“I think it means that our Bible forefathers found their faith commended, but they had only a part of what God promised. It wasn’t that God didn’t know what He was doing, but He had His own timing for all these things, and because of His timing, we come together in His plan and the promise of Jesus. Folks didn’t understand why He promised something and then they died without seeing it come about. We don’t always understand why God does things the way He does.”
“ ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord,’ ” Dianne quoted from Isaiah fiftyfive. “I know that’s true.” She smiled. “So many times I have no idea why God allows for the things He does.”
“But we must walk in faith,” Koko reminded her. “And as Proverbs says, ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.’ ”
Faith nodded. “Exactly. My understanding used to be that when I found freedom, everything would be different. I would have my promised land, and life would be different. I would be an independent woman. But I know now, that’s not the way it is. I thought a great deal about those Hebrews verses, and I see that sometimes God brings others in to fulfill the promise He’s given. Maybe that’s what He did with me.”
“What do you mean?” Dianne asked, eager to understand.
“I had my idea,” Faith explained, “of what freedom was. I wasn’t about to believe it needed to involve my being dependent on anyone else—especially not any white person. But instead, God has shown me I was just as prejudiced as those who held the color of my skin against me. I was holding your color against you. I know now that God has brought us together in this place to help one another. I feel, like it says in that verse, that God has provided something better—better than I could have ever imagined.”
Koko nodded. “I feel the same.”
“Me too,” Dianne said, reaching out for each woman’s hand. “I feel that even though I lost my two sisters on the journey here, God has given me two other sisters to fill that void. You will always be my family—my sisters.”
“My sister,” Faith said, nodding with a smile.
“Sisters,” Koko affirmed.
CHAPTER 7
August 1870
COLE HAD NEVER BEEN MORE MISERABLE IN HIS LIFE. WHAT should have been a nice easy trip west had been fraught with one problem after another. Sickness, bad weather, Indians . . . What else could possibly go wrong?
I should have been home by now, he thought. He prepared his bedroll for sleep but wondered if he’d be able to relax. Lately the threat of attack had been greater than it had ever been before. Everyone was tense, even Daniel Keefer. It was clear a band of Sioux were taunting them—leaving just enough evidence of their existence to let the men of the wagon train know they weren’t alone. But why the Sioux had traveled this far west or wanted to continue giving this small band of settlers such grief was beyond Cole.
“I’ve got a couple of men posted—keeping watch until about three. Can you join me and take over after that?” Keefer asked, walking casually into Cole’s camp. He carried his rifle—a sure sign of his worry.
“Sure, Daniel. What’s happening out there? Have you managed to figure it out?”
Keefer squatted down by the fire and lowered his voice. “It doesn’t look good. That scare we had back in Nebraska still has everyone talking, but I have a feeling this is gonna be much worse. If we can make it another fifty miles west, we should be all right.”
“You think they’ll just ignore us and let us go along our merry way?”
Keefer raised his face and met Cole’s determined stare. “No, I honestly don’t, but I figure it doesn’t hurt to hope.” Cole felt the chill in his words. Keefer’s face darkened. “Look, take no chances. If you see or hear anything, alert the rest of us.” He stood and looked back down at the fire. “I know they’re out there. I just don’t know how many.” Standing, Keefer rested his hand against Cole’s shoulder. “If they attack and anything happens to me, get the train on through to safety.” He paused. “And . . . uh . . . let my family know what’s happened to me.”
Cole nodded, knowing it was futile to argue. There would be an attack. It was just a matter of when and where. This band of warrior Sioux hadn’t been following them for nearly a week just to offer them escort.
The camp settled in for the night. The wagons had been drawn together in a tight circle, with all of the livestock inside that perimeter. The smallest of fires had been used for cooking. It wasn’t that they could keep the Sioux from knowing their presence on the plains, but rather Daniel told them not to give their attackers any extra benefit. Now nearly all of the travelers were asleep—or trying to do so—and Cole couldn’t help but be awash in anxiety for the things that might come. He’d heard too many stories; the memories were still fresh from the tales told at Julesburg. While taking supper one night he’d fallen into a conversation with several townsmen. They were only too happy to relate all of the grisly details of an Indian attack on some railroad men who had been out making repairs to the line.
Cole felt his stomach tighten at the thought of the men whose scalps had been taken and eyes gouged out. Other atrocities had been meted out, but Cole couldn’t bring himself to dwell even a moment on them. Not when the same fate might well lie in store for him on the morrow.
He slipped into his bedding, knowing that rest was crucial. He needed to be alert when his turn for guard duty came. Cole tried not to worry or borrow trouble, as his mother would say. He couldn’t stop the Indians by fretting. Or by remembering what they’d done to those who’d passed through before them.
If we make it out alive, he told himself, I’m never crossing this prairie again. Of course, it was probably silly to have such thoughts. He still had family in Kansas, and the transcontinental railroad was in place to make travel easier. The locomotive couldn’t reduce the number of miles between Montana and Kansas, but it could definitely shorten the number of days required for travel.
“I should have spent the money for the train and told Daniel to forget it,” he muttered, trying hard to get comfortable. Then I wouldn’t be dealing with cantankerous travelers and hostile Indians.
He supposed the hostility was understandable. Year after year, the land west of the Mississippi was being deluged by a storm of settlers who were looking to make their dreams come true. It was this very invasion that caused such a feeling of desperation in the various tribes who lived in this region. They saw their hunting grounds disappear, along with the buffalo and other game. The railroad was a nuisance to them. The wagon trains with their hundreds of new settlers, a threat to their very existence. No, it was no wonder they were hostile—even to the point of killing the intruders.
Cole prickled at a sound near his camp. He reached for his revolver, then noticed the slim figure of a man Keefer had hired to help with wagon mending. The young man touched the brim of his hat when Cole continued to stare hard.
“Evenin’, Cole.”
“Sam.” Cole relaxed. “Anything worth reporting?”
“Nah, it’s all quiet out there. Maybe too quiet.”
Cole nodded. “I’m gonna try to get some shut-eye.Wake me when I need to relieve you.”
“Sure thing.” The man ambled off toward the west, his rifle leveled at the hip, as if expecting an attack at any moment.
Cole settled down again and sighed. Oh, Dianne. Why am I here and you’re so far away?
He knew the answer, of course, but still it troubled him deep in his heart. If he died here on the plains, it might be a long time before she ever learned what had happened. He was already over a month delayed from when he’d planned to arrive home. He’d posted a letter from Cheyenne, but that had been weeks earlier, before the constant sickness had slowed their progress to a snail’s pace. And then the clouds had unleashed freakish summer storms upon them, deluging them with torrents of rain, leaving the trails horribly impassable. They’d waited nearly two weeks just to progress twenty miles, only
to have a bout of cholera hit the train hard.
I should be home. I should be working on the Vandyke ranch, helping Bram build the new house.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what the place would look like. Dianne had described her uncle’s plan in her last letter. It sounded wonderful. A huge two-story house in a U shape, with quarters in the middle upstairs for guests and two wings— one east and one west—for the two families living there. His family. His and Dianne’s. And Bram’s family. There would be a large wraparound porch for warm summer nights and a huge stone fireplace for cold winters when they’d remain cooped up until spring.
Dianne was quite excited about the design, having worked alongside Bram through the winter months helping with the plans.
I should be home helping. I should be with you, Dianne.
Sitting back up, Cole scooted closer to his fire and pulled a small book from his coat pocket. He’d been keeping a journal on the trip since he’d left Topeka. He thought to share some of it with his mother and father but knew he would pore over each detail with Dianne, telling her where he was each night and what had happened in the camp. Now he feared there might not be another chance to tell her of his situation. If the Indians attacked at dawn, as seemed likely, he’d never have a chance to explain if he managed to get killed.
He dug into his other pocket and procured a pencil. Feeling the night chill on his back, he wrote.
Indians—Sioux, we believe—have been following us for nearly a week. We think they’ll attack at dawn. All the signs point to it. Dianne, I can’t risk dying without writing once again of how much I love you and how very sorry I am for the delay in getting home to you.
You are all I think about, and even now, faced with the chance of death, my only regret is in leaving you—of never seeing you again. I think of you with every waking moment. I long for your touch, your embrace. No matter what happens tomorrow, I pray that you’ll somehow be able to read these words and know that I went to my grave loving you.
Cole put the pencil away and yawned. He couldn’t keep writing and get enough rest to properly do his guard duty. Instead of replacing the book in his pocket, he stuffed it down inside his boot and eased back onto his blanket.
He could see her smiling face—could remember how her hand felt in his. God just had to get him back to her safely. He’d brought them together, Cole reasoned. Surely He wouldn’t stop there. Drifting into a restless sleep, Cole remembered the way she felt in his arms and how very much he wanted to have a chance to share a life with this extraordinary woman.
Oh, God, please get me home. Please give us a miracle.
Sam woke Cole at exactly three. Cole sat up with a start. For a moment he gripped his revolver and scrutinized the young man standing over him. He could barely see him in the dark.
“Sorry . . . didn’t mean to scare you, Cole. It’s your watch.”
Cole calmed and released the gun. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he got to his feet. “Thanks, Sam. Sorry if I scared you. I rarely wake up shooting. I’m usually good about figuring out my targets first. What’s the situation?”
The young man shook his head. “Mr. Keefer figures there are at least fifty, maybe more. They’re waiting for first light— leastwise that’s how Mr. Keefer has it figured.”
Cole nodded. “Try to get some sleep. Nothing will happen for at least a couple of hours. No Indian in his right mind is going to try to fight us in the dark.”
“Guess not.” Sam didn’t sound convinced but nevertheless walked off across the camp.
Cole quickly gathered his things, then rounded up Buddy. He saddled the horse in record time, then tied on his gear. Daniel had plans to be ready to fight or flee with the first light. By Cole’s best guess that would come in about three hours. Maybe even a little earlier. They needed to be ready.
By five, the camp was starting to stir. A baby cried in one of the wagons. It gave Cole a sickening sensation in his stomach. He could hear other children talking in hushed whispers to their parents. Would any of these little ones live to see another day?
Oh, God, please deliver us from this battle. You know these folks aren’t prepared or capable. Our only sin is being here.
Cole rode Buddy around the perimeter of the circled wagons. His keen eyes scanned the horizon for signs of intruders. Daniel suggested the Sioux would slip in early and low, but so far, Cole hadn’t seen any signs of them.
“What do you think?” Daniel questioned, riding up on his bay.
“I still think they’re waiting for sunrise. I’ve heard some rustling out there, but I haven’t seen anything.”
“Well, there’s no doubt they’re out there.”
Cole nodded. “I know.”
The next hour seemed to creep by, leaving Cole tense, his shoulder muscles aching and tight. The skies were a mottled blue-lavender just before the sun peeked up above the horizon. Cole scanned the land around him. Maybe they were mistaken. Maybe the Indians had given up the idea of attack. Maybe— The crack of a rifle being fired split the otherwise silent morning air. Cole felt the air go out from him. He turned Buddy back to the camp and barely made it before the screaming cries of nearly a hundred Sioux warriors descended upon them.
Cole freed Buddy and took cover behind one of the wagons.
“They gave no sign,” Cole announced as Daniel Keefer raced up.
“Figures. Well, we were as ready as we were gonna get,” the older man said, taking his position. As the Sioux came swooping at them from every direction, the settlers had no choice but to fire.
Cole emptied a box of ammo on the ground. “We’re in for the fight of our life!” The words no sooner left his mouth than a bullet ripped into Daniel’s shoulder. Blood immediately poured from the wound and his right arm went limp.
Without missing a shot, however, Daniel simply changed arms, firing with the stock against his left shoulder.
Cole heard the screams of children and women coming from behind him. He turned just in time to see a mounted warrior leap over a wagon tongue and enter the camp. Cole turned and fired at the man, dropping him to the ground.
Cole had no sooner refocused on the attack in front of him when a bullet grazed his arm. A burning sensation traveled down into his fingers. Ignoring it, he continued to fire the rifle, stopping only long enough to reload.
“This is hopeless,” Keefer cried just before an arrow pierced the middle of his throat.
Time seemed to stand still after that. Cole saw the despair— the death—in Daniel’s eyes. The injured man slumped, trying to speak, as another bullet caught him in the head. Cole couldn’t even stop long enough to offer him comfort. In the next second, Cole took two arrows himself, both in the chest. They impacted with a dull thud, stunning Cole enough that he dropped his rifle. He stared down momentarily, dazed at the sight of the protrusions.
He gasped for breath. Stretching, he reached for the rifle. It seemed like it had fallen a hundred feet away. He tried to raise it, but the muscles in his arms and chest refused to work. He felt the rifle slip from his fingers as dizziness overtook him.
Cole closed his eyes. He could smell smoke, hear the Sioux war cries.
“Dianne,” he whispered, pulling his revolver from his holster. “Think about Dianne.” The thought gave him strength.
He raised the gun and squeezed off two shots before a Sioux bullet grazed his head. Cole was surprised the pain was only minimal. How many hits could he take before his body gave up?
Cole fell back, the revolver in his hands. Daniel Keefer lay dead not a foot away—his open blank eyes staring at Cole.
The world tilted, first left and then right. Cole looked down at his blood-covered shirt. He touched the arrows, marveling at the skill it must have taken to create such accurate weapons. How strange, he thought, to consider that now—at a time like this.
They were completely overrun now. Cole saw a woman cut down with a tomahawk. The man who’d tried to defend her fell at her side, his body riddle
d with bullets and arrows.
“Dianne,” Cole panted, the pain searing his chest. Breathing seemed a pointless labor, but still he would not die.
And then the world went completely silent. Cole was certain this must be the precursor to death. He listened, hoping to hear angels. His mother had once said that heaven was full of angels singing choruses to God. He wanted to hear the music. Closing his eyes, Cole smiled. He could hear it. He could hear the angel songs.
CHAPTER 8
DIANNE STOOD AT THE TOP OF HER FAVORITE HILL. THE long walk had given her much time to think. September was already upon them, and there was no sign of Cole. She searched the trail that would bring Cole to the ranch, but it was empty. Just as it had been the day before and the day before that.
“Where is he, Father?” she prayed aloud. “I’m so worried about him.”
Aspens in the valley below rustled whispers on the wind, but they offered no comfort. Dianne pushed back strands of unruly blond hair and tucked them under her wide-brimmed hat.
With her hand to shield her eyes further, she strained to see any sign of life on the hills beyond the ranch. She didn’t even see any deer or elk. “Lord, I just want him to come home safe. Please bring him home.”
Dianne knew God cared about her and would definitely hear her prayer, but she also knew that His plans were not always hers. Turning back to gaze upon the ranch, Dianne couldn’t help but smile. Uncle Bram had worked hard all summer to put his plans into motion for the big house.
To Dianne the new house was reminiscent of a palatial mansion she’d once seen in Memphis. The main portion of the house was already in grand order. Bram had hired extra men from Virginia City to help with construction, and when the livestock didn’t require their attention, every hand on the ranch was busy at work on the new house. Dianne had marveled at the transformation.
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