Page 18 of Shoshone Sun

Susan’s reply was brittle and sharp. “He should never have been brought inside in the first place.”

Jane turned slowly to face her sister. The quiet fury in Susan’s eyes was unmistakable. “We couldn’t let him die out there. You saw the blood, Susan. You heard him. He was barely conscious. Wehadto help.”

“I don’t care!” Susan’s voice cracked, the words scarcely more than a hiss. She slammed a wooden spoon down on the counter. “You’ve put us all at risk! And for what? An Indian? What if the Blackfoot come here looking for him?”

“I’ve told you, they won’t,” Jane replied evenly, her voice just as sharp. “They didn’t see where he went. I’m sure of it.”

“And how can you be so sure!” Susan snapped. “What if they’re out there, right now, circling us?What ifthey come and kill us all for helping him? You don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve invited into our home. Youneverthink about the consequences, do you?”

Jane took a step forward, her eyes flashing with frustration. “And you never think beyond your own fear, Susan! You’re so terrified of what might happen that you can’t see the reality in front of you! This man—thishuman being—is wounded. And we’ve done what any decent people would do.”

Susan’s face twisted in fury, her hands trembling as she clutched the counter. “Decent? You call thisdecent? I call it reckless, Jane. You’re putting us all in danger! You don’t understand, but I do. I know what’s out there. And I’m not staying here to die for somesavage.”

Jane felt her breath catch in her throat as a sharp pain stabbed her heart. “Don’t say that, Susan,” she said, her voice low now, almost pleading. “We’ve lived here in safety for months. Paul and Mary have lived here for half a decade now with no trouble from Indians. Today’s reality isn’t reflected in those stories you read long ago. Stop living in fear. You’re not seeing this man as a person; you’re seeing him as a threat.”

Susan’s eyes flashed with hurt, but the bitterness in her voice was like ice. “You don’t understand, Jane. I know what Indians can do—I read about it. What if this one is dangerous? What is he tries to kill us when he’s recovers?”

Before Jane could respond, the door creaked open, and Peter returned from tending the animals, his face drawn and pale, but his eyes steady. The cold air swept in behind him, and Jane hurried to close the door, her heart still thumping from the tension.

Peter gave Susan a brief, almost apologetic smile but didn’t speak to her. Instead, he knelt down beside the injured man, checking the bandages, and then stood again, scanning the cabin as though preparing for something.

Susan’s gaze locked on him. “Peter.” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “If you don’t turn that man out right now, and I mean right this minute, I will be taking Petey and heading back to England.”

Peter froze, his hand stilling on the wounded man’s blanket. He turned slowly, looking at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about, Susan?”

Susan’s jaw tightened and her hands clenched at her sides. “You heard me. I’ve made my decision. I’m not staying here, not withhimin this house.” She gestured toward the Shoshone brave, her words heavy with disdain.

“What?” Peter gasped, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

“You’ve saved his life. That’s enough. For all you know, when he recovers, he’ll kill us all. Strap him to his horse and send it on its way back to wherever he and it came from. If you don’t do that, I swear that I’ll pack my things and take Petey. We’ll go back to England.”

Peter looked as though she had struck him. His face went white, the weight of her words hitting him like a cold slap.

“Susan,” he said softly, his voice taut. “You can’t be serious.”

But Susan’s gaze was unflinching. “I am. If you won’t turn him out, I will leave.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Peter’s thoughts whirled. Finally, he nodded, his voice steady though his heart felt like it was breaking.

“If it’s you or him, I choose you, Susan.” He glanced toward Jane, who was standing nearby, her face unreadable. “But I won’t just turn him out. I’ll take him to Paul’s homestead. Let Paul decide what to do with him.”

Susan’s relief was almost tangible. “Thank you,” she whispered, the tension in her shoulders easing.

Jane turned to Peter, her expression one of sadness. She had hoped they could work this out—had wanted so desperately to believe that Susan’s fears could be overcome. But it seemed that the divide between them was too wide to bridge.

“I’m going with him,” she said.

Peter’s gaze did not waver. “I hope you understand that I’m doing what I think is best for my wife and son.”

Jane nodded slowly, though something inside her ached. But there was nothing more to be said. The decision had been made.

The morning passed in a blur of hasty preparations. Susan, although relieved by Peter’s decision, still clung to a tight, thin control, her face pale and pinched as she watched her husband and sister pack the things needed for the trip to Paul’s.

By the time they were ready to leave, the storm had let up. The snow was piled higher than Peter would have liked, but it was not deep enough to stop them from traveling—though it would slow their pace. The wounded Shoshone brave lay awake but quiet. Peter could tell that the man was confused and didn’t know what was happening. His grasp of English must be basic. But surely, he could feel the tension in the air.

Peter had taken all their spare blankets and wrapped them around the wounded man, hoping the warmth provided would help him stay alive. Jane helped Peter carry the man across the snow, one of them at each end of him. The man’s limp body was awkward to maneuver through the snowdrifts. He was heavy and Jane’s muscles burned with the effort of holding his legs.

The wind, though not as furious as before, cut through her like a blade, its icy sting biting through her coat as they pressed on to the barn. They lay the man in the wagon bed on a deep layer of straw and worked together hitching the two horses to the wagon. Once Peter’s horses were hitched, and the Indian pony tied to the back of the wagon, Peter led them out of the barn, closed the doors, and got into the driver’s seat as Jane climbed onto the back of the wagon beside the man, holding his head in her lap.

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