Woman of Courage (29 page)

“Yes, I do, and so does Mary and the baby,” Amanda said through trembling lips. “I’m chilled to the bone and wet clear through. I’m sure Mary must feel the same way.”

“I’ll start a fire. You two stay under the tree,” he instructed.

Amanda smiled gratefully. In her condition she doubted if she could move a muscle. She knew Mary needed to feed Little Joe, too.

The rain was beginning to let up, and using some dry pieces of wood that they carried in one of their packs, Buck was able to get a fire going. As soon as it was ablaze, Amanda moved to stand in front of it. When she began to sneeze, Buck said, “You need to put on some dry clothes.”

“Buck is right,” Mary agreed. “Not good to stay in wet clothes.”

“I will, just as soon as I warm up enough to set up my tent,” Amanda answered. Her clothes clung to her like a second skin, and the collar around her neck seemed to have grown tighter. Amanda groped at the material, pulling it away from her throat.

“I’ll put up the tent,” he said. “You need to stay by the fire.”

Amanda nodded numbly. She was too cold and exhausted to argue. Besides, she wasn’t sure she had enough strength to lift any of their belongings from the back of the mules, much less erect a tent by herself; although she was sure Mary would have helped. Gratefully, she flopped onto a log, as close to the fire as she could safely get. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t agreed to accompany us on this trip,” she said to Buck. “I want you to know that I am grateful for all your help.”

Buck nodded, then turned away to set up the tent.

When Buck returned to the campfire, he found Amanda draped across the log, fast asleep. Her breathing appeared to be shallow, and she was wheezing between ragged breaths. He knew he must get her into the tent as quickly as possible. He bent down and lifted her as though she weighed no more than a baby deer. As soon as he entered the tent and placed Amanda onto her sleeping mat, she woke up. “Where am I?” she asked groggily.

“You’re in the tent. You still need to get outta those clothes.”

Amanda’s teeth began to chatter again, and she sneezed several times. “I will, as soon as you leave.”

“I’ll see about fixin’ something for us to eat.” He smiled and stepped outside.

When Buck came back several minutes later to let Amanda and Mary know that supper was ready, he found Amanda sleeping again, although Mary had helped her into dry clothes. Her breathing seemed labored, and beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. She’d obviously taken a chill from the drenching rain, and he was fairly certain she had come down with a fever.

“Do you have any willow bark?” Buck asked Mary. “I think she’s sick, and being wet from the rain hasn’t helped.”

She nodded. “Always carry willow bark with me.”

“Would ya mind fixin’ some of it for Amanda?”

“I do it now.” Mary handed the baby to Buck. “You hold Little Joe while I make tea.” Before Buck could respond, she hurried from the tent.

Buck tweaked Little Joe’s nose, and the baby gurgled, looking up at him innocently. Buck couldn’t believe how good it felt to hold the infant, and once again, he wondered how it would be if he had a child of his own.

When Mary returned, she held a tin cup full of freshly brewed willow bark tea, known for its ability to reduce a fever and take away pain. Mary woke Amanda and coaxed her to drink some of the tea.

Amanda roused slightly, moaning. “I’m so tired. Please let me sleep.”

Mary held the cup to Amanda’s lips. “Drink tea now. Sleep after.”

“Drink all of it,” Buck said.

Amanda did as he said. “It’s so bitter, and my throat hurts,” she said, groaning as her head dropped back to the mat.

“You have fever. Must rest and stay warm,” Mary insisted.

Amanda coughed and covered her mouth. “At this rate we’ll never reach the Spalding Mission.”

“We’ll get there when we get there. Now rest.” Buck was about to leave the tent when the sound of pounding horse’s hooves and the cries of Indian voices filled the air.

“You women stay here,” he commanded. “I’ll go see who’s come to our camp.”

W
hen Buck stepped out of the tent, he was met by a group of Flathead Indians. He felt relief, knowing they were usually a friendly tribe.

Buck held up one hand and gestured in a motion similar to a wave, the sign of welcome. The leader of the Flatheads dismounted from his horse and with some hand gestures signaled that his tribe would like to set up their camp nearby.

Buck had no objections, knowing there was safety in numbers. He told the chief so, using the proper hand signals.

Ducking back into the tent, Buck nearly bumped into Amanda. She gave him an anxious look. “Who are they? Are they friendly? What do they want?” Her voice was shaky and edged with concern.

Buck eased Amanda back onto her mat. “It’s not good for you to be up,” he said sternly.

“I tell her that,” said Mary, “but she not listen.”

“I wanted to see who was here and find out if you were all right,” Amanda said, as she laid her head against the soft hides.

Buck grinned. “You were afraid for me?”

She nodded. “I am afraid for all of us.”

“It’s a Salish tribe,” he explained. “Flatheads, as the whites call ’em, and they’re gonna make camp along the river. It’ll bring good fishing. There are probably many roots to dig for eating here, too.”

“Are they hostile Indians?” she asked, eyes wide and expectant.

Buck shook his head and fought the urge to reach out to her. She looked so frightened, and he wished to bring her comfort.

“Why are they called
Flatheads?”
Amanda questioned. “Do they have flat heads?”

“Some Salish tribes make the heads of their babies go flat, usin’ headboards,” Buck explained.

Amanda gasped, causing another round of coughing. “Why would anyone do such a horrible thing to a baby?”

“What seems bad to you, not bad to others,” Mary interjected. “You don’t understand Indian ways.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but I’m trying to.”

“Would ya like to get to know the Flatheads?” Buck questioned.

“Well, I suppose, but …”

“That’s good.” He leaned back on his elbows. “They plan to stay here long enough so their men can hunt for fresh meat.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “You’re planning to leave us here with those Indians?”

He nodded. “I won’t be gone long, and I’m sure you, Mary, and the baby will be fine.”

“But I don’t know the Flathead language, and I’m sure they don’t speak English, so how are we supposed to communicate?”

“Mary can speak to these people. And if ya want to try, do this.” He held his hands in front of her and made the sign of greeting.

“Buck right. I make Salish talk,” Mary interjected.

“You want me to talk to them with my hands?” Amanda sputtered.

“Yes, if you wanna try.”

Amanda swallowed hard.
What is wrong with me? I’ve come through horrible storms, buried three men, lost all my supplies, and traveled for miles, all alone. Surely I should be strong enough to let Buck go hunting. Truly I should have enough faith in God to know that He has brought me this far and won’t abandon me now
.

“Don’t be afraid. The Flatheads won’t hurt ya.” Buck lifted the tent flap and stepped outside.

Amanda awoke several hours later to the sound of children’s laughter. She opened her eyes and was surprised to see two young Indian girls staring down at her. The older one, who looked to be about ten years old, poked the other girl’s arm and giggled. The younger one pointed to Amanda and said something in her native tongue, then she knelt on the mat next to where Little Joe lay sleeping.

Amanda had no idea how long she’d been asleep. She held her pounding head a moment, thinking about how miserable she felt. She spotted Mary then, sitting in the center of the tent, stirring something in a black cooking pot over a small fire. The smell of rabbit stew wafted up to greet Amanda’s nostrils.
I must be getting some better
, she noted.
At least my nose has unclogged enough so that I can smell that delicious aroma
.

“You feel better now?” Mary asked.

“I feel more rested,” Amanda replied, “but my throat’s still sore.”

“You need drink more willow bark.” Mary stopped stirring the kettle and poured Amanda a tin cup filled with the same bitter tea she’d given her before. It was hard to get down, but Amanda forced herself to swallow it as Mary looked on. “You had fever and bad dreams. You call out once for Buck, then fever broke.”

“What are these two young girls doing in our tent?” Amanda asked, not wanting to hear that she’d called out for Buck.

“They hear baby cry and want to see him.”

“I guess all young children like babies.”

“Want to hear somethin’ funny?” Mary asked.

Amanda nodded, eager to hear anything humorous. Life had been too serious of late. She’d begun to think the west was full of violence and uncouth men like Seth Burrows.

“Flathead chief think Buck is your man.”

Amanda’s mouth dropped open. “Why would he think that?”

“Buck say they should look out for you.”

“I’m sure he asked them to look out for you and Little Joe, too.”

“Maybe so, but they think you Buck’s woman.”

“Did you tell them I am not?”

Mary shook her head. “It better they think that.”

“How come?”

“No Flathead man will bother you if they believe you have husband.” Mary motioned to the tin cup. “Drink rest of tea now. It good for you.”

Amanda did as she was told, then lay back down and closed her eyes. As she reclined there, half-asleep, she allowed herself to think about what it would be like if she were Buck’s wife. Would they live in the mountains, while he trapped and traded? Would they live at the Spalding Mission and work together, teaching the Nez Percé about Jesus and helping them make a better life for themselves? Would they have children to love and cherish?

Don’t be ridiculous
, she chided herself.
Buck is not a Christian, and there’s no way he would ever ask me to be his wife. Even if he did, I would have to say no
.

A
manda, deep into sleep, was awakened by the sound of voices. She opened her eyes, and noticed that Mary was gone. She peeked out of the tent, hoping Buck had come back but saw no sign of him, either. A few minutes later, Mary entered the tent with a young Indian woman, obviously with child.

“What’s going on?” Amanda asked, covering her mouth to smother a sudden coughing spell.

“This woman, she about ready to give birth,” Mary explained.

“But why is she here? Shouldn’t she be with her family right now?”

Mary shook her head. “They say, no family. They all dead. Only husband is alive, and he out hunting.”

“Surely there must be someone in her tribe who can help deliver the baby.”

Mary pointed to herself. “They ask me.”

“Why? Did you tell them that you had delivered Little Joe by yourself?”

Mary nodded. “I also say my grandfather was medicine man. He taught me some, so they ask me to help Silver Squirrel deliver her baby.”

As Silver Squirrel moved across the tepee, Amanda gasped. Beside the fact that the young woman’s stomach was twice the size that Mary’s had been when she’d carried Little Joe, the woman’s right hand was missing. “What happened to the poor woman’s hand?” Amanda questioned.

“She used to be part of Blackfoot tribe. She do something they not like, so they cut off hand and leave her in woods to die,” Mary replied.

“Oh, that is terrible!” Amanda’s mind reeled with what Mary had just said. She shuddered at the mere thought of losing her hand.

“What happened to her then?” she asked.

“Flathead warrior, Two Moons, found her in woods. She weak from hunger and loss of blood. He carry her to his mother’s lodge. They took care of her there. Save woman’s life.”

“She’s fortunate that Two Moons came along when he did,” Amanda said. “She may have bled to death.”

Mary nodded. “They marry soon after that.”

Amanda knew that if Mary was going to deliver Silver Squirrel’s baby, they would probably be here among the Flathead for a while. She wasn’t quite ready to take on this latest challenge, but she had already formulated a plan for when she was feeling better. Using Mary as her interpreter, maybe she could teach these Flathead Indians about the one true God.