The Enchanted Land (16 page)

At the end of two days, they made camp again, hastily erecting the crude shelters. As Morgan was lashing some dried grass to the roof of the hut, Jacques stopped beside her.

“My scouts have just returned to tell me that no one is following us. The little Spaniard said he had killed your husband, but I would not trust such a one as him.
Eh, ma petite?
” She stared at the Frenchman as if seeing him for the first time. He was a short, thick man with a scar across one eyebrow and a belly that hung over his belt. He looked very old, as though every single event in his life had etched a line on his weather-beaten face. He stuck out a dirty hand and caressed Morgan’s breast. Involuntarily, she jumped backwards.

“Ah, so—
la petite
comes alive. They usually do. You are lucky now. On other trips, I have let my Apache
amis
take their pleasure of the white women. But they are not gentle and one of the women died. I lose money when one of my women dies. Other women showed up at Madame Nicole’s with Indian babies in
their bellies. My old friend does not like this. She says the white men are such silly creatures that they do not like to go where a redskin has gone before.” He cupped Morgan’s chin in his hand and studied her. “Yes, Madame Nicole will like you.” Morgan tried to move her head from his iron grasp, and the Frenchman laughed.

“Such spirit from one so little! Be careful, Golden Hair, or I may take special notice of you myself.” He turned and was gone.

Morgan stood for a few seconds glaring at his back, her eyes blazing with hatred. Then she went into the hut and was soon asleep. For the first night since she had been taken from the Montoya ranch, she dreamed. She saw Seth in her dream, and she ran to him, her arms open. When she was close enough to see his eyes, they were sad and he turned his back on her and began to walk away. She called his name, pleadingly at first, and then her cries became more and more desperate.

She awoke, her body drenched in sweat, to feel a hand pressed firmly over her mouth. “You’re all right now. I’ll take care of you. Just be quiet or they’ll hear you.”

Morgan felt herself being cradled. It was good to have an older woman’s comforting arms about her. In the three days she had been a prisoner, she had paid little attention to her surroundings or to her fellow captives. Now she felt she desperately needed this woman’s comfort.

The woman talked to Morgan as she held her. “My husband and my little boy and me lived up on the side of a mountain, about three days east of where they picked you up. It wasn’t an easy life. The winters were hard, and Bobby was always out with the sheep.” Her voice was toneless.

“The three of us had just set down to eat when the door busted open and the Frenchman and two of his
Indians walked in. Without a word, they killed Bobby and little Jimmy. He was only three years old.

“They looked me over, like I was an animal. I made a jump for Bobby’s gun, not to kill them but to kill myself. I didn’t want to live after what they did to my baby. They caught me. So here I am.”

“Why?” Morgan asked through her tears. “Who is this Madame Nicole? What does he want with us? Why doesn’t he just kill us? If he killed us, then I could be with Seth.”

“Seth is your husband?”

Morgan nodded.

“I’m not sure, but I believe he deals in white slavery. He doesn’t keep all women.” She shuddered. “Only the ones who pass his inspection.”

“A slave?” Morgan asked. “I don’t understand. You can’t sell white women.”

“Well, it seems he can and is going to. I heard them mention San Francisco.”

“Just be glad you’re little and pretty.” Morgan turned to another woman. Although it was dark in the hut, she knew the woman was young, with bright red hair—pretty in a brassy way. Her mouth was too wide to be really beautiful. “Her mother wasn’t so lucky.” She inclined her head to the girl in the corner, quietly sobbing. “They raped her mother and then killed her. The girl had to watch.” The girl in the corner was only about sixteen years old.

“My name’s Jessica,” said the red-haired woman, “but everyone calls me Jessy.”

“And I’m Mary,” said the woman who still held Morgan. It seemed understood that they would not use last names.

Morgan murmured her own name.

“Morgan? Strange name for a girl,” Jessy said. When Morgan held her silence, Jessy continued. “The girl
over there is Alice.” She turned again to Morgan. “How’d they get you? What happened?”

Mary interrupted Jessy’s questions. “Don’t bother her now, Jessy, she needs rest. It’s too soon for her to talk about it.”

Jessy continued, “I can guess how you feel, but I figure for me anything’s better than my old man. They killed him, too, but I don’t feel no regret. In fact, I’m almost glad to be goin’ to San Francisco. Been itchin’ to go ever since I heard about the gold.”

“Let’s go to sleep now.” Mary put an end to Jessy’s story. “They’ll want us to start soon enough. Let’s remember, though, that we’re in this together.”

The next night they set up camp again. Morgan was beginning to be adept at taking apart and setting up a wickiup. The three women felt a good deal closer, and for the most part, they worked well together. The girl Alice still spoke to no one, and went about her work awkwardly. Morgan joined the other women in covering Alice’s errors and slowness.

Morgan set the last bundle on the ground by the wickiup. As she straightened, she felt a hand on her hair. She knew it was one of the Indians. She had seen them staring at her as she hastily braided her hair each morning. In spite of herself, she felt a scream rising in her throat. As her mouth opened, a hand closed over it, a hand tasting of smoke and horses.

Morgan felt her body shiver with fear. She did not like the Indians. They never showed any feeling.

Gently, the Apache unfastened her braid and held the blond silk up to form a curtain that caught the sunlight. He uttered some guttural words and seemed pleased as he rubbed his hand in the softness of the hair.

A shot rang out close to their feet. The Indian dropped his hands from Morgan and reached for his knife. She
turned to see Jacques holding a rifle, aimed at the Apache behind her. The two men exchanged a few of the guttural sounds and the Apache turned and left, angrily.

Jacques went to Morgan, her body shaking with fright. The Frenchman grasped the uncoiled braid of her hair and let it twine around his fingers.

Her eyes holding his, she asked, “Where are you taking us? Why have you kidnapped me?”

Still holding her hair, the Frenchman laughed, a deep, rumbling laugh. “I don’t like my women so thin, but with your eyes and hair a man could be tempted.” He moved his face closer to Morgan’s, and she instinctively moved back. “You ask me questions. I will answer them,
ma petite
. I dealt in furs for a while, but that is hard work. I met Madame Nicole and we worked out our business arrangement. I bring her pretty young women, and she pays me for them.” He smiled at Morgan’s shock.

“You can’t
sell
people!”

“Oh, but I can, little one. Madame Nicole finds unwilling women often please her customers more than the ones who readily agree to their whims. Bah! There are no real men left in this new country. I do not need to fight a woman to prove I am a man.

“One thing … do not tempt me to anger, pretty one. Madame Nicole will pay me well for such a one as you. I would not like to lose the money.” Abruptly, he left her alone to stare after him.

“I thought as much.” Jessy was standing beside her. “I’ve heard of some of these houses in San Francisco. A girl can live in luxury there.”

Morgan turned to stare at Jessy. The events of the last few days were suddenly too much for her. Blindly, she began to run. She stumbled over dogs that ripped at her, but she hardly noticed. There was only one thought
in her mind, one overwhelming desire—to escape, to get away from her captors. Reason had left her.

She halted as Mary caught up to her, jerking her arm painfully. “Morgan! Stop it! Look around you. You can’t escape—they’ll kill you first.” Mary’s fingers bit into the flesh of Morgan’s upper arms. “Look at me and listen. This is not the way to escape. How long do you think you could survive in this land?”

“I don’t care. I just want to get away. Even if it means my death, I can’t face going on without Seth. I can’t face what they have planned for us. I cannot.”

Mary’s eyes were hard. “Of course, you can face it. No matter what they do, we are still alive, and we need to survive.”

Morgan’s eyes had a faraway look as the tears quietly rolled down her cheeks. “Do you know what they plan to do with us? They plan to sell us as whores. Whores! Did you know that a few months ago I didn’t even know what that word meant? Now I am to become one! That’s funny, isn’t it?”

Her voice grew louder. “Five weeks ago I was a virgin. Now…” She began to laugh loudly.

Mary looked up to see the Indians surrounding them, pointing at Morgan. Behind them she saw Jacques making his way over to them, an angry scowl on his face. She began to shake Morgan. “Stop it! Stop it! You’ll cause more trouble if you call attention to yourself. Now come into the wickiup.”

Morgan followed Mary, and the older woman was relieved to see the Frenchman turn and walk away from them.

In the hut, Mary turned to Morgan. “Why don’t you help her?” she asked, nodding toward the girl Alice. “Jessy and me can’t seem to get through to her. Maybe if you help someone else a little, you won’t be so wrapped up in yourself.”

Quietly, Morgan sat by the unseeing girl. Mary was
right. She was not the only one here. She took Alice’s limp hand into her lap.

“I sometimes think that if I cry enough or if I wish hard enough, I’ll open my eyes and this’ll all be gone. Then I’ll be home with… Seth.” The name brought fresh tears to Morgan’s eyes.

“Do you know how I got here?” Morgan continued. “A neighbor, a friend, wanted me to sleep with him. I said no, so he killed my husband and paid Jacques to take me. All my life my mother told me men were horrible, wicked creatures who cared little about women. Then I met Seth. I fought my feelings for him for a long time, but then I realized how much I loved him. Seth is … was … the most handsome man imaginable. He was so gentle and so good. Everyone on the ranch loved him. He even had some old dogs who were so lazy they wouldn’t even bark until a stranger was practically inside the house. Seth was too kind-hearted to get rid of them.”

She stopped talking. Alice was staring at her, tears glistening in her soft brown eyes. Morgan put her arm around the girl and pulled her head to her shoulder.

There was only two years’ difference in their ages, but Morgan felt old enough to be Alice’s mother. They sat in silence for a while, and then Alice began to talk, very quietly.

“My father went to the gold fields and said he’d send for us when he struck it rich. But after he left, my mother said she couldn’t live without him, so we packed up and started west. We were going to join a wagon train in Santa Fe, but we never got that far. There were four wagons. They … they killed everyone, all the men. They took Mother and me with them.

“When we got to the camp, Jacques tore our clothes off. He had an Indian hold me while they … while they…” She couldn’t finish her sentence and buried her head against Morgan’s soft shoulder. After a few minutes,
she began again. “They made me watch. She told me she loved me just before she died.”

Morgan stroked the girl’s brown hair. “We must stay alive.”

“Why? So they can do to us what they did to my mother?”

“I don’t know, Alice. I thought I wanted to die, but my life must be worth something. I know Seth wouldn’t want me to die. I know that if he were here, he’d tell me to live … no matter what.”

The days turned into weeks. They traveled every day. The trip from Kentucky to Santa Fe had been luxurious compared to travel with the Indians. Morgan learned much about the Frenchman’s Apache followers, a rugged group. The women took care of all the work on the trail, putting up the shabby grass huts each night and tending to the food. One of the Indian women, Little Flower, had a new baby strapped to her back, bound onto a cradle board.

After the one attempt to touch Morgan, the Indians left the four white captives alone. The captives were given dried meat and roots that the Indian women gathered on the long, grueling trip.

Morgan took over the cooking for the four of them. Little Flower, who was about the same age as Morgan, showed her how to grind corn and cook it on top of the stews made from the game the men caught. Gradually, they began to understand one another through signs and a few words exchanged in the two languages.

At the night camp, Little Flower took her son from his cradle board and let him play on a blanket while she cooked. Morgan gestured to Little Flower to ask if she could hold the child.

“What are you doing with that heathen child?”

Morgan turned to see Mary’s angry face. “Don’t you realize that it might have been his own pa that killed your precious Seth?”

Morgan was calm, looking at the baby who had extended a chubby hand toward her golden braid. She smiled at him and he gurgled in delight as he caught the soft hair in his fingers. “White men killed my husband, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. Babies are innocent, no matter who their parents are.”

“Not when they’re Indians!” Furious, she turned on her heel and left Morgan and the baby.

“Don’t mind her.” It was Jessy. “She just can’t bear to look at another kid since hers is gone. Now me, that’s somethin’ I hope I never have.” She looked with contempt at the child in Morgan’s arms, happily putting her braid in his ever-open mouth. “Either they’re squalling or their other end needs attention.” She cocked her head and stared at Morgan. “I reckon you’d like one though. Maybe you’re carryin’ one now?”

Morgan’s head jerked up. The thought of Seth’s baby made her body glow. Her face lit up. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I’d like that. I’d like very much to have a baby… Seth’s baby.”

Jessy went back to the wickiup, and Morgan stayed with the baby. Morgan had hope now, and as the days passed, she began to pray fervently that she was really carrying a child and that, if she were, it would survive the trip.