A Gown of Spanish Lace Page 12

  Laramie walked directly to the stack of wood and dropped his pile of logs. As he did so a package tumbled out and fell to the floor. Ariana stared.

  “Come here,” whispered Laramie, and Ariana woodenly obeyed.

  “I haven’t time to talk,” said the man as he began to stack the firewood, making an unusual amount of noise as he did so.

  “I’m gittin’ you outta here. Sh-h. We might be spied on. I can’t stay long enough to give ya all the details. But I’ve some things fer you to do.”

  He glanced around the room again and proceeded to lift stacked logs and bang them against one another as he restacked them by the wall.

  “First—make a big batch of biscuits—all ya can—an’ wrap ’em up—in two different bundles—maybe in those towels. Don’t worry none about crushin’. Thet won’t hurt ’em.

  “Then, after supper—pack the things ya want to take—in as tight a bundle as ya can. I’ll pick ’em up. Put on the clothes from this bundle and wait. Light yer lamp—as usual. Keep the big towel over the winda. I’ll knock three little raps—then agin three—on yer winda, not yer door. You be ready.” More logs crashed against the wall.

  “I’ll take ya to a friend of mine. He’s Pawnee. He’ll take ya where ya’ll be safe. Trust ’im.”

  He stood and moved to the fire.

  “Ya need more water?” he asked in a normal voice.

  Ariana stood mute, staring at him. It was too much to take in all at once. She blinked. Her mouth opened but no words came. His hand gave her a little signal, and she swallowed hard and found her voice.

  “Yes,” she answered in as even a voice as she could manage. “Yes…I’d like some extra…if you have time. It’s…it’s the day for my bath.”

  He smiled softly and nodded his head as though to compliment her on her control. Then he went to fill the kettle and the basin from the pail and left the cabin with the empty bucket in his hand. Ariana put the hook firmly in place. Her hand was trembling so uncontrollably she could hardly manage the small task.

  Ariana finally had a day that demanded action. Over and over in her mind she sorted through those things she was to do. She really did take a bath, thinking that it might well be her last one for some time to come. Then she got out her food supplies and baked biscuits as she had been ordered, until she had a large stack of them on her wooden table.

  By the time she had finished her baking the sun was moving lower in the sky.

  Ariana began to gather the things she planned to take with her. She was glad she had dressed in her own garments that morning so the things that had belonged to Laramie’s mother could be freshly washed. They now hung on the hook on the wall. She crossed the small room, lifted down each item, and folded it carefully. It was the first time she had opened the lid of the trunk since Laramie himself had removed the small chest and worn Bible.

  “I wonder if he ever reads?” she mused as she placed the items of clothing back on the top of the pile.

  “ ‘Laramie’s Mama,’ ” she whispered to the unknown woman, “I don’t know anything about you…whether you are alive…or dead…but I do thank you…whoever you are, for the use of your things. I have tried to…to return them to you in the same condition….”

  Ariana let the words trail off. It did seem awfully silly to be talking to someone who was not there.

  She closed the lid quietly, letting her hand rest upon it for several moments as she looked down at the metal top, the stained leather straps.

  “If only you could talk,” she whispered to the trunk. “I’m sure you’d have secrets to share.”

  Then she turned her attention back to the task at hand. She had to be prepared, small bundle and baked biscuits wrapped securely for whatever lay ahead.

  As darkness fell, Ariana lit the kerosene lamp as she had been told and sat down in the unfamiliar buckskin clothing on the log stool by her table. Normally she would have spent her evening hours reading or memorizing from her Bible—but tonight her Bible, along with her few other possessions, was wrapped securely in the little bundle and waiting on the floor close to the room’s window, along with the two packages of biscuits.

  Ariana had also made up another small bundle with additional food supplies that could be carried on a pack animal. She had no idea how long the trip might take to get back home. The trip through the storm had seemed to take forever—but if she remembered correctly, they had made it in four days of travel.

  More and more throughout the day, the truth of her circumstances had begun to sink in. This was no pleasure trip through the beauties of the woods. She was not going to be released—set free. She had been smuggled into the camp of lawless men—and she was to be smuggled out. Laramie had made that plain with his secrecy and carefully laid plans. It was going to be a dangerous mission. Not just for her, she surmised, but for the young man as well.

  “Would they really kill one of their own?” she asked herself.

  After the events of the night before—still unexplained to Ariana—she had no doubt of the answer. Yes. Laramie could be killed in his effort to free her from the camp and get her back to her own hometown.

  Over and over Ariana offered intense little prayers.

  And she waited—her whole body feeling rigid and trembly, her hands clasped in front of her on the wooden boards of the table, the simple buckskin garments feeling strange on her skin.

  The tension within her grew and grew as the night hours moved slowly by. Had Laramie forgotten? No, surely not. Had something happened to him? That thought brought her to near panic. Pray, she ordered herself sternly. Pray—and trust.

  Ariana tried hard to fight the waves of fear that swept through her. She had to be calm. She had to be in control. Her flight depended upon it. Without control she might make some very foolish mistake.

  And then she heard the gentle rap at her window. Three times. She waited. A repeat of another three. Ariana rose from her seat and moved quickly to the window. Even in her excitement, she noted the silence of the moccasins that had been provided.

  She lifted back the towel curtain and could just make out the dim outline of Laramie’s face. He motioned for her to open the window, and she did so as quietly as she could.

  Without a word, she passed the bundles out the window to his waiting hands, then climbed on the log stool that she had placed below the window earlier in the day.

  Without a sound Laramie helped ease her body through the small opening and lowered her noiselessly to the ground. Taking her by the hand he began to lead her through the darkness. Ariana wondered how he could even find his way through the heavy growth of trees, but she followed wordlessly.

  Before long they came to a small clearing. Three horses stood, stirring restlessly, anxious to be back in their warm stalls. A late spring storm was bringing snow, icy hard flakes, driven by a biting wind. Ariana felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was this a repeat of the whole horrible nightmare?

  As if born of the night, another man was suddenly beside her. He spoke not a word, just reached for her hand. The Indian Laramie had told her about.

  At the same time the young brave took her left hand, Laramie released her right. She was being led off into the darkness without even a final word.

  She looked back once and stumbled slightly. Laramie was tying the bundles she had given him to the pack saddle on one of the animals. All except for one of the towel-wrapped batches of biscuits. The young brave carried that in his other hand.

  “You safe here.”

  It was the first the Indian had spoken. Wordlessly he had led Ariana across the valley, through the deep darkness of the woods and into the hills. Now they were entering a cave. Ariana could not restrain a shudder. She hated caves. Was afraid of them. Had always been afraid of them—even as a young child.

  And now she was to enter one. She did not like the idea. But perhaps—perhaps it was a little better than being in a camp of outlaws.

  She steeled herself, took a deep breath, and
followed her guide into the opening.

  The man was leading her deeper and deeper into the cave. She wondered how he could possibly know where he was going. He stopped and used a flint to light a small lantern that must have been waiting for their arrival. Then they traveled on, winding this way and that, squeezing through small openings in the rocks, crawling through short tunnels, pushing their way through rubble.

  Ariana stifled a scream that pressed at the back of her throat. She feared she would suffocate. She frantically wondered just how much more she could stand—and then they passed through a narrow opening and came out into a larger space. Ariana was faintly aware of the sound of dripping water.

  “You safe here,” the young brave said again.

  Ariana let her gaze travel over the cave floor. Someone lived here. There were robes and blankets and supplies. Someone…. Who? The Indian? Surely she wasn’t expected to share the dwelling with—

  “It dry—safe,” the young man said again. Ariana still did not move.

  “You light candle—one,” he ordered.

  Ariana stiffly bent to pick up a candle. She noticed that there was a rather large pile of them on the floor. She held the candle to the wick of the lantern he held out to her. The candle sputtered, then raised a tiny, flickering flame. He set the bundle of biscuits on the floor by the other stores.

  “You eat—one—each time you light new candle,” he commanded her in his soft voice. Ariana nodded dumbly.

  “Sleep,” he said and pointed to the pile of skins and blankets in the corner.

  Ariana nodded again and moved to place her candle in the wooden holder that had been left for it.

  He stared at her candle for a long moment with an expression she could not read.

  “Don’t let candle die,” he cautioned. “No more light.”

  Ariana’s eyes widened. Being in this deep, dark cave was bad enough—but with no light. The very thought sent waves of panic through her.

  “I not bring another,” and he indicated the flint in his hand with some apology in his tone. “I need at front of cave for return.” She stared dumbly at him.

  “I go,” announced the man and moved away before Ariana could respond. She was afraid he would fade into the very rocks of the walls.

  “Wait,” she cried after him.

  He turned back. The flicker of the lantern he held cast eerie shadows on his bronze cheeks. His black eyes seemed to reflect the dancing light.

  “Wait,” Ariana implored again, reaching out a trembling hand.

  He stood silently while she tried to untangle her thoughts and get them in order for expression.

  “I…I need to know…I mean…Laramie said you’d tell me what I’m to do,” she managed.

  He nodded. “You wait,” he said simply.

  “But…in here…alone…for who…how long?” Her questions seemed to tumble over one another.

  He came a step closer and set his lantern on the hard rock of the cave floor. Then he surprised her by lowering himself to a cross-legged sitting position. Ariana waited.

  He nodded to her, and she understood that she was also to sit—on the pile in the corner that was meant for her bed.

  Obediently she sat.

  “Alone—here—yes,” he began. “Do not leave—ever. We come.”

  He seemed to feel that was settled. She was to wait here—alone—until someone came for her.

  “How many suns? Not know,” he continued.

  “But…who will come? Laramie said—”

  “Laramie come,” he nodded in assurance, and Ariana’s troubled mind grasped at that promise.

  But her sense of relief was short-lived.

  “Maybe yes—maybe no,” he went on calmly, making her heart race again.

  “If not—I come,” he finished, then sat quietly as though waiting to see if she had any more questions.

  She sat trembling, looking down at her folded hands.

  “Food,” he said, pointing at the supply against the rock wall. “Water,” he continued and pointed to the opposite wall and up against the ceiling. It was the first Ariana had noticed the little ledge and the small clay pot that sat on it. From somewhere above, water continued to drip, drip into the container. That was her water supply.

  “Sleep,” he said again, and he rose like a shadow and turned away from her again.

  She knew better than to call a second time. She was alone in a deep, dark cave, somewhere in the bowels of the earth. And she was to wait—just wait—silently—patiently—until someone came for her. Ariana felt terror rise in her throat until she felt she wouldn’t be able to breathe.

  All through the night Laramie pressed his mount forward, the two animals on their tethers following obediently at his heels.

  At times he hid his trail by traveling along the sheltered rock shelves; at others he left deliberate little clues as to which way he was heading.

  He was glad for the snow. By morning, and the discovery that they were gone, much of the trail would be covered—just as it had been when his pa and Sam had brought the girl to the camp.

  Laramie smiled. It seemed rather ironic. A snowstorm had kept her would-be rescuers from finding her—and a snowstorm might also defeat her enemies.

  Laramie pulled his hat down over his face to protect himself from the bite of the whirling ice crystals and urged the rangy buckskin on.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Waiting

  “Lord, it’s been seventy-two days,” Laura Benson reminded God in a quiet conversation with Him as she rolled crusts for an apple pie. “Seventy-two days—without any word.”

  She blinked away tears that welled up in her eyes. “I’ve tried to be patient, Lord. Tried to trust…but sometimes…it gets so hard.”

  The tears refused to stay in check and squeezed out from under her blinking lids and rolled down her wrinkled cheeks. She reached for the hankie in her apron pocket and quickly dispensed with the telltale marks of weeping.

  “They say no news is good news, Lord,” she continued. “Help me to really believe that.”

  Ariana huddled in her corner. She was thankful for the warm furs beneath her and the woolen blankets she could wrap her body in. She wasn’t sure if she shook from the cold, dank interior of the cave or from sheer terror, but she trembled just the same.

  “If only I had my Bible,” she said to herself for the twentieth time.

  But you do, an inner voice prompted. Haven’t you been busy with memorization for the past weeks? You have much of the Bible within you.

  With a start of surprise, Ariana realized it was so. She had memorized many sections of Scripture during her days of confinement. Perhaps the long stay in the small cabin would not be for nought.

  She pulled the blanket more closely about her shoulders. “Where should I start?” she asked herself. “Well…why not at the beginning? I’ll gradually work my way through the Bible, recalling every portion I have learned.”

  “Genesis, chapter one. In the beginning God…”

  Ariana stopped. The few words had given her much to think about.

  “In the beginning God…” she repeated slowly. The words seemed to echo off the dark walls of rock.

  Ariana spoke them again. At least her own voice was something with which to fill the stillness.

  “God…in the beginning…and always,” she mused to herself. “Well…if He has always been—and I fully believe He has—then I guess He must know all there is to know about what’s going on. Even now. Even in this cave.”

  The thought brought comfort to Ariana.

  She reached down one hand to feel the softness of her bed. Someone had taken a good deal of trouble to prepare it for her. Spruce and pine branches intertwined to make a soft layer beneath her. Soft moss covered the boughs. Then the thick fur—likely buffalo, Ariana guessed—and then the warm, though scratchy, blankets of wool.

  Yes, she could not complain about her bed. It was much more comfortable than the rough wood bunk in the cabin.<
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  Ariana let her gaze travel to the little stock of supplies. Here again her needs had been met. True, it was not especially tasty food that had been stored in the cave. But it was palatable—and nourishing. Pemmican. Dried berries and fish. And her own biscuits—which would soon be as dry as the berries, she thought wryly.

  And water. She had a good supply of water—though at first the constant drip, drip had threatened to drive her mad. But the water was cold and fresh, and she had no trouble convincing herself to drink straight from the small earthen pot.

  Ariana looked at the little stack of candles. So far she had relit a new candle from the old one seven times. She had no idea how long one candle burned. She had no idea whether it was now day or night in the outside world. She had even less of an idea how many hours had crawled by since she had been brought to the cave. She only knew that it seemed like a very long time.

  And now her thoughts turned again from the cave and back to the Scripture.

  “In the beginning God…” she said again and smiled to herself. “And in the end, God as well,” she went on. “And in the middle, and in the past, and in the future—God. For always and ever—what a wonderful truth.”

  “In the beginning God created….” She stopped again and let her eyes drift over the eerie walls of the cave. The flickering candlelight cast funny dancing shapes over the roughness of the rock.

  “You did this,” she spoke to the God she knew shared her abode. “You made this. Why? Why this strange little room way back in the rocks? Did you know—even then—that someday…?” Ariana let her voice fade. It was too big an idea to even think about.

  Suddenly the cave no longer seemed menacing. It did not even seem as cold and clammy as before. Ariana had the comforting knowledge that she was not alone.

  The severity of the storm made travel more and more difficult for Laramie. At the same time, it would make his trail harder to follow. He began to wonder if he shouldn’t change his plans and head straight for the cave and Ariana.

  At length he decided against it. He and White Eagle had laid their plans carefully. To change now might mean a disruption that could be costly—even deadly.