Twelve
But if from thence thou shalt seek the LORD thy God, thou shalt find him, if thou seek him with all thy heart and with all thy soul.
—Deuteronomy 4:29
The night was still, the very air seeming to vibrate with wave after wave of heat. Robert Lawrence and his wife, Nancy, had opened the flap and rolled up the sides of their tent in a vain attempt to catch even the slightest movement of air. They lay a few inches apart, content because of the blazing heat only to touch hands. From where he lay, Robert could see a flicker of light on the opposite side of the parade ground, evidence that someone else had given up trying to sleep in the oppressive heat and come out onto their front porch to smoke.
Robert sat up. Nancy whispered his name. He looked down at her, smiling. “Sleep, best beloved,” he said tenderly, bending low to kiss her forehead. The corners of her mouth curled up in a lazy smile. Robert thought of Daniel Two Stars, who slept alone each night longing for the presence of a girl he called Blue Eyes.
Whatever Robert and Big Amos did, they could not seem to drag their friend back from wherever his spirit had fled. He had been almost completely silent since he buried his friend Otter down on Jeb Grant’s farm weeks ago. He had become as thin as one of the rails Grant used to fence in his cornfield. He refused to go with them to the daily services conducted by the fort chaplain. When they spoke of God, he found reason to go elsewhere.
Daniel still did good work for the army. Captain Willets had commended him several times. Together, the three men had brought in dozens of frightened Dakota to camp near Fort Ridgely until they could be sent to Crow Creek. From what Robert could tell, the thanks of the people they were helping had no effect on Daniel Two Stars. In the past few days he had taken to communicating more in sign language than anything else. Robert had begun to fear that some morning he would waken to find his friend gone, or worse—dead at his own hand.
A twig snapped just outside the tent. Daniel was just sitting down beside the campfire, opening Etienne LaCroix’s journal.
Robert got up and went to him. “If you want to find her,” he said, “I will talk to Captain Willets. He recruited us for six moons. That will soon be over. Even if he wants us to stay longer, you could go to Crow Creek. Captain Willets would understand. And someone there might know something.”
Daniel stared into the dying campfire and said nothing. He closed the book and tossed it behind him on the bedroll.
Robert reached out and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I am losing my friend, and I don’t know what to do,” he said softly.
Tossing a stick into the fire, Daniel said bitterly, “Do you see that stick? The coals are not hot enough to destroy it, but still the stick feels the heat. You can see the bark cracking and the liquid inside oozing out.” He paused. “I am that stick. I wait to be consumed by the flames, but all the life has already been drawn out of me.”
“Then go find her,” Robert said gently.
Daniel shook his head. “I have nothing to give her anymore. I look at her picture and try to remember how I felt. I feel nothing.” He looked up at the sky. “I remember looking up at those stars and seeing God.”
“Can you think of nothing to thank Him for?” Robert said quietly.
Daniel was silent for so long, Robert thought he would not answer. But finally, he said, “I am thankful Blue Eyes is not here to see what I have become.”
Robert protested gently. “Only a good man would have let Brady Jensen live that day when he killed Otter. Only a good man would bury his friend the way you did, risking the anger of the army. Yesterday you put an old woman on your own horse and walked many miles to bring her to our camp.” Robert paused, thinking. “Our world has broken apart. No one can blame you for feeling lost. None of us knows what to expect tomorrow. But God knows, Daniel. He says we have a future. We can have hope.”
“What future?” Daniel snapped. “What hope?”
“You are not the only one who has lost much, Daniel.”
He shot back angrily. “But I am the only one inside this skin. I am the only one living this empty life. And I seem to be the only one God blesses with His silence.”
“Pray,” Robert urged him.
“He does not hear,” Daniel said bitterly.
“How do you know that?”
“Nothing changes.”
“Perhaps He is waiting for you to pray that He will change you instead of the things around you.”
Daniel pondered what Robert had said for a moment. His voice was calmer when he asked, “Is it wrong to want a home?”
“You already have a home. You have a house not made with hands—eternal in the heavens.”
Daniel shook his head. “Simon Dane’s wife said those words to Blue Eyes the night their house burned down up at Lac Qui Parle.” Thinking of Ellen Dane led him back to Genevieve. “Is it wrong to want a wife?”
“Of course not.” Robert swallowed. “But, Daniel, whether God gives you the things you want or not, He is always with you. He will never leave you. It is enough.”
“It is not enough,” Daniel replied angrily.
“It is. But you will never know that until you decide to accept it instead of demanding God send what you want.”
“How do I do that,” Daniel asked, “when everything inside me cries out against the way things are?”
Robert cleared his throat. “You do it by faith, my brother.”
Daniel shook his head. “I don’t have that kind of faith.”
Robert reached behind him and produced a Bible he had brought with him when he came out of his tent. He tried to hand the Bible to Daniel and was ignored. He quoted, “‘So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.’”
“I suppose you are going to tell me just which passage to read that will answer all my questions,” Daniel said sarcastically.
“Do you remember those nights long ago when you came to me—when you were being pulled between Otter’s way and God? Do you remember how often we stayed awake half the night reading and arguing? You chose the name Daniel because you said you had found a way to live with the lions without being devoured.” Robert put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder and shook him gently. “The lions are still roaring, my friend. And I fear that you have decided to let them eat you.” Robert’s voice broke as he cried out, “Don’t let it happen. Listen to God, Daniel—not the roaring lions. Look at His face—not the faces around you. Not even the face of Blue Eyes can fill your empty heart.” Tears streamed down Robert’s cheeks. “I love you, my brother. Don’t let this thing happen.”
“Go to your wife, Robert,” Daniel said. “I know you are my friend.”
“I will go,” Robert said. “But not to my wife. Tonight, I am going to speak to the Father. If it takes all night and another night and another. I will not stop until He breaks through to your stubborn heart.” Robert got up and headed for the parade ground. He paused and turned back. “Faith, Daniel. You can only still the roaring lions by faith. Hebrews, chapter eleven.”
Daniel sat beside the fire staring up at the blazing stars in the night sky and watched Robert walk away. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. And then, echoing from the very gulch where Little Crow’s warriors had taken cover when they attacked the fort last year, came the cry of a wildcat.
“It’s a terrible assignment,” Captain Willets said. “And I’m sorry I have to give it out. But if there’s any truth to the rumor that the reservation Indians are trying to cross over the James River and come back into Minnesota, somebody has to talk them into going back. It’s for their own good. If they are seen by any of the whites in this area, you know as well as I do they’ll be shot as hostiles. They must be convinced to stay on the reservation at all costs.” Willets looked at the three Dakota men. “To be honest, I doubt any Sioux headed this way would trust regular army to tell them the truth. Can’t say that I blame them, either.” He cleared his throat. “And some of my men might be a little too eager to u
se force.” He paused. “Do what you can to find them—and turn them back. Escort them all the way to the reservation if you have to.”
The three scouts left the captain’s headquarters and headed back across the parade ground to the scouts’ camp. Robert and Big Amos went to talk with their wives. But Daniel quickly gathered his things. He saddled his horse, being careful to pack both the journal and Robert’s Bible in his saddlebags. He went to Robert and said abruptly, “You can catch up with me. I’ll leave a good trail.”
Robert frowned. “Captain Willets said we could wait until tomorrow.”
“I know,” Daniel nodded as he climbed into the saddle.
“What if Captain Willets notices you’re already gone?”
“Tell him I’m chasing the mountain lion that was prowling around the fort last night,” Daniel said.
“A mountain lion?” Nancy said as he rode away. “This close to camp?” she shivered.
Robert put his arm around her. He called to Big Amos. “Did you hear a mountain lion last night?”
Big Amos shook his head.
“Neither did I,” Robert said. He watched his friend ride out of camp. And he prayed.
Jeb Grant had filled nearly half a wagon full of good corn when Daniel Two Stars rode up. “Been hopin’ you’d come by,” he said, taking off his work gloves and beating them against his pants to shake out the dust. “That stallion’s a beautiful animal, but I can’t do a thing with him.”
“I’m sorry if he caused you trouble,” Daniel said.
“No need to apologize,” Jeb said quickly. “I was hoping to keep him. But every time I come near him, he throws a fit. I’ve managed to keep him fed, and some creative herding has gotten him in and out of his stall so I could muck it out, but he’s never going to be content living on a farm.”
“Captain Willets is sending three of us west to stop the reservation Indians trying to come back to Minnesota,” Daniel said. He hesitated before adding, “I’d like to set the horse free out there—if it’s all right with you.”
“I’d be grateful,” Jeb said without hesitation. “Even if I could have tamed him down, I didn’t know how I was going to explain a dirt farmer from Kentucky having a horse like that.” He grinned. “Maybe he’ll make up to you. I been thinkin’ he objects to the smell of white folks.”
Daniel smiled and headed for the barn. He found the stallion backed into the corner of his stall eyeing him suspiciously. When Daniel put his hands on the edge of the stall, the horse tossed his head and bared his teeth.
“See what I mean?” Jeb said from the doorway.
“Damakota. Mawaste,” Daniel said in a low voice. He held out his hand. The stallion neighed sharply and pawed the ground. “Ihnuhan hecanon kin,” Daniel continued to speak to the horse in Dakota. As he did so, he unlatched the stall door and stepped in. The horse stretched his neck out and turned his head, eyeing Daniel carefully. As Daniel continued speaking Dakota, the animal lowered its head and stepped forward until its forehead rested against Daniel’s chest. It sighed and stood still while Daniel scratched its ears.
“Well, I’ll be,” Jeb said quietly. “Guess I was right. All he needed was an Indian friend.”
“His halter?” Daniel asked.
Jeb handed it over, and in only a few moments the horse was following Daniel around the farm yard calmly.
“Like a big ol’ puppy dog,” Jeb commented from his observation post near the cabin.
“Can you stay to supper?” Marjorie called out. She was sitting beneath a newly constructed porch, a huge bowl of freshly picked green beans in her lap.
Daniel shook his head.
“You stay safe, my friend,” Jeb said.
Daniel lifted his hand in a silent good-bye. Then, for some reason, he urged his gelding back around. “Do you still pray every night?” he asked abruptly.
Jeb looked up at him in surprise. He grinned. “I even been makin’ up my own words of late. Guess I decided bein’ upset with the Man in Charge was pointless.”
Daniel nodded. He almost asked Jeb to include him in his prayers. Instead, he lifted his hand again and rode away.
When the Grants had supper that night, Marjorie said abruptly, “Say a prayer for Daniel Two Stars, Jeb.” At her husband’s look of surprise she shrugged. “It just seems like somethin’ we ought to do.”
Jeb prayed.
Thirteen
For the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart.”
—1 Samuel 16:7
“Welcome home,” Gen whispered, hugging Simon. Her joy faltered when she realized how thin he was. She looked up at him with a little frown of concern. Fatigue was etched in his face, aging him considerably.
Simon released her quickly and opened his arms to Meg and Hope, staggering backward when they flung themselves at him. “Whoa, there, girls,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “Let your old father sit down.” He held their hands and together they went into the parlor where it did not escape Gen’s notice that Simon sighed with relief when he sank into a cushioned high-backed chair.
Aaron lingered behind his father, his arm around Gen. He did not miss her look of concern. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “He’s just tired.”
Gen patted Aaron on the back and then left his side to join the small group gathered around Simon.
“We want to hear everything,” Miss Jane said.
Samuel and Nina Whitney murmured their assent while the children sat quietly on the braided rug, miraculously well-behaved and quiet in the face of Aaron and the reverend’s homecoming.
“You talk first, Aaron,” Simon said, smiling up at his son. He kissed Hope on the cheek and then let her down with the other children while Meg nestled back against him.
Aaron sat down on the couch next to Gen. He studied the floor for a moment, obviously struggling to organize his thoughts. “Crow Creek is—” He shook his head. “I can’t begin to tell you. The worst place possible. The idea of farming there is ludicrous.” Aaron looked at his father and shrugged. “There isn’t much anyone can do.”
“Wrong,” Simon interrupted gently.
With a look in his father’s direction, Aaron nodded. “We’re fairly helpless to relieve the physical difficulties.” He continued, “Although we helped plow up a few new acres for planting in the spring, it will all be pointless unless the drought breaks.” He paused, thinking. “I got to know a few of the old men.” He looked around the room. “There aren’t many boys my age. Most of them have died. The rest are too sick to do much.” The situation Aaron went on to describe was worse than anything the group had imagined. Aaron finally gave up with a helpless shrug. “You can’t really imagine it until you’ve been there.”
“But,” Simon spoke up, “we have witnessed some amazing things spiritually.” He looked at Aaron. When their eyes met, something passed between them.
“Yes,” Aaron confirmed. “Father told you how we put up a booth—you know,” he said as he held his hands over his head to illustrate for the children, “poles set in the ground with brush for a kind of roof. As soon as we had it finished there was a crowd ready to attend the first meeting.” Aaron grinned at Gen. “Amos Huggins would have been amazed if he could have heard the hymn-singing.”
“Amos Huggins?” Nina Whitney asked.
Miss Jane explained, “Amos helped translate many of the hymns in the first Dakota hymnal.” She lowered her voice almost reverently. “He was among the first killed in the uprising. He had just returned from having the hymnal printed. They found his body on the road.”
“Singing is one of the favorite parts of the day,” Aaron said. “We sing hymns at every meeting. And they love to hear Father teach.” He looked at his father with unabashed pride.
“Tell them about the trip back to St. Anthony,” Simon broke in.
“Perhaps over supper,” Miss Jane interrupted. “You men must be starving.” She was already headed for the kit
chen. “We’ve a roast turkey in the oven and the first harvest of squash.” She motioned to the children. “Come along—time to set the table.” Aaron got up to help her, but she pushed him back. “You get unpacked and talk to the grown-ups.” She flashed a huge smile at him. “I declare, you’re very nearly an adult, anyway. I can’t believe how you’ve grown!” She herded the rest of the children into the hall and toward the kitchen.
Simon pushed himself up out of his chair. He sighed. “Miss Jane is right, Aaron. We’d best be getting unpacked and cleaned up.” He patted the sides of his vest. “I think there’s at least ten pounds of road dust in these rags.” He walked by the couch and patted Gen on the shoulder. “It’s good to be home.”
Gen closed her eyes and put her hand on his. “I’ll go help Miss Jane with dinner.” She walked to the door with Simon, kissing his cheek when they parted. From the doorway, she watched him trudge up the stairs. “Simon,” Gen called from below. When he turned to look back at her, she said softly, “There’s plenty of time for you to lie down before dinner. You must be exhausted.”
He nodded. “Perhaps I will.”
“Where’s Father?” Aaron wanted to know. He bounded into the kitchen and swept Hope up in his arms. “I knocked on his door before I went out to the garden nearly an hour ago.”
“I’ll check on him,” Gen said quickly. She flew up the back steps to Simon’s door, knocking gently at first, then with more force. When there was no answer, she turned the knob and called softly, “Simon. Supper is ready. Simon?” When the only answer was soft snoring, Gen pushed the door open a little farther. Simon was lying face up on the bed, fully clothed. He did not stir while Gen removed his shoes, then his socks. When she covered him with a lightweight blanket and tucked a pillow beneath his head, he sighed happily. It was not until she gently undid his tie and began to unbutton his top shirt button that he woke. Without opening his eyes, he took her hand and kissed it, whispering, “It seems that I do have a guardian angel, after all.” He opened his eyes and stared up at her. “I was dreaming about you, Miss LaCroix.”
Edge of the Wilderness Page 11
