Stone Heart's Woman

by Velda Brotherton

  “Nonsense,” Retha said from inside. “What’s going on out here?” She pressed past her husband to stand on the boardwalk, hands planted on her hips.

  Aiden stepped over the threshold, but the guard barred her way. Furiously, she pushed at him, but he didn’t budge.

  “You’re confined to quarters, ma’am. Sir, she’s confined to quarters. If you could possibly come speak to her. She’s very distraught, sir.”

  “Private?”

  “Simmons, sir.”

  “Private Simmons. Have you never dealt with a distraught woman before?”

  “Stop that, stop that right now,” Retha said.

  “Sir? Yes, sir.” The guard did everything he could to ignore Retha Woods, who now threatened to join Aiden, and deal with his superior. He appeared reluctant to use force with an officer’s wife.

  Woods himself grew a bit flustered. “Mrs. Woods, you will conduct yourself like a lady and return to our home, this instant.”

  “What’s going on, Aiden?” Retha asked, ignoring her husband.

  “I have to get out. My...a friend of mine has been arrested, and they...they won’t let me see him. I have to...they’re going to shoot him. Please, help me.”

  The young guard did everything he could to keep the women separated, stepping this way and that when they tried to touch. Retha finally smacked him on the arm with the flat of her hand.

  “Would you please stand still, sir,” she demanded, whirled on her husband. “I wish to go inside and talk to her. Tell this...this boy to let me pass, or I’ll—”

  “Oh, blast and be damned if you’ll speak to this whore about her half-breed lover,” Woods blurted.

  Retha drew herself up, glared at him. “Lieutenan Woods. Foul language is not necessary.” Then to the private: “Stand aside, young man, and let me pass.”

  Though the private towered over her small frame, Retha attempted to shove him aside. Aiden admired her spunk, but wondered if perhaps she would pay later. Her husband had reached the boiling point, and though he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with Retha, he might well be reluctant to use force in front of witnesses. She could imagine him disciplining his wife in private later, and hated to be the cause of such trouble.

  “Retha, it’s okay. Please, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  Fists bunched in front of him, Woods gritted out a command to the private. “Let Mrs. Woods pass and keep an eye on that door. I don’t want that...that woman running free. The charges against her...friend are serious. There’s no telling what she might do to get him free.”

  The private saluted, stepped aside for Retha to pass, then planted himself once again in front of the door. As Aiden closed it she heard Woods slam his.

  When in Retha’s arms, tears filled her eyes and she felt helpless, tangled in a web that held her so tightly there could be no release.

  “There, there. You just go ahead and cry. Women shouldn’t have to deal with the military. They’re bullies trained to kill, and it’s frightening. Sometimes I wish I’d never left home and followed Lieutenant Woods to this godforsaken place. Half the time I can’t even get sugar for my tea. It’s trying to the soul of any woman.”

  Patting Aiden, she steered her toward the bed where they both sat down. “Now, come on. Tell me what’s going on. Perhaps I can help, or get that brute of a husband of mine to do something.”

  For a moment, Aiden couldn’t speak. She fingered globs of mud on the hem of the dress she wore. Retha’s dress.

  “I’m sorry, it’ll have to be laundered again. We...we were walking back from...I stepped in a mud hole. Then these soldiers rode by and...and the horses...threw it...all over me.”

  She picked at her muddy hair, cried so hard she could no longer speak.

  “Well, now, that’s nothing to cry about.”

  “Yes, it is,” Aiden cried, put her hands over her face. “Oh, Retha. What am I going to do? I can’t let them shoot Stone Heart.”

  “Oh, my dear. Shoot who? Your husband...I thought.”

  Struggling to control herself, Aiden shook her head. “No, he’s not...not my husband, but I love him. We were going to get married...go away. He’s...he’s over in the jail.”

  “Well, for goodness sake. What did he do that they’re going to shoot him? My husband called him a half-breed.”

  “His mother is...was a Cheyenne. He wore your...your husband’s uniform...I took it, you see, so he could...could find out about the fate of his people. That’s all he wanted to do. It was nothing so terrible, was it? Now they say he can be shot for impersonating an officer.”

  The thought of him confined behind bars was more than she could bear, but imagining his fury and despair helped her dry her own tears. She blew her nose on a handkerchief Retha dug out of her pocket. “He’ll do something foolish. He won’t stay there, even if he dies trying to escape. They can’t keep him, and when he tries to get out they’ll kill him. I have to do something.”

  “Well, of course you do. Why do they have you confined as well?”

  “I think...I think that fool Wessells saw us kissing and thinks I’m guilty of as much as Stone Heart. And I suppose I am, but I have to get out of here. I just have to.”

  Retha glanced around the small room. “I can’t blame you for that. But what will you do, I mean, how do you propose to get him out of jail?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll think of something.” She eyed her buckskins. “Help me out of this dress,” she said, coming to her feet.

  “What on earth?”

  “Never mind. I don’t want you in trouble too, so it’s better if you don’t know.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry. I’m glad to help in any way I can. You don’t know how tedious it is waiting around for something to happen in this place. You want out, I’ll help you get out. It just might add some excitement to an otherwise dull and boring day.”

  As she undid the buttons of the muddy dress, she hatched her plan, and though Aiden desperately did not want her friend in trouble, she had little choice but to let her help.

  As soon as she had slipped into the buckskin pants, shirt, and jacket, Retha set her plan in action. Instructing Aiden to stand to the side of the door, she swung it open.

  “Private, would you step in here for just a moment? We need your help.”

  The boy glanced nervously around, craned his neck and peered inside. “What is it?”

  “I...I dropped something behind the chest and we can’t seem to move it. Please, it’s important.”

  Giving in to her, he stepped inside, and when he did, Aiden slipped through the door at the moment Retha swung it closed. She would do everything she could to block the private’s way as long as possible.

  Racing along the boardwalk, Aiden reached the corner of the building. Where the boardwalk ended someone had laid down long slabs of wood across the muddy gap. She leaped over them and into the soft, unmelted snow in the shadowy alleyway. It slowed her down some. Behind her the private shouted for her to halt. He repeated it two, three, four times. On she ran, the muscles in her back taut, expecting at any moment to feel a bullet strike. But he didn’t shoot. Instead, he pursued her, his boots pounding along the wooden walk. Burdened by the equipment he carried, he might not catch her. She could outrun him, she was sure. All she had to do was remain out of sight so he’d have no idea which way she went. She made the back corner of the barracks and skidded around into the long shadows cast by the evening sun.

  Behind her she heard more shouts. Others had joined the chase. She reached the grassy rear common, not worn down by the passage of troops and horses. While the ground was wet, the thick grass roots kept it from being muddy. Ahead, the stacked crates near the food storage sheds offered a place to hide if she could make it before the pursuers rounded the corner and spotted her. Legs pumping, she reached the crates and slipped beneath the draped canvas, hunkered down and waited. They hadn’t come out from between the buildings in time to see her, she was sure. Panting from the sprint,
she tried to hold her breath, but it was no use. Each gasp roared in her own ears.

  They’d hear her, find her. And what of poor Retha? Her husband would be absolutely furious. Fighting panic, Aiden curled in upon herself, muffled her breathing and listened until her ears roared in the silence. Only if she remained in hiding would she be safe. If she ran now, they’d catch her, and there’d be no more kindnesses. No more remaining confined to her quarters. They’d toss her in the brig just like they had Stone Heart.

  Toss her in the brig.

  Maybe she ought to give up. At least then she and Stone Heart would be together.

  No, that would be foolish. How would she get him out if she was locked up too?

  She hugged her knees up against her chest. Something hard dug into her arm and very carefully she felt the ridged lump with trembling fingers.

  Wessells’ keys! They were still in the pocket of the britches she’d worn the night before when she and Stone Heart went on their midnight raid. She’d forgotten all about putting them there. And forgotten as well that she was supposed to see they got back to Wessells.

  Would a key be there that would open the cell where they were keeping Stone Heart? And if it were, what good would it do her?

  Heart kicking in her chest like a wild animal trying to escape a trap, she struggled to remain quiet. Not move or breathe or even think.

  She heard footsteps. Running. Getting closer and closer. They stopped. Very close. Nearly on top of her. They’d hear her heart hammering at her skull, hear her breathing, hear the terror fighting to escape her chest. It closed around her like a thick, black fog. Its great fist squeezed her insides. To keep from crying out she pinched her mouth in one hand, squeezed her eyes shut as if that might somehow make her invisible.

  “No one around here,” a male voice shouted from so close she could reach out and touch him. The fear of being caught filled her belly, sickened her until she almost leaped from the safety of her hiding place to run like a rabbit flushed by the baying of hounds.

  From far away, someone called, and he moved off. His boots slushed through the wet grass. There had to be a safer place for her to hide until dark. She fingered the keys. The storage shed, she could go in there, crawl behind the barrels and hanging sides of meat. Even if someone came to get food to prepare for supper, they wouldn’t see her. It would be cold, but she could do it. She remembered canvas tarps and gunny sacks she could wrap up in. Somehow she would stay warm, just until dark, when she would find the place where they kept Stone Heart and set him free. Her mind refused to go any further than that. What they would do, where they would go, how they would live, she could not fathom. All that was important was getting him out.

  Cautiously, she crept from under the canvas and looked about. They were hunting for her elsewhere, faint shouts sounded from around and about. Wessells would be furious, maybe temporarily distracted from his vow to have Stone Heart shot. Oh, don’t let him take it out on Retha. She had to console herself with the fact that Retha had been a willing participant, and she hadn’t forced her to do anything against her will. She had lived with the man long enough to know what he was capable of doing to her.

  With trembling fingers, Aiden found the proper key to the padlock on the shed, opened it, and slipped inside. Hopefully, when they found it unlocked, they would only think that someone earlier had forgotten to fasten the thing back. Or perhaps they wouldn’t. But hiding in there was the only thing she could think of to do. From what they’d learned earlier, there would be too much activity around the Cheyenne prison so she couldn’t go there. She would not be safe, not with all the attention they were attracting. There would be reporters, other interested visitors coming and going. Someone would spot her in a minute. No, she was better off here in the storage shed. At least until dark.

  Some time later, as she lay curled in the far corner of the shed, beneath gunny sacks that smelled of flour, and a canvas tarp redolent with ham fat and a musty indefinable odor, she heard voices and the creak of the door opening.

  A voice raised in denial. “I’m telling you, I didn’t leave the lock undone. You must’ve.”

  “Not me, but someone did. Probably Elton, he’s dim-witted, can’t remember his name let alone the rules about locking up when we finish.”

  “Well, all I know is it wasn’t me that didn’t lock up.”

  “Fool, none of us must’ve locked up. When we finish tonight, you’d better see to it. I ain’t catching hell for missing supplies.”

  The two continued to grumble at each other as they left with whatever they’d come after. Time to prepare the evening meal. Feeling secure, she leaned back in her hidey hole, then sat up with a start. She couldn’t remain here. They’d lock her in for the night, and she wouldn’t be able to get out till morning when they began preparations for breakfast. How could she have been so stupid? She was purely lucky they hadn’t locked the shed up when they’d left. Must be too much trouble what with one or the other running back and forth to fetch supplies for the meal.

  Would they lock it as soon as supper call sounded, or wait till after they’d cleaned up and stored whatever was left over? She couldn’t take the chance, and so crept over and around the barrels, sacks and crates to the door.

  Cautiously, she opened it a crack and peered out. The sun had set. Pink clouds streaked a lavender sky. Long dark shadows lay across the grounds, but it was still dangerous to be out and about with everyone searching for her. Worse, Wessells would certainly expect her to head straight for Stone Heart, wouldn’t he? Maybe even put extra guards on. She wished she could convince him somehow that she’d lit out. Disappeared. Left the fort for good and all.

  Maybe she could.

  She darted from the shed, slipped into the darkness cloaking the back wall of the commissary. No matter how impatient she became, she had to hide out till full dark. Once the buglers sounded the changing of the guard and everyone was inside for the night save the regular grounds patrol, she could move about with more safety.

  She watched with interest as several Indian children drifted by. They must belong to the Blackfeet living in tipis near the outlying corrals where the cavalry mounts were kept. The scampering children reminded her of mud balls, for they had obviously been rolling about. A group of passing soldiers brushed them aside without scarcely sparing a close look. She gazed down at her hands and grinned. Dressed in these buckskins, if she muddied her hands and face, rubbed the stuff in her hair to disguise the color, she’d look much like they did. Such an uncomfortable disguise might be just what she needed to enable her to get close to the brig. Hang around there for a while and see what was what.

  Kneeling near a mud hole, she rubbed the black stuff generously over herself, shuddering when she slathered it through her hair. She found a window and checked out her appearance.

  “Gah, that’s god-awful, but an excellent idea,” she said under her breath. Without the red hair and pale skin that stood out like some sort of flag, she could be any one of the urchins running around this place.

  Now, to try it out.

  Heart racing, she ran from between the buildings and out across the common, brushing past several men who gave her wide passage but scarcely looked twice. It would work. At last, she was free to do what had to be done. And if no one spotted the white woman who’d escaped, maybe Wessells would believe she’d left the camp.

  Because she dare not ask directions to the guardhouse, she was forced to wander about in the falling dusk until she found it. The military settlement was so large that the search took a while, and it was full dark before she finally spotted lamps glowing through barred windows of a structure that had to be the guardhouse, what soldiers often referred to as “the brig.” Somewhere in there they held Stone Heart.

  How she might get to him, she had no idea, but she crept along the back of the building, peering in each small window to see what was inside. For the most part she saw only darkness, but some of the windows shone vague light and she hurried to
check them out. The glow appeared to be coming from a main hallway or larger room, falling through the cells and providing just enough light for her to make out figures, most sitting on the floor, a few others standing. Some of the cells were empty, others held several men, a few housed only one lone occupant each.

  These she concentrated on, being very careful to take short peeks so she wouldn’t be spotted. It took a while to make out more than shadows, but soon her eyes grew more accustomed to the dark and she could see the shape of a nose, the cut of hair, tell if one had a beard or was clean shaven. As well as studying each man in turn without being spotted, she had to be very careful not to be heard or seen by the guards that patrolled the grounds.

  It was hair-raising work and her nerves tingled until she jumped at every sound before she finally spotted a man she thought might be Stone Heart. Of course, he would no longer be wearing the uniform, but she had no way of knowing what to expect in the way of clothing. Lamplight gleamed in his hair when he shifted from his seated position to stand with his back to her at the barred door. It was him. With hair like that it could be no one else.

  Now what?

  She picked up a tiny pebble and scraped it over one of the bars at the window. He paid no attention. Whatever noise she could make to attract him would have to sound normal to the guards and other prisoners, yet cause him to look.

  Hoot like an owl? Bay like a coyote? Bark like a dog? The ideas grew more and more ridiculous. Then she knew what to do. It was so simple, she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it earlier. Often around the barracks crowded with families of the men of the regiment, one would hear someone burst into song. It was a common enough occurrence. Women went about their chores singing, as did some of the older children. Often even the soldiers sang in cadence.

  Perhaps no one else would pay attention, but Stone Heart would recognize her voice, of that she was sure. She walked away from his cell, then turned and started back, trying to sound as if she were out for a walk and singing under her breath. It might not work, but she couldn’t very well shout, “It’s me, Aiden, and I’m right outside your window.”