The Coming Storm

by Tracie Peterson

  Dianne thought for a moment. If her arm hadn’t been broken, she might actually have helped Levi with his duties. “I guess you can put the bulk of it in the storage room. I know Faith said we needed more sugar, so you might just bring a bag in here, and I’ll let her know where it is. Oh, and leave some coffee here as well.”

  He nodded and turned to go. “I almost forgot.” He dug into his coat pocket. “You had a couple of letters. Well, actually one. One’s for Cole.”

  Dianne’s heart began to pound. A letter? Could Cole have written? She went to Levi quickly and took the letters in hand. She looked at the first and noted it was from Morgan. The second one was from the Selbys, addressed to their son. “Thank you,” she managed to say before hurrying from the room.

  Her heart was in her throat as she went into the front room and took a seat. Surely if Cole were able to write, he would have at least kept in touch with his parents. Even if he’d forsaken the idea of marrying Dianne, he would have written his family.

  Putting Morgan’s letter aside, Dianne made the decision to open the letter from Cole’s parents. After all, they would need to know the truth—if the truth could be learned.

  Dianne struggled one-handed to open the envelope. She pushed the single sheet of paper open and scanned the lines.

  Dearest son,

  You haven’t written since leaving, and we wanted very much to know of your safe arrival.

  The rest of the letter blurred before Dianne’s eyes. It almost seemed as if the letter, pleading for correspondence and assurance of safety, was a confirmation of Cole’s demise. He hadn’t written his parents since leaving Kansas. The letter mentioned his promise to post a note upon his arrival in Virginia City, but excused it, supposing that the post might have been destroyed by Indians.

  Dianne hugged the letter to her breast. He’s dead, isn’t he, Lord? My Cole is dead.

  CHAPTER 21

  “LOOK, NED, YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HER. SHE COULD BE lying, for all you know.” Trenton had tried for over a week to reason with his friend, but to no avail.

  “You can’t possibly understand. I’m in love with her.”

  Trenton nearly dropped the glass he held. “You’re what?” His tone was incredulous.

  Ned shook his head and put aside the ledger he’d been working on. “She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman. Beautiful, kind, gracious, generous. That’s really all I need to know.”

  “That’s not all you need to know. At least check into her story.” Trenton had thought for days that his friend should hire someone to collect information on the young widow. “Find out if her mother really died in the Clarkston Sanitarium like she said. Find out who her husband was and if he’s really dead. Better yet, find out if she was ever really married.”

  “Gracious, Chadwick, but you’re a doubting soul. Where would you be if I’d taken that attitude with you? I’m hardly in the habit of investigating my choices of friends. What if I’d awakened after my attack and thought you to be one of my attackers instead of my salvation?”

  Trenton instantly felt a wave of guilt. It was true. He didn’t deserve a place in the life of this gentleman, given his past. But maybe that was why he felt so intensely regarding Portia Mc-Guire.

  “But love, Ned? How can you honestly believe yourself in love with the woman?” Trenton tossed back the remaining contents of his glass, then put it aside. He crossed the room to where Ned had begun to pace.

  “Trenton, when I look at her, my heart begins to pound and my breath is suddenly stolen from me.”

  Trenton laughed, trying hard to lessen the severity of his earlier tone. “Sounds like something to see the doctor about.”

  “I’ve never met a woman like her, Trenton.” Ned’s words seemed accentuated with each step. He walked to the hotel window of their suite and gazed out into the night. “She makes me feel alive. I care about where she is and what she’s doing. I can’t help but wonder if at this very moment perhaps she’s gazing out her window as well. And maybe, just maybe, she’s thinking of me.” He turned and shrugged. “I can’t help it. I’m in love.”

  “But she’s just recently widowed,” Trenton said, trying a different approach. “And as you’ve pointed out on other occasions, she’s a woman of some decorum and breeding—despite her father being in the army. But that aside, she isn’t going to consider giving her heart to anyone so soon after losing her husband.”

  “Yes, but the loss of her mother has sent her seeking comfort,” Ned said, as though going through the logic of solving a very difficult mathematical equation. “She was used to the comfort her husband could offer. Therefore, it seems reasonable that she seek male companionship and solace now. I cannot deny her that, nor can I expect her to hold to some silly tradition of rules that says she must suffer and linger in her widowhood until enough time has passed. That would be cruel.”

  Trenton shook his head and tried yet another tactic. “But what if she plans to stay in Bozeman with her father?”

  “She won’t. She hates her father.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Ned shrugged. “She told me so. She told me he was seldom a part of their lives. She mentioned it just yesterday when we ran across each other in the hotel lobby.”

  Trenton had no idea Ned had been left alone with Portia McGuire. He knew Ned was a man full grown, but he somehow felt responsible for keeping him from harm. “I just think it would be wise to know a little bit more about her before we go traipsing off to the wilds of Montana. But more than this, I think you should definitely give strong consideration to who she is and what she believes in before you let your heart carry you away.”

  “You are certainly no romantic, Chadwick,” Ned declared with a frown. “Haven’t you ever been in love?”

  “I haven’t had time for love.”

  “Well, neither had I, until now. I can tell you this, ol’ boy, we’re missing out on a very fine arrangement.”

  Trenton realized the conversation was going nowhere and quickly changed the topic. “So when have you and Mrs. Mc-Guire planned for us to leave?”

  Ned smiled. “As soon as possible. We’ll take the stage to Cheyenne and then enjoy the train to Utah. After that, we’ll again take the stage and journey to Virginia City.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out. I doubt you need me to come along.”

  Ned laughed. “But of course I need you there. It wouldn’t look fitting for me to travel alone with Mrs. McGuire. And frankly, you know me to be a man of action, therefore I went to work immediately on planning the arrangements. I’ve already purchased your ticket for the stage to Cheyenne. No sense in heading out blind.”

  “But that’s what you’re doing with Portia McGuire.”

  Ned came and slapped Trenton on the back. “Oh, Trent, you must learn to relax and have fun. Find some nice young woman and fall in love. You’ll see. It’s just the thing to change a man’s perspective.”

  Trenton eyed his friend seriously. He didn’t know why he cared about Ned. He should have just told him he’d make his own way to Montana and let it be done. After all, Trenton had a good horse and saddle, guns, and a nice wad of earnings from his gaming nights. He really didn’t need Ned—not to accomplish getting to Montana.

  Still, he cringed every time he thought of Portia McGuire getting Ned alone. Given the state of mind the poor man was in, he’d no doubt go proposing before the week was out, and where would that leave any of them?

  “So what’s the plan at Virginia City?” Trenton finally asked, feeling defeat overcome him.

  “Well, first we’ll find out where that uncle of yours lives. After all, you said it was supposed to be somewhere near Virginia City. Then we can get directions to Bozeman and Fort Ellis.”

  “All right.”

  Ned poured them both another drink. “Don’t sound so resigned, Trenton. This is all going to work out very well. You’ll see.”

  Cole knew the Blackfoot were more than a little fru
strated by the recent turn of events. For the last six months they’d been on the run from an army of soldiers who seemed to doggedly pursue no matter which direction they went. The Blackfoot were more cunning and capable, however. They knew the territory and how to navigate secret passages that eluded the soldiers.

  The Blackfoot man who spoke English often visited with Cole in the evenings. He called himself White Tongue, telling Cole it was a name given him by his tribal members. It wasn’t, however, his real name. Cole had asked about his real name, but White Tongue seemed to feel it unimportant. What did seem important to the man was his unusual interest in Cole and his life on the ranch. Cole in turn had learned from the man that the Blackfoot hoped to trade Cole back to the whites for the return of one of their chiefs.

  “If they will give us Mountain Fire,” White Tongue told him, “we will hand you over.”

  “Who is this Mountain Fire?” Cole asked. He’d tried hard to be patient with his plight, but he was constantly looking for a means of escape. Unfortunately, the Blackfoot seemed to anticipate this and kept him under continual guard.

  “He’s a powerful holy man. We need him in order to have victory over our enemies. He keeps us from defeat and harm.”

  “Only the true God can do that,” Cole interjected.

  White Tongue looked at him oddly. “How can you believe in your God when He didn’t keep you from falling into the hands of the Sioux? You were nearly killed by them, and now you’re here with our people.”

  Cole wondered if the man’s heart would be open to hearing the truth. He had come to like White Tongue in spite of this captivity, and he honestly wished the man might come to know God.

  “Knowing God—believing in Him—doesn’t mean we will never encounter harm,” Cole said honestly.

  “Then why believe in Him? If His power is so limited—if He is not strong enough to keep you from the hands of your enemy—then what good is He?”

  Cole picked up some pemmican and ate it slowly while he pondered White Tongue’s question. “I don’t serve God only in times of prosperity and safety. I trust Him to know what is best for me. Sometimes others interfere with God’s plans—sometimes I do—but it’s never a matter of God not being strong enough or powerful. It’s a matter of choice. God gives man a choice. You may choose to believe in Him and follow His ways, or you may deny Him and go along your own path. Either way, you can’t ignore Him and do nothing.”

  White Tongue seemed to consider this for a moment. “My sister believes in your God. She has suffered greatly. I do not see that her God cares.”

  Cole leaned back, nodding. “Sometimes it’s hard. Like now—with me here. All I truly want is to be back home so I can marry my girl and raise a family. I want to ranch and learn what I need to know to be productive and useful. Instead, I’m here learning the ways of your people. I don’t know why God would put me in this situation, but here I am.”

  “And you do not question Him for this?”

  Cole chuckled. “Of course I question Him. I’ve asked Him about a million times why this happened.”

  “And what does He tell you?”

  Cole could see the interest in the warrior’s eyes. “He tells me to trust Him. To wait patiently.”

  “Bah! Those are the actions of women. A man must be in charge of his world. He must be a leader—strong, fearless.”

  “But without God, it would all be meaningless,” Cole declared. “Jesus came into this world as a baby, not in charge and certainly not strong or fearless. He came to show us that the way to God is through Him. If we turn from our wickedness and accept that Jesus is the way, we can have eternal life.”

  “But a life of eternity as someone’s prisoner? What kind of life is that?” White Tongue asked.

  “My life here is temporal, at best,” Cole declared, and for the first time in months he began to understand something that had eluded him. These troubles truly were light and momentary afflictions. He would live or die and then be gone, and only the things he did for God would remain. It was all about the way in which he looked at life—at his life.

  “The Bible says we’re just a mist—a vapor. We’re here one day and gone the next. My heart’s desire is to live a life worthy of God’s praise. I want to hear Him say that I did my job well,” Cole admitted.

  “What job do you speak of?”

  Cole shrugged. “The job of serving Him.”

  A commotion arose outside the tent, and White Tongue quickly jumped to his feet. “I’ll be back. Stay here.”

  Cole wondered if this might be his chance to escape. As if reading his mind, White Tongue turned at the opening to the tepee. “Don’t even try to leave. There are those in this camp who would just as soon the Sioux had killed you.” With that he left.

  Cole went to the opening and peered out to see what was happening. A group of men had gathered, and with them came women and children. Cole listened to the excited declaration of one young man. He understood most of what was said, enough to know that something had gone wrong in the negotiations with the army. Apparently two of the party had been killed and the others had barely escaped. They feared the army was going to follow and might have even hired a scout to follow them back to the camp.

  Cole shook his head. No doubt this meant they would pack up and be on the move within the next hour. Every time they moved, he felt certain it took him farther and farther from Dianne.

  Cole went back to his place in the lodge and wondered what he should do. It seemed like a good time to run, but White Tongue was the kind of man who would pursue him for the sake of pride, if nothing else.

  Nearly half an hour later Cole looked up as White Tongue came through the door. “What’s going on?” he asked, hoping the news might be better than he’d understood it to be.

  “I’m sure you heard most of it. Your Blackfoot is good,” the man replied.

  Cole shrugged. “I’d still like to hear it from you.”

  “Two of our warriors were killed. The soldiers are on their way. We’ll break camp and head west.”

  Cole sighed. “I suppose you’ll bind me.”

  White Tongue shook his head. “No. I think you’re an honorable man. I believe you’ll come with me and do what I tell you to do.”

  Cole jumped to his feet. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re going with me. We’re breaking into several groups. The people will come together on the Bear River.”

  “The Bear?”

  White Tongue nodded. “You call it the Marias.”

  “Ah, yes,” Cole said. “Are we far?”

  White Tongue ignored the question and motioned to the buffalo robe Cole had carried with him since the Sioux. “Gather your things. We leave in a few minutes.”

  A sense of excitement ran through Cole like a prairie fire. The Marias was quite a ways north of the Madison Valley, but nevertheless, Cole knew he could find his way home—if he got that close.

  He began to reason in his mind how he might get the upper hand with his Indian companion. White Tongue was a powerful warrior, well muscled and highly trained. He wouldn’t suffer defeat easily.

  “Come,” White Tongue commanded when he returned. “I have horses waiting.”

  Cole whispered a prayer and followed the warrior to a small but broad-chested Indian pony. All around them was an organized chaos of women and children, elderly and animals. The warriors appeared to have gone—at least most of them. Cole knew the men would probably try to draw the soldiers away from the village in order to give the others more time to break camp. What few warriors remained were busy with instructing those around them.

  “It’s never easy to run,” White Tongue said, looking back with an expression of regret. “But it has come to be a way of life.”

  Cole mounted the horse without waiting to be instructed. He looked to White Tongue for further instruction, but there was none. The man simply jumped upon his horse’s back and jerked his head to the left. “We go this way.”

&n
bsp; They rode fast and hard for miles. Cole admired the endurance of the ponies and of the warrior. It was the New Grass Moon, April to the whites, and the chill of winter was still upon Montana. As the sun moved to the west, Cole wondered if they would make camp—and if they would meet up with any of the others.

  White Tongue didn’t seem inclined to slow their progress, much less to speak, so Cole remained silent. In the back of his mind, however, a plan began to take form. He didn’t like the idea of harming the Blackfoot man, but if need be, Cole would do what he had to do. He would do anything necessary to finally get home to Dianne. He had waited long enough.

  CHAPTER 22

  IT WAS LATE WHEN TAKES MANY HORSES FINALLY STOPPED beside a river. “We’ll camp here tonight,” he told Cole. He watched the white man survey the area, as if trying to figure out how an escape might best be accomplished. If the situation had been other than it was, Takes Many Horses might have let the matter play out, just to see what the man chose to do.

  The Blackfoot warrior dismounted. “Let’s make a fire, and then I have something very important to tell you. I’ll take care of the horses; you gather wood.”

  Cole Selby eyed him curiously, then dismounted. He left the pony with the man, then went toward the river, where the brush was quite thick.

  Takes Many Horses watched him for a moment, wondering if Cole would be stupid enough to make a run for it. Hopefully not. The man seemed reasonably intelligent. He’d have to know that it would be almost impossible to get far from the camp on foot. He’d also have to believe that Takes Many Horses would come after him.

  Contemplating these things, Takes Many Horses cared for 8 the ponies. He couldn’t help but wonder how Cole would take the news he was about to share. For months he’d tried to negotiate Cole’s release without seeming too interested in the man. He didn’t want to arouse suspicions that Cole meant more to him than any other white man. Otherwise, there could be all sorts of trouble.

  The council, however, wouldn’t hear Takes Many Horses’ arguments that it was bad medicine to keep Cole. They were confident Cole would be their best chance of getting the army to release Mountain Fire. Now two more of the Real People were dead at the hands of the white seizers, and the rest of the people were on the run. Bad medicine indeed.