Jensen blanched. He rubbed his jaw. With a grunt, he climbed up onto the mule’s back and was gone.
Daniel hefted Otter’s body over the stallion’s back, then led the horse into the shade and let him drink noisily from a nearby creek while he thought. Finally, he leaped up behind Otter’s body. He barely touched the stallion’s sides with his boots and the animal moved into an easy, smooth lope.
Jeb Grant called “whoa” to his team and shaded his eyes with his hand to watch the lone figure approach. His heart lurched when he realized the rider was probably Indian. He had some kind of blanket rolled up in front of him. Nice horse. Mopping his forehead with a soiled kerchief, Jeb stepped away from his team. He tried to appear relaxed as he quickly stepped from row to row of the newly plowed field toward the house. He whistled sharply, relieved when Marjorie appeared in the doorway of the house, his rifle tucked under her arm.
When the rider came closer and Jeb recognized Daniel Two Stars, he relaxed momentarily. But then he realized the “blanket” draped in front of the scout was a dead Indian. “You all right?” Jeb asked abruptly.
Daniel nodded. “I wanted—” He choked up and sat staring down at the body. He sat for a long moment. Then, taking a deep breath he laid his hand on Otter’s back and said, “This man was my friend. If I take him back to the fort, they will—”
“They’ll likely scalp him like they did Little Crow,” Jeb said quickly.
Daniel swallowed hard. He looked away as he said, “You said your family never hated Indians. I wondered—”
“Of course you can bury your friend here,” Marjorie said abruptly. She looked at her husband. “Can’t he, Jeb?”
Jeb looked surprised, but he hesitated only a moment before nodding toward the barn. “There’s a big oak tree just up the rise there. Shades a big flat rock. There’s a spring—”
“I know the place,” Daniel said. He slid off the stallion and stood leaning against the animal’s side for a moment.
Marjorie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll—I’ll have supper waiting when you—when you come back down the hill,” she said softly and disappeared back inside the house.
“There’s a shovel just inside the barn door,” Jeb said, nodding up the hill. “I’ll be along directly.”
Daniel led the stallion to the barn door. Reaching inside, he retrieved the shovel and headed up the hill. Tears nearly blinded him as he began to dig. He had barely marred the earth when Jeb Grant led his team into the barn. It wasn’t long before Jeb climbed the hill, another shovel in hand, and took his place alongside Daniel.
Pointing at a small white cross a few feet away, Jeb said abruptly, “Our baby.” He stabbed the earth and turned another shovel full before adding, “It was a boy. He lived half a day.” He inhaled sharply and blinked back tears.
Before Daniel could say anything Marjorie appeared around the corner of the barn, a tattered quilt folded over her arm. “I don’t know what the right customs are,” she said shyly. “But if you wanted to wrap him—” She held out the quilt.
Jeb stood his shovel up in the mound of earth beside the open grave. Putting his arm around his wife, he said to Daniel, “You come have supper when you’re done. We’ll wait.” They walked down the hill and disappeared inside the cabin.
When Daniel had shoveled the last bit of earth over his friend’s body, he knelt beside the grave. He held his hands open and sat quietly for a few minutes before getting up and walking down the hill.
He found Jeb inside the barn, forking fresh hay into a stall where the stallion stood, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I thought if anybody came looking for you,” Jeb explained, “they maybe oughtn’t to see your friend’s horse. At least not until you know what you’re going to do.”
“I sent the soldier who was with me back to the fort to get Big Amos and Richard Lawrence,” Daniel said woodenly. The stallion stepped close, nuzzling at one of Daniel’s hands. Daniel stroked the white velvet muzzle and the horse pressed its forehead against his chest, demanding to have his ears rubbed.
“The soldier killed your friend?”
Daniel nodded. “Otter knocked him off his horse. Counted coup and came after me. Then he recognized me. We were just talking when Jensen shot him.”
“This Jensen sounds like a fine example of manhood,” Jeb said sarcastically.
Daniel shrugged. “He hates Indians.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Otter shouldn’t have been in this part of the country.”
Together the men went to the house. Jeb sat down at the head of the table. Marjorie ladled up stew and then handed Jeb a Bible. Jeb took her hand and read,
Lord, make me to know mine end,
and the measure of my days, what it is;
that I may know how frail I am.
Behold, thou hast make my days as a hand breadth;
and mine age is as nothing before thee:
verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity.
Surely every man walketh in a vain show;
surely they are disquieted in vain:
he heapeth up riches and knoweth not who shall gather them.
And now, Lord, what wait I for?
My hope is in thee.
Jeb said a hasty “amen” and closed the book.
“I’ve never heard anyone pray that way,” Daniel said quietly.
Jeb shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t know what to say. Fact is, I’ve been kind of holdin’ out on God since our baby boy died last year.” He swallowed. “He was our third child. God took each one before they was a year old.”
Marjorie got up quickly. She turned her back, but Daniel could see her swipe tears from her face as she bent to open the oven and toss fresh biscuits into a basket.
Jeb continued, “Marjorie says we aren’t going to be like heathens and not talk to God. So I got this idea of just reading the Psalms.” He took a swig of coffee before adding, “It gives me words to say when I don’t have my own.”
Daniel nodded. He finished his meal quickly and then went outside to wait for Robert Lawrence and Big Amos. It had been a long time since he had had anything to say to God. He thought that if he could get hold of a Bible again, maybe he would look at those Psalms Jeb Grant was using.
Eleven
Devise not evil against thy neighbour, seeing he dwelleth securely by thee.
—Proverbs 3:29
“Crow Creek?”
The stranger at the door pursed his lips and looked away for a moment. His wide mouth turned down, whether in anger or disappointment, Miss Jane could not quite tell. When he removed his hat with a metal hook instead of a hand, she felt herself withdraw.
“I apologize, madam,” he said in a beautifully resonant, deep voice. “It’s just that I was caught off guard. I was hoping to speak with Reverend Dane personally.”
“I’m truly sorry. The reverend has been away in Iowa. He was back for a short visit, but then he left again only a few days ago for the west.” Miss Jane looked up at him. “Is there anything I can do?”
The man sighed and shook his head. “I imagine not. Unless—” He hesitated before saying, “I’ve actually come more about the Dane children than anything else.”
“And you are?” Miss Jane asked, looking up into the stranger’s gray-blue eyes.
“Elliot Leighton. Their uncle. Their mother’s brother.”
“Well,” Miss Jane blustered, “why didn’t you say so? Goodness, come in, come in!” She waved Leighton into the entryway of the great house. “Hang your hat right there and follow me into the parlor. Aaron went west with his father, but Meg will be home from school directly, and of course you will have met Miss LaCroix already when she was back east with the reverend and Mrs. Dane.”
Elliot obeyed Miss Jane, hanging his hat on a hook beside the door. “I—uh—didn’t have the pleasure of meeting Miss LaCroix,” he said quickly. He glanced down at his hook. “I was with my regiment when they arrived. And then regrettably detained in the hospita
l. Word of Ellen’s death didn’t reach me until long after Simon and the children had already come back west.”
“I’m so sorry,” Miss Jane said. “Please come in and sit down. If you’ll just make yourself comfortable—” She indicated a wing chair beside an open window. “As I said, Meg should be home any minute. And Miss LaCroix and the other children are just doing some marketing—”
“The other children?” Leighton asked, frowning.
“Why, yes,” Miss Jane said, smiling. “We’ve quite a little family here. The Whitneys—they own the house—have two of their own, and then there is Hope, an orphan the reverend has adopted, and we have Rebecca and Timothy Sutton, who were orphaned in the outbreak. We are of course trying to contact their family, but there’s been little success in that regard.” Miss Jane stopped abruptly. “Excuse me for rattling on so. I’ll just get you some lemonade.” Miss Jane was gone before Leighton could tell her he really wasn’t thirsty.
The woman’s whirlwind of activity accented the silence in the big house now that she was gone. Elliot sat stiffly in the worn chair he had been assigned, staring down at the despised hook in his lap. He pulled on his sleeve, trying to conceal it. The sound of childish laughter outside caught his attention. Looking out the window he saw a gaggle of children tripping toward the house. His gaze narrowed as a dark-skinned woman came into view. She was petite, fine-boned, with abundant dark hair piled high on her head and a heart-shaped face accented by a cleft chin. Funny, Leighton thought to himself, she doesn’t look particularly Indian. She clutched a blonde-headed toddler in her arms and was looking down at one of the children, smiling. Pretty. Some would say beautiful. He couldn’t begrudge Simon Dane the attraction, that was certain.
Leighton stood up, expecting the entire group to enter the house at any moment, but as he listened, he could tell they were walking around to the back of the house, apparently coming in through the kitchen. Turning to look in the mirror at himself, he straightened his collar and swiped at his long white hair with his hand.
“Uncle Elliot?” A girlish voice sounded from the doorway. Elliot turned around to see one eye framed by a mass of dark red curls peering at him from around the edge of the door.
“Is that Meg?” Elliot said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.
Meg took one step from behind the door. She eyed the stranger suspiciously. “You don’t look anything like the picture Grandmother kept on her mantel.”
“I expect not,” Elliot answered quietly. “The cavalry aged me significantly.”
Meg took another step forward. She looked down at the hook protruding from his shirt sleeve. “Did you lose your hand in the war?” she asked abruptly.
Leighton nodded. To his amazement, the child’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Uncle Elliot,” she croaked. “Did it hurt terribly?”
Something in the child’s unabashed sympathy touched a place in Elliot Leighton’s soul that had been locked away for a long time. Unable to speak without his voice shaking, he simply nodded.
Meg moved to his side and laid her hand on his arm. “Is that what made your hair white too?” she said.
Elliot managed to look at her. Where, he thought, had a child of only eight years learned such honest compassion?
When Elliot didn’t speak, Meg said softly, “We saw a lady that got white hair when we were in the Indians’ camp last year.” She reached up and touched her temples. “Even Gen got some just here. Father said it was being afraid that made her hair do that.” She looked her uncle over and smiled. “I like it. You look sort of like a lion.”
Elliot smiled at Meg with true warmth. He found himself thanking her and meaning it. “I suppose I do look rather fierce. Does it frighten you?”
Meg considered before answering. Then she shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Well,” she answered slowly. “I guess you can’t always tell what’s on the inside just by looking at the outside, can you?” Her face seemed to age visibly as she said, “What I mean is, when we were with the Indians, some of them looked terrible fierce. Daniel Two Stars—he was our friend—he found us one night and he was painted like a very bad Indian.” Meg motioned as she spoke, “He had red circles around his eyes, and lightning on his chest. We hardly recognized him! But underneath he was just our friend Daniel.” Meg shrugged. “You just can’t always tell by looking, that’s all.” She eyed Leighton for a moment and then pointed down at his hook. “Can you pick stuff up with that?”
Elliot nodded.
Meg got a book down from the shelf beside the fireplace. Elliot was demonstrating the mechanics of his metal hand when Genevieve LaCroix entered the parlor, followed by Miss Jane carrying a tray laden with both hot tea and lemonade.
Extending her hand and grasping Elliot’s in a firm handshake, Gen said, “I’m sorry to say Simon isn’t here. He and Aaron went—”
“West to Crow Creek,” Elliot said. “Miss Jane told me.”
“Uncle Elliot has a hook,” Meg interrupted. “He can pick things up.” She nodded at Gen. “Show her, Uncle Elliot.”
Elliot said quickly, “Perhaps another time.” He turned to face Gen, his face red with embarrassment. “Obviously I was hoping to see Reverend Dane.”
“Of course,” Gen said. “Won’t you sit down?” She offered Elliot a glass of lemonade and then, pouring hot tea for herself and Miss Jane, settled on the couch opposite him. “Including his stint at the prison in Davenport, Simon has been away for some time. One of the mission workers at Crow Creek sent a rather desperate plea for help. Simon is eager to reestablish himself among the Dakota families, so he came back here to regroup and then headed west to the reservation. You only missed him by a week or so.”
“When is he expected back?” Elliot asked.
Gen hesitated. “Actually, Meg and Hope and I are just waiting for him to send for us.”
Leighton frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“The reverend and Miss LaCroix are engaged to be married, Mr. Leighton,” Miss Jane said.
“I—I thought Simon had written—” Gen interjected, embarrassed.
“He mentioned something about it in a letter,” Leighton said. “But we didn’t believe—” He interrupted himself. Looking at Meg, he asked, “Simon spoke of an orphan named Hope. I take it you haven’t found her family?”
“As a matter of fact,” Gen replied, “Hope’s family did eventually answer Simon’s notices in a newspaper in Ohio. But when they arrived we made arrangements to keep her with us.”
“I see,” Leighton said, although it was obvious he did not see at all.
“And how is your brother, little miss?” Leighton addressed Meg.
“He’s with Father. They are going to build our new house,” Meg said proudly. “Hope and I are going to have our own room,” she said. “Father says it will be very much like our house that burned down at Lac Qui Parle. That was a very nice house.”
“I’m sure it was,” Leighton said. He stood up abruptly. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“Please, Mr. Leighton,” Gen said, standing up. “Join us for dinner. We’d be honored to have you. Hope will be up from her nap soon. You can meet her. And I know Meg would like to hear more about her Grandmother Leighton.” She smiled at Meg. “They formed a close bond while we were in New York.”
Elliot declined to stay the afternoon, but promised he would return for supper. He took his leave, bowing to Gen and Miss Jane and promising Meg a special gift when he returned that evening.
As soon as he left, Gen checked on Hope and sent Meg out to pick green beans in the garden behind the house before following Miss Jane to the kitchen.
“Stunning man,” Miss Jane said without turning to look at Gen. “Must have been an officer. Regal carriage.”
“Yes,” Gen said absentmindedly. “He graduated from West Point. Had the rank of major, I believe. He lost his hand at Antietam right before Ellen died. They didn’t know where to find him to even
tell him. Then he got some horrible infection and spent months in a hospital.” She murmured, “His hair was raven black in the picture Mrs. Leighton kept on her mantel.”
“Poor man,” Miss Jane mumbled. When Gen didn’t reply, Miss Jane looked up. She searched Gen’s face. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Gen walked to the kitchen door and looked toward the garden where Meg had been joined by the Sutton children. Together they were all working away, singing as they made their way down the rows of beans in the garden.
“I don’t know,” Gen said. A shiver went up her spine. “Something. He doesn’t like me. I can feel it.” She murmured, “I wish Simon were here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miss Jane interjected. “Mr. Leighton just doesn’t know you. He seemed perfectly nice to me. A bit distant, perhaps, but that’s certainly understandable. And imagine his disappointment when he came all this way and Simon and Aaron are gone.”
Gen turned back toward the kitchen. She pushed an errant strand of dark hair off her neck. “He didn’t write that he was coming. Simon would never have left if he knew his brother-in-law was coming to visit the children.”
“Perhaps the letter got lost,” Miss Jane said. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Gen,” she insisted. “You know, he was probably ill at ease after Meg asked all those questions about his missing hand. Poor man. I’m certain things will be fine when he comes to dinner. And you should mention the letter. He mustn’t think Reverend Dane knew about his arrival and left anyway. That would be unforgivably rude.”
Gen headed up the back steps to get Hope up from her nap. “You’re probably right,” she said. But instinct told her that Elliot Leighton’s surprise arrival had more behind it than a lost letter. And something more than just Meg’s questions about his war injury was bothering Elliot Leighton.
Edge of the Wilderness Page 10
