Inspiration 56

janettaylorperry.com

Matthew 1:23 Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.

What's in a name? Have you ever looked up the origin of your name and what it means? My name is Janet, from the English, a female variation of John, and it means "God's gracious gift."

This novel has two stories in one. Rennin in the 1800s reads the memoir of his namesake from the 1600s. I deliberately changed the spelling of Ronan, which is Gaelic and means, "Oath." Both Rennins make vows that they strive to uphold.

Rennin in the 1600s marries a woman named Morgan, which means, "Lives by the sea." Yes, it's meant to conjure images of Morgan Le Fay and the world of magic. The name is the same in English, Gaelic, Irish, Scottish, and Welsh.

Rennin in the 1800s is smitten and beguiled by Rebekah, from the Hebrew. It means "Captivating, knotted cord, bound," and fits Rebekah since she is bound and a captive when Rennin first meets her, but she also captivates him forever.

For this post, look up the meaning of your name, comment with your name, its origin, and its meaning.

Chapter One

What's in a Name?

As the man with the wavy, sable locks and jade eyes stirred beans and fried salt pork, his two traveling companions roared into camp. Behind them, they dragged a tall, thin, yet well-endowed, mousy-brown-haired woman. She wore a buckskin dress, moccasins, and a feather tied to the end of a thin braid that was longer than the rest of her hair. The braid indicated she was married; the feather showed to whom.

The man preparing dinner calmly interrogated the other two. "What exactly is going on here?" He eyed the woman who thrashed and attempted to pull her wrists free. His eyes narrowed in recognition, for he had seen the woman once before. Instantly, his hand flew to the six-shooter by his side, and he asked a more urgent question. "Do you two fools have any idea who this woman is?"

The Rumpelstilskin-like Pierre Boudreaux triumphantly acknowledged, "Oui. We done and gote us Black Cloud's squaw!" He laughed menacingly.

The green-eyed man bellowed, "Are you crazy? Do you want to get all of us killed? Black Cloud will have your scalp!"

Pierre laughed again. "Naw! I gote heese!" He brandished a mop of long black hair that still dripped blood. "And now I will haf heese woman agin!"

Pierre planted a slobbery kiss on the woman even as the man who had been arguing with him rose to his full height of six and half feet. He held his back erect and displayed an expansive chest and massive arms. In a commanding voice he spoke. "Pierre, take your hands off that woman. You are an animal. What do you mean 'again'?"

Bart Mercier, the other partner, restrained the man. "O'Rourke, let him be. Me an' him boff done had her tanight. We brung her ta share wif ya. She ain't nuthin' but an Injun whore. I plan ta have me some more o' her, too, afore Pierre slices dat purty neck."

"Over my dead body." O'Rourke glared at Bart, and with long deliberate strides he reached Pierre and yanked him by the collar, throwing him several yards.

Angered, Pierre pulled a long knife from its sheath on his belt. "O'Rourke, are ya really willin' ta die fer a piece o' used Injun meat?"

O'Rourke gently pushed the woman's hair from her face and lifted her chin. Her lip was caked with dried blood and a big black bruise appeared on her cheek. Rage seeping from his tone, he addressed Pierre and Bart. "You idiots! This woman is not Indian at all. Even if she were, she's a human being and deserves to be treated with dignity. You will not harm her." He looked kindly into two frightened, but soft, dove-gray eyes.

Bart laughed. "Yer probly one o' dem abolitionists, too. Ya don't thank niggers should be slaves."

O'Rourke spoke softly. "Slavery is inhumane treatment of one created in God's image."

Pierre was still angry. "O'Rourke if'n ya don't want none, mind yer own beezness an' let us haf some fun."

Continuing to look into the eyes of the terrified woman, O'Rourke said, "This is my business. You made it so. My God, Bart! How could you? She's not a day over sixteen."

"She's done been Black Cloud's squaw fer nigh on a year. She ain't no blushin' virgin."

Pierre had had enough of what he considered O'Rourke's meddling. He lunged at O'Rourke's back with his knife held high. The woman shrieked in warning.

Pierre's blade caught O'Rourke's left shoulder. The two men struggled over the knife. For a man who was only five-feet and five-inches, Pierre was as strong as an ox. O'Rourke had a fight on his hands, especially with the wounded shoulder. Pierre fought dirtier by throwing sand into O'Rourke's eyes. O'Rourke stood near the woman trying to clear his vision. Pierre lunged again with his knife, but unexpectedly the woman stuck her foot out and tripped him. Dropping his knife in the subsequent fall, Pierre reached into his boot for his Derringer. By then, O'Rourke had cleared enough sand from his eyes to see Pierre's intention. O'Rourke fired quickly from the hip, striking his target squarely in the chest.

O'Rourke fairly growled, "Bart, do you want to be a part of this, too?"

Bart shook his head. "Jest gimme my horse, an' I'll be gone."

O'Rourke untied the rope from Bart's horse and sent him on his way. Bart slung over his shoulder, "O'Rourke, ridin' alone out here is real dangerous. Ya never know what kind o' varmint will happen up."

"I'll keep that in mind, Bart. You had best remember how lightly I sleep."

"Don't fret, O'Rourke. I ain't plannin' ta tangle wif da likes o' you."

Bart rode off at a high gallop. O'Rourke turned to the woman and removed her fetters. As he massaged her hands gently to restore the circulation, he spoke compassionately. "You're safe now. I won't hurt you."

O'Rourke poured water from his canteen and carefully washed the dirt and dried blood from the woman's face. He talked soothingly as he worked. "What's your name? Mine is Rennin O'Rourke. Crude men call me O'Rourke, but my friends call me Rennin. You may call me Rennin."

The woman did not speak. Rennin thought perhaps she had lived with the Pawnee so long she did not understand him, yet he talked softly, gently, unthreateningly. "Tomorrow, I shall take you back to your village. I considered Black Cloud a friend, no, a brother." Rennin looked at the scar across his palm. He had mixed his blood with Black Cloud's many years before. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Gray eyes dropped toward the ground. Something akin to a sob escaped her throat. Almost inaudibly she said, "Rennin O'Rourke, I cannot return to my village. I would be an outcast for what has happened to me. Black Cloud is no longer there to protect me. Sleeping Fawn's family will no longer want me. I would become precisely what Pierre called me."

Rennin realized the seriousness of the situation. This woman would be demeaned among her tribe. She would be treated as if what Pierre and Bart did was her fault, and, perhaps, even be accused of being complicit in Black Cloud's death. In an attempt of kindness, Rennin said, "Then, tomorrow I shall take you to Ft. Laramie. Perhaps, you can find your family."

She laughed bitterly. "Rennin O'Rourke, I cannot live with white men either. You have seen how most of them will treat me. I thank you for your kindness, but it would be best if you simply leave me here to die, for I have no people. I ceased to be Rebekah Sinclair ten years ago, and now I cannot be Eyes of a Dove either. I am no one, and I have nowhere to go."

Rennin's heart broke for the plight of this young woman. "Don't be silly. I shan't leave you here to die."

"Then, what am I to do, Rennin O'Rourke?"

The woman's plea for help did not go unheard by the man's kind heart, but he responded, "We'll think of something tomorrow, but right now let's eat something. I made supper for three. There is more than enough for two."

When he lifted the ladle, Rennin realized how deeply wounded his shoulder was, and he winced, dropping the ladle back into the pot. Suddenly, he felt gentle hands unbuttoning his shirt. The woman slipped the cloth from his shoulder. As he had done to her, she carefully washed his wound. She commented, "You need some healing herbs, or you will get a fever. I will gather moss near the river. Rest until I return."

"It's already dark, Rebekah."

The woman smiled softly. "You may call me Rebekah, Rennin O'Rourke. Rennin is such an unusual name. How did you get it?"

He leaned against a boulder. "I'll tell you about it sometime, but right now, I think I'll rest. Take my gun to the river with you. Bart could be lurking around."

Rebekah gathered the moss she needed and bandaged Rennin's shoulder with a clean kerchief. She served them both a plate of beans and salt pork and a cup of coffee. "Now, Rennin O'Rourke, tell me about your name."

Rennin laughed. "It's not an unusual name in my family. There have been many men named Rennin in my family, my grandfather for one, and several before him. Would you like to hear about the first Rennin O'Rourke? I actually have his exploits written in a book. I can read them to you."

"Yes, I would like that, Rennin O'Rourke."

"Please, just Rennin."

Rebekah smiled. "Yes, Rennin, I would like that."

Cover by Christopher Chambers. juroddesigns.com

Rennin in the 1800s as voted on by select readers and Rebekah, as I imagine them.