Restoring Hope Page 14

  Chogan stood by the door, seeming uncertain of what to do.

  She figured that was good. As long as he stayed in one spot, she didn’t have to worry about him trying to attack them, in case he was lying about who he was.

  A door from upstairs opened and her aunt’s feet scuffed across the floor.

  The wait was agonizing, but Julia managed to stand in place and patiently wait until Erin finally came into view. From the looks of it, her aunt had been taking a nap, and upon further inspection, Julia realized that she’d been crying. “Aunt Erin, who is he?” She pointed to the Indian.

  Her aunt came down the steps. Her lips quivered and tears filled her eyes. “Oh, dear God, don’t tell me something happened to Woape too.”

  Julia placed the knife on a step and gently took her aunt by the shoulders so she’d focus on her. “Who is he?”

  Sniffling, Erin answered, “He’s the one who came with Woape. He’s part of her tribe. Chogan.” She looked at him. “That is your name?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I lose Woape in other town. Sioux Indians came. She afraid and ran.”

  Julia nearly cried with relief. Now they could get somewhere! She let go of her aunt and walked up to him. “Did you bury a man...when you found Woape here?”

  “Two men dead. One Sioux. Other white. I burn white man. Woape bury him.”

  “No one else was there?”

  “No.”

  By now, she was getting so excited, she could hardly stand still. “What did the white man look like?”

  “He white. Not Indian.”

  “Julia, where are you going with this?” her aunt asked.

  Julia glanced at her. “If I’m right, and I hope I am, then Gary may be alive.”

  Erin’s eyes widened—in surprise and in hope.

  “Hair?” Julia took off her bonnet and pointed to her hair. “Yellow like this?”

  Chogan shook his head. “Not dark. Hair like...” He scanned the entryway. “Like that color.” He pointed to Erin’s white apron which was wrapped around her waist.

  “Did he have hair on his face? Right here?” Julia patted her cheeks and chin.

  “Yes.”

  “Julia, can it be—”

  This time when Julia cried, it was with joy. “Woape didn’t bury Gary. She buried Matthew.” She quickly sobered. “Not that losing Matthew is a good thing. He must have noticed something happening at his property and went to investigate.”

  Her aunt wiped her eyes. “He would’ve been at the wrong place at the wrong time. But maybe he gave Gary a chance to escape. Woape said Gary hid her in the attic, so he knew she was safe. What if he ran and hid?”

  “We have to find him and Woape.” Julia turned and raced up the stairs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going with Chogan so we can look for them.”

  “Stay here,” Erin told Chogan before she ran after Julia.

  Julia burst into her room and grabbed a carpet bag. Who knew how long the journey would take? She wasn’t sure where to even start looking, but there was no way she was going to stay in this house and wait for something to happen.

  “You can’t just head off with a stranger,” her aunt whispered as she approached the bed where Julia threw a spare dress into the carpet bag.

  “Why not? Gary and Woape might need help.”

  “Yes, but you don’t know him.”

  “Woape trusted him, and if she trusted him, then I can too.” Julia threw some coins she’d saved over the years into the bag. “You keep telling me that I need to stop complaining and start living life. Well, this is the time to do that, and I can’t think of a better reason to venture into the unknown than this. Can you?”

  Erin’s lips turned up into a smile. “You’re right. But you’re not going alone with him. I’m coming with you.” Then she left for her room to pack.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Woape clung to the bed sheets as she slept. She knew she was dreaming. And even though she struggled to wake up, she couldn’t. She was trapped in her nightmare. A nightmare where the question haunted her ever since she realized she was pregnant: who was the father? It was easy to push her fears aside during the day, when the sun shone bright and people surrounded her. But in the heart of night where the moon reined and dreams ran rampant, she couldn’t escape it.

  She dreamt the time had come to give birth. She was alone and it was dark, so she couldn’t tell where she was. The only sound audible was her screaming in pain. She squatted and pushed. The baby crowned and then the body slid out. As soon as the baby cried, a figure stepped into view. With her remaining strength, Woape looked up.

  Hothlepoya knelt down and took the crying child into his hands. “Ah, a remarkable resemblance.” Then he turned the baby so she could see for herself who the child belonged to.

  “No!” She scrambled away from both of them.

  “Hold him. Hold my son.” He held the wailing child out to her.

  “He’s not mine.” She huddled in the corner of the teepee. “He’s not mine!”

  Woape finally broke out of her nightmare and bolted straight up in bed. “He’s not mine,” she squeaked.

  Her heart pounding frantically in her chest, she quickly scanned the room. Where was she? It took her mind a moment to sort through the fog of the dream. She was at the preacher’s house, staying with him and his wife. Gasping, she collapsed on the bed, sweat sticking to her nightgown and sheets.

  Oh God, please let this child be Gary’s. She choked on a sob and resisted the urge to place her hand over her belly as the baby squirmed. What was she going to do if this wasn’t Gary’s child? She tried to tell herself she could love him anyway, but could she really? Would she remember Hothlepoya every time she looked at him? It was just a matter of weeks before the duration of her pregnancy came to an end. It was too soon. Much too soon.

  She turned over and stared at the empty space next to her. Her heart hurt whenever she rested in bed and thought of how safe she’d felt next to Gary. She didn’t know how she was supposed to continue on without him...or his love. One thing seemed certain. She was stuck in the white man’s world. She didn’t mind it when Gary was with her. But being here, alone, and knowing she was never going to see him again made her cry.

  She thought she’d cried enough already to last a lifetime. The preacher’s wife would give her a handkerchief and hold her while she cried during the day. Woape hadn’t told the woman the truth behind her grief. She decided to let the people think whatever they wanted and kept quiet.

  She realized this was a temporary stay. Where would she go next? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. Her only hope was that it was Gary’s child that grew inside her.

  Letting her tears fall to her pillow, she prayed again to the God Gary often prayed to. It was the only time she received any comfort, and it was the only thing that warded off the nightmares. Gary once said that his God could work miracles. When he said that, he also said that she was his miracle. Well, she needed a miracle now, and she hoped God would deliver on it.

  ***

  “Martha,” the preacher’s wife said.

  It took Woape a moment to remember that the kindly old woman had given her the name Martha. Woape almost told her what her name was, but then she thought if Hothlepoya came through town and asked for “Woape”, no one would know who that was and he’d continue on his search for her. Woape closed her eyes and slowly exhaled. Why couldn’t he forget her? Why did he have to hunt her down as if she were some kind of prey?

  “Martha, dear?”

  Woape opened her eyes and directed her attention from the parlor window.

  The woman smiled and patted her shoulder. “There’s a visitor.”

  A momentary flicker of panic coursed through her until the preacher’s wife motioned to a white woman who stood just inside the threshold of the room. The blond woman looked to be in her mid-twenties, and she seemed trustworthy, if Woape could judge a person’s character based on appea
rance alone. Something in her eyes reminded Woape of her mother and Erin.

  Woape shifted on the couch to make room for her to sit.

  “This is Penelope,” the woman slowly stated. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she repeated, “Pe-ne-lo-pe.”

  Woape nodded and said, “Penelope.”

  “Yes! Very good.” The woman smiled at Penelope. “She doesn’t know our language. I’ve been doing what I can to teach her words here and there. She’s a quick learner.”

  Penelope sat next to Woape. “I wonder what her real name is.”

  “I don’t know. Jerry and his men found her in a train car, shaking with fear. The poor thing must be running from someone.”

  “You think this someone caused her pregnancy?”

  She shrugged. “It’s speculation, of course, but it’s all we have to go on. She was wearing that dress.”

  Penelope turned her caring eyes toward Woape. “What you must have gone through.”

  An underlying thread of sorrow marked Penelope’s words, making Woape wonder if they shared something in common.

  “She’s all alone in the world,” the preacher’s wife commented. “A lot like you.”

  That comment caught Woape’s attention. She studied Penelope’s profile.

  “I don’t wish to be presumptuous,” the woman continued, “but I thought maybe one woman who has no one might like the company of another one in a similar situation.”

  “You mean, you wish for me to take her with me when I return home?”

  “Like I said, it was a thought. I figured that there might be a sense of comfort in it.”

  Penelope sighed but smiled at Woape. “If I were in your shoes, I’d be scared too.”

  Woape wondered about Penelope. What was her story? But she couldn’t ask without letting them know she could understand them, so she didn’t. She couldn’t take that chance. She would not be to blame for someone else’s death. Already her mother and Gary had died because of their association with her. And all because she didn’t want to marry Citlali. She never should have run away from her tribe.

  Penelope reached out and gave Woape’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Though we don’t know each other’s language, I think the human spirit knows when one has a connection with another, and I feel that we could be great friends.”

  Woape squeezed her hand back, allowing for one indication that she understood Penelope’s words.

  Penelope released her hand and stood. Looking at the preacher’s wife, she said, “I should show Martha where I live. Do you have a map?”

  The woman nodded and hurried out of the room.

  Woape also stood.

  Penelope smiled at her.

  She returned her smile.

  An awkward minute passed before the preacher’s wife returned with a map which she laid out on the table in the center of the room. “There,” she told Penelope. “Where is it you live?”

  Penelope studied the map for a moment before she pointed to a spot that looked to be far from anyone or anything.

  Woape leaned forward. She wondered where her tribe was. She wondered where she and Gary used to live. Bracing herself against the sorrow that wanted to emerge, she focused on the place where Penelope pointed.

  Penelope looked at Woape. “I live here.” She paused before pointing to the three of them. “We are here.” She slid her finger to a place that looked much more populated than where Penelope said she lived.

  The preacher’s wife tapped Woape on the arm to get her attention. “You go here.” She motioned to Penelope’s home.

  Woape knew what they were offering, and she considered it. Part of her wanted to return to her people, but she had no idea how to get to them. She realized she could come out and ask them. But Hothlepoya was still out there. Did she risk the journey, especially when it wasn’t just her she had to think about? She absentmindedly rubbed her belly. She had to consider what was best for the baby. Even if the child was Hothlepoya’s, she had to remember the child was also hers. Besides, the child did nothing wrong. It wasn’t fair to not love someone who couldn’t change the circumstances of his conception.

  She turned her attention back to the map. The place Penelope lived at was isolated. It might be so isolated that Hothlepoya wouldn’t think to go there. He’d most likely suspect that she’d be hiding in a town somewhere, which is how he came to find her and Gary.

  Finally, she nodded to Penelope.

  The older woman clapped her hands. “Oh, now this is wonderful! I think you two will be good for each other.”

  Penelope rolled up the map. “Yes. I think so too.”

  “It blesses my heart when things work out for the best. Now, we should get ready to eat.” She took the map from Penelope and strode out of the room.

  Woape turned toward the window. A part of her hated to be dependent on the good nature of others, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  To her surprise, Penelope said, “It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to. It gets lonely out there, out in the middle of nowhere.”

  Woape glanced at her, wondering why she said all of this...unless she assumed that Woape could understand her. But Penelope’s next words settled that question.

  “I know you don’t know what I’m saying. I just like to talk sometimes. You’ll have to learn that about me.”

  Woape watched as Penelope approached the window and peered out of it. “I live in that direction. We’ll head out tomorrow morning. The journey will be two days.”

  She gazed in the direction of the open land. She had no idea where it was in relation to her tribe, or where she’d made a home with Gary.

  “It’ll be nice to have a baby around,” Penelope whispered. “I was married, but my husband died. I can’t have children, so there’s no one to remember him by. I often think it would be nice to hear the laughter only a child can bring.”

  Woape looked back at Penelope.

  “I hope that whoever the father is that he was good to you,” Penelope continued, her voice still soft. “I’d like to think that there might be something good that can happen to one of us.”

  Woape debated the wisdom of talking to Penelope, especially since she realized they were going through similar heartaches. No wonder she sensed a connection between them. Sorrow, it seemed, was a universal language.

  The preacher’s wife returned and clapped her hands. “I just know that things will start getting better for the both of you! Now, come and eat.”

  Woape watched Penelope as she passed her. There was more to the story than Penelope told her, but she figured that maybe, in time, she would find out what it was, and maybe she’d be able to tell her new friend her story as well.

  ***

  Gary slowly stood from the spare bed and gingerly made his way to the dresser. He checked the bandages wrapped around his shoulder and the side of his neck. As long as he lived, he didn’t think he’d forget the way that axe looked as it came down toward him. Had it not been for Matthew riding up on the property, the Indian wouldn’t have missed his aim. But poor Matthew...

  Gary turned from the mirror as he recalled Matthew’s slaughter. He shivered. He knew those Indians meant Woape harm—that they were bad men, but it never occurred to him just how much they delighted in the hunt...and the kill. The leader actually looked excited as he threw the axe at Matthew.

  But at least they hadn’t found Woape. Gary had led them out of the house and away from her. One was dead. The other had pursued him while the leader went after Matthew. Gary wanted to stay and defend Matthew, but he’d dropped his gun in the grass and couldn’t find it. His only option was jump on the nearby horse and ride off, even as the muscles in his neck and shoulder screamed at him, even as his blood ran down his body.

  Gary glanced at his other side where the arrow had skimmed his skin. It was a close call. But still, he fared better than Matthew. The Indian had chased Gary until the sun marked the nine o’clock hour when a rancher found him and the Indian—and realizing what was
going on—intervened. The Indian retreated and headed back toward the south, and Gary was so relieved that the remaining adrenaline he’d been relying on to get him through the ordeal left him. He fell off the horse and landed in the grass. And the man and his two sons brought him back where they worked to heal him.

  An infection set into the wound along his neck, so Gary stayed to recover. He knew he’d be of little use to Woape in his condition. He just hoped she stayed in the attic until the remaining Indian departed. She was smart. She wouldn’t come down from her hiding place until it was safe.

  Cautious, he moved his arms. The wounds hurt, but he might be able to ride a horse. He was anxious to get back to Woape. Turning to the chair in the small bedroom, he picked up his shirt and slipped it on, careful not to aggravate the bandages. Then he sat down on the bed and put his boots on. He sat still for a few moments to catch his breath.

  He wasn’t ready to ride a horse. Not if the simple act of getting dressed had worn him out. But he had to get to Woape. She must be scared and wondering if he’d ever return. He wondered if he could handle riding a horse if he took it easy. A simple walk might not be so strenuous if he took frequent breaks. He had to leave today. Even if he made slow progress getting back to his home, he’d still be on his way to seeing her again.

  He wanted to see her. He missed her. He hoped she realized he had to run that night. He hoped she didn’t think he left her just because those men showed up. And that uncertainty made him anxious too. He couldn’t stay here in this cabin for another day. The man and his sons had been hospitable to him, so he’d let them know he appreciated it. But he had to get back.

  After all the time he’d spent looking for a place to belong, he finally found it with her. Maybe this whole thing served as a reminder that his aunt had been right—that a man wasn’t truly fulfilled until he had a good woman by his side...and a child on the way.

  He eased off the bed. He just had to take things slow. Then he wouldn’t strain himself. Sure, it might prolong his healing, but he’d rather heal with her tending to him than the man and the two sons, even if they were nice. Gary couldn’t wait to see Woape again and hold her in his arms. He smiled. I’ll be home soon, my shadow.