by Jenna Kernan
“It is a joke,” said Fast Bear to Eagle Dancer, his voice losing its bravado and turning conciliatory.
“Joke with your own slave. Oh, yes, you no longer have one.”
“I honored her by making her a wife and she ran. It was my right to kill her.”
“It was. But you have no rights to this one.”
Fast Bear put his heels to his pony and lifted the scalp, giving a bone-chilling cry as he charged away.
Eagle Dancer dismounted. “I am sorry, Sunshine.”
Lucie swiped at her tears. All her prayers went unanswered. Alice had failed. She had told Lucie she would rather die than be taken by a savage and that was what had happened.
Eagle Dancer drew her to her feet and gazed down at her with a look of tenderness. “She was your friend.”
Lucie sniffed and nodded.
“Did you know she would run?”
Her eyes widened. Of course she had known, but she could not tell. Her cheeks heated. She was such a terrible liar, he had his answer before she could deny it.
“No.”
He sighed. “You should have told me. She would still be alive now.”
Another arrow pierced Lucie’s heart. Alice had been so unhappy and had been here much longer.
Eagle Dancer’s grip grew uncomfortably tight on her upper arms. She lifted her gaze to his.
“Do not run, Sunshine.”
She shook her head. “I won’t.”
He stared intently at her a moment longer and then released her. Lucie gathered her burden, clutching it tight to her aching chest.
She cried without sound so as not to draw attention as they marched along. She had felt jealous when Alice had run. Now she felt sick at heart.
Later that day she saw Fast Bear upon a rise, wagging the dreadful trophy and laughing at her.
“You run, too,” he jeered. “Then I take your fire hair.”
She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him or his bloody prize.
On the morning of the second day she discovered another captive, dressed as a warrior and riding beside an old brave. At first, his dark brown hair made her believe he was a half-breed. Many women bore children to whites who later tired of their company and sent them home. But this boy, perhaps two years older than Lucie, had blue eyes.
She called to him, but he made no reply. Finally, she tried in Sioux and he looked her way, slowing his horse to allow her to catch up.
“You are a captive?” Lucie asked.
“No more. I am adopted son of Ten Horses.” He motioned to his companion.
“But you are white,” she said in English.
“I do not remember those words,” he answered in Sioux. “Or my coming here. I was a child. Now I am a warrior.”
“But you are white,” she repeated in Sioux.
He made a face and kicked his pony to a trot.
That evening she asked Yellow Bird about the young brave.
“His people sickened on their travels toward the sun. Ten Horses found him with his dying father. The man wrote stick words on paper and then offered Ten Horses all his oxen and horses to take the boy east to the fort.”
Lucie waited, breathless for the end to the tale.
Yellow Bird laughed. “Instead he takes the boy and all he wishes from the wagons of the dead. He makes the boy his son. He is called Sky Fox for the color of his eyes.
“They are ghost eyes, like yours. I say it is not wise to bring the enemy into one’s home.”
The woman glanced at Eagle Dancer, but he ignored her, keeping his focus on the new piece of stone he carved for a pipe.
The next day, Lucie struggled with the larger load Yellow Bird had laid upon her. As the day progressed she fell farther and farther behind, until she saw not one familiar face. Late in the afternoon, when the women set up their camps, Lucie continued on, but as dusk approached, the first twinges of panic arrived.
Lost.
Fearful of punishment she hurried along, bent by her load, but she recognized no one in the group as she moved from one campfire to the next. At nightfall she asked for help, but none knew Yellow Bird.
The camp numbered in the thousands. She walked until her legs ached. No one took her in or offered her even a gourd of water to drink.
Fear of retribution urged her onward until exhaustion finally caused her legs to tremble like a spent horse. She could not go on and so she sank to the earth beneath a willow tree.
It was there that Eagle Dancer came upon her. She never thought she would be grateful to see him, but found she was. He offered her water from his skin. When she tried and failed to rise, he lifted her in his arms as her father used to do and carried her to his warhorse. Then he handed her the bundle of belongings. He did not chastise or berate her, but simply lifted the reins and led his horse along.
Lucie knew it was very improper for her to ride while he walked. She glanced about to see if anyone witnessed this breach. Men must keep their hands free to defend their families. They did not carry burdens. That was the work of dogs, horses and women.
The only time she ever saw a man carry anything other than his weapons had been the time Running Wolf carried firewood for his wife just before she bore him a son. But Lucie was not so burdened as that.
They walked along and Lucie wrapped her fingers around the ropes, determined to hold on. The rocking lulled her tired body, but her mind raced.
What would Yellow Bird say?
Her empty stomach clenched as she recognized the cast-iron pot, stolen from her mother’s wagon sitting beside a fire. Yellow Bird stepped into the light.
“So she did not run away. Too bad.”
She pressed her hands to her hips. “She could not keep up. You should beat her for her lazy ways.”
Eagle Dancer ignored his mother as he took the bundle from Lucie and set it aside.
Yellow Bird gasped. He proceeded to clasp Lucie gently about the waist, drawing her into his arms. He held her like a groom preparing to jump over the threshold.
Yellow Bird’s voice rose in outrage. “What is this? You carry her things. You carry her? Is she your slave or are you hers?”
Eagle Dancer set Lucie on her feet and reached for the bundle. Yellow Bird stepped between him and his objective.
“My son does not carry a woman’s things,” she snapped.
Eagle Dancer drew a deep breath and straightened to face his mother. “Your son has not eaten this day. Does his mother have his meal ready?”
She turned to the cooking pot. “It is ready. I have not been hiding from my work all day. I know my place.”
Eagle Dancer cast Lucie a glance and she thought she saw the shadow of a smile. On that chance, she smiled back and then hurried to unpack the sleeping skins she carried.
When she finished, Yellow Bird sent her to gather wood. By the time she returned, she nearly wilted from hunger. Her stomach had long since given up growling and her body now sent little shards of red light exploding before her eyes.
She dropped the stack of branches and sank to the earth beside the fire. There she found two small chunks of antelope left in the pot.
Yellow Bird smiled viciously, waiting for Lucie to issue some complaint about her portion. Knowing better than to speak, Lucie held her tongue and ate, then used her fingers to scrape the burned leavings from the pot. Her stomach, alive with this meager offering, now growled and rolled mercilessly.
As Lucie worked to glean another mouthful of dinner, Yellow Bird disappeared to see to her personal needs, leaving Lucie alone with Eagle Dancer.
“Did you try to run, Sunshine?” he asked.
Her eyes widened with surprise.
“I was lost.”
He lifted his bowl from beneath the cover of a deerskin hide and offered her a full portion of cold supper. She snatched the bowl and ate like a dog, gulping her meal.
“I know my mother is unkind. Understand that my father died of the spotting sickness. She blames your people for this. Now she ha
s only me.”
Lucie finished her meal and placed the bowl with Yellow Bird’s inside the cooking pot.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Have you had your break with the moon?”
Lucie frowned, trying to comprehend his question.
“I do not understand.”
His hopeful expression changed to resignation and he nodded. When his mother returned he drew her aside to speak to her privately. Lucie strained to hear their conversation, knowing she was the subject of heated discussion.
It was just before sunset when Brennan called them to his office. Thomas held the door for Sarah and then stepped inside to find Major Brennan. The room seemed crowded with Indians.
Before Brennan’s desk stood two men. Behind them, three Indian women sat on a narrow bench, as motionless as statues.
Thomas glanced at the men. The first was a Sioux warrior, judging from the leggings and moccasins visible beneath the red Hudson Bay blanket draped over his shoulders. His pock-scarred face and hunched posture made him look small and weak, until you looked at the fire in his black eyes. Thomas watched the Indian with suspicion.
Beside him stood another Indian, but this one was dressed in an army jacket, brown trousers and worn black boots. He held his broad hat in his hands before him.
Brennan rose to shake Thomas’s hand, ignoring Sarah completely.
“Mr. West, this is Black Tail.” He motioned to the Indian huddled beneath the blanket. “He’s Ogallala Sioux and friendly. He is agreeable to carrying ransom offers back to his people.”
“Who are they?” asked Sarah, indicating the three women sitting beneath the window behind them.
“His wives.”
Sarah gasped.
“They take as many as they can feed,” said the major.
Thomas stared at the smiling Indian, who looked away an instant after their gazes met. Anger burned low in his belly as he realized that some young buck might right now be taking his little girl for a wife.
“I have the letter you requested,” said Sarah.
She handed this to the major.
Brennan accepted the envelope without comment. He used it to indicate the other Indian.
“This is my interpreter, John Standing Forest. He has explained what we require.”
Sarah did not even glance at the other man, keeping her attention on Brennan. “Tell Black Tail to deliver this letter only to Lucie.”
Brennan nodded and the interpreter spoke to Black Tail. The man’s hand emerged from beneath his blanket to take the letter.
Brennan spoke to his interpreter. “Tell him that if he brings Lucie West back safely, we’ll give him horses and cooking pots, but until he returns, his wives stay here.”
The translator explained the major’s words and waited while Black Tail spoke.
“He wants to take one of his wives to cook for him. It is a long way north.”
Brennan shook his head.
The Indian spoke again and the interpreter translated.
“He agrees to leave two as hostages to guarantee his return.”
Thomas spoke in level tones, staring at the warrior. “The women stay here.”
Black Tail apparently did not need a translator for this. He raised his voice, slapping the letter upon the desk.
Brennan lifted a hand calling for quiet and turned to the interpreter.
“He says he will not leave his favorite wife behind.”
“Tell him he leaves them all or they are free to go, but they are not welcome to trade here again.”
When he heard the translation, Black Tail’s expression showed his unhappiness more clearly than words. He snatched up the letter and marched away without speaking to his women.
The major looked at the three and then to his interpreter. “Take them away.”
Alone with only Sarah and the major, Thomas voiced his concerns.
“How do you know he is friendly?”
“Likely he is not. For all I know he’s of the same band that struck the train of emigrants last week. They attack us one day and lay down their weapons to trade here the next. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t let a solitary one of them inside these walls.”
“Do you think he’ll deliver the letter?” asked Sarah.
The longing in her voice nearly broke Thomas’s heart. She had nothing on which to pin her hopes but the fickle enemy letter carrier and his desire to retrieve his wives.
“He might,” said Brennan. “Either way, we won’t hear anything for weeks. Best to settle in to wait.”
“Thank you for your efforts, Major.” Thomas replaced his hat and held the door for Sarah.
Outside, she marched along the planking with ill-disguised rage.
“Weeks he said, as if I care. If only he brings her back to me.”
Thomas increased his stride length and grasped Sarah’s arm, bringing her to a halt.
“It will take time for this tree to bear fruit.”
Her rigid stance dissolved and her shoulders rounded. Her desolated countenance echoed her desperation. “I know you are right.”
He eased the pressure on her elbow and guided her toward her room. They walked in silence, save the strike of their heels on the walkway.
Sarah slowed her pace, now dreading to be trapped alone in her little room. Her heart ached and she longed to seek comfort in Thomas’s arms. Tension crept into her as she considered asking him in.
He drew to a halt beside her door, and she found herself holding her breath in indecision. She wanted him to hold her, but feared him being seen entering or leaving her quarters. Sarah glanced first to the right and then the left, searching the shadows for witnesses.
Thomas opened her door and stepped aside.
“Sarah?” Thomas’s expression showed his confusion at her hesitation.
She crossed the threshold and faced him.
“Do you want to stay, Thomas?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she had made yet another mistake.
She had never been able to quell the longing he stirred in her soul, but she was not ready to face the consequences of another night together. She had only wanted him to hold her.
But Thomas was already inside the room and judging from the intensity of his stare, she knew he had other intensions entirely.
She qualified her invitation. “You could rest beside the bed.”
His advance halted abruptly and his brow sank low over his eyes. “The first time you slept in my bed was magic. The second, I was downstairs sleeping in my parlor and the third I was too damned drunk to recognize the opportunity. I’m not drunk now, Sarah.”
She stood frozen with her indecision.
He laid a hand on her arm. “If I stay, I won’t be sleeping on the floor.”
The room was dark. She looked up but could not see his face. His shadowy outline hovered near. The repercussions of her last act of impulsiveness rose up before her like a specter, sending cold terror washing down her spine.
He leaned forward to kiss her and she turned away, giving him her cheek. He stiffened and drew back, gripping her shoulders. She did not look at him, but stood mute.
His hands slipped away. “I best go.”
She did not try to stop him, though he waited for a long moment for her to do so. When she did not, he spun about, departing with long urgent strides.
Sarah closed and bolted the door and then sank to the bed in the darkness. Could she do nothing right where Thomas was concerned?
Sarah sat for some time. At last, bone weary and sick at heart, she rose and lit a candle to ready herself for sleep. But sleep was a long time in coming.
Her restless mind yielded violent nightmares. She stood gripping a lock of Alice French’s brown hair as savages chased Lucie across a stormy prairie, capturing her and dragging her to their leader. Then she realized their chief was Samuel and it was he who held Lucie hostage. The thin, tinny notes of First Call brought her upright.
How could she have such a drea
m? Samuel never hurt Lucie.
Then she remembered his lie. The evil untruth scrawled across a page as he claimed Lucie as his own. That letter had driven Thomas away while holding them hostage all these years.
After Ben Harris had come and gone, she’d brooded for a time. Then she went to Samuel and told him what she wanted. He wept. The raw pain of his sobs still echoed in her ears. So she had stayed. She had not known of the letter then, only that he had rescued her and Lucie, had given them a home. She felt like an ungrateful cur for wanting to leave him. When he was drunk he would tell her to go, that he didn’t deserve her and then he would weep, clinging to her legs as he knelt before her. By then he was ill and she could not bear to leave him.
Enough!
She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and came upright, clutching her head in her hands.
Sarah washed and dressed, pausing after braiding her hair. She stared at her reflection in the tiny mirror.
Major Brennan had warned it would be weeks before their courier returned, if he ever returned.
What was there for her to do to fill the minutes and hours and days? She glanced with desperation about the empty room. For the first time in her adult life she had nothing to do. No laundry to wash or meals to make. No chickens or pigs to feed, no house and family to tend. She found the respite unsettling. All her life, there never seemed to be enough time to finish what had to be done. Now she had no work, no purpose. Without the farm, Samuel and Lucie, she ceased to be of use. Fear crept over her heart like ice on a pond.
If she never found Lucie, what would be her purpose?
Your purpose is to find her and bring her home.
But Sarah had no home—no farm and few possessions. What would Lucie come home to?
Sarah dug in her packs and found her bag of scraps. She drew out her needle, thread and scissors. Next she turned to her clothing bag and pulled out a faded denim shirt that Samuel had once worn. She paused, remembering the fabric covering her husband’s strong back as he plowed the fields. The elbows went first and then the collar. She lifted the garment to her nose and sniffed but found no trace of him.
She lifted the scissors and began to cut. Her old oatmeal-colored skirt would suit for the background fabric. She fingered the tattered hem. The garment still bore many useful yards.
