It was early evening and a column of smoke curled out of the chimney of the Boone cabin. Daniel lifted a bucket of warm water and poured it into the wash tub as the last slip of the sun sank behind the hills.
"There you go. Should be nice and warm, but you tell me if it is too hot or too cold." He told his wife who sat nearby. She hesitated shyly, a blanket wrapped around her. He sighed knowing she would rather he left her alone. In general, he tried to respect her privacy, but seeing how weak she was, he didn't want to leave her. It had been eight days since he found her, thirty-six since she had been taken, and she had finally got some color back in her pale skin, but she was still weak, bruised, and damaged by it all.
"Sweetheart, I'm afraid to leave you all alone. You are so weak. Let me help you."
"I look . . ." She said ashamed, her eyes down so that all he could see were her long lashes.
"You are beautiful." He said and she shook her head at him.
"If you like skin and bones, bruises and dirt."
"Well, I aim to fix all those things starting with the dirt. Now, climb in before the water turns cold."
She tried to stand on the balls of her feet, but swayed unsteadily. He knew she couldn't walk, but also knew she needed to try. He let her struggle for a few minutes and then crossing to her, he lifted her up into his strong arms, and tossing the blanket aside, he lowered her gently into the tub of water. She said nothing but kept her head down her face hidden.
She was crying.
He considered her thoughtfully. She was so stubborn and strong. He could see her determination to keep herself tightly in control, her chin set defiantly. He knew she hated feeling helpless. Two peas in a pod. He thought with a sigh. He wanted to gather her up as a small child, but knew she would only become angry.
"This reminds me of that time Mingo dragged me home and I was covered in skunk! Remember? I had a high fever and stumbled right into that little skunk family. Lord! I couldn't even stand myself!" He said as he put soap on a cloth and began to gently remove the layers of dirt and grime from her delicate skin.
She nodded silently and then added very softly, "I remember."
"How you managed to get me in that tub is beyond my comprehension! Tiny thing like you! I was so weak from fever and delirious! Oh, and how I fussed!"
"You were worse than Israel." She said remembering. "I was so frustrated with you."
"You dumped a bucket of cold water right on my head! That shut me up."
"I'm sorry I lost my temper. I knew it was just because you hated being helpless as a child." Her voice was soft, but she had stopped crying, and turned to look at him then with the smallest whisper of a smile on her battered face.
"Maybe that's why we get along so well." He smiled. "Lift your chin, hon, I'll wash your hair."
She lifted her face then and he was struck with her stunning beauty even now, and a dark rage that she had been so horribly beaten. She was skin and bones, bruised and exhausted.
***DB***
When they'd first brought her home she had been near dead from starvation and keeping her alive had been more important than making sure she was sparkling clean. Grace Bradley had helped him wash the outer layer of dirt and grime when it was clear she would survive. Grace had wept silently as she had worked, shaking her head at Rebecca's broken body.
"Thank you, Grace." He had said after they had finished and tucked Becky back under the covers.
"Oh, Daniel." She had said barely able to speak. "How can you bare it?"
He shrugged, his face turned from her, and reached out to straighten the covers over the sleeping form of his wife.
"I'll take the children back with me. If she needs anything, anything, send for me! I'll come even if it's the middle of the night." Grace said wiping tears from her brown eyes.
"Don't worry, Grace, she'll be . . ." He began but couldn't finish. Grace squeezed his arm.
"She'll be alright." She said firmly. "We'll make sure of it." He had nodded his head.
"Has she talked? About what happened?" She asked him worry etched on her fine features.
"Not much." He said.
"You make her talk. You know how difficult she can be. She'll try and protect you and take care of everyone else first."
"Grace, you are the truest friend, and I can't say thank you enough. I know she'll tell you whatever she can't tell me and that is a such a comfort."
"She's easy to love." Grace said with a smile. "'Course I don't have to explain that to you, do I?"
"No." He said with a sad smile.
"When she's better, I'll see what I can do about her hair." Grace said.
***DB***
He poured another pitcher of water over her hair. It had been so tangled and matted with dirt, at first he didn't think there was anything they could do other than to cut it off. He'd washed it over and over and managed to loosen most of the dirt and free the tangles. He hated to cut it off. He loved her hair. She always kept it braided and twisted, piled high up on her head. Only he saw it down, loose and free. He loved it best that way; loved its silky softness.
After her bath, he'd lifted her gently from the tub and helped her dress. She was exhausted from just this simple bath. Her arms shook as she slid them into her soft white nightgown, and she'd rested her wet head against his shoulder as he had carried her into the front room of the cabin where he'd put her sick bed.
He'd put the sick bed in place of the settee near the fireplace on the fourth day she had been home. Cincinnatus had cleaned her feet that afternoon. It was a horrible experience for everyone. The cuts on her feet were deep, and she had run miles on them.
"I have to get them clean." Cincinnatus had told them both. "But it might take me a spell. The wounds are so . . ." He hesitated glancing from Dan's face to Becky's pale one. "Becky, it's gonna hurt."
"Seems to be a theme these days." She said with a weak grin.
"Give her some whisky. You've got some around here don't ya? If not, go to the tavern and get some." The old man was firm.
"No, I don't . . ." Becky began.
"I'm not asking you." He said gruffly. "If you could see what I'm looking at. Rebecca, you do as I say."
She nodded meekly. "Yes, sir."
"I'm sorry." He said softer. "I don't mean to be . . .I . . . I'm so sorry. I'd never 'cause you pain unless I absolutely had to. You know that Becky?"
She nodded her head. Dan had gotten the whiskey and she'd drunk it dutifully. Daniel was glad of it afterward. Even with the whiskey, she'd writhed in pain, but stubborn as ever, she hadn't uttered a sound.
The old man had to force himself to keep at it. Becky hadn't cried out but turned white from the searing pain, weeping silently until at last she had passed out. For his part, Daniel had stood beside her holding onto her hand until she fainted. At last when Cincinnatus had finished he'd helped the old man wrap her feet in bandages, all the while saying nothing, his face grey. Reassuring himself that she was sleeping comfortably he had staggered outside to the privy and cast everything he had eaten that day.
He'd walked circles around the yard unsure how to manage the torrent of anger. Finally, he had turned toward the barn. He didn't really remember tearing the barn door off its hinges or shattering each plank of it 'til it was a pile of sawdust. His rage had been so overpowering, he hadn't heard Mingo calling to him. It was only when Mingo grabbed him by his arms and held him back that he saw the destruction. He staggered back collapsing in the dirt.
"I dunno what I was doing." He said in wonderment.
Mingo sat down beside him in the dirt.
"You saw her feet? What they did?" he asked Mingo.
"Yes." His brother responded. They sat together silently.
"I . . . I chased after that Indian - the one that killed, Jim. Did I ever tell you that?" Mingo shook his head. "I was angry. He'd betrayed me. And he hurt Becky so. She was . . .I couldn't leave it. You know how she is - when she's hurt, really hurt, it's like a light shuts off inside, and she tries so hard to never break down."
"She is very strong." Mingo agreed.
"She is that. I don't know anyone stronger. But it's also just a show to hide her . . ." He struggled for the right word.
"Fragility." Mingo said.
"That's it. Well, you've seen her like that - when Susannah died and after Patrick . . . But it was nothing compared to when Jim was killed. I couldn't sleep thinking of what was done to him and thinking of her eyes when I told her, so I set out to hunt him down. And the rage I felt, oh but it was overpowering! 'Course, I never found him." He glanced up at Mingo. "You know the rest of that story though." Mingo nodded silently.
"But that rage is nothing; nothing compared to what I feel now. Nothing. If you asked me to go
right now to kill them all, I wouldn't hesitate, Mingo, I swear it. I'd kill all of them - every single one - even that boy we found."
"And I would help you do it, Daniel." Mingo said. "Still, it wouldn't change anything for her, now, would it? She'd still be beaten, bruised and starved. Though, I think it would change us some."
"I know that." Daniel said sharply. "Still," He sighed, frustrated. " I guess ripping a barn door off is better."
Mingo nodded. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. There's no one sweeter, and how could anyone hurt her? How? Her poor feet." They had sat together in silence for a long time and then rising slowly they had cleared the wreckage of the door together.
***DB***
Later as he was sitting with her, trying to get her to eat; trying to get her to talk, she had whispered softly, "I wish I could sit with you and watch the fire."
He knew what she meant. Every evening when he was home, after the children were all tucked in, they would sit together watching the fire, sometimes talking, sometimes not, and sometimes kissing like two youngsters left unsupervised. It was the only time just for them. He longed for it too. The ordinary moments of sitting with your wife talking about the day seemed like paradise compared with all they had faced in the last month. And he had nearly immediately gone and moved the sick bed so she could watch the flames.
"Oh, I didn't mean . . ." She had said as he'd carried her to it.
"I know what you meant, but still I thought you'd enjoy it."
"Oh, yes! Thank you!" And he had to turn his face away from her.
Now she lay on it, shinning from the bath dressed in her soft white nightgown. She closed her eyes resting as he once again wrapped her badly injured feet in bandages. He could barely look at her poor feet.
When Cincinnatus had first seen them he had let loose with every curse word he knew. He slammed his hand down hard against the table knocking one of Becky's China cups to the floor where it shattered.
"I'm sorry." He said as he knelt to pick up the broken pieces. "I just . . ."
"You don't have to explain it to me." Dan had said.
Seeing her feet filled him with that same rage each time and he would remember each word Cincinnatus had spoken. He wrapped them as gently as possible. She never complained even though he knew it brought her great pain.
Finishing her feet, he said, "Does it hurt much? How about some whisky? I can get some more of that medicine from Cincinnatus. You don't need to suffer, love."
"It isn't too bad. It really only hurts if I try to walk. Thank you for helping me. I so wanted a bath." She said softly.
"Well, I'm not gonna lie, sweetheart, I've never minded a chance to look at you head to toe." He winked at her.
"Daniel." She said blushing. He kissed her forehead and sat down beside her, a brush in hand.
"Can you sit up? I'll see if I can't work through these tangles. But we might have to cut it yet."
Her hair was a tangled mass that they had tried to tackle more than once. She sat up slowly, her broken ribs made her movements stiff and slow.
"Comfortable?" He asked. "Tell me if you need to lie down."
"I'm fine. Don't worry if you can't comb it out. I gave up on pretty about twenty days ago." She said as he began to slowly work at the tangles.
"I could cut every hair off your head and you'd still put a holy angel to shame, Becky. You are so beautiful."
"Don't talk blasphemy." She said shocked.
"It's the truth." He'd said.
***DB***
If she lived another thousand years, she would never know more sweetness than her husband making sure she was clean, and her hair tangle free at last. He sat patiently combing it piece by piece for nearly two hours. He'd only had to cut just a bit off in the back, and even then he had tearfully apologized. She had expected to have her hair cut short as his, and that he had been so determined to find a way to save it overwhelmed her.
She lived on the edge of tears anyway, but his kindness was almost too much for her to take in. He had quietly washed every bit of grime from her body, and had even found a way to chase away her shame at her skeleton-like frame. Now, tucked in like a small child, clean with her long hair in a braid that he himself had twisted, she felt closer to peace than she had in the last thirty days. She watched as he knelt in front of the fire, loading more wood to make sure she was warm. Tears swarmed over her eyes, but she swallowed them down. She was unwilling to let herself really cry. She was just too tired, and too afraid that if she began, she would never be able to regain control. He turned and met her eyes then, and crossing to her, he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Are you hungry?" He asked her again. He asked that almost every hour.
"No, I'm fine." She said sleepily.
"You want to talk about it?" He asked her his hand resting on her shoulder- the uninjured one.
"Not yet . . ." She struggled for a second. "I can't . . ."
"Don't fret, love. We got the whole rest of our lives for talking." He'd smiled at her and kissed her on her cheek. "Go to sleep." He crossed over to the rocking chair and sat down. "I'll be right here."
She lay for a long time with her eyes closed, but awake, thinking of all his kindness, thinking of how he too had suffered and realizing suddenly what he wanted to ask her.
"Dan," She said softly opening her eyes. He rose immediately and came to her side.
"What is it? Are you hungry?" He asked concerned.
"No, I know you must wonder if they . . . About what they did to me when they took me . . . I . . .They never . . ." She hesitated unsure of how to tell him. "They only . . . I ran off before . . ." She watched his face turn white and he let out a long slow breath.
"Oh, 'Becca . . ." He said.
She drew in a deep breath. "They didn't touch me, not like . . . not like . . .a husband, but some of them kissed me," She said softly her voice breaking, "on that last day before I ran. They kissed me on the lips. I am sorry." She turned her face away from him, shame washing over her as she remembered it.
She should never have begun to speak. It was too difficult; too shameful. "And that same night, they took my dress away, and made me stand for all of them to see. I was nearly naked and they all looked. Some of them," She swallowed forcing herself to continue. "some of them, put their hands on me. It was . . ." She stopped, wiping tears from her eyes as she remembered it. "That's how they decided who gets to take the woman. They let everyone look and then at dawn one of them takes the woman as their own. That's when I ran. I had to - even having just their eyes on me; their hands, kissing me. No one else has ever kissed me, Dan. I know I tease you sometimes 'bout other beaus, but it was just teasing. And now . . .I know it was dangerous to run like I did -foolish too, but I couldn't . . .I couldn't bare it . . I'm your wife and I couldn't have them . . . " He was deadly silent. She couldn't even hear him breathing. She waited fearful and ashamed.
Don't be a coward. She told herself. You survived everything else. Surely you can look at your own husband. She forced herself to turn her face to him. He sat hunched in a ball at the edge of the bed like a wounded animal. She sighed sorrowfully.
"I'm sorry, Dan. I tried to . . . but there were so many of them. I was so weak too. They were so strong. You must be so disappointed. I am sorry, you can't know how sorry I am."
He looked up then startled. His face was nearly purple with rage, but it was also wet with tears.
"Don't apologize! Why would you apologize? Oh, Rebecca!" He looked directly in her eyes. "I'm not angry with you. Why would you think I'd be angry with you? Becky, how could you think I'd blame you?" He moved closer and took her hand in his. "Sweetheart, it isn't your fault. You did nothing wrong. You were incredible. You saved the children and those Murdoch girls too. I don't care about anything other than you being here now, alive. You are mine and nothing would ever come between us" He looked at her. She was shaking.
"What is it you always say? You are my heartbeat. That's true. My heart don't belong to me no more. It hasn't since the day I met you. It beats inside you. I don't give a da . . ." He caught himself as her eyes had widened surprised. She'd never once heard him curse.
"I'm sorry, forgive me." He said ashamed. "I just get so . . . I feel a real tidal wave of rage when I think how you suffered. I can't bare how they made you feel!" He gently lifted her chin with his fingers. "Don't," he said softly. "you've no reason for shame. Shame for what? Enduring it all? I hate them Becky, hate them! I want all of them dead; every single one." His eyes darkened and she was afraid. Realizing he had frightened her he stopped. She didn't need his anger, at least she didn't need it now.
He leaned in close and whispered softly, "I'm taking it all back, Rebecca. Their hands never touched you, and only my lips have ever kissed you." He kissed her so gently that she imagined it was how it felt to have an angel pass over you.
He sat stroking the side of her face with his finger tips. She drew in a long breath, steeling herself against the wave of tears that swept towards her. Every muscle tightened as she braced herself to fight against the crashing tide of anguish that fought its way to the surface.
"Go ahead." He said softly. "Stop fighting against it, mo shearc."
It was the Irish that did her in.
He had picked it up from her, and it always had such a powerful effect on her; that he would bother to learn to speak to her in her very first language.
"I'm afraid if I start, it will never end." She whispered, wavering.
"Ah grah, it will. And even if it doesn't, I'll still be here. Taim i ngra leat." He hesitated smiling awkwardly. "Did I say that right?"
"You say it perfect." She whispered with a nod, her resolve beginning to crumble.
"I love you, Rebecca, and I'm so grateful to have you back. I'm so proud of you. You saved our children, and you withstood it all."
"How can you be proud?" She whispered through tears. "How?"
"Because what you did, was amazing. They starved you. They beat you. And yet, here you are. And our children are safe and those Murdoch girls are safe - all because of you."
"I was so afraid." She said sobbing. "I kept waiting for you! And then I was so ashamed! I was scared you wouldn't want me!"
He climbed in beside her in the small bed, pulling her into his arms, but gently so as not to cause her pain. "Becky, hush now, love. No more worrying over that. You are my girl, for always. Mine and no one else's." He said as she shook with tears and at last she wept.