Dance on the Wind

by Brenda Jernigan

  “Father Brown would never believe that we’re all getting along so well,” Billy said.

  “He’s probably up there smiling down on us,” Brandy said, then added, “I just wish he’d give us some answers as to what to do. Sam isn’t what I expected. I don’t want to live like this forever.”

  “Can you believe what he brought you out here to do?” Mary said from the back of the wagon. “He never intended to marry you.”

  “No, I can’t,” Brandy spoke with light bitterness. “I think he is very sneaky, so please be careful around him. I wonder how many other women he’s tricked. First he gets the woman out here, and then she’s alone and has no other way out.” Brandy reasoned. “I’d probably be in that situation, too, if I didn’t have the rest of you with me.”

  “See, we’re good for something,” Scott piped up from the back.

  Brandy laughed. “Yes, you are.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Billy asked.

  “Make the best of a bad situation, for the moment. We should be used to that by now. We’ve been living in this wagon for the past four months, so for now we’ll have a roof over our heads. Or should I say canvas? Then maybe we’ll hear from Nettie and MacTavish, and we can travel to where they are. Do any of you have a better idea?” Brandy turned around to look at the girls.

  “Nope,” Billy said. “Maybe I can find something to do around the fort to earn extra money. The way I see it the faster we pay off the debt the sooner we can get on our own.”

  “It’s going to take a lot of money to repay Sam,” Mary said.

  “Has anyone ever noticed that all our problems have something to do with money?” Ellen commented from the back of the wagon.

  “That is very true, Ellen,” Brandy said, then turned back to face the front.

  “I wish Thunder were here,” Scott commented in such a small voice that Brandy wasn’t sure if he’d said it or she’d imagined it.

  I do, too, Brandy thought. I do, too

  17

  The mountains came into view, and Thunder knew he was near his family summer campgrounds. A bald eagle flew overhead, looking for his next prey, his white head glistening in the sun from the water he had just risen above. He evidently had missed the fish he’d dove for.

  Thunder followed a creek to the base of the mountains; he saw teepees camped along the edge of the stream.

  Finally, he was home.

  Nudging his horse forward, he started down the well-worn path and listened to the sound of rushing water cascading over rocks. He’d not ridden a hundred yards when he was knocked from his horse and landed hard on the ground.

  Thunder cursed himself for his carelessness while he fought to catch his breath. It was a good way to get himself killed, he thought as he wrestled with the Indian brave who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He hadn’t even thought about the lookout. His mind had gone soft on him.

  Thunder struggled with the brave. He gained the upper hand and looked down at the surprised face of the young man who had jumped him.

  “I am Rolling Thunder,” he said in his native tongue. “Who are you?”

  “I am Straight Arrow, son of Wounded Bear.” Thunder stood and extended a hand to the brave. “I am not your enemy. I have come home. Walk with me to camp.”

  Straight Arrow was quiet as he strolled beside Thunder. He knew the brave was ashamed that he’d been bested by a stranger, but the fact was that Thunder had more experience. The boy had been very young when Thunder had left.

  As he walked through the village, he saw children playing. Women were scraping buffalo skins. Nothing seemed to have changed since he’d been away. There must have been a successful hunt because meat hung from poles drying in the sun.

  Everyone from the camp had turned out to see what the commotion had been. They stepped aside, and those who recognized Thunder patted him on the back and welcomed his return. But he didn’t stop until he reached Black Kettle’s lodge.

  Chief Black Kettle threw back the flap and stepped outside. His eyes narrowed as he focused on Thunder. A sudden glimmer of recognition lit in his dark brown eyes. “You have come home.”

  Black Kettle had aged since Thunder had last seen him, but he seemed as wise and strong as ever. As a chief, it was Black Kettle’s duty to maintain harmony for his people. He was an exemplary man—calm, generous, kind, sympathetic, and, most of all, courageous.

  Thunder embraced the chief. “It has been too many moons. Where is my mother and father’s teepee?”

  “She’s there.” Black Kettle pointed “Go. We will speak later.”

  Thunder drew open the teepee flap and looked inside. He left it open when he realized how stuffy it was inside. His mother was lying on buffalo robes on the far side of the teepee. She didn’t look at him when he entered, but she stared straight ahead as if she awaited death.

  “Why are you in here alone?” Thunder asked, not bothering to speak Cheyenne because his mother had always spoken to him in English.

  Slowly, she turned her head and gazed upon him. Her face was much too pale and her eyes dull. “My— my son.” She held up a hand to him.

  “Yes, Mother,” Thunder said as he sat down cross-legged beside her. He took her hand in his.

  “You’ve come home,” she said as if a burden had been lifted from her.

  “Only to find that you are very sick. Why is no one caring for you?”

  “Help me to sit,” she said. Thunder barely recognized her voice.

  Gently he pulled her up until she could sit on her own. She opened her arms, and he held her, feeling the comfort that only a mother’s embrace could bring. She was much too thin, and from what he saw in the tent she hadn’t had enough nourishment.

  “I love you, my son.”

  “I love you, too, Mother, but you are burning up with fever. Here, lie back and let me get wet rags to cool you. When is the last time you have eaten?”

  She stared at him, her eyes not really focusing. It was as if her body were there, but her spirit gone. “I don’t remember. After your father died, time just seemed to stop,” she murmured as she stretched back out on the blankets.

  “Well, time starts again as of this moment,” Thunder said firmly. He shoved to his feet. “I am going to find food.”

  He went to the next teepee and was thankful to find Dancing Water, who had been a friend of his mother’s for as long as he could remember.

  “Thunder, you have changed. I now see a man standing before me,” Dancing Water said. “There will be many young women who will be casting their eyes upon you, for you have grown strong and tall as the trees.”

  “Yes, but I am back now and find that my mother is not well. I must have some broth for her.”

  “Come.” Dancing Water motioned for him to follow her from the lodge. She went over to a kettle that was suspended over the fire. “They killed buffalo yesterday, and I have just made this broth. Take this bowl to her, and here is some powder that should help her.” She shoved it into his hand. “I have tried to get her to take it myself, but she refused. I believe she still mourns Crazy Arrow.”

  “I have not yet asked about my father, but I will once my mother is stronger.”

  “I am glad you have come home, Rolling Thunder. Maybe Little Woman will want to join the living again.”

  * * *

  For the next week, Thunder stayed by his mother’s side, feeding her and sponging her down with cool water. He left the teepee flap open to let in the cooler air. He knew there were squaws to do such work, but, Thunder insisted. He felt guilty that he’d not been here when his father died, and he decided he’d not let his mother go so easily.

  It was well into the second week when he finally saw a change in his mother. She sat up on her own for the first time.

  “I feel like walking today. I have been cooped up much too long,” his mother said in a voice that sounded more like the one he remembered. She started to rise, then sat back down. “I fear you will have to help my bones to
get going.”

  Thunder got to his feet, then assisted his mother into a standing position. “Are you sure you are up to a walk?”

  She smiled at him. “You have given me back my strength.” She stepped from the enclosure out into the open air. “It has turned cooler since my illness. Come.” She held her hand to Thunder, and he grasped her arm for support. “We need some fresh air.”

  They started slowly across the camp. Squaws rushed over to greet Little Woman, telling her they were glad that the gods had spared her life.

  As they left the camp, heading toward the river, Little Woman said in a wistful sigh, “I’d forgotten how blue the sky is this time of year. It is amazing how sadness can rob one of the will to live.”

  Thunder nodded in agreement. “There have been times I have said the same thing. I missed the wide open sky when I was in Boston.”

  “Come, sit, and tell me about my parents. Are they well?”

  “They called you Helen.”

  She smiled. “That is my Christian name. Do you not like it?”

  Thunder looked at her and grinned. “You do not look like a Helen, and it sounded strange when I first heard it. My grandparents were shocked when I suddenly appeared,” Thunder said with a smile. “As a matter of fact, Grandmother fainted upon laying eyes on me. I believe she thought I was going to take her scalp.”

  Helen smiled. “I never thought about that. I had hoped that word had gotten back to them that I was alive.”

  “No.” Thunder shook his head. “They thought you were dead.”

  “My poor parents,” Helen said sadly. “How I wish I could see them. It has been so long.”

  “They want to see you.”

  “And I want to see them,” Helen said, then changed the subject. “Tell me, did you learn while you were in Boston?”

  “Yes. I studied to become a lawyer and then the war broke out and I learned how the white man fights.”

  “I am glad I sent you home. There is so much more for you in that world, but I do admit to being happy that you are here now.”

  Thunder smiled at his mother. It was good. She was more herself. “Tell me what happened to my father,” he said.

  A sad look immediately replaced the faint smile that had been on her face only a moment ago. Thunder regretted that he’d asked.

  “I loved Crazy Arrow very much. It is one of the reasons I could adapt to this way of life.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “Crazy Arrow was killed in June. The Cheyenne were accused of rustling one hundred seventy-five cattle from a ranch on the Smoky Hill trail. The governor, John Evans, had four unsuspecting Cheyenne villages raided. Ours was not one of them, thank goodness, but Crazy Arrow had gone on a buffalo hunt and had stopped at one of the unfortunate villages after the hunt. He was shot along with Chief Lean Bear, who only wanted peace with the whites. Now the Cheyenne and Arapaho are on the warpath and have raided many ranches.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know where all this will lead, but I have an uneasy feeling about it, my son.” She sighed. “Have you spoken to Black Kettle since your return? He will tell you more than I have.”

  “Just briefly when I first arrived,” Thunder told her. He slipped a long wheat straw into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Now that you are better, I will go and speak with him. Maybe there is some way I can help.”

  Helen reached out and placed her hand on her son’s and gave it a small squeeze. “I sense a sadness about you. Do you want to tell me what bothers you?”

  “You could always read my mind.” He chuckled. “I just feel strange being here. Everything is the same, yet different. Not like I remembered.”

  “Maybe it is you who has changed.” She looked at him with knowing eyes. “You left a boy and returned a man. You have experienced many things that you couldn’t have if you had stayed here. But tell me, what of your heart? Have you had a chance to experience love?”

  Thunder looked at his mother’s probing eyes. It was as if she could see all the way to his soul, but the subject was something he wasn’t ready to speak of just yet. “That, Mother, I cannot say. I have experienced feelings. Strong ones. But I do not know how I feel.”

  “In time, you’ll have your answers,” Helen said to her son. “Just give it time.”

  * * *

  A month had gone by and Brandy was certain she’d done a terrible job of taking care of the children. Surely, Father Brown was frowning down on her. How could she have gotten mixed up with a whorehouse?

  The best she could do was just take one day at a time until they could find a way out.

  They now lived in the wagon beside a barn where they had pitched the tent for the boys. Somehow, they had made their own little compound so they were able to stay away from the main house. Brandy especially didn’t like Scott or Ellen going to the big house and when they did they had to go with one of the older children.

  Sam had claimed the horses as part of the payment that Brandy owed him, and Billy and Scott had taken the responsibility of feeding and caring for the animals. Billy would ride out and hunt for food when he could slip away. He was becoming a very good shot. If he hadn’t provided their family with meat, they might have starved.

  The girls cooked, cleaned, and washed clothes for the big house. And, of course, Sam kept trying to convince Brandy that she and Mary could earn much more money working for him in the house. And he didn’t mean cleaning. Just the thought of what Sam wanted made her skin crawl.

  Three women lived in the house who worked for Sam. Brandy had made friends with Molly, one of the working girls, but she couldn’t say the same for Sam. He might look nice on the outside, but Brandy sensed evil lurking just underneath the surface. He liked to take advantage of people, and he wanted to use her just like he had everyone else.

  Last week, when Sam threatened to put her body to work, Brandy started carrying the small gun Annie had given her in her pocket just in case she needed it.

  * * *

  The air was crisp this morning. The days were still warm, but at night Brandy and the children needed Annie’s quilts to keep them warm. As they ate breakfast, Billy said, “I’m goin’ to the fort and see if I can get work. Maybe we can pay the debt off faster and get out of here on the next wagon train coming through.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Brandy said. “I’m not sure where we would go. But anywhere is better than here.”

  “Heard it’s payday at the fort,” Billy said as he wiped his mouth. “So you know what that means.”

  “I’m afraid I do,” Brandy admitted with a frown. “Drunken soldiers will be pouring into the house. We better get everything cleaned up early,” Brandy said, then looked at Mary and Ellen. They nodded in agreement. Brandy rose and slid her plate into the dishpan. “You be careful,” she told Billy as she held out her hand for Billy’s and Scott’s plates. “Don’t let Sam catch you.”

  Billy got up. “I won’t.”

  “What about me?” Scott asked. “I don’t ever get to do anything but milk that stupid cow. Can I go?”

  “Don’t see what it will hurt,” Billy answered with a smile. “You can ride with me. But we need to feed the animals first.” Billy motioned for Scott to come on. “See you girls later.”

  “Wait a minute,” Brandy said, then swallowed hard. “While we are all together, I want to tell you how sorry I am that I ever got us into this mess.”

  “Whoa,” Billy said and held up his hand. “This ain’t what we expected, I’ll admit, but if we’d stayed in Independence, we’d be homeless and starvin’. At least, here we have a wagon and food, and look at what we’ve learnt.”

  “That’s true,” Mary agreed. “We didn’t know what to do a few months ago. But, I’d rather have learned to care for myself some other way.”

  “We’ll get out of this mess sooner or later, I promise,” Brandy said, feeling much better that they were not blaming her. A few months ago she probably wouldn’t have cared what they thought, but now she did.
And they cared about her, too.

  The three of them went to the house to clean. Molly, Sally, and Nell were the doves, as Sam called them and they usually slept until way past noon.

  “I’ll clean up the parlor while you get the kitchen,” Brandy said.

  “You always did hate to work in the kitchen,” Mary said as Brandy continued on to the parlor.

  The furniture of the house was shabby but clean. At least Sam took care of his possessions. The parlor consisted of three battered chairs, one green and two brown, one very old, blue couch, and old wall calendars for decorations.

  Brandy picked up empty glasses and trash. She’d just grabbed the last shot glass when Molly came downstairs. She was a tall, slender woman with large hazel eyes. Her eyes appeared extremely red this morning.

  “You’re up early,” Brandy said.

  “I’m feeling a bit under the weather. Couldn’t sleep. This damned headache is driving me crazy!” Molly rubbed her temples. “I thought I’d get some laudanum from the kitchen,” she said as she shuffled by Brandy.

  “Maybe you can take the night off,” Brandy suggested as she set the glasses down on the sideboard by the kitchen.

  “Not likely,” Molly grumbled. She went into the kitchen. In a minute she’d returned with a brown bottle of laudanum and a glass of water. She plopped down in a chair, throwing her leg over one of the arms. Her faded pink robe rode up high on her leg, revealing smooth skin, but it didn’t seem to faze Molly at all. Her modesty had left her a long time ago. She was the oldest of the girls and still attractive, but the rough life had obviously aged her.

  “Have you ever thought about quitting?” Brandy asked the question she’d been thinking.

  “Yes, sweetie.” Molly nodded slowly. “I’ve thought about it a lot. But where would I go? I don’t have any money.”