He spoke her name softly, knowing she would not hear above the tumult of her sobbing.
“Goodbye. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “So sorry. As long as the rivers flow I will never forget you.” It wasn’t enough and he knew it, but he stopped short of declaring the love that dwelled within him. It was not a thing he could do considering what must soon happen.
Outside, he raised his face to the purple darkness of the sky, opened his closed eyes and felt a single tear flow slowly down one cheek. Stars twinkled above and he drew in several deep breaths. He had to pretend he’d never met her. Wipe away the memories that rushed over him each time he thought of her.
He would never speak nor think her name again. He had to follow the path of Morningstar. And she could not go with him. He would not ask that of her, for he loved her too much. Even in spirit, he could not take her, for to do so would destroy his soul. He must forget her as if she had never lived in his heart.
Through the closed door he could hear the mournful, muffled sound of her crying. A lament that echoed in his heart and mind. In the center of the common, two soldiers walked briskly in the frigid night air, their voices rumbling in low conversation, mist puffing from their mouths to be yanked away by the brutal wind. From the direction of the prison came the weak sound of a baby mewling. On fire with regret, he moved alone through the shadows. He would sleep tonight near his people, and soon they would break out, run to freedom this one last time.
Heartbroken, but determined to go on with life, Aiden rose early after a sleepless night, dressed and hurried to the officer’s mess to take breakfast and learn the latest news of the escaped Cheyenne. From there she would go to the stage station and make arrangements for her ticket. Of course, Captain Wessells wasn’t there, he was out chasing down the last of the escapees.
Late the previous afternoon the soldiers had brought in seven women and children. With a heavy heart she listened to talk about the eighteen men and boys and fourteen women and children who had crouched in a hole as wide as twelve feet, as long as twenty-four feet. For many days and nights they had managed to fight off soldiers, but had at last been captured.
The excited young lieutenant told the bizarre tale as he shoveled hot food into his mouth. One of the warriors, Little Finger Nail, also known as the sweet singer of the Cheyenne, sang a death song as a mother stabbed her child and then herself to keep from being taken by the white soldiers.
“They shot the captain in the head, and we thought he was a goner, but he was just grazed,” he babbled.
As the boy continued to recite the high points of the killings in an excited voice, Aiden choked on a bite of food and it was all she could do to keep from vomiting up what she had eaten. She sat for a long while, napkin squeezed in one fist, thinking of Stone Heart and the fate that awaited him. This was indeed a horrible place to be, and he’d been right. She must go home, quickly. Forget him, forget all this horror.
She left the mess hall and went to the stage station, where she found an elderly gentleman sitting behind a barred window. He raised it when she approached.
“Can you tell me if a stage is scheduled to depart soon?”
“Probably not for civilians, ma’am, not for a few more days.”
“But it hasn’t snowed in a while. The reporters are coming. Can’t the stage get through to pick them up?”
“It’s the Indians, ma’am. Running about out there killing everything that moves, the company doesn’t want to chance it. We aren’t allowed to send any women until they get all them savages corralled or shot. Reporters, well, they’re another thing. Some came in with an escort of soldiers. President’s orders. You wait a while longer, they’ll be a stage. These Injuns won’t last much longer.”
It was almost impossible for her to keep from shouting at the man like a madwoman. How could those poor people do anyone any harm? They were half dead themselves.
The balding man peered closely at her. Probably noting her swollen, red eyes. “You might as well stay here where you’re safe, little lady. Go get yourself a new dress and go to the dance tonight, it’ll make you feel heaps better. Come back next week, after all them savages is put down.”
As she stepped from the station, she almost ran into the young man who had helped carry food to her quarters the day before. He took her arm while she skidded around on the slick footing, then touched his hat.
“Well, Mrs. Connor? Or is it Meeker? How is your husband feeling today?”
She didn’t try to explain her name. “Fine, he’s better.”
“Oh, good. Perhaps he’ll bring you to the dance tonight and allow me to be your partner for one go round. Men out here are accustomed to sharing their wives at our regular Saturday night dances.”
Sorrow had burrowed so deeply within her she couldn’t imagine attending a dance or any other such function. All she wanted was to nurse her wounds until she could escape this horrid place.
Without replying to the private’s request, she excused herself and hurried back to her quarters. Though a weak winter sun shone, it was still bitterly cold, and wind blew across the prairie so hard it whipped her dress tightly around her legs and sucked the very breath from her lungs.
At the doorway, she hesitated and put her ear against the panels. Though Stone Heart had gone, she couldn’t help but hope he might have changed his mind and returned. At the same time, if he had, she mustn’t see him again. Hearing nothing, she lifted the latch and stepped in cautiously. It was very quiet. The empty dishes remained on the table, the blankets were rumpled in the middle of the bed, and no one was there. In spite of her vow, she began to weep at not finding him waiting for her.
Pushing the door closed at her back, she stood there a moment trying to regain some sort of composure. She couldn’t go about the rest of her life like this. It would never do.
The room was cold and so she built a fire from the wood that always seemed to be there. Someone came around replacing it, but she had no idea who or from where they got it. Once the flames crackled through the kindling and licked at the logs, she took off her cloak and folded the blankets on the bed. Finished, she went to the table to stack the dishes so she could return them to the mess hall when she went to dinner. That’s when she noticed that the shears were no longer on the table.
A quick look around the room did not reveal them. She found them finally, lying on the floor on the far side of the bed. Beside them lay a long, thick golden braid. Her eyes darted toward the hook in the corner where the uniform had been. It was gone. In a pile in the corner were his buckskins and the heavy elk jacket.
Falling to her knees, she took up the clothing, buried her face in the smooth leather. Stone Heart had returned, made the change from Cheyenne to white. Something must have happened. She had no idea what he might have in mind, but wished he would let her help him. Carefully, she folded each item and put them inside the chest.
Someone tapped on the door and she shoved the braid and shears in on top of them, closed the drawer and went to answer. It was Retha, and she invited her in out of the cold.
Standing next to the stove with her hands held over it, Retha got right to the point. “I came to invite you to the dance. Since my husband is still away tending to these dreadful savages, I thought perhaps we could go together. Private Cash told me you are married, is that true?” She studied Aiden with bright, piercing eyes. “You’ve been crying.”
For a moment Aiden couldn’t reply, just nodded her head and tried to hold back fresh tears.
Retha came to her, put an arm around her shoulder. “Did he leave you? Is that what it is?”
“No...yes, but he wasn’t...he isn’t...my husband. Dammit, why do women cry?” At which point she proceeded to do so quite vigorously.
“There, there,” Retha said and patted her shoulder. “We cry because it’s the thing to do and it makes us feel better. Especially in our dealings with men. They are such cruel, unfeeling monsters sometimes. They have their own priorities that have nothin
g to do with what we feel. Only under the sheets with us do they try to please, and sometimes not even then.”
Aiden turned away in embarrassment. What the woman said appeared to be so true. Retha patted her some more.
“Oh, do come go to the dance. You’ll feel ever so much better.”
And surprisingly, Aiden thought she might. How long had it been since she’d been to a dance? She couldn’t even remember. She glanced down at the dress she’d worn ever since Retha gave it to her.
As if reading her mind, Retha said, “Oh, don’t you worry. I have just the proper frock for you to wear. That one needs a good wash, at any rate. I have some things to take to the Chinese laundry. We’ll put it with them. You come with me and we’ll take care of this.”
Gathering her cloak, Aiden said, “I can’t keep taking your clothes. It’s not right. If only I had some money, I could buy a frock from the mercantile. But I only have enough to get home. I mustn’t spend it on anything so frivolous.”
Again Retha patted her arm. “Nonsense, it’s been so long since I’ve had a friend my own age in which to confide, it makes it worthwhile just to keep you around.” She glanced at Aiden with a bright curiosity in her gray eyes. “I do hope I helped you by introducing you to that young reporter. How did that go?”
“Well, it went very well, thank you. I’m sorry if I was rude about it.”
“Nonsense. It did hurt my feelings, but then I tend to get over slights.” Her gaze begged for more consolation.
“I didn’t intend to slight you at all.” If Retha expected more than that, she wouldn’t get it. No matter how kind she had been, Aiden would not reveal information that might very well get passed on to the woman’s husband, and thus other army officers.
Stiffly, Retha smiled. “Well, now, come on. We’ll eat dinner together, then come back and choose just the proper dress. And we’d better try to do something to that hair. Isn’t this wind hard on it? I’ll send for bath water and we’ll have a gay old time getting ready. It’ll be just like we were girls again, with all those handsome young men waiting to ask us to dance. And I promise you, you’ll have partners a plenty.”
Not without doubts, Aiden followed her. Torn between her need to grieve the loss of Stone Heart and a desire to put it all behind her, she chose this as an escape, for none other had presented itself.
A few hours later the two women hurried along to the recreation hall where the dance was being held. The cold took Aiden’s breath away, and she wondered again how anyone ever grew accustomed to living in this country. Most especially those who lived out in the elements. Trappers such as Meeker and the Cheyenne people. She thought of Stone Heart and hoped he was in out of the cold on this very bitter night.
Warmth in the building was provided by two rather large stoves, with a space between reserved for dancing. Even with them burning full tilt, the building was drafty and only comfortably warm near the fires. Coal oil lamps hung in brackets on the four walls, their light golden. Several musicians, all soldiers, had set up near one of the stoves and were tuning up fiddles and guitars. A long table held several glittering crystal punch bowls filled with red and yellow liquid refreshments. Plates offered an array of sweets. There were probably no more than twenty women in the huge room and maybe fifty or sixty men, all in uniform save a few who must be reporters. Laughter and conversation mingled with the wail of the stringed instruments, as if there weren’t still men out there in the night murdering helpless Cheyennes. There were chairs around the walls and a few were occupied, though most everyone milled about sipping punch and nibbling cookies, stopping to talk a while, then moving on. The dance had yet to begin, as people continued to spill through the door, letting in drafts of frigid air.
“Oh, look,” Retha cried. “There’s Captain Wessells. I didn’t know he was back. I’d like to ask him about Lieutenant Woods.”
Despite her reluctance, Aiden let Retha drag her across the floor to the captain, who at the moment was filling a punch glass. He wore a bandage around his head, so the boy’s story of him being grazed must have been true. He looked pale and a bit hollow-eyed.
He turned when Retha hailed him. “Well, ladies, aren’t you a sight for these weary eyes. My, you both look beautiful. Does my heart good to behold such treats after so many hours in the saddle.”
His nose was indeed quite red, but Aiden thought that might be from something he’d added to the punch, for she caught a familiar whiff. Her older brothers took a glass of ale on occasion and she was well acquainted with the smell.
Retha responded to the captain with a coy thank you and a silly bob of a curtsy. “Could you tell me, sir, when my husband’s regiment is expected back? I would certainly enjoy seeing him.”
“Woods, isn’t it? Lieutenant Woods. They’re doing the last of the cleanup. We brought in those survivors from the Last Hole this evening, and we think that pretty much accounts for their sorry asses. Excuse me, ma’am. I beg your pardon.” He lifted his hat to them both and tottered just a bit.
The man was indeed, in his cups, as her mama used to say. Before long he’d likely be passed out somewhere, and if some kind soul didn’t see him to his quarters, he’d spend an uncomfortable night on the floor in a corner. But what actually occurred to Aiden was something else altogether. He had the keys to the food lockers outside the officer’s mess, and if she could somehow manage to lay hands on them, she might be able to get some food to those poor wretches in the prison barracks.
She helped herself to a glass of punch when Retha did, then turned to survey the room once more. On the opposite wall stood a tall soldier with golden hair that shone in the lamplight. Her heart kicked at her ribs and she couldn’t breathe, as if the corset Retha had laced for her were much too tight.
But that wasn’t it at all. The soldier, who appeared to stare right back at her was Stone Heart. She could not move. Wanted nothing but to run as fast as she could.
Chapter Fifteen
Though he attended the dance to learn more about the intended fate of the Cheyenne, Stone Heart spotted Aiden the moment she entered, her lovely blue dress billowed by the wind. Her red hair, swirled high on her head, was covered by a shawl in the same color as the dress. She removed it with a grace that fisted hot desire into his belly. Long finger curls framed either side of her face, flushed with the cold. Even though the large room overflowing with people separated them, he imagined he could smell the delicate fragrance that was hers alone. He always thought of a spring breeze blowing over a field of wild flowers.
More than once he tried to turn from the sight of her, get back to the business at hand. Yet always, beyond the object of each conversation he joined, she glided through his vision. There she was, head tilted up to speak to a young private, then talking again to the woman she came with. Later the two of them with the pompous Captain Wessells with his head swathed in bandages. Too bad they didn’t kill him. The wish came unbidden, and he knew better even as he thought it. One bad white man would just be replaced by yet another, perhaps worse.
Even though he couldn’t keep his eyes off A’den, Stone Heart overheard that General Crook would soon reveal what disposition was planned for the Cheyenne. Some of the warriors would most probably be sent back to Kansas to be tried for murder. An impossibly absurd notion. Others might be taken to the Red Cloud Agency to be dealt with more gently. Back east, opinion had swayed as some important people took up the cause of the poor suffering savages. In this he couldn’t help but rejoice. Yet even as these conversations floated around him, there was always within his sight the lovely A’den. She had a hold on him that he couldn’t break simply by willing it so. If only he could touch her, taste her, breathe her essence one last time.
Fighting the urge, he remained always as far from her as he could. She danced with a young private, her gaze turned upward to catch every word he uttered, while one pale hand rested lightly on his shoulder. He recalled that hand tending his wounds, pressing the poultice gently against his feverish
flesh. Round and round the dance floor they whirled, like floating clouds. The soldier laughed at something she said and she tilted her head in a provocative way that made Stone Heart wish he could bust the fellow in his smug face. A lieutenant claimed her for the waltz that followed, and when she gave him her hand, Stone Heart actually bulled his way several feet through the crowd before stopping himself.
Again, he searched out Wessells, leaned in a corner as if his legs would no longer support him. The captain grew less surefooted by the minute while sipping at a glass of punch that must be laced with whisky. With an effort, Stone Heart concentrated on the reason he’d placed himself in such a dangerous situation, and worked his way around the edge of the dance floor toward the captain. With the man so drunk, he might well manage to obtain the keys A’den had said he carried on his person. From the looks of it, he would soon pass out, giving Stone Heart the perfect opportunity. He must be nearby when that happened.
As he moved around a group of young ladies giggling and talking, a dancing couple bumped into him, and he turned to see it was the lieutenant and A’den.
Her eyes met his for a brief instant, recognition sparking hers to a brilliant jade, and then she was gone, borne lithely away in the soldier’s arms. Frozen in place, he watched her move out of reach, saw her gaze at him with each turn.
At least now she knew he was here, for all the good that would do either of them. His last leave-taking would not have endeared him to her, and that was the way it must be. Still, he couldn’t help putting himself in the place of that lieutenant. Imagined holding her as they whirled round and round, caught up in a world all their own.
Her presence and this ridiculous military garb had him thinking and acting like a white man, which he had vowed never to do again. Somehow he had to shake off the hold she had on him. Think only of the Cheyenne and their fate. Fighting the desire coiled deep in his belly, he moved once again toward Captain Wessells and the prized keys.
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