Walks Alone

by Sandi Rog

  Anna stumbled back, tripping over her thick cloak. Her gaze darted in every direction, looking for the creature that left his meal behind. Not wanting to be there when it returned, she scrambled to her feet and ran as fast as she could, praying for speed.

  She raced along the river and past the bluff, trying not to stumble. Her stomach growled from hunger, but stopping wasn’t an option. She had to get as far away from the dead animal as possible. The shallow depths of snow made it easy to run as she hurried along the edge of the river, leaping over pinecones, rocks, and dead branches.

  Finally when she could run no more, and she felt somewhat reassured that enough distance separated her and the carcass, she stopped to catch her breath. What in the world had killed that deer? What kind of animal would do such a thing? Thinking about it made the small hairs on her arms and neck stand on end.

  She imagined a wild animal, a mountain lion, coming after her. There was no way she could outrun the beast. Tears filled her eyes, and she fought the urge to scream. Instead, her stomach growled audibly, screaming for her. The sound was so funny, she almost laughed. And the desire to laugh brought her mind to attention.

  God was with her. Therefore, no need to panic.

  Taking in a deep, reassuring breath, she kicked a stone and continued her trek along the water, wishing she had food. If only she had an arrow, maybe she could catch a fish like White Eagle had done. But then, how would she start a fire? White Eagle always had that handy fire horn strapped over his shoulder. She could just eat the fish raw. She remembered doing that in Amsterdam as a girl when the fishermen returned from sea, although without salt, they wouldn’t be as tasty. For that matter, she could just turn back and eat the raw deer. Of course, that was out of the question.

  White Eagle. Where was he now? Surely he knew she was missing, assuming he wasn’t wounded in the last attack. He had to be well. He had to be alive. The thought made her shudder. It didn’t seem possible. They were married. She carried his child. He was definitely alive. She felt it in her heart. But what if she was wrong? She shook the thought from her mind. She prayed he’d find her—she prayed he was all right.

  After several hours of following the river along a high bank, she came to a section where the river broadened. Much of the snow was melting, and streams of water ran under the crusts of snow and ice. She followed the river around a bend and was met with a large body of water. The river that was supposed to provide hope, her only guide to civilization, had turned into a swamp. Patches of snow and ice floated along its surface and near the muddy banks, and dead shrubs and pines protruded from its depths.

  Dizziness overwhelmed her, and with each step she took, the ground seemed to move. Now what would she do? Her stomach hurt from hunger, her legs felt like boulders, and her belly grew heavier by the moment. Thankfully the sun had been strong, helping to keep her warm. Her toes and hands were no longer stiff from cold, and she even grew hot enough to take off the buffalo cloak.

  With no river to follow there was little chance of coming to a town or village. Her empty stomach clenched at the terrifying thought of spending another lonely night in the woods, and she hugged the cloak against her pounding chest.

  God was with her, she reminded herself, and she began talking to Him.

  Wanting to avoid the slush, she hiked up the bank where she found the snow had melted. A cool breeze swept over her, but not cold enough to be buried again under her buffalo cloak. She would have frozen to death last night had she not had that skin.

  After about an hour, she came to a familiar patch of trees, and she wondered if she’d been walking in circles. She walked on, but her heart sank when she found herself standing in her own tracks near the swamp again. Panic snaked over her skin, leaving tingling ripples in its path.

  “No!” she cried out in frustration and fear. She was trapped, stranded in the wilderness with nowhere to go. It was hopeless. White Eagle was right. She had no sense of direction. How would she ever get out? How would she survive? Even if she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t ready to die. “Please! Not yet, Lord.” She’d read that He wouldn’t give her more than she could handle. Well, now she realized He meant that in the spiritual sense and not the physical. She could die out here. But she’d remain faithful. Faithful to Him. She wouldn’t give in to fear and doubt.

  Then an idea struck her. She opened the small pouch containing the paste jewelry. If she’d just drop them one by one, she wouldn’t walk in circles again.

  Poor Runs With Wind would never get her pretty jewelry. She slipped a ring onto a bare branch as she trudged through the sparse forest where the snow had melted into the pine-covered ground. Farther along and feeling certain she was finally going straight, she hung a necklace from another branch.

  It wasn’t until much later that something caught her eye. A small plant sprouted in the sunlight, just as green and perky as could be. And she recognized it. For the life of her, she couldn’t recall its name, but she knew its leaf. She’d dug up several roots of that very plant in the woods with Laughs Like A River and Beth. And it was good for eating.

  She flew to the spot, dropped to her knees and dug into the surprisingly soft ground. It was completely alone, with no others like it, basking in the sunlight, as though waiting all along for her to come. “Thank you, Lord!” Her fingers clawed the ground. She needed a root pick, or a stick, anything like what she’d used with the Cheyenne. A dead branch lay just a few feet away. She snatched it up and resumed digging.

  ~*~

  White Eagle led the horse behind him through the forest. It’d been next to impossible to track anything in the pitch-black woods, and finally he had to go on foot to get a closer look. As daylight came, he spotted a break in the snow at the top of a ridge.

  At the base of the bank, he found a dead horse, and White Eagle froze. He dismounted and scrambled down the ridge, sliding every time he lost his footing.

  His pulse raced when he found no sign of Anna under the horse. This was one time he was thankful not to have found her. She’d obviously managed to continue on, but she could be hurt. He had to find her.

  Much of the snow had melted, but he checked for more tracks and spotted the familiar boot prints in a large patch of snow farther down the small river.

  He hurried back up to his horse. As he followed along the bank, he picked up a trail of tracks that led away from the river. He spotted a lump at the base of a tree and a sour stench wafted over him. He knew that smell. Definitely animal, not human. Rifle in hand, he dismounted and recognized Anna’s boot tracks everywhere. He followed them to the other side of the tree. The carcass of a deer. No sign of Anna. Thank Ma’heo’o!

  The sight sent an urgency through him like none other. He had to find her before a wild animal did. The boot prints had larger spacing between them, leading away from the tree. Perhaps the sight of the deer frightened her and she took off running. By the looks of her tracks, that appeared to be the explanation. The snow was melting. He’d better move on before he lost the trail.

  By the time he reached a swamp, he dismounted and checked again for tracks while the horse drank. He spotted her boot prints heading into the forest. He remounted and hurried in that direction. He kept on, only stopping long enough to double-check the tracks.

  They ran in all sorts of directions, fading away with the melting snow, but still revealing themselves in the pressed pine and broken branches. When he realized he was going in circles, he wasn’t terribly surprised. She never did have a good sense of direction. If only she’d just followed the river back. At least that would have kept her from wandering aimlessly around.

  He dismounted and focused on one set of tracks that left grooves in the pine beds. Something shiny from one of the trees caught his eye. Its color was out of place in the wilderness.

  He took the ring between his fingers and realized it was Anna’s paste jewelry. He grabbed the reins of his horse and led it in the direction of the tracks that led beneath a hanging necklace. This must
have been the final direction she took, so he followed the trail of jewels.

  As he followed the jewelry he wondered what she’d hoped to accomplish. He could imagine she’d use it to find her way back somewhere, but not for this. Rather than it keeping her from walking in small circles, she’d made one large arc, right back to the same river close to where he’d found the deer carcass. At least it helped him get on the right track. He felt confident that he’d soon find her.

  As the sun threatened to dip behind the mountains, the rushing sounds of the river carried to his ears. He thought Anna might have gone there since she’d followed it the last time, but as he hurried, he still kept an eye out for more jewelry, plucking it off trees and shrubs.

  When he reached the river, he found himself on a small ridge of boulders. Just below in the distance farther down the river and kneeling by the water was a sight that sent a shower of relief through his system.

  Anna.

  His Morning Sun, with her buffalo cloak cast aside and wearing her Cheyenne clothing. She rubbed her round belly.

  His chest swelled with joy as he watched her by the water. But just as he was about to call out her name, movement in the trees caught his eye not far from where she stood.

  A cougar crept toward her.

  White Eagle froze.

  Any sudden movement could make the lion spring. One strike to the back of the neck and Anna would be dead.

  He stared at the cat. Nothing was real anymore. He thought the dreams had ended, but now reality slapped him in the face with a nightmare.

  He forced himself to move and grabbed two arrows. His hands felt numb against the bow as he fixed his gaze on the cat.

  Smoke, gunshots, bloodied snow all rushed to his mind. He could almost hear the crying of the small child on the banks of Sand Creek. He could see the baby’s tears, his fingers in his mouth, his wet cheeks—the face of the baby he’d failed to save.

  And now he must save his own wife and child.

  He shook his head and focused on the mountain lion as it crept toward Anna. Back then his arrow had missed its mark. But this time his aim would be true. It had to be true. The cat assumed a crouched position. Its tail twitched and its ears stood upright.

  White Eagle braced his legs apart and drew the bowstring tight, his muscles tense.

  “God help me,” he whispered.

  The cat laid its ears back, ready to spring.

  Like lightning, the arrows sliced through the air.

  ~*~

  Splashing water caused Anna to look up. A man. White Eagle. Racing right through the water to meet her. She straightened, crying out.

  An urgent look flashed on his face as he caught her in his arms.

  She clung to him. “It’s you! It’s really you!” She cried into his neck, hardly able to believe it was true. He was alive—safe and alive. “You found me. I can’t believe you’re really here.”

  His arms tightened around her, and she could feel his trembling as he kissed her head. “My Morning Sun, you’re safe.” Then, as if to make sure she wasn’t harmed, he felt her neck, shoulders and arms, and caressed her abdomen. Seeing that all was well, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, then took her in his trembling arms again. “You’re safe now, chérie.”

  The sound of his voice and his wonderful accent filled her mind as the warmth of his arms enveloped her. He held her for a long time, nuzzling his face in her hair. Finally, her own trembling began to subside, and she relaxed against him.

  “Will you say that again?” she whispered.

  He held her away, determination darkening his eyes. “You’re safe now.”

  All at once she giggled between tears.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s just so good to hear those words.”

  It was time to head back so she turned toward shore, but he caught her and faced her in another direction.

  "My cloak," she said.

  He held her shoulders and kissed her. “Let me get it for you.” He started toward the buffalo robe but turned and pointed away from him. “Look at that,” he said.

  She turned. “What?” All she saw was the mountain and water trickling from a small stream along its rocks and bushes.

  He scooped her into the robe, her back still to him. “The sky. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  She didn’t recall him pointing upward. Nestling into her cloak, she looked up at the sky. The lowering sun caused the clouds to glow pink. Yes. He was right. Beautiful. She gazed up at him.

  He grinned. “ This way.” He guided her toward shore. “I’ll take you home,” he said.

  His words warmed her heart. She thought of her long journey to fulfill her dream, to find home. She’d been foolish to think home could be found in a city. The strength of his arms sheltered her, and she nestled close.

  “I am home.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, Lord, for allowing Walks Alone to be published. Thank you to the WhiteFire staff for seeing its value. And thank you to my Wendy flower for editing all the many rewrites on what I call “my practice novel.” It was a great learning experience for both of us.

  But most importantly, I’d like to thank Karsten, my wonderful husband, who inspired White Eagle’s character.

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