Packing Iron Read Free

to the bedroom window, awoke during the night and heard the stallion acting up in the corral. 
    It reminded her of the stranger fighting for his life in the barn. Unanswered questions raced through her mind. Who was he? Who had shot him? Did he have a wife or a family? Was he, as Raven had said, an outlaw? Was he on the run from a posse? If he were, it would explain why he’d been shot. And most importantly, she wondered, why did she have a strange feeling about him, a feeling that told her he would become a vital part of her and Raven’s lives?
    Somewhere off in the distance a coyote yip-yipped. It was a mournful, lonely sound and though it was an integral part of the desert and one familiar to Ingrid, she shivered. The face of the stranger suddenly appeared before her. It was so real she was startled. She blinked and the face disappeared, leaving her wondering if she’d had a vision. Disturbed, she lay there thinking about what was happening in the barn. The idea that his life depended upon the unique powers of a girl barely older than Raven was almost beyond comprehension and made Ingrid appreciate just how mystical life was among the Apaches.
    Turning on her side, she looked at her daughter sleeping peacefully in the other bed. As always, Ingrid felt an overwhelming love for Raven. She had felt it from the instant she had cradled the newborn baby in her arms. ‘I don’t know what it is about her,’ she told Sven after the midwife had left, ‘but I sense she is truly special.’
    He agreed with her. ‘She’s what my great-grandfather called a “Tenth Generation Child”.’ He went on to explain how every ten generations a child was born into his family with Raven’s coloring. They were known as ‘Fiona babies.’ Fiona, Sven added, was the name of a wild and beautiful, raven-haired heathen Irish princess whom his Norsemen ancestors had kidnapped almost a thousand years ago on one of their raids along the coast of Ireland. During the return voyage to Norway, rather than remain a prisoner she had stabbed herself with a dagger. But before dying she cursed her captors for abducting her and warned them that every hundred years she would return and make their lives a living hell.
    Looking at Raven now, Ingrid smiled and thought how unlike Fiona’s curse her daughter was. Not only was Raven a good child, a blessing in fact, but if it were not for her Ingrid would have no reason for living. At the same time, though, she had to admit that Raven was precocious, incredibly stubborn and often rebellious, so perhaps there was some truth in Fiona’s curse.
    Earlier, upon entering the bedroom, she had found Raven kneeled beside her bed, finishing her prayers. ‘And please, dear God, keep the stranger alive. Amen.’
    When Raven saw her mother watching her from the door, she said: ‘Was I wrong to ask God that, Momma? I mean, we don’t know anything about him. For all we know he may be a gunfighter or an outlaw. And then I’ve asked the Lord to save a bad man.’
    ‘No matter who he is,’ Ingrid said, tucking her into bed. ‘It’s never wrong to ask God to save a life.’
    Raven looked relieved. ‘What I can’t figure out,’ she said sleepily, ‘is why I care if he lives or dies.’
    Since rescuing the wounded stranger, Ingrid had asked herself the same question. ‘Perhaps it’s because he’s a human being and if he dies then a tiny part of us dies along with him.’
    Raven didn’t believe that. People in Santa Rosa were always dying and she didn’t feel any sense of loss for them.
    ‘Maybe it’s ’cause I found him, Momma. You know, like when you find a bird with a broken wing and you bring it home to look after – you always want it to live and feel so sad when it dies.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ Ingrid said. ‘Now, go to sleep, child. You have chores tomorrow.’ 
     
    At first light, before even the rooster crowed, Ingrid dressed and took a dipper of water to the barn. Walking Man and Runs With Head Up