Love Honor and a Mail Order Bride : True Love and a Mail Order Bride by forestport12 A First Book Chapter contest entry |
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Chapter One: Between Two Worlds. Colorado Springs 1866
Lucas Cole leveled his rifle at the rattling bush. His proud brown mare held her ground by the river’s edge, but the homesteader’s heart pecked hard as a trapped bird in his chest. His neck stiffened. His arm tightened into a cramp. Sweat dripped from his brow and stung the eye where he drew a bead on the target.
Luke’s mind jumped back east where he could wait for the glint of antlers. Indians and outlaws roamed the foothills. The right split decision could save your life. He considered himself more blessed than lucky so far. He took a deep breath and massaged the trigger. Then his eye unfolded on an Indian girl falling forward. He breathed a sigh.
No telling how old she was, when you figured in the living and landscape she crawled out from. She could have been thirteen going on thirty. She found her feet and stood, ink black hair in her eyes. She must have never seen the rifle trained on her where the tufts of grass swirled along the bank. Luke lowered his rifle. She looked as if tortured by more than nature. Her deerskin clothing ripped and tattered, was almost unrecognizable as a dress. He kept an eye on the ridge behind her just in case it was a ploy to get him to drop his guard. Even if she had been banished, it would be the kind of trouble he couldn’t risk living between two worlds. With the town of silver creek in the valley below and scattered tribes in the mountains beyond, he’d managed an uneasy peace so far. He had a thought to pretend she was never there, turn back toward his cabin and scrub her from his mind.
When Luke turned, his mare pitched upward and neighed. She disagreed with his desire to bolt. He took one last look from high on his horse with white capped peaks in front of him. There was no doubt she heard and saw him now. But she stumbled forward, as if pretending not to notice him. Luke turned his reins toward the girl and clicked his boots into the side of his horse. As he drew closer, his stomach churned. Her face baked from the sun made her skin dark as cinnamon. But it was her pleading eyes, like sapphires. It made him weak. Made his mind go off trail for a moment. How did an Indian get such blue eyes? They were a glassy blue born in the belly of a fire that made him wonder about her heritage. Half-breed. Maybe.
Luke turned his horse toward the clearing in the creek and muddied the waters with her hoofs. One hand on the reins one hand on his repeating rifle, he didn’t see signs of anyone following the Indian girl through the valley. He looked back at her. She stumbled down his worn trail bordered by knotted trees toward the cabin.
Luke rode toward her, stopped several yards away. He noted her buckskin dress ripped with cuts on her legs, spots of blood mixed with mud. It was hard to tell if she’d been punished by her tribe or by the wilds of nature. Her spirited blue eyes locked on his. Luke tried hand gestures at first. “You a runaway?”
She looked away, miles. She turned and stumbled on the path to his cabin, willing to walk until her legs caved. When Luke drew along beside her, she smelled like a wet dog. He stopped her beneath the shade of a Ponderosa pine. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out an apple, handing it to her. It broke her forward stare, gave her pause, as she took it with both hands and took a bite.
Luke knew if the town below caught wind of her, it would make his simple life twisted. The folks thought of him as some kind of Paul Revere who would warn them of Indians and outlaws. He strode alongside her. “Looks to be your going my way.” He leaned in toward her from his saddle. He reached out his hand. “Let me give you a ride.” She relented and let Luke lift her. She was light as a feathered pillow. She placed her hands around his stomach and leaned into the spine of his back. This shocked Luke’s senses, the softness of her face against him in contrast to sawgrass and thorns. It gave him a rush, reminding him he was a red-blooded man again. He hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in two years. He tried to snuff it from his mind and stay alert, as his horse strode toward the cabin.
She’d known English as a language. If only he could pull some out of her. He didn’t like sitting out in the open. He’d find out more about her when he got her to his cabin. It was too late for regrets, as she firmly pounced on his heart, with every joust she dug into his back, clamped down on his emotions. He wondered if she could feel his heartbeat hammering from between his shoulder blades.
Sounds of the rushing creek swept along beside them in a valley full of hemlocks and elms. In the clearing was the cabin, every log placed by himself with the help of his horse and a winch. There were jagged cuts the color of pulp with holes filled by dried mud. It was a poor excuse for a homestead and looked more like a trapper's cabin. Buckskins dried on a post in the sun, an outhouse several feet away, and root cellar in the ground. “No place like home,” he said under his breath.
Luke wondered what she thought of his abode. For all he knew, she’d probably slept under the stars her whole life. It needed a feminine touch. A remnant of smoke spilled from a clay chimney pipe. He had windows in his loft too, a view between worlds. “Don’t have all the creature comforts, but it’s a step up from a tent.”
Luke’s mind drummed in his head. He could make her a pallet in the root cellar for now, where the earth was cool, pleasant enough providing a snake didn’t bore a hole inside. He mostly didn’t care to sleep with one eye open in his own abode. Luke hopped off his mare and tethered her to the post by the door. His dog barked on the other side. When he opened the door a white and brown-haired spaniel jumped and did circles around the Indian girl. “That’s Sugar, she’s our welcoming committee. Looks like between Lucy my horse and Sugar, I got myself a slew of females.” He looked at her, studied her gestures, and for now tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong as he offered for her to step inside his log cabin home. It was cautious hospitality. She took the core of her apple and fed it to Luke’s horse. She crouched down and petted the spaniel who licked her dirty sweat. She looked up at Luke as if she fought in her mind whether to stay or leave. “Come inside for a spell. I won’t hurt you.” He tried to use hand signs to put her at ease. Dust mites circled in the sun from a kitchen window, as the pair stepped inside. A damp mustiness clung to Luke’s nose. He left the door open. With arms folded, she inched forward and looked around.
The girl must have figured he wanted to examine her teeth. As he poked his finger inside and she promptly bit down. Luke tumbled backward when she let go, wincing in pain. She had a tongue and a strong pair of teeth too. He wanted to smack her, but then thought better of it. He’d never hit a girl before, no sense starting now. Between shakes of his finger, he asked her, “What in the Sam Hill did you do that fer?” Still, he didn’t get a reply. She acted deaf and dumb, but he knew better. “You got a name? I know you aren’t deaf.”
“Aiyana.”
Luke shook his head and his finger. “What does it mean? What tribe?” Luke was ready to bore down. “I need to know what I might be dealing with.”
She crossed her arms and clamped her mouth down like a steel trap.
“Okay, suit yourself. But I don’t need trouble. I got a mind to send you on your way with a sack. You know what that word means, don’t you?” Luke had a hand mirror on his kitchen table across the room. He fetched it, walked over to her and put the mirror to her defiant face. “That’s what trouble looks like.” Aiyana frowned. She didn’t seem to appreciate her wild look. It scared her some. She crawled back into a corner where a shadow hung all day.
Cole gazed at the woman in the picture, blonde straw hair was how the one letter described her, brown eyes like dark caramel. The black and white photo couldn’t match the colorful description of her. She'd even sent a locket of her hair. He pinched it between his fingers. She looked beautiful with her ribbed, ribbon hat. Her smile was slight, light as the breeze he imagined from where it was taken in South Bend, Indiana. He breathed a sigh and put the picture back on the mantel with the locket of hair. Luke wondered what the lovely Ruth Thompson, his bride to be, would think of his new guest. He turned again to see Push-ta falling asleep, but he wasn’t about to poke her like a treed cat. He’d let her sink into it. There was no point in him trying to explain to the Indian girl that he’d be expecting a mail order bride in a few weeks. And he still needed answers from her. He watched her eyes close. He slipped over toward her. Sugar looked up and wagged her tail. He put a finger to his lips. Something glistened from her deerskin pouch, the only thing left on her that wasn’t shredded. Luke leaned in close enough to test her sleep. His jaw dropped when he glimpsed what he thought was a golden cross necklace. He took his penknife and lifted it from her. He backed away, then went to the kitchen window and held it up into the light. The sun was melting over the mountains like spilled yoke. His head hurt from the storm in his mind. Laying his head down on the table, he clutched the cross until his eyes closed, and his world blackened.
Luke pushed his chair back, stood, and dangled the cross necklace in his hand. We need to talk about this. How you got this.” Aiyana snatched it from his hand and held it with a fist. She backed away into the corner with Sugar wagging her tail beside her. She used her free hand to stroke Luke’s dog. Then she looked over at the mantel and seemed focused on the picture of the woman. He wasn’t about to explain to her what it meant to have a mail order bride on the way.
She plopped down cross-legged. Luke went over to a chest of clothes under the stairs and slid it open. The smell of talcum powder wafted through the air from trying to keep old clothes fresh. “I have some clothes. It’s not much but it will help keep you warm at night. He’d already softened and intended for her to sleep on a pallet in front of the fire. He showed her a pair of wool pants and a thick cotton shirt.
Luke threw the clothes her way. She ducked, as the clothes fell on the hardwood where Sugar scampered away. “Put those on.” He motioned, as if he was putting his own pants on.
Aiyana snatched the clothes and stood with her back to him where she flipped off her tattered buckskin.
He had no idea if she had changed or not. So, he turned and peeked with one eye open. Push-ta tucked the shirt into her waistband. She looked as if his outfit might swallow her hole. Relief washed over him when she offered a faint smile. Then she spoke in her native tongue, it sounded like a thank you.
Luke persisted. “You came clear over the Rockies. Blackfoot or Crow?”
She pointed through the window. Said something foreign on her tongue.
“Crow.” She stuck out her elbows and made like a wounded bird. “Crow.”
She went and sat in a corner and looked as if she was deciding what to do. Luke couldn't tell if she might bolt. “I'm going to make dinner. As he set out a pan and lit the wood stove, he glimpsed at the woman on the mantel, as if he could talk to the picture of his bride to be. “Not sure how I can explain her to you. Since you don't rightly know me, except through letters. I swear, I didn't plan this.” Then Luke admitted to himself how lonely he must be for companionship when he talked to a picture.
Rattling pots and pans, Luke took out some salted venison. But before he cut some butter and cut the meat, he took a firestick across the stove and lit up some kindling where the logs were in place in the stove.
Luke turned it into a stew, where he cut open an onion, and peppers. “That's one thing about living' in the foothills, you got more of a chance for game. I often trade meat for vegetables in town.”
Luke stared into her eyes. “Am I the first white person you’ve laid eyes on?” A heavy silence fell between them. “You’ve never seen a town?” Luke already knew the answer.
Aiyana curled into the corner with Sugar next to her. As Luke pondered what to do, her head nodded, eyes closed. Sugar didn't mind sharing his floor pillow with her. He snuggled next to her, and only now and then left his nose to sniff the aroma of onion and deer venison stewing in a pot.
Luke made use of his hand made table straightway from white elm, a bleached but polished cut of logs. He was practicing again, trying turn his trapper cabin into a homestead home for someone miles away, who'd not set live eyes on him, his dog, or his cabin. If only Miss Thompson could see him now, what would she think of him with an Indian girl sleeping in a corner?
When the time came for him to wake Aiyana, Luke decided to use the other end of his straw broom. He wasn't about to wake up someone who could turn into a coiled snake. He poked her, and at first her blue eyes looked lost, like she forgot where she'd closed those eyes.
Luke didn't have the heart to tell her, she smelled. He figured after she had her belly full, she'd maybe want to leave. She didn't have to stay, and he wasn't sure why he expected it. He didn't want to care, although the sight of those lash marks made him concerned. He gave her a portion of the stew, and gave her spoon where she sat hunched over, elbows on the table.
Luke bowed his head and said a silent prayer. With one eye on her and to his surprise, she bowed her head too with eyes closed. It only deepened the mystery of her, like the depth of a glacier lake. She took and broke the piece of bread and dipped it into her bowl of stew. As she ate, some of it slipped down the corner of her blistered lips. She wiped her face with her forearm.
Luke looked at her, astonished. Aiyana ate and slurped her food, and greedily so, before Luke hardly had a bite of his. He wasn't sure if she'd be presentable in town or anywhere but the wild. And then, He thought he saw her eyes moistening, glistening with tears. He knew then he had caught a glimpse of her soul, something deep, something powerful.
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