Chapter Sixteen

Blackening storm clouds clustered on the horizon after Belle left the Campbell’s place. Johnathan, snug in his Comanche cradleboard made by Laughing Maiden, jabbered a playful language all his own. He swung gently from the saddle horn of his mother’s mare.

Certain they could make it to the dugout before the storm hit, Belle felt a sense of foreboding. She looked again at the menacing sky, continuing to gauge the speed of the storm.

“Yes, we can make it home with time to spare, Johnathan,” she said, trying to convince herself that everything would be all right. Sensible and cautious enough to respect changing weather and the havoc and destruction Texas storms could produce, she couldn’t explain why she dreaded the ride. Perhaps woman’s intuition, something clutched at her heartstrings.

She stopped and turned in the saddle to wave goodbye to Margaret, who looked like a stick figure from so far away. Wanting to turn the mare around and start out again after the storm passed, Belle couldn’t because something stronger seduced her toward the dugout, pulling her as if she were an iron spike being drawn into the jaws of a powerful magnet.

Forcing a tremulous smile, she waved, turned around, and straightened in the saddle, giving the mare a nudge with her knees. She urged the mare from a slow walk to a gentle lope, offering plenty of time to beat the storm without wearing out the horse or making the ride too uncomfortable for her child.

The scene that greeted Belle when she topped the last ridge near the dugout took her breath away. Her premonition was indeed founded. Dread and impending doom had felt very real within her being, and now, they were exemplified before her naked eyes.

Her voice, lost somewhere in her straining windpipe, refused to utter a sound as she brought her sweating horse to a halt. Had she shrieked as she wished to, she would have startled her babe, now sleeping from his rhythmic journey.

She slid down from the mare, silent except for the creak of leather, thankful her breathing returned to normal and Johnathan remained asleep in his cradleboard. Walking forward while leading the mare, she surveyed the damage. Her home for the last year was in shambles.

Her few possessions had been broken and trampled, her hand-hewn furniture and quilting frame now nothing more than kindling. The heavy, wooden door to the dugout was nowhere in sight, though deep ruts in the soil looked as though the door had been dragged away. The dugout no longer existed. The walls of sod and red earth had been crushed in, then mixed in with the pathway in front of the dugout. Nothing remained except big clumps of dirt scattered everywhere.

Her heart missed a beat when she noticed that even the stone fireplace had been demolished. She couldn’t count how many times she had stood at that fireplace, cooking meals and warming herself in front of a blazing fire to ward off below-freezing temperatures in the raw Texas winter, more raw without a husband.

Michael built that fireplace with his bare hands.

She gave in to her emotions, letting the first tears slide down her wind-chapped cheeks. They left a salty taste as they trailed across her mouth, but she made no attempt to stem the flow or wipe the tears from her face.

After tethering the mare to a tree, she tried to sort through her few strewn belongings. There weren’t many. Quilts she made this winter and the bright packets of fabric were gone, the very things that had cheered her. Black dresses remained, ripped to shreds and ground into the red earth by hooves of unshod ponies. All other clothing, linens, and baby items were missing.

Iron cooking pans she worked so hard to accumulate and the iron kettle, in which she had made everything from soup and jam to lye soap chips, were all gone. The kettle had belonged to Michael. What couldn’t be carried away on horseback had been trampled.

The dugout, her home, had been utterly and completely destroyed, but not by a storm. It had been pilfered and crushed by persons unknown. She sat on the ground where her makeshift porch had once been, placed her tear-streaked face in trembling hands, and cried.

After a while, she knew not how long, she wailed, “Why, why? Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”

Johnathan’s cries finally overrode her own. At the same time, a light rain began to fall.

“Oh, my land.” She hurried to retrieve Johnathan, still snug in his cradleboard. She wiped cold raindrops from his head and kissed him several times to reassure him.

“I’m sorry, little one. I was so involved in my own pity, I neglected you.” She leaned over him, shielding his body with hers to protect him from the rain, now coming down in huge droplets.

She looked around for shelter. The dugout was such a disaster there wasn’t even a crevice they could crawl into.