Sarah's Heart (9 page)

Scout ambled over
and sniffed the woman. Wolf patted the Paint’s nose and spoke to her as he
would any other friend. “It’s all right girl, I’ve done all I can. Now we just
have to wait and hope it was enough. Let’s hope the mud works as good as the
Shaman’s drawing salve.”

After using the
reedy grass to wipe the excess muck from his fingers, Wolf searched the woman’s
bag for something to wrap around her leg. His hand grazed something cold and
metal and he withdrew a gun. “Look what I found, Scout. The lady’s armed.”

Curiosity clouded
his mind. What would a beautiful woman be doing all alone in the wilderness?
And dressed like a man? Could she possibly have survived the wagon train
massacre?

The scene crept into
his thoughts again, and he shook the dreadful images free. “No! No one lived
through that,” he yelled at the sky, still angry at the useless slaughter. It
would be just one more reason for people to hate him.

But where did she
come from? He gazed again on her beauty, knowing if she returned to
consciousness, she wouldn’t allow him within two feet of her. People’s
prejudice left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He quickly set about
binding her wound with the sleeve he ripped from another shirt. If she didn’t
live, she’d have no use of a change of clothing, and if she did, the ones she
wore could be washed. He had far more important things to worry about.

Wolf rolled her back
toward him, and cradling her head in his lap, he felt her forehead. Fever raged
beneath her alabaster skin. He lifted the canteen to her lips, trying to coax
them apart, but to no avail. Instead, the tiny bit of water he drizzled on her
mouth, tricked down the side of her face and onto his bare leg.

He tried again. This
time, her long lashes fluttered, and then opened to reveal eyes matching the
sky. Confusion furrowed her lovely brow.

“Molly, oh Molly,
it’s you.” Her words were a mere whisper.

Who was this Molly
person? Wolf wondered. He held his breath as his patient’s fingers caressed the
side of his face.

“I had the most
horrid dream that you were dead.”

 
Clearly her demons were fever induced, but her
silken touch disturbed him more than her delusional mind. He pulled her hand
from his face. “Who are you? What’s your name?” Perhaps he could find out where
she came from and help her get home.

“Molly, I don’t feel
so good. What happened to me?”

“Please listen,
lady.” Wolf peered into her eyes. “I’m not Molly. My name is Gray Wolf, but you
can call me Wolf.”

Maybe he was the one
suffering from delusions. Did he really think she was lucid enough for
introductions when she thought he was someone named Molly
?He
needed to take her back to his camp, where he could care for her properly. A
few herbs remained in his belongings—from his mother’s medicinal stash. Maybe
one would help reduce the fever. He particularly recalled the tribal medicine
man dosing the victims of Spotted Fever with willow bark tea. Luckily, Wolf had
some of the crushed powder.

He whistled for
Scout, rigged a makeshift rope around her neck, and then secured the carpet bag
to it. He stooped and tried to stand with the injured woman in his arms. In all
the excitement, he’d forgotten about his own wound, but the added weight served
him an instant reminder. He gnashed his teeth in agony, trying not to sag back
to the ground with his limp cargo. As he wrestled to get a firmer grip on her,
he locked his knees and straightened. A loud exhalation whooshed past his lips.
How did one mount a horse while holding someone in their arms? He studied Scout
and searched for an answer. Did everything have to be such a struggle?

Wolf gingerly draped
the woman over Scout’s broad back, then holding a handful of mane, leapt up
behind her and pulled her up into his arms. Her breathing was slow and even,
with each exhalation caressing his face like a gentle breeze. His heart
quickened at her amazing beauty. Maybe it was the difference in her skin and
those of the Indian women he grew up among. He’d seen white women before but
this one reminded him of a porcelain doll he once glimpsed in mercantile window
in Independence.

He heaved a sigh.
Why did he keep getting sidetracked? He nudged Scout forward and prayed the
ride back to his camp wouldn’t be the blonde one’s demise. If only she held on
a little longer, he might have something that would save her.

* * *

Wolf slid to the
ground and pulled her along with him, cradling her in his arms. She’d been
unconscious the entire way, and that was good. At least she didn’t suffer
discomfort. Staggering under the added weight, each step was a challenge for
Wolf, his feet sinking in the fine sand along the riverbank. He ducked beneath
the rocky overhang and sidestepped his way to his bedroll, kneeling there to
put his burden down.

“Molly, where are
you?” She called out again, her blue eyes clouded with fevered confusion.

Brushing
silken strands of hair from her forehead.
“You’re fine.” He used his most assuring voice. “Molly isn’t here, but
I’m going to help you.”

Her blonde head
lolled to the side again, and Wolf pawed through his belongings, looking for
the parfleche that held his medicinal herbs. He’d made a wise decision to leave
his belongings here until he found the wagon train. After all, this was his
home.

 
He found the small doeskin bag and crawled a
few feet away to the fire pit just outside. Reaching for a handful of dried
grass and bark from his stash, Wolf created a tinder ball in the middle of the
rock circle. With diligence, he continued striking a piece of flint against his
knife blade until a smoldering spark sent a small cloud of smoke spiraling
upward. Wolf bent and gently
blew,
watching the embers
brighten, then ignite into flames. He fed the small fire more dried reedy grass
and bark until it had fully blossomed, then added some larger pieces of
driftwood he’d found along the creek. With the fire crackling, he went to
water’s edge, knelt and filled a small cooking pan and returned to the pit. He
rifled through his medicinal parfleche, found the piece of cloth that held the
precious willow bark, and measured a small amount between his thumb and
forefinger then dropped it into the liquid. As soon as the water bubbled, the
fever-reducing tea would be ready. He scanned the area for his cup, wishing he
had some ground red elm bark to use as a poultice. He crawled to his tin coffee
mug and heaved a sigh. Would the herbal tea even help?

“Molly, Molly, where
are you?” Her voice sounded so weak.

Wolf inched back to
the fire and tested the water with his finger. Deeming the potion boiled long
enough, he dipped the cup into the liquid and filled it half full. He carefully
made his way back to where his patient lay.

“Here, try and drink
this.” He lifted her head, watching her eyelids flutter open to reveal a pained
stare. “It’s good, it’s going to help you,” he said.

The woman parted her
lips and sipped. At the taste, her face contorted into a shriveled mass. She
coughed.

“Oh, Molly, what is
that stuff?”

How much longer
would she continue calling him Molly? He put the cup to her lips again.
“Please, drink it all. It will ease your fever.”

She obliged,
finishing the pungent beverage,
then
pushed the cup
away. “My leg hurts so
bad
, Molly. It feels as though
a fire is burning….”Her lids closed and she lapsed into unconsciousness again.

While she slept,
Wolf prepared and applied another mud poultice to her leg. He bathed her
forehead with cool water and held her hand while she called out for someone he
could only assume was a friend or sister. He prayed to Wakan Taken that her
life be spared—his plea made only for the ‘the blonde one’. He didn’t know her
name, yet he cared if she lived or died.

 
Wolf’s eyelids suddenly felt leaden from lack
of sleep. He blinked rapidly, daring not succumb lest she need something from
him. He gazed at the horizon, at the beautiful shades of pink and orange left
by the descending sun, then back to the woman who slept on his sleeping mat.
The hues stole into the shadows and colored her cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, the
tea worked. He felt her forehead. Her skin seemed cooler to the touch, and she
wasn’t calling for Molly anymore. He ran a dampened cloth across her brow one
more time, then with a wide yawn, stretched out alongside her. It wouldn’t hurt
to rest his eyes for just a moment.

A scream jolted him
awake to pitch blackness. For a moment he forgot where he was, but then he
remembered. His groping fingers searched for the blonde one, but felt nothing
but an empty blanket. Damn, how could he let the fire go out? He heard a
rustling behind him. Was it her… or a critter? He reached for the knife at his
side, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

As his eyes adjusted
and moonlight filtered in to light the small cavern, Wolf saw her crouched
against the far wall. Her balled fists and wide eyes told him she was a
fighter. Slowly he inched his way toward her. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to
help you.” He totally forgot he had a knife in his hand.

Like a cornered
animal, she lunged at him, toppling him over on the sandy floor of the shelter.
“Get away from me you… you savage!” she screamed, churning up the ground as she
crawled beneath the overhang, stood, then crumpled into a heap.

Chapter Nine

Wolf leapt to his
feet and rushed to her side. Kneeling next to her, he released a pent up breath
at seeing her chest rise and fall. He pulled her into his arms, concerned that
she’d spent all her energy and may have undone the healing powers of his
medicine. He shook his head, wondering again why he cared. She was a complete
stranger to him. He didn’t even know her name. Great Spirit
forbid
,
what if she died. What would he put on a grave marker?

Her eyes fluttered
open then turned wide; the beautiful blue orbs clouded with fear. Lips parting;
she stiffened in his arms and took in a large breath. Before she screamed, he
placed a silencing finger over her mouth. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt
you. I found you by the side of the trail, suffering from snakebite. Do you
recall anything that happened?”

He moved his hand
away.

Her throat rippled
with a swallow, and she licked her full lips. “I do remember.” A tremor
quivered in her voice. “I was trying to mount a horse when I heard the rattle.
Before I could move… the snake…” She struggled to sit.

“Whoa!” He
restrained her. “Don’t rush things. I really mean you no harm. If I did, I’d
have left you just where I found you. I brought you to my camp to fetch
medicine to help ease your fever. If your hasty exit is any indication, I’d say
you’re on the mend.” He widened his grin, hoping to put her at ease and sensed
it working.

She studied him.
“You look familiar. Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so;
but I can tell you that I’m not this Molly person you’ve been calling me in
your delirium.”

She grimaced. “Molly
was my friend. She died.”

“I’m sorry to hear
that. Did she pass recently?”

“Yes, after the
wagon train was attacked, she and I were the only two left alive. I couldn’t
save her. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” A tear trickled from the corner of her
eye.

He shook his head in
disbelief.
“The Simms’ train?”

“Yes, that’s the
one. What do you know about it?” She stared at him, distrust shining in her
eyes.

“I must have just
missed you. I hired on to scout for the train, and after finding it in
shambles, I was sure no one could have survived. You are truly a miracle.”

She struggled to sit
again, and he helped, letting her rest against his shoulder.

“I’m sure you did
your best to save your friend,” Wolf said, grimacing in silence while trying to
ignore the pain of her elbow against his wound.

“I’m so very tired,”
she muttered, her head lolling to the side.

He lightly jostled
her. “I can take you back inside the shelter to lie down, but I sure would like
to know your name. Mine is Gray Wolf… well Wolf, mostly.

“I’m Sarah, Sarah
Collins.” She glanced back at him, her warm breath assailing his chest. “Are
you an Indian? You don’t sound like one.”

“That depends on
your point of view. Red skinned people don’t like me much because my pa was
white, and the pale-faced people don’t care for me because my ma was an Indian.
I’m what people call a half-breed. I’m sure you’ve heard the term. I guess you
could say that I don’t fit anywhere.”

“If I hadn’t noticed
your lack of clothing and your braids, I would never have known. Your English
is impeccable, and your eyes….” She turned her head, staring toward the
bubbling stream.

Wolf leaned out to
see her face, smiling at the noticeable blush in her cheeks.

Her stomach rumbled
nosily. “I’m mighty hungry, she said, clamping her arm across her belly. “I
haven’t eaten for a couple of days.”