Captive Trail (The Texas Trail Series Book 2) Page 6

  She had been waiting what seemed a long time. Perhaps the visitor was not a white man. But no—if it were Peca or someone else from the Numinu, the sisters would be alarmed. And they would not know in advance.

  She sat on her bed and leaned against the wall, waiting. Sister Marie had combed her hair that morning. She hadn’t gone out to the eating room, as she was still weak and feverish. Sister Adele had brought her breakfast on a tray and wiped her face with cool water. The food the sisters served was plain, but they seemed to have plenty of it. For most meals here she got more than she would have in the Numinu village. After she had eaten and rested, Sister Adele returned and helped her put on her Comanche dress and told her a man was coming soon.

  The door opened and Taabe jumped. She sat up straighter and peered toward the opening.

  Sister Adele entered, smiling, and lit the lamp that now stayed on the small table by the pottery bowl and pitcher. Taabe loved the lamp, with its brightness and warmth. She understood the sisters’ mimed admonitions to be careful with it and never, ever, knock it over.

  But now she gave no thought to the lamp, except that its flame allowed her to see the tall man who entered behind Sister Adele.

  She caught her breath and clenched her hands into fists. She shouldn’t fear this man—she had returned to the world of the whites by her own will. Yet it was hard to ignore the reaction that had been drilled into her.

  The Numinu were courageous people. But if there was one thing they feared, it was the uniform of the long knives.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ned circled the stagecoach and stopped the team heading outward. He set the brake and looked over at Brownie.

  “I won’t be long.”

  “Better not be. The passengers are in a hurry.”

  Ned reached into the driver’s boot where he and Brownie kept their personal belongings—right next to the currently empty treasure box—and grabbed the bundle Patrillo had put together for the nuns. He climbed down, hurried to the door of the mission, and pulled the cord that rang a bell somewhere inside the adobe walls.

  Sister Natalie opened the door. She looked up at him with a restrained smile. “Mr. Bright. How nice to see you again.”

  “Hello, Sister.” Amazing how the title flowed from his lips so easily now. He felt a prick of conscience only if he mulled it over.

  “Have you brought more distraught parents seeking their children?”

  “Not this time.” Ned held out the bundle of clothing. “My partner at the station, Patrillo Garza, asked me to bring you this. It’s a dress and a few other things that belonged to his wife. For the girl.”

  “How kind of him. Thank you.” Sister Natalie took the bundle. “How is she doing?”

  Sister Natalie looked past him toward the stagecoach. “I don’t suppose you can come in for a moment.”

  “I’m not supposed to even stop. I’m sorry. Wish I could.”

  “She’s making progress. She’s still weak, and she had a fever for a few days, but that seems to be waning. She leaves her room for meals with us at least once a day now.”

  “That’s good. Does she understand anything you say?”

  “Not much.” Sister Natalie frowned. “We’ve tried English and French. I told the other sisters not to speak French to her anymore. We don’t want to confuse her. Learning—or relearning—one language will be difficult enough. But she is beginning to speak a few words.”

  “She’s cooperative, then?”

  “Oh, yes. She seems eager to be able to communicate. Yesterday the captain rode out from the fort. I think she was frightened of him at first, but I had Sister Adele bring a slate and help them converse with drawings as well as hand signs.”

  “That gives me hope. Did you learn anything?”

  “The captain brought a list of names that he read to her slowly—children who’d been captured over the last few years. But she didn’t show any signs of recognition. He says he’s written to the Indian agent at Fort Smith about her and asked for any clues about blue-eyed girls who’ve been taken.”

  “Good. I’ll speak to the captain myself this evening if I’m able. And if there’s time I’ll stop again Sunday. I’d best get going now.”

  “Hey!” One of the passengers was leaning out the door of the stage. “Are we going to Fort Chadbourne, or what?”

  Ned touched his hat brim. “Good-bye, Sister.” He sprinted for the stagecoach.

  “We brought you another parent who’s lost a child.” Ned nodded toward the man climbing out of the stagecoach on Sunday. “If he’s satisfied that Taabe Waipu is not his daughter, he’ll go with us to the home station and then on to Fort Belknap.”

  “So you’ll wait for him,” Sister Natalie said.

  “Yes. If she’s his daughter, he’ll stay.”

  The man wore a dark suit and had the look of a towns-man—a shopkeeper, perhaps. A presentable man who should not offer any trouble to the mission enclave.

  “Would you mind coming in with him, Mr. Bright?”

  “Not at all.”

  Ned entered the mission with the passenger—Joseph Henderson—and waited with him in the sitting room. Henderson paced, fidgeting with his hat. Ned hoped the sisters wouldn’t keep them long. He’d told Brownie ten minutes at most. He had no faith that he’d found Taabe’s father. For one thing, Henderson had brown eyes. Ned hadn’t bothered to ask what his daughter, Miriam, looked like or how old she was. Everyone with a missing daughter wanted to see the girl, even if she didn’t meet their child’s description. No words could convince them until they had seen her.

  To Ned’s surprise, instead of returning to escort them to Taabe’s room, Sister Natalie and one of the other nuns—Sister Marie, he believed—came back with Taabe limping between them and leaning on their arms.

  She didn’t look up as she entered the room. The nuns led her to a stool, and she sat down.

  Ned caught his breath. What a difference the nuns had made!

  Taabe’s hair glinted in the shaft of sunlight from the window. In Elena Garza’s long lavender dress with black trim, she looked serene and elegant, though the dress hung loosely on her thin frame. Instead of shoes, her feet were encased in the tall, beaded moccasins he’d found her in. Her blue eyes appraised Henderson then focused on Ned, sending a wave of kinship through him. It was almost like meeting an old friend after a lengthy absence. He hoped she was glad to see him too.

  Ned smiled, and Taabe’s lips twitched, as though she wanted to respond. His heart surged.

  Henderson stepped toward her. “Good morning, young lady. May I ask your name?”

  Taabe swung her gaze back to him, but said nothing.

  “Shall we all sit down?” Sister Natalie said.

  Henderson frowned but took a seat. Sister Natalie sat near Taabe, and Sister Marie stood back, near the door. Ned watched Taabe, who sat quietly, her hands clasped on her lap, her back straight. A ray of sunshine still reached her, perhaps by Sister Natalie’s design, to illuminate her face for the visitor’s benefit. Her hair gleamed a lighter brown than he’d expected, no doubt thanks to the nuns’ patient care. The right side of her tanned face still bore some discoloration, but the swelling had abated, and he judged that she would be deemed pretty in any culture. She did not appear frightened this time, and barely curious. He wondered how many of these sessions she had undergone in five days.

  “First of all, Mr. Henderson,” Sister Natalie said, “our guest understands only a handful of English words. She calls herself Taabe Waipu, and she appears not to remember her original name.”

  Ned recalled what Reece Jones had told him. Sun Woman. Now it seemed appropriate. Had her hair been even lighter when she was a child? Perhaps it had floated about her in a golden cloud when the Comanche took her.

  “I’m just not sure,” Henderson said. “It’s been so long, and this young lady looks a bit older than our Miriam. But I realize I’m thinking of her as she was four years ago.”

  “What about her eyes?
” Ned asked.

  Henderson hesitated and squinted at Taabe. “They were blue. My wife was German. She’s passed on now. This broke her heart—the raid. Losing the children. They took our son, Paul, as well.”

  “If this is your daughter, she might remember being taken with her brother,” Sister Natalie said gently.

  Henderson nodded and leaned forward. “Paul,” he said. “Do you remember Paul, your brother?”

  Taabe gave no response.

  “Miriam.” Henderson said the name distinctly. They all watched Taabe. She sat motionless, with no change in her expression. Henderson sighed. “What can she understand?”

  “A few words pertaining to food, clothing, the body … not much else yet, I fear,” the nun said.

  “Does Miriam have other siblings?” Ned asked.

  “Yes.” Henderson returned his attention to Taabe. “Do you remember John? John. Little brother.” He held his hand about two feet above the floor. “And baby Sarah?” He folded his arms and rocked them.

  Taabe shook her head.

  “Mama?” Henderson asked.

  Taabe frowned.

  “Mama? Baby Sarah?”

  Taabe looked at Sister Natalie, her face filled with bafflement.

  “She’s not sure what you want,” Sister Natalie said. “I’m sorry.”

  “How old would your Miriam be?” Ned asked. “Fourteen.”

  Taabe seemed considerably older, but Ned didn’t feel it was his place to say so.

  “Did your daughter have any distinguishing marks?” Sister Natalie asked.

  Henderson shook his head and blinked. His eyes glistened. “I can’t recall any.” He rose and walked to the narrow window.

  “Anything at all,” the nun said gently.

  Henderson peered out through the opening. Taabe looked to Sister Natalie, who reached over and patted her arm.

  Henderson swung around. “She had stubby little fingers.” He held up his hand. “My middle finger isn’t longer than the rest, like most people’s. Hers were that way too.”

  Sister Natalie spoke softly to Taabe and held out her hands, with the fingers together. Taabe hesitated and copied her. Sister Natalie looked at Taabe’s hands and compared them to her own.

  Henderson strode over and stared at Taabe’s hands. Ned rose, fighting the impulse to rush over and look.

  Taabe’s haunted look returned as Henderson towered over her. She drew back her hands and looked up at him, her lips parted and her forehead wrinkled.

  “I don’t see how she can be Miriam,” Sister Natalie said. “Her middle fingers are obviously the longest on both hands.”

  Henderson’s shoulders sagged as he stepped back. “Thank you. I don’t suppose I’ll ever find our girl. It sickens me, when I think of Miriam living with those natives and being taught their heathen ways.” He swiped at a tear and cleared his throat. “Thank you.” He turned and stalked past Sister Marie. The door closed with a thud.

  Ned drew in a deep breath and stepped toward the women.

  “I’m sorry for all the intrusions you’re getting.”

  “It’s necessary, I suppose,” Sister Natalie said. “The captain questions them and makes sure they are sincere in their search, not just people who want to look at her out of curiosity. I wish we could just let her rest and recover for a few weeks, but people keep coming.”

  Ned nodded. “She looks fine.”

  “She’s thin yet, but we’re working on that,” Sister Natalie said.

  Ned realized Taabe was watching him, and he smiled at her. “You look very nice.” He gestured toward her dress.

  Taabe frowned a moment then looked down. Her hands brushed the lavender fabric, and a smile touched her lips. She gazed into his eyes and touched her chest.

  “Taabe Waipu.” She pointed at Ned and arched her eyebrows. “You?”

  He laughed and shot Sister Natalie a glance. “Ned. Ned Bright.” He held out his hand.

  Hesitantly, Taabe touched it with her long, slender fingers. Ned grasped her hand for a moment then released it.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Taabe Waipu.” To Sister Natalie he said, “The captain asked me to tell you the fort’s surgeon will ride out tomorrow to examine her, and he’ll bring crutches.”

  “Praise God,” said Sister Natalie. “She’s still weak, but I think she’s ready to use them. And it will be good to have the doctor’s opinion, though it would have been more useful if he could have come sooner.”

  “Is it true you are going to open a school here?”

  “Eventually. It’s taken us a while to get settled, and our garden won’t produce until next summer. But we might take in a few girls over the winter, if the parents are willing to donate supplies or money for their board. But we can’t handle more than half a dozen at this point.”

  “And now you have a patient who can’t understand you.” Ned smiled. “I asked because Señor Garza has mentioned possibly bringing his daughter to you. Since his wife died … well, he has four sons and only the one girl, and—”

  “How old is she?”

  “I believe she’s nine.”

  Sister Natalie nodded. “A good age. We would consider her.”

  “I’ll tell Patrillo.”

  Taabe stood in the dooryard with Sister Marie until the big wagon left. Ned Bright had climbed on top and sat with another man, behind a team of four mules. Long leather reins ran from his hands to the mules’ mouths. The other man who had come and tried to talk to her was now inside the wagon.

  Sister Marie pointed to the departing vehicle. “Stagecoach.”

  Taabe tried to say the word, but the sounds were hard to get her tongue around. Sister Marie repeated it several times. Finally she was happy with Taabe’s pronunciation.

  “Come.” She turned toward the house.

  Taabe shook her head. She pointed to the low stone wall that separated the dooryard from a spot where the earth had been worked up. The neat rows in the dirt fascinated Taabe, and she wanted to see them up close.

  Sister Marie shook her head and tugged Taabe’s arm.

  “No, we must go in. Sister Natalie …”

  Taabe couldn’t decipher the rest, but she gathered that Sister Natalie had forbidden the others to take her outside for long. Perhaps it was best. She was very tired. She let Sister Marie help her back to her room, where she lay down.

  Within a few days, she was able to hobble about the yard with one of the sisters, using crutches the bluecoat medicine man brought. She didn’t like him. He probed her ankle and peered into her mouth and ears and spoke for a long time with Sister Natalie. Taabe could tell he was talking about her. He left the crutches and some white pills that Sister Natalie wanted her to swallow with every meal. They tasted vile, and after the first, Taabe refused.

  Sister Riva, who seemed the quietest, took her outside one warm morning and led her through a gate to the place of turned earth. She got across to Taabe that this was to be her garden, and she planned to grow food in it. Taabe knew about growing corn, though the Numinu did not live in one place long enough to cultivate the earth. She had an idea that her old family—her white mother and father—had tilled the soil.

  The Numinu didn’t grow vegetables. They hunted and raided and occasionally gathered fruit. But in Taabe’s heart something stirred as she watched the sister, in her flowing habit, stoop to run a handful of earth through her fingers. This was the way white people got their food, through much labor, rather than stealing it from others.

  The people she’d lived with disdained the whites for working so hard. And yet when winter came, they would have food to eat. The sisters would have no starving months, the way the Numinu had almost every year. If you lived with the whites, they would make you work all day, Pia’s mother had told her many times. They forced children to work for them and to grow food for them.

  Taabe wasn’t sure about that. She didn’t remember being made to work the earth. Compulsory labor had no place in her memory. Were the
whites really so cruel to their children?

  Sister Riva insisted that Taabe wear a wide-brimmed straw hat outside, like the one she wore over her head cloth. Sister Riva never tried to get Taabe to talk, which was restful. She showed her a small wooden bench on the outside of the low wall. Taabe sat there in the sun while Sister Riva worked. She used a spade to dig in the dirt and turn over clumps of sod. She shook the soil off the roots and threw the tops aside.