Captive Trail (9 page)

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.

At the end of an hour, Sister Adele came out of the mission house, smiling and calling to her. Taabe rose, using the crutches to help her balance. Adele beckoned and pointed to the house. Time to go in. Taabe waved to Sister Riva and followed.

The next morning, her fever was back. Taabe wanted to fight the sickness, but every time she tried to rise, her head swam and she fell back on the pillow.

For several days she had risen and dressed herself, then gone to the eating room for breakfast. Now she heard the bell, one Sister Marie rang when a meal was ready, but she couldn’t answer the summons. Sister Adele came in search of her.

“Taabe! Are you ill?” She came to the bedside and laid a cool hand on Taabe’s brow. “You poor thing. You’re hot again. Let me bathe your forehead.” She brought one of the pills the uniformed man had left and a cup of water. “Take this, my dear. You must.”

Though her words were gentle, Taabe understood her urgency and forced herself to swallow the bitter medicine.

Sister Adele smiled and crooned over her. She poured water from the pitcher into the big bowl and wrung out a white cloth in the water. She pulled the stool beside the bed and sat down.

Taabe closed her eyes and let Sister Adele dab at her forehead with the wet cloth. The nun began to hum. Taabe let her mind drift. She missed the open skies, the camp of many Numinu beside a stream, the laughter and camaraderie with the others. She missed the babies and the horses. She missed
her sister, Pia, and Pia’s husband. She missed their little girl, her smiles and cooing. Her memory stretched further back to another child—a little boy. Tears burned in her eyes and she made herself stop thinking of the Numinu. She listened to Sister Adele’s quiet melody.

How long would she stay here with the sisters? They treated her kindly, but at times she felt imprisoned. They would not let her stay outside long. Taabe understood they feared she would weaken if she tried to do too much. Perhaps they were also concerned that prying eyes might see her. Sister Riva had let her sit in the shadow of the garden wall, but not in the open.

Perhaps Peca and the other men had given up looking for her. But she had known them to chase an escaped slave for weeks. They always brought back the runaway. Or his scalp. She shivered.

Sister Adele began a new tune. After a moment, Taabe caught her breath and listened closely. The words meant nothing, but the tune seemed familiar. She lay perfectly still, anticipating the rise and fall of Sister Adele’s voice. She had heard this song before. Not here, and not in the land of the Numinu. Her heart ached as she listened.

The nun stopped singing and spoke quietly, under her breath, on and on. The sisters did that often. Taabe had decided they were speaking to spirits. Sometimes they looked at the little figure on the wall and touched themselves on their foreheads and chests. They all did it the same way, and Taabe felt it was a ritual of some kind. She couldn’t fathom its purpose. Someday maybe she would speak their language well enough to ask. If she stayed that long.

When she was well and her ankle would support her again, perhaps she could go on to another place. She must have a family out there. Certainly she didn’t belong here with the
sisters, though she was beginning to know and even appreciate them. She could be friends with Sister Adele, she was sure.

Sister Marie glided into the room. Taabe heard the rustle of her black dress and opened her eyes.

“She is ill again?”

“Yes,” said Sister Adele. “Some tea perhaps, and a little gruel.”

“I will bring it.”

Taabe was surprised that she understood the brief conversation. In time, maybe she would feel she belonged here.

N
ed followed Sister Riva around the back of the mission house. The sister pointed to a low adobe wall with a gate. “That is our garden. Taabe likes to sit there. We don’t leave her outside alone very long, but she cannot be seen from the road when she sits inside the garden wall.”

“Thank you. How is she?” Ned asked. “She is getting stronger.” Sister Riva smiled. “She tries to help us. Though she is still too weak to do heavy work, she washes dishes and helps with the laundry. She seems amazed at the quantity of hot water we use.”

“Is she picking up English?”

“Oh, yes. Sister Adele has begun daily sessions with her, and we all converse with her. It’s a bit odd, since we normally don’t speak much. But having Taabe here is like having a child about the place.”

Ned smiled. “It will be quite a change when you begin to take pupils.”

“Oh, yes.” Sister Riva frowned. “The Lord will give us grace.”

“I’m sure He will.” Ned looked toward the garden wall. “Taabe is no longer frightened?”

“Only when strangers come.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Almost daily now. The captain sent two men from the fort yesterday with some supplies. He said it was because we’ve used our resources to care for her. We can always use a bit extra.” She smiled. “We don’t see much meat, and they brought a quarter of beef. Imagine, for the five of us. Sister Marie is drying some of it. And another man came hoping to find out where his son is.”

“His son?”

“Yes. These poor parents, Mr. Bright. They are distraught and would do anything to find their children. This gentleman had lost a boy, but like the rest, he hoped Taabe could tell him she’d seen him.”

“Did Taabe speak to him?”

“She looked at the photograph the man brought and said no.” Sister Riva sighed. “These visits wear on her, but I think she hopes the right family will come one day.”

“You believe she really wants to find her own people?”

“I think that is why she came.”

Ned nodded, thinking about that. Had Taabe risked her life to escape the Comanche and find her birth family? It was unheard of—at least for a captive who had been with the Comanche for any length of time. Six months to a year, it was said, and the children would not go back voluntarily. “God works in ways we don’t understand.”

“Oh, yes.” Sister Riva smiled at him. Ned wondered what had brought this woman—all of them—into her role as a nun. Had she fled some dire situation, or run toward what she believed was God’s best for her?

“You haven’t seen any sign of Indians hereabouts?”

“No, nothing. Of course we don’t stand about looking for them, but we have no reason to think they are aware of her presence.”

“Thank you, Sister.” He ambled to the gate.

Inside the garden, he could hear a lilting voice. Sister Adele, no doubt. She and Sister Marie kept a strong French accent. Would Taabe end up speaking English like a Frenchwoman?

Ned entered the garden, and Sister Adele jumped up from a small wooden bench against the inside of the wall. Taabe scrambled to her feet, using crutches for leverage.