Mary Page 4

  She hadn't meant for her comment to sound so blunt. She just wanted to redirect his attention away from her, but instead of being offended by her implication that he was not right in the head, he reared his head back and offered a hearty laugh. When he regained his composure, he grinned at her. She liked the way he looked when he smiled. Well, to be truthful, she just like the way he looked.

  “You aren't the first person to question my sanity, I'll admit. However, you are the first one to use it to distract from their own peculiar behavior. Do you mind telling me why you were hiding in the middle of a bush? Is that something you do often or was today's adventure a new experience for you?”

  His teasing grin was disarming. Her distrust faded in his warm, soft gaze, so full of kindness. It touched her somehow. She was drawn to him and their connection hit her hard, and she was at a loss to explain it. Or understand it. But she could admit she liked it, and his pleasing features. His dark hair and sun-bronzed skin gave him a wild, untamed look. And she liked his humor. His dark eyes smiled along with his mouth when he laughed.

  “Well? Care to tell me why you were lurking around inside a bush, Miss Fire of the Moon?” He created his own version of her name.

  “I wasn't lurking. I was hiding . . . while I dipped.”

  “Dipped?” He frowned at her.

  “Yes, dipped. I was enjoying one of the hot spring pools just on the other side of that clump of bushes there, and when I was finished and getting ready to head back to town, I saw you acting very strange. I feared you would murder me before I could defend myself or call for help, not that help would come. So, I did what my Ute mother taught me to do when I had no weapon. I hid.” She tried to look stern, but his infectious grin was contagious. She couldn't help herself and found herself grinning back at the troublesome man.

  “Ah, I see. Well, to put your mind at rest, I'm not interested in murder. Or mayhem. My curious idiosyncrasies lie in the fact that I'm interested in learning about the healing properties of wild herbs and flowers, along with a root or two. I prefer to treat people's ailments and illnesses with natural ingredients instead of some of the manufactured ones like pain agents such as laudanum and morphine that do more harm than good.

  She knew about such plants. Her adoptive mother’s sister was a well-respected healer in their village. She had taught Moonfire about some of the more common herbs and their uses, but she had never heard of a white doctor being interested in such things. This was quite a surprise. And very interesting.

  He must have seen the look of surprise on her face and felt the need to explain. “As I said, I've spent a lot of time among the Utes. I learned a thing or two over the years. Now, why won't you tell me your name?”

  She frowned. “I did tell you my name. It's Moonfire.”

  He shook his head. “That is the name the Utes gave you after you came to live with them, but that's not your given name. It’s not the name the parents you were born to gave you, now is it?”

  She had thought he would be satisfied with the name she had given him. After all, he seemed to be friends with the Utes, but he wanted more. The man was not only handsome and intelligent, he was also persistent. Did it matter if he knew her white name? She saw no reason not to tell him what he wanted to know.

  “It is not, but what does it matter to you what you call me? I have been called Moonfire for many years and that is the name I know now. Isn't that all that matters? It is who I am now.” She tried again.

  He shook his head. “No, it isn't all that matters. Your name, the name your parents gave you, is connected to your family. Your past. Your ancestors. You are not connected by blood to the Utes or their traditions.” When she didn't answer him, she saw him try a new tactic. “When was the last time you saw your family? And I'm talking about your blood family. I assumed it was the day you were kidnapped unless you are living with them now. Is that what happened? They found you and brought you home? Tell me about them.” He packed his equipment back into his black satchel, snapped the lid closed, and sat down on the ground cross-legged in front of her and waited.

  She thought about getting up and leaving him sitting in the woods alone, but there was something about the man that drew her to him. Maybe it was his kindness. He wasn't judging her. Or maybe it was his warmth for he was easy to talk to and she felt more relaxed than she had since she’d been forced to leave her Ute family. Whatever it was about the man that pulled her in, she decided she wanted to stay longer and talk with this unusual man. She couldn't explain it. It didn't make sense, but she found it to be true.

  “Please.” the man begged, and she realized somewhere between the shock of being discovered and his willingness to place himself in front of his own pistol to make her feel safe, she had decided to trust him.

  “Very well, but you will gain no information from my story. It was many, many moons ago, and I was but a very young girl of ten when my world was ripped away from me.”

  “I understand. But I would still like to know the story of your life. I sense that along with your heartaches, there has been adventure too. And happiness.”

  She nodded and sent him a speculative glance. How could he know so much about her journey? It was as if he could read her mind, but only the Great Father could do that. She was still deciding what to do when he added to his plea.

  “If it is too painful for you to bring up the ghosts of your past, then I will not push you to share.”

  It was his gentle manner and lack of demands that pushed her to make her decision.

  “Very well, I will tell you what you want to know, but you will be sorry that you asked once you learn of the paths I have walked.” She gave him a chance to change his mind. When he didn't, she began. “When I was ten, my parents, my older brother, and I traveled from Ireland to America. We left Boston and traveled to Texas where we joined a wagon train full of families who had hopes of starting a new life in California.

  “We traveled for many weeks, then one morning, the wagon train crossed the deserts of New Mexico Territory and we could see the blue mountains in the distance. Papa told us about men who found gold and silver in those mountains, and we wanted to know why we couldn’t go there too. Especially my momma.”

  “So you were headed to California and then changed direction and headed to the mountains to hunt for gold.”

  “Yes. Momma was tired of living in the wagon and she began to cry. Papa agreed to go to the mountains to see if we could find our new life there. It was much closer than this faraway place called California, but all we found on the journey to those mountains was death and heartbreak.”

  She grew quiet as the memories she had long kept buried began to rise slowly into her conscious mind. She cut a quick look at the man sitting across from her. His sad smile told her that he knew what came next and it would be hard for her to tell. He remained quiet and simply nodded his encouragement for her to continue.

  The fragrant pine aroma filled her nostrils, and it made her think of her village amidst the tall ponderosa pines on the mountain. It made her miss her adopted family a great deal, and she vowed to return to them as soon as she could.

  Shaking off the melancholy of two families lost, she raised her chin and looked straight into the doctor's eyes. “My family left the wagon train and headed off toward the desert to the mountains in the distance. They looked so close to the eye, but they were still many days away.

  “Then, we hit a large rock and it splintered one of our wheels. My father repaired the wheel and by the time we were ready to travel again, we had lost an entire day.” She paused and closed her eyes. The picture of her family laughing and singing as they rode toward the mountains was the last happy memory she had of her family. Tragedy was not far away. She shook off the images and pushed on with her story.

  “I used to wonder where my family would be—where I would be—if we had stayed with the wagon train or if we hadn’t been delayed by that stupid broken wheel. Just one day. It could have made all the difference t
o my family's future, but . . .” She thought about where she would be today if her family hadn't been— “Looking back is for fools. If you do not keep your eye on your footsteps forward, you will not know where your path is leading you.”

  “A very wise Ute saying. Go on, tell me what happened next,” he urged her onward.

  “You want to hear the bloody details?”

  “I'm just trying to understand who's at fault for your family's death. The Utes are peaceful people, so I know it wasn't them.”

  “No, it wasn't the Utes. They have been generous and kind to me. They were the ones who traded their horses and an old mule to rescue me from those who took me and made me their slave. Those who stole me away from my family are the ones who killed them. They were not a part of a village. They wore both white man’s clothes and buckskins. They were dirty and mean and—”

  “Sounds to me like a bunch of renegades. A small group who didn’t like following the rules so they left their village and made up their own. They are lawbreakers. And they are often heartless and cold-blooded for they care only for themselves and their own selfish wants.”

  “It sounds like you’ve seen their kind before.”

  “Yes, whites aren’t the only people who fall victim to these bands of thieves and murders. They turn on their own people too.”

  “I’ve heard tales,” she admitted.

  “Please, go on,” the doctor urged.

  “After Papa fixed the wagon wheel, he pushed the mules hard to get to the town the wagon master had told him about. Papa had said we were just five more miles from the town and we could rest for a few days. But just as we crossed a small ravine, we heard them. They were riding toward us and they were screaming. When we saw them, Momma screamed at Papa to hurry. Papa told me and my brother to hide in the back of the wagon behind the trunks of clothing. Momma grabbed the shotgun and Papa whipped the team into a dead run.”

  The panic she felt that day returned. She remembered peeking out from behind the trunks and she could see their grotesque painted faces through the back flap of the wagon's canvas covering. She screamed, but her brother clamped his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

  Her heart punched at her ribs as the memory of what happened next came flooding past all of her defenses. Her breathing grew rapid and shallow, and she thought for a moment she might faint.

  “Breath, in and out.” She heard the doctor say. She nodded her head in understanding and inhaled a lung full of air, then exhaled it slowly. After a few minutes, she felt more in control and ready to continue.

  “The mules were already tired from being pushed so hard, and didn't have much left to give. Soon the painted warriors overtook us. They rode to the head of the team and grabbed the reins from Papa's hand.”

  Her voice quivered with emotion as memories of her looking out of the wagon at her parents trying to fight them off. “Papa grabbed the rifle from Momma and shot at them. It was horrible. I saw Papa hit one of them in the chest and he vaulted backwards off his horse to the ground. One of the wagon wheels ran over his body and nearly tipped us over. Then, I saw one of them ride next to the wagon and pull Momma off the wagon seat. She struggled against him and he couldn't hang on to her and I saw her fall. It was then I felt the other wagon wheel hit something and bounce hard in the air. My brother tried to push me back down behind the trunks, but I fought him. I had to see for myself. And then I saw her—my momma—lying on the trail behind us, her dress stained with dirt. And blood. And she didn’t move . . .” She couldn't go on.

  She jumped when she felt the doctor's arm reach around her shoulders, doing his best to comfort her . “Tell me the rest of it. I'd like to know what you've been through these past years.”

  He was sitting so close she could see the gold flecks lighting the darkness of his deep brown eyes. She should get up and go back to town, and yet, she couldn't seem to stand. She was no longer afraid he would harm her. There was no predator's look in his eyes like she’d seen in the eyes of so many men over the past years. She allowed herself to relax.

  “Are you alright?” He asked and pushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes.

  “Yes, I'm alright. It's been a long time since I allowed myself to remember . . .”

  “I’m sorry for what happened to you, especially at such a young age. Would you like me to walk you back to town?” He offered.

  But she shook her head. “No. The woman I was given to, Mrs. Webber, will be very angry that I left without her permission.”

  “Are you saying you were given to her as a slave?” She could see the shock on the man’s face.

  “No, at least that was not Colonel Beckham’s intent when he took me from my people.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her words, but she heard them just the same. “But I know that it what will happen.”

  “No, it won’t. Not as long as I’m here it won’t.” She met the troubled gaze of the doctor and somehow, she trusted him.

  “Before I return, I would like to tell you the rest, if you've a mind to listen.” She realized she wanted—no needed—him to hear the rest of her tragic story, and she wanted him to know how happy she had been with her Mountain Utes.

  “Of course, I want to hear the rest. I want to hear it very much.” He offered her a kind smile and pulled her hand between his and squeezed.

  She looked down and saw their hands intertwined, their skin similar in color, but his was darker, probably from all the time he spent in the sun talking to his plants. She wished her skin had tanned brown in the sun. Perhaps she would have been less obvious when the soldiers had come if she could have hidden her fair skin. She wished she had covered her skin with dirt and mud before she’d gone to answer the call of nature that morning, but it was too late for regrets now.

  “Very well.” She took a deep breath and began again. “There were six warriors on their painted ponies. Papa shot two of them right off, but when the warrior pulled Momma off the wagon seat, it was like my papa lost his mind. He started shooting everywhere. He wasn't aiming anymore. He was just shooting at anything and everything. He even shot one of our mules. It was horrible.”

  “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for a girl of your age to witness something like that. Any age for that matter.” He squeezed her hand again. “Go on.”

  “It wasn't long before Papa had no more ammunition and I saw him jump off the wagon with his rifle in his hand wielding it like a club. I tried to scream out for him, but my brother kept pushing my head down and smothering me with clothes. By this time, the wagon had come to a stop and my brother clamped his hand over my mouth. I couldn’t scream. I could barely breathe. I knew he was trying to protect me, but I wanted . . . no, I needed to catch a glimpse of my momma. I thought if I could just keep her in my sight, I would see her get up and I would know she was alright.” Hot tears washed down her cheeks and she allowed herself a sob before she pushed back at her emotions.

  The doctor rubbed her hands. “Then what did they do?”

  “They unhitched the mules and one of them was on the wagon seat looking for something to steal I suppose. My brother pushed me deep behind the trunks and covered us both with everything he could get his hands on. It was hot and suffocating, but he wouldn't let me up. The more he pressed his hand against my mouth to try to keep me quiet, the more I fought to breathe. Then, the warrior on the wagon seat jumped inside the wagon and he must have heard something. Maybe I made a sound, I don’t know, but suddenly a hand caught hold of my hair and yanked me out of my brother’s grip. I screamed over and over for my momma and my papa. But they didn’t answer. The only one left to save me was my brother and he died trying to do just that.”

  “How do you know he was killed?”

  “Because while my brother was fighting the warrior who held me, another one came from behind and hit him on the head with a club so hard. Liam fell to the ground and never moved again. I saw blood gushing from his head, and I knew that he had been murdered too. I screamed an
d screamed and screamed while I fought with all my might to get to him on the ground where he’d fallen, but our attackers had other ideas. One of them threw me across his painted pony and took me, my family’s three remaining mules, Papa’s horse, and all the stuff in the wagon they could carry and rode away from everything I loved taking me with them.”

  When she got to the end of her story, she had to admit she felt a sense of relief, but when she turned to the man beside her to thank him for his kindness, she found him staring at her like he had seen a ghost.

  “I told you that you would wish you hadn't asked to know the details.” She felt the awkward silence between them that hadn’t been there before and was surprised he was so affected by her story.

  He removed his hand from hers and sat back, his eyes never leaving her face. His behavior was quite odd and making her uneasy. What on earth had gotten into the man? Maybe he was not right in his head after all. She moved slowly away just in case her initial suspicions of him were correct, but he stopped her.

  “What did you say?” he whispered and stared at her like he had indeed seen a ghost from the spirit world.

  “What do you mean what did I say?”

  “What did you say about calling out for Liam? Who is Liam?” He nearly whispered his words as if he feared them. She was at a loss to understand the change in the man's behavior.

  “He is—he was—my brother. He was over-protective, and we fought all the time, but we loved each other, and . . . I still miss him.” She didn't want to think about her brother being murdered that day. It was heart-wrenching. “He died trying to save me. I wish he hadn’t.”

  “Liam? Your brother's name was Liam?” The doctor was staring at her like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

  “Yes, my brother's name was Liam. It isn't such an odd name, is it? At least not in our family. As I said, we were from Ireland.” Why was the man acting so strange? Was Liam such a strange name?