. “Let’s ride down to the settlement and eat a huge breakfast.”

Chance pulled her to her feet and for a moment they stood facing one another with only a breath between them. A hunger grew inside him that had nothing to do with food.

She looked away first. “I’ll pick up everything while you saddle Cyoty.”

He stood there for a long moment before he moved, forcing his emotions under control.

A silence fell between them as they cleaned up camp and rode to town. Yesterday there had seemed a million things to say, but today both were lost in private worlds of thought.

An hour later they both noticed a strange quietness as they rode through the town. No men sat on the benches outside the stores, no children played. The streets were as deserted as though it were midnight, yet the sun boiled down upon them.

“What’s happened?” Anna could feel the uneasiness in the air.

Chance shook his head. His first thought was that the fever had struck everyone, but if that were true there would be some sign. The town doors stood wide open; the corral gate was swinging in the hot wind. No horses were tied up in front of the town café and it was almost lunchtime.

Urging Cyoty into a trot, Chance headed toward the immigrant camp. What if the townspeople had turned on the new arrivals for bringing the fever? He doubted if there were ten among the ragged tent group who could even defend themselves.

As they rode nearer, they suddenly heard shouts. Coming closer, he saw a group of angry men gathering in the center of the huddle of tents.

Chance circled the group, then slid from the saddle and pulled Anna down next to him. “Stay here. I’ll see what the problem is.” He could see the fear brightening her eyes and for a moment all he could think of was his need to hold her.

The shouts come again—angrier, louder.

Chance pulled her close and whispered, “Stay with Cyoty; I’ll come back for you.”

There was no time for discussion; Chance jerked his rifle from his saddle and hurried toward the voices. Their shouts were growing into a roar. He’d heard a mob voice before, and the language did little to change the hate that was airborne and far more contagious than any fever that mankind ever knew. He could almost smell the madness that all would participate in and for which none would claim responsibility.

Walking between the men toward the front of the gathering, he noticed many of them seemed to be arguing among themselves. Most were speaking German. Chance didn’t understand their words, but their angry shouts hurled hate toward the heavens.

Moving forward, careful not to shove anyone lest they turn on him, Chance saw John Meusebach standing alone in the center of the group. He was a huge redheaded man who faced his problems straightforwardly and honestly, but as Chance neared, he saw only worry in the leader’s eyes.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Chance slung his rifle over his shoulder in plain sight of everyone.

Slowly, John nodded. His voice was low. “Best back away. This isn’t your fight.”

A man several feet away yelled, “Ya, Texan, stay out of this. We aim to hang this man, and there isn’t one thing you can do about it.”

Looking at John, Chance saw no fear in the strong man’s eyes, only sadness. “They blame me for the trouble the society’s in.”

“But . . .”

John shook his head and moved closer to Chance as he spoke. All eyes seemed to follow his every move. “I’ve tried to talk sense into them.” He lowered his voice. “I’m about out of wind. If you’ve got any ideas, now would be a grand time to express them.”

A voice from the crowd bellowed, “Get back, Texan. We’ve got a hanging to do.”

“No!” Chance stepped in front of John. “You folks are half-sick and crazy from disappointment right now. John Meusebach is working night and day to try and keep this settlement going. If you kill him, you’d be cutting your own throats.”

“Stand aside or get ready to hang with him!” someone shouted. Several others yelled their agreement.

With reflexes born of the need to survive, Chance raised his rifle. In the length of a gasp, he fired above their heads. Every man in the crowd leaned back as if struck by the shot himself, and a sudden silence fell over the group.

Before anyone could move, Chance lowered his rifle and pulled his pistol from his holster. “There’s not going to be any hanging here today, but I won’t make the same promise about a shooting.” He pointed the gun at the crowd. “There must be some among you who see the injustice of what you’re about to do. If so, come and stand beside John, now, before your countrymen make you a part of their crucifixion.”

For a moment no one moved. All eyes seemed to be on Chance’s gun, and no one wanted to be singled out of the crowd.

Finally, Chance caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Carl Jordan stepped from the others and stood beside Chance. “The Texan is right,” he said, then repeated the words in German.

Chance had never liked Carl more than he did at this moment. The young carpenter, with his white-blond hair and rounded shoulders, stood tall.

Slowly, like reluctant sinners at a prayer meeting, men stepped forward to stand beside John. Chance let his grip on the pistol relax as he saw several turn away in anger. They would console one another in private, without the mob to enhance their bravery.

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, John patted Chance on the shoulder. “Thanks,” he whispered and raised his hand to the others. “I wanted to tell all of you who are able that tomorrow we’ll be loading wagons for the first group that wants to go claim Fredericksburg.”

Chance didn’t care anything about founding a town named after some prince in Prussia, but his hands ached to hold an ax. The first logs would be laid for the cabin by May. As his thoughts turned to Anna, he spotted her auburn head moving through the crowd toward him.

Anger melted in his face as he saw her excited smile. “Tomorrow,” she said, laughing, as she stepped between John and him.

Chance heard the click of a rifle just as her hand touched his arm. Looking over her head, he saw sparks fly from a gun barrel sticking out between two tents.

“No!” he screamed as he lunged toward Anna. A puzzled look crossed her face an instant before the blast hit her.

Anna’s body jerked, and she twirled as if someone were spinning her around in a dance with death.

Chance folded his arms around her a moment after the blast, but he was too late. He pulled her with him to the ground, but the bullet had already hit its mark. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt, and her head lay against his chest as it had so many times in sleep.

“Anna!” He holstered his gun and wiped her blood-splattered cheek. The dark red liquid seemed everywhere. He pulled her close. The smell of blood overpowered the light fragrance of spring that always surrounded her. The memory of blossoms and the burning cabin mixed from his past to multiply his pain. He pulled her close, refusing to see the blood, refusing to smell death’s perfume.

John was above them shouting orders like a ship’s captain in the middle of a storm. Men ran to do as he bid, but Chance couldn’t make his brain understand the words. Part of him wanted to grab Anna and shake her for not staying where he’d told her, and part of him was bleeding with her from a wound long hidden but never healed.

Someone grabbed his shoulder. “Chance!”

He didn’t want anyone else around. He could take care of himself, and he could take care of Anna. He jerked his shoulder away.

“Chance.” The voice was softer but still persistent. “Can you carry her to the doc? We have to hurry; she’s losing a lot of blood.” There was a pause. “If not, give her to me and I’ll carry her.”

Shaking off John’s hand, Chance answered defiantly, “I’ll carry her.” He stood, Anna in his arms, and walked, blind to everything but the pain in his heart.

T
he old doctor tried to shove Chance from the tiny examining room. “Now you wait outside while I take a look at your Anna. You can hear every word I say to her through the door.”