The One Who Waits for Me Page 8

  Pierce crossed his arms over his chest and pasted a smug look on his face.

  It was enough to make Beth want to smack him again.

  Fourteen

  The nuns told Beth that washing the robes would be sufficient penance for the offense. They provided a rain barrel and soap and let her launder both garments. Then Reverend Mother insisted that Beth and Pierce stay for dinner. They couldn’t exactly refuse. And then, once the enjoyable meal was complete, Beth set to work washing dishes.

  “How did you say your parents died?” Sister Mary Margaret asked.

  Beth wished she had inherited some of Joanie’s skill with words. She’d never developed the art of deceit—not that Joanie had a deceitful bone in her body, but she had a knack for speaking the truth without being entirely truthful, telling a person what was good about them without having to add on what rubbed her the wrong way. Beth felt somehow that she couldn’t tell this woman they were running away from kin. She was afraid the nun wouldn’t understand that Walt and Bear were vicious men. “Ma passed last week. Pa followed shortly afterward.”

  “And what was the nature of their illnesses?”

  “The fever took them. It all happened so quickly.”

  Mary Margaret wiped a dish and set it aside. “Do you have other siblings?”

  “No. It’s just me and Joanie.”

  “What do you intend to do now? Have you worked in the cotton fields all your life?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but Joanie knows how to read and write.” Beth dried a skillet. “She’s sickly with asthma. Our ma was a schoolteacher before she married Pa. She taught Joanie how to read and write—though my uncle never knew. Because my sister couldn’t pick every day, Ma educated her in the basics. She figured that the asthma would prevent her from working in the fields permanently, and she wanted her to have the means to survive when she was older.”

  Beth set the skillet aside. She’d tried to converse with Joanie’s adeptness. Everything she’d said was true, but not exactly as she told it. She hadn’t mentioned the fire or who had set it. If anyone ever found out that the fire wasn’t accidental, Walt would surely make her life more miserable than it was. The truth certainly wasn’t as simple as washing out a robe and eating a free meal.

  The nun gave her a sympathetic smile, and yet Beth’s pulse still quickened and fear gripped her soul. There would be no future unless she and Joanie took their destiny into their own hands.

  Sighing, Mary Margaret said, “Captain Montgomery seems very nice, but I would feel better if you had a female chaperone. I would offer to go with you, but Reverend Mother doesn’t like for me to be away. I could ask one of the other sisters to ride with you to the next town, but I fear most of our order are old now and not up to long trips.”

  “I appreciate your kindness,” Beth said, “but the captain and his men have been most respectful, and we’re hoping there’s a settlement nearby.”

  The sister paused. “We don’t go into town much. We grow most of what we eat, and the Indians who are close by shoot our game for us. We have a milk cow, and we keep a few pigs that we butcher in the fall. Our hens supply us with plenty of eggs. The Cherokee also bring us our flour, coffee, and sugar. I’ve never questioned where it comes from.”

  Oh, to have such luxuries at the tips of your fingers, Beth thought longingly.

  After the dishes were finished, Reverend Mother asked to see Beth in her office. Rays of sunlight filtered into the room through high windows. It was another peaceful, inviting place. Sitting at her desk, Reverend Mother reached for a pen and wrote something on one sheet of paper and then another. Because she couldn’t read, Beth had no idea what the words said.

  Reverend Mother handed Beth both pieces of paper. Smiling, she read the simple inscriptions aloud. “This one says, ‘God bless Beth.’” She pointed to the other one and said, “This one says, ‘God bless Joanie.’”

  Beth was so surprised that she caught back a sob. God bless her? How could He bless her when she wasn’t sure He existed? And if He did, He sure wouldn’t hold with her ways. “Thank you,” she whispered as she stuffed the sheets into her pants pocket. She’d give Joanie hers the moment she got back to camp. It would make her feel…blessed.

  “Do you and your sister have anything to wear other than men’s clothing?”

  “We each have a dress and a change of underthings and nightclothes. That’s all.”

  The nun shook her head. “I wish I had more to give you, but we have nothing to offer but the gowns you took—”

  “We can’t take your clothing, Reverend Mother. I mean, not again. You’ve already been too generous.”

  Her wish to be generous, after all Beth and Joanie had done to them, seemed inconceivable. Yet she could think of no reason for the offer. The woman had nothing to gain by giving away the very clothes on her back.

  Were people really that kind?

  Reverend Mother walked Beth to the back door and watched as Pierce helped the beautiful, if boyishly dressed, young woman onto his horse.

  Lifting her hand, she waved as the strange duo rode off.

  Spunk.

  That girl certainly had more than her share. Her face sobered. The girl had more than her share of trouble too, but something about Beth’s story didn’t ring true.

  Something most worrisome.

  Pierce and Beth rode into camp by mid-afternoon. Trella ran to greet her friend. “I was so worried about you!”

  “I’m fine.” Beth slid off the back of the captain’s horse and reached out to pat the baby. “How’s she doing?”

  The proud mother beamed. “She’s fine. Got me a fine little girl.”

  Joanie also came up, breathless, and broke in. “What took you so long? I was beginning to worry.”

  Beth fished in her pocket and took out the notes. “Reverend Mother gave me these. One of them is for you.”

  “For me?” Joanie’s face broke into a grin after she read the message. “How sweet of her.”

  Draping their arms around each other, the three women walked to their pallets. For Beth, it had already been a long day.

  Later that afternoon Joanie reached for her knapsack and rummaged through it. “Beth, have you seen my Bible?”

  Her sister glanced up. “No. Where did you put it?”

  “I don’t recall. I remember having it with me when we were at the abbey…” Her breath caught. “Oh, goodness! I must have dropped it when we ran away.”

  “Joanie!”

  “My Bible,” Joanie moaned. “I’ve lost my Bible!”

  “We have to find it. The deed to our property is in it. Think. Did you have it after we left the abbey?”

  When Joanie burst into tears, Beth softened her tone. “It’s okay. Maybe the captain will let us retrace out steps so we can try to find it.”

  “He will.” Joanie nodded. “I know he would do that for us.”

  Fifteen

  After settling the horses for the night, Pierce walked back to the fire and joined the gathered group.

  “Okay, ladies. If we’re going to get you to the next town safely, we have to have some rules.”

  “Sir…Captain?”

  “Yes, Joanie?”

  “I’ve lost my Bible. Could we retrace our steps to look for it?”

  “Joanie, I wish we could, but we’d only be inviting trouble.” Pierce sobered. “Do you have any idea where you might have left it?”

  “No, sir. I had it at the abbey, but I can’t remember if I took it when we left the nuns.”

  “Do you have your knapsack?

  Nodding, she said, “Yes. And my Bible should have been in it, but it’s not. If not at the abbey, it might be in the thicket where you found us.”

  “I have a vague sense of the area, but to look for a book in the thicket…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Joanie. I’ll ride back that way in the morning, but you’ll have to remain in camp.”

  Beth reached out to comfort her. “It’ll be okay. We can get you a
new Bible, and I suppose we can apply for a new deed.”

  “Ladies, we have to focus on the immediate threat,” Pierce said, calling their attention back to the matter at hand.

  Beth’s nose turned up at his tone, but she kept silent.

  “That means we stick close.” His gaze held Beth. “No riding ahead or behind. We stay together.”

  “How far away is the next town?” Trella asked.

  Glancing at Gray Eagle, Pierce remarked, “You’re familiar with this area, aren’t you, Gray Eagle?”

  He nodded. “I was raised nearby.”

  “You’re Cherokee?” Joanie asked.

  Another short nod. “They are my people.”

  “Do you have family here?”

  He shook his head. “There is much distance between here and my family, but I have traveled these parts many times during my childhood.”

  “We passed a town about forty miles back. Should be another one coming up, I imagine.” Pierce’s tone gentled. “I wish we could offer more.”

  “You’ve been so kind already,” Trella said softly. “If you’ll just help us to get away from Walt and Bear, we’ll look after ourselves.”

  “Are any of you trained to do anything other than pick cotton?” Preach asked.

  Beth and Trella shook their heads. Joanie said, “I can read and write a little. Enough to get a job and support us, I hope.”

  “No disrespect, ma’am,” Pierce said, “but you’re in no condition to work.”

  Beth noted Joanie’s spine stiffen. “I can work. I do it every day—when my cough doesn’t interfere.”

  “Well.” Pierce adjusted his hat brim. “I wish I could offer more, but you ladies appear to be intelligent women. I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage.” He focused on Beth and smiled. “Isn’t that true?”

  She looked away without answering. He did love to goad her. A long tense moment passed, but the only sound heard was that of the baby beginning to fuss. Beth glanced at the child. Her face was red, and she scrunched her tiny brow.

  “Is she okay?” Beth asked Trella, glad to not have to talk to Pierce. She reached over to smooth the tuff of coal-black hair.

  “A bit fretful.” The young mother’s mahogany features sobered. “She doesn’t sleep much. I don’t know. Doesn’t seem quite right.” Then she sighed and added with a smile, “But I ain’t ever been a mama before, so what do I know?”

  The quiet voices and peaceful camaraderie around the fire relaxed everyone. “Coffee smells good,” Pierce said, reaching for a cup.

  Preach sprang to his feet. “I’ll get that for you, sir.”

  “Why don’t I pour us both some?” Pierce removed his hat, and Beth noted the thatch of thick blond hair that curled at the base of his neck. Suddenly, the baby burst out in a crying fit. Pierce turned to focus on her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t know, sir. She’s done this two or three times today.” Trella reached to gather the child into her arms as the crying grew to frantic sobs. Once the baby held its breath until Beth felt faint.

  “Make her stop that, Trella! That’s not good for her!”

  Pierce started to pace, keeping an eye on the squalling infant.

  “I don’t know how to stop her! She has a mind of her own.” Trella gently jostled the baby on her shoulder, trying to soothe her.

  Heads turned. Pierce moved forward.

  Trella automatically drew back, and Beth braced herself to see whether he would strike her for allowing the baby to draw such attention. Trella said placatingly, “I’m trying to keep the baby quiet, sir. Honest I am.”

  Pierce’s smile was kind, and he seemed relaxed, not angry. He said gently, “I know you are, Trella. Why don’t I watch the child so you can grab a few moments’ rest?”

  The black girl stared blankly at him.

  “Go on,” Preach encouraged. “I’ll spell the captain in a bit. Lie down for a while. We’ll wake you when it’s time to feed her.”

  Tears welled in the girl’s eyes. “You…you’ll take care of my baby whilst I sleep?”

  Preach nodded. “Go on. She’s in good hands.” He smiled. “I have younger sisters. I know what I’m doing.”

  Backing away, Trella remained focused on Pierce and Preach. When she hesitantly backed to her pallet, Beth stepped forward. “I’ll take the child.”

  Pierce reached out and drew the infant to his chest. “You take care of your sister.”

  “She’s coughing again. What can I do to stop it?”

  “Wet a cloth and put it across her nose and mouth,” Gray Eagle spoke, pointing toward the line of sycamore trees thick with leaves. “This time of year is hard on her affliction.”

  Beth left to do as he said. On the surface, the scout appeared to be kind, but she’d seen many a man turn mean when angered. Pierce hadn’t lost his temper yet, but just the same she didn’t intend to go all soft and think that he might, just might, be a caring soul.

  Captain Montgomery simply hadn’t been mad enough yet to show his true colors.

  Sixteen

  Stars shone and the moon shed its soft light through the shielding row of sycamores. Pierce had miraculously silenced the infant, who now slept on folded blankets near the fire. Trella hadn’t moved since she’d fallen on her pallet two hours earlier.

  Breaking camp and going on ahead had been discussed, but Pierce didn’t favor the move. He almost seemed inclined to let Walt catch up. “Your uncle knows we wouldn’t risk camping in the same place, so we’ll use his miscalculations to our advantage,” he told Beth when she questioned his motives. “We’ll get a good night’s sleep and then move on early in the morning.” His eyes had fixed on Gray Eagle. “Agreed?”

  The scout nodded. Beth noticed that, though he didn’t speak often, he spoke precise English and his eyes and ears appeared tuned to every snap of a twig or rustling thicket.

  The night before last Pierce had given Beth his bedroll, and tonight he said he and the other men would be just as happy sleeping again on the hard ground again. She might have wished she’d been able to wash the captain’s bedding, but she was too weary to mind the musty smell. Her head touched the blanket and her lids closed, but before she fell fully asleep, Trella’s infant made a whimpering sound—the sound a child makes moments before it’s about to burst into full-blown tears.

  Trella sat up and received the baby from Pierce, holding her against her shoulder, whispering soft words. Beth watched her. She had a natural way with the child. Other pickers said the infant’s father was one of the field bosses. Unwedded mothers abounded on the plantation. Uncle Walt loved to brag about growing his help. Children were sent to the fields at a young age to spend sixteen hours in the blistering heat. When the sun sank, they lugged bulging sacks to the cotton shed, where a stern taskmaster would weigh the day’s work. If the child produced his quota, he would eat supper. If he fell short, he would be sent to bed with only a dipper of tepid water in his aching stomach.

  Beth suspected that Trella’s infant was sired by Toole Madison, a giant of a man who oversaw the black workers. Like Bear and Walt, Toole ruled with a whip. Scarred backs glistened in the hot sun as the pickers dutifully tried to please his heartless soul, and many of the women had fallen victim to his wicked desires at night.

  The newborn’s cries grew louder. Beth heard the men on the other side of the fire tossing and turning.

  The moon crept higher in the sky. Beth dozed fitfully, awakened every few minutes by the baby’s shrieks. Trella now paced back in forth in front of the fire, trying to hush the fussy infant.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Joanie asked. The effort to speak brought on another coughing spasm.

  “Maybe’s she’s hungry.”

  “Trella nurses her every two hours. The baby acts as though her tiny belly cramps with hunger pangs.”

  Another five minutes passed. Joanie’s cough persisted, and the baby’s cries mingled with the sound of croaking frogs. Finally Beth rolled to her feet.


  Pierce did the same. They met up by the fire. A tearful, exhausted Trella said to them, “Maybe she’s takin’ sick. I can’t get her to stop crying.”

  Beth reached for the infant. “I’ll see if I can pacify her.” She accepted the small bundle and began to softly coo. The newborn’s hysterical cries grew even more insistent.

  For the next few minutes, Beth and Pierce passed the infant back and forth, trying to appease the child.

  “That’s a hungry cry,” Preach noted.

  “I feed her constantly,” Trella said. “She nurses, but she seems hungry minutes later.”

  Gray Eagle stepped from the shadows. “Your milk does not console the baby.”

  “I don’t know what more I can do.” Trella swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. The new mother’s pain and exhaustion reflected in her tone. Beth’s heart went out to her.

  Gray Eagle turned and walked away. Beth watched him, wondering what he was up to.

  Pierce carried the baby to the stream bank, bouncing the infant on his shoulder. Everyone was wide awake now. Beth knew they were making enough noise to wake the dead. If Walt and Bear were in the vicinity, there was no doubt they would find them.

  Gray Eagle reappeared and walked directly to the baby, inserting the tip of a small bag into her mouth. The infant suckled hungrily.

  Joanie coughed.

  Turning on his heel, Gray Eagle went to the young woman, knelt, and held a cup of lobelia tea to her lips. Within minutes the camp was filled with only the sounds of nature’s soothing tones. Frogs croaked. Cicadas sang.

  Dropping to her pallet, Beth absorbed the heavenly reprieve.

  Pierce passed by her after handing the baby back to her mother. “What…” Beth caught herself. She shouldn’t be asking questions, but curiosity got the best of her. “What did he do?”

  “What I should have done hours ago. He made the baby sugar water.”

  Beth’s cheeks warmed. Why hadn’t she thought of that? The field workers often wrapped sugar in small cloths to quiet their babies.