Reckless Heart

by Madeline Baker

  With more and more people flocking westward, Pa started talking about turning our farm into a trading post. Joshua allowed as how he thought that a trading post was a prime idea, since we were near the river, and even offered to help Pa start building if he was of a mind to.

  And that’s just what they did. Orin and his pa and our other neighbors pitched in, and by late summer our farm had been transformed into a kind of fort. The split-rail fence was gone, replaced by stout log walls with lookout towers at each corner. Our corral was enlarged, and our barn spruced up. Our cabin underwent some changes, too. Pa and the men added a second floor, and we moved our living quarters upstairs, leaving the main floor free for the store.

  With the building done, Pa and Josh went off to Steel’s Crossing—the only town within a hundred and fifty miles—and stocked up on dry goods and seed and harness and whatever else they could find. By the spring of ‘74 we were in business.

  The Tabors were our first official customers. They came marching in one sunlit morning, herding their six kids like sheep. Jed Tabor was a short little man with a face a cherub and a tongue like a serpent, Martha Tabor towered over her husband by a good six inches, but Jed Tabor was the undisputed boss of the family. When he was present, Martha and her brood maintained a respectful silence.

  The other families came, too. Some out of need, some out of curiosity.

  The Henrys were five of a kind, pale of face, pale of hair, pale of personality. I never heard any of them laugh out loud. Muriel Henry rarely came to the Fort—as our trading post came to be called—and hardly spoke two words when she did. Pa said they were proud folks fallen on hard times and didn’t know how to adjust to their changed lifestyle. Perhaps he was right, but I never cottoned to any of them.

  The Greens were as volatile as the Henrys were quiet. Loud and colorful, they were outspoken about everything—especially Indians.

  “The sooner the Army wipes out the red devils, the sooner the West will be fit for decent folks,” Saul Green opined, and his wife, Ida, heartily concurred.

  Their five kids, all boys, were unruly and impolite and into everything, especially the candy jar we kept on the end of the counter near the cash register. I thoroughly disliked the whole bunch.

  John and Florence Sanders were nice people. They had only one child, a darling little girl about six years old. Blonde and blue-eyed, Kathy Sanders was the most adorable child I had ever seen. John Sanders openly adored both his wife and daughter, and I think most of the women in the valley were a little envious of Florence Sanders. At parties, while the other men clustered together to talk about crops and Indians and such, John Sanders stayed with Florence, plying her with punch and cookies, treating her as if she were his sweetheart instead of his wife of ten years. Once, when I caught them kissing on the front porch, John Sanders actually blushed, but Florence Sanders just smiled.

  Carolyn and Seth Walker were from the South. They were refined, genteel people and added a touch of old world charm to our rough valley ways. They had two sets of twins, girls, aged seven, and boys, aged nine. They also had the only piano in the territory, so we had most of our parties at their house. Carolyn was a gracious hostess, knowing instinctively how to make her guests feel right at home. Excepting my mother, I think Carolyn Walker was the prettiest woman in the valley. She had a flawless complexion, rich brown hair, and the most expressive lavender-colored eyes imaginable. I used to listen, spellbound, while she talked about life in the South.

  “Oh, but it was grand,” she’d say. “The air was so sweet with the scent of magnolias and honeysuckle, you could gain five pounds just breathing in! There were parties and barbecues and balls every week. Hannah, you have no idea. Life was so relaxed, so pleasant. Why, I can remember when my biggest problem was what hat to wear! And, I declare, I had more dresses than a body could wear in a year. And the men… Hannah, they were all so charming and well-mannered. So…so gallant. Not like the crude ruffians you meet out here.

  “But then the war came and turned our world upside down. Seth went, of course. Those were terrible years. Sherman burned our plantation to the ground, and everything in it. I went to Atlanta to stay with my sister and my mother until the war was over. When Seth came home, we started to rebuild Shady Oaks, but his heart wasn’t in it, and we decided to start over somewhere else, where there were no unhappy memories.”

  She sighed as she glanced at her surroundings, and I thought how pitiful their little cabin and crude furnishings must appear when compared to the spacious home she had once known. But then she smiled and said, “Always remember, Hannah, that pretty clothes and big houses don’t always bring happiness. It’s having a man to love, and one who loves you—that makes a woman’s life worthwhile.”

  Our neighbors weren’t our only customers. We served prospectors, trappers and traders, and men whose pasts would not bear close inspection. You could always pick out the men who were on the dodge. There was a wary look in their eyes, and they never turned their backs on you, not for a minute. They were a rough lot, and Pa always sent me upstairs when he saw one of them coming.

  Later that summer we had a real honest-to-goodness shootout right in our front yard. I was out back hanging up a load of wash when I heard someone come riding hell-for-leather into the Fort. Peering around the side of the house, I saw a dusty, tough-looking young man pull up at the hitch rack. He had no more than stepped from the saddle when a second, equally dusty gent came pounding through the gates mounted on a lathered pony. The second man dismounted before his horse even came to a halt. It was then that I saw the U.S. Marshal’s badge pinned to his shirtfront. Unaware of my presence, the two men stared at each other across six feet of barren ground.

  “I’m taking you back, Cory,” the Marshal said in a hard tone. “On your horse, or tied across your saddle—makes no difference to me.”

  Cory’s eyes were wild and scared, but the hand hovering over his gun butt was rock steady.

  “I ain’t goin’ back!” he shouted, and grabbed for his Colt.

  There was a double explosion as both men drew and fired, the reports echoing like thunder. When the smoke cleared, Cory lay dead on the ground, a slightly surprised look on his face. Blood trickled from a neat hole in his chest, just left of center.

  I had never seen a dead man before and I felt suddenly sick to my stomach as I ran past the lawman and into the house.

  Later, I learned that the dead man had cold-bloodedly killed three men and a young girl while escaping from jail in Steel’s Crossing.

  Luckily, most of our days passed in a quieter fashion.

  By the time I was fifteen, Joshua and Orin were both courting me in earnest. I might have been flattered if I hadn’t been the only white girl their age within a hundred miles. Mrs. Berdeen and my mother had become good friends and made no secret of the fact that they both hoped I’d decide to marry one of the Berdeen boys. I think my folks, especially Pa, favored Joshua, for he was older than Orin and a lot more mature. Personally, I preferred Orin. He had a dazzling smile and a wonderful way with words. Nights, when we sat on the porch holding hands, he’d tell me I was prettier than all the flowers in the world, and sometimes he’d whisper poetry in my ear while he nuzzled my neck.

  Josh liked to hold hands, too, but he rarely told me the things a young girl likes to hear. Instead, he told me his plans for the future—how he’d like to build up a spread of his own and raise cattle and horses and a couple of kids and help turn our part of the country into a civilized place to live. Which was all well and good, I suppose, but not particularly romantic. Sometimes it sounded like he was running for public office instead of wooing his sweetheart!

  Orin and Joshua both asked Pa for my hand in marriage, but Pa said they’d have to ask again when I was sixteen, and that when the time came, the decision would have to be mine, not his.

  And so the days passed. I did my chores and studied my lessons and helped Pa in the store on weekends. Evenings, I learned how to do needlework and ho
w to cook something besides apple pie, dreaming of the day when I’d have a home of my own and a man to do for. Nights, when I lay in bed, I’d try to imagine what it would be like to be married. I’d close my eyes and try to conjure up a picture of myself as a married woman—tending my own children, or sleeping in my husband’s arms, the way I supposed Mother slept in Pa’s. Strangely, every time I saw myself in my husband’s arms, he had black hair and dark eyes! When I mentioned it to Mother, she just laughed and said maybe a tall, dark stranger was going to ride into my life and sweep me off my feet.

  Pa laughed, too, but said I had as much chance of marrying a dark-eyed man as I had of marrying a prince—unless the Berdeen boys decided to dye their hair, or another family with grown boys moved into the valley before I turned sixteen.

  So the days passed, tranquil as a summer sky, and I dismissed my notions of a raven-haired husband as meaningless and foolish and set my mind to deciding between Orin and Joshua.

  Chapter Three

  1871-1874

  Becoming a full-fledged warrior of the Cheyenne nation was not an easy task. There was much to learn, how to read the tracks of man and beast, how to interpret the signs of earth and sky, how to take an enemy scalp, how to count coup, how to locate food and water while traveling across the trackless plain, how to make and repair weapons. There were endless tests of courage and skill, as well as dances and rituals and sacred songs to learn and understand. One must go alone to a high place and pray to Maiyun for a vision, for a man without a vision could never hope to be a great warrior. One must endure the agony and ecstasy of the Sun Dance, that most sacred of all Indian rituals. At sixteen, Shadow was ready to seek his vision. Ordinarily, a boy set out on his vision quest at the age of fourteen. But because Shadow had been spending so much time with the Kincaids, the medicine man had advised him to wait. One did not seek help from the gods unless one’s heart was wholly in time with the Great Spirit. And one could not be completely in harmony with Maiyun when one was busily learning the ways of the white man. So spoke Elk Dreamer, the medicine man.

  But Shadow was ready now. And so, according to tribal custom, he went first to counsel with Elk Dreamer. Upon receiving the shaman’s instructions, he proceeded to the sweat lodge to purify his body for the coming ordeal, accompanied by his father and the medicine man. Naked, they sat in a small circle inside the sweat lodge. Elk Dreamer sang the sacred songs and chants while Shadow’s father poured cold water over the hot rocks piled in the center of the lodge. Great clouds of steam filled the tiny brush hut, and as the sweat poured from his body, Shadow emptied his mind of all thoughts, all desires, all worldly ambition, and silently prayed that the Great Spirit would grant him a vision.

  Time passed slowly. The words of the sacred chants ran together in his mind. Enveloped by a curious sense of weightlessness, he closed his eyes, content as one unborn in its mother’s womb.

  After what seemed like hours, Elk Dreamer indicated it was time to leave the sweat lodge. Rising, the three men rushed outside and plunged naked into the icy stream that gurgled behind the camp.

  Shadow gasped as the frigid water closed over him. For a moment he was numb and unable to move. His breath seemed frozen in his lungs, and he wondered fleetingly if he would drown. But then an unexpected rush of strength surged through his limbs, filling every fiber of his being with a wild exhilaration, making him feel more alive, more aware, than ever before.

  Early the following morning, clad only in clout and moccasins, Shadow climbed the high hill that rose in rocky splendor behind the village. It was not an easy climb, and it took him several hours to reach the top. At the summit, he squatted on his heels and stared down at the village. When he’d caught his breath, he pulled a small leather pouch from his clout and reverently offered a pinch of tobacco to the four directions, to earth and sky, chanting softly all the while. That done, he stretched out on the barren ground, arms raised, and cried to Maiyun for a sign.

  Time passed slowly. He grew thirsty. His belly rumbled for food. Night came, and shivering with cold, he slept fitfully and woke with the rising of the sun.

  The second day passed as the first.

  The third also. His tongue grew fat in his mouth, and hunger was a constant ache in his belly. His voice sounded weak in his ears as he offered the last of his tobacco to the four directions, to Man Above and Mother Earth. Lying on his back, arms outstretched, he beseeched the Gods for help, but only endless silence and the sun’s hot rays answered his cries.

  The fourth day. Waking, he did not rise but stared at the horizon, watching in awe as the sun climbed over the mountains, painting the gray sky canvas with slashes of color, until the heavens were alive with all the brilliant hues of the rainbow.

  “Perhaps it is a sign,” he thought dully. “Perhaps, on this, my last day, a vision will come.” How could he face his father if it did not?

  Summoning the last of his strength, he raised his arms skyward and lifted his voice in mighty supplication.

  “Hear me, Man Above, father of all life! Hear me, and grant me a vision, lest I perish!”

  For the space of three heartbeats a great stillness hung over the hilltop, as if the very earth were holding its breath. Then a wild rushing noise filled Shadow’s ears and as he stared upward at the sun, it seemed suddenly to be falling toward him. In terror, he pressed himself against the damp ground, fearing certain destruction. Suddenly the sun split in half and out of the middle flew two red-tailed hawks. In perfect unison, they soared through the air, wheeling and diving, moving with timeless grace, until they hovered above Shadow’s head.

  “Be brave,” the male hawk cried in a loud voice. “Be brave, and I will always be with you. You shall be swift as the hawk, wise as the owl.”

  “Be strong,” the female admonished in a loud voice. “Be strong, and I will always be with you. You shall be smart as the hawk, mighty as the eagle.”

  With a rush of powerful wings, the two hawks soared upward and disappeared into the sun.

  The sky was streaked with flame when Shadow found the strength to rise. Walking slowly, like an old man, he made his way to the edge of the summit and there, lying in one of his moccasin prints, he found two feathers and a small red stone. Reverently, he touched the feathers and the stone, then placed them in his tobacco pouch. Later, they would go into a medicine bag to be worn around his neck.

  Elk Dreamer was mightily impressed with Shadow’s vision and that night there was feasting and dancing as the entire tribe turned out to welcome a new warrior into its midst. Shadow, the boy, was dead, and in his place was born Two Hawks Flying, the warrior.

  Many things happened in the next few years. Two Hawks Flying killed his first enemy, a Pawnee brave scouting for some white buffalo hunters. He scalped his first white man, a prospector searching for gold in violation of the treaty that promised the Sioux and the Cheyenne ownership of the Black Hills for “as long as grass shall grow and water flow”. He counted coup on a dozen enemies, both red and white.

  To the Indians, war was a game. They did not fight to annihilate one another as the whites did, but to gain honor among the tribe. Any man could kill another from a distance. There was no honor in that. But to touch an armed foe with the tip of your bow or a coup stick—now there was courage! And if you then killed him and scalped him and took his horse and weapons—ah! That was a major coup, one that would be told over and over around the campfires. And if that man was a chief, so much the better!

  At the age of seventeen, Two Hawks Flying was heralded as a mighty warrior, brave in battle, wise beyond his years. By the time he was eighteen, he had earned enough coup feathers to make an impressive warbonnet. Only his father, Black Owl, had a finer one. When he rode into battle, Red Wind’s flank carried the print of a man’s hand, indicating his rider had killed at least one enemy in hand to hand combat.

  Having thus established himself as a warrior, Two Hawks Flying began to think about taking a wife. There was not a family in the village tha
t would not have been pleased to have him as a son-in-law, and he knew, with a touch of pride, that he could have his pick of the maidens. But it was Elk Dreamer’s youngest daughter, Bright Star, who finally caught his eye. Tall and willowy she was, with a warm smile, a merry laugh, and a way of swaying her hips that made him shaky inside. Virtue and chastity were highly prized among the Cheyenne, and though he longed to hold Bright Star in his arms and his loins ached to possess her as a man possesses a woman, he admired her only from afar.

  He might have spoken to Black Owl about a go-between, might have asked Bright Star to run away with him if, for some reason, her parents refused to let them wed. Might have done a hundred foolish things if he had not ridden down to the river crossing one warm midsummer day and seen Hannah walking in the woods with two young men.

  Just the sight of her took Shadow’s breath away. She was dressed in a simple cotton frock that showed off her slim waist and young breasts to perfection. Her hair, bright and red as a new flame, fell in soft waves around the loveliest face Man Above had ever created. Her laughter was low, sensual, and she moved with the light easy grace of a young doe.

  Hidden from their sight in the trees across the river, Two Hawks Flying watched Hannah and the two paleface boys cavort like three untamed puppies, and he knew, deep in his heart, that he would never be satisfied with Bright Star or with any other woman, red or white.

  Thereafter, Shadow waited often at the river crossing hoping to catch Hannah alone, but always the two wasicuns were with her, laughing and flirting as they tried to please her. Doing some quick mental arithmetic, Two Hawks Flying figured Hannah was fifteen. Still too young for marriage, according to the whites, and so he went off to the Cheyenne winter camp, certain she would still be a maiden when he returned in the spring. Certain that, when he returned, he would make her his.