Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 03] (24 page)

His original idea of wintering with the Osage was no longer practical. He realized now that Maggie would not be able to adjust to their way of life; but, more than that, the Osage would not understand why Sharp Knife’s woman did not skin the animals after a hunt, or cook, or make moccasins, or mate with him while others were in the lodge. She would not be subservient to the males of the tribe. The first time one hit her with a switch for not moving to serve him, she would take her whip to him. The brave would fight, and Light would be forced to kill him. It would cause chaos.

They would not winter with the Osage. Light would not see her humiliated and disgraced for not understanding the Osage way of life.

As they watched, the polers on the keelboat struggled to keep the craft behind the island and out of the river’s swift current. More than an hour passed before they gave up the fight, and the bow turned with the current. Then the sail was hoisted, and the steersman took his place at the steering oar. The sail filled with the westward wind and the craft moved downriver.

“He’s not waitin’ t’ see if his men is comin’ back.” Maggie held tightly to Light’s hand.

“He doesn’t care about them,
chérie.
”

“He be back,” Caleb said again.

“Not for a while. He doesn’t have enough crew to buck the current. We’ll take the canoes back to MacMillan’s so Kruger can’t use them.”

Light led the way back to the sandbar where the canoes were beached. Maggie followed and Caleb brought up the rear, his bow on his shoulder and the rifle in his hand. It eased Light’s mind to know he was there.

*  *  *

At dawn that day, Caleb, Linus and four of the Osage warriors had taken the two-wheel cart to fetch the bodies of the rivermen who had come ashore with Kruger. The German had not gone back during the night, as they had feared, to get the slain men’s weapons. MacMillan took the two pistols and the saber, leaving the eating knives, boots and clothing for anyone who wanted them. The warriors stripped the bodies, and the three naked men were buried in one grave.

The homestead was quiet with the Osage warriors gone. They had mounted their ponies, and with much “yipping” and showing off of their riding skills had ridden toward their encampment beyond the salt caves. Many Spots had gone with them, proudly waving the scalp he would present to his woman.

Dixon had been struggling to sit up when Bodkin, emerging from the trees with the Indian and the homesteader, had arrived at the site of his ambush. His head felt as if it had been kicked by a mule, and his vision was so blurred that he thought he was dreaming when he saw his friend. With Bodkin’s help Dixon had made it to MacMillan’s homestead, although at times, he would have just as soon lain down and died.

The treatment he and Bodkin received at the homestead was totally unexpected. He had thought they would be locked up or shackled. Instead Aee MacMillan had taken charge, shaved the hair from the back of Dixon’s head and applied the jimson-leaf salve. She then had urged him to lie down and rest.

Seeing the ugly little dwarf for the first time had been a shock to both Dixon and Bodkin. That the MacMillans treated him as one of the family was a bigger shock yet. It was a strange group at the homestead: the dwarf, the Indians, the Negroes, and the dark, quiet breed and his beautiful woman. Dixon was grateful now that the crazy Spaniard had ordered him to go ashore to look for his men.

Light, Maggie and Caleb returned with the birch-bark canoe from Vega’s boat and the more sturdy cottonwood dugout canoe Kruger had stolen. The news that Vega had set the sail and headed back downriver was welcomed. None of them believed he was gone for good. If he didn’t come back before the winter freeze, he would be back in the spring.

After talking at length with Bodkin, MacMillan was convinced that he and Dixon were no more than what they appeared to be—young men who had sought adventure and were relieved to be off the Spaniard’s boat.

Anxious about his wife and confident the homestead was in safe hands, MacMillan took his second daughter, Bee, and went to bring his family home. If at all possible, MacMillan wanted his sixth child to be born in the place where he had been conceived.

*  *  *

Eli was sick of hearing the praise heaped upon “Sharp Knife.” He had to admit rescuing the little man was a heroic act, but he was tired of hearing about it. Zee had recounted every detail to MacMillan, and the settler had repeated it to the others. Many Spots had embellished the tale in repeating it to the warriors, and they looked at Lightbody as if he were God himself.

“Yo’re thinkin’ ya can hire them two Vega men t’ help ya get to the Bluffs, ain’t ya?” Aee came from the barn and paused when she saw Eli sharpening an axe on the whetstone.

“What if I am? The sooner we’re away from here the better I’ll like it.”

“The sooner yo’re gone the better we’ll like it too. We be jist poor wilderness folk,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “But our
eats
is good enough for ya.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay before we leave.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I can mark
cadger
off as one of yore faults.”

Eli put down the axe and looked at her for so long that her face reddened. She really was pretty. She had a lithe, supple form, and the shirt she was wearing was snug over her firm high breasts. Her nose was straight, her mouth soft. Her teeth were white, and she had all of them. Her thick dark-brown hair was parted in the middle and loose braids began beneath her small ears and hung to her waist.

“Gettin’ yore eyes full, riverman?” she asked scornfully, flushing angrily beneath his intense scrutiny.

“I was just thinking that, cleaned up, in a
dress,
and with your hair put up the way a woman ought to wear it, you’d be almost pretty . . . that is, as long as you kept your mouth shut.” Eli turned his head to grin.

Wham!
She hit him a stinging blow alongside the head with her old felt hat. He was stunned for the time it took to take several deep breaths.

After the impulsive act, Aee ran for the house.

“Damn you, you little flitter-head! I’ll whop yore hind!”

Eli ran after her. He rounded the corner and saw her dart behind Caleb’s massive figure. The Negro stood with hands on his hips, his teeth bared. He was ready to do battle!

“Yo gwine t’ do what, mista?”

Aee peeked around from behind Caleb and grinned at him.

Eli stalked off so angry that he didn’t see Maggie until he was almost up against her.

“Why’er ya chasin’ Aee for, Eli? Ya playin’ a game?”

“No, I’m not playing a game,” he growled.

“Then why’er ya mad?”

“I’m not mad!”

“Yes, ya are too, Eli. Don’t story to me.”

“Don’t you have anything to do but stick your nose in my business?”

“See there? Ya are too mad. I ain’t goin’ t’ like ya if yo’re mean to Aee.”

“Lord help me! All women should be put in a sack and thrown in the river!” Eli threw up his hands and walked away.

Maggie laughed. “Now yo’re bein’ a flitter-head,” she called after him.

Aee came out from behind Caleb.

“What yo teasin’ that man for, Miss Aee?”

“I wasn’t. He jist made me so mad I hit him.”

“Lawsy mercy me. Yore mamma’ll have to take ya in hand when she come back.” Caleb went away grinning and shaking his head.

“I come t’ see ’bout Zee. Did his fever go down?” Maggie headed for the sickroom, and Aee walked along beside her.

“He’s better. Wants to get outside. Can’t hardly stand on his hurt leg yet.”

“Somebody can carry him. I’ll get Eli.”

“No!” Aee said quickly. “Don’t get that . . . pissant. I ain’t wantin’ to have nothin’ to do with him a’tall.”

“I thought ya liked Eli.”

“Well, I don’t! Here comes Mr. Deschanel. I’ll ask him.”

Aee brought a chair from the house and lined it with a blanket. Paul carried Zee out and carefully lowered him into the chair.

“Anythin’ I can get ya, Zee?” Maggie asked.

“Ah . . . no, ma’am.”

“I’ll get ya a swatter to keep off the flies. My, they’re pesky this time a year. I guess they be knowin’ they’re ’bout done for.” Maggie brought him a narrow flat strip of board with a floppy square of leather nailed to one end. “Here ya are. Are ya warm enough, Zee?”

“I . . . be fine, lass.”

The ugly little man watched her run lightly toward the open door of the cabin.

Guard your treasure well, Sharp Knife.

*  *  *

“Pa’s comin’.”

The sun had set and Aee had begun to be anxious because her parents had not returned. She stood out near the cow lot and watched them approach. Her father led the oxen. Bee, the younger girls, and an Indian woman walked behind the cart.

“Is Ma all right?” Aee called.

“It won’t be long. Is thin’s ready?”

“Yes, Pa.”

MacMillan stopped the oxen beside the door and went around to help his wife out of the cart.

“Stop fussing, Mr. Mac. I’m perfectly able to get out by myself. Land sakes, you’d think this was our first youngun the way you carry on.”

She got out of the cart and stood for a moment holding her huge abdomen. She took several deep breaths.

“Is it time, Ma?” Aee asked.

“It is time. Say hello to your aunt.”

Aee spoke a few words in the Osage language to the woman. The only words that Maggie, who was standing nearby, understood were “Yellow Corn.” The woman’s hair was completely gray and her face was heavily lined. Her clothes, however, were richly decorated with beads and feathers and the blanket wrapped around her shoulders was colorful and new.

Maggie gazed in fascination at Mrs. MacMillan’s large belly. How was that large lump going to pass out through such a small opening between the woman’s legs? Each time her aunt back home had given birth, Maggie had run off into the woods so she would not hear the screams. She wasn’t sure now if she should leave or stay. She wanted to know what this birthing was about. Someday she would be having Light’s babes.

The younger girls had gone immediately to Zee, happy to see him, and bombarded him with questions. Linus stepped out of the gloom to take the oxen and the cart to the barnyard.

When Aee led the way into the house where the lamps were lit and water was heating in a large iron pot, Maggie followed behind the Indian woman. Mrs. Mac walked up and down the room, after her critical eye had checked on the preparations for the birth. She smiled at her older daughter, then turned to Mr. MacMillan, who stood nervously on first one foot and then the other.

“Mr. Mac, you should be out setting up a watch for that German fellow if he is as bad as you said he was. The girls will tend me. We’ll let you know if you are needed.”

MacMillan, with a worried look on his face, went to his wife, took her hand, raised it to his lips, and went quickly out the door.

“Pa’s always antsy like this,” Aee said aside to Maggie. “Bee an’ I helped Ma through the last two babes. Pa acted like he had been settin’ on a hill a red ants. He ain’t ort t’ worry like that. The last one was four years ago. We’re older now and Ma has told us what t’ do. If ya want t’ stay, ya can.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothin’.”

“What’s she goin’ t’ do?” Maggie gestured toward the Indian woman.

“Her name’s Yellow Corn. She’s one of the oldest in the tribe. As soon as the babe is born, she’ll start tellin’ it how the world was started and the history of the Osage.”

“Why is she doin’ that?”

“It’s somethin’ they do.”

“It’ll understand?”

“’Course not, but she thinks it will. It’s the Osage way and Ma don’t want them to think she’s turned her back on the old ways.”

Suddenly Mrs. MacMillan went to the corner of the room, lifted her skirt and stood straddling a china pot. Aee hurried to her and took her arm to steady her. A stream of bloody water gushed out. It came and it came until Maggie grew alarmed.

“Oh, is she . . . is she peein’?” she asked Bee.

“No. The sack of water holding the baby broke. It’ll be comin’ soon.”

Maggie looked at Aee and Bee with new respect. They knew so much about many things. Their flushed faces were the only sign of worry and excitement. Mrs. MacMillan and the Indian woman were as calm as if bringing forth a new life were an everyday occurrence.

The girls helped Mrs. MacMillan remove her dress. Beneath it she wore only a white shift that hung loosely from her shoulders. Lifting it to around her waist, she knelt down on a blanket-covered pile of straw at the foot of the bed and held on to the support post that went from the floor to the roof.

Bee checked and rechecked the supplies they would need: sharp clean knife, linen thread, dishpan with warm water, grease for the newborn’s skin and a roll of white cotton cloth to wrap it in.

It was quiet in the room, except for the mumbles of Yellow Corn. Mrs. MacMillan’s hands moved up and down the pole as she pulled and strained. Occasionally a grunt escaped her. When the pain passed, her gasps for air were loud and labored. Her face and neck became wet with sweat. Aee and Bee stood beside her.

It seemed to Maggie this went on for a very long time. It could not have been more than half an hour when Mrs. MacMillan strained and half stood.

“It’s coming!” she gasped. “Oh . . . oh—”

Aee knelt in front of her mother and caught her new sibling in her two hands when it slid from Mrs. MacMillan’s body. The babe was wet and bloody and wrinkled.

“A boy! Pa got his boy!” Aee made room for Bee, who quickly cut and tied the cord.

Aee stood with the baby in her arms. She dug into the baby’s mouth with her finger to remove the mucus and lifted his tiny arms over his head. He gasped for breath and let out a loud wail of protest.

“He’s all right, Ma.” Aee laughed happily.

Bee had placed a shallow pan between her mother’s legs. A moment or two went by. Maggie was amazed to see Bee take a feather and tickle her mother’s nose. Mrs. Mac strained once again, and the afterbirth slid into the pan. When that was done, Bee handed her a rolled cloth to catch the bloody flux. Mrs. MacMillan stood and moved around to the side of the bed.