Earthbound: Science Fiction in the Old West (Chronicles of the Maca Book 1) (9 page)

MacDonald was sitting on the cart tongue whittling and glanced up.

“Those boots announce every step ye take.” He stood, folded the jackknife, and smiled at her. “Ye look like a young, albino laddie. Ye need some weight on that skinny frame and then ye twould be magnificent.”

There was admiration in his voice and Anna drew in her breath. Had she been insulted or complimented? It was difficult to tell.

MacDonald insisted on doing the clean up while she worked on her skirt. She had him cut a four inch strip off the side of the blue material and then cut the remaining piece in half before sewing the two large pieces together. At first her efforts were clumsy, but as time went on her stitches became her stitches: a close, small, neat line of white marching across a blue field. All too soon the light fled and nighttime held sway.

“I can let the fire burn a wee bit longer for yere sewing this eve as we are still close to Fort Davis. By tomorrow eve, I canna do so.”

Anna looked up puzzled and then realized what he had said. “Thank du, Herr MacDonald. I vill this thread finish…” and realized her words were wrong. “I'll use the thread now in the needle and stop. Thank du.”

He smiled at her and used her language. “I noticed the tips of your little fingers are gone. Did that occur before you were captured?”

She raised her head and tightened her lips. “No, they did that when they gave my sons to others. I tried to fight them. They cut them off to show that my boys were dead to me. They were not dead, and Daniel still lives. They are my sons. I was stronger then. They healed over.” Her grey eyes were defiant as though defying him to challenge her.

Had he challenged everyone in this land when he first walked free? Did she fear he was going to bed her or argue that she should nay have fought? It twas a wonder they had let her live. Then realization hit him.

“Is that when your hair turned white?”

She looked down at the sewing and continued stitching while she spoke. “Yes, by the next morning it was completely white. They weren't sure whether it was magic or if there was something wrong with my mind.” She tied off the thread and looked up.

“There, I have finished for this evening.”

MacDonald stood. “I suggest ye sleep in the cart if ye still dinna feel safe.”

She looked at the cart. It was perhaps four to five feet in length which meant she would need to sleep cattycornered. Plus, the boards would be rough and harder than the ground.

“Would it be all right if I slept under the cart?”

He smiled. “That should nay be a problem, Mrs. Lawrence.”

Anna awoke the next morning and realized that Mr. MacDonald had breakfast started. Then she realized her ears were not sore, but her hair was matted again, either from the salve or the drainage. She held her hands over her ears and pain did not streak through her head. She walked to the area they used for the latrine for nature was demanding. Then she washed her hands in the river. When the water settled, she lifted the braids to see if an image was reflected. There was none. Still it felt better and she walked back to the camp area.

“Thank you, Mr. MacDonald. The salve seems to be working. There is no pain this morning.” She did not dare trust her words to English.

“Would ye like me to verify that?”

“No, thank you, Mr. MacDonald, but I am grateful. Will this deplete your supply?”

The half smile was on his lips and the amusement in his eyes. How could he tell her that on board the
Golden One
was a machine that extruded a stream into the tin upon command?

“No, I have a supply hidden away at home.” He returned to cooking the fat back. “The coffee tis done and the biscuits from last night are in the box. Take a plate and we'll eat. I'd like to be on the trail ere full daylight.”

They spoke very little while on the trail. MacDonald rode his huge black horse as he watched their backs, the sides, and checked for Indian sign while she drove the cart with their gear. He went on hunting forays to augment their diet with antelope, rabbit, deer, or an occasional grouse. He kenned that Zark, as he had named his horse, could outrun most Indian ponies, but the sturdy mules never. They could outlast a horse, require less water, and less expensive feed, but they weren't known for speed unless specifically bred for racing.

Evenings Anna would be busy with her sewing and MacDonald with tending the animals and cooking. She insisted on doing the plates and utensils whether it was water or sand they had for cleaning. She winced when she heard the ferry fee, but MacDonald was not concerned. He insisted the man give him a receipt.

“Tis the only way the Army twill pay me back.”

Once, when they were near a town, MacDonald asked if she wished to stop and buy anything else.

“No, I will not go into town dressed as a man.” Her face was set again. How did she tell him she had not finished the underskirt? She couldn't and didn't. Only married women talked to their husbands about such things. He did not ask again.

One afternoon found them near a river of goodly width, but not overly deep. MacDonald motioned to a stand of cottonwood trees and willows, and pulled up his horse beside her when she stopped.

“This tis a very pleasant place to camp for the bank slopes downward and ye twould be well hidden whilst ye bathe. We are about four days out of Schmidt's Corner. The river tis less clean and deep farther on, and the banks nay as high.”

Anna stared at him. “So close?” Her voice was almost a whisper. She continued to use German.

“Aye, we've been on the trail for seventeen days. It's been a grueling trip for ye, but I thought ye wished to be back among yere relatives as quickly as possible.” He noted that a bit of weight was back on her skinny frame.

She stared at the reins in her hands. “If I change now, my clothes will be dirty from being on the ground.” She knew that Gerde would have no clothes her size even if they welcomed her. Her trail clothes were filthy. She drew in a deep breath.

“Perhaps it would be best to take me back to that town. I could find a job as a laundress. Then if Kasper and Gerde want me to come there, they can write a letter.”

MacDonald's eyes widened. “Mrs. Lawrence, I canna go into Schmidt's Corner and tell them I brought ye all the way from the wilds of West Texas and then left ye in Arles. They twould be outraged.”

“There are other people there where they live, is that not true?”

“Yes, but Mrs. Schmidt, Mrs. Rolfe, Mrs. Phillips, and Mrs. Hernandez are the only adult ladies. The other men do not have a wife. Mrs. Jackson died some years ago, and the other families live outside the town.”

“I cannot go where I am not wanted.”

“Mrs. Lawrence, if ye do nay go with me, Kasper will come for ye. Why put everyone to that trouble?”

“After all the trouble I have already put you through, is that what you mean?”

“Nay, that tis nay fair.” His voice was rumbling out in anger and exasperation.

For a moment she was silent and then she smiled. MacDonald was awestruck. The hard planes of her face seemed to melt and her face was transformed. The smile brought a glow to her skin and to her eyes. It was as though she were a different person; someone you wanted to know and trusted immediately.

“Mr. MacDonald, that was not fair. I am sorry.” She put out her hand. It was a gesture she regretted for suddenly his large hand had closed around hers and he was smiling.

“Ye twill be happy to ken that Kasper has told me that one of yere church men twill be coming through.”

“Oh, I want to talk with one. I need to know if it is all right to divorce a man who plotted to have his family killed by Indians.”

“Dear Gar, how do ye ken that?”

For a moment she tightened her lips. “Mr. Lawrence took his riding horse to do haying and he did not take Daniel with him. I had sent Daniel out to him. He also took the rifle and the shotgun. The Comanche did not kill him, but took Daniel. The first night we camped, Daniel told me that his father had spoke with their leader before riding away. He knew them.”

“It will be difficult to prove in court, but I seem to remember something similar that Mr. Rolfe told me about his and Kasper's visit to Wooden. I shall ask them when we are there.”

“Thank you, Mr. MacDonald. Would I be able to bath in the river tomorrow evening?”

“Aye, the river tis deep enough and there are willows. It does nay have the high shielding banks.”

“Then I shall wait. Tonight I will wash out my hair and shirt. May I take the soap?”

“Aye, of course, ye can. Why do ye even ask?”

“Because the soap is yours.” She was defiant again.

He handed her the soap. “The nights are getting cooler. Take my jacket and wear it till the shirt dries.”

“I will use my blanket if the coolness bothers me.” She took the soap before walking down the embankment.

At the river she paused and walked closer to the edge. The high banks on the other side waved brown grass and white clouds floated above, sometimes crossing over the path of the sun. Long shadows covered the Earth until the clouds moved forward on their journey. She knelt at the river, ignoring the water that seeped around her knees and removed the leather ties and stuck them in her trouser pocket. She shook out her hair, bent over and began the washing. When the water was clear of soap, she removed the shirt and washed off the surface dirt. Without hot water, a scrub board, or plunger there was no way to completely clean the shirt. At least it would smell better. Before putting it back on, she splashed water under her armpits, soaped them, and rinsed them off with the shirt. She then rinsed the shirt again before putting it on. By now she was shivering.

I should not be shivering. It is because I am so weak
, she thought and began to button the shirt. It was a slower process with wet material. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to unsnarl the curls. It was futile without a comb. Thoroughly exasperated she pulled the whole mass forward and braided it. She knew without looking it was a mess. Both ties helped to hold the hair, but there was no way to pull it up as a respectable woman would.

At least the effort distracted her attention away from the afternoon's coolness and she headed back up the embankment. Mr. MacDonald would be wanting his “cleansing.” What a strange choice of words.

The next day was warmer as the heavy clouds had moved on. Soon it would be cooler and the rains would come. Anna chose a spot in the river that was as hidden as possible and bathed. She thanked God that no one came and Mr. MacDonald was true to his word. He did not approach. He was a big man and she had felt the hardness of his muscles when he picked her up at the Comanche camp. She had seen that pattern of muscles on his back and knew she was no match in strength. Her respect for him had grown; grudgingly, but grown.

It was a relief to don her slip and skirt. She had fashioned a loop on the band on the left of the open area and put two small ties on the opposite side. By threading one through the loop and tying the two together, the skirt would remain up. She strode back into the camp area.

MacDonald's eyes opened wider as he watched her approach. This was indeed a magnificent lassie. Her stride was long, her shoulders broad, and her head held high. He had seen few other women as tall and they tended to stoop and lower their heads. Not this one. The white hair was a plus in his eyes. In Thalia, this denoted authority, someone from a ruling House.

“I can tend to the cooking this evening, Mr. MacDonald.” He had the two rabbits cooking in the Dutch oven. She knew the biscuits needed to be mixed and rounded before adding to the Dutch oven. Their flour was almost gone. Soon there would be nothing but meat.

He smiled at her and took the soap. “Ye look magnificent.” With that he trudged off with the water barrel on his shoulder.

He returned about thirty minutes later carrying the full water barrel. Anna was awed each time he had done this. No man was his equal in strength that she had ever seen. When the barrel was securely lashed inside the cart he came over to the fire.

“How tis the coffee holding out?”

“There should be enough for another day.”

He sighed. “It tis nay my favorite beverage, but it does wash things down. How long ere supper?”

“I think about five or ten minutes for the biscuits. Does Kasper have any way of getting fruits or vegetables?” She was thinking of her own gardens in Missouri and Texas. This ground seemed drier less like good farming soil, but it was late summer or early fall. She had not seen a calendar for almost two years.

“There are canned ones. I believe Mrs. Schmidt said something about a garden next year if Kasper could finish the fence. It seems the small animals feasted on everything.”

The evening meal passed in silence. Anna was thinking of her reception. Would she be welcomed? Perhaps at first, and then the doubts, the misconceptions, the accusations would begin. Was she really wise to return?

She finished her meal and stood. “I should do the cleanup this evening. You have been very kind in doing what I should have been doing while sewing.”

MacDonald swallowed the last of his meat and smiled. “I ate the food also. That means I'm responsible for part of the dishes.”

“Most men would not have done so.”

His smile was broader. “I am nay most men. We'll each wash our own.”

Dusk was falling into night when they returned to the fire for the days were growing shorter. “I doubt if there tis anyone out there this eve, but I twould like to rest for a few hours as my sleep has been short on this trip. Tis it possible for ye to stay awake for a few hours and then wake me about midnight?”

Anna was struck with the realization that he must have had reasons for sleeping while she stitched at the material. “Of course, I can, Mr. MacDonald. I'll sit here and walk back and forth.”

Amusement lit her eyes. “It's too bad there isn't a book to read or more sewing.”

MacDonald handed her his pocket watch, and then spread out his blanket before lying down. He pulled his hat over his eyes, held his rifle over his chest, and went instantly into a light doze.

How does he do that? Anna found the man puzzling. There was something more than size or politeness that made him different. Was it the rolling, rocking movement while he walked? It did seem his arms were set forward more than others, but that could be from the muscular structure. No, it was something else. She shrugged. She had no reason to suspect his intentions. If he had meant to harm her, he would not have waited so long.

She walked around the camp and then sat by the fire. Sometimes she added more fuel, but when she felt sleepy she would stand and walk again. By ten o'clock she began singing the hymns she remembered. She kept her voice low and only sang at the edge of camp or down towards the river. It was maddening how slowly the hours seemed to creep.

At midnight, she stood near his makeshift sleeping area and spoke. She did not touch him. That would have been wrong. “Mr. MacDonald, it is midnight.”

He took off his hat, sat up, ran a hand through his hair, replaced his hat, took a firm grip on his rifle, stood, and farted.

“My apologies, Mrs. Lawrence. Thank ye for waking me.” He stalked off toward the edge of camp.

Anna smiled. It was what people did when they awoke, but at least he was polite. Within minutes she was asleep.

The words, “Mrs. Lawrence, the morning fare tis prepared,” seemed to buzz in her head within minutes. She opened her eyes and realized that dawn was streaking its gold and pink lines across the sky.

“Ja, Herr MacDonald,” she answered and stood, quickly flapping the blanket as though to clear any grass and dirt, but in reality to hide the sound of her own morning air. She hurried to the latrine area after putting the blanket in the cart.

She returned to find her plate filled with fried potatoes mixed with the leftover rabbit meat.

“I fear our meals twill be mostly rabbit the rest of the journey. A stop at Arles would have enabled me to purchase some canned goods and more flour.”

Anna bowed her head and then looked directly at him. “Mr. MacDonald, your meals have been bountiful. You have spent too much of your own money on me.”

“Mrs. Lawrence, yere idea and my idea of bountiful do nay coincide. Some of the money I have spent will be reimbursed by the Eighth Infantry when I return the mules and the cart.”

A slight flush filled her cheeks. “I, I forgot, it had been so long since I had a full meal. That was wrong of me. Is it too late to go back?”

The amusement was back in his eyes and that smile tugging at his mouth. “Yes, it is. Schmidt's Corner is closer.” He began to eat and Anna bowed her head before taking her first bite.

“You will let me wash and mend your clothes for repayment before you leave, won't you?”

“I have a spare set of clothes at the Rolfe's, but, aye, if ye insist, ye may wash and mend them.”

Silence reigned again, but it was a different silence. The tension had disappeared.

That evening they talked and gradually Anna's tale spilled out in response to MacDonald's gentle probing. She had “felt” something was wrong that morning and was packing necessities when the two boys began fighting. She had sent Daniel out to be with his father for an eight-year-old was capable of working in the fields. Plus, Mr. Lawrence had taken all the firearms. She felt he would protect his own son. Margareatha and Lorenz she had sent out to gather the early corn. She planned to take that with them when they left. Just as she was ready to step out of the door, Auggie needed to be changed. That's when the Comanche rode up. She closed her eyes for a moment and completely changed the subject.

“How long will we be on the road tomorrow?”

“We twill be in Schmidt's Corner tomorrow afternoon in time for supper.”

Anna gasped air into her lungs and slowly let it out.

“Will you be eating with us?”

“I would nay infringe on yere reunion. My friend, Herman Rolfe, always has a place for me at his table.”

Anna looked at the fire. In a way, she was disappointed. This was madness, but she respected this man, respected his strength and his kindness. It was a dream for she was still married and her children still lived. No man would be interested in her.

“Ye twere fortunate the Comanche did nay kill ye and just take the baby.”

His comment made her snap her head up. “I grabbed the broom and knocked one of them down. I was going for the second man when the third came out of the cabin carrying Auggie by the heel. What could I do? He was going to bash my baby's head against the doorframe.”

“Dear Gar, woman, do ye nay ken it tis a wonder they did nay kill ye then and there.”

“Even men have enough sense to know the baby needed my milk to live.” This time she looked away. Why was she being so bold?

MacDonald's shoulders were shaking. “And if the mither twas such a warrior, think what the son twould be.”

“They laughed at the one I knocked down. I think he did want to kill me.”

“Of course, he did. Ye humiliated him. He probably made yere life miserable.”

Anna nodded her head. “His woman was the one that spit on me when they cut off my ears.” She stood and walked with long angry strides toward the latrine area.

It was MacDonald's turn to drag in his breath. This lassie twas a warrior. Nay did he think he twould ere find such a counselor in this land. He must find a way to wed her. How did one court here? Friend Rolfe could give him pointers. He had already promised to help her find the proof to divorce her husband. That should keep them in communication. The idea that she might discover his two hearts never occurred to him. He took his rifle and stood.