Sarah's Heart (14 page)

Wolf laughed. “A
neigh or whinny is the loudest noise a horse makes. It’s more of a squeal. A
nicker comes from vibrations in the throat when the horse’s mouth is closed.
They also blow, snort and scream.”

“Scream? You made
that up.”

“No I didn’t. It’s
true, but you usually only hear that noise when horses are fighting. It’s not
pleasant.”

 
“Neither is having a war party pass so close,
especially when those braves might have been the same one who killed my
friends.”

 
His casual banter about horses annoyed her.
Any other time she might have found the exchange interesting, but not with
danger so near. How in the world could he be so relaxed? She took a deep
breath. “What do you suppose they’re doing out here?”

He shrugged. “The
only tribes I know that are native to this area are the Kansas and the Osage.”

“What about that
Pot…Potawee tribe you mentioned before?”

“Potawatami.
That tribe was resettled here by treaty.
Those were Pawnee who just passed. I suppose they might have ended up here the
same way, but they aren’t known for taking kindly to change. They might be
looking for revenge.”

“How do you know so
much about them?”

“The Pawnee have
always been enemies of the Sioux. The last I heard, they were living up along
the Platte River. But like I told you, the
government has a way of changing things.”

Right now, Sarah
wanted to change locations—to get as far away from the war party as possible.
She leaned out from the rocks and scanned the trail, her heart still pounding
in her ears. She turned to Wolf and let out another long breath. “I don’t see
anything. Do you?”

 
“No, but we’d best mount up and put some
distance between us and this place. I doubt the Pawnee will be back, but you
never know.” He cinched her waist with both hands and hefted her onto the
mare’s back.

Distance was a good
thing, she thought. “How far is it to St. Mary’s?”

“Since we’re sharing
a horse, it’ll take at least another day. Maybe we can find someone there
who’ll sell us another. It would get us to Independence sooner. I have a little cash…
didn’t you say you had some?”

“Maybe
ten dollars at the most.
It’s tucked inside a sock in my valise.”

He pulled himself
astride behind her, laughing. “Afraid I was gonna steal it?”

* * *

Something dotted the
horizon. As she and Wolf drew closer, Sarah recognized a settlement consisting
of two log buildings nearly identical in form, a few
lean-to’s
and a smattering of Indian lodges. Not far to the right stood a whitewashed
barn, and on a small hill behind the buildings, someone had erected a cross.
Workers with skin the color of Wolf’s toiled the nearby fields. Some passed by
on horseback, casting curious stares at her and companion.

“Are we here?” Sarah
asked. Her backside ached from riding for so long.

“Yes, welcome to St.
Mary’s.” Wolf reined Scout to a halt in front of the two large buildings and
slid to the ground. Stretching, he scanned the area. “This place has really
grown since I was here last. The church didn’t even have a roof or windows
then.”

Sarah
dismounted,
enjoying the feel of solid ground.She eyed a
sign identifying St. Mary’s as a Jesuit mission and tribal headquarters, then
turned her attention to another marker. “Church of the Immaculate Conception,”
she read. “Hmm, what do you suppose is in the other building?”

“A school, I
imagine. It wasn’t here the last time.” He tied Scout to a nearby hitching
post. “I’ve always found that white folks with religion have an overwhelming
need to educate people with red skin.”

Her head snapped
around. “That sounded a little harsh. I think teaching is a noble act.”

He crossed his arms.
“It might be, but when you’re living among Indians and the missionaries come
and tell you that everything you’ve been taught all your life is a lie, it’s
pretty upsetting to a child.”

“I suppose they felt
they were doing the Lord’s work.” Sarah’s defenses came alive.

“Is it your Lord’s
work to tell a young boy that he’ll burn in Hell if he doesn’t change his
heathen ways?” He untied Sarah’s valise and the bedrolls and walked back to
where she stood.

She swallowed hard.
“Surely not, because I don’t believe God would punish an innocent child for not
knowing the Bible. And do we ever really know it
?I
can’t tell you how many times I’ve wondered about all the different religions
based on that one book: Methodists, Lutherans, and Episcopalians. How can each
be so certain their belief is the right one?”

Dropping their
belongings on the ground, Wolf shrugged,
then
pointed
to the sky. “I worship the Great Spirit, who is the earth, the sun, the moon
and the stars. He is the sky, the wind, the crawling ant upon the ground. He
flies as a bird and growls as a bear. All are his creations, and it is from him
that we receive visions to guide us. That’s what I believe.”

 
“I am a Baptist… was a Baptist. I haven’t been
to church since my folks died. I still believe in God, but I guess I’ve been
angry at him for all the bad things that have happened in my life.”

“Is not your God
much the same as mine?”

Sarah nodded. “I
hadn’t given it much thought, but yes, it seems he is. Thanks for reminding me
that my life is still filled with good things.” She bent to pick up her bag and
handed him the rolled up blankets.

“Hello there,” a
voice drew their attention to the doorway of the mission. “I’m Father
Brouchard. May I be of assistance to you?”

“Father,” Sarah
called out, walking toward him with an extended hand. “I’m Sarah Collins and
this is my friend, Gray Wolf. We’re passing through on our way to Independence and hoped to
spend the night here, perhaps find someone who has a horse for sale.”

Wolf gave a friendly
nod, but remained silent.

“Welcome, my child.”
Father Brouchard made a slight bow. “You and your friend may stay as long as
you’d like. There are empty beds in the school where you can sleep, and tonight
you can break bread with me and the other priests, brethren and sisters.”
Despite his friendly demeanor, the padre viewed her with a raised brow.

Sarah imagined she
must be quite a sight—disheveled hair, unkempt clothes, her face most likely
smudged with trail dust—and traveling alone with a man not her husband. She
knew only enough about the Catholic religion to imagine Father Brouchard
reciting a “Hail Mary” on her behalf. She’d learned that much from her mother’s
explanation of an old woman back in Hannibal
who sat on her front porch fingering a long string of beads and invoking
saintly intervention for anyone who trespassed on her land.

Fidgeting beneath
the Father’s gaze, Sarah pushing a wayward strand of hair back up under her hat
and displayed a smile. “Gray Wolf saved my life. Indians attacked the wagon
train I was with, and I’m the lone survivor. It’s a long story, but I escaped
death only to be bitten by a rattlesnake. Had it not been for Wolf, I would
have surely died the second time. He’s been kind enough to invite me to
accompany…uh, escort me to Independence.”

“You must be new here,
Father.” Wolf finally spoke, stopping Sarah from rambling and allowing her a
breath. “I was through here about a year ago, and don’t recall seeing you.”

“I arrived in the
fall, just after the roof went on the church. My mission here is overseeing the
school, and I’m proud to say that the sisters teach over fifty Indian children
daily. We offer room and board to some, but most come from the nearby village.
It’s our hope that eventually settlers in the area will allow their young ones
to come to class, as well.”

“Sounds like you’re
doing a fine job, and we’re beholdin’ to you for putting us up for the night. I
know Miss Sarah is mighty tired of sleeping on the ground.”

Sarah smiled and
nodded. “And, as I mentioned, Father, we’re hoping to find another horse.” She
nodded toward Scout. “Wolf’s poor mare has been toting the both of us, when we
aren’t taking turns walking.”

Father Brouchard
cupped his chin in his hand. “Hmm, I’m not sure, but I believe I overheard
banter at the trading post that someone was looking to make a little money by
selling a gelding. You might check there. But it’s growing late, and perhaps
you’d like to wash up a bit before we sit down to eat.”

* * *

After a good night’s
rest, Sarah tended to her toilette. Sleeping without Wolf only a few feet away
had been strange, but Sarah bedded in the girl’s room and he in the boy’s.
She’d missed the gentle sound of his snoring.

Stifling a yawn, she
joined Wolf, Father Brouchard and the others for a welcome breakfast of bacon
and eggs. Days started early at the mission, with prayers being chanted by the
priests, while Indian children arrived from their village, greeting those who
resided at the school. Everyone appeared to have a purpose, and chores were
completed well before the morning meal was served.

 
After Sarah and Wolf ate and gathered their
belongings, Father Brouchard escorted them outside. “Are you sure you don’t
want to stay another night?” he asked. “You’re more than welcome.”

Wolf reached to
shake the man’s hand. “Thank you for your hospitality, Father, but we’re gonna
mosey down to the trading post and see about that horse. I’m in need of a job,
and the sooner we get to Independence,
the quicker I can earn money to pay off the balance on that land I told you
about during breakfast.”

“I understand, my
son. God go with you.” The priest turned his gaze to Sarah, “And you too, my
child.”

She smiled, her brow
already beading with perspiration in the warm morning sun. An Indian lad, a
miniature version of Wolf, led Scout from the barn. The long braids of the
moccasin-clad boy dangled just past his shoulders. He held his head high, his
chin jutting with the same pride Sarah had witnessed so many times in her
traveling companion. The only difference between the two, besides age, was the
hue of their skin and the youngster’s deep ebony eyes that proved his full
heritage—nothing like the hypnotic hazel ones that Sarah found so distracting
of late. Wolf had joked about stealing her money. If only he knew her real fear
was losing her heart.

At the sound of
approaching horses everyone turned toward a swirling cloud of dust climbing
skyward. Sarah’s heart quickened until she glimpsed the familiar blue coat with
gold buttons on the first two riders appearing from the haze. A cavalry troop,
maybe fifty strong, in two perfect lines, reined in their animals in front of
the mission.

While the rest of
the regiment remained astride, the ranking officer dismounted, removed his hat
and approached.

“Good morning,
Father Brouchard.
First Lieutenant Blandon Moore at your
service.
You might recall we passed through last month.”

 
Despite a seemingly pleasant disposition, the
officer’s eyes fixed a stony glare on Wolf. “May I ask your name?”

“Only
if you tell me why you want to know.”
Wolf stared back, his tone defiant.

The Lieutenant’s jaw
tensed. With narrowed eyes, he glanced over his shoulder. “Sergeant Flynn, you
and Private McCoy dismount and take this half-breed into custody!”

At the rigid tone in
their commander’s voice, the two men scrambled down, each grabbing one of
Wolf’s arms. Sarah gasped.

“Let me go, dammit!”
Wolf fought against restraint until they twisted his limbs so far behind his
back that his face contorted with pain.

Sarah cast a
pleading look at the priest, but instead of intervening, the man stood quietly
with his fingers interlaced and a look of apprehension on his face. Despite
detesting confrontation, she squared her shoulders and stepped forward. “Excuse
me, Lieutenant, but what’s the meaning of this?” The quiver in her voice belied
her courage.

He removed his hat
and raked a surveying gaze over her. “And who’s asking?”

“Sarah Collins. I’m
traveling with Mr….Gray Wolf. I’m sure you’ve made a mistake. There is
absolutely no reason for the horrible way your men are treating him.”

“Would that be
Miss
Collins?” His gaze rested on her bosom then moved to her face. She squirmed
beneath the undeniable hunger in his eyes.

“Yes.” Her voice was
terse. “Wolf has been kind enough to save my life and see me to my destination.
I would appreciate you allowing us to continue our journey in peace.”

Lieutenant Moore
frowned. “Traveling alone with a breed? Humph! I’m sure you would like to
continue…whatever it is you were doing,” his mouth formed a sneer, “but I
believe your friend is a thief. There’s a wanted poster floating around with
his picture on it.”

“Again, you are very
much mistaken.” She stood toe-to-toe with the Lieutenant in the wake of
the his
insulting tone. His intimated impropriety heated her
cheeks.