Earthbound: Science Fiction in the Old West (Chronicles of the Maca Book 1) (6 page)

Anna Louise Lawrence nee Schmidt's grey eyes were focused on the knapsack she was hurriedly packing. Time was short. Her black curls refused to stay in the braided bun and five-month-old Augustuv, called Auggie was protesting his filled wet diaper. Her stomach and lower regions were warning her that the danger was almost here. Twelve-year-old Margareatha stepped into the doorway carrying the other canvas bag from the barn when the screech of four-year-old Lorenz racked through her system.

She turned to see both boys on the floor. Eight-year-old Daniel was on the bottom, his eyelids blinking up and down, his arms at his side as though unable to move them. Lorenz was landing blow after blow on his brother, screaming, “It's mine.”

Anna stepped forward and heaved Lorenz upward. Then she found herself screaming, red rage boiling through her at the thought of being delayed and that her handsome grey-eyed son had the same abilities as her husband. Lorenz might hurt his brother and was too young to realize what he had done.

“Du cannot do such things. Du cannot ever, ever get so angry again. Do du hear me?” She shook him. Hurt, fear, anger from the knowledge that her beloved son could do to his brother what their two-hearted father was capable of doing to other people shook her to her core. Margareatha had not shown any such abilities although she also had two hearts. How could she or Margareatha control Lorenz?

Lorenz's grey eyes were looking at her with hurt and surprise.

“Margareatha, take Lorenz and go to the corn patch and some early ears pick.” Anna was frustrated, but both her husband and twin brother insisted she must speak English not German to the children. Auggie was wailing louder. Daniel had pushed up on his elbows and then scrambled to his feet. She had to get them out of the house; them, Auggie, and herself.

“Daniel, your father go help in the fields.” Surely Mr. Lawrence would protect his own son. That cold, somber man with the two hearts and golden circles around his eyes couldn't be that unnatural.

Auggie continued his lusty crying while Anna piled bread and rolls into the other canvas sack. She added a sack of sugar and salt. She would put the ears of corn that Margareatha picked in there. She added a flint box and turned to Auggie. Poor baby, his diaper was full.

She grabbed the basin, rag, and cloths to change him. She dug the cornstarch sack out, wiped and washed him, and quickly sprinkled his pink little bottom. At least this baby didn't have the two hearts and there were no gold circles around his eyes. He was a normal baby like Daniel and they would grow into normal men. What was she going to do about Lorenz? He was so smart, so quick, and he could use his mind on people just like her husband. She did not let Mr. Lawrence into her mind. She could stop him. He had tried it when she first told him she was pregnant. She became so angry that the force of it threw him out. She learned to set her mind and he was blocked.

Outside a whoop cut through her thoughts and she snapped the last diaper pin into place and put Auggie back into the crib. Auggie promptly resumed his screams.

His screams were covered by the whooping going on outside and the whinny of a horse. Anna ran for the front door ready to face whatever was out there and yet she knew.

She looked upwards over the door to two empty gun racks and knew it was futile. Mr. Lawrence had taken both the rifle and the shotgun. She grabbed the broom set by the door and rushed out. Three Comanche warriors sat there looking at the small ranch house and buildings. It was as if they knew there was no one inside but a woman. Comanche women didn't fight. They were trained to grab their children and then run and hide.

As Anna ran out the door one of the men slid down from his horse and started up the one step onto the porch. She was holding the bottom end of the broom and swung the hard hickory shaft against his knees. They had not expected her to fight; nor had they expected a woman taller than they were. The man's knees buckled and he went down. Anna swung the broom again with all her strength and smashed it into his head. Her next blow was straight down into the ribs and she heard one crack. She whirled to face the next man coming towards her.

The first man's horse had reared and fled towards the cornfield. It wanted no part of the flailing broom. The horse next to it began to rear and back away, but his rider had it back under control. He was grinning as though this were some sort of fluke; a woman downing a Comanche warrior. The other man was up on the porch. He was watching her, waiting for her to swing the broom again. Anna realized he was waiting to catch it, sure that his masculine strength was more than hers.

She edged to the side. Perhaps she could draw them away from the house. Her teeth were set, the lips drawn tight. She would stop them somehow and she started to swing and then hurriedly pulled the broom handle back. The Comanche grabbed air and she swung the broom into his arm, side-stepped, and slammed the hickory handle into the man's head. He went down to his knees.

The other Comanche stepped out of the house carrying the squalling Auggie by one heel, swinging him back and forth. Anna's mouth dropped and her eyes widened. The man looked ready to bash Auggie's head into the doorframe. All the while he was looking at her, his head cocked to one side.

Anna dropped the broom and held out her arms for her baby. The Comanche stepped up to her and started to let Auggie drop. She grabbed him and held him tight. The other one had risen and approached with a knife, but the man that had held Auggie shook his head and said something in their language. He directed the man to go inside. He motioned Anna to walk over to the other one. He nudged him with one foot. To Anna his words had no meaning.

The one with the broken rib pulled himself up and looked for his horse. It was gone. His voice rose in anger. The one in charge said something to him. Anna was able to understand the contempt in his voice. There was no pity for a warrior bested by a woman.

She saw movement coming from the field. Was Mr. Lawrence coming to rescue them? And her heart sank. It was two more Comanche warriors and Daniel was riding in front of one.

“Schwein Hunds!” Anna screamed at the women around her as they ripped and cut her clothes away from her body.

The Comanche women did not understand the vile insult of pig dogs and words of damnation she was spewing at them. They wanted her in clothes like theirs. There wasn't much left of her clothes after that hellish two week journey to the Comanche camp. Anna wanted to strike them, bruise them, destroy them, but her arms weren't free. She was holding Auggie, and striking at them meant she would need to put him down. They would trample him or take him from her, and he still needed her milk.

They had already taken Daniel. The man he was riding with kept going once they were in camp. A chanting Comanche woman had trotted beside his horse. Auggie was fussing for she was holding him tight against her body and he was hungry. She hadn't been given much in the way of water or food on the journey here and her milk output had shrunk. These women were fiends, laughing at her, at her clothes, and then it was over and she was naked.

One knife pricked too deeply at her ribs and red rage engulfed her. She grasped Auggie tightly in her left arm and smashed her right elbow down into the woman's face. She towered over them as no Indian woman matched her five feet ten inches in height.

Her worst fear was realized when someone grabbed Auggie. She was taken down to the ground by a group of screaming witches, and suddenly the attack stopped. The women were looking at her wide eyed for her menstrual period had started and blood was running down her leg.

They dragged her into the segregated tent for women and several Comanche women entered. One was pushed forward while an older woman spoke in Comanche.

“Stop fighting them,” the pushed forward one hissed in English. She was dark-haired, brown-eyed, tanned from the Texas sun, but white. “We will make you a human. One of our brave warriors has chosen you as a mate for your courage and strong boys.”

“They are mine.” Anna was screaming. “Gott gave to me them. Vhy are du helping them? Du are vhite.”

The woman glared at her. “I am Comanche.” She threw the buckskin dress at Anna. “Cover your body.”

Then the woman pointed at the pile of cattails. “Open them and use them for the flow. When it stops, you'll be allowed out. If you don't calm down there won't be any food and very little water.”

“My baby needs my milk.” Anna was speaking slowly to get the English words out correctly.

“You have no more children. They are with their new families. You must never go near them again. The baby is going with his family to a different group.”

Anna threw herself at the speaker intent on destroying her tormentor. She used fists, elbows, and kicks as though she were still fighting her twin when they were growing up. Her blows were hard and the attack furious.

“Mein sohns,” she kept shouting. “Mein sohns!”

The two white women in the group thought she was screaming, “mine sons,” which was exactly what Anna was saying. They explained to the older woman why Anna was so upset. At first her face softened, then hardened.

“Hold her down,” she commanded.

It took six of the women to accomplish this while Anna continued to struggle and scream damnation at them. The older woman held a knife in her hand.

“Explain to her we understand her grieving for those children are dead to her. When Comanche women grieve for their sons they show their loss by giving part of themselves.”

This was duly translated.

“Now hold one hand down.” The old woman bent and with one expert stroke sliced off the end of Anna's right little finger.

The pain was so unexpected it stilled Anna for a moment, but only a moment. She almost heaved herself free.

“The next hand,” commanded the woman. Just as quickly she cut the end of the left little finger off at the knuckle.

“Hold up her hair.” Anna's long, curly dark tresses had come unbound. It was so thick the woman had to grasp first one side and then the next. Instead of hair that hung to her hips, Anna's hair now hung to her shoulders.

“Tell her to use the inside of the cattails as a bandage for her fingers. If she starts acting like a human being, she will be allowed to become a Comanche once the other stops. If she tries to come out of here before it stops she will die. Someone will push in food and water. It will be enough to keep her alive. She will be cleansed once this is over. When one of the other women enters, she is to stay away from them or she will die.” After the translation, the group filed out.

There was no fire in the fire pit as it was summer. The upper tepee flap stayed open in summer, but now it was laced shut. Since Anna had no pelt or blanket to bring with her, there was nothing to sleep on but the ground. Anna came up on her knees. Gall was in her mouth and frantic thoughts of her children in her mind. Should she rush out and end it all? But her children, where were they? Where were her sons, her beautiful Margareatha? If she died, she would never find them again, and she closed her eyes. A low moan escaped from her lips and she began praying. She found she could not. Her body ached from the blows and her hands were wracked with pain. The bleeding from her fingers had slowed. If she let it continue, she could still die and what of her milk? It had diminished because of that strenuous trek and insufficient water, but there was still milk. If it hardened inside her breasts, she would have mastitis.

“Oh, my God, my Lord, help me to understand. What am I to do?” The wail became a primeval scream. She beat her fists on the ground, unmindful of the pain and the blood. She stood and stalked the width of the teepee and back. She wanted to kill, but she was naked and had no weapon. The dress they had given her lay crumpled where it had fallen during the fight.

Exhaustion finally stilled her wild movements and occasional scream. She collapsed onto the hardened dirt floor and slept.

In the morning, someone pushed in a water bag and a bowl of cooked squash. Anna looked at it with distaste. What sort of disease lurked there? Since no one had left anything like a commode here, she had used a spot on the far side of the tepee. The smell had dissipated, but Anna dreaded what the odors would be like if she ate the squash. Her hands had swollen, but she used them to milk her breasts into the bowl. Her own milk she would drink. By afternoon she had drank some of the water and her mouth was still dry. She barely touched the squash but what little she ate was with her fingers. She needed to wash them, but there was no basin, no soap. Dear God, she would die here. She hid her face in her hands, but no tears came. Nothing emerged from her mouth but that wild scream.

* * *

The next morning another bowl of food and bag of water were pushed in. The woman peeked in to see if the other bowl was close and saw Anna. She began running, screaming for the old woman.

“Her hair, her hair, it has turned white.”

They found Anna glaring at them as they entered. The group stared. Anna had donned the buckskin dress, but it was ill fitting and far too short for her tall frame. The bodice was pulled tight. It was stained from the leaking milk. No one had arrived to escort her to a place of privacy and nature's leavings were in a pile in one corner; the odor permeated the entire area.

Whispering broke out. What could cause this? They had taken everything she brought with her. There was nothing in here that could have changed her hair color. Finally the oldest woman pointed at Anna and commanded.

“She is to clean that mess. Nothing has changed, but someone will escort her to the woman's area. Others will need to use this soon.”

The white woman who translated had light brownish hair and blue-green eyes.

“Clean it yourself.” Anna was still seething, anger overriding good sense.

The younger women looked at each other, and to Anna's ears, they began jabbering. One middle-aged woman stepped out of the tent. She returned within minutes carrying a flat piece of wood and a large stick.

“If she doesn't clean it, we will use this on her.”

They left Anna bruised and stunned on the dirt floor. Most were certain there was a trickster involved or she had gone mad.

That afternoon, one of the younger women moved into the tepee. Two others accompanied her for her protection.