When Jim returned, a frightened Asa Green was at his side, exclaiming nervously, “Jus’ look at him. He looks dead already.”
“Oh, hush, Asa!” Sarah ordered. “Joseph’s going to be just fine. He needs rest and lots of good care. And we’re going to give him both. Now let’s get him out of here.” Jim and Asa held the stretcher while the doctor and Sarah moved Joseph as gently as possible.
As they went out the door and maneuvered the stairs to the ground floor, the doctor saw that a small crowd of townspeople had gathered. He took the opportunity to advertise, calling down, “You have any questions at all about his care, you just call. Day or night. I’m always available to help in any emergency.”
Jim answered grimly, “Sure thing, Doc. We all know just how ready to help you are.” His eyes met Sarah’s and neither one smiled.
“Let’s walk him home,” Jim suggested. “I don’t think jostling him any more in that wagon is a good idea.”
Jim and Asa carried Joseph to his small room behind the livery. Sarah plumped his pillow and smoothed his sheets. After the still form was tucked in and a candle lit, the trio stood outside the door, talking in low tones.
Asa urged, “Better telegraph Miz Hathaway to come home.”
Sarah shook her head. “No, Asa. Joseph would never forgive us for ruining her and LisBeth’s holiday. By the time they could get home, we’ll know if Joseph—” her voice quavered slightly. “We’ll know. Either way, their coming home won’t make any difference.”
Jim agreed. “Can you run the livery, Asa?”
Asa smiled confidently. “Joseph been teachin’ me everything he knows ’bout horses and all. I can do it all.”
“I’ll take care of Joseph,” Jim said.
Sarah looked up at Jim admiringly. “You’re the man Joseph told us about. You’re Jim Callaway. Joseph said you were doing wonderful things for the homestead. He likes you a lot, you know.”
Jim was uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and addressed Asa again. “Asa, can you ride out to the place and bring that chestnut back into town?”
“That wild so-and-so,” Asa muttered. “Joseph can gentle anything with four legs. But that chestnut, he’s been trouble since day one. He ain’t worth bringin’ back.”
“Maybe so, but he belongs to Joseph, and we need to see that he’s cared for until Joseph can make a decision about him.”
Asa nodded agreement. “I’ll bring him in.”
“He’s probably mad with thirst. I didn’t do a thing but leave him standing in that stall, heaving and snorting.”
Asa reassured Jim. “I’ll take care of it, Mr. Callaway.”
Jim jerked his head from side to side. “None of that, Asa. I’m just plain Jim Callaway. Just Jim’ll do.”
Sarah peeked in at Joseph. “I’ll bring you water, and some supper. I’ll be back soon.” She hurried out the back door of the livery and across the yard to the kitchen. Worrying over Joseph Freeman and preparing supper for the hotel guests kept her young mind and hands busy for the next few hours. But when she had washed the last supper dish and sent Tom across the yard with a bedroll for Jim, she sat in Augusta’s rocker with half-closed eyes, thinking about Jim—“just plain Jim Callaway.”
Jim spent the night listening for Joseph’s breathing. Just after midnight it took on an unsteady, gravelly sound. Jim bolted up and was at the bedside immediately, lighting a lamp and peering anxiously into his friend’s face.
“You live, Joseph Freeman,” Jim whispered earnestly. “You hear me? You live.” Joseph complied. His breathing regained its restful rhythm, and Jim sank back down onto his pallet, not yet realizing that in that moment he had taken his first step back to humanity. Joseph Freeman had reached across the darkness of Jim’s past and pulled him back to caring.
Chapter 10
If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink.
John 7:37
Winona sat in Prairie Flower’s tent, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Tell me what to do, Prairie Flower,” the young girl begged. “I do not want to go to the Grandmother’s Land. I want to be with Soaring Eagle. Always I have wanted to be with him.” She wiped away the tears and continued, “But my father and mother say they will go with Sitting Bull. Soaring Eagle says nothing. He hunts and works his ponies. He walks through camp like a man asleep.” Winona bowed her head and hugged her knees. “He won’t even look at me.”
Prairie Flower sat across from the young woman and listened sympathetically. With a sigh she reached over and covered Winona’s young hands with her own gnarled ones. “You are a fine young woman. Any of the braves would find a good wife in you. But,” Prairie Flower sighed again, “I fear that this is not to be.”
Prairie Flower continued. “It is not you, Winona. It is him. Soaring Eagle knows that because of what happened at the Greasy Grass, the whites will never rest until we are all at the agency. They want what they call the Black Hills. They will never rest until they get them. That Jim Callaway told him there are more soldiers than we can ever fight. He said that there are enough soldiers to kill us all. He said they will not stop until they have what they want.” Prairie Flower’s voice grew sadder as she spoke. She stopped speaking for a moment to gather her thoughts, but she continued to hold Winona’s hands in her own.
At last she continued. “Winona, you should go with your parents to the Grandmother’s Land.”
Winona interrupted her defiantly, “I want to be where Soaring Eagle is! I want to go with him. I will cook for him and take care of his tepee—and you. And when he dies, I will die with him!”
It was the brash speech of youth, but Prairie Flower considered the words as if they came from the wisest woman in the village. Slowly she replied. “Winona, I do not think you want to watch someone you love die.”
Winona began to cry again. “Better that than to never see him again!”
Just at that moment, Soaring Eagle entered the tepee. It was evident by the way he looked from woman to woman that he had heard their conversation. He settled on the earth beside Winona and took her hand in his. Her young heart beat quickly.
“Winona,” he began. “My sister. You must go north with Sitting Bull. Perhaps you will find peace there.”
She tried to interrupt him, but he held up his hand to silence her. “Hear me now. Of all the young women in this village, if I were to choose one to wrap in my buffalo robe, it would be you.” Winona held her breath, collecting every word.
“But this is not a time for beginning a family. This is a time of dying for our people. There was a victory dance after the Greasy Grass, but inside each dancer there was the knowledge that the victory would be a short one. Jim Callaway said that the victory on the Greasy Grass would be our destruction. I hated hearing those words, but I believe he is right. Winona,” Soaring Eagle said bitterly, “I see a beautiful young woman before me, but in my heart I wonder when the soldiers will come and take her for themselves. I see children playing in the village, but in my heart I wonder when the soldiers will come to kill them. I see the buffalo on the prairie, and I wonder when the hunters will succeed in killing them all so that we starve.”
He took a deep breath and continued. “Our ways are ending. I will not run away from death when it comes to find me. And,” he looked deep into her tear-filled eyes, “I will not take you with me to find death.”
Soaring Eagle stood up and left abruptly. He stayed away from the tepee until late that night. When he finally returned, Prairie Flower sat alone by the fire. He joined her, and she looked up, smiling kindly. He reached for a stick and stirred the fire. “Some of the others are leaving for the south tomorrow. I will go with them.” As if it were an afterthought, he added, “You have been a mother to me, Prairie Flower. But I would not take Winona with me, and I will not ask you to go if you wish to find peace in the Grandmother’s Land.”
Prairie Flower stretched out her hands toward the fire. “These hands wrapped you in clean fawn skin when you were a baby.” She point
ed to his scarred cheek. “These hands cleansed that wound. These hands did the beadwork on your moccasins. They helped to bury your father. These hands signed ‘love’ to Walks the Fire one night when she gave me the cross that you wear. When the time comes, these hands will be there to wrap your body in your buffalo robe and raise it on a scaffold.” Prairie Flower flexed her fingers and folded her hands in her lap. Then she said simply, “Bring the dun-colored pony to me in the morning. I will strike the tepee.”
The next morning, Sitting Bull’s ever-shrinking band headed north for the Medicine Road in search of peace. As they walked, Sitting Bull sang the song he said he had learned from a wolf:
I am a lonely wolf, wandering pretty nearly all over the world.
He, he, he!
What is the matter? I am having a hard time, Friend.
This is what I tell you: you: will have to do also.
Whatever I want, I always get it.
You name will be big, as mine is big. Hiu! Hiu!
As the band topped a rise, Winona turned to look behind her. It was too late. Soaring Eagle and the others had already disappeared behind a ridge to the southeast.
To his surprise, Soaring Eagle did not meet up with soldiers. His small band wandered the vast prairie for weeks, living in the old way, enjoying peace. No one mentioned the fact that they seemed to be heading ever closer to the agencies. Game was scarce, and winter’s approach was ominously near. It would be another starving time.
Rising early one morning, Soaring Eagle rode out alone to seek the spirits’ guidance. He had gone only a short distance when the sight of a thin plume of smoke curling into the morning sky piqued his curiosity. He urged his pony to a canter, covering the few miles between him and the campsite quickly. At the foot of the last rise, he dismounted and crawled cautiously up the mound of earth to peer over the top. Below him was a lone tepee made of old skins that hung stiffly from a few short poles. Dozens of strips of meat hung from drying racks around the campfire.
Springing onto his pony’s back, he rode forward cautiously. When the tepee’s owner signed a friendly greeting, Soaring Eagle relaxed.
The stranger called out, “Welcome, my brother. Come and eat. The hunt has been good.”
Soaring Eagle dismounted and replied, “The whites have spoiled the land for hunting. In all of my village there is not this much meat. What spirits helped you find so much?”
The stranger was tall and lean. He was Indian, but his hair was cropped short. At Soaring Eagle’s question, he sat on the ground, motioning for Soaring Eagle to join him. The two attacked the pot of stew bubbling over the campfire before the stranger responded.
“I am called John Thundercloud. There is only one Spirit, my friend. He is the Spirit of the One who made all that we see around us.” Thundercloud licked his fingers before continuing. “It is true that there is much less game now. I am sad to see things change. God has made me swift, like the deer. He has made me good with a gun. Once, I got twelve ducks in only three shots.”
Soaring Eagle looked doubtful but didn’t want to insult his host. The stew was too good. “My father was a great hunter,” he ventured, nodding toward the rifle that leaned against the tepee, “but he never had one of those sticks to help him.”
John Thundercloud smiled. “That is one of the good things that came with the white men.”
Soaring Eagle spat angrily. “The price we pay for easier hunting is too high.”
Thundercloud shrugged. “You are one of the wild Lakota. Tell me, how is your life?”
Between bites, Soaring Eagle described the fruitless hunt for food and his band’s lack of readiness for winter, ending with, “It will be another starving time.”
“It does not have to be that way,” the stranger said quietly. “Come with me. You will have food.”
“Come with you to some agency?” Soaring Eagle shook his head. “Give up my ponies? I have a fine herd. They belonged to my father, who gentled his stallion when we were free men.”
Thundercloud changed the subject. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, pointing to the locket and the gold cross. “These are from whites.”
Soaring Eagle answered simply. “This,” he touched the cross, “was worn by my mother.” He opened the locket, motioning to Jesse’s likeness. “She was taken from us. I think this other one is my sister. She was born after my mother left us. They walk with the whites now.”
John Thundercloud didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he began talking softly. “My brother, I hear bitterness and hatred in your voice. A man cannot live long with such feelings. I have told you that one Spirit helped me hunt this meat. You tell me that your people are hungry. I want to give you this meat. When you go, we will pack it onto the back of that dark pony over there. It will be my gift to you so that you will not have a starving time this winter.”
Soaring Eagle looked about him in disbelief. “I have nothing to give you in return.”
“Give me your ears while I tell you about the Spirit who led you to me today.” Thundercloud smiled. “But first, let us hunt together.”
They finished the stew, and Thundercloud unfolded himself and stretched. Disappearing inside the tepee, he emerged with an old bow and arrows in hand. “I think I would like to hunt in the old way today.”
When they returned from the hunt, they had a pony laden with fresh meat. It took the better part of the day to skin and clean the carcasses. Another rack had to be built for drying, and by sundown the two were sitting by a dying campfire and Soaring Eagle found himself telling John Thundercloud stories from his own youth. Living in the past, Soaring Eagle relaxed. The bitter lines around his mouth faded. His eyes softened as he told of his parents sitting around the campfire reading from what they called the “God-book.” Thundercloud’s eyes shone with interest. He interrupted Soaring Eagle. “And what did you think when they read that book?”
Soaring Eagle shrugged. “I liked hearing the stories.” Soaring Eagle sighed with regret. “Those were good days. They are gone now.”
“Is that all it was for you, stories from a strange people?”
Soaring Eagle pondered his response. The question hung between them and Thundercloud waited patiently. Finally, Soaring Eagle said, “I still have the book they read. Sometimes I wish for someone to read the stories to me again. Now that I am a man, perhaps I could understand why it meant so much to Rides the Wind and Walks the Fire.”
John Thundercloud took the conversation over. “My brother, earlier today I told you that you could pay me for the meat if you would give me your ears to listen. I was not always called John Thundercloud. In the days of my youth, I was Kills Two. I killed the first two whites I ever saw. I hated them for what I saw them doing to our people.”
“And now you live where they tell you to live and eat what they give you.”
Thundercloud ignored the sarcasm in the voice. “Now I live on the Santee Agency. I have eighty acres that I am learning to farm so I can feed myself in a way that will not make war. I want to live at peace. I want to grow old with my wife and see my children have children. At the agency, there is a mission with a school and a church. I am what they call pastor of the church. That means I teach those who come about God.” As he spoke, Thundercloud watched Soaring Eagle carefully.
“My brother, I cannot set you free to hunt the hills as we did in our youth. I cannot pay to buy back the land that the whites have stolen from you. But I can tell you of One who set me free to know peace even though these things have happened.”
Soaring Eagle spat in the dust. “You have been fooled by some white man to believe in his god.”
John Thundercloud refused to be insulted. “I thought as you once, my brother. But I learned that this God is not just the white man’s God. He often lived as we do—beneath the sky, cooking His food over an open fire—traveling with a small band of friends. And He was not white when He walked the earth. He was dark—more like the Lakota than the whites.”
&nb
sp; Soaring Eagle made a low sound of derision. “Even the Lakota know that the Great Mystery that created all things is not a man.”
“You are right, my brother.” The God who made us all is not a man. And He is holy. We are not. We cannot be His people when we are covered with the wrong things we do. So His Son became one of us. He walked the earth. He did no wrong. Then He died to pay for the wrongs of others.
“We spend our lives trying to walk in harmony with the spirits, trying to do more good than evil so that God will be pleased with us. But we cannot please God because God says we must be holy, and we cannot be holy. The Son of God did for us what we cannot do. He was holy. Then He paid for our wrongs. We do not have to pay for them.”
Thundercloud’s eyes shone with quiet joy. “When I first heard of this, my heart was made glad. I asked the Son of God to take my sin. When I did this, a great weight was lifted from me.” He paused a moment and then continued. “Times are bad for our people. My heart breaks for the wrongs that are done. But my heart is glad when I think that I live in peace. Whatever happens, I am at peace with God. This peace is in here,” Thundercloud thumped his chest, “and it is always here, no matter what men do to me.”
Finally, Thundercloud concluded, “Since the day that I came to be at peace with God, I have tried to tell those I meet about Him and how to be at peace with Him. That is why I am no longer Kills Two. The people call me John Thundercloud after a man in the Bible. He had a brother named James. Together they were called ‘Sons of Thunder.’ Someone thought I was like them. So I am called John Thundercloud. I live at Santee on the Big Muddy.”
Soaring Eagle said, “They wanted Sitting Bull to go to what they call the Standing Rock Agency. I know that place.”
“Santee is toward the rising sun from there and below the Big Muddy.” If your people come with me, they will have food. We have a school to teach the children. We have a place where we learn about God. You could learn to read the book your parents read.
Soaring Eagle Page 8
