CHAPTER

14

Voices floated around me like vapors, briefly distinct, then dispersing into the ether before I could comprehend what was being said and by whom.

“Severely concussed …”

“I would ask where you’re going but know you shouldn’t tell me.”

“Oh, Catherine, for someone so intelligent you’re so naive.”

“You do remember, don’t you?”

“You cannot be here!”

“Never seen the like before …”

“Everyone has secrets …”

“He’ll never want you.”

My eyes opened. The room smelled of newly cut lumber and sage. Sunlight streamed through the opened windows. A breeze wafted the sheer curtains, bringing fresh air and the sounds of the town in to greet me.

Was I back in Jacksboro?

Had I ever left?

The room was simple: a bed covered in fresh linens, side table with an oil lamp, a chest of drawers, and a straight-backed chair in the corner, on which sat an Indian woman. She gazed out the window, a boldly striped blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her hands folded serenely in her lap.

“Aénhé’ke.”

The woman turned her gaze to me and smiled. “Laura.” Her expression was troubled. Then she said, with more difficulty, “Charlotte.”

I nodded and was happy to note my head did not hurt, due in no small part to the bitter aftertaste of laudanum on my tongue.

Aénhé’ke stood, raised her finger as if telling me to wait, and left the room, giving me time to take stock of myself.

I pulled the sheets back and sat on the edge of the bed. “I cannot wait for the day I am not constantly assessing my injuries or my surroundings.”

I wore a clean nightdress and nothing else. For the first time since we left Jacksboro I did not feel gritty or grimy, which only could mean someone had taken the time to bathe me. Next to the oil lamp was a small amber snuff bottle filled with sprigs of sage. I picked up the bottle and inhaled the soothing scent. Energized, I went to the window, taking the sage with me.

In the near distance, tipis were set up as far as I could see. Indian men wearing a mixture of traditional Indian attire and white men’s clothes lounged around while the women and girls bustled about with their chores. Boys ran in and around the tipis, playing what looked like chase, but Kindle had told me its real purpose was to teach the boys about the buffalo hunt. And war. None of these Indians looked like warriors.

“Mrs. Martin! You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

The agency doctor stood in the doorway. I could not take my eyes from the medical bag he held. What was inside? How well did he keep his instruments? Did he have a small bottle of whisky in there for himself? His golden hair was brushed back from his tall forehead and hung in ribbons almost to his shoulders. His coarse and curly beard covered his cheeks and upper lip, leaving his cleft chin bare, like a masterpiece in a gilded frame. His appearance didn’t engender much faith in his abilities.

“How long have I been in bed?”

“One day only. I recommend a week of bed rest, at a minimum. You were severely concussed. Come, lie down.” He waved me over and I obeyed. I held my bottle of sage to my chest like a child holding her dolly.

“May I sit?” I said.

“Of course.”

The doctor placed his bag next to me, bent down, and looked into my eyes. His were an indistinguishable green, more moss than emerald, but kind, and much to my relief, sober. His clothes were unsoiled, merely wrinkled, and his hands were much cleaner than I would have expected.

“Follow my finger.”

I did so without comment. He nodded, opened his bag, and removed a stethoscope. While he listened to my lungs and heart, I peeked into his bag and was assaulted with an overwhelming pang of anguish and longing. His instruments, though old, were well cared for and pristine. Small bottles of whisky and laudanum were tucked into a corner.

“What is your name, sir?”

“Hugh Cairns.” He placed his stethoscope into his bag and buckled it. Dr. Cairns folded his hands in front of him and studied me. “Mr. Oscar tells quite a story.”

Since Cairns called me Martin, I had to assume Kindle had told them a version of the story I spun for Bell. I didn’t want to take the chance of contradicting him.

I covered my mouth and said in a shaky voice, “Did he turn the bodies of those odious men in?”

Cairns nodded. “And said you and he, along with the Indian, managed to kill them all.”

“It was all so chaotic. I remember little of it, except I was terrified. But I trusted Mr. Oscar to get us through it, and he did.”

Cairns pursed his lips and scrutinized me with those green eyes of his. He was used to being lied to regularly, I suspected. “You have an impressive assortment of injuries. Old and new.”

I touched Cairns’s arm lightly. “I feel much better now due to your care. Thank you.” I stood and tried to mask my dizziness. “I would like to find Mr. Oscar.”

Cairns missed nothing. He grasped my arm. “You should be in bed.”

Kindle strode into the room, followed by Aénhé’ke. I wanted to fall into his arms, and reached out to do so, but caught myself. I had no idea what story he’d told. Instead, I placed my hand on my chest and said, “Is it well and truly over?”

“Yes. It is.”

I covered my mouth and turned away, pretending to be overcome with emotion.

“Dr. Cairns, would you excuse us?” Kindle said.

“Of course.” Cairns picked up his medical bag and walked to the door, where he turned. He motioned to Aénhé’ke, “You, too. Out.”

Aénhé’ke glanced between us. Kindle said, “She can stay.”

When the door closed, Kindle came to me and took me in his arms. “How do you feel?”

“I am getting used to being battered and bruised. What did you tell them when you turned in the bodies?”

“Agent Darlington was so thrilled to have those four in hand he didn’t scrutinize my story too much. I told them what you told Bell, about your abusive husband. I’m a Good Samaritan helping you get across Indian Territory and to your family back East.”

“Very clever.” I decided it best not to tell Kindle he’d muddied the surnames up. Now I was Charlotte Martin. I looked forward to the day I could have an alias for longer than a day or two. “How much was the reward?”

“Cuidado was the only one with a price on his head, and only fifty dollars. The US marshal has to authorize the bounty, and he’s out searching for Bell and Quinn. They don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“We can’t wait, can we?”

Kindle shook his head. “Darlington has five hundred Indians camped around his agency. He couldn’t care less about us. The marshal on the other hand … We’ll rest for a couple of days, stock up on supplies, and leave.”

“What about Aénhé’ke?”

Kindle lowered his voice. “She’s part of Stone Calf’s band.”

“Are they here?” I whispered.

“Yes.” Kindle tried to look unconcerned and failed.

“Which means what?”

“His band was with Black Kettle at Washita.”

“Will they recognize you?”

“We didn’t attack their camp. They were farther down the river. We should be safe.”

I walked to the bed and leaned against it, my head swimming. “Why don’t you rest, Laura?”

“Where am I? Whose room?”

“You’re in the single men’s residence. It doubles as a hotel. I have the room next door.”

“Cairns is suspicious.” I rubbed my forehead. “I am not sharp enough to tell effective lies.”

“I’ll keep him away so you can rest.” Kindle rubbed my arms and kissed my forehead. “Are you hungry?”

I realized I was. “Famished.”

“I’ll have supper sent down.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

“Good heavens. Where are you going?”

“I am going to see if the Darlington residents are talking about the Murderess and the Major.” Kindle’s mouth quirked up. “I’m half tempted to hunt down Henry Pope and show him how much I appreciate the name.”

I looked down and away. “He got half of the title right.”

Kindle lifted my chin. “Anything you’ve done was to survive. There’s a difference. You’ll feel better after you eat.”

I smiled weakly. “If you say so.” I climbed into bed and curled into a ball facing the window.

The dead haunted me. As a doctor sworn to help people, to preserve life, I should have felt something for these men, for my responsibility for their deaths. Instead, I felt nothing. No guilt. No remorse. If confronted with the same situations, I would do the same thing. Somewhere along the way, my instinct for survival had outstripped my instinct to heal. Even if, by some miracle, Kindle and I made it to England, I wasn’t sure I would be able to take the caduceus back up, to reclaim the title of doctor when so many of my actions had flown in direct contradiction to my oath.

The sun coming through the window was muted when Aénhé’ke returned with my supper. I sat up and she placed the tray on my lap. I stared at the plate of beans and biscuits and laughed.

Within seconds, my laughter turned to sobs.

Kindle stumbled into the room after midnight and tripped on Aénhé’ke.

“Excuse me,” Kindle said in a hoarse whisper. “What are you doing here anyway? Why aren’t you with your people?”

“William.” My voice was cold, angry.

“You’re awake.”

“I’ve been waiting on you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Why, so I wouldn’t see how drunk you are?”

“No, because you need to rest. I’m not drunk.”

“I can smell the whisky from here, William.”

I could see Kindle through the gloom. He swayed on his feet as he removed his waistcoat and shirt. “Someone spilled whisky down my shirt. “

“I thought Quakers were teetotalers.”

“Not everyone here is a Quaker. Thank God.” He draped his gun belt over the bedpost, removed his boots and trousers, and left them where they lay. He climbed into bed next to me.

“Shouldn’t you be in your own room?”

“I’ll leave before anyone is awake.” He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

I moved over to make room for him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t touch you.”

“That isn’t why I moved over.”

“If you say so.”

My determination to reach out to Kindle and reclaim our physical connection was crushed beneath the smell of whisky on his breath and his harsh words. Instead, we each lay on our backs, hands clutched over our stomachs, staring at the ceiling. I wondered if he realized this was the first time we’d shared a real bed. Before the Red River attack, when I’d imagined this event, it wasn’t in a frontier hostel with Kindle reeking of whisky and afraid to touch me—and me not wanting him to.

“What did you find out?”

“We aren’t as interesting as we think we are.”

“What do you mean?”

Kindle’s eyes were closed. “Everyone’s talking about the governor sending Big Tree and Satanta to Huntsville instead of hanging them. I don’t think anyone’s connected John Oscar and Charlotte Martin to the Murderess and the Major.” He smiled. “The eye patch and the beard help.”

“You’re going by John?”

“Yes. It was all I could think of.”

Our eyes met, but neither mentioned what we were both thinking: he’d taken his brother’s Christian name as an alias. “I think we should leave as soon as possible,” I said.

“Day after tomorrow. We’ve been invited to dinner with Darlington and his family.”

“You didn’t say yes, did you?”

“Of course I said yes. Declining would’ve raised suspicions.” He touched my face. “I bought you some new clothes with the money from the horses. They’re in the chest. A dress and men’s clothes as well. We will leave first thing, day after tomorrow.”

“If you think it’s safe.”

He closed his eyes and settled back into his former position. He nodded. “No one knows us here, or suspects. We will be fine for one more day.”