Red Bird (Prairie Winds Book 2)

by Whitson, Stephanie Grace

  The hymn ended and Dr. Riggs rose. “We have with us today, Jeremiah Soaring Eagle King, who is a graduate of this school. Mr. King has attended Beloit College in Wisconsin and John Knox College in Illinois. He has most recently been a student at Harvard in Boston. While in Boston, Mr. King was an effective spokesperson for our school. He has now returned to us for a season of work, and I hope you will listen to what he has to say.”

  Soaring Eagle approached the lectern and began simply. “When I first came to Santee, there were many difficult things that I had to learn. First, was a new language. Then,” he glanced at the boys with a grin, “there were the awful lessons in geography and mathematics.” The boys nudged one another and nodded in agreement. Soaring Eagle turned to the girls. “I was very glad that I did not have to learn how to sew.” The girls giggled.

  Soaring Eagle smiled, and then grew serious. “But the greatest challenge for me was to learn how to be a man. I remember telling James Red Wing that where I had come from, being a man was easy. I only had to hunt well and fight well. But when I came here, everything changed, and I no longer knew how to be a man.” Opening his Bible, Soaring Eagle said, “But then I came to know Jesus Christ, and one day I was reading His Book, and I saw words that told me how to be a man. I was reading in the first book of the Kings, and there it was, what God says a man should do. Here is what it says.” Soaring Eagle read:

  Be thou strong therefore, and shew thyself a man; and keep the charge of the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, to keep his statutes, and his commandments, and his judgments, and his testimonies, as it is written in the law of Moses, that thou mayest prosper in all that thou doest, and whithersoever thou turnest thyself.

  “When I read those words, I knew that to be a man, I had to learn what God said in His Book so that I could walk in His ways, so that I could prosper—and be what God says a man is.” He held up the Bible for the children to see. “When you look at this Book you see that the cover is worn. I have tried to study this Book. As I have read it, something has happened to me that happened to another man named Jeremiah. Jeremiah of the Old Testament said, ‘Thy words were found, and I did eat them; and thy word was unto me the joy and rejoicing of mine heart: for I am called by thy name, O Lord God of hosts .’ God has made me love this Book. When I read it, my heart feels joy and rejoicing and I want to study it more and more and to take it to my own people to show them all it says about God and His love for them.

  “When I thought that God was telling me to take His Word to my people, I was afraid—just like that other Jeremiah, I said, “Alas, Lord God! Behold, I cannot speak: for I am only a Lakota. But then I read what God said to that other Jeremiah. He said, Say not, I am a child —Soaring Eagle, do not say I am only a poor Lakota—for thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee, and whatsoever I command thee thou shalt speak .” Soaring Eagle looked around the chapel before continuing. “As I studied in Boston, my heart grew heavy. I read of the needs among my own people, and I began to think that I should be with them, telling them of Christ. I have returned to Santee to ask God’s guidance.” Abruptly, Soaring Eagle stepped away from the podium. “Children,” he said simply, “I ask that you pray for me. And I will pray for you, that you will continue your studies, that you will learn the ways of God, that you will learn to love His Book, and that you will return to your families and tell them of Christ.” He stepped down, sitting in a front pew next to Jim Callaway.

  Dr. Riggs rose. “Just this morning I have met with Mr. King. After a season of prayer, it has been decided that he will not be returning to Boston, as we had originally planned. We believe that God is calling our friend Jeremiah to a new ministry, and as soon as a partner is found and support is given, he will proceed to the Cheyenne River country with the hopes of establishing a permanent missionary station there among his own people. Let us pray for this new endeavor.”

  The moment Dr. Riggs made his announcement, Carrie, who had continued to study the floor at her feet, looked up sharply. If she had heard correctly, if the decision had been made, then Soaring Eagle’s future would be drastically different from what she had envisioned. There would be no traveling the country to lecture and raise support for the Indian. There would be no admiring crowds, no newspaper publicity. She was ashamed to admit that she had lingered over the imaginary newspaper photos of Dr. Jeremiah King (also pictured: Mrs. King, the former Carrie Brown of St. Louis).

  It can’t be, Carrie thought. He can ’t possibly mean it. He’s so very good at lecturing. I saw those crowds in St. Louis, the way they responded to him. Surely he won’t give that up for —Carrie imagined Soaring Eagle in a sparsely furnished one room cabin, preparing a sermon by the light of a kerosene lamp. She tried, and failed, to add herself to the picture, living in the log cabin, seated in the front pew of a small church.

  The service concluded with the singing of a hymn. Carrie followed Charity and the children out of the chapel, watching as two of the older boys almost tackled Soaring Eagle, begging him to come see the new wood shop and print shop. With a glance Carrie’s way, Soaring Eagle put a hand on each boy’s shoulder and followed them across the campus towards the shops. Carrie slipped back into the chapel and sat down in a back pew to think. Everett was right, she thought. He told me I hadn’t considered reality at all —that I was building a fantasy of traveling and being the wife of “Dr. Jeremiah King.” Carrie leaned her forehead on the pew in front of her. My whole dream has been built around some romantic notion, not around the real man at all. He doesn’t care about education, or newspaper articles, or money. He just wants to go home and preach to his own people. I haven’t ever considered what Soaring Eagle might want —what God might want him to do. I’m no better than the people in St. Louis I used to get so angry with, the people who saw him as a curiosity, never as a real man, just as “the Indian .” All this time I haven’t really known him at all. Everett was right.

  “Is anything wrong, Carrie?” It was Jim Callaway.

  Carrie jumped. “No, Jim, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to think about what Soaring Eagle said today. Did you, did you need something, Jim?”

  “Soaring Eagle will be back in a few minutes. He asked me to make sure you don’t go anywhere. He wants to say hello.”

  “He’s changed.”

  “How do you mean?” Jim asked as he settled in the pew beside her. “He’s more fluent, I guess, but I haven’t noticed any real change, not in the man.”

  “What I mean is, he seems so single-minded about what he wants to do. So determined.”

  “No more determined than any missionary who’s really committed to the Lord,” Jim answered. “I think God has been leading him in that direction all along. It just took a while for Soaring Eagle to realize it.”

  Soaring Eagle’s voice sounded at the door. “How is my little Red Bird? Are they teaching you good things at that university in Lincoln?” He touched her shoulder before seating himself in the pew in front of Carrie and Jim.

  With Soaring Eagle’s arrival, the conversation abruptly changed. Carrie commented briefly on the university and her work at the hotel, concluding with her plans to teach in a rural school for the fall and winter terms.

  “How long will you be at Santee?” Soaring Eagle asked.

  Carrie looked at Jim, who said, “I need to get back for spring planting. I was hoping we could leave tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

  “Tomorrow?” Carrie could not hide the disappointment in her voice.

  Jim nodded. “I don’t want to leave LisBeth—”

  “Oh, of course, the baby.”

  Soaring Eagle’s eyes sparkled with joy. “So. I am to be an uncle at last. When is this to happen?”

  Jim grinned. “Just a few weeks away, we think; that’s why I need to get back.”

  “Well, then, I am glad that I came today and was able to see my friend and my Red Bird.” Soaring Eagle rose to go. He walked to the door and then turned back to Jim. “I think, Jim Callaway, that I would l
ike to give this child a gift. When you return to my sister, I would like you to take the black mare with you.”

  Jim protested. “That’s too generous, Soaring Eagle. She’s to be the foundation for your herd.”

  Soaring Eagle shook his head. “No, I will have no need for a herd where I am going. It will please me to know that Lakota has a good home with my sister, my family. Tell the child that leksi, that is uncle, will come and teach him, or her, to ride.”

  He turned to Carrie. “Red Bird, you study hard at that university. Tell Everett Higgenbottom that Jeremiah King wishes him to watch over you well. And remember,” he said gently, “you will always hold a special place in my heart.”

  Chapter 17

  How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily?

  Psalm 13:2

  S arah and Tom Biddle handled Abigail and David Braddock’s death so well that no one in Lincoln suspected that their relationship had been anything but that of employer to employee. While Tom Biddle didn’t quite understand his sister’s insistence that her engagement to David be kept secret, he was proud that she had entrusted him with something so important to her.

  Sarah had also sworn Dr. Gilbert to secrecy. “There’s no need for anyone to know, Dr. Gilbert. It doesn’t matter.”

  “But you’ve a right to at least part of the estate, Miss Biddle.”

  “I’ve no right that the surviving Braddocks wouldn’t take into a court. I won’t have that. I won’t have David’s name dragged into a court over things, Dr. Gilbert,” Sarah insisted. “Mother Braddock told me about the others in the family. I don’t want any trouble. I’ll do my duty by David and Mother Braddock. I’ll see that the house is cared for, and when the others arrive, I’ll follow their instructions.”

  “And likely be out on your ear,” Dr. Gilbert interrupted.

  Sarah shook her head. “No. I’ll go home to Aunt Augusta.” Tears threatened. “As long as Augusta Hathaway is alive, Tom and I will always have a place to call home.” Sarah regained her composure and continued. “Aunt Augusta is already assuming that we’ll be coming back. Just last evening she said that she had two rooms waiting. She even apologized that she didn’t have rooms near her own apartment. But there are two large rooms on the third floor. Tom and I will go there. Tom will have his inheritance.”

  “And you’ll have nothing. Nothing for all the years of service. For the last months of hell.”

  Sarah’s eyes softened as she disagreed. “Oh, no, Dr. Gilbert. It’s not like that at all. I may have no things to show, but I’ve the memory of Mother Braddock’s smile—and her belief in me. I’ve the proper grammar, and the knowledge of housekeeping, and all the things she taught me. I’ll be able to get a good position soon, I’m sure of it. I’ve been thinking I might even look for a little house for Tom and me. As soon as I find suitable employment. Until then, we’ll stay with Aunt Augusta.”

  Dr. Gilbert smiled warmly. “You’ve grit, Sarah Biddle, I’ll give you that. You’d have been a fine wife to David Braddock. I hope he knew it.”

  “He knew it, Dr. Gilbert.” Sarah didn’t say more, for whatever had existed between her and David Braddock must be laid away forever. Sarah had already folded it neatly and stored it away where it wouldn’t hurt quite so much.

  And so Dr. Miles Gilbert kept his promise to Sarah and remained silent about her engagement to David Braddock. When the “other Braddock,” Ira, arrived in Lincoln to settle the estate, Tom and Sarah Biddle had already moved their things back to the Hathaway House. Dressed in her finest suit, Sarah met him at the manse. Ira was the only one of the “other Braddocks” to make the journey west from Philadelphia to “close things up.” When Sarah opened the door of the manse, she stifled a smile at the appearance of the first human she had ever seen to resemble a banty rooster.

  With quiet and deliberate movements, Sarah showed Ira Braddock each room. When asked, she suggested how best to dispose of the fine things that she had lovingly dusted and arranged. With grace, she accepted Ira Braddock’s snobbish disdain of Nebraska. With patience, she explained the things about Lincoln that had charmed Abigail and David Braddock. She didn’t mention Abigail’s interest in Tom, and she took great delight in the exclamation of shock that escaped Ira Braddock’s lips when the will was read and Tom Biddle was the undeniable recipient of a generous gift which would easily pay tuition to a fine university back east, (although Tom stubbornly insisted that the University of Nebraska was the only school he’d ever attend). When the “other Braddock” had been assured by his attorney that Abigail’s bequest was irreversible, he smiled indulgently, made a comment about his elderly relative’s idiosyncrasies, wiped off his pince-nez, and resumed his superior position in the universe.

  On the final day that Ira Braddock visited the manse, he made a grand display of offering Sarah a memento. “Anything you’d like from the house, Miss Biddle. Take something to remember the Braddocks by, Dear.” When he said it, he drew himself up to his full stature of 5’ 4” and somehow managed to look down his nose at 5’ 7” Sarah.

  Sarah looked at him with steely gray eyes and said, “I’ll be going now, Mr. Braddock.” She took off her sterling silver chatelaine, and handed it to Ira Braddock. “All the door and cabinet keys are right here. I had the only complete set of keys, so be careful not to misplace these.”

  Sarah opened the front door, descended the wide stairs, and marched through the front gate, empty-handed. Heartily hoping that Ira Braddock was watching her go, she forced herself to walk north on 17th Street without a backward glance.

  Sarah Biddle managed to handle every decision that arose over the next few weeks without a hint of the weight of grief that had settled over her. Tom continued school at Miss Griswall’s and Sarah filled in for various absent hotel employees, including Carrie Brown. She rode to Roca often to help LisBeth stitch infant sacques and diapers, and filled her evenings by helping Tom with lessons or working on the baby quilt she had begun for LisBeth. She was unusually quiet and introspective, but Augusta reasoned that that was only natural. Sarah had, after all, been unusually close to Abigail Braddock.

  Sarah requested Augusta’s carriage often, and Augusta readily assented, never suspecting that each carriage ride ended with Sarah weeping over two headstones in Wyuka Cemetery. David Braddock’s body had been buried at the site of the train accident, but Sarah had secretly paid to have a headstone placed beside his mother’s grave. Augusta had attributed the second memorial to some previously unnoticed drop of compassion in Ira Braddock. Sarah was grateful that no questions were asked.

  But there came a day in Sarah Biddle’s life when the loss of both her fiancé and her benefactress nearly dragged her into despair. There came a day when Augusta Hathaway finally learned Sarah’s most closely guarded grief.

  Sarah returned one day from visiting the cemetery just in time to see Asa Green drag a huge trunk through the door into Augusta’s quarters. Augusta hurried from the kitchen into the hall and beckoned Sarah to follow her. “It just arrived, Sarah. Fred over at the station sent a messenger to ask me what I thought he should do with it. Said he couldn’t deliver it to the manse if he wanted to. Even the carriage house is locked up tight. Ira didn’t leave instructions or keys, did he?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Cropsey probably has a set at his land office. I think he’s in charge of the sale. We could check.”

  “Sarah, it has David Braddock’s name on it. And—” Augusta unfolded a sheet of paper. “Frank gave me this. It’s an apology from the railroad. Apparently David Braddock had this with him on the train when—”

  Sarah’s face paled and she sat down.

  Augusta continued. “It’s David’s, Sarah. Somehow it seems wrong to just deliver it to an empty house. And, frankly, Dear, I don’t want Ira Braddock to have the satisfaction of getting his hands on anything else. Let’s at least open it. As their housekeeper, you would have done that anyway. I know Abigail and David would approve if you decide ab
out the disposal of whatever this is.”

  Sarah nodded and whispered, “All right, Abigail. Agreed. But there’s no key.”

  With a glint of mischief in her eyes, Augusta removed one of her hairpins and knelt by the trunk. In only a moment she had it open. A faint scent of roses filled the room and Augusta bent to inspect the contents, let out an exclamation of surprise, and sat down abruptly.

  Sarah, who was already seated, grew even paler. She stared at Augusta and then back at the trunk. Finally, with trembling hands, she reached towards the trunk and touched the most exquisite wedding gown she had ever seen. Only the bodice showed, but as she pulled it from the trunk, fold upon fold of heavy satin cascaded to the floor. The gown had been packed with dried rose petals. Speechless, Sarah clutched the gown to her, watching Augusta exclaim over the remaining items in the trunk.

  “It’s a trousseau, Sarah, a complete trousseau. David Braddock must have had plans. I’m so happy he finally found someone.” Augusta clucked, shaking her head, “Such a tragic end.” Suddenly, Augusta realized that Sarah Biddle had had nothing to say for quite a few moments. Turning away from the trunk, Augusta was struck by an impossible possibility.

  Sarah Biddle sat on the edge of Augusta’s fainting couch. She had folded the wedding gown at the waist and smoothed the bodice so that it lay neatly across her lap, the sleeves stretching out on either side of her, the train pooling on the floor around her feet. Slowly, Sarah bent to pick up a pair of lace gloves that had dropped on the floor. With extreme care, she pulled on one glove, then the other. She held her hands in front of her, stretching out her fingers, inspecting the exquisite pattern of roses in the lace. She ran her index finger along the high collar, down the rows of tiny pin tucks, to a cluster of soft pink ribbon roses at the waist of the dress.