April came to a clearing and reined in, trying to decide where she was. There was a full moon, but that didn’t help much. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she realized that any time now, the battle would start. Every instinct told her to turn back and let the irresponsible boy take the consequences of his actions. Why would Tommy be headed north? No doubt, he was afraid and deserting. If she didn’t bring him back, the Confederates would execute him when they caught him. That would devastate Jim, who doted on his little brother. She sat her horse, trying to decide which way to go now.
And at that moment, cannons broke the silence as the Confederates mounted their attack on the surprised Yankees. Behind her was noise and the echo of shouting men as they galloped to the attack. Her horse neighed in panic as April breathed the acrid scent of cannon fire. Her head rang with the roar of gunfire as she fought to control her terrified horse. The horse took off at a gallop, and a low-hanging limb caught April and knocked her from her saddle. The horse galloped away, leaving her lying stunned and breathless on the dirt.
She was in mortal danger here with both sides shooting at every shadow. She must get out before troops rode into her clearing. Her head ached, but she stumbled to her feet. If she could only catch a riderless horse that she heard galloping nearby . . . Then she realized the beast would be too panicked to stop and she’d be trampled. She was afoot near a battle zone, and any minute she might be caught in a charge. What to do? She ran to the edge of the clearing, paused in the bright moonlight.
Two riders galloped toward her, and she froze, expecting to be shot down.
“April!” Will suddenly galloped out of the darkness, the brass buttons on his blue uniform shining in the moonlight. Next to him, Tommy’s face was pasty pale in terror.
Will yelled, “What in blazes are you doing here?”
“I—I was following Tommy.”
His youthful face frowned. “You suspected me all along, didn’t you?”
She shook her head in confusion. She had no idea what Tommy was talking about.
Will reached for her. “Come on, you’ll be safe enough with me.”
“But, Will—”
“I won’t take no for an answer.” He reached down, grabbed her hand, and lifted her to the saddle before him. “Let’s get out of here before we get killed.”
She looked over at Tommy’s face, and suddenly, she knew who the spy was. He stared back at her with guilty eyes.
Will reined in, looking about. “I don’t know which way to go. Either way, we’re liable to get shot. “Why aren’t you at Fort Gibson, April?”
She couldn’t tell him that she had ridden to warn Jim and that she was a Confederate spy. Maybe he knew already.
“Never mind,” Will shouted. “Let’s get out of here, and when this is over, I’m going to marry you.”
Marry her? No, her heart belonged to Jim for now and always. Nothing else mattered but him.
Even as they paused, a shell exploded nearby, and without meaning to, April shrieked in terror.
Jim paused, his horse rearing. Was that a woman’s scream? April. All he could think of now was that she was in danger. He forgot his duty and his own safety, thought of nothing but the girl. In the clearing up ahead, the gunsmoke cleared momentarily, and he saw two horses, one carrying two riders. In the moonlight he saw the girl’s terrified face. “April?” he yelled.
Her heart was in her throat now as she recognized Jim galloping toward her. “Jim, go back!” she shouted.
“What the . . . ?” Will seemed taken by surprise at her outburst as he held on to her.
“Will”—she turned her face up to his—“let me go!”
“No!” Will fought to hang on to her. “No, April, it makes no sense to choose him. Stay with the winning side; stay with me.”
She wanted Jim, win or lose. In that split second, she attacked Will with teeth and nails while Jim ran over and pulled them both from the rearing, neighing horse. The two men grappled as April stumbled against a tree, sobbing. All she could do was watch as the two brothers fought. She looked up as Tommy cursed and struggled to control his gray horse. In that moment, April knew what the boy intended to do; she could see it in his eyes. If Jim were dead, the two spies would be safe.
“Look out, Jim!” she screamed.
Both older brothers paused for a split second, looking toward the boy on the horse, and in that split second, Jim froze in disbelief, then tried to shove Will out of the way. Tommy’s horse shied, and April saw the flash of fire as Tommy pulled the trigger. Will grabbed at his chest and fell.
“Tommy, are you crazy?” Jim ran across the clearing and dragged the boy from the horse, attempting to take the gun from him. They fought and rolled, but Tommy hung on to the pistol, striking Jim hard with the butt.
April had run to gather Will into her arms as she watched the two brothers fighting. Blood ran out of his mouth, but he smiled up at her. “I—I was wrong . . . didn’t deserve you . . . Jim does. Help him. . . .”
What to do? She stumbled to her feet, watching the two men fighting. Jim had Tommy down and was winning—it was clear—and then Tommy went to the ground, came up with a big rock, and hit Jim across the head. Jim went to one knee, clearly stunned as Tommy staggered over, picked up his pistol, and aimed it at Jim. “I’m damned tired of always being the baby brother, always having to take orders—”
“No!” April grabbed a stick, and he whirled, leveling the pistol at her.
And in that heartbeat, she saw the flash of gunfire in the moonlight, heard the blast. What—?
Tommy dropped his pistol, staring at her almost in disbelief as he clutched at his chest. Blood ran out between his fingers as he staggered, staring past her. “You—you shot me.”
She whirled. Behind her, Will had made it to his knees, and his pistol was smoking. Will threw away his pistol with a sob. “I—I’m sorry, Tommy; I couldn’t let you kill either of them . . .” Then he tumbled over on his face.
April ran to Tommy’s side even as Jim gathered the dying boy into his arms. “Little brother,” he wept. “Oh, my little brother. Don’t go, Tommy, please! I’ll get a doctor.”
“Too late . . . wanted money,” Tommy gasped, and blood trickled scarlet out of his mouth. “Tired of always being the unimportant one . . . wanted to go to a big city . . . Yankees paid me well. . . .”
“Tommy?”
There was no answer. The boy lay still. Jim hugged his brother to him, trying to shake life back into the limp form. It took a moment to realize that the little boy who had followed him around the ranch all those years was dead. Numbly he stood up and looked into April’s stunned face as the cannon boomed and echoed and the noise of battle grew closer. He was only dimly aware that his uniform was dark with Tommy’s blood. “Dead,” he gasped. “They’re both dead.”
“Oh, Jim, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t gotten involved, they’d both be alive.”
What would he tell his mother? He had failed in his duty to look after his brothers, failed in his duty to the Confederacy, and now the cavalry was thundering toward this very spot. His agony became an unreasonable rage. “Get out of here,” he gasped, and motioned her toward Will’s horse. Get the hell out of here!”
“But, Jim—”
“Go, damn it, go! Haven’t you caused me enough grief? Get out while you still can. I’ve got a battle to fight.”
She looked into his dazed face and realized there was no reasoning with him. He was in shock with grief, but his eyes told her he blamed her for his terrible loss. She could hear the cavalry now, thundering closer as the battle built around them. She caught Will’s horse and mounted. “Jim, please—”
“Leave me alone!” he shouted at her. “My brothers are both dead, do you hear me? Go back north where you belong!”
She saw the agony on his features and realized he was in a state of shock. “All right, Jim, I’ll go, but I need to tell you—”
“Damn it, just go!” He was s
obbing now as he waved her away and stood with shoulders bowed in grief. “Go away and leave me with my dead.”
How she wanted to gather him into her arms and comfort him, but she knew he hated her now and blamed her for his brothers’ deaths. She did not speak another word, and she would not allow herself to cry lest she become hysterical as she nudged the horse into a lope and rode away. Behind her, she heard Jim weeping and victorious rebel yells ringing out. The Confederates were winning, she thought; they were capturing the wagon train.
Her vision blurred as she rode away in the moonlight. She would save her weeping until she was away from this place, so that Jim would not see her. April was not sure where she was going now or what she was going to do. The money she’d been promised for spying no longer mattered; nothing mattered when the man she loved hated her and wanted her out of his sight.
No, there was one thing that mattered, she thought as she raised her chin stubbornly and rode away from the battle. She had something to live for, something that made it all worthwhile if she never again saw the man she loved. Jim Eagle would never know she was carrying his child.
Epilogue
June 1865
Capturing the Yankee wagon train had been the biggest Confederate victory in Indian Territory. However, there had been little action the past nine months, and everyone seemed to know it was only a matter of time before the Union forces triumphed. Things would not go well for the defeated, Jim Eagle knew.
Not that it mattered. Nothing much mattered to him anymore since the tragedies of early autumn and since the woman he loved had ridden out of his life forever. He had not realized how much he had cared for the mixed-blood Cherokee girl until she was gone. He had been too distraught over the deaths of his brothers to think clearly when he sent her away. Now it was too late, and she was gone forever.
Finally, one day a rider brought word that the war had ended two months ago in a faraway place called Appomattox, Virginia. On April 9, General Robert E. Lee had signed the official papers. Now all that was left was for General Stand Watie, the last Confederate general, to surrender his troops to the Yankees near the little town of Doaksville.
“Well,” the old man said to Jim, “we have fought the good fight, and now there is nothing else to do but surrender. Gather my officers and tell the men to put on their best uniforms and polish their buttons and bridles. The Cherokee Mounted Rifles will go out proudly. We will not look defeated, with our heads hanging.”
So on June 23, 1865, the weary, gaunt Cherokee soldiers made sure they looked as good as they could in their worn, faded uniforms, and rode to the former Choctaw capital to surrender.
When it was over, old Stand Watie shook hands with his men and told them to return to their homes and get on with their lives.
Home? Jim wasn’t even sure if there was anything left of his ranch after four years of fighting back and forth across it, nor could he hope that his mother was still alive. He’d not managed to get word from anyone. The only merciful thing was that if she was dead, she would be spared the heartache of learning that her two younger sons, Will and Tommy, were both dead and that they had been traitors, selling their loyalties for gold. She need not know that terrible truth.
Jim rode next to the old Cherokee commander as they left the town. “What will you do now, sir?”
“You don’t need to call me ‘sir’ anymore, Jim,” Stand Watie sighed. “I am no longer a Confederate officer, I am a tired, defeated old man.”
Jim smiled at him. “Sir, to me you will always be an officer, and a gallant one.”
“Well, I’m going home, if there’s anything left of my farm. Between Southern bushwhackers and damned Yankees, they’ve probably burned the place and stolen all my livestock. What about you, son?”
Jim shrugged. “Probably the same story.”
The other raised his chin stubbornly. “We’re Cherokee, a proud people; we survived the Trail of Tears, and now we’ll survive whatever the Union does to the vanquished.”
Jim nodded, but his heart wasn’t in it. What he needed to give him the strength to begin again was a beloved woman, and she was gone forever. If she ever thought of Jim at all, it would no doubt be with amusement or maybe a little sadness at the memory of everything they had endured together. He couldn’t blame her. With his ranch needing to be rebuilt, there’d be lots of hard work and little money, no fine clothes and elegant carriages such as those the girl who called herself April Grant had hungered for.
He and the old Cherokee rode north through burned farms and devastated villages. Indian Territory seemed destroyed, its people dead or defeated. Only the bravest dared hope enough to begin rebuilding.
“What happened to that girl you favored?” Stand Watie asked.
Jim swallowed hard, remembering the warmth and the passion of her, the taste of her mouth. “She’s in Boston now, I reckon, married to some rich white man.”
“Nice Cherokee girl needs a good Cherokee warrior,” the old man grunted.
“I was a fool, and maybe I didn’t have much to offer.”
“Did you ever tell her you loved her and wanted her to stay?”
Jim shook his head. “I sent her away, but maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. A broken-down ranch in the middle of a war-torn territory can’t compare with a fancy back-east city.”
The old man smiled. “It would if she loved you.”
Jim didn’t answer, remembering. He hadn’t realized how much he loved her until she was gone, and now he would not get another chance to tell her.
They came to a crossroads and reined in.
The old general said, “I’ll be heading east from here.”
“I’m going over past Tahlequah,” Jim said.
“Good luck to you, son.” The old man held out his hand, and they shook solemnly. Then he turned his bay horse and started east.
Jim watched him go, knowing that the door was closing on his life as a Confederate soldier. They had lost the war, and there was no telling what punishment the federal government would inflict on the tribes for daring to support the Southern cause. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered much without the girl he loved by his side. He had never felt so lonely and bereft in his life as he rode toward his ranch. Perhaps he would return to being a Lighthorseman. He wondered if his old friends, Yellow Jacket and Talako, had survived the war, and whether he would run across them again. One thing was certain: From now on, he would be a true Cherokee; no more white man’s name for him.
It was almost dusk two days later as he topped the hill and looked down into the valley of his ranch. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that the log cabin and the barn were still standing and appeared to be in good repair. A few horses and cattle grazed in an adjacent field. Down below him, a small figure in a poke bonnet and a faded calico dress labored in a garden. She was old and stooped, but hoeing stubbornly.
Mother. His eyes teared up as the hot June breeze carried the scent of wildflowers to him. Now the woman paused and turned to look in his direction, shielding her dark face from the sun with one hand.
“Hey, Ma!” He galloped his horse down the hill and across the green landscape, hardly reining the palomino in as he dismounted, and they ran into each other’s arms. “Ma! Oh, Ma, I thought you were dead!”
“Jim, boy, oh, Jimmy!” The old woman threw her arms around him, sobbing as she did so. “I thought you’d never come.”
They hugged each other.
“I’m home now, Ma, and I’ll never leave again.” The time he dreaded had come. “Ma”—he pulled away from her—“about Will and Tommy—”
“I know.” Her wrinkled old face grew somber, and she nodded. “Your woman brought me the news that they’d both died heroes in the war.”
“My woman?” What on earth was she talking about?
His mother gestured toward the house, and for the first time, Jim noted a young woman with long black braids sitting in a rocker on the porch of the cabin. She had her head down, but she wore a tra
ditional Cherokee dress, and she was nursing a baby. He could only stand and stare as the girl got up out of the chair hesitantly and put the baby in a cradle on the porch. She came down off the porch, slowly walking toward him as if she was not quite certain of her reception.
He stared at her, not believing his eyes. He had dreamed too long of her, and now he must be dreaming again. “April?” And then his arms came up, naturally, as they had a million times when he dreamed of holding her.
She had sat on the porch, hardly daring to believe what her eyes told her as the big, dark man on a palomino horse had come riding out of the dusk, silhouetted against the setting sun. She had pictured this reunion a million times, but she was not sure if he could ever forgive the part she had played in his brothers’ deaths, or even if he had ever loved and wanted her. Then, very slowly, he had held out his arms to her, and she was running, running. It seemed like a thousand miles across that yard, and she saw nothing but his beloved face and those outstretched arms reaching for her. Then she was in his embrace, and he held her as if he would never let her go, while they both wept. “Jim! Oh, Jim!”
“Oh, April, I never expected you would come here—”
“I am not April,” she said softly, looking up into his rugged face, blurring through her tears. “I am Kawoni, a proud Cherokee, and I am Jim Eagle’s woman if he wants me.”
“Wants you? Oh, Kawoni, I’ve been such a fool for mistrusting you, for sending you away.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she whispered, and kissed his dear face. Then his lips found hers, and they clung together as if this embrace would never end.
“And I am no longer Jim Eagle,” he said. “I will be a traditional Cherokee. I am Wohali, and I am home forever.”
To Tame A Rebel Page 30
