Vestige of Legacy

by Sara Blackard

  Samara lifted her chin in defiance. “Yeah, well, we’ll just have to make sure he veers onto the right path.”

  “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas,” Josephine said as they approached the house and tied their horses to the hitching post.

  Josephine in life did not appear how Samara had pictured her. When Samara had read the story of Josephine and the other women being kidnapped after Nathan Meeker and the rest of the men at the agency had been murdered, Samara had marveled at Josephine’s bravery. Josephine stood her ground against a Ute warrior who held a gun to her face and mocked her. Samara had cheered at finding a woman of strength she could relate to. But this Josephine was not standoffish or guarded like Samara was. Josephine Meeker had a vibrancy that drew people. Samara had watched Josephine dance and laugh with the others, Ute and white, with abandon the night before. Josephine had a childlike enthusiasm for the people and activities around her that Samara couldn’t reconcile with the warrior that lived buried beneath.

  Could one be both joyful through life and aggressive through trial? Could the warrior be put aside, only to be brought out when needed? What would it be like if she didn’t have to always carry the shield weighing her down, keeping others away?

  “I’m so glad you agreed to join us for breakfast before you head out.” Josephine grabbed Samara’s hand and pulled her through the door. “Come have a cup of coffee while Mother and I finish fixing things.”

  “If we have a few minutes, why don’t I take a look at your arm?” Orlando motioned to Mr. Meeker, who nodded and turned to a room at the back of the cabin.

  Samara glanced around the little cabin as Josephine poured her a cup of coffee. It was a tidy cabin with a front room that held the living, dining room, and kitchen in one. There were two doors off the back wall that Samara assumed led to bedrooms. Everything was in order, just like Mrs. Meeker’s tightly-wound hair.

  Samara took the cup Josephine offered and sipped the strong coffee. It definitely wasn’t a venti caramel latte. Its strong, bitter taste made Samara wonder if she ever truly liked coffee or if she liked coffee-flavored sugar and cream. She added two spoons of sugar and a liberal amount of cream to the coffee before she drank any more.

  “Will you be leaving right away?” Josephine flipped the bacon.

  “Yes. A couple of Orlando’s friends are coming with us to work our flock. We left the flock with only the dogs for protection, so we need to get back,” Samara answered.

  “Utes are leaving with you?” Mrs. Meeker asked sharply.

  Mrs. Meeker proved the exact opposite of her daughter. Where a jovial spirit encased Josephine, a bitter shell seemed to have hardened Mrs. Meeker. She had a strength about her appearance with her piercing eyes and her hair pulled back so tightly Samara was surprised the lady’s eyebrows weren’t perpetually up in shock. The two ladies made Samara think about herself. She wanted to have the everyday joy of Josephine with the strength there when needed, but she feared she had become more like Mrs. Meeker, pulled tight and unmoving.

  Footsteps drew Samara out of her musing as Orlando preceded Mr. Meeker out of the bedroom. “If you use the arnica and calendula salve, the bruising and swelling should go down. It’ll take a while to heal with the muscle damaged the way it is, but I don’t think there will be any lasting damage.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thomas. I appreciate you being here and looking at it,” Mr. Meeker answered.

  “Breakfast is ready.” Josephine put a platter of bacon on the table.

  Orlando came and took the seat next to Samara, quickly squeezing her hand that sat tapping on the table. She stopped the nervous motion and smiled at him before returning her attention to the groaning table. One would think they were serving an army with the amount of food laid before them. The Meeker ladies had prepared a heaping platter of scrambled eggs, a whole slab of bacon, mile-high stacks of pancakes, fried potatoes, and a coffee cake. The tantalizing smells caused Samara’s salivary glands to leak and her stomach to rumble loudly.

  Josephine chuckled. “Father, I think you should pray. Mrs. Thomas is wasting away over here.”

  “Thank you, Heavenly Father, for this bountiful breakfast. Let it nourish our bodies so we can do the hard work needed for the day. Amen.” Mr. Meeker’s short prayer cut through the air, his words tinged with bitterness.

  Hands passed platters around the table, and soon Samara’s plate sat gorged before her with more food than she thought she could possibly eat in a day. She wondered how many calories horseback riding burned, figuring the contracting stomach and leg muscles had to count for something. She took a bite of the fluffy eggs and almost moaned in delight. She’d forgotten how much she missed eggs.

  Orlando’s soft chuckle brought her eyes to him. “Looks like I need to scrounge up some chickens before we head home.”

  Samara’s heart filled at how he noticed every little detail about her. She smiled at him. “That would be a great wedding present, Husband.”

  Mrs. Meeker smiled tightly. “That it would. We’ll get some crated up for you. Our present to you. Josephine, go peek your head out and tell one of the men to gather up some chickens.” She turned to her husband. “Mrs. Thomas was just informing us that some of the men were leaving with them.”

  Mr. Meeker placed his fork down with a thunk, searing Orlando with a glare. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Orlando placed his own fork down softly, his voice strong and confident. “I’m conducting an experiment of sorts to see if sheep ranching is a viable commodity for settlers and Indians.”

  “Those filthy animals?” Meeker said with disdain as Josephine came back to the table and sat down.

  “Those filthy animals have wool that can be sold. The animals can be sold for their meat. People can milk them, if one was inclined to. They take two shepherds to watch over them, when cattle take many cowboys. It’s a livestock that has variable applications and will prove to be valuable,” Orlando answered with authority.

  “So you’re expecting the Utes to be your shepherds?”

  “I’m not expecting them to do anything. I asked if they would like to see if it suits them,” Orlando said. Samara marveled at how Orlando remained calm, while she got more riled with every word Mr. Meeker spoke.

  “You can’t trust them. They are dishonest and cowardly. They will either steal your sheep from underneath you or run off at the first sign of trouble.” Meeker stabbed a bite of food and shoved it into his mouth.

  “I’ve lived beside them my entire life and have never found them either of those things. I not only trust Onootee and his brother with my sheep, but I’d trust them with my life,” Orlando answered.

  “I haven’t given permission for them to leave.” Meeker reminded Samara of just how different things were when an entire group of people couldn’t roam freely in their land.

  Orlando’s eyebrow raised in question and a look of contempt flitted quick across his face. “Do I have your permission to take Onootee and his brother with me? I will send reports when I can about their adaptation to shepherding.”

  Mr. Meeker looked at Orlando, the lines around his mouth forming into a deep frown. “I suppose, but you’ll need to be firm with them. You can’t let them get away with anything or they’ll keep pushing.”

  “They aren’t children,” Samara blurted, causing everyone to look at her. “They are intelligent people capable of anything you or I can do.”

  Meeker snorted in derision. “And yet they’ve existed, traipsing here and there, racing their silly ponies. They have nothing to show for their life of toil.” His tone held superiority, as if answering her was beneath him.

  Samara twisted the napkin in her hands to keep from slapping Mr. Meeker, which became a serious possibility the longer he spoke. Still, a passionate reply escaped anyway. “You wish them to live as farmers, dependent on the flippancy of nature where one bad year of drought or floods could leave them to starve through the winter. The life you wish to push them in is just as toilsome
as how they’ve lived for thousands of years. The only difference is they love the life they know, where the life of a farmer is a heavy weight upon their shoulders.”

  Mr. Meeker’s face pinked with anger. “The Utes’ wandering days are over. They cannot be allowed to roam outside of their allotted area, especially as more settlers come in to claim the open land in Colorado. The US government has graciously given this land to the Utes. It is prime land that can be used to benefit the tribe much if they would just yield. Yet they continue to go off on hunting parties. They continue to keep thousands of ponies and race them to and fro across land perfect for crops. They will yield to my authority or they will be sent to the Indian territory. I’ve already talked to the governor, and he is in agreement with me.”

  “Those ponies are their heritage. They were the first Indians to ever get horses, giving them an advantage over the other tribes. It’s a matter of honor having them,” Orlando’s calm voice began to grate on Samara’s nerves.

  “Those ponies will be sold or destroyed by the end of the year. Shadrach Price will begin tilling that so-called racetrack later this week.” So much hate laced Mr. Meeker’s voice, Samara was surprised he didn’t choke on it.

  “You do that and you’re asking for trouble.” Orlando spoke low.

  “As long as those ponies are here, the Utes won’t ever yield,” Mr. Meeker replied.

  “Tensions are already high,” Orlando countered. “If you dig up that field and get rid of their horses, you’ll be throwing a match on a barrel of gun powder. There are plenty of other areas you could till for fields. If you show your willingness to compromise in this, the Utes will be more likely to follow your lead and relations can be mended.”

  “There will be no compromising. If I give one inch, they will never relinquish,” Mr. Meeker replied.

  “Please, please think about what you’re saying,” Samara begged. “This whole area is teeming with soil rich for farming. Please choose a different field. Any area would be better than the racetrack.”

  Samara glanced around the table. Josephine’s head bowed where she picked at her eggs. Mrs. Meeker glared at Samara over the pancakes. Mr. Meeker’s face was such a brilliant shade of red Samara thought for sure he’d collapse from a heart attack or something. Samara inwardly pulled back and shielded herself from the rage and hate that shifted across Mr. Meeker’s face.

  “Why are you so insistent? What have they told you?” Mr. Meeker’s tone was cold and guarded.

  “Nathan, they’ve told me nothing you don’t already know.” Orlando held Meeker’s gaze firmly. “Your trip to Denver, the governor requesting the Indian Bureau to move the people to Indian Territory, your article in the Denver Tribune—”

  “I didn’t write that article for the Denver Tribune,” Mr. Meeker insisted.

  “Whether you wrote it or not isn’t the issue. Your name’s connected to it, and all that has happened this summer has created mistrust among the Utes.” Orlando’s steady voice calmed Samara, and she hoped it was calming Mr. Meeker as well. “The Utes trusted you once, Nathan. Remind them of the man who fulfilled the government’s promises and gave them hope. I don’t think it’s too late to bury the hatchet.”

  “I’ll fulfill the governments promises alright, the promises to cart them off if they don’t do as I say,” Mr. Meeker replied stubbornly.

  “Then I guess our time here is through.” Orlando stood. “Thank you, Mrs. Meeker, Miss Josephine, for a delicious breakfast. Mr. Meeker, send someone for me if your arm gets worse. I’ll be sure to send reports about the success of sheep ranching for your consideration.”

  Orlando helped Samara up. She knew her face was frozen in shock, but she couldn’t seem to force her eyebrows to lower. She gave a tight smile to the Meekers and allowed Orlando to lead her out. Her shock quickly turned to frustration at the man beside her.

  When they’d stepped onto the porch and Orlando pulled the door closed, Samara ripped her arm out of his grasp. “What are you doing? He hasn’t changed his mind yet.”

  Orlando peered at her, sadness etched upon his face. “Samara, he’s not going to change his mind, and anything more we say will only make the matter worse.”

  “You can’t know that. We have to try harder.”

  “It’s too late, Samara. He’s already hardened his heart toward the Utes.” Orlando gazed across the village, his face shadowed with grief.

  “Lots of men are going to die, Orlando. These people, your friends, are going to be forced onto the reservation. How can you not try harder to save them? How can you just give up on them like that?” Samara’s voice cracked.

  “Did you not see his face, Samara? Did you not hear his words? If I continued to push, he would take action immediately. Any hope would be gone. I need to talk to Chief Johnson before we go, then we need to leave before Meeker changes his mind to allow Onootee and his brother to leave.”

  Samara’s heart shattered at his words. Was he really willing to abandon these people, turn away from them when they needed a champion? Samara peered around at the children that darted between the tepees, at the old women sitting before fires laughing, and the men that worked in the fields the agency had planted. All these people’s lives would be irrevocably changed by the end of the month if she didn’t do something.

  As she surveyed the people with a heavy heart, a handsome young, white man with hair the same deep red as hers approached carrying a wooden cage filled with chickens. She was barely aware of the door to the Meeker’s cabin opening behind her as rage filled her fast and hot.

  The man wore a big smile. “I was told to bring you chick—”

  “You.” Samara pointed her finger at him and descended the two porch stairs in a rush. The man’s smile faded a bit. “You are the one who got that poor native girl pregnant, then tossed her aside like used refuse.”

  All color drained from the man’s face as a gasp sounded from the porch.

  “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady,” the man replied, defiance overriding the guilt that resided on his face.

  “You’re lying, unless there’s another man around with hair the color of mine. That young woman practically attacked me when she looked at my hair.” Samara noticed that a crowd had formed and were murmuring. Sparrow stood at the edge of the crowd, her face wide in shock.

  “Billy, is this true?” Josephine asked from the porch.

  “No. I don’t know what this crazy woman is saying.” Billy set the cage down, crossed his arms, and glared at Samara.

  Orlando grabbed her elbow and gently pulled. She ripped her arm from his grasp and sent him a scorching look. If he didn’t want to protect these people, then she was going to do everything she could to. Samara took a step forward and closed the space between her and Billy to a couple steps.

  “How many other native women have you seduced only to leave them when you got bored?” Samara’s voice came out hard and menacing.

  The murmuring increased like a beehive being poked. Billy glanced around and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Sweat dripped from his forehead and trailed down his cheek.

  “Billy, come on in. I need to talk with you.” Mr. Meeker called to Billy from the doorway of his cabin, his face stern and dark as he glared at Samara.

  Billy pushed past Samara, knocking into her harder than necessary as he rushed to the cabin. Samara turned to follow, but Orlando grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  “I think you’ve caused enough of a problem already.” Orlando’s voice was full of regret as he nodded his head to the angry crowd. He leaned closer and whispered. “What were you thinking? We came to calm the situation.”

  “That man needs to be held accountable for his actions toward Sparrow’s cousin.” The strength of her voice wavered as she peered at the people milling and throwing angry looks at the Meeker’s cabin.

  “Yes, you’re right, he should be held responsible.” Orlando leaned closer and lowered his voice so only she could he
ar. “But you forget, you’re not in your time. Unless Meeker can get that kid out of here and I can talk the crowd down, you just sealed that boy’s fate of being scalped.”

  With that Orlando turned and stomped toward the crowd to talk with the men gathered there. Sparrow stood staring at Samara, sorrow weighing her delicate and normally joyful countenance down. Sparrow’s shoulders sagged as she turned and trudged away. What had Samara just done? Where her parents’ legacy had built a community up in love, hers looked to destroy as her own rage and hurt spewed onto the world.

  Chapter 18

  Orlando sighed at the sight of his cabin. His soul dragged from the weariness that clung to him since the morning before. Not only had he let Samara down by not being able to convince Meeker to change his mind, but he’d rushed around trying to appease the elders and convince them not to kill that stupid young man.

  Orlando kicked himself the entire two-day trip home for riling at Samara like he had. She hadn’t deserved it, and he now saw the weight of his words hanging from Samara’s shoulders where they slumped. She hadn’t known calling Billy out for his indiscretions would add more fuel to the inferno. She’d simply wanted to right a terrible wrong that caused a young woman to fall into such deep despair.

  When he’d calmed the situation as much as he could, he’d found Samara begging Sparrow to forgive her. Sparrow, of course, had extended forgiveness immediately, embracing his wife with a hug that overflowed with sisterly love. He had made Sparrow promise to send for him if there were any problems with the pregnancy. Though they’d left with the note of forgiveness ringing in the air, Samara had yet to come out from beneath the cloak of despair he’d carelessly flung on her.

  A figure came from the cabin and waved. Orlando turned to Samara, the fatigue lifting. “Beatrice is here.”

  Samara’s mouth lifted slightly but didn’t reach her eyes. He turned his attention back to his sister, vowing he’d do whatever it took to bring Samara’s smile back to her eyes. As they rode into the yard, Orlando watched confusion and intrigue play upon his sister’s face. She surveyed Samara from head to toe, then peered at Orlando, her eyebrow raising in question and a playful smile emerging upon her lips. Orlando threw his reins at her, dismounted, and moved to Samara. He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off, pulling her close to him as he did.