Chapter Eleven
Shakespeare McNair sat in the rocking chair in Zach and Lou’s cabin. He didn’t rock. He sat staring at the stone fireplace without seeing it. He was deep inside himself, adrift on tides of fear and despair.
Earlier he had carried Blue Water Woman into the bedroom and gently placed her on the bed. She was pale and sweaty, and never stirred. He felt her pulse and was appalled at how weak it was.
Shakespeare was worried worse than sick. He loved that woman, loved her with all that he was. She was his heart given form. He loved her so much that to see her like this tore him to his core. He felt as if his very being were being wrenched and twisted.
He had run out of tears. He had cried until there were none left. Now drained, he sat staring blankly into space and prayed that the woman who was everything to him would go on being everything to him. Life without her would be an unending emptiness.
Shakespeare had been in love twice in his life. Love of the marrying kind. His first wife had been kind and wonderful. After she died he lived alone for years until circumstance conspired to bring him back together with Blue Water Woman.
It was strange. Here Shakespeare thought he had loved his first wife with the deepest love anyone ever felt. But his love for Blue Water Woman eclipsed his first love as the sun eclipsed the earth. The depth of his devotion to her went beyond anything he ever knew. They had a pet expression—“hearts entwined”—that described better than any other words what they meant to each other.
Now she lay at death’s door, and there was nothing Shakespeare could do but wait. Not that he had been idle. He never went anywhere without his possibles bag. In it were a fire steel and flint, a sewing needle, a whetstone, and other things he found regular use for. There were also various herbs.
To aid Blue Water Woman, first he applied a powder ground from the root of what the Shoshones called the wambona plant. It was the best of all medicines to stop bleeding.
Once Shakespeare was sure he had stopped it, he made a poultice from plantain and applied it with a cloth.
At moments like this, Shakespeare took issue with the Almighty. It seemed to him that the suffering people went through—and some folks went through a godawful lot of it—they were better off without. He wasn’t one of those who thought life should be all cream and pie, but he was prone to wonder where the sense was in people hurting and dying.
Shakespeare roused and shook his head. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t do any good. He rose and went into the bedroom. Blue Water Woman was as pale and still as before. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on her brow to see if she had a fever, and she opened her eyes.
“There you are.”
Shakespeare nearly jumped. “You’re awake!” He bent and kissed her right cheek and then her left, his eyes misting. “Damn, you gave me a scare.”
Blue Water Woman licked her lips. She was unbearably weak, and her head throbbed. But she didn’t dwell on the shape she was in. She saw the worry in his eyes and perceived the turmoil he was in, and did what she always did. She took his mind off his worries by asking, “Whose bed is this?”
“What?”
“A simple question. This is not ours. What kind of husband are you that you put me in a strange bed?”
“Now see here,” Shakespeare said in some annoyance, “we’re in Zach’s cabin. He went off after the Blood who took Lou. I’ve done what I could for you and tucked you in.”
“I want to be in our own bed.”
“Later.”
“I would like to go now.”
“If you aren’t the most contrary female who ever drew breath, I don’t know who is. I’ll take you to our cabin when you’re up to it and not before.”
“But—”
“Have you forgotten the knock on your noggin? Do you have any idea how much blood you’ve lost? It’s best you lie here and get your strength back.”
“Nate would take Winona if she asked him. Zach would take Lou.”
“I never,” Shakespeare said, and launched into a quote. “ ‘I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furtherest inch of Asia. Bring you the length of Prestor John’s foot. Fetch you a hair off the great Cham’s beard. Do you any embassage to the Pygmies.’ ” He paused. “And whatever else your little heart desires.”
Blue Water Woman mustered a wan smile.
“Share the humor, why don’t you?”
“You are yourself again.”
Emotion welled up in Shakespeare. Here she was, severely hurt, and she was more concerned about him. He tried to speak but couldn’t for the constriction in his throat.
“Cat have your tongue?” said Blue Water Woman a white saying she remembered. “It must be some cat to stop yours from wagging.”
Shakespeare looked away. He coughed, then carefully embraced her and whispered into her ear, “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“More than you love your mare?”
“A horse is a horse. You’re mixing feathers and fur.”
“More than you love your rifle?”
“Now you’re just being silly. I’m fond of my gun, yes, because it keeps me alive. But I’d never ask it to marry me.”
“More than you love the Bard?”
Shakespeare raised his head and looked at her. “Damn, woman. When you cut, you go for the jugular. But since you have put me on the spot, I’ll confess.” He stroked the soft sheen of her neck. “I love you more than I love old William S.”
Blue Water Woman grinned. “At long last I know where I stand. I should be hit on the head more often.”
Shakespeare laughed. She was acting more like her usual self every minute, and there was a pink blush to her cheeks that bode well for her recovery. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all?”
“How soon men forget. I want to be in my own bed.”
“ ‘Well moused, lion.’ I will go make a travois.”
“How sweet of you. And all I had to do was twist your arm.”
Shakespeare McNair sighed.
Zach King was doing it again. He was being reckless. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. The sign was fresh. The tracks showed he was close to his quarry, close to the Blood who had taken the woman he loved, close to rescuing her. So he pushed hard up the slope, goading the bay when it flagged. He was so intent on the tracks that he came out of the forest and was a few feet up a talus slope when he realized what it was, and drew rein.
Zach raised his head. The tracks led onto the talus. He pursed his lips in puzzlement. Only a madman or a fool would try to cross talus. The Blood impressed him as neither. The spike on the sapling had been the work of a shrewd mind.
The ridge above the talus consisted of more timber broken by large boulders. Nowhere was there any sign of Lou and her abductor. So they must have made it up.
Zach had a decision to make. Climb the talus, or be smart and safe and ride around it. Riding around would take longer. Since every second of delay was an eternity of suspense, he did what he knew he shouldn’t. His father
