Wild Innocence (13 page)

A noise woke Rachel at dawn. She listened to the quiet for several seconds until the sound came again. Then she got up and slipped on her dressing gown. As she left the privacy of her bedchamber, she encountered her father pulling on his robe as he left his room.

“Father, did you hear it?” she asked softly.

John nodded. Neither one knew what it was, but they were about to find out. “The noise is coming from the surgery,” he whispered. He reentered his bedchamber, and returned moments later with his flintlock pistol.

Rachel's eyes widened as she spied the gun.

Her father touched her arm as he walked past her. “In case the intruder is dangerous.”

An intruder?
Rachel wondered with mounting horror. She thought that perhaps it was an animal. What if it was a criminal or a murderer!

She followed her father closely as John Dempsey crossed to the door to the front rooms. They entered the sickroom, the chamber where Black Hawk had stayed during his recuperation, before they hesitated outside the doctor's surgery. The room housed John Dempsey's instruments and medical supplies, as well as a store of blankets, linens, and other bedding. Rachel and her father looked at each other before John pressed his ear to the door to listen inside the surgery.

A shuffling noise from the surgery filtered out into the sickroom. Rachel froze. Her father stiffened. Then, John straightened and placed one hand on the doorknob. With his other hand, he held the gun aimed and ready. He turned the knob and pushed.

“Stop!” he cried.

Rachel strained to see past him. Her father moved into the room. She gasped as she caught sight of the intruders. Indians!

She heard her father talking with them, and the strange sound of their native tongue as a warrior answered. When John Dempsey lowered the gun, Rachel sighed with relief. Ojibwa, she thought. She entered the room to get a better glimpse of the braves.

There were four Indians. One warrior stood stiffly in the center of the room. Two of the others supported the fourth, who was either injured or ill.

“Father?” She waited for her father's instructions.

“The man has been hurt,” he said. “We need to get him to the examining table.”

John said something to the Indians. The braves carried the injured man toward the bed.

“What's wrong with him?” Rachel asked as the warriors stretched out their friend.

“He's been shot.” The doctor rolled up his sleeves.

Rachel moved to the cabinet to extract the instruments and medical supplies they would need. “Like Black Hawk?”

She looked back in time to see her father shake his head. “By another warrior,” he said.

Rachel shivered. “I don't understand. One of his own kind tried to kill him?”

John lifted his gaze and locked it with his daughter's. “It was an enemy. An Ojibwa,” he said with meaning.

She was confused; then understanding dawned. She noted what she hadn't before ... the difference in these Indians' dress from Black Hawk's people ... the furtive way they kept glancing around as if they didn't feel safe at the infirmary.

“Sioux?” she whispered as she approached with instruments to where her father stood examining his patient.

“Yes.”

Her father's one-word answer chilled her. The stories she'd heard about these Indians since her arrival had been frightening. They had killed some of the missionaries here at Whitely's Mission. They had captured and held prisoner her father, her sister, her brother-in-law Daniel, and other members of his family.

The Indian had a head wound. John examined the area, and looked relieved as he glanced up. “The bullet just grazed him. I'll clean it and put a bandage over the injury. This brave should be fine.”

A warrior spoke rapidly and nudged the doctor. John replied slowly, carefully in the Sioux tongue.

“How did you learn their language?” Rachel asked her father when he had finished his conversation with the patient's friend.

“I learned enough to get by during my time with the Sioux, and a little more since then.”

“He seemed to understand you,” she said.

“I hope so.”

Rachel became aware that someone was studying her. She glanced over to find one of the Sioux warriors eyeing her steadily. She shifted uncomfortably. The brave's gaze was full of masculine appreciation as he continued to leisurely examine her.

The Indian said something to her. She stared at him, unable to answer.

“I don't know what you said.”

The brave spoke again. Rachel saw her father stiffen.

“Father, what did he say?” she asked.

His mouth tightened. “I believe he said that you are pretty.”

Rachel nodded; she'd recognized the thought behind that gleam.

The patient appeared slightly stunned, but otherwise fine once the doctor had cleaned and bandaged the wound.

“There is no need for this man to stay here,” John told her.

“Good,” she whispered. “These Indians make me nervous.”

Her father's wan smile told her that his thoughts mirrored her own.

Rachel cleaned up after her father, and had started toward the back rooms when the interested brave grabbed her arm. She gasped and nearly dropped the bowl she was carrying.

“War-chah'-wash-tay,”
he said.

Her heart began to pound wildly. When she tried to pull free, the warrior released her.

“I'm sorry, but I don't understand you.”

John spoke sharply to the brave. The exchange between them lasted several seconds. “He said that you are beautiful,” her father told her. He looked upset by the conversation.

The brave spoke again, gesturing with his hands. Her father reluctantly translated, “His name is Clouds-at-Morning.”

She blinked. “Clouds-at-Morning,” she murmured. “Tell him that's a nice name.”

“I don't think I should,” her father said.

The warrior said something else. The Indian crossed both arms over his chest.

Her father looked shocked. “Rachel, I think perhaps that you should go to your room.”

Rachel frowned, disturbed by her father's expression. “What's wrong?”

“Apparently, Clouds-at-Morning has taken a shine to you.”

“The brave wants you, I'm afraid.”

But she stood her ground. “Tell him I'm flattered but I don't need a man.”

Her father stared at her. “I can't say that.”

“Why not?” she asked.

The injured brave spoke, and suddenly all attention was turned on him. In a flurry of activity, the Sioux took their hurt friend and left.

“Why, they were in a hurry to leave!” Rachel exclaimed. Not that she wasn't glad. The last thing she wanted was a Sioux Indian brave interested in making her his woman.

“They remembered where they were. They knew they had to leave before the rest of the mission woke up and other people saw them here.”

“They're worried about the Ojibwa,” she said.

John nodded.

“They still fight as enemies?”

“Yes,” her father said. “They have been such for many years. It has been quiet these last months, but we know that is only a matter of time before there's trouble again.”

“Thank goodness they're gone! I didn't like the way Clouds-at-Morning was looking at me. Do you think they'll be back?”

“I think not, but I could be wrong.”

“Let's hope not,” she replied. “If it's so dangerous here for them, I don't understand why they came. The brave's injury wasn't bad, was it?”

“No, it wasn't, but perhaps they didn't know.”

“Well, I'm glad they're gone.” Rachel shivered and hugged herself with her arms. It was her first experience with Sioux Indians. She hoped it was her last.

 

 

A week passed with no return visit from the Sioux, and Rachel was able to relax again. She'd seen her sister twice in the last week. Amelia looked more radiant each time Rachel saw her. Although Rachel didn't particularly like her new brother-in-law, she had to admit that Daniel loved his wife. He did most everything in his power to make Amelia happy. He even acted civilly to Rachel—a woman he didn't much care for. She had to give him credit.

Amelia had invited Father and her for an early supper. Rachel had hoped to get over this afternoon to help her sister prepare for the meal, but she was kept busy with a group of missionary youngsters who had been playing a game. The children had gotten in a scuffle, and scraped their elbows and knees. Her father was out seeing a bedridden patient. There were now twenty families within the mission, and that included forty adults and seventeen children, but not the doctor and his daughter. Most of the children were older, near their teen years, but there were at least five who were under the age of ten. These girls and boys were forever injuring themselves at home or at play. This wasn't the first time that Rachel had cared for them.

Rachel enjoyed the light chatter of the boys after she'd done her best to clean and bandage their wounds. She loved to watch the girls argue with these young males. Their teasing and false exclamations of horror had her stifling smiles of amusement as each gender tried to get her to take sides.

“My knee looks more horrible than yours,” one girl said.

A boy grunted. “Does not.”

“Jason, Mary, why don't you wait outside until I'm done with Samuel and Elizabeth,” Rachel told them after their continued argument looked as if it would become an out-and-out fight.

The two children did as they were told, but Rachel could hear them continuing their debate as they left the surgery and went outside.

Elizabeth Johnson gazed at Rachel with big round brown eyes. “Will it hurt?” she asked when she saw the salve in Rachel's hands.

“Not one bit,” Rachel assured her with a smile. She spread a thin layer of salve on the child's cleaned scrape. Elizabeth had her eyes closed, until Rachel announced she was done.

“It didn't hurt!” the little girl exclaimed with surprise.

Rachel's smile grew. “I told you it wouldn't.”

Elizabeth turned to her brother. “Samuel, she told the truth. She didn't hurt me.”

Samuel turned a wary gaze to Rachel. “But my cut is bigger than Elizabeth's.”

“Then I'll take extra care not to hurt it. All right?”

The child nodded, and Rachel went to work.

When she was done dressing Samuel's wounds and had sent the children home, Rachel straightened the surgery, then went to her bedchamber to dress. A clock on her dresser displayed the time as three o'clock. She hoped her father would return home so he could clean up and dress and they could depart for Amelia's house.

Amelia had asked them to come at three-thirty. As it stood now, they would probably be at least fifteen minutes late. Daniel would no doubt blame their tardiness on her.

She was ready at three-fifteen. Her father still hadn't arrived home, and Rachel decided that she would look for him. She found him at the first place she checked. He was at the Reverend Whitely's again, visiting with Allen Whitely, Will Thornton, and Rachel's newest good friend, Miriam Lathom.

Seeing her father through the window, Rachel knocked tentatively on Allen's front door.

“Why, Miss Dempsey! How are you today?”

“Fine, thank you, Reverend.” She smiled. “I'm sorry to disturb you, Reverend Whitely, but will you please send my father home? Tell him that Amelia is expecting us at three-thirty, and we're already late.”

“I'm coming, daughter.” John Dempsey appeared behind the good Reverend's shoulder. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Three-twenty,” she told him.

“Goodness me,” he said. “It's that late already!”

She nodded. “I would have come sooner, but I was doctoring the little ones again.”

Her father smiled. “What was it this time?”

“Same.” Her expression softened. “Skinned knees and elbows.”

“And Jason claimed to be hurt the worst?”

She chuckled. “Of course. This time he was, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing me say it. He says that all the time, whether it's true or not.”

Rachel said good-bye to the Reverend, then left with her father's promise that he would follow her shortly.

By the time the Dempseys were on the road to the Traherns', it was three-forty-five. When they arrived at Amelia's, Rachel guessed that they were forty-five minutes late. As they entered the house, Rachel's glance at the mantel clock confirmed it

The scent of roasting meat filled the cabin, making Rachel's mouth water. She heard her father's soft exclamation of pleasure, and knew that he was as appreciative of the smell as she was.

“We're so sorry we're late,” Rachel said as she hugged her sister. She saw that Daniel was seated on the sofa before the fireplace. Once again, she sensed his disapproval of her.
It's not my fault!

“Oh, you're not actually late,” Amelia replied with a smile. “I know Father. I said three-thirty so that you'd come by four-thirty.”

Her father chuckled. “You know me so well, do you?”

“Come in and sit down,” Amelia said after flashing a grin at her father.

“Can I help you in the kitchen?” Rachel asked.