Earthbound: Science Fiction in the Old West (Chronicles of the Maca Book 1) (8 page)

The men and horses were moving as silently as possible through the night's fading moonlight and starlight. They were following their Captain and a huge form on an oversized black horse. Grey light had begun to peak over the far away hills when the signal came to halt. The sergeants rode forward, received their orders, and rode back to deliver the command to spread out. No smoking, talking, spitting, or hacking until after the attack.

They formed a huge arc. Those that were looking forward saw the scout point out the direction to the Captain and then he moved to the far side of the attackers. The scout was allowed to join in the attack, but he was not part of the 2
^nd
Dragoons. His risks were his own and he was to note if any large segment of the Comanche men or horses escaped, the direction they went, and report to the Captain immediately.

The arc surged forward. MacDonald, the scout, was kicking his heels into his horse to chase a man fleeing back to the village. The Captain waved and the bugler raised his horn. As one the men unloosened their revolvers and they surged forward at the sound of the bugle. Dust rose in the air and men began crawling out of the teepees as the horsemen poured into the village firing their dragoons. They fired six shots per man, holstered their revolvers, and pulled out their swords. By now the dust was rising from the ground, dogs were barking and yelping, teepees were being pulled over, and women and children were screaming, crying, and running as they looked for a place to hide from the Dragoons circling the area.

One tall, white-haired woman clad in a mended deerskin dress was shoving other women and children out of her way as she tried to head for the hills to the north. MacDonald rushed his horse into the trooper riding towards her.

“Nay, she tis too tall.” He yelled at the Dragoon chasing her. “She must be white.” He pushed his animal closer and his long arm shot out to pull the woman up.

“Ye twill be killed if ye run with yere back to the soldiers. They canna tell that ye are white.” He was yelling to be heard over the noise and confusion.

Fists beat at the air and the woman tried to turn and fight him. Her feet were kicking at his horse. MacDonald galloped back to the wagon and swung down, the woman still held tight against his side. As soon as he dismounted, he released her and her angry, ice-cold grey eyes were glaring at him. Tiny white curls surrounded her face and fought to be loose from the braids. Her lips were white with fury.

“Mein Daniel, mein sohn.” Her teeth clenched together and she balled her hands into fists, and she turned to run back.

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Dear Gar, are ye Anna Lawrence?” He began speaking in German. “Are you Kasper Schmidt's sibling? Do you mean one of your sons is alive and up there?”

For a moment she drew in her breath, swallowed, closed her eyes, and snapped them open. “Ja, I must go to him.” Desperation and hardness filled her eyes, and she started to kick.

He picked her up by the waist while her arms and legs flailed the air. He lowered the back gate of the wagon and smacked her down on the hard wood. “You will stay here. I shall go see if there is anyone up there, but I doubt it. They are not shooting arrows at the troopers. How many are in his group and how tall is he now?”

She swallowed and shook her head. “Two, three others I, I, am not sure.” The two years of not speaking German or English were dragging at her tongue and Anna felt a rising frustration. She wanted to speak clearly, but in her panic the words jumbled in her mind. The tribe had given her youngest, Auggie, to another group and Daniel to a family in this one. She could not lose her one remaining child.

“He's ten, but tall. Go, go. Do not let them take him.” She continued to use German even if this man's speech was badly accented.

“Will you stay here? If you go out there someone is apt to think you are Comanche and kill you. Promise me you will stay.”

Anna tightened her lips. How to fight this man? She knew she had lost weight and strength, and he was so strong; so rock hard.

MacDonald looked up at the driver. “This tis Mrs. Lawrence. She has relatives at Schmidt's Corner. Dinna let her go.”

He swung back up on his horse and rode off. Anna was left blinking in the soft morning sunlight. Relatives? That word she understood. Here? Where? In Texas? Was she still in Texas? Where was Schmidt's Corner?

Confusion and dust filled her senses and mind. Auggie she felt was dead, but Daniel she knew was alive just a few minutes ago. In her innermost being, she knew that somewhere Margareatha and Lorenz were alive. Was God giving her this chance to get them back?

The yells grew dimmer, but women and children were still screaming. A contingent of troopers was herding another woman and two children back towards the wagon. Anna recognized the woman as the wife of one of the main hunters. That one had been with the group for seven years and had gone completely primitive in Anna's mind. Anna had starved and endured torture rather than succumb to the Comanche or bear children that might die tomorrow. They had let her live because they were not certain of her sanity. She was as strong as a man when it came to certain chores and they set her at them while withholding food. No sane person willingly refused food when starving.

The dust cleared enough that Anna realized the few Comanche women left were being stripped and raped before being killed. Their screams were muted and hoarse. She turned away, sick at heart. These men were no better than the savages that had captured her.

Anna hated the savagery of the world that had taken her children. She had prayed for God to help her to forgive, to take the hate out of her heart, but every child's cry made her see an image of her children and her heart wept for them and the red rage inside would begin again.

Captain Lewis was trying to interrogate the women found in the Comanche camp. It was late morning, and most of his men were preparing for their ride back to the fort. The younger woman (he assumed she must be younger as her hair was not white or grey streaked) sat cross-legged on the ground, holding her youngest of three children, rocking back and forth, and refusing to look at him. Her lips were compressed and almost white. The white-haired woman was looking at him with a strange glowing light in her grey eyes. The younger woman's buckskin dress was clean and intact. The older woman's was dirty, a bit ragged, and too short.

“We can return you to your family if you will tell us your name and when and where you were captured.”

Anna was standing and she looked first at the other woman and then at him when finally the English words came back. “I am Mrs. Anna Lawrence. She has so primitive become she vill not tell anyvon her real name. The babies have savage names.” Anna continued, slipping back into German.

“I was taken in August of 1854 from a small farm in central Texas. We were about five miles out of Wooden.” She saw the puzzled look on his face and bit her tongue. English, she thought, speak English like Kasper. She repeated her words ending with, “Ve vere about five miles out of Vooden. I had four children then. My daughter has red hair. Has the army found a girl named Margareatha Lawrence and a dark-haired boy named Lorenz?” Her grey eyes were intent on his face.

“No, I'm sorry to say we have not found any children like that, but thank you, Mrs. Lawrence. Would you be able to get her to speak?”

Anna's face stiffened to hide the bitter disappointment. She then turned to the woman and in halting, garbled Comanche words tried to ask the same questions. The woman looked first at Anna and then at the Captain before turning to Anna and spewing out a string of hate-filled words.

“She says du her home have destroyed.” Anna did not add the part about the woman wishing all of them emasculated, dead, and rotting.

Captain Lewis turned to Anna. “Do you know her name or where she is from?”

“Nein, no, she vas going to von of the forts up north. Her father vas a trader. She said her Comanche (Comanche came out like a dirty word) name is her name.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I'll be sending you both to Fort Davis under escort. From there you will be transferred to Fort Lawrence. You will be able to contact your relatives and return home. Be ready to leave in the morning.” He stood.

“Has MacDonald returned from his scouting?” he asked one of his Sergeants.

“Yes, sir, he said he would like a word with you concerning one of the captive women. It seems her brother is in Texas and has been looking for her.”

Captain Lewis almost heaved a sigh of relief and caught himself. “Good, I was planning on him guiding the rescued women to Fort Davis while we finish here. He can return her to her family from there and it won't cost the command anything.

“Return these captives to the cooking wagon and post a guard for them.” He waved a hand toward the women and children. I don't want them running off when the men are in such high spirits. Then, have MacDonald report to me.”

The Sergeant motioned the corporal and private closer. “Nobody comes near them. Understand?”

The two men hid smirks and answered, “Yes, sir.” They both looked at the women like they were somewhere between dirt and maybe a good roll. White women who lived with Indians weren't no better than Indians in their minds. Their families weren't likely to want them back and if they did, they'd probably lock them away.

“Anyone that so much as disturbs them is court-martialed. Tell MacDonald that Captain Lewis wants to see him.”

“Whoa up.” The trooper pulled back on the reins and brought the mule team to a halt. The dust rose around their hoofs and half-way up the wheel spokes. It was nearing autumn and this was the dry part of Texas. Rain would come, but maybe not for another month. The buildings were primitive. The lumber rough, the windows small or nonexistent, and all were coated with dust waiting for the rains to wash everything clean. The so-called streets would become running streams to be cut into a maze of ruts.

Some of the washer women and their kids gawked at the two women and children. They had never seen a white woman in Indian clothes. Some of them pointed and moved closer before their mothers grabbed their arms as if they went too close to those creatures they might be contaminated.

MacDonald dismounted and tied his mount to a rail and looked at Anna seated in the wagon.

“Mrs. Lawrence, there tis the sutler's store but a few steps away. Twould ye like to purchase anything?”

Anna looked at him puzzled, and then straightened her shoulders, the look in her grey eyes becoming cold. “I haf no money.”

“I am sure yere brither, Kasper, twill be happy to pay the small cost of what ye should want. Mayhap some clothes, although they have nay for lassies.” The puzzlement on her face returned and he switched to German.

“Why don't we speak Deutsche until you regain your English skills?”

Anna was still puzzled. Who would call using English a skill? She knew the words, but they would not go right and she closed her eyes and nodded.

“Your brother, Kasper, will want you properly clothed and will not begrudge the amount it takes to do so. You need something else to wear and shoes. I suggest you buy men's clothing until you are home.”

“You keep saying Kasper is here? Where is here?”

“Kasper, his wife, and little boy came to Texas to look for you. When they couldn't find you, they decided to stay. He has a general store and a livery stable at Schmidt's Corner. It is north of Arles and south of the German settlements further north.”

For a moment hope surged in Anna and then she remembered. Would white people accept her again? Would they turn their backs on her like some foul, fallen woman, something to be hidden away? And she closed her eyes trying to keep the sobs out of her voice and the tears out of her eyes. A look of pain spread over her face.

She snapped her eyes opened and held her head higher. “You are right. I cannot disgrace him and Gerde by looking like this. There is one more problem. I cannot go about the countryside with a strange man. So I thank you for your offer, but the Army may send me back with the others.”

MacDonald was looking at her in amazement. How could she change so rapidly? There was no crying from this woman; simply a steely determination to continue living after having her whole life ripped away. The same had been done to him at a young age. How old had she been at the time of the attack? Kasper was but thirty-three. Dear Gar, as his twin this lassie twas nay older, but thirty twas considered old for a woman on the frontier. Still she had courage. Had she nay fought him? He smiled at her.

“They will send you to Fort Lawrence in Kansas. That could take months. Then you would wait until they contacted your family. It will take another month for them to come for you. The whole procedure would take almost one year. I can return you to your family within three weeks.

“I promise you, Mrs. Lawrence, as Kasper's friend I will guard you and your honor with my life.”

Anna calculated the time in her head. It would mean another year of being separated from her children. Margareatha, she knew would not forget her, but Lorenz had only been four years old. How could he survive? But he had. She knew it. She could hear him crying for her. She looked at MacDonald.

“Do you know Kasper that well?”

“Yes, Mrs. Lawrence, I do.” His face was solemn and his voice emphatic. The driver broke into their conversation.

“Mrs. Lawrence, if you are getting out here, you'd best climb down. I've got to deliver the rest of the cargo.”

His words angered her. The man wasn't thinking of them as women and children.

“Very well, Mr. MacDonald, but when we are at Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt's place, perhaps I can sew your clothes and do your laundry to repay you.”

MacDonald gave a slight smile and amusement was back in his brown eyes. She had assumed correctly that there were no readymade clothes for him either.

“Maybe they will have a pair of boots to fit your feet or do you prefer the moccasins? There are some that do.”

“I want to be rid of everything that stinks of that camp.” Her voice was as harsh as her words.

“Then you had best step down. The other woman will be locked away to await transportation.”

Two troopers had swung the gate down and looked like they were ready to pull her off.

Anna stood. “I can down get by myself, thank du.” Thank Gott the words came out right that time. On the ground, she too towered over the two male troopers. MacDonald offered his arm and they walked towards the Sutler's store. Those in the vicinity stared at the two.

Upon entering, they both blinked at the darkened space. It was small and cramped, every conceivable item needed by man and beast was stacked on the floor, the shelves, and the counter except for the space the man used to set merchandise, make change, or run up a tab. One small window above the counter area provided the only light in the room, effectively hiding any grime or dust covering the wares.

“Good day, Hawkins, tis something in more conventional apparel Mrs. Lawrence tis needing.”

Hawkins, short, lean, blue eyed, large bulbous nose, and brown, stringy hair regarded Anna. “Aint got no wimmin's clothes. There's a bolt of white muslin, iffen she can sew.” It was a skill he was certain Indian women could not master.

Anna looked ready to attack the man and MacDonald straightened his shoulders. “As I said, Mrs. Lawrence tis needing more conventional apparel. I ken ye have blue bolts of cloth too. She twill look at both.”

Hawkins looked at the scout and decided a paying customer was better than none. Her skin might be white, but she was a squaw. Not that it mattered in this hellhole. Any kind of woman was better than none.

Anna looked at the two bolts of poor quality cotton and swallowed. She would need enough material for a skirt and underskirt. There should be more underskirts, but there wouldn't be time. Her sewing would be confined to the evening hours. She looked at MacDonald.

“Are there men's shirts here?” She still spoke in German.

“Yes, and men's boots and socks.”

“I don't need two bolts. Is it possible he could cut some off?”

“He will for me. How much do you need from them?”

Anna face flushed. “I will need seven yards from each. She dare not say she needed the muslin for the undergarment. “I will also need a needle and some thread. If you have a sharp knife, I should be able to do without the scissors.” Anna wanted the scissors. The man might prove untrustworthy and scissors could be a formidable weapon.

MacDonald was thinking desperately. Thread was the translation for zwirn, but what the hell was nadel? He knew nothing about sewing and Hawkins was making noises behind the counter.

“We need seven yards from each. Can ye do that?” His voice rumbled out and it left no doubt that Hawkins best do it.

For an answer, Hawkins flipped the blue bolt and ran it the length of the counter. He then took the measure from the end and laid it to a mark on the counter. He made a slit with his knife and tore the material upward. He did the same with the white bolt.

“What else?”

“Mrs. Lawrence, what is the English word for nadle?”

She looked at him. “It's needle, und I need vhite thread, at least two spools.”

“Ye heard the lady. Then we need a pair of trousers for her, a shirt, a pair of boots, and some socks.” He was truly ignorant of the fact that scissors, buttons, thimbles, and thread wax were needed.

Anna believed that she could devise something for a button or fastener. She did not wish to owe any more money to this man.

By the time they left the store, their purchases were considerable for they needed another blanket and food. MacDonald insisted on two receipts, one for him and one for the Eighth Infantry Commander. There was no place to change into any of the clothing except the socks and boots. The lace-up brogans were too stiff.

“We will now go to their headquarters. I have an order for a wagon and mules. I did not think you wished to ride a horse.” He remembered that Kasper had said Anna could drive a team as well as a man, but that she did not ride.

By late afternoon they were camped by Limpia Creek. MacDonald had driven down an incline that led to the river. The mules were staked and hobbled in the grass after the cart was half hidden by the willows growing up towards the low bank. “There is water and grass in this area. Once we hit the Pecos River, a ferry will take us across. There isn't much cover, but I would like to take a cleansing. Perhaps you do also.”

Anna looked at him in horror and her words were rapid. “I cannot do so without cover. You may not see me without clothes. Do you intend violence?” Her grey eyes were ice and her mouth a tight line.

“Ye Gods, woman, I but made a suggestion to make us more comfortable. I twould stay on this side of the wagon until ye tell me all tis clear. Then we can exchange places. There are willow shrubs if ye stay low.

“If ye prefer, ye can pick up the wood and chips for the fire or start yere sewing. Ye can go first or nay at all. As for violence, my ranch tis in the vicinity of Schmidt's Corner and I twill live there someday. Ye are safe with me.” He had reverted to his own language.

“I will wait until there is a better way to bathe privately.” Anna could not think of the English words.

“Some of the country we will cross has less cover. They must have given you an old garment as there is a sour smell. Keep it on and bathe.” He had returned to using German.

Anna blushed, but raised her head and looked directly at him. “Part of that is my ears, or lack of them. They cut them off when I did not do their bidding. They haven't healed.”

MacDonald was left bug-eyed and opened mouthed. What a lassie. He had nay seen the like in this land.

Anna turned and began to gather buffalo and cow chips and stray twigs for the evening fire while MacDonald cared for the mules and his horse before taking his “cleansing.”

As she returned to the area where they were camped, she chanced to look in the direction of the water. Was it curiosity or was it because it had become quiet? She never resolved that question, but his broad, muscular back was devoid of clothing, the water dripping down from his dark hair. She turned so quickly the load she was carrying almost fell. That he was a huge man, she had not doubted, but the muscles like cords on his back and arms were so unlike anything she knew from Mr. Lawrence it took her breath away. What is the matter with me ran through her mind. Her annoyance at herself lasted until he returned carrying a small tin.

“This tis,” and he started again in German. “This contains a special salve. I keep some with me in case I pick up an infection or suffer a wound. It will help heal your ears.” He wondered how he had missed realizing that the matted hair around that portion of her face was more than grime. Indians used water for bathing and washing. He had been too long in the company of men.

Anna's stare was defiant. She was daring him to touch her. He handed the tin to her.

“I suggest you at least wash your hair before applying it. I will start the evening meal, and you can start your sewing.”

She considered and knew he was correct. The flesh where the outer ears had been were scabbed over and needed to be cleaned. “Do you have any soap, please?” Her voice was almost meek.

The half smile was back on his lips and amusement lurked in the dark eyes. “Aye, here it tis. Ye twill have but air for the drying.”

Anna palmed the soap and marched toward the river. The view across the river was unrestricted. Round river rocks and sand lined the beach. The willows extended out into the water and the cottonwoods created shade. She could smell the smoke and grease in her clothes. Why hadn't she brought the trousers and shirt? She could have hidden behind the tree trunk. Because you are a stubborn woman, she thought. She turned and walked back to the cart. MacDonald was kneeling where the fire would be, piling on dry leaves and then the smaller sticks.

She ignored him and reached over the cart to pull out her bundle of clothes before returning to the water's edge. There she removed the socks and brogans as she did not want them wet, and began unbraiding her hair. Why hadn't she asked for a comb? Once her hair was wet the curls would become a mass of snarls within hours. She knew it had turned white, but at thirty-three it was doubtful that any man would look at her. Normal men wouldn't anyway. She was too tall; worse she had been in a Comanche camp for two seasons. She would be fortunate if Gerde even allowed her near little Hans. She smelled of the Indian camp and their foods. She knew it. What did it matter if the man raped her? She was already fouled in the eyes of the white man's world.

She pulled off the offending deerskin garment and plunged into the willow-protected water and used the soap to scrub vigorously at her body and her hair. Before walking back to dry ground, Anna looked around, but MacDonald was nowhere in sight. She moved swiftly ignoring the rocks under her feet and pulled on the man's shirt and trousers. The trousers were rough canvas and the shirt cheap cotton, but they covered her. Her hair she tried wringing out, but it was too thick, curly, and unruly and soon soaked her shirt. She turned away from the cart and as rapidly as possible put on the socks and boots before buttoning up the shirt and trousers.

The only thing to do with the hair was to run her fingers through it and braid it. She would need to use the rawhide ties for now. Once the hair was braided, she opened the small can and applied the salve. Maybe it will work and maybe it won't were her thoughts. She stood and returned to the camp.