by Jenna Kernan
He strained to hear what was amiss. The horses blew and stomped as if impatient to be fed. They did not seem to sense any danger. Then he realized what was missing—the wind. The gale that had shaken the rafters through the night, wailing like a band of attacking Indians, now blew softly through the barn.
The storm had passed.
Thank God. He relaxed back into his bed.
Then he recalled his daughter and the Sioux. He sat up.
Sarah started awake.
“What?” she cried.
“The wind has died.”
She blinked up at him and swept a strand of hair from her eyes. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Not if they come after us.”
Now she was kneeling beside him, clutching his lapels.
“We have to get her away.”
He drew back to stare at her, assessing her in the gloom. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine, Thomas, fit to ride. Hurry.”
He nodded, rising to his feet. They had not come all this way to lose their daughter now. He had hoped to have a moment alone with her to tell Sarah he still loved her with all his heart, but the desperation in her eyes urged him to action.
He forked hay to the crib as Sarah carried water to the horses. Then he threw back the bolt and slid the door open. The gray gloom of predawn greeted him with a blast of bitter cold air. The temperature must have dropped fifty degrees overnight and he guessed the thermometer now dipped well below freezing. Winter had arrived.
Sarah stepped around him and landed in hip deep snow, blown against the barn. Thomas stared at the drifts before them. Sarah moved to push on and he held her arm.
“Follow me.”
Immediately, she fell in behind him, like the good little soldier she had become. He plowed forward, wading through snow that brushed his hips at times. His goal lay only ten feet away when the front door banged open and Roubideaux filled the opening.
“West!” he called. “I thought you were a goner.”
“Still alive,” he called.
Sarah poked her head out behind him.
“Lucie!” she called.
He thumbed over his shoulder. “Inside.”
Sarah pushed at Thomas’s back to hurry him.
Roubideaux raised a hand. “We best ready the horses.”
Thomas nodded, breaking the rest of the trail and then allowing Sarah to slip past him onto the step.
“Lucie,” she called.
From within the cabin came the trembling reply. “Mama?”
His daughter tore across the room and threw herself into her mother’s outstretched arms.
“Mama!”
The two embraced, rocking side to side as they wept.
Thomas clenched his jaw against the squeezing pressure in his throat. Moisture clouded his vision as he moved to join his family.
Roubideaux stepped into the snow and grasped Thomas’s upper arm. “West—the horses, or we’re all gonna die.”
Thomas cast them one last glance before turning to follow Roubideaux.
Behind him, Sarah clutched Lucie as if she meant to squeeze the life out of her. She could scarcely believe she held her child again after all the months of heartache and worry.
Lucie cried against her shoulder, seemingly only able to say, “Mama.”
Sarah drew back first, because she needed the reassurance of her own eyes to see her daughter had survived her ordeal. She gripped Lucie’s narrow shoulders, still clad in the coat Thomas had purchased. It hung upon her.
Sarah smiled as she lifted her gaze to Lucie’s face, then the smile dropped from her lips. At first she thought it a trick of the light, some dreadful stain like berry juice. She lifted a thumb, trying to rub away the three inverted blue triangles that hung below Lucie’s lower lip like fangs.
“Bruises,” she muttered to herself as her rubbing did no good.
She met Lucie’s round-eyed stare, noting the stiffness of her body and the grim expression on her face.
“Lucie, what have they done to you?” But she knew the instant Lucie could not hold her gaze. A chill rolled down her spine as she gripped her daughter’s shoulders.
Lucie’s chin sank to her chest. Her bluntly cut hair fell over her face and she used the palm of her hand to hide the ghastly marks scarring her chin. Sarah recognized the shame that consumed her daughter.
She dragged Lucie to her breast. “No, no, don’t cry again. No more tears now. It’s all right. It doesn’t matter.” But it did. There would be no new start, for wherever Lucie went these marks would brand her as a white captive. Sarah’s heart ached with grief as she hugged her girl.
All the warnings of all the wretched men came back to her. Leave her there, she’s better off dead.
“No.” She hadn’t meant to speak aloud.
Lucie’s voice seemed strangled by her tears. “It’s dreadful.” She clutched her palm to her chin as she sobbed.
Sarah stroked her daughter’s hair and whispered words of comfort as her heart broke. How could they do this to her child? She reined in her anger. It served no purpose now. She could not punish those who had abused her daughter, but how she wanted to.
Sarah drew away again in an effort to make Lucie meet her gaze. Lucie refused her gentle urging until Sarah clasped her hands to her daughter’s face and lifted her chin.
“I’m sorry, Mama. So sorry.”
“Now, what have you to be sorry for?”
Lucie shook her head. “That I didn’t stay hidden like you told me. You told me, but I ran and they caught me.”
“What?”
“I didn’t stay put. I ran—I ran.”
Sarah tried to absorb this. “I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry, too.”
“I know I should have killed myself when they captured me. But I was afraid to go to hell. Are you ashamed of me, Mama?”
Now Sarah could not rein in her anger. She shook her daughter hard. Lucie gasped in surprise. “Don’t say that—not ever. How could you think to kill yourself when I told you I’d be back for you?”
Lucie said nothing.
“I’ll never be ashamed of you, not now, not ever. You survived, Lucie, and I thank God for it.”
“Mama.” Lucie’s lip trembled and her voice dropped to a whisper. “They did things to me.”
Sarah’s spine straightened. “It’s all right now.”
Lucie’s eyes told her it would never be all right.
Sarah fingered the blunt ends of Lucie’s hair, now cut at her shoulder, making the waves of red-gold seem fuller.
“They cut your hair.”
Lucie sniffed and her gaze dropped again.
Sarah wrapped an arm about her daughter and squeezed. “I’m so glad to have you back.”
The astonishment in her daughter’s face nearly broke her heart.
“Button up your coat,” said Sarah. “We’re going.”
Only then did Sarah note that Water Blossom stood in the shadows of the room, silently watching their reunion.
Sarah turned to her friend. “The storm is broken.”
“How did you survive?”
“Thomas found me. We reached the barn.”
Water Blossom nodded and lifted her husband’s saddlebags.
Sarah moved awkwardly forward and hugged Water Blossom, who stood stiff and still through this ordeal. Sarah drew back. “Thank you for saving my daughter.”
A smile flickered on the woman’s lips and she nodded.
“I’ll never forget this. You will forever have my gratitude.”
Water Blossom shouldered the bag. “She not saved yet.”
Sarah drew a great breath as her surroundings returned.
Roubideaux shouted from the yard. “Get a move on!”
Water Blossom hurried out the door.
Sarah looped an arm over Lucie’s shoulders and urged her toward her Appaloosa, whose reins Thomas held.
He moved to the horse’s side and clasped his hands, holding them
low before him as a foothold. “You two ride double. Sarah first.”
She placed her boot in the palms of his hands and swung up. Lucie followed. Lucie barely had time to clasp her arms about her mother when the trader set his heels to his horse without a backward glance.
Roubideaux took point with one of one of the pack mules in tow. Next came Water Blossom, leading the second mule, which was carrying far more goods than her husband’s mule. Sarah pressed her heels into the Appaloosa’s sides and they fell in behind the second mule. Next came Thomas guarding their backs.
Sarah glanced past him in search of a Sioux war party.
She looked back often throughout the day.
Thomas and Roubideaux alternated breaking the trail. Most places on the windswept prairie had less than a foot of snow, but in the valleys and on some hillsides, the drifts reached the horses’s bellies. The trader’s pack mules, heavy laden, became more resistant to moving forward and needed constant urging.
The morning turned to afternoon and the winter sun did not warm Sarah in the least. She was grateful for Lucie’s slender body pressed to her back as they managed to generate some warmth between them. The bone-chilling wind continued to blow, lifting the powdery snow into temporary whiteouts. It was because of these swirling scattered squalls that she did not see anything amiss.
Thomas called forward to them. “Nearly there.”
Sarah squinted but could see nothing to reassure her that safety lay near at hand.
“Over that rise.” Thomas pointed to the unbroken snow on the hill before them.
To Sarah, it looked like every other knoll, until she noted gray smoke rising into the cloudy sky.
Her heart leapt with hope as she cast one last look back to check for pursuit. She did not credit her eyes at first. Sarah peered hard into the swirling snow at the dark shapes. They might be buffalo or elk. Lucie turned back as well, and gasped.
Sarah shouted, “Thomas!”
He lifted up on his stirrups as he turned, his gaze following the direction of her extended arm. He swore.
“Roubideaux! Indians!”
The trader, now in the lead, whipped his horse, dragging on his pack animal’s bridle as his mount sprang into action. The pack mule shied and reared.
“Drop him,” shouted Thomas.
“No!” called the trader, stubbornly gripping the lead line to his goods.
“You damn fool! You’ll kill us all!” Thomas broke from the line, passing Sarah and Water Blossom. “Sarah, take the lead.”
She did, setting her heels into her poor Freckles’s sides. Sarah glanced back to see their unburdened pursuers closing the gap. Thomas followed them, his rifle drawn as he aimed at the charging warriors. Behind him the trader and his wife, still clinging to the mules’ lead lines, fell farther behind.
Roubideaux let go first, abandoning Water Blossom.
“Let go, Water Blossom,” called Sarah, but did not know if her friend could hear. Behind them, the Sioux drew close enough for Sarah to see the red and blue war paint on the lead pony’s forelegs.
“Go,” yelled Thomas, waving at Sarah.
She turned forward, focusing all her energy on reaching the safety of the fort. She kicked her mount as the crack of his rifle sounded behind her.
Roubideaux drew even with Sarah, making no effort to protect them as he lunged by. Arrows protruded from his saddle cantle.
Sarah kicked and Freckles lurched after him. She topped the hill, seeing the parapets of the fort rising from the frozen ground. Soldiers on the catwalk returned fire and she thought she heard a bugle blast beyond the wind whistling by her ears.
Her sturdy horse easily caught up to the trader’s on the flat, stretching their lead as the main gate swung open before them. His horse stumbled twice under the burden of the heavy man. Sarah realized that Roubideaux’s mount was weary from breaking trail much of the day. A cold blade of fear struck as she remembered that Thomas’s horse had done the same.
She glanced back to see Thomas and Water Blossom still in the rear, but neither had fallen behind. It seemed as if he could have passed her but would not, and she realized that he acted as a human shield between them and their pursuers.
She hurried her horse, bounding ahead of the trader as Lucie lay across her like a second skin. Her daughter’s back stood unprotected and that realization caused Sarah to lean further over the horse’s neck to make them a smaller target.
Now they reached the well-packed trail of the wood-cutting details.
The cry of the Sioux reached her with the crack of rifle fire. When the first arrow whizzed past her head, she thought she mistook it, until a second hummed by, disappearing into the snow.
Before her, the gates yawned.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Faster!” shouted Thomas, seeming to be just behind her now.
Sarah kicked her horse and leaned low against his bobbing neck.
“Come on, boy,” she urged.
The trader cleared the gate. Her horse lunged to the safety of the yard and she turned to see Thomas come next, followed by Water Blossom and one of the unattended mules.
Gunshots popped as the soldiers from the catwalk returned fire. The howl of the warriors echoed in Sarah’s head as the gate swung shut securing their escape.
Horses and riders panted, sending white vapor into the air. Sarah gazed up at their saviors on the catwalk, still defending this patch of earth. Sarah turned to Lucie, who sat straight behind her, a hand to her chest as she stared in disbelief at the closed gate. Her daughter looked frightened, but unharmed.
Next, her attention moved to Thomas. His eyes met hers and he nudged his horse forward.
“We made it.” Thomas reached out and clasped her hand.
She gripped him fiercely as joy and relief rushed through her.
“Thank God,” she whispered.
From somewhere above them on a catwalk came a familiar voice.
“West!”
His hand slipped away. Major Brennan motioned with undisguised irritation. “Get up here. You too, Roubideaux!”
Thomas dismounted. He stood beside Sarah, resting an open palm proprietarily upon her thigh. “Will you be all right?”
She nodded, clasping his hand for a moment. “We’ll be fine.”
He gave her a winning smile and then hurried away.
Corporal Abby trotted across the yard and took hold of Freckles’s reins. “You two are to report to your quarters.”
Sarah lifted a brow at the order and Abby hastened to explain.
“It’s for your safety, Mrs. West. Major’s orders.”
Sarah nodded. Lucie slid down first and she followed, stifling a groan at the stiffness that gripped her back. Her daughter huddled close and Sarah noted Corporal Abby staring slack jawed at Lucie.
“Anything else, corporal?”
Abby straightened and his eyes shifted nervously. “No, ma’am.”
“Well, dismissed then.” She shooed him with both hands and he made an abrupt about-face, leading Freckles toward the stables.
Sarah glanced at Lucie, surprised that her daughter’s head now topped her shoulder. She was a young lady and she had been a bride. Her heart ached at all her child had endured. She clasped Lucie’s hand and was about to set off when she saw Water Blossom, alone in the yard, looking nervous as a fox before the hounds. Above them, rifle fire repeated. Answering shots continued beyond the walls. How must she feel? Outside her people fought, inside her husband stood upon the walls beside the soldiers.
“Water Blossom, come with me.”
She led them to her room, tying her friend’s horse and mule outside. From the quarters adjoining hers, she saw Chastity Corbit gawking through her window. It was then Sarah realized she still wore a buckskin dress and moccasins. The three of them must have made quite a sight, but there was no excusing Chastity’s rude stare or undisguised irk.
No love lost as far as Sarah was concerned. This woman had wasted no time telling the
camp when Thomas had spent the night. Gossipy little witch.
If not for the gunfire, she’s likely venture out to spread the news that Lucie had been found.
She and Lucie had been the target of much cruel treatment back in Illinois as a result of Thomas’s disappearance, her hasty marriage and the baby that came too soon for anyone who could count. The whispers, the assessing stares, how well she recalled the women’s brutality.
Lucie looked so frail. Sarah’s heart grew heavy as she considered the burden she could not carry for her daughter.
For Lucie, rejoining society might be more difficult than surviving her captivity.
Sarah opened the door to her quarters and had not even got the stove going when a knock sounded at the door.
Sarah found Mrs. Corbit standing with hand raised, prepared to knock again.
“Mrs. West. I’d like a word.”
Sarah stiffened, waiting.
“I know you are just returned, but I note that you have Indians in there.” She pointed into Sarah’s quarters. “Perhaps you are unaware that Indians are not permitted to reside overnight within these walls.”
“She is the trader’s wife.”
Corbit’s condescending tone revealed that this information failed to sway her and, in fact, gave her the verification she needed. “As you know, I am in a family way. Indians are attacking our walls at this very moment. I cannot be worried about savages at my own doorstep.”
Sarah’s gaze narrowed, thinking Water Blossom was worth ten of Mrs. Corbit. “I doubt you will be bothered.”
“I must insist. I am prepared to go to my husband with this.” She waved her hand toward her door and noticed Lucie standing with the shawl draped over her head.
“Is that one the trader’s wife?”
Sarah bristled. “That one is my daughter.”
Mrs. Corbit was rendered speechless. She only gaped, her eyes bulging like a catfish’s. Sarah slammed the door in her face.
Water Blossom stood beside the door, her buffalo robe drawn up as she prepared to leave. “I go.”
“Please don’t.”
