Page 20 of Shoshone Sun

Jane got to her feet and walked to Peter, facing him. “You’ve done what you could. He would be dead if it weren’t for you. Now that everything has calmed down here, I think you should go home to your wife and son.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said.

“She is,” said Paul. “You’ve done all you could. It’s up to God now whether this man recovers.”

Jane watched her brother-in-law’s shoulders heave in a sigh. She took another step toward him, drawing him into an embrace. “I’m sorry this happened. I didn’t mean to make Susan so angry. But I just couldn’t agree with her decision to send this poor man to what would probably be his death.”

Peter returned her hug. “Nor could I. You’ve nothing to feel bad about.”

“I just don’t understand how my own sister could be so cruel!” Jane blurted as she pulled out of his arms and wiped a tear from her cheek.

Peter dropped his eyes, staring at the floor in front of him. He scuffed one booted toe. “I don’t believe it’s cruelty as much as fear. Terror actually. Primarily, terror for Petey. She couldn’t bear the thought of the Blackfoot coming to our farm and slaughtering her son because we were harboring their enemy.”

“Yes, I suppose I can understand that,” Jane murmured. She realized that was truly how her sister felt—terrified for her son. Jane knew she should try harder to empathize, to put herself in Susan’s shoes.

After saying goodbye to her brother-in-law as he left the cabin, Jane returned to tend to the injured man. She knew she should force herself to understand her sister’s fear and forgive her for wanting to send the man to a near certain death, but she also knew that would be hard.

For now, her focus had to be on the wounded man. She could not afford to dwell on her sister’s bitterness or the pain in her own heart. The man needed her, and that was the only truth she could cling to.

With steady hands, Jane checked the bandages around his wound. The bleeding had stopped, but infection was still a risk. She applied more of the salve Mary had made from herbs she’d gathered in the woods—an ointment made from yarrow and sage, known for its healing properties. She worked quietly, carefully, her fingers moving with the practiced precision of someone who had been taught how to tend wounds by her mother.

The man shifted slightly, his brow furrowing as he let out a low groan. Jane looked down at him, her heart tightening. His eyes were closed, but his lips moved as if he were speaking. She couldn’t understand the words, but she felt the weight of the emotion in them, the desperation in his tone.

“You’re safe now,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if he could hear her.

There was a long pause before he spoke again, this time more clearly. Jane’s heart skipped a beat. She had not expected him to speak English, but there it was—his voice, hoarse yet deliberate.

“Thank you ... for ... helping me.” His voice was soft, thick with pain.

Jane blinked in surprise. His words, though simple, struck a chord deep within her. She hadn’t expected him to be conscious enough to thank her, much less to speak at all. It was a small thing, a simple acknowledgment, but it made the hard work of the past few hours feel worthwhile.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly. “But you need to rest now. You’ve been through so much.”

The Indian brave’s gaze fluttered open, though it was unfocused. He seemed to be looking through her, as though trying to make sense of where he was. Then the confusion in his eyes gave way to something else, something deeper—a flicker of connection, perhaps.

“I ... I will ... rest,” he murmured, closing his eyes again.

Jane studied him for a moment. She had no way of knowing what he was feeling, what he was thinking. For all she knew, he might be in too much pain to feel any emotion. Yet, she could not shake the sense that something had passed between them, a connection she could not explain.

As she sat there, keeping vigil, the moments stretched into hours. The sun outside had climbed higher in the sky, and the world beyond the cabin sparkled in a blanket of white.

After the long silence during which she’d watched the injured man sleep, Jane stood up and stretched, her muscles stiff from sitting so long. She needed a moment away from the intensity of the cabin, away from the conflict in her heart. “I’m going outside for a minute,” she said quietly to Mary, who nodded, looking up from the work she was doing in the kitchen.

“How is he now?” Mary asked.

“Resting peacefully for the time being.” She took a step toward Mary, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I apologize for bringing this man here. I just couldn’t bear the idea of strapping him to his horse and putting him out in the storm to freeze to death!”

“It’s all right, dear. Don’t fret. I’d have done the same, luv. He isn’t doing any harm here.”

Jane sobbed. “Susan was so angry….”

“Hush hush, now. It’s the lioness in her, protecting her cub. That’s all. You’ll know how that feels when you’ve had your own baby.”

Jane’s heart clenched at the reminder of her broken engagement and ruined plans to start a family with her fiancé. “I pray Susan won’t hate me forever,” Jane sputtered, the tears now flowing freely.

“I’m sure she’ll calm down once she feels safe again. And she’ll understand how neither you nor Peter could let the man die.”

Jane sniffed, wiped away her tears, and heaved a sigh. “I hope so.”

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