A Gown of Spanish Lace (18 page)

Laramie longed to go to Ariana. Was she awake? Had she indeed heard the shouting and the shots? Surely she was frightened and filled with questions.

And he was the reason. He was the cause of her being dragged off from home and family to this terrible bandit outpost. He, unknowingly, had brought about this awful deed.

He buried his head in his hands and tried to address a God whom he did not know.

And then a new thought brought some peace to his heart. Ariana knew this God. He had seen the quiet confidence in her eyes as she spread the Book out before her. Even in the midst of her fear, she had shown unbelievable courage. It wasn’t her own doing, he was sure of that now. It was because she had faith in the unseen God she trusted.

Chapter Thirteen

Escape

Laramie brought the wood earlier than usual the next morning. Ariana had washed herself in the basin and dressed in her own garments. She was spending time in early morning prayer. The events of the night before had upset her, so she had not been able to sleep. She had heard the angry shouts, the gunshots, and then the scraping of the shovel against the frozen ground and rocky soil. Something terrible had happened. She was sure of it. It brought her added terror. She had spent most of the night in prayer.

She had hoped that Laramie or Sam would come to her cabin and assure her that everything was all right—but at the same time she knew better. Never had she clung so tenaciously to the promises of God as she had through those long night hours.

When the little rap came on her door, she recognized it as Laramie’s signal. Without understanding her intense relief that he hadn’t been the one who was buried, she crossed to the door and quickly lifted the sturdy hook. As the door swung open she looked from his armload of wood to the stack against the wall. She was not in need of more firewood.

“Close the door,” he whispered, and Ariana hastened to obey. Instinctively she knew something had changed—and not for the better. Her face paled. Her hands knotted against her calico front.

Laramie walked directly to the stack of wood and dropped his pile of logs. As he did so a package tumbled out and fell to the floor. Ariana stared.

“Come here,” whispered Laramie, and Ariana woodenly obeyed.

“I haven’t time to talk,” said the man as he began to stack the firewood, making an unusual amount of noise as he did so.

“I’m gittin’ you outta here. Sh-h. We might be spied on. I can’t stay long enough to give ya all the details. But I’ve some things fer you to do.”

He glanced around the room again and proceeded to lift stacked logs and bang them against one another as he restacked them by the wall.

“First—make a big batch of biscuits—all ya can—an’ wrap ’em up—in two different bundles—maybe in those towels. Don’t worry none about crushin’. Thet won’t hurt ’em.

“Then, after supper—pack the things ya want to take—in as tight a bundle as ya can. I’ll pick ’em up. Put on the clothes from this bundle and wait. Light yer lamp—as usual. Keep the big towel over the winda. I’ll knock three little raps—then agin three—on yer winda, not yer door. You be ready.” More logs crashed against the wall.

“I’ll take ya to a friend of mine. He’s Pawnee. He’ll take ya where ya’ll be safe. Trust ’im.”

He stood and moved to the fire.

“Ya need more water?” he asked in a normal voice.

Ariana stood mute, staring at him. It was too much to take in all at once. She blinked. Her mouth opened but no words came. His hand gave her a little signal, and she swallowed hard and found her voice.

“Yes,” she answered in as even a voice as she could manage. “Yes…I’d like some extra…if you have time. It’s…it’s the day for my bath.”

He smiled softly and nodded his head as though to compliment her on her control. Then he went to fill the kettle and the basin from the pail and left the cabin with the empty bucket in his hand. Ariana put the hook firmly in place. Her hand was trembling so uncontrollably she could hardly manage the small task.

Ariana finally had a day that demanded action. Over and over in her mind she sorted through those things she was to do. She really did take a bath, thinking that it might well be her last one for some time to come. Then she got out her food supplies and baked biscuits as she had been ordered, until she had a large stack of them on her wooden table.

By the time she had finished her baking the sun was moving lower in the sky.

Ariana began to gather the things she planned to take with her. She was glad she had dressed in her own garments that morning so the things that had belonged to Laramie’s mother could be freshly washed. They now hung on the hook on the wall. She crossed the small room, lifted down each item, and folded it carefully. It was the first time she had opened the lid of the trunk since Laramie himself had removed the small chest and worn Bible.

“I wonder if he ever reads?” she mused as she placed the items of clothing back on the top of the pile.

“ ‘Laramie’s Mama,’ ” she whispered to the unknown woman, “I don’t know anything about you…whether you are alive…or dead…but I do thank you…whoever you are, for the use of your things. I have tried to…to return them to you in the same condition….”

Ariana let the words trail off. It did seem awfully silly to be talking to someone who was not there.

She closed the lid quietly, letting her hand rest upon it for several moments as she looked down at the metal top, the stained leather straps.

“If only you could talk,” she whispered to the trunk. “I’m sure you’d have secrets to share.”

Then she turned her attention back to the task at hand. She had to be prepared, small bundle and baked biscuits wrapped securely for whatever lay ahead.

As darkness fell, Ariana lit the kerosene lamp as she had been told and sat down in the unfamiliar buckskin clothing on the log stool by her table. Normally she would have spent her evening hours reading or memorizing from her Bible—but tonight her Bible, along with her few other possessions, was wrapped securely in the little bundle and waiting on the floor close to the room’s window, along with the two packages of biscuits.

Ariana had also made up another small bundle with additional food supplies that could be carried on a pack animal. She had no idea how long the trip might take to get back home. The trip through the storm had seemed to take forever—but if she remembered correctly, they had made it in four days of travel.

More and more throughout the day, the truth of her circumstances had begun to sink in. This was no pleasure trip through the beauties of the woods. She was not going to be released—set free. She had been smuggled into the camp of lawless men—and she was to be smuggled out. Laramie had made that plain with his secrecy and carefully laid plans. It was going to be a dangerous mission. Not just for her, she surmised, but for the young man as well.

“Would they really kill one of their own?” she asked herself.

After the events of the night before—still unexplained to Ariana—she had no doubt of the answer. Yes. Laramie could be killed in his effort to free her from the camp and get her back to her own hometown.

Over and over Ariana offered intense little prayers.

And she waited—her whole body feeling rigid and trembly, her hands clasped in front of her on the wooden boards of the table, the simple buckskin garments feeling strange on her skin.

The tension within her grew and grew as the night hours moved slowly by. Had Laramie forgotten? No, surely not. Had something happened to him? That thought brought her to near panic.
Pray
, she ordered herself sternly.
Pray—and trust
.

Ariana tried hard to fight the waves of fear that swept through her. She had to be calm. She had to be in control. Her flight depended upon it. Without control she might make some very foolish mistake.

And then she heard the gentle rap at her window. Three times. She waited. A repeat of another three. Ariana rose from her seat and moved quickly to the window. Even in her excitement, she noted the silence of the moccasins that had been provided.

She lifted back the towel curtain and could just make out the dim outline of Laramie’s face. He motioned for her to open the window, and she did so as quietly as she could.

Without a word, she passed the bundles out the window to his waiting hands, then climbed on the log stool that she had placed below the window earlier in the day.

Without a sound Laramie helped ease her body through the small opening and lowered her noiselessly to the ground. Taking her by the hand he began to lead her through the darkness. Ariana wondered how he could even find his way through the heavy growth of trees, but she followed wordlessly.

Before long they came to a small clearing. Three horses stood, stirring restlessly, anxious to be back in their warm stalls. A late spring storm was bringing snow, icy hard flakes, driven by a biting wind. Ariana felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was this a repeat of the whole horrible nightmare?

As if born of the night, another man was suddenly beside her. He spoke not a word, just reached for her hand. The Indian Laramie had told her about.

At the same time the young brave took her left hand, Laramie released her right. She was being led off into the darkness without even a final word.

She looked back once and stumbled slightly. Laramie was tying the bundles she had given him to the pack saddle on one of the animals. All except for one of the towel-wrapped batches of biscuits. The young brave carried that in his other hand.

“You safe here.”

It was the first the Indian had spoken. Wordlessly he had led Ariana across the valley, through the deep darkness of the woods and into the hills. Now they were entering a cave. Ariana could not restrain a shudder. She hated caves. Was afraid of them. Had always been afraid of them—even as a young child.

And now she was to enter one. She did not like the idea. But perhaps—perhaps it was a little better than being in a camp of outlaws.

She steeled herself, took a deep breath, and followed her guide into the opening.

The man was leading her deeper and deeper into the cave. She wondered how he could possibly know where he was going. He stopped and used a flint to light a small lantern that must have been waiting for their arrival. Then they traveled on, winding this way and that, squeezing through small openings in the rocks, crawling through short tunnels, pushing their way through rubble.