FAITH
FAITH (after an idea by Nesciri)
Buck fumbled with the bucket, shaking it a little
as the windlass refused to turn smoothly. Instead, it cranked along in jerks
and fits creaking in the wind. He frowned as the water sloshed over his bare
hands. It was getting entirely too cold to be without gloves but he didn't count
on the well giving him trouble. He ducked his head as the droplets flew into
a misty spray so he could wipe his eyes as best he could on the collar of his
jacket but to his frustration that didn't help much at all. He was getting nowhere
with the bucket and he was getting wet and cold too.
"Come on," he muttered. "Three more
feet. That's all I'm asking for. It isn't much." He leaned over the edge,
stretching as best he could. After his ordeal with Yellow Crane, he was sore
and his muscles were still feeling it. The pain wasn't too bad after he moved
around some, but it was still early and frosty out which didn't do him any favors,
particularly his back. He grimaced against the tight pain and gave the rope
a sturdy yank. It finally gave and he sighed in relief. Breathing heavily with
the effort, he started to turn the windlass again. When it jerked to another
jarring stop only a foot later, he slouched a little in defeat. He didn't care
what Teaspoon said about it. He was going to cut the rope. It was either that
or ladle the water into the tub and there was no way he was going to do that.
He'd cut the rope first and deal with Teaspoon later. Holding onto the rope
with one hand, he pulled his knife out of its sheath with the other in a swift
motion that came from familiarity with the weapon as well as his ever mounting
frustration.
He started to saw through it. From his awkward position,
it wouldn't simply slice. That would be too easy. So here he was, on his toes
with the rocky lip of the well pushing into his stomach right through his coat.
His hair was falling into his face too. When he got back inside, he was going
to give Rachel her water and then go back to bed. He had never done that before,
but everyone else had indulged once or twice and now he knew why. He was so
busy doing battle with the well, that he didn't hear the footsteps behind him.
When a hand touched his shoulder, he jerked up in
surprise, before he spun around gripping his knife. "Ike! In the name of…what
are you doing?" he breathed out in relief. He tried to quiet his pounding
heart but it wasn't easy. His best friend had scared the hell out of him.
<Nothing. I just came out to see what was taking
so long. Rachel is all wound up to get the water.>
"The well is broken," Buck cocked his head toward the object of his anger. At Ike's raised eyebrows, Buck grimaced. "Not really.
Just the windlass and the rope is twisted. It's
not turning and I'm about to destroy it." Ike leaned over to look down
and then up at the problem but didn't make a move to help. "Are you just
going to stand here and watch or help?"
<Watch.>
"Funny," Buck said sarcastically. "Real
funny. You should watch out, I'm holding a knife." He tried to make the
last part sound serious but the spark in his eyes betrayed him.
<What's funny, is you getting all worked up over
a bucket.>
"It started it," Buck responded dryly
as he went back to sawing the rope. Ike leaned forward on his elbows so he could
watch with his hands tucked under his chin. It was an unusual position for him.
He liked to have his hands free so he could talk and it had unconsciously become
second nature for him not to tangle them up when not necessary for work. He
peered over the edge into the well and saw his reflection wavering up at him.
Buck's too but his was busy frowning.
<Water seems low, doesn't it?> Ike shifted
slightly so he could talk.
"Maybe. You know how temperamental the spring gets in winter." He looked up and grinned at Ike. "Just like Teaspoon when his bones act up." Ike laughed softly in response. Buck made the final cut with his knife and lifted the bucket from the well in triumph.
"It didn't beat me."
<You're crazy.>
"Maybe."
<You're feeling good lately too.>
"Yeah, I am," Buck nodded peacefully at
his best friend. "Things worked out. That's a change for me, but they did."
He set the bucket on the ground and replaced his knife. Red Bear was alive and
he had just seen him the day before. No curse had followed him back to the village
and the future looked as promising as it could. The Kiowa were getting ready
to move to their winter camp and the weather was good for them. The hunting
had been better than usual too. Buck would rest easier this winter, knowing
that his brother and the rest of the tribe were eating. "Lou and Kid are
happy. Cody is alive and Jimmy is as happy as Jimmy ever gets." He picked
the bucket up again and started to head back into the house. He didn't hear
Ike's familiar footsteps behind so he spun around, letting his hair fly. "And
how 'bout you, Ike? Are you happy?"
<I think so.> Ike signed before tapping his
hand lightly on the stone ledge of the well.
<You don't know?" he questioned starting
to walk backwards.
<How am I supposed to know? After what happened
and what she said…> he let his hands fall to his sides before he started
shuffling toward Buck, kicking up dirt as he went. He didn't even want to take
the chance of bringing up Yellow Crane's name. She was still too close, lingering
just slightly out of focus one step behind him.
"It's not what she said, Ike. It's what you
think. Don't let her control you anymore because she can't. She's dead and she'll
soon be dust."
<Then you don't think that I left them? You don't
think I could have…>
"No, Ike. I don't." Buck walked back to
him and pulled him along by his elbow. Ike didn't resist but let Buck guide
him back to the porch. "You have to find your own peace just like we all
do. You've had some for a while now. I can tell. You aren't the same moody guy
I used to know so well." He started to chuckle and Ike looked at him in
surprise. "Well, Indians can laugh too, you know," Buck smiled some
more and kept pulling him along. "The point is, Ike, that you can't let
someone tell you when you've reconciled with your past. Not Yellow Crane and
not me. I've learned the hard way that I'm my own guide. No one can fight my
battles for me. Not on this earth and not in the spirit world either."
Ike resisted and with a smile of his own, patted his chest. "Okay, okay.
You were there too," Buck dryly conceded as he glared at Ike with mock
indignity. "Now, you've gone and messed up my whole speech."
<No, I haven't,> Ike assured him. <It was
a good one. You made a few good points.>
"Only a few?"
<Maybe more than a few.> Ike nodded satisfied. <More than a few.> Buck patted Ike on the back in thanks before he took the bucket inside. Ike took one last glance at the rolling landscape and sensing nothing, shrugged before he followed. After everything they had been through, he was glad to feel nothing but the call of breakfast and a warm fire.
