The Preacher's Bride Claim

by Laurie Kingery

  She thought the boy was about seven years old, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “Elijah, what are we going to do with him? Where are his parents?”

  He shrugged, staring at the child. “He’s obviously an Indian—but not full-blooded, I think,” he said, peering more closely. He knelt next to the boy, who had finished gulping down the food and was gazing at him with wary eyes. Obviously the child trusted Alice but wasn’t sure if this white man was capable of being as brutal as the other one.

  “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” Elijah told the boy, his tone gentle. “Do you speak English?”

  The boy’s shaking had stopped, but now that he had eaten, he once more clung to Alice’s skirt. She could see from his expression that while he was curious about Elijah, he didn’t understand what he was saying.

  She touched him gently and knelt, too. “Alice,” she said, pointing to herself. “Elijah,” she said, pointing to him. Perhaps she should have said “Reverend Elijah,” she thought, but that was a long name for a little boy to say.

  The boy cocked his head, then said, “Da-ko-ta,” and pointed to his bare chest.

  “Your name is Dakota?”

  She wasn’t sure if he understood, but he said, “Dakota,” and pointed to himself again. Then he pointed at her. “Alss,” he said, and then he indicated Elijah. “’Lijah.”

  “Your mama? Your papa?” Alice asked.

  The boy stared back at her, his eyes blank with incomprehension, then leaned toward her and said, “Cattan rechid lossin?”

  She must have looked as confused as he had, for he repeated the phrase again.

  “I’m sorry, child. I don’t know your language.” Compassion flared in her for the boy. “Elijah,” she said, “we have to take care of this child until we can find his parents.”

  “If we can find his parents,” he countered, looking as worried as she felt, which touched her heart.

  “Who knows when he ate last, and he’s so dirty,” she said, peering at his hair and hoping he didn’t have lice. “Where did he come from, do you suppose? Was he left behind because of his mixed blood when the Indians left this territory?”

  “Possibly,” Elijah muttered. “I agree. We’ll have to take care of him, see if we can find someone who speaks his language, so we can find out where he belongs. Poor boy.”

  Alice watched as Elijah reached out a careful hand and stroked Dakota’s arm. The boy no longer seemed afraid of him. As she watched, Dakota’s mouth opened into a big yawn.

  “He must be tired. But the first thing he needs is a bath,” Alice said. “Will you help me? I want to take him back to my tent, heat some water and give him a little scrubbing. I have a shirt that might fit him, if we roll up the sleeves.”

  “Of course I’ll help you,” Elijah said.

  * * *

  Dakota submitted with surprising equanimity to his washing, but perhaps it was because he was so exhausted by the events of the night—and by whatever he had endured before, Alice thought—so he was heavy-eyed and silent by the time she finished combing the tangles out of his shoulder-length hair. She’d been relieved to find that there was nothing living in it. Now that it was clean and drying, she could see that Dakota’s hair was dark brown, not black, further proving Elijah’s assertion that Dakota was of mixed blood.

  While Alice had been washing the child, Elijah had spread out a pair of spare blankets and placed them on the ground near her cot, along with some folded towels for a pillow. Leaving the drowsy boy, she went to rummage through her trunk for the spare shirt she’d thought might fit him, but by the time she’d found it and turned around, Elijah was carrying the sleeping Dakota to the makeshift pallet.

  The sight of the preacher laying the boy carefully down and smoothing a lock of hair away from his forehead did something to Alice’s heart. What a decent, kind man Elijah Thornton is, she thought. Once more, she wondered why he hadn’t married and had a flock of his own children. It was obvious he’d be a good father.

  He could be carrying your son like that—yours and his, a voice within her whispered, a voice she resolutely ignored, but the longing that echoed in her heart refused to be silenced.

  “I’ll be going now,” Elijah announced, breaking into her thoughts. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, nodding toward the boy. He turned, and started to lower his head to clear the low tent entrance, then turned back. “You know, he may leave while you’re asleep,” he warned her gently. “I’m not sure what he’s doing in Boomer Town, but he may be trying to find someone—his parents, for example—or some thing.”

  Alice wrenched her gaze away from Elijah to stare at the sleeping child. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “Oh, Elijah, I can’t bear to think of him wandering and hungry again.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to distress you. I just didn’t want you to be surprised if you wake and he’s gone. You must rest yourself, Miss Alice, and leave this in God’s hands while you sleep.”

  She knew he was right, but the idea of waking and finding that Dakota had left haunted her. “That’s why we must find someone who can talk to him as soon as possible,” she said. “Why, we don’t even know what tribe he comes from. We need to find out who, or what, he’s looking for. What happened to his parents—why he’s alone.”

  “I believe the Lord will provide the answers,” Elijah said. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  It was hard for Alice to settle down to sleep after that. Would they find the child’s parents, or was he indeed abandoned because he was partly white? If no mother or father showed up to claim the boy, what would they do? It wasn’t as if she could adopt Dakota, a single woman alone and, so far, without a permanent home to offer him. A child deserved to have a mother and a father, and both she and Elijah were unmarried—and she intended to stay that way.

  * * *

  At dawn, Elijah gave up pursuing a deep, restful sleep and got up. It had been almost midnight by the time he’d helped Alice settle Dakota for the evening, too late to discuss the boy with his brothers. When they woke up this morning, though, he had coffee ready, and he wasted no time in giving them a brief explanation of what had happened.

  “Maybe Lars could help you talk to the boy,” Clint said, stirring at least half a cup of sugar into the coffee. “At least he could tell you if the boy is Cheyenne. And if he isn’t, maybe he could use that sign language the tribes use to communicate with each other to figure out what tribe he comes from.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” Elijah exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. He’d been right to think that answers would be easier to come by in the morning. “Perhaps I should go get Lars and take him to meet the boy.”

  “You could,” Gideon said, “but not right now. He went hunting.”

  “How long will he be gone?” Impatience was a personal failing of his, Elijah knew.

  Clint shrugged. “Depends on when he gets lucky. He’s been pretty fidgety, just sitting around Boomer Town waiting for the Land Rush.”

  Elijah sighed. His brothers were both getting restless, too, being men of action. They didn’t have the church and its growing congregation to keep them busy.

  “I’m going to go hunt up some milk for Dakota before I go visit him,” he said, remembering a member of his congregation who had a milk cow. As rail-thin as the boy was, some milk would be good for him.

  But as he left their campsite, he suddenly realized he had no reason to be certain that Dakota was still there. Had the boy sneaked away during the night, as Elijah had told Alice Dakota might? Worse yet, what if he had stolen things from Alice, too? Elijah didn’t think the boy would do that, after the way he had clung to Alice as his protector, but what had Elijah been thinking to leave the boy with Alice? He should have taken Dakota with him. Between him and his brothers, they could’ve kept an eye on th
e boy until they found a more permanent solution.

  Maybe he’d better go check on Alice before he went and got milk for an Indian boy who might be miles away by now. He reversed his steps and headed for Alice’s at a trot.

  His fears proved to be groundless. When he reached the campfire, the first sight that greeted his eyes was that of Dakota, devouring a tin plate heaped with bacon and eggs, and a sugared doughnut. He spotted a tin cup half-full of milk beside him, too. Alice had already seen to the boy’s needs.

  “Good morning, Reverend Elijah,” Alice said, catching sight of him as she reached into the frying pan with a long fork and pulled out four more freshly cooked doughnuts and dropped them into a bowl of sugar.

  “Good morning. I see he’s still here,” he said, nodding toward the boy, not quite successful at hiding his relieved sigh. “Good morning, Dakota.”

  Dakota looked up from his plate long enough to give him a shy smile.

  “No one leaves when there are doughnuts coming,” Alice said with a wink, though something in her eyes told him that she was relieved, too.

  She leaned over and whispered something to the boy, who swallowed his food, put his plate down and crowed, “Gute mor-nin’, Preechah ’Lijah!” then gave a boyish belly laugh at Elijah’s astonishment.

  Elijah chuckled. “I see you’ve accomplished a lot already today, Miss Alice.”

  “Oh, he’s just parroting sounds back, I think,” Alice said. “I’m sure he understands it’s a greeting, at least. But I wish we could find out more from him.”

  Elijah told her about Clint’s suggestion of using Lars to try to communicate with the boy, and that Lars had gone hunting, the time of his return uncertain.

  “Well, it seems we shall have to be patient,” Alice said. “But what if it turns out he has no one?” she asked Elijah, unconsciously twisting a fold of her apron. “I mean, long-term...” Her voice trailed off.

  Elijah knew what she meant. If Dakota was truly an orphan, what would they do then? A child needed a mother and a father.

  “Why not bring him to chapel this morning, and we’ll pray about it?” he suggested and saw her nod. He consulted his pocket watch. “Speaking of which, I’d better be going so I can prepare. I’ll see both of you there.”

  But as he walked away, it was not of chapel or Dakota he thought, but of how appealing Alice Hawthorne always looked in the morning—fresh as the dew, her eyes kissed by sunshine, wearing her simple flower-sprigged calico as though it was the finest silk. Despite all his resolutions and her earlier declarations about her prized independence, he was starting to care for her more and more, he thought. Perhaps as they kept working together around the camp, she would learn to value independence less and a future with him more.

  Chapter Nine

  Alice wondered how Dakota would react to the chapel prayer service, whether he would get squirmy or try to leave. Arriving a little early, she picked a place near to the front so Dakota would be able to see Elijah easily. So far, though, Dakota seemed fascinated with the tent’s rows of benches and the people filing in to sit down. So far, so good.

  “Mornin’, Miss Alice. Mind if we sit with you?” asked a familiar voice, and she looked up to see Keith Gilbert and his wife standing by the bench she and Dakota occupied. Mr. Gilbert leaned on a cane, but he appeared hale and hearty. Hard to believe he had lain at death’s door just four nights ago, she marveled. Thank You, Lord.

  “Please do. It’s good to see you back in chapel, Mr. Gilbert. We’ve missed your song leading.”

  “Thanks. I’ve missed doing it. Thought I’d come just to listen today. Sunday will be soon enough to take up my duties again,” Keith Gilbert said. “I’ve been following your instructions to the letter.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Cassie Gilbert asked as she sat down next to Dakota. She smiled down at the boy, and he smiled shyly back.

  The deaconess’s reaction, and that of the rest of the congregation, was a great deal nicer than a few of the residents of Boomer Town had given them as they’d walked to the chapel. Many had stared at the boy as she and Dakota had neared the entrance, their expressions as disapproving as if Alice had dared to enter church with a little piglet, fresh from a mud wallow in his pen. Alice had heard more than one person mutter “half-breed.”

  Why were people so hateful to those who were different? she wondered. Didn’t they know this territory had been wholly assigned to the Indians, until the recent Indian Appropriations Act—or that everyone but the Indians were newcomers to America at one time?

  “This is Dakota,” she told the Gilberts, and explained what had happened last night.

  “Dakota, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Mrs. Gilbert, and this is my husband, Mr. Gilbert,” Cassie said, even though Alice had explained the boy didn’t know English. “Oh, Alice, he has such intelligent eyes! And such a sweet face.” Impulsively she reached out a hand and cupped Dakota’s cheek. The boy grinned up at her.

  Amazing, Alice thought. Despite what he’d been through—and of course, she didn’t know the half of it—he still responded positively to friendliness.

  Not to be outdone, Keith Gilbert reached into his pocket and pulled out a small twisted bit of paper, and untwisted it, revealing a peppermint, which he held out to Dakota. “Here. See if you like this.”

  The boy eyed it curiously, then looked at Keith Gilbert, who pantomimed eating it. Dakota popped the peppermint into his mouth, and as Alice watched, an expression of delight spread over the boy’s face. He’d clearly never had candy before. He pointed to Keith Gilbert’s pocket, obviously hoping it contained more of the wonderful treat.

  The Gilberts chuckled. “You’ve started something now, husband,” Cassie Gilbert said.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have any more,” Mr. Gilbert told the boy.

  Elijah arrived then, and as he strode down the aisle, he looked pleased to see Dakota sitting with Alice. “Welcome, Dakota. I see you’ve found new friends.”

  “Haáahe, ’Lijah!”

  When it came time for the singing, Dakota responded enthusiastically, and no one seemed to mind that he sang a singsong chant with incomprehensible words while the others sang “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty.”

  We all praise the Lord in our own way, Alice thought.

  “As we near the end of our second week in Boomer Town,” Elijah said after the hymn was sung, “I’d like to greet our newest guest, Dakota.” Briefly he told about finding the hungry boy the night before, leaving out the part about the man who’d been beating the boy. “So I’d like to take the opportunity to present a prayer request of my own, that the Lord will help us find Dakota’s people, if at all possible. We’re hopeful that Lars Brinkerhoff will be able to help us communicate with Dakota toward that end.”

  The usual assortment of other prayer requests followed, and when the service was over, Alice was pleased when Elijah, Dakota and she were invited to have supper at the Gilberts’ campsite.

  “It’s to thank you for saving Keith and helping him heal, Alice,” Cassie said, “and for all your prayin’, Reverend. And we’d like to get to know this young man a little better, too,” she said, beaming at Dakota. “I have a feeling he’ll like fried chicken.”

  * * *

  The Gilberts left before Elijah was finished greeting folks in order to prepare the meal.

  “Ready to go?” Elijah asked, when the last member of the congregation had left.

  “Should you let your brothers know that you won’t be there for the meal?” Alice asked.

  He laughed. “They’re not there. I think they were envious of Lars going hunting, so they decided to do likewise, just as I was getting ready for chapel. Maybe they’ll run across him and tell Lars we need a translator.”

  They had just stepped into the sunlight when Dakota spotted the four Security Patrol of
ficers trotting past on their horses, evidently making their rounds. He pulled on the sleeve of Alice’s blouse, then Elijah’s shirtsleeve, and pointed.

  “Cattan rechid lossin?”

  It was the same phrase Dakota had said the night before, after they’d left the campsite where he’d been trying to steal food, Elijah realized.

  “Cattan rechid lossin?” the boy said again, pulling urgently on Elijah’s sleeve again. He pointed to the mounted privates.

  “I think he wants us to follow them—maybe speak to them,” Elijah murmured. “Could he have met them before? Perhaps one of them can speak his language? Come on, it’s worth a try,” he said.

  All three of them dashed after the four riders.

  The privates were walking their horses down the dirt road, so it wasn’t hard to catch them. Elijah ran up to the closest one.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m Reverend Elijah Thornton. I wonder if I might trouble you with a question, Officer?” He knew very well the man was a private, and not entitled to be addressed as an officer, but he remembered what his brother had said about the Security Patrol being former Confederate officers. He didn’t think they’d mind the added term of respect, especially if they remembered their encounter when Alice had been looking at their friend’s horses. The man he was addressing was the very same ginger-haired fellow who’d been trying to talk Alice into buying that high-priced Thoroughbred.

  Sure enough, the man didn’t bother to correct him, but he caught the glint of recognition in his eyes—and the way those eyes narrowed when he spotted Dakota at Elijah’s heels. “How may I help you, sir?” he drawled. “Ma’am,” he added, fingering his hat brim as Alice caught up.

  “We found this boy, here, and he speaks no English, but he seems to want to talk to you—”

  “We don’t have any responsibility toward the Indians,” said another of the privates, one whose overlong blond hair and proud carriage reminded Elijah of a picture he’d seen of the late General Custer.