"A poignant and inspiring story of a woman's strength and determination to find family and love!"
Reviewed by Audrey Lawrence
Posted January 16, 2012
Christian | Fiction
As an experienced stagecoach driver, when Ned Bright spotted
the lump on the trail, he was immediately suspicious. Was
this going to be an ambush? This was one of the first runs
for the Butterfield Overland Mail Company that he and his
partner had recently started and he didn't want any trouble,
especially when his first passengers were two nuns! As soon as Sister Natalie found out the reason for his
sudden stop, she insisted that he investigate. Shocked, he
discovered an unconscious fair-haired woman in well-worn
Comanche clothes. He knew she was a run-away captive and
was going to take her to Fort Chadbourne, however, the
Sisters insisted that they would be better at caring for her
at the mission they were going to rebuild. Ned was worried she might just run away again as many of the
children taken captive by the Comanche missed that lifestyle
when brought back into white society and their families
again. Yet, when Taabe Waipu starts to regain some of her
English words, she seems determined to go home to her white
family and struggles to make sense of small wisps of memory.
Would she ever find them again and why did they abandon her? Feeling a strong attraction to her, Ned visits her as much
as he can and tries many ways to find out who she might be.
Would his efforts do more harm than good? What if the
Peca, the man Taabe was to marry, and the Comanches come
looking for her? How can the nuns protect her at their
isolated mission? Captive Trail is the second book of a planned six in the
Texas trail series about four generations of the Morgan
family in Texas (1845-1896) that can be easily read as
stand-alone works or in depth as a series. In CAPTIVE TRAIL,
Susan Page Davis has written a poignant and inspiring story
of forgiveness and reconciliation based on the true accounts
of white children captured by the Comanche and the impact
that captivity has on their families and themselves. Within a heartbeat, Davis' powerful writing pulls the reader
right into Taabe's journey as she seeks her freedom and
family. The author's attention to detail and historical
research makes for very authentic characters and a strong
story line. During the early settlement of western North
America, most captive children, if found again, had trouble
re-integrating back into their former lives and Davis does a
terrific job in depicting the mixed feeling and emotions
that Waape feels as well as some humourous situations as she
seeks to understand her former world again and finds love. A
CAPTIVE TRAIL is a truly captivating read you won't want to
miss!
SUMMARY
The Captive Trail is second in a six-book series about four generations of the Morgan family living, fighting, and thriving amidst a turbulent Texas history spanning from 1845 to 1896. Although a series, each book can be read on its own. Taabe Waipu has run away from her Comanche village and is fleeing south in Texas on a horse she stole from a dowry left outside her family's teepee. The horse has an accident and she is left on foot, injured and exhausted. She staggers onto a road near Fort Chadbourne and collapses. On one of the first runs through Texas, Butterfield Overland Mail Company driver Ned Bright carries two Ursuline nuns returning to their mission station. They come across a woman who is nearly dead from exposure and dehydration and take her to the mission. With some detective work, Ned discovers Taabe Waipu identity. He plans to unite her with her family, but the Comanche have other ideas, and the two end up defending the mission station. Through Taabe and Ned we learn the true meaning of healing and restoration amid seemingly powerless situations.
ExcerptChapter One
Plains of North Central Texas, 1857
Faster. Taabe Waipu had to go faster, or she would never get down from the high plains, down to the hill country and beyond. South, ever south and east.
Clinging to the horse, she let him run. The land looked flat all around, though it was riddled with ravines and folds. She could no longer see any familiar landmarks. The moon and stars had guided her for two nights, and now the rising sun told her which way to go on her second day of flight. She’d snatched only brief periods of rest. At her urging the horse galloped on, down and up the dips and hollows of the land.
Taabe didn’t know where the next water supply lay. The only thing she knew was that she must outrun the Numinu— Comanche, their enemies called them. No one traveled these plains without their permission. Those who tried didn’t make it out again. She glanced over her shoulder in the gray dawn. As far as she could see, no one followed, but she couldn’t stop. They were back there, somewhere. She urged the horse on toward the southeast.
South to the rolling grasslands where the white men had their ranches. Where Peca and the other men often went to raid. Where Taabe was born.
The compact paint stallion ran smoothly beneath her, but as the sun rose and cast her shadow long over the Llano Estacado, his breath became labored, his stride shorter. Where her legs hugged his sleek sides, her leggings dampened with his sweat. He was a good horse, this wiry paint that Peca had left outside her sister’s tepee. Without him she wouldn’t have gotten this far. But no horse could run forever.
Taabe slowed him to a trot but didn’t dare rest. Not yet.
Another look behind.
No one.
Would she recognize the house she’d once lived in? She didn’t think so, but she imagined a big earthen lodge, not a tepee. Or was it a cabin made of logs? That life was a shadow world in her mind now. Fences. The warriors talked about the fences built by the white men, around their gardens and their houses. She thought she recalled climbing a fence made of long poles and sitting on the top. When she saw fences, she would know she was close.
At last she came to a shallow stream, sliding between rocks and fallen trees. It burbled languidly where it split around a boulder. She let the horse wade in and bend down to drink.
Taabe stayed on his back while he drank in long, eager gulps, keeping watch over the way they’d come. She needed to find a sheltered place where the horse could graze and rest. Did she dare stop for a while? She studied the trail behind her then took her near-empty water skin from around her neck. Leaning over the paint’s side, she dangled it by its thong in the water on the horse’s upstream side. She wouldn’t dismount to fill it properly, but she could stay in the saddle and scoop up a little. She straightened and checked the trail again. The horse took a step and continued to drink.
She stroked his withers, warm and smooth. With a wry smile, she remembered the bride price Peca had left. Six horses staked out before the tepee. A stallion and five mares—pretty mares. Healthy, strong mounts. But only six.
The stallion raised his head at last and waded across the stream without her urging. They settled into a steady trot. Tomorrow or the next day or the next, she would come to a land with many trees and rivers. And many houses of the whites.
Would she have stayed if Peca had left twenty horses? Fifty?
Not for a thousand horses would she have stayed in the village and married Peca—or any other warrior. Staying would make it impossible for her ever to go back to that other world—the world to the south.
Eagerness filled her, squeezing out her fear. She dug her heels into the stallion’s ribs. Whatever awaited her, she rushed to meet it.
The paint lunged forward and down. His right front hoof sank, and he didn’t stop falling. Taabe tried to brace herself, too late. The horse’s body continued to fly up and around. She hurtled off to the side and tucked her head.
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