Gather The Children (Chronicles of the Maca Book 2) (9 page)

“Ye have nay finished. Ye move the skin back like this,” he said as he demonstrated with his own dick. “Or ye twill nay be able to make bairns when ye are a man.”

Lorenz gazed at him dumbfounded and wondered what the hell the man was talking about this time.

MacDonald grinned. “Bairns are babies, wee ones. Wash.”

Lorenz half-way choked, turned his back, and half did as he was told. He was afraid that MacDonald might carry out his threat to wash him personally, and he wasn't giving that Big Bastard any excuse to touch him. Stiffly he held the soap out.

MacDonald extracted the soap. “Rinse off while I do myself.”

Lorenz slipped into the river and dog paddled furiously. The water was warm and soft, and it floated away the soap on his body and part of his agitation. Could he out swim the man? For what? He was naked and weaponless. Did he have time to get back to the bank and unhobble a horse? Rolfe was already out of the water and had a rifle. Would the man shoot? Probably. He stopped and stood while the water swirled chest high. He saw MacDonald throw the soap up on the bank and slide easily into the water. The man slipped through the water like a knife through bear fat. With less effort and fewer strokes, he was suddenly beside Lorenz. The Big Bastard was a wonderment. Lorenz didn't know people could swim like that.

The man was smiling down at him, the dark hair plastered to his head. “Ye have nay learned the rudiments of proper swimming. Ye lay yere body out flat and move yere arms and legs in smooth strokes like this.” Once more the huge body propelled itself through the water, moving as smooth as a fish. He stood. “Try it.”

Lorenz was dubious, but if the Big Bastard could do it, so could he, and he shoved into the water. His body betrayed him and became tense. He was dog paddling by the time he reached MacDonald.

“Better,” grunted MacDonald. “Now try again, but remember to move yere head from side to side for the breathing.” He took off for the bank and Lorenz followed.

The strokes were smoother this time and Lorenz floundered up on the ground without reverting to dog paddling. If there was anything he could out do the Big Bastard on, he hadn't discovered it yet. He moved to put on his clothes when the deep voice stopped him.

“Ye dry off with this.” MacDonald handed Lorenz a towel. “Then ye put on these,” and he held up the summer drawers and vest, an abbreviated, cotton version of winter underclothes by being shortened to mid-calf and upper arm.

Lorenz took the towel and swiped at parts of his anatomy while eying the underwear with distaste. “Hit's too hot!” he protested.

“Aye,” agreed MacDonald, “but if I must wear the damn things, so twill ye.”

Lorenz ground his teeth. Rity had made him wear the itching, confining clothing and he detested them. He glared at the big man. “An' iffen ah doan put 'em on?”

“Laddie, I took yere clothes off, and I can put others on ye.”

The spoken fact was irrefutable. Lorenz grudgingly donned the underwear. MacDonald handed him the new shirt and trousers.

“Hell, they'll just be dirty by the time we reach Mama.” Lorenz searched for a way to avoid the stiff, new clothing.

“Twill be better than what ye are wearing.” MacDonald pulled his boots on and handed Lorenz a jackknife already opened. “Tis for the paring of the toenails ere ye put on the socks,” he explained.

While Lorenz worked the knife, MacDonald eyed the long hair as he waited, but decided to let Anna attend to the barbering. Gar kenned he had subjected the laddie to enough indignities in one day. He reclaimed the knife, rolled up the dirty clothes, adjusted his hat, and picked up the towel and soap. The smell of potatoes and bacon frying, coffee boiling, and beans filled the air.

Lorenz felt his mouth watering. No help for it. It seemed best to follow MacDonald back to the wagon and eat before plotting another escape. Maybe there'd be an opportunity tonight or tomorrow to slip away.

Rolfe grinned at them and waved a bottle as they approached the back of the wagon. “By Gott, we're a clean camp tonight! Have a drink, friend Mac. It's been too damn long.”

MacDonald deposited the items and took the proffered bottle and drank well. “Thank ye, friend Rolfe.” He did not offer the bottle to Lorenz, but returned it to Rolfe. Lorenz had not really expected it, but the man had offered him beer.

MacDonald shoved all of the bathing paraphernalia into the possible box and handed Lorenz a cup. “Help yereself to some of the coffee if ye like.”

Lorenz did like. It had been weeks since he'd had any. He watched Martin stirring at the gravy and checking the coals under the Dutch oven. He wondered if those other two would drink themselves pie-eyed. Getting away would be no problem then, but he doubted if they would. Still, they were getting older, and Lorenz had noticed that older men often had a problem holding their booze. Rolfe he judged to be between forty or fifty. MacDonald sure looked younger, but it was hard to say. Rity said Mama would be about forty now. That meant MacDonald had to be older, but he didn't look it. He quit trying to ponder their ages and decided to make his peace with Martin, or he'd have the whole camp watching him for just one wrong move. MacDonald and Rolfe were now talking about everyday things: weather and cows, men in town. Easy they were with each other, not bothering the bottle at all. Weren't they like other men and drank until every drop gone? He sipped at the hot coffee and said, “Yu'll make a good pot.” Would that mollify Martin? He'd better not say anything about the bath though.

Martin grunted a reluctant, “Thanks.”

“How'd yu'll get the beans cooked so fast?”

Martin pointed to a hefty box sitting to the side. “It's an old country method. Y'all take a box lined with bricks, straw, or hay. Then start your beans in the morning and put pot and all in the box, put the lid on, cover it with more hay or straw, then the box top, and let it ride all day. The heat stays inside and keeps right on cooking. I'll show y'all in the morning.” Martin's voice became authoritative as he demonstrated his superior knowledge.

Lorenz examined the box built of wood and bricks. Could something so simple serve as a stove? He would have preferred meat, but right now he was so hungry he didn't care. “Didn't wimen in the old country stay in the house and cook?” he asked.

“Ja sure, but the peasants, the ones who work the land for the rich, would have to be out in the fields all day, them and their kids. They would use a box like that to have something cooked when they came in from the fields.” Martin kept stirring the gravy while he talked. “Hand me some water,” he said to Lorenz.

Lorenz obliged and wondered where Young James was. Dusk was rapidly splashing the ground with lengthening shadows and the sky with quiet pinks and golden grays. The breeze cooled the body and quickened the flames.

“Too damn much smoke,” came from the elder Rolfe. He walked over and pushed the coals and burning materials together. “Like dat.” He shook his head and wondered if his eldest son would ever learn.

James returned carrying more cow chips piled on a few dead pieces of wood and didn't notice Martin's red face and set lips.

“Chow's on,” called Martin as James added to the fuel pile. James then darted between everyone and grabbed his plate and fork to be first in line. Lorenz waited to see retribution descend, but none came.

MacDonald handed him a plate and fork. “Ye are second.” A slight smile played over his lips at the amazement on Lorenz's face. “We feed the wee ones first.”

Lorenz snapped his lips together, but decided this was no time for anger. He was too hungry. He waited while Martin filled James's plate and then his. After Lorenz came MacDonald and Rolfe. Martin filled his plate last, first positioning the beans and gravy to a place where they would stay warm. Before eating, he hung a pot of water directly over the coals.

By mutual consent they sat Indian style, and Lorenz devoured the contents of his plate.

MacDonald nodded toward the pots. “Tis plenty. Help yereself.”

Lorenz needed no second invitation.

The pots were empty when MacDonald brought out the last cans of peaches and milk. He divided the contents onto each plate. Everyone but Lorenz poured the evaporative milk over the fruit. Lorenz still couldn't see grown men willingly drink milk, but held his tongue. After they finished Lorenz learned that he was expected to scrape the plates and wash the gear while Martin tidied the cook area and put the washed utensils away.

When the last pot was stowed, Lorenz started off towards the willows and MacDonald followed. “Yu'll doan need to worry. Jest somethin' ah need to get rid of.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

“Face it, laddie, I am yere nursemaid for the next few days. I dinna trust yere wanderings.”

Once again there was no avoiding the humiliation as Lorenz could think of no way to stop the man. He used the willow and cottonwood leaves when he had finished and MacDonald pointed towards the river.

“We twill walk down there and ye twill rinse yere hands.”

“Why?”

“'Tis another of Mrs. MacDonald's and my rules.”

“The Rolfe's do that too?” Lorenz couldn't help but ask.

“I am nay responsible for the Rolfes.”

Lorenz gauged the bulk blocking his way back to camp and walked to the river. “How come yu'll all feed kids first?” he asked.

“'Tis my way, and tis the German-Lutheran way of yere mither. We all consider children treasures from Gar.”

Lorenz knelt and rinsed his hands. What the hell was German-Lutheran? Every time he got an answer, it meant another question. “Injuns feed the man first,” he stated. “That's fer the huntin' and then they feed the boys. After that, the women and girls can have what's left. When do women folk eat yore way?” He remembered sitting with Rity at the table while Theresa served them.

“My way tis the same as yere mither's. We are adults and when together, we eat together.”

Lorenz decided that white men's ways were pretty much the same on that score except for feeding the kids. He'd seen men eat while their kids stood there skinny as a hound dog after a chase and their eyes begging the same way for a crumb. MacDonald pointed back at the camp and he matched the big man's pace.

“The first watch tis mine,” said MacDonald as they neared the wagon. “We twill set up our sleeping equipment now.”

He brought out Lorenz's blanket and his own roll. Lorenz seethed inside. The Rolfes were in different stages of bedding down, their rolls spread away from the light of the dying fire. Darkness was bold in its coming and covered the area. Lorenz flopped out his one blanket and MacDonald handed him another. “Ye may need this,” came the gruff voice.

“Not in this heat and with these damn clothes on,” Lorenz shot back.

“Keep your voice down. Young James tis already abed. Now, front side or back side?”

“Huh?” Lorenz turned and saw the rope swinging in MacDonald's hand.

“When ye sleep, ye twill be tied, but the hands can be either in front or in back.”

“Front,” muttered Lorenz, then louder, he said, “but ah ain't tired yet. Why cain't ah jest walk around with yu'll? Ain't nobody out there.”

MacDonald considered and then rolled and tucked the rope under his belt. “Aye.” He motioned towards the horses with his rifle, and they walked softly out of camp. After a quick check on the horses, MacDonald settled on a rock and filled his pipe. “Do ye ken the name of that star?” he asked, pointing to the end of the Little Dipper.

“Ah reckon. Ah heered it called the North Star.”

“Aye, or the Polar Star. Do ye ken any of the other constellations?”

Darkness hid the blankness of Lorenz's face and the big man's voice rumbled on. “There are spiders, twins, a crab, and a flying horse among them. Do ye ken?”

Only a cricket answered and MacDonald sighed. “Sit down,” he invited, “and I twill show ye as they appear.”

It was better than being tied, so Lorenz sat. For the first time he heard the tales of the Twins, Orion's Belt, and Pegasus. Every so often, MacDonald's arm would sweep skyward as he recited the legends while star-shine and moonlight brightened the night. Lorenz was slow to realize that he had been snookered, hooked on the tales, and kept asking what happened next. Sometimes he snorted at the foolishness of it all, but still he wanted more.

When MacDonald finally banged the last dregs from the pipe bowl and stood, Lorenz knew he didn't want it to end: this feeling that somehow, someone, thought he was worth the spinning of tales. He was tired, too tired to realize that MacDonald's syntax and vocabulary were being imprinted on his brain. “How did y'all learn all that?”

“In truth, yere Uncle taught me the lore of this, ah, ancient Greece.”

“How'd he learn it?”

“He attended school.”

“They teach that in school?” Lorenz found it strange as it certainly wasn't ciphering or reading.

“Aye, tis called mythology,” explained MacDonald as he started back to camp, but Lorenz was desperate to delay the inevitable.

“Didn't y'all go to school?”

“Oh, aye, but twas a different lore that I twas taught.”

“What lore? What's lore anyways?”

“Laddie, ye nay fool me. 'Tis yere bedtime. Walk.”

Lorenz tried to stand his ground and slipped back into his usual way of talking. “Ah don't like bein' tied. Why can't ah just stay out here with yu'll?”

MacDonald clamped his hand down Lorenz's shoulder, but more gently than the last time. “Walk, and ken ye, I dinna like tying ye, but ye are going to House. If, per chance there tis trouble, I twill nay worry about yere whereabouts; nay twill Mr. Rolfe. Nay can I allow ye to cause a disturbance while we are in camp. Mr. Rolfe twill relieve me later, and he needs his rest.”

Lorenz was wise enough to know that if he fought now, he would be tied sooner tomorrow night, nor would the Big Bastard bother being gentle again. Somehow he had to convince the man that it wasn't necessary to tie him. Maybe the man would knot the rope wrong, and he could get loose. He remembered that he had answered “front.” Maybe he'd be able to use his hands.

It was a wrong assumption. Dark as the night was MacDonald skillfully tied the cord around his wrists, lapped it under his belt, and finished by tying his ankles. He stuffed Lorenz's hat under his head and gently laid the blanket over him before melting away. Damn, thought Lorenz, someone that big shouldn't be able to move that quietly. And don't think about the Big Bastard being kind. It's a trick, he reminded himself. He closed his eyes against the stars and the slowly moving moon.