Winter's Camp. Jodi Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ showed her how to make the coffee, frowning when the coffee beans went into her dirty palm. They ate from the supplies he’d bought at the trading day. He’d bought enough for one. Now, with her to feed, they’d not last the winter. He’d have to take time to hunt more. He’d also have to find more firewood and close off at least one more side of his camp. He didn’t mind waking up to frost covering him, but he didn’t like the thought that Millie’d wake up frozen. She didn’t have enough meat on her bones to keep her from freezing.

      Plus, he was getting real tired of the filthy old blanket around her shoulders. Maybe if he could keep the half-cave warm, she’d take the blanket off at least long enough to wash it.

      He spent the morning building a corral for his horses then decided to go exploring. If he went a different direction every day, he’d know the land before long.

      It was almost dark when he returned.

      She’d started a fire and had made a soup out of a potato and jerky the way he’d showed her the night before.

      James took care of his horse and sat across the fire from her. She didn’t look at him when he praised her but he noticed her hands were clean. Maybe the coffee wouldn’t taste like mud tonight. A dozen eggs sat next to the supplies. She’d done her share of the hunting for food it seemed.

      She wasn’t mad as Two Fingers thought her to be. She wanted to stay alive, but she didn’t want to communicate with him.

      He talked to her as they ate, telling her all about what he’d seen that day. She fell asleep without giving any hint that she was listening to him. James leaned back on his saddle and relaxed. Just before he dozed off, he watched her move near him and curl deep into her old blanket. Maybe she wanted to be near him, he thought, or more likely she was simply afraid of the dark.

      Smiling, he decided Millie might not like him, but she felt safer close to him.

      The next morning when he washed his hands and face, she did the same. The sight of her face, clean of mud, angered him. Deep bruises ran along one jaw and under her left eye. Along her throat were signs of rope burns.

      For the first time he was thankful for the blanket because James knew it covered more bruises and scars. If he could have, he would have gone back to Ransom Canyon and made every one of the Apache pay. Only, deep down he knew wrongs were done on both sides, just as they had been committed during the War Between the States. Maybe Millie was more like him than James had thought. She might just want to get away from people for a while.

      He reached to touch her, but she jerked away.

      Give her time, he thought. Let her have control over herself. He had a feeling it had been a long time, if ever, that she’d felt she had any say in her own life.

      Keeping his voice low, he began to show her how to fish. While he waited for her to accept him, he’d teach her to survive.

      The day was warm by the time they’d caught enough for supper. While she watched, he pulled off his shirt and boots then waded into the water to wash his shirt and body.

      He knew she’d have to remove the blanket to wash even though that one filthy, ragged blanket was her armor. As long as she held it around her, she had a buffer against the world.

      That night, in the light of the campfire, he shaved with his hunting knife, then combed his hair. He offered her the comb.

      She tried, but her hair was too matted.

      “I guess you’ll just have to cut it off.” He laughed, thinking that her hair looked like a tumbleweed packed with mud.

      She gave up after several tries and handed back the comb.

      That night, when she moved to his side, he reached across the foot of grass separating them and took her thin hand in his. “Good night, Millie,” he whispered.

      “Good night, James,” she answered in a voice that sounded as though she hadn’t used it in years.

      “Your mind’s not gone.” He smiled. “Whatever you had to go through didn’t drive you insane. When you come out of this dark place you’re in, I’ll be waiting to help. Just remember, they didn’t break you. You’re not mad.”

      * * *

      THE NEXT AFTERNOON when James returned to camp, he changed his mind.

      Millie sat by the fire, his hunting knife in her hand, her scalp bleeding from a dozen tiny nicks. Almost all of her muddy hair was piled in front of her.

      Looking up with those huge eyes, he saw her sorrow. She’d done what he’d suggested. She’d cut off her hair. He wasn’t sure if she thought his words were an order. If she did, this mess was all his fault.

      Kneeling beside her, he took the knife from her fist, then walked to the creek and wet his two clean bandannas.

      Still sitting by the fire, she didn’t look up when he came near her. She’d gone back to that place inside herself where she must have gone every time she’d been hurt. That safe place where nothing registered, nothing mattered.

      “Millie,” he started, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to clean the cuts so they don’t get infected.”

      She didn’t move as he carefully cleaned the blood and dirt away from her head. Then, as if he were shaving, he scraped the last few tufts of hair from her scalp.

      When he walked to the creek for water to fill the coffeepot, he thought he heard her crying, but he couldn’t be sure. The whole night seemed to whisper sorrow from the lone coyote’s call to the wind whining through the trees.

      Without making any effort to talk, he untied the rabbits he’d killed for supper. As he skinned them and roasted them, he was surprised to see her begin to work with the furs, stretching them out on stick frames.

      He ate alone, watching her, wondering where she’d gone in her mind as her hands worked.

      An hour later she moved toward the roasted rabbit he’d left on their one plate and began to eat like an animal who feared someone would snatch the food away at any moment. The thought occurred to him that maybe, in the tribe, she’d never been allowed to eat until the work was done.

      Before he turned in for the night, he built the fire a bit higher, worried that she’d be cold. But, as she had every night, she waited until she thought he was asleep and curled up beside him. She may only be six inches away, he thought, but it might as well be an ocean between them.

      He thought of reaching out to touch her hand, but guessed she’d pull away. Silently, he promised he’d keep her safe. Maybe she had family? Maybe one of the missions would take her in.

      Silently, James swore he’d not leave her until the fear in her huge eyes was gone.

CHAPTER FOUR

      EVERY NIGHT MILLIE watched the canyon man who called himself James. He never yelled at her or hit her. And he never stopped talking no matter how hard she tried to show him that she wasn’t listening. Days passed, the last of the cottonwood leaves fell, the wind howled of winter at night and still he talked.

      She СКАЧАТЬ