Packing Iron (2 page)

Lolotea kept constant vigil over the wounded stranger. Every so often she chanted softly, her milky-white eyes gazing blindly into space, one hand placed upon his wound, the other on her heart. She used no medicine or ancient tribal remedy to cure him, knowing he was beyond earthly help. Instead, she prayed to
Yusan
, the Mescalero god of creation, begging him to relinquish his hold on the white man’s spirit and allow him to remain in this world.

Night fell. Supper came and went. Raven grudgingly helped her mother wash and dry the dishes then stole some sugar and went outside to feed it to the stallion.

Ingrid, feeling helpless, offered to take food to Lolotea. But Almighty Sky wouldn’t permit it. In her present holy state, he explained, the Sacred One could not eat, drink or speak to anyone. Bidding her goodnight, the old shaman left the cabin and bedded down by the wood pile. He fell asleep dreaming he was the leader of a pack of gray wolves hunting the moon. It was a strange dream but even stranger was the fact that high above him the dark clouds closing in on the moon were shaped like wolves.

Ingrid, who slept next to the bedroom window, awoke during the night and heard the stallion acting up in the corral. 

It reminded her of the stranger fighting for his life in the barn. Unanswered questions raced through her mind. Who was he? Who had shot him? Did he have a wife or a family? Was he, as Raven had said, an outlaw? Was he on the run from a posse? If he were, it would explain why he’d been shot. And most importantly, she wondered, why did she have a strange feeling about him, a feeling that told her he would become a vital part of her and Raven’s lives?

Somewhere off in the distance a coyote yip-yipped. It was a mournful, lonely sound and though it was an integral part of the desert and one familiar to Ingrid, she shivered. The face of the stranger suddenly appeared before her. It was so real she was startled. She blinked and the face disappeared, leaving her wondering if she’d had a vision. Disturbed, she lay there thinking about what was happening in the barn. The idea that his life depended upon the unique powers of a girl barely older than Raven was almost beyond
comprehension
and made Ingrid appreciate just how mystical life was among the Apaches.

Turning on her side, she looked at her daughter sleeping peacefully in the other bed. As always, Ingrid felt an
overwhelming
love for Raven. She had felt it from the instant she had cradled the newborn baby in her arms. ‘I don’t know what it is about her,’ she told Sven after the midwife had left, ‘but I sense she is truly special.’

He agreed with her. ‘She’s what my great-grandfather called a “Tenth Generation Child”.’ He went on to explain how every ten generations a child was born into his family with Raven’s coloring. They were known as ‘Fiona babies.’ Fiona, Sven added, was the name of a wild and beautiful,
raven-haired
heathen Irish princess whom his Norsemen ancestors had kidnapped almost a thousand years ago on one of their raids along the coast of Ireland. During the return voyage to Norway, rather than remain a prisoner she had stabbed herself 
with a dagger. But before dying she cursed her captors for abducting her and warned them that every hundred years she would return and make their lives a living hell.

Looking at Raven now, Ingrid smiled and thought how unlike Fiona’s curse her daughter was. Not only was Raven a good child, a blessing in fact, but if it were not for her Ingrid would have no reason for living. At the same time, though, she had to admit that Raven was precocious, incredibly stubborn and often rebellious, so perhaps there was some truth in Fiona’s curse.

Earlier, upon entering the bedroom, she had found Raven kneeled beside her bed, finishing her prayers. ‘And please, dear God, keep the stranger alive. Amen.’

When Raven saw her mother watching her from the door, she said: ‘Was I wrong to ask God that, Momma? I mean, we don’t know anything about him. For all we know he may be a gunfighter or an outlaw. And then I’ve asked the Lord to save a bad man.’

‘No matter who he is,’ Ingrid said, tucking her into bed. ‘It’s never wrong to ask God to save a life.’

Raven looked relieved. ‘What I can’t figure out,’ she said sleepily, ‘is why I care if he lives or dies.’

Since rescuing the wounded stranger, Ingrid had asked herself the same question. ‘Perhaps it’s because he’s a human being and if he dies then a tiny part of us dies along with him.’

Raven didn’t believe that. People in Santa Rosa were always dying and she didn’t feel any sense of loss for them.

‘Maybe it’s ’cause I found him, Momma. You know, like when you find a bird with a broken wing and you bring it home to look after – you always want it to live and feel so sad when it dies.’

‘Perhaps,’ Ingrid said. ‘Now, go to sleep, child. You have chores tomorrow.’ 

At first light, before even the rooster crowed, Ingrid dressed and took a dipper of water to the barn. Walking Man and Runs With Head Up hadn’t moved from their post, but Apache-fashion had taken catnaps while standing up.

Waiting until each brave took a grateful sip, Ingrid then asked Walking Man if he knew how the patient was.

‘He is still with this world,’ a voice said behind her.

Relieved, she turned and saw it was Almighty Sky. ‘Is there anything I can do? Anything he needs?’ she asked. ‘I could heat up some broth. It would only take a minute.’

‘Patience,
Nah-tanh
,’ Almighty Sky gently chided her. ‘Miracles cannot be rushed.’

It was late afternoon when Almighty Sky summoned Ingrid to the barn. Raven, who was helping her mother repair the fence around the vegetable garden, insisted on going with her.

‘I found him, Momma. I got a right to be there.’

‘It’s not up to me, lamb. But if Almighty Sky doesn’t mind, then you’re welcome as far as I’m concerned.’

When they entered the barn they found Almighty Sky sitting cross-legged beside the stranger. Nearby, Walking Man and Runs With Head Up stood guarding Lolotea, who lay trance-like under her white blanket on some straw.

‘You must not speak to her,’ Almighty Sky told Ingrid and Raven. ‘She is in her most sacred state.’

Ingrid knew he meant Lolotea and the Great Spirit had become one and nodded to show she understood. She then indicated the wounded man. His eyes were still closed and he showed no sign of life. ‘I see no change in him,’ she said, disappointed. ‘Is he going to live?’

‘It is written,
Nan-tanh
. The Sacred One has told me this. The stranger’s spirit will not be taken from him.’

‘Thank God.’ Ingrid looked at Lolotea, who hadn’t moved. ‘How can I ever repay her?’

‘The Sacred One needs no earthly reward, Nan-tanh.
Her joy comes from serving the Great Spirit. That is reward enough.’

‘What I’d like to know,’ Raven said impatiently, ‘is did the Great Spirit say when the stranger will wake up and start talking?’

‘Hush! Where are your manners?’ Ingrid scolded.

‘It is all right,’ Almighty Sky assured her. ‘To be young is to be impulsive.’ To Raven he said: ‘You will see his eyes soon. Now, go with your mother and prepare broth. The stranger will be hungry when he returns among us.’

While her mother was heating up the broth Raven heard the stallion whinnying. She ran to the cabin door. The Morgan stood at the corral fence watching Walking Man and Runs With Head Up bridling their horses outside the barn.

‘They’re leaving, Momma!’

Surprised, Ingrid removed the broth from the flame and ran outside with her daughter.

‘Please, take our wagon,’ she begged Almighty Sky. ‘I’ll send Raven for it in a day or two.’

‘There is no need,
Nan-tanh
. The Sacred One has chosen to ride.’

A slender, white-clad, ethereal figure appeared in the barn doorway. It was Lolotea, her long white hair now
platted
into braids. The sunlight framed her beautiful pale face, encircling it like a halo. Like a visiting angel, she looked back at the stranger. His eyes were now open and, though still weak, he was conscious of her mystical presence.

‘
Sadnleel da ya’dee nzho
,’ she told him softly. ‘Long life, old age, and everything good.’

He nodded his thanks and watched as she walked to the horses. Walking Man had already spread her white blanket over his pony’s back. Helping her to mount, he grasped the reins and led her away. 

‘God bless you,’ Ingrid said softly as Lolotea rode past.

Lolotea looked at Ingrid with her milky, sightless eyes and smiled. It was a smile of unspoiled innocence and Ingrid felt warmed by it. She watched as the Apaches headed out into the burning desert. In her mind she heard Sven’s voice saying: ‘Some say Lolotea even has the power of life and death. Of course, that can’t be true….’

Ingrid had believed him at the time. Now she wasn’t so sure. After all, there was a stranger in the barn who by rights should be dead. Yet he wasn’t and that was one miracle she couldn’t explain.

Almighty Sky was right: the stranger, now awake, was indeed hungry. As he greedily sipped broth from the spoon held by Raven, who’d insisted on feeding him, Ingrid introduced herself and her daughter. When he didn’t respond, she asked him his name.

Instead of answering her, he fixed his ice-blue eyes on Raven and said hoarsely: ‘Y-You’re the girl in the desert … one who tried to steal my gun.’

If he expected her to be repentant, he was mistaken.

‘You would’ve done the same, mister, if you thought I was dead.’

‘Raven—!’

‘It’s true, Momma. He would’ve. Anybody would’ve. Wouldn’t you?’ she demanded, holding the spoon just out of reach of his mouth. ‘C’mon. Admit it.’

He said only: ‘I’d rot in hell ’fore I’d rob a dead man.’

‘An’ hell’s where you’d be if I hadn’t found you.’

‘Raven, how dare you!’ Ingrid glared at her rebellious daughter. ‘Apologize immediately.’

‘Why? I ain’t sorry I said it. I saved his life and now he’s calling me a thief!’ Raven angrily pushed the bowl and spoon into her mother’s hands and ran out of the barn.

‘Please, forgive her,’ Ingrid said. ‘Raven looks full grown
but emotionally, my goodness she’s still a child…’

He was too weak to care. Wearily closing his eyes, he continued sipping the broth.

When the bowl was empty Ingrid patted his lips dry with her apron and stood up. The stranger hadn’t opened his eyes since he’d finished eating and she thought he was asleep. Quietly, so as not to awaken him, she started to leave.

‘Brandy…?’ he whispered hoarsely.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have any. I do have whiskey—’

‘No, no … my horse … Brandy … is he…?’

‘Oh, he’s fine,’ she assured him. ‘He’s out there in the corral. But any time you like, I can bring him into the barn.’

For an instant, relief flickered in the man’s uncannily pale blue eyes. Then it was gone and he weakly shook his head.

‘Leave him be….’ He closed his eyes and was asleep before Ingrid could say another word.

When he next awoke it was night. Raising himself up on his elbows, he looked around. A kerosene lamp glowed nearby. By its light he saw an old wagon parked against the rear wall, a well-worn bridle hanging from a hook, a pitchfork leaning against a stall and feed piled in one corner. So, he thought, nothing has changed. I am still here – wherever here is.

‘Feeling better?’ The same blue-eyed woman with the pleasing smile and butter-colored hair who’d fed him earlier now leaned into his vision. When he nodded she asked him if he was hungry. He nodded again. The woman disappeared and, when she returned a little later, she carried a fresh bowl of broth, a hunk of bread and a spoon.

She fed him slowly, dunking the bread in the broth so he wouldn’t have to chew it, using the spoon to catch the excess dribbling from his lips, and when the bowl was empty he felt strong enough to sit up and lean back against his saddle. 

He looked at the woman more carefully than he had before and realized there was more to her than he’d first noticed. Besides being wholesomely pretty, she had a regal quality about her. It surprised him. Since boyhood he’d seen countless women in her position, all of them old before their time, living out their lives of drudgery on ranches just like this and she was the only one who seemed out of place – like a princess in a pig pen, he decided. Despite her earthy, rundown surroundings, cheap cotton dress, worn out shoes and the smudges of dirt on her face, nothing could hide the inner elegance she possessed. It was, he thought, the kind of elegance one could only inherit; the kind that no amount of hardship or adversity could ever destroy. He’d seen it only once before, when in an El Paso barbershop he’d thumbed through an Eastern society magazine and come upon a picture of the British actress, Lily Langtry.

Now she leaned closer, her face swimming in and out of focus. Her lips were moving and her voice broke through his thoughts. ‘There’s more broth if you want it, mister.’

She had a slight accent. He guessed it was Danish or Swedish and found it pleasing to the ear.

He shook his head. ‘Thanks. I’m full.’ Seeing his
gun-belt
lying beside him, he realized she must have put it there while he was asleep and immediately felt secure. The sight of the gun also reminded him of Raven and he asked Ingrid where her daughter was.

‘She’s out at the corral feeding Brandy.’

‘Judas – no!’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t let her go near that rogue. He—’

‘—bites. I know,’ Ingrid said ruefully. ‘He nipped me when I went to pet him. He also keeps trying to kick down the fence. But with Raven, for some reason he’s quite gentle.’ 

‘Don’t let him fool you. He’s mean to the bone. I’ve ridden him for five summers and I still wouldn’t trust him.’

‘I said the same thing to Raven. But she only laughed and said if he’s so mean why’s he let her rub his nose.’

‘Just so’s he can take a bigger chunk out of her later. Believe me, ma’am, he will bite her.’

‘Well, I’ll warn her again,’ Ingrid said, rising. ‘But I doubt if it’ll do any good. She’s awfully headstrong. Not even her father could make her do something she didn’t want to do, and she adored him.’ She picked up the lamp and indicated the little bell beside his saddle. ‘If you need anything, just give a ring. I’ll leave my window open so I can hear you.’

She went to the double doors. She closed one and was about to close the other when she stopped and looked at him.

‘Perhaps tomorrow you’ll feel inclined to tell me your name. It’s awkward calling you mister all the time.’

He hesitated, reluctant to let anyone know who he was; then sensing he could trust her, said: ‘Gabe.’

‘Gabe?’

‘Short for Gabriel.’

‘Oh. And your last name? Raven’s too young to address you by your Christian name.’

‘Moonlight, ma’am.’

‘Gabriel Moonlight.’ She considered the name for a moment and nodded approvingly. ‘That’s very unusual.’

‘So is Raven.’

‘Yes. I was against calling her that but my husband insisted. Said it was the first thing he thought of when he saw all that shiny black hair and those dark, inquisitive eyes.’

‘He’s right. Fits.’

‘Nevertheless, I would’ve preferred a more conventional name. Well, goodnight, Mr Moonlight. And don’t forget: if 
you need anything just give a ring.’ She closed the door – only to open it a second later as he rang the bell.

‘Yes?’

‘’Case it slipped my mind, I’m mighty grateful to you for helpin’ me.’

Ingrid smiled, slightly embarrassed. ‘It’s Raven you should be thanking. She not only found you, but refused to believe me when I said it was too late to save you. She also insisted I let her go to the reservation and beg Almighty Sky to allow Lolotea to come here and bring you back.’

‘Make it sound like I was already dead.’

‘In my eyes you were.’ She thought a moment, still unable to believe what had happened in her barn. ‘From now on I’ll have more faith in miracles.’ She closed the door and he heard her footsteps fading as she walked to the cabin.

It was the last sound he heard before drifting off to sleep.