“Ouch!” Martin said. “Give me a break. I’ve just marched across Minnesota to rescue you.”
“Horsy,” Elsa said, reaching for Ryker.
“You want a horsy ride? I’ll show you horsy!” Martin lifted her onto his shoulders and galloped around the twins. “You’re not a baby anymore.”
Martin paused to catch his breath. He looked past them. “Where’s Papa and Mama?”
The bad news lodged in Ryker’s throat, as surely as the rutabaga had choked Brimstone.
He did not know how to begin.
Martin asked again. Ryker stumbled for words. Martin turned wary, his voice a half-step higher when he asked a third time.
Should Ryker tell him about Papa first, or about Mama? What would be the kindest way to tell his brother? The bugler and fiddle player launched into O Susannah with such vigor that conversation became impossible, especially a conversation about tragedy and loss.
Auntie Abigail suggested they go into the empty blockhouse. “You need family time,” she said. “Everyone else is out here.”
Martin looked toward his regiment, where Mrs. Kelly distributed hot food to hungry men. They ate wherever they could find a place to sprawl on the ground, huddling out of the wind behind firewood stacks and earthworks.
“I’ll bring your food inside,” Auntie Abigail said.
They closed the door behind them.
Ryker slipped into Norwegian, the language of home. He spoke the words that turned their joy into grief. The reality of Papa’s death and Mama’s kidnapping became real with the telling. The twins cried, Ryker mopped tears off his face, and Elsa howled. Ryker did not know how much Elsa understood, but he could see she was upset.
Martin lifted a shaky hand to his forehead and slouched to the bench. He looked more like his old self and less like a cocky soldier. Rivulets of tears ran down his dirty face, leaving streaks of white amidst the dirt. “My God, I can’t believe it.”
They sat in silence, except for an occasional sniffle.
Then Martin’s eyes took on a hard glint, and Ryker realized that Martin would be a formidable foe to face on the battlefield.
“Tell me what happened,” Martin said grimly. “Don’t hold anything back. I want to know everything.”
CHAPTER 45
* * *
“We left Papa in the root cellar,” Ryker said after Martin heard the entire story. “Papa told me to get help. After he died, I did what he said.”
“You did right,” Martin said with a firm nod and set jaw. “Mama depended on you.”
“He’s in a tomb,” Klara said. She started to put her thumb in her mouth but instead sat on her hand. “Like Jesus.”
“We dug that root cellar,” Martin said. “Happy times, they were.”
Sven reminded them how Mama screamed when a snake slithered into her bread pan the first morning of living in the dugout. Klara remembered being afraid to fetch potatoes from the root cellar during the cold of winter because of the spider webs and mice.
“Papa will rest easy amid the memories,” Martin said. “We’ll seal it up and put a marker at the door.” Martin nodded at Ryker and the twins. “You did well. All of you. If I were your commanding officer, I’d give you each a medal.”
“But Johnny might be alive if I had listened,” Ryker said. “He wanted to escape from the Indian woman sooner.”
“It’s war,” Martin said, and his expression steeled. “People die. You did the best you could. Papa would be proud. I’m proud of you.”
A weight lifted off Ryker’s chest.
Martin had to return to his unit. “Don’t want to be listed absent without leave on my first day in Fort Abercrombie.”
“But what if they send you back to the war?” Klara said. She clutched his hand, refusing to let go, even if he were only going to the barracks.
“I’m back for good,” Martin said. “We were released by the Rebs to fight the Sioux,” he said, “on condition we wouldn’t return south. Thank God. I’ve had more than enough of that hell hole.”
“There’s something else.” Ryker cleared his throat. “Papa said Mama was having another baby.”
“I hope it’s a little brother this time,” Sven said. “I’ve had enough of baby sisters.”
“Maybe another baby sister like Elsa,” Klara said. Elsa clapped at the sound of her name.
Martin rose to leave the blockhouse. “Now we find Mama.”
Auntie Abigail hurried inside when Martin left. She prodded for information, itching for tidbits to share with the others. Auntie Abigail wasn’t exactly a gossip, but she loved to be the bearer of news. Her kind heart overflowed with sympathy for those with troubles and rejoiced with those who shared successes.
“The whole fort is buzzing about Martin coming back to fight the Indians,” she said. “He’s one of ours.” She said that another soldier in Martin’s unit told how Martin returned with the others. “The Rebels agreed to send three hundred prisoners back to fight the Sioux. Martin wasn’t picked but snuck into the train when one of the chosen men died.” Her laughter cackled through the blockhouse. “Martin was that determined to come home.”
“Mama’s prayers,” Klara said. She stuck her thumb into her mouth.
Ryker expected to sleep like a baby that first night after the siege lifted. Instead, he tossed and turned, dreaming terrible dreams about Mama crying out for help and no one to rescue her. He went outside for a bit of fresh air.
He stepped outside of the blockhouse and looked up at the prairie sky. A billion stars glittered in a cloudless night. A harvest moon rounded fat as a pumpkin over the horizon. A white layer of frost covered the ground and turned every breath into a cloud. Out of habit, he looked toward Slabtown. No lights showed.
Ryker must return to the homestead to dig the potatoes. They might be able to eke out the winter if there were even a few bushels in the ground. They must be harvested before a hard freeze ruined them. Rutabagas and carrots were sweeter after the first dip in temperature. He tried not to think about the burning haystacks. If only the Sioux had left one of the stacks unmolested. The price of hay would be sky high since the Sioux ruined so much of it.
The sentries called out their positions. Ryker noticed Captain Vander Horck walking from sentry to sentry, encouraging the men. The captain’s face showed in the small glow of his cigar.
Captain Vander Horck greeted Ryker as he passed the blockhouse. He stopped beside him, rocking back on his heels and looking up at the stars. “Couldn’t sleep?” He puffed on the cigar and exhaled a stinky cloud.
“Guess not,” Ryker said. “Wondering what happens next.”
“Ah, yes,” Captain Vander Horck said. “If we only had a crystal ball.”
They stood in silence for a long while, until Ryker felt nervous, as if he should be saying something. Captain Vander Horck was an important man, and Ryker was just an immigrant boy, maybe an orphan. Ryker tucked his hands under his armpits to keep warm.
“Your brother came in with the Exterminators,” Captain Vander Horck said.
“Ya,” Ryker said. “Though I didn’t know their name.”
“Hmmm, nothing official,” Captain said. He puffed a last drag on the cigar and ground the butt under his heel. “Here to eliminate the Sioux once and for all.”
A shooting star streamed across the sky. They watched it drift beyond the horizon. The first glimpse of daylight colored the tip of the eastern horizon. An owl hooted by the river.
The Lord’s Prayer said to forgive as we are forgiven. Ryker remembered the faces of the Indians who killed Johnny, and the ones who murdered the Tingvolds. It was hard to forgive the Sioux after what they had done to Papa. To Mama.
“Will you look for our mother now?” Ryker said. His voice cracked, so that he began as a man and ended squeaking like a boy. Again the embarrassment of stating the truth that needed telling. “The baby,” he said. “I don’t know when it will come.”
“I see.” Captain Vander Horck lit anot
her cigar, striking a lucifer on the sole of his shoe. “We’ll look for her,” Captain Vander Horck said. “And find her if she lives.” He puffed a dark, stinking cloud. “Hundreds dead. The Sioux whipped, but barely.”
Another cloud of cigar smoke enveloped them.
“How old is Martin now?” Captain Vander Horck asked as he stomped the butt of his cigar beneath his heel.
Ryker paused and figured on his fingers. “Seventeen, almost eighteen. Why do you ask?”
Captain Vander Horck said that there might be a way for Martin to be released from the army owing to the fact that he was still underage and much needed by his family. “It’s nothing for certain,” Captain Vander Horck said, “but I’ll do my best.”
He walked off then, stopping to speak to the next sentry, calling out to the men reporting for guard duty, instructing the bugler to sound reveille. “We’re going on patrol with first light,” Captain said. “Ready the men.”
CHAPTER 46
* * *
Hannibal waved back as the men marched out on patrol in the freezing weather. Small bursts of vapor hovered before the soldiers’ mouths like white clouds. They marched with enthusiasm, as if glad to leave Fort Abercrombie. It had been over a month since they had been away from its confines.
Ryker spotted Martin on guard duty next to the horse barn. Ryker pretended to have business at the barn and took the opportunity to chat with his brother. He needed to talk to Martin about their future.
“They wouldn’t let us go along today,” Martin said in disgust. “Said it was our turn to man the fort.” He cleared his throat and spit into a pile of horse manure. “We came to fight Injuns. Not to stand guard over women.”
Ryker had wanted to go along, too. Of course civilians weren’t allowed. The women in the blockhouse chattered like a flock of magpies, planning their return home, packing small items in readiness.
“They’re not going home,” Martin said. He never ceased scanning the open ground beyond the stables, the area he was responsible for guarding. “It’s not safe on the frontier.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Ryker said. He told his brother about the potatoes in the field, the coins around his neck, and his desire to take the younger ones home to the homestead.
“That’s crazy,” Martin said. “You’d never make it alone. What about firewood? Milk or eggs?” He spit again. “I’ve a little back pay coming. Maybe enough to keep you at the fort over winter.”
“Doesn’t look like there’s room for us,” Ryker said. “Your unit will need the blockhouse once winter sets in.”
“Maybe that nice Mrs. Kelly would take Klara and Elsa,” Martin said. “I’d pay for their room and board. You and Sven might bunk with one of the hostlers and work for your keep.”
Ryker shook his head. He did not like what he was hearing. “But the farmstead,” he said. “Papa said stay together.”
“Impossible. You’re too young to be responsible.”
Martin’s commanding officer neared the horse barn. “Go back,” Martin said in a hurried whisper. “I’ll get in trouble if you’re here.”
Ryker left, of course. He had no choice. He had wanted to speak to his brother about Captain Vander Horck’s suggestion that Martin might be released from the army. Together, he and Martin could surely keep the farm going. He had been responsible for the younger children since his father’s death. He had brought them through tall-grass prairie. They had survived. He had proved himself, no matter what Martin might say. They needed to stay together, not send the girls away with Mrs. Kelly. That’s what Papa would have wanted.
A niggling thought refused to leave his mind. Papa had put him in charge. It wasn’t Martin’s decision to make.
That day Auntie Abigail waited for news about her son, Robert, who had been missing since the first attacks. The twins chattered about Mama’s soon return. Surely the soldiers would bring her back with them. The Jacobs family packed and made ready to leave as soon as Captain Vander Horck returned.
“I hope your cabin is standing,” Ryker said to Mathilde. Really, he looked for any excuse to talk to her, and it seemed a safe thing to say. “It looked all right when I was there.”
“Papa says we’ll rebuild if it’s burnt.” She tucked a lock of stray curls back into her braids. “Do you know what you’ll do?”
“We’re returning to the home place as soon as we can,” Ryker said. He didn’t mention Martin’s plan to send the girls away. “We’ll make it somehow.” He hoped his words were true. They mostly burned cow patties for fuel. He calculated how they might gather enough wood or cow patties to keep the stove going over the winter.
Mathilde was the one good thing about being at Fort Abercrombie. She smiled at him, and his heart raced. He needed to speak up while he had the chance. It felt dangerous, somehow, as if, if he said the wrong thing, it would all fade away.
“Now that I know where you live,” Ryker said before he lost his courage, “maybe I can visit.”
Mathilde turned a pretty pink. “I’d like that,” she said.
The bugler sounded the men’s return. It was almost dark. The settlers hurried to the parade ground, anxious for news. No settlers returned with the men. Ryker swallowed a huge gulp of disappointment.
Captain Vander Horck pulled up the reins and spoke from the saddle. Everyone quieted, straining to hear his every word. “We saw no hostiles,” he said. Everyone cheered. He raised a restraining hand as a signal for quiet. “But we saw horrific damage, death, and senseless violence.” It grew quiet as a grave.
“Any word about my Robert?” Auntie Abigail called out the question on everyone’s minds. “What about our missing loved ones?”
“No sign of anyone, but the dispatch brought news about two hundred eighty-eight whites recovered at a place called Camp Release.” Captain Vander Horck paused for breath. Ryker noticed how tired he looked. “Maybe your son is at Camp Release. We haven’t heard specifics. It all takes time.”
“When can we go home?”
“Burial details go out tomorrow.” Captain Vander Horck paused and fingered the bridge of his nose. He slapped the reins, and his horse headed toward the barn. “Don’t expect to leave anytime soon.”
“You can’t keep us forted up this way,” Mr. Jacobs said in his thick German brogue. “We might yet something of our crops salvage.”
“Impossible,” Captain Vander Horck said. “Military tribunals are going on in Mankato, but we can’t be sure all the hostiles are apprehended.”
A low grumble started in the back and grew to a roiling protest.
“Like it or not,” Captain Vander Horck said, “you’re stuck in Fort Abercrombie for a while longer.”
CHAPTER 47
* * *
A group of immigrants returned to St. Cloud guarded by a small detachment of soldiers. The nice woman who had nursed Elsa was among them, going back to her aunt’s farm until the trouble on the frontier settled. The others waited to return to their farms in spite of the danger. Auntie Abigail planned to move into one of the tiny houses on the edge of Slabtown as soon as the captain allowed. She would do laundry in exchange for rent. She invited Ryker and his younger siblings to join her.
“We’ll be snug as a bug in a rug,” she said in a hearty voice. “Captain will give permission soon.”
Ryker noticed the droop in her shoulders and heaviness in her steps that betrayed her real feelings in spite of her joviality. There had been no word of her missing son. Ryker had found Auntie Abigail weeping behind the haystack, just that morning. Mama would know how to comfort the good woman with an aching heart.
Ryker hugged Auntie Abigail around the neck and kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. “He’ll be back—you’ll see.”
More waiting. Martin left for an extended foray after the Sioux. They marched out of the fort with a sharp step but returned a week later, footsore and bedraggled. They told of burned homes, missing settlers, and burial duties. They had not s
een a single hostile.
“Did you find Mama?” Klara said while hanging onto Elsa to prevent her from running out in front of the horses.
“No sign of her,” Martin said. “Any word from Camp Release?”
“Not yet,” Ryker said. “Captain Vander Horck says we should hear any day now.”
Martin plodded toward the bunk house with the other men. How tired he looked. Ryker hesitated to bother him, but he needed to talk to him while he had the chance. For all he knew, Martin might be sent out again soon. Ryker ran to catch up to his brother and grabbed his arm. Martin shook him away and turned to him with a look of exasperation on his face. He reeked of sweat and cooking fires.
“We need to go out to the home place and see how things stand,” Ryker said. “Maybe the cattle survived. There might be potatoes or carrots. Something.”
“You heard the captain,” Martin said with a snort. “Not allowed.”
Ryker didn’t like when Martin got bossy. Papa had left Ryker in charge, and Ryker had a deep-down feeling that unfinished business remained at the homestead. “Even a couple of days would be enough. It only makes sense to gather food.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m going to ask,” Ryker said.
Martin argued that Captain Vander Horck wouldn’t give Ryker the time of day. He reminded Ryker that he was just a kid, and the army gave no credence to civilians.
Ryker disagreed. He had grown up over the last months. Not only were his trousers inches too short, but his voice was changing, too, and he must ask Martin about borrowing his razor. But it was more than all of those things. Ryker had learned to carry responsibility over the journey to Fort Abercrombie. A boy would not speak up, but a young man would dare to approach Captain Vander Horck and present his case.
After supper, Ryker squared his shoulders and walked over to Captain Vander Horck’s billet. Ryker tapped on the door. It wasn’t too late to turn back. Maybe Martin was right.
Escape to Fort Abercrombie Page 22
