White Heart, Lakota Spirit

by Ginger Simpson

  Fawn nodded. “Tomorrow night, I’m going home. I can’t believe it. Thank you, Nola.” Happy tears stung her eyes. She wanted to express her thanks again, but the lump in her throat choked off her words.

  * * * *

  Today, the work didn’t seem so hard or the water so hot, and her back didn’t hurt nearly as much. Tonight, she’d leave all the daily drudgery behind and return home. Fawn was so excited she found it hard to hide her glee. Instead of scrubbing dirty uniforms, she wanted to dance, sing, and yell at the top of her lungs. She viewed each piece of clothing as a step closer to her husband and friends. Any negative thoughts about what she might find upon her return were pushed aside in anticipation of the arrival of Nola’s Uncle Pete.

  Determined not to do anything to bring Thelma around, Fawn stayed busy. While her fingers gripped each shirt collar and scrubbed them clean, she counted the minutes in her head and thought of Little Elk.

  At lunchtime, Fawn joined Nola as usual. Fawn chattered at first, but unable to quell her worries any longer, her fervor faded to silence. Troubled by negative thoughts, she shuddered.

  Nola nudged her. “Grace, what’s wrong? Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

  Fawn wrung her hands. “I don’t dare say it aloud, lest it come true.”

  “Don’t be silly. Saying it won’t make it so.” Nola shook her head. “I never heard of such a thing.”

  “I guess you’re right, but I can’t stop thinking these horrible thoughts.” Her gaze locked with Nola’s. “What if Little Elk is dead. What if I go home and he isn’t there? He’s the real reason I want to go back.”

  “I know he joined a war party, but you have to believe he’s there waiting for you. Chances are he made it home just fine.” She patted Fawn’s hand. “Don’t you worry. You and the baby will find him there waiting for you.”

  “From your lips to God’s ear, Nola. I hope you’re right.”

  * * * *

  The end of the workday approached. Fawn made sure tomorrow’s laundry was soaking, her own washtubs were emptied and dried, and her washboard and apron hung on their respective nails. She breathed a silent “thank you” that she wouldn’t have to wash another uniform.

  While Fawn cleaned her work area, Nola stood near the rear door and watched for her uncle Pete. The smile on Nola’s face when she tapped Fawn on the shoulder conveyed the message she waited for. “He’s here,” Nola whispered.

  Fawn’s heart pounded like the war drums at her wedding. She glanced around to make sure no one else watched then crept to the rear door. As soon as the wagon stopped, Nola placed a bucket at the back and prepared to help Fawn climb aboard.

  Nola leaned close. “This may be too hard for you. I can lower the tailgate if you’d like.”

  “No, I can make it. We don’t need any unnecessary noise.” Fawn hoisted herself up and over, dragging her belly across the splintered wood.

  Nola clung to the tailgate and peered in. “There’s a blanket there. Throw it over yourself... And be careful. I’ll miss you, Grace...” Her voice cracked.

  “And I’ll miss you. As a last favor to me, I wish for you to remember me by my Lakota name. Please think of me as Dancing Fawn. Grace Cummings is no more.” She patted Nola’s hand. “I’ll pray you find the happiness I have found.”

  Fawn stretched out on the warped planks of the wagon floor and spread the cover over her body. Before ducking underneath, she touched her friend’s hand one last time. Tears welled in Fawn’s eyes. “Thank you, Nola. I’ll never forget you.”

  Nola, her eyes damp, backed away and pounded on the side to signal her uncle. With a crack of a whip, creaking wheels turned, and the wagon lurched forward. Fawn hugged the floor and prayed that no one would stop them. Her body tensed.

  Powdery dust sifted up between the gaps in the wood. Covering her face with both hands, Fawn tried to keep the dirt from her nose. Even a cough could give her away. The wagon’s movement caused her to bang her head against the floor, and a wayward splinter stabbed painfully into her hip. Each time the wagon jostled her, she reminded herself she was one step closer to the gates and freedom. She waited and prayed, feeling like she’d been in one position for an eternity. Her entire body ached.

  The wagon halted. Listening for voices, she heard none. She wanted to poke her head out from underneath the blanket and take a deep breath but feared being seen. She remained covered and perfectly still. Suddenly, someone ripped the blanket from her. Her eyes widened in fright. Had she been discovered?

  She focused on a white-haired old man with a long drooping moustache and a well-worn hat. His grin revealed missing front top teeth. He peered over the tailgate. “Well, you gonna just lay back there, or would you like to come up front and ride in comfort?”

  Fawn struggled to a sitting position. “Are you Nola’s Uncle Pete?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “Did we...did we make it out without problems?”

  He laughed loudly. “Would I be standing here inviting you up front if ‘n we didn’t?”

  She buried her face in her hands. “We made it. I can’t believe we made it.”

  Fawn looked up to accept his invitation, but he wasn’t there. The wagon dipped and creaked as he climbed onto the wagon seat.

  He looked back at her and patted a place next to him. “Crawl on up her, little lady. It’s a little more comfortable, I promise.”

  Chapter Thirty

  A cool breeze caressed Fawn’s face as the wheels creaked along through the prairie grass. Still, she couldn’t relax and kept looking back through the wagon canvas to make sure no one followed them.

  Uncle Pete made a clucking noise. “Will you relax, gal? Ain’t no one gonna come after us.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “If ‘n they knew you was missin’, they’d already be hot on our tail. I counted nigh on to fifteen wagons leaving about the same time—Conestogas, Prairie Schooners, and jes’ plain old farm wagons outfitted with bonnets like this un here. Hell, even if they know’d you were gone, how’d they know which wagon you’d be in?”

  She took a deep breath. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m right. Trust me.”

  “I will.” Tension drained from her rigid muscles. Her hunched shoulders sagged. “So tell me, did Nola tell you where I need to go?”

  “She tol’ me you needed to travel up river. She didn’t say how far.”

  “I’m not sure how far. I took two days to reach the fort from where I was taken prisoner, if that helps any.”

  “Well, for the money you’re payin’ I s’pect I can get you close to where you need to be. You just have to make sure none of your red kinfolk decide to lift what little hair I have left.”

  She couldn’t help but giggle. “Don’t worry, Uncle Pete. I’ll make sure.”

  * * * *

  The wagon’s rhythmic movement caused Fawn to doze. Her head bobbed, and her eyelids drooped. The constant creak of the wheels served as a lullaby.

  “Whoa,” Uncle Pete yelled and reined the team to a halt.

  She jerked awake and almost tumbled back into the wagon bed. Her breath caught in her throat. “What’s wrong?” She asked, scanning around the wagon.

  “Nothin’ wrong. Figure we’ll make camp here and get an early start.”

  His aging joints popped as he climbed down from the wagon seat.

  Fawn stretched and arched her aching spine. “That sounds good to me. I’m really tired. It’s been quite a day.”

  Clanking pots and pans piqued Fawn’s curiosity. She scooted to the end of the seat and peered around. Uncle Pete rummaged through a storage bin on the side of the wagon and pulled out a large iron skillet.

  He noticed her. “Do you feel like rustlin’ up some grub? If yer too tired, I kin do it.”

&
nbsp; “I’m fine. Making you something to eat is the least I can do to thank you for your help. If not for you, I’d still be stranded in the fort laundry.” She waggled a hand at him. “Help me down, and I’ll get started. What did you have in mind for dinner?”

  “Let me see what...” Uncle Pete’s voice faded. The tailgate clanked down and shimmied the wagon. He reappeared clutching a loaf of bread in one hand and in the other, the skillet holding a slab of salted pork and four eggs rolling about precariously. “This here fryin’ pan weighs a ton,” he complained as his gaze wandered to a clearing in the grass. “This looks a good place for a fire. Let me drop these fixins, and I’ll help ya down.”

  Fawn leaned forward and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Careful.”

  He groaned under her weight and turned his head to the side as her protruding belly grazed his face. “Whew, yer carrying a little bit a weight there, gal.”

  A blushing heat crept up her neck. When her feet touched solid ground, she took a deep breath.

  Uncle Pete watched her with wide eyes, as though he feared she might explode right in front of him. “You sure yer doin’ all right?”

  “I’m fine. You get the fire started, and I’ll whip us up some dinner.”

  Smoothing her voluminous skirt, Fawn grumbled at the underskirts and extra fabric. Although she’d spent most of her life wearing similar attire, she longed for her doeskin dress. Unfortunately, the comfortable garment had been left behind, surely burned by Colonel Jamison by now. Luckily, she hadn’t sacrificed her comfortable moccasins.

  Fawn busied herself at the wagon sideboard until Uncle Pete had the fire ready. When she tried to squat by the cook fire, she toppled over backwards. “Guess this big belly of mine has affected my balance.” She giggled and kneeled instead, then pulled apart the salt pork and laid it in the heated skillet. Within a few minutes, the delightful smell of sizzling bacon wafted in the air. She pushed the crisp meat to the side of the pan and carefully cracked the eggs into the hot drippings, all the while dodging stinging grease splatters.

  * * * *

  A cool breeze caught and carried the faint smell of wood smoke past Fawn’s face. She gazed at the waning flames near where she sat and yawned. She’d grown used to sleeping on the Jamison’s comfy bed, but as exhausted as she felt, spreading out on the stony ground sounded inviting. She laid her plate aside and sighed, awed by the pallet of colors left stretched across the sky by the setting sun. The Lakota revered nature, and she fidgeted with eagerness to be back among them.

  Sitting for so long her back throbbed. She leaned to the side, supported herself on one arm and curled her legs up under her dress. Uncle Pete sat across from her, picking his remaining teeth with a small sliver of wood.

  He tossed the toothpick aside and clutched his midsection. “Dinner was good, but I musta ate too much. My belly is burnin’. Probably shouldn’t have sopped up all that grease with my bread.”

  “I ate as much as you did, and I feel fine.”

  “You ain’t as old as me.”

  “Does that make a difference?”

  “You betcha. This ol’ body ain’t near as spry as it once was. I used to eat like a bear, but not anymore.”

  Picturing this white-haired, toothless old man as a virile, handsome youth wasn’t easy, but she assumed he must have been attractive to someone, sometime.

  She covered her mouth and stifled a yawn. “Guess I’d better get the dishes cleaned up before I fall asleep. I’m so excited about going home. God willing, tomorrow I’ll see my husband and friends again.” She cast a quick glance skyward and hoped the Lord heard her.

  Uncle Pete added another log to the fire. “There’s plenty of water on the wagon, and you’ll find the dishpan in the storage bin.”

  He helped her to her feet then stretched out in the grass, his arms folded beneath his head. “Think I’ll lay here a bit until I feel better.”

  Holes in his boot soles matched those in his grin. For a moment she pitied the old man.

  Fawn finished the dishes and turned just as Uncle Pete sat up and clutched his chest.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it’s just this gol-durned heartburn. I’ll take me a swig of water to wash out the fire. I’ll bed down out here, you sleep inside.” He struggled to his feet and dipped a ladle into the barrel suspended on the wagon’s side.

  Fawn hung the dishtowel on the wagon tongue to dry. With the skillet and eating utensils stashed away, and the wash pan back in its place, her tired body ached for rest. Her sleeping pallet beckoned. Uncle Pete crawled under wagon bed, dragging his bedroll with him, and in the blink of an eye, started to snore.

  Luckily, he had left the tailgate down for her. She heaved herself onto it and crawled inside, wondering if Little Elk would still consider she moved with the grace of a young deer. Her giggle sliced the silence.

  She spread her blanket atop a musty old featherbed she found stashed in the corner. How long it had been there, she had no idea. As long as she didn’t share a bed with critters, she’d handle the smell.

  Nature called, and although reluctant to venture out, she edged off the tailgate. In the flickering firelight she barely made out the silhouette of the horses grazing in the distance, and meandered toward them. Her bladder empty, before returning to bed, she glanced under the wagon to check on Uncle Pete. The old man still slept, snoring louder now in a sound reminiscent of buttons grating against a washboard—something she knew all too well.

  Fawn crawled back inside the wagon and collapsed onto her pallet. While waiting for sleep, she pictured the look on Little Elk’s face when he saw her again.

  * * * *

  The sound of clanking harnesses woke Fawn. Disoriented, she stared up at the white canvas and tried to recall where she was. A big grin crossed her face as she remembered–before day’s end she would be home. She threw aside her covers and scooted to the end of the tailgate. Holding her belly, she dropped to the ground and padded around the wagon.

  Uncle Pete glanced up from hitching the horses. “Well, good morning, little lady. I was going to come wake you when I was through here.”

  “I saved you the trouble. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Some better, but I still have that strange gnawin’ feelin’. I don’t have much appetite, but I did make a pot a Joe.” He pointed toward the fire. “There’s some bread left, or you can make some more eggs, if ‘n you’d like.”

  Fawn shook her head. “I’m not hungry either, but I will join you for a cup of coffee. I’m eager to get going.”

  She sauntered to the fire and picked up the metal cup Uncle Pete had left for her. The dark liquid streaming through the pot’s spout looked thick and strong. She curled her nose and considered dumping her cup into the grass. Instead she took a sip. Her first instinct was the best. When Uncle Pete wasn’t looking, she poured the coffee in the grass and used the toe of her moccasin to hide the evidence.

  * * * *

  The wagon bumped along the rutted path on the hill overlooking a ribbon of fast-moving water. Uncle Pete followed the winding road and kept the river in sight since Fawn remembered no other landmarks to help find her way home.

  After listening to nothing but the squeaking wheels and the plodding of the horses’ hooves for quite a long time, Uncle Pete turned to her. “Nola tells me you’re married to a Injun. Is that true?”

  “Yes. His name is Little Elk.”

  “What possessed a fine young girl like you to choose some young buck to bed ya.”

  Such directness. Her cheeks flamed. “It’s not like that at all.”

  “That’s his babe in yer belly, ain’t it?”

  “Well...yes. But we married because we love each other.”

  “Love. Hmpf! Ain’t ever found me a woman worth lovin’. I thought
I did once, but she ran off with some card shark and took what little money I had with her.” He snapped the reins and stared straight ahead.

  “I’m sorry. But you know, Uncle Pete, you shouldn’t judge everyone by one person. Not all women are like that.”

  He gazed at her and shook his head. “Don’t matter none now. I’m too old and crippled to care. I just wanna strike a rich vein and live in comfort for the rest of my days. Course, I’d take care of Nola long as she needs me. I s’pect she’ll find some randy young man one of these days. She’s not a bad lookin’ gal.”

  “She’s very pretty and kind. I already miss her. She was the only reason I hated to leave the fort.”

  “We can always turn back,” he joked.

  “No way!” She shook her head. “I’m going home to my husband.”

  * * * *

  Uncle Pete drained his canteen and tossed it over his shoulder. The empty container ricocheted off the wagon bonnet and landed on the plank floor. Since stopping for lunch, he fidgeted more and occasionally pulled his face into a grimace.

  He didn’t complain about feeling ill, but his pallor looked unusually gray and his Adam’s apple bobbed with constant swallowing. “Are you all right?” Concern prompted Fawn to ask. “I notice something appears to be bothering you.”

  “It’s that blasted heartburn again.” He released the reins with one hand and patted the center of his chest. “I got a powerful pain right here.”

  “Can I get you some more water?”

  “Naw, I done drank a bucket full, and it didn’t help none.”

  The reins dropped from his hands, and he grabbed his left arm. His face contorted in pain, and although his mouth widened enough to yell, not a sound escaped his lips. His eyes rolled back in his head as he tumbled into the wagon bed.

  Panic rose in her throat. She glanced down at his crumpled form. “Uncle Pete, Uncle Pete. Answer me,” she begged.

  He didn’t respond.

  She covered her mouth with the realization that no one controlled the team. Torn between climbing into the back of the wagon to see to the fallen man or holding the horses in check, she went for the reins. First, she’d stop the team then help him.