Wild Horses, Wild Hearts 3, page 11
At least, all of the remaining monetary debts save for the one that mattered most: his debt to the Native folk whom he considered family. He was determined to pay them what little he could for everything they’d done to help the ranch keep going over the years, but how could he ever repay all that he had learned from them?
“You are as stubborn as a mountain in the wind and half as pleasing to look at,” Guarding Wolf replied, trying to make light of the situation even as tears appeared to form at the corners of his eyes.
John was faring no better as he forced a wry laugh from his throat in order to cover a sniffle. “Yeah, well I certainly learned from the best, didn’t I?” he joked even as a sob tried to choke its way up his throat.
The two men stood facing one another for what felt like an eternity, their skins contrasting sharply while their faces mirrored one another.
Slowly, John held out a quivering hand to the Native rider he considered to be his brother, every fiber in his body wishing that it weren’t happening.
Guarding Wolf’s hand rose to clasp John’s, but as the two locked their fingers together they both stepped forward and tightly embraced one another.
“May the Great Spirits guide you well on your path, Soaring Arrow,” the Native breathed, his voice straining with uncharacteristic emotion as he clung tightly to his friend.
“And may they protect you and your tribe from all harm, Guarding Wolf,” John whispered, wishing with all of his heart that they did not have to part ways.
Slowly, they pulled back from one another but their hands remained fastened together.
“This is not farewell, my brother,” Guarding Wolf assured, locking his eyes with John’s. “We will meet again one day.”
Despite the tears welling up in his eyes, John reinforced his gaze and nodded in agreement. “You can count on it,” he replied.
MCNEAL RANCH LAND, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, January 1886
A whirlwind of emotions tore through John’s spirit as he stood in the doorway, his eyes locked with those of Guarding Wolf. Although the snow and wind from the darkness outside began to batter his body, the Kentuckian took no notice.
They found me, he thought numbly, even as he could feel tears begin streaming down his cheeks unbidden. Guarding Wolf and his tribe found me.
For a moment, John forgot all about the present troubles he had been so embroiled in as he stepped forward and pulled his old friend into a strong embrace, one which Guarding Wolf eagerly returned. It was as though the two of them had never been parted in the first place.
The two pulled apart from one another, their smiles competing with one another for sheer joy. John was ready to launch what felt like a thousand questions at his friend when another voice cut in to the moment.
“For Lord’s Sakes, who left the door open?” shouted Abigail McNeal as she appeared down the hallway behind John. “John! Why in the world are you standing in the doorway like that letting all the snow in?”
John turned sideways to respond to his mother-in-law, exposing the wolf skin cloaked Native standing behind him. “Abigail, it’s—” he began excitedly.
Abigail stopped dead in her tracks as her sharp eyes caught sight of the young Native in the doorway, words failing her as a curious gleam took up residence in her pupils.
John suddenly remembered himself and quickly attempted to make matters right. “Oh, I’m sorry Abigail!” he swiftly apologized. “This fella right here is Guarding Wolf, my teacher, my best friend, and my brother.”
Abigail, ever the personification of calm and manners, still appeared surprised by the Native’s appearance, but she gave a polite curtsy and a smile to the young man. “How do you do, Guarding Wolf?” she asked, using his name without a hint of hesitation.
Turning back to his friend, John’s smile continued to pull at the muscles in his cheeks. “Guarding Wolf, allow me to introduce Abigail McNeal, my mother-in-law,” he presented proudly.
Guarding Wolf bowed at the waist from where he stood on the doorstep still. “It is an honor, Lady Abigail,” he said humbly. “And my deepest pardons for appearing unannounced as we have.”
As soon as he said the word “we”, Guarding Wolf stepped aside to reveal three more figures cloaked in animal skins emerging from the snows outside. The first was roughly Leyla’s height and coated in an amalgamation of fox skins, the bright red hue of the fur offering a stark contrast to the winter white. The second was easily as tall as John and Guarding Wolf, but was much broader in beam and therefore easily able to fill out the billowing buffalo skin he wore.
The final figure moved much slower than the two who had preceded it. Like Guarding Wolf, he wore a cloak hewn from wolf skin, but his back was bent with age and made him appear shorter than he really was. A strong but weathered hand kept tightly clasped around the top of a walking stick, the rod impacting the wooden floor with a loud knock with every step forward the figure took.
John’s heart swelled with emotion beneath his ribcage, desperately trying to break free from its constraint with all of the sheer joy pent up inside of it. The stooped figure stood before him, flanked on each side by the other cloaked Natives. Though it had been many years, a reflex in John’s being caused him to bow his head to the shorter figure in reverence.
“My most humble welcome and greetings upon you, wise Flowing River,” he said in a tone of utmost respect.
The figure reached up with his free hand and pulled the wolf’s head back from his face, revealing the wizened but smiling visage of an elder Native. His silver hair shone like starlight even in the dim lamp glow of the hallway while his eyes, set deep in the lined sockets as they were, seemed to smile even more than his slight lips.
“Peace and greetings upon you as well, young Soaring Arrow,” he rasped. “You have accomplished much since we parted ways.”
John winced at the reference of that particular day, but he quickly brushed the unpleasant memory aside as he smiled at the people that he considered family.
“All that I have I owe to what the tribe taught me and what the Great Spirits have given me,” John replied humbly. “And I—”
“John,” came the mildly amused voice of Abigail McNeal, causing the ranch boss to turn and regard his mother-in-law, who stood in the hallway with a look of joy and slight embarrassment on her features. “I’m sorry to have to interrupt this reunion, but would you and your kin mind stepping inside and closing the door?”
Guarding Wolf and the two other figures chuckled as John suddenly realized he had all of them still standing in front of an open doorway while a blizzard was swirling outside and the snowflakes were starting to pile up inside the homestead.
Abigail pressed a finger to her lips to cover her own giggle at John’s absent-mindedness as she stepped forward, a welcoming smile spread across her face. “Please, come in, all of you,” she politely insisted. “All of you must be tired from your journey through this weather.”
John felt a surge of pride course through his body at his mother-in-law’s naturally friendly demeanor, though the feeling was swiftly supplanted by a worry that sprouted forth in his mind about the rest of the tribe. “But what about—?”
He was cut off as Flowing River reached out and placed his weathered hand atop John’s shoulder in a calming gesture. “Do not worry about them, Soaring Arrow,” the elder Native assured him. “All of us have survived much worse than this and the Great Spirits have continued to protect us.”
The wise Native’s words assuaged John’s concerns as he knew full well that the man spoke true. His unease at leaving the rest of the tribe who he knew were likely not more than twenty feet away from the front doorstep out in the snow and wind was calmed, but did not fully dissipate.
Abigail gestured for the guests to follow her into the parlor as John closed the sturdy wooden door, bolting it once more to keep the harsh elements out.
WELL, THIS EVENING has certainly taken an interesting turn, Abigail mused as the four Natives and John followed her into the parlor.
Once all were gathered in the room, Abigail turned to address all of them. “Please, make yourselves comfortable,” she instructed, indicating that they were all free to do as they pleased if it meant they could rest.
A roaring fire lapped at the stones of the hearth that contained it, the heat spreading out through the room. Whether it was from the warmth or from a desire to finally reveal their faces, the other two Natives withdrew the protective hoods of their animal skins. The larger figure was revealed to be a man whose trail-worn face appeared to be carved from stone while his eyes held a quiet and gentle kindness. As for the shorter figure cloaked in fox skins, a lovely young Native woman, her ebony hair tied in a lengthy braid that vanished into the depths of her animal skin, appeared from beneath the bright red hood.
“Sleeping Bear!” John cried out joyfully as he looked at the mountainous Native before his eyes. Then he swiveled to the young woman, “Roaming Moon!” He quickly crossed the parlor and embraced the two warmly; the two returned his welcoming affections and began to talk with him.
Abigail regarded the reunion with a touch of quiet curiosity that was quickly overshadowed by a sense of pride in her son-in-law. If ever there was a heart just as welcoming as my husband’s, she thought, then it belongs to John Baldwin all hollow.
She and Maggie had been delighted when John had informed them that the Natives he had grown up with would be passing through in the winter, both of them knowing just how much the people meant to the Kentuckian. After all, they had been every bit his family when he was growing up as an only child to a widowed mother. They’d taught him all he knew about riding, and it was those lessons and his own skill that had landed him his post as the ranch boss.
Though she was happy to see John absolutely beside himself with joy at seeing the Natives, Abigail felt a sense of dread as she realized that she would have to pull John from his rapture before long so that they could continue tending to Maggie.
However, before she could voice her concerns to John, a familiar brogue floated from around the doorway into the parlor. “How in the Devil did all this snow get inside of here?”
Abigail turned around just as Fergus Finnegan appeared in the doorway, scratching his head at the sight of all the half-melted snow that had gathered in the hallway as though it were some grand mystery.
“Fergus!” John called joyfully, momentarily breaking his conversation with Sleeping Bear. “Come in here and meet my family.”
“Family?” Fergus echoed as he began to turn to look into the parlor. “Johnny boy, what are you on about—? Oh.”
The normally verbose Irishman was struck silent as he found himself staring at four Natives seated in the parlor, their own eyes regarding him with playful curiosity as well.
“Uncle Fergus?” came Leyla’s voice from down the hall, followed by the sound of footsteps. Is everything all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Abigail once again pressed her hand to her lips in order to cover a giggle as her younger daughter and Chase McAllister rounded the corner and peered into the parlor to see what Fergus was staring at. Their own faces quickly mimicked the saloonkeeper’s as they were caught completely unprepared for the sight of four Natives dressed in animal furs sitting cozily around the parlor.
John, however, seemed to take no notice of their collective surprise as he sprang to his feet with a jubilant look on his countenance. “Fergus, Leyla, Chase,” he began proudly, “allow me to introduce my family from back east. This is Guarding Wolf, Sleeping Bear, Roaming Moon, and Flowing River.” He indicated which Native was which with a guide of his finger around the room.
The Natives rose together from where they had seated themselves around the parlor and bowed their heads to the trio, all of them bidding their salutations and gratitude in one way or another.
Certainly not the worst introductions that have ever occurred on this ranch, Abigail thought with a grin.
John, still beaming proudly, turned to regard the members of his Native family again. “I can’t wait to introduce all of you to Maggie,” he declared. “She’s probably gonna beg all of you to teach her what—”
The young man’s voice died in his throat as reality appeared to come crashing back down on him. His eyes, which had previously brimmed with unbridled joy, now grew dark with boundless worry.
Without even bothering to excuse himself, John bolted from where he stood, brushing past Fergus, Leyla, and Chase as he all but vaulted back up the stairs to where his wife was still likely comatose with a fever.
“Lady Abigail,” came the steady but noticeably concerned voice of Guarding Wolf. “My apologies, but what is it that troubles Soaring Arrow, er, John?”
Abigail turned to regard the young Native with tired eyes full of worry as well. “John’s wife, my daughter, Maggie,” she began slowly, “has come down with a fever while carrying her and John’s first child and is unconscious upstairs. She’s been this way ever since this morning.”
The mention of an unborn child, particularly one belonging to the man they considered a member of their tribe, drew the full attention of the three young Natives. Flowing River, however, sighed as he rose on tired limbs from where he was seated.
“Wise one!” Roaming Moon cried out, moving to his side in an instant in order to aid his movements.
Flowing River raised a hand in a reassuring gesture and with the use of his walking stick, turned to regard Abigail.
“Lady Abigail, I cannot fully express the gratitude I feel toward you and your tribe for giving Soaring Arrow a place to live once more,” he rasped, though his voice held a firmness that could have almost rivaled Abigail. “On our journey across the plains, the Great Spirits foretold that the new family of Soaring Arrow would be in danger, and I see that they were correct. I am what your people would call a medicine man. I humbly ask that you allow me to offer my assistance in saving Soaring Arrow’s wife and child.”
The eloquence of the elder Native left Abigail and the other’s gob smacked, but his offer to help save Maggie and the baby did not pass unnoticed by them, especially Abigail.
“You can help her?” Abigail croaked incredulously, unable to completely believe that help had unexpectedly arrived in the midst of a fierce snowstorm. “You can break my daughter’s fever and save her child?”
Flowing River nodded his head slowly, his weary eyes lighting up with a determined fire. “All life is sacred, Lady Abigail, especially that of those we consider part of our tribe. We will do all we can to help protect Soaring Arrow and his new tribe.”
The sincerity with which the Native spoke filled Abigail’s heart with emotion, but unlike the worry that she had felt throughout the majority of the day, this time it swelled with the conjoined feelings of hope and relief.
My family and I have done all we can to try and help Maggie, she thought. I think it’s time we let John’s family have a go at it.
Her eyes brimming with tears and gratitude, Abigail looked deep into Flowing River’s eyes as she spoke. “Then please, Flowing River. Please help save my daughter and her child.”
ONCE MORE, JOHN HAD taken up his station beside his unconscious wife, holding her overly warm hand in his as his free hand rested over her gravid belly. Even after he replaced the lukewarm rag on her head with a fresh cold one, she felt much the same as she had before. All thoughts of his joy at seeing his Native family had been swept clear of his mind the moment he’d recalled Maggie’s condition.
Maybe I should try and ride into town, he thought absently, his head running through possible scenarios about how he could better aid his wife and unborn child. No, that wouldn’t be fair to Dr. Wilson. Desperate as I am to help Maggie, I couldn’t bring him out in this weather.
It appeared that John’s options for being able to help his loved ones were rapidly dwindling. Even the appearance of his Native family seemed to offer little in the way of hope.
John released his wife’s hand and rose from the bed, stretching his arms and legs as he did so before he strolled over to the cast iron potbelly stove that furnished the room with such warmth. He stared at the flames that teased the vented grate with their tongues, their dancing movement hypnotic in a way. In a way, the motion of the fire began to clear his mind of ludicrous thoughts like riding out into the snow for help and allowed him to think with a much more level head.
Breaking his gaze from the stove, John idled over toward the window, the panes opaque with the gathered condensation.
I hope the rest of the tribe is doing well out there, he wondered, his mind imagining the Native men and women laboring in the snows to set up their encampment outside. They’re tough folks, and Flowing River always has a cure for whatever ails them.
Like a lantern suddenly blazing to life in the middle of the darkened plains, John realized that he had completely overlooked one of the possible ways that he could help Maggie and their child: Flowing River was a medicine man.
How could I be such a fool?! John groaned as he spun around with the full intention of sprinting downstairs and begging the elder Native for any help he could give to his family.
John crossed the room in what may as well have been one step, his hand seizing the door handle and pulling it open. However, waiting on the other side of the door was the object of John’s pursuit. Flowing River, still bent but smiling all the same, stood in the hallway with Roaming Moon helping to steady him.
“Greetings again, Soaring Arrow,” the elder Native said with a slight chuckle. “I have come to offer aid to your wife and young one, though I am surprised that you did not think to ask me in the first place.”
Roaming Moon giggled as John blushed, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I was actually on my way to ask you, Wise One,” he replied, feeling rather sheepish. “‘Fraid I’m still one for acting first and thinking later.”
