Woman of Courage (8 page)

“Who there?” she called.

“It’s me, Mary—Buck.”

Mary breathed a sigh of relief, set the gun aside, and quickly opened the door. She was surprised to see Buck standing on the stoop, sopping wet, and holding a young woman in his arms. A bloody cloth was tied around her forehead, and she was dressed in a man’s clothes. Her skin was pale, and long yellow hair, matted with blood, hung down her back. What Mary didn’t understand was what such a fragile-looking woman was doing here in the mountains, or why Buck was holding her like a sack of grain.

Before Mary could voice her questions, Buck announced: “This woman is hurt, and she needs your help.”

“Come inside.” Mary opened the door wider. “Put her on bed.”

Buck followed her to a small room at the back of the cabin. The bed, which still seemed foreign to Mary, had been made by Jim. She knew that because the first day he’d brought her to this cabin, he’d told her so, and said the bed was off-limits to her.

“She your woman?” Mary asked as Buck leaned down and placed the white woman on the bed.

He shook his head. “Found her when I was out checkin’ my traps earlier today, but there was no sign of anyone else around. Didn’t think it’d be right to take her back to my place, so I decided to bring her here.” Buck swiped at the sweat rolling down his forehead. “Sure hope ya don’t mind, but since you know a lot about healin’ and such, I figured you’d know what to do.”

Mary drew in her lower lip, wondering what her husband would say when he returned to the cabin and learned about this. Would he have objections? Jim Breck could be a harsh man at times, but surely he wouldn’t throw the injured woman out.

“I do what I can for her,” Mary said. “You come back in a few days, alright?”

Buck nodded. “I sure will, but I’d like to stick around for a while. I wanna find out who she is and what happened to the rest of her party, ’cause I don’t think she would’ve been traveling alone.” He glanced around the cabin. “Where’s Jim? I didn’t see his horse in the lean-to.”

“He out checkin’ traps. Left early mornin’. You stay if you want. I need tend to woman.”

“I’ll sit at the kitchen table while you do that, and then I’ll go as soon as I know whether she’s gonna live or not.”

Mary gave a nod, and as soon as Buck left the room, she turned back to the bed. She hoped the pale-faced woman didn’t die because it would be kind of nice to have someone other than Jim and his faithful dog, Thunder, to talk to for a change.

Feeling a chill in the room, Buck picked up two pieces of wood lying on the floor and tossed them into the stove. Even though it was nearly summertime, it could still get cold here in the mountains, and since the injured woman in the next room had felt cold when he’d picked her up, he figured some heat might help take the chill out of her bones.

“Sure hope she lives,” Buck murmured, closing the door on the stove and going back to the table. If anyone could help the white woman get well, it would be Mary. He thought about how she had come to be Jim’s wife. Jim and Buck had both been at the Green River Rendezvous last year. While they were there, some Blackfeet showed up, wanting to trade a young Nez Percé woman for blankets and guns. Buck didn’t know why, but for some reason they’d singled Jim out, and he’d ended up with a wife. There was some preacher man at the Rendezvous who said he and his party were heading to Oregon Territory to begin a mission work. After witnessing the trade between the Blackfeet and Jim, the preacher insisted that Jim marry the Indian woman, and said he’d be glad to perform the ceremony. Said it wouldn’t be right for him to take her if he didn’t make it legal. Jim had said no at first, but then for some reason, he’d changed his mind. It had never made much sense to Buck, because Jim had told him some time ago that he’d been married once and would never tie the knot again. Buck thought about that day and Mary’s frightened expression as she was turned over to Jim and forced to become his wife. He remembered seeing the same fearful look on his mother’s face the last time he’d seen her.

Since Buck spoke the Nez Percé language, he’d tried talking to Mary, but she would barely look at him and refused to say a word. Since that day, Buck had gotten to know her a little better, and small talk had become more comfortable to her. He had learned that Mary’s real name was Yellow Bird, and that a group of Blackfoot Indians had stolen her from her people one night two years ago. For the last year she’d been living as Jim’s wife in the mountains. Mary still spoke very little to Buck, and during his frequent visits, he’d noticed that her eyes remained sad. Early on, he’d suggested that Jim look for her people, but the answer had been a firm no. Now that Mary was heavy with child, Buck figured it was best for her to remain with Jim. After all, Jim was the baby’s father.

Mary reminds me of my mother
, Buck thought.
She has the same dark eyes and gentle spirit and is always willing to help someone in need. For all the good my mother’s sweet spirit did her
, he fumed.
She should have fought back
.

As Buck sat at the table, he felt the heat from the fire burning steadily in the woodstove. Even though his buckskin pants and shirt kept him warm enough, he was chilled after the exertion of bringing the injured woman inside, so the fire’s warmth was inviting.

Sometimes Buck felt like a lifetime had passed, instead of just his twenty-four years. Other than his shoulder-length red hair, Buck looked as Indian as Mary. His dark-skinned muscular body was tall and lean, without an ounce of fat, and dark brown eyes constantly assessed his surroundings.

Buck’s mother had been married to a white trapper, Jeremiah McFadden, until he’d been killed at the hand of a Blackfoot warrior. Buck’s mother had been pregnant with him at the time, and some Blackfoot Indians had taken her captive. When Buck was born, she’d named him Red Hawk and explained early on how they’d come to live in the Blackfoot camp. Until he was five years old, Red Hawk and his mother had lived with the Blackfoot tribe. Then they were traded to a white man named Silas Lothard. Silas was cruel, often beating Red Hawk and his mother into submission. He taught them to speak white-man-talk, and had changed Red Hawk’s name to Buck. Silas claimed to be a Christian, and he constantly reminded Buck’s mother, whom he’d called Sarah, that she was nothing but a heathen who made a good slave. He forced Buck and his mother to listen while he read from a black book he called “God’s Word,” which Buck quickly came to resent.

Buck’s jaw clenched as he remembered how one day his mother had tried to take him and run away. They’d been caught, and as punishment for her disobedience, Silas had traded her to another man. But he’d kept Buck, who was then ten years old, continuing to mistreat and belittle him, often threatening that if Buck didn’t do as he said, he would die, and his soul would go straight to hell. Silas also told Buck that his mother had been killed and that the only family he had left was him.

One day when Silas began beating him with a strap, twelve-year-old Buck decided to fight back. In the process of the struggle, Silas fell on his own knife. Once Buck realized the man was dead, he lit out on his own. At the age of fourteen, he met Jim Breck, who trained him to hunt, fish, and trap. Buck vowed to always treat people with kindness, the way his mother had done.

Buck’s thoughts were interrupted when Mary stepped into the room. “The woman very sick,” she announced. “Need rest, food, and drink.”

“Is she awake? Can I talk to her?” Buck asked, jumping to his feet.

Mary shook her head. “She not wake up yet. I cleaned wound and stitched skin in place. Now she need rest.”

Buck craned his neck, trying to glance around Mary for a look at the woman lying on the bed. “Maybe I should stay until she comes to. I’d like to talk to her—find out who she is.”

Suddenly, the cabin door opened, and Jim stepped inside, a wide smile on his bearded face. “I thought ya must be here,” he said, striding across the room and clasping Buck’s shoulder. “Saw your horse, and two others, plus a couple of mules. Where’d ya get ’em? Is someone here with ya?”

Buck nodded and motioned to the bedroom.

Jim headed quickly for the back room. He returned a few seconds later, red-faced and squinting his brown eyes at Buck. “I don’t know who that woman is lyin’ on my bed, but she’d better be gone by the time I get my horse fed!” With that, he jerked the cabin door open, stepped out, and let it slam shut with a
bang
.

J
im’s hands shook as he poured oats into a bucket and set it in the small corral he’d built for his horse. He was overreacting, but that woman lying on his bed reminded him of Lois.
What is she doing here, and why did Buck bring her to my cabin? Of course
, Jim reasoned,
Buck don’t know what Lois looked like, since I’ve never described her to him
. Truth was, Jim had said very little to Buck about the life he’d led before coming to the mountains.

Watching his horse eagerly eat, Jim leaned on the fence and reflected on his past. He and his childhood sweetheart, Lois, had grown up on farms near St. Louis, Missouri. It was expected that Jim would follow in his father’s footsteps and take up farming, too, but Jim had other ideas. He loved being in the great outdoors and wanted to do something that could earn him money without having to rely on the right kind of weather to produce good crops. He wanted to live in the mountains, where the air was clean and a man could survive off the land. Jim had dreams of adventure, and his enthusiasm for it had led him in that direction.

Jim ended up going west, where he’d taken up trapping and trading. During those early years, he’d done quite well, and when he wasn’t setting or checking his traps, he’d built a small but cozy cabin, nestled deep in the woods. A river flowed nearby, making it an excellent place to trap beaver, fox, otter, and rabbit. A multitude of deer, elk, and bear roamed the area, as well, and barring anything unforeseen, Jim figured he’d have a good many years to enjoy trapping, trading, and selling his furs.

Once the cabin was finished and Jim had enough money saved up from two years of trapping and trading, he left the mountains and returned to Missouri, where he married Lois. Three days later, they headed west. Jim was filled with excitement and eager to show his new bride the rustic home he’d built for her. Lois’s folks had been against the move, saying they were worried about their daughter living in the rugged wilderness. But like Jim, Lois was adventurous and daring, so she’d eagerly agreed. Being the good Christian woman that she was, she’d quoted some scripture to her folks about cleaving only unto him and said in no uncertain terms that her place was now with her husband. Then she’d looked at Jim and, quoting something more from the Bible, said, “ ‘Wither thou goest, I will go: And where thou lodgest, I will lodge.’ ”

Jim drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. His beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed Lois had taken sick before they reached the cabin, halting their journey. Jim did his best to bring her fever down, but it raged on for several days. Jim begged God to save his wife, and it felt like a spike had pierced his soul as he stood by helplessly, watching her slowly slip away. His young heart nearly broke when she died and he had to bury her beside the trail. He returned to his cabin in the Rockies alone, crushed of spirit, and for weeks that was where he stayed, until he had to get back to the task of living. Jim had vowed never to love another woman. He blamed God for taking Lois and determined in his heart that no matter what situation he faced in the future, he would never call on God, for He obviously did not answer prayers—at least not his, anyway.

If God is truly loving, as Lois often said, then how could He take her from me? Of all people, Lois, who fully trusted in God, should not have died
, Jim fumed. It had been ten years since Lois’s death, but there were times like now when it felt like only yesterday. He’d thought he had pushed the memories aside—until he discovered that woman on the bed he’d made for Lois. Even Mary didn’t sleep in that bed; she slept on a mat in the loft overhead. However, it was getting harder for her to climb the ladder now that she was heavy with child, so it wouldn’t be long and she would need to bring the mat down and sleep on the floor near the fireplace, which was where Jim spent most of his nights when he needed to be alone.

Jim and Mary had been married a year, and he had to admit, she was a good wife, always eager to please and obedient to his wishes. He felt no love for her, though; just a healthy respect. But then, he was sure the feeling was mutual.

Jim still couldn’t figure out why he’d let that preacher man at the Rendezvous talk him into marrying the Indian woman. For that matter, he’d never really understood how he could have made the deal with the Blackfoot Indian to trade two blankets and a gun in exchange for Mary.

“I had to be outta my mind,” Jim mumbled. “Either that, or it could’ve been that I just wasn’t thinkin’ straight ’cause of all the whiskey I’d drunk that night.”

The only good that had come from the trade was that he now had a wife to cook, clean, and do other chores, which gave him more free hours to hunt, trap, and enjoy the great outdoors.