"Take it back, damn you!" Meggie was shouting. "Take it back! My mother's not some Indian whore!"
Cassie stopped dead in her tracks.
"Is, too. She's got that mark on her face. And she's been givin' the In'juns—"
Meggie pulled harder.
"Ow! Ow!" the boy shouted, squirming to get away.
"Take—it—back!" Meggie repeated, tugging once for each of the words.
Cassie figured she'd better intervene.
"Meggie Reynolds, unhand that young man!" she ordered.
Meggie looked up, the set of her jaw mutinous. "He called you names."
"I heard what he called me," Cassie said. And I heard you called me your mother.
"And you're not mad?" Meggie asked incredulously.
"Of course I'm mad. But what he says isn't true, and anyone with a brain in his head knows it!"
Cassie thought that sounded inane. But maybe the truth was that simple.
"Now, Meggie," Cassandra prompted her, "you're going to let that young man up, and then he's going to apologize. You are going to apologize, aren't you—"
"Homer, Homer Parker," the boy gasped. "Yes, I am."
It was Alma Parker's youngest son.
"Meggie!" Cassandra admonished her in her sternest tone, balanced somewhere between laughter and tears.
Meggie let go of Homer's hair and climbed to her feet. Homer took a good deal longer getting up.
He was bruised and battered, iced with mud all down one side. There was a smear of manure on his cheek. Meggie had defended her quite effectively.
"Now then," she said, "I believe I heard something about an apology."
"Y-y-yes, ma'am," Homer stammered. "I'm sorry, ma'am, for calling you an Indian—um—" His face got redder and redder.
"Lady," Cassie finished for him, letting him off the hook.
"And I'm sorry about spilling Meggie's peppermint drops."
"He knocked them out of my hand," Meggie accused. "A whole penny's worth of peppermint drops!"
Cassie chose to ignore the question of the peppermint drops.
"Go home, Homer," she advised. "Take a bath. And remember that Meggie doesn't take kindly to name-calling."
She and Meggie stood together as Homer limped down the passageway and turned toward Officers' Row.
Once he was gone, Cassie couldn't think what to say to Meggie. Should she thank her for defending her so valiantly? Should she admonish her for fighting? Should she tell her just how much it had meant to hear her claim her as her mother?
"So," she began awkwardly, swallowing down the knot that was near to choking her. "Do I need to buy you more peppermint drops?"
"I don't think I like peppermint drops anymore," Meggie said, her eyes clouding over with tears. "I don't think I will ever eat peppermint drops again."
Cassie came to her knees and gathered the child up in her arms. "Oh, Meggie girl, I love you," she whispered. "And I promise I won't ever make you eat peppermint drops."
"Oh, Cassie," Meggie sniffed. "I love you, too."
* * *
"They're going to hang him at dawn." Drew made the announcement from the kitchen doorway. Cassie looked up from where she was sewing at the table, letting down the hem of one of Meggie's dresses.
"Who?" she asked.
She could sense the energy dancing around her husband like rays of light. "They're going to hang the Indian. The horse thief we brought in yesterday."
"Is he guilty?" Cassie wanted to know.
Drew shrugged, moving nearer. "He claims he was bringing the horses in for a bounty, but that doesn't seem likely. The army wouldn't pay to get back something it already owned."
A bitter roux of misgivings swirled in Cassie's belly. "Did anyone make inquiries?" she asked, knowing she shouldn't question him. "Did anyone send telegrams to see if any of the forts' commanders—"
Drew scowled down at her. "He's just an Indian. Is this man, Many Buffalo, someone you know?"
"Of course not," she answered. "He's Arikara. The Arikara have long been enemies of the Sioux and Cheyenne. I just thought someone should—"
"Jalbert spoke in his defense," he told her. "Not that it made much difference. This is a redskin we're talking about. Everyone knows they'd steal the pennies off a dead man's eyes."
"Drew—" Cassie cautioned him, aware of Meggie playing on the floor at their feet.
"For God's sake, Cassie. A man's entitled to his opinions."
But Drew's opinions were so narrow, so intolerant. Her husband was like a twig that had been bent by the wind and had grown into a tree that was twisted and misshapen. She had known what Drew was when she married him. He hadn't kept his hatred for the Indians a secret. She thought being with her could change him, that she could make him understand there were good and bad in any people, that she could help him return to the more reasonable views he'd held when they were young. She had been a fool to think that, but she had.
Drew reached to finger the faded fabric that puddled on the tabletop. "Meggie needs new dresses, doesn't she?"
Cass inclined her head.
"Then get what you need and make her some."
He shifted as if he were eager to leave. "What I stopped by to tell you is that I won't be home for supper. I have a report to write on how we captured Many Buffalo. Ben says we need to document everything that happened because the Peace Commissioners at Fort Laramie are bound to second-guess us."
"Then why not wait to hang Many Buffalo?" she dared to suggest.
"And what good would that do?"
"Well, once Many Buffalo is hanged, it's too late for anyone to intervene."
"Exactly."
Cassie shivered. The Arikara was going to die alone, away from anyone who could release his spirit to the afterlife. She'd faced her own death more than once while she was with the Kiowa and remembered how the cold, dark weight of her isolation pressed down on her. She'd wondered if anyone would dig a grave and mumble a few prayers over her.
Nor was hanging a noble way for an Indian to die. How could a warrior's spirit fly free if it were shackled by a rope to the earth?
Cassie looked up from her stitches, the words working their way up her throat. "Drew, do you think..."
"Think what?"
One look at her husband's face made Cassie's courage desert her. "Do—do you think—you should give Meggie a kiss before you leave? She'll probably be in bed when you get home."
Drew retraced his steps and squatted down in front of his daughter. Meggie grinned and offered him one of the clay cups, inviting him to join her and her dolly for tea.
Drew refused it with a shake of his head. He didn't seem to understand that these days with Meggie would never come again, that every moment was precious.
"Give Papa a kiss," he instructed. "I won't be back until late."
"It's all right, Papa," Meggie assured him, coming up on her knees to buss his cheek. "I have Cassie."
After Drew left, Cassie couldn't get Many Buffalo out of her mind. He'd been shut up in that guardhouse for two days, away from the wind and the sky. She shuddered just thinking what that would be like for a man so used to running free, for a man who was going to die at sunrise. What could it hurt if she took him a few small things that would make his last night on earth more comfortable?
But Cassie knew what it would hurt. She knew what Drew would say and how the people at the fort would look at her if she went to visit the prisoner. She knew what she had promised herself and promised Drew. This was different from the milk. But no less important.
She quickly gathered up what she needed—a spoon, a container of fresh water and one of stew, a blanket, some sweet grass from one of her packets of herbs, a few wooden matches, and a handful of feathers. Still, Cass was wise enough to leave Meggie with Lila when she headed toward the guardhouse and the gallows out front.
She went inside and asked for the officer of the day. "I would like to see the prisoner," she told him.
Lieutenant Ar
nold gaped in slack-jawed shock. "Are you sure, Mrs. Reynolds?" he asked her. "What business could you possibly have with him?"
"I have brought him a meal, a bottle of fresh water, a blanket, and a few other things to make him comfortable," Cassie answered.
"This is highly irregular, ma'am," the lieutenant warned her. "Does your husband know you're here?"
"Is it necessary for me to have my husband's permission to visit him?"
"Well, no, ma'am. Not strictly speaking, ma'am. I just thought..."
"I'll take full responsibility for my actions," she assured him. If she was capable of making this decision, she should be able to accept the consequences.
When the lieutenant hesitated, she went on. "If you were to die alone in an Indian camp, Lieutenant, wouldn't you want whatever small comfort some stranger might give you?"
Arnold shrugged and looked away.
After two corporals pawed through her things, they led her into a locked room at the back of the building. Many Buffalo was confined in a still-smaller cell. It was stifling inside. It smelled of pain and fear and unwashed bodies. A wave of panic rolled over Cassie when the guard locked the door behind her.
The prisoner was not a big man, not a particularly fierce-looking man. He wore his hair as most of the Arikara did, in two long braids wrapped in fur. Blue clamshells dangled from his ears, and his loincloth and leggings were made of buffalo hide.
Cassie swallowed hard and stepped farther into the cell to set the pail of stew, the blanket, and the other things she'd brought on the floor in front of him.
"I brought those to make these next hours more comfortable," she told Many Buffalo, first in Sioux and then in Cheyenne. She finally settled on hand talk to make herself understood.
When Many Buffalo made no move to take the things, she continued. "I know they must have told you that you are to be hanged tomorrow."
Many Buffalo nodded.
"I want you to tell me how a man of the Arikara should be buried. I cannot promise that these soldiers will do what I ask, but I will try to see that your customs are honored."
Many Buffalo gestured with his hands. "There is a man here who is half Arikara. He will see that I am painted and dressed and buried facing east. He will release my spirit to a better world before he closes the grave."
She should have known that Hunter would see to this. He was a good man and doubtless in a better position to direct Many Buffalo's burial than she was. Yet sometimes she thought Hunter's position at the fort was frighteningly tenuous. Major McGarrity respected him for his skills as a tracker, interpreter, and hunter. Yet he was a mixed-blood, and that would always make him suspect.
Cass blinked the flash of insight away and focused again on Many Buffalo. "Is there anything you need?" she asked him.
"Nothing more. I thank you for these things and your courage in coming here."
Cassie inclined her head and called for the guard.
She held herself together while the soldier unlocked the two stout doors. She thanked Lieutenant Arnold for allowing her to see the prisoner. She made it as far as the infantry barracks before the horror of that cramped little cell overtook her. She stepped into the shadows and stood there shivering.
* * *
The loud, deep-throated clanging of a bell woke them. Drew bolted out of bed, instantly alert.
"That's the firebell," he said, snatching up his pants.
Cassie ran to the window and peeked outside. "I can't see anything, but there's smoke in the air."
"Let's hope it's not one of the barracks."
"Or the stable!" Cass cried in alarm, but he was throwing on his clothes and didn't answer.
"Are the horses burning up?" Meggie asked, pushing back the curtain that separated her alcove from the rest of the bedroom.
"No, Meggie, no," Cassie assured her as Drew ran out. "I'm sure the horses are fine."
That didn't satisfy the little girl. Before Cassie could stop her, Meggie was across the parlor and out the door. Cass caught her on the porch, and the two of them stood staring.
On the far side of the parade ground the sky glowed vivid orange. A towering column of smoke spiraled upward. On the far side of the cavalry stable, something was fiercely ablaze.
"Is it the horses?" Meggie demanded, her voice quivering.
"It's not the horses," Cassie soothed, grabbing Meggie up in her arms.
Still, a score of men were leading the skittish animals out of the barn. Frightened by the smoke and confusion, the horses whickered and danced, making it difficult for the men to control them. Several soldiers had climbed to the peak and were wetting down the stable roof. More men ran across the parade ground toward the fire.
Cassie spun back into the cabin to dress. She gave Meggie her clothes, jammed her own feet into shoes, and buttoned a skirt over her nightdress. She gathered her store of unguents and herbs to use in case someone got hurt. A minute or two later they were back outside.
Sylvie Noonan and her children were clustered on the porch next door. "Keep Meggie for me," Cass shouted, knowing Sylvie wouldn't dare refuse. Meggie protested being left behind, but Cass was already racing toward the fire.
On the far side of the barn a hayrick was spectacularly ablaze. Flames shot nearly fifty feet in the air. Smoke billowed into the black night sky. The air shimmered with sparks. She looked for Drew and found him at the head of a line of men with buckets. Hunter was throwing water on the fire from the opposite side. Cass wilted a little with relief at finding both of them safe.
The second hayrick ignited with a flash and whoosh. Fire clawed its way up the mound of straw. Bits of burning hay rained everywhere. Someone shouted, and men with buckets ran in to throw more water on that fire. Their silhouettes shimmered against the red like wraiths as they were beaten back by the waves of heat.
Cassie had just joined the nearest bucket line when a man ran toward her, his sleeve ablaze. She grabbed his opposite arm and flung him to the ground. Another soldier doused the man with water. The flames on his arm sizzled and went out.
Cassie dropped to her knees beside where he was writhing and howling in pain.
"It's all right!" she shouted at him. "It's going to be all right! I have medicines!"
As his screams of pain turned to moans, Cass turned to the man who'd doused her patient. "I'll take care of this. Get back to the fire."
The soldier went, leaving his bucket and the last of his water behind.
Bending over her patient, Cassie ripped away the charred remains of his sleeve and grimaced at what she saw.
The soldier moaned and pulled away from her.
"No, no," she soothed him. "You're going to be fine. It looks awful and I know it hurts, but I have herbs right here in my bag to make that stop."
She pawed through her pack and took out the last of the hyssop she'd collected and dried months ago.
"I can make the pain go away. Just trust me," she told him. She stuffed some of the crumbly leaves into her mouth and began to chew.
The man thrashed beside her, doing his best to flinch away as she spit the moistened leaves onto his arm.
"Oh, no! I don't want that on me!" he wailed at her.
"It will take away the sting," she cajoled, patting the green paste onto the burn. "Don't you want that?"
"What is it?" he demanded.
"Hyssop," she mumbled, chewing and patting.
The man looked down at his arm, patently unconvinced.
She smoothed more of the paste onto the burn.
Slowly his eyes began to widen. "Why it—it feels better!" The soldier sounded amazed.
When she had coated the burn to her satisfaction, Cassie moistened a strip of cloth in the bucket, and bound the poultice in place.
"Keep that bandage moist," she advised him, "and it should hold you until one of the medical orderlies gets a chance to look at it. And don't worry. You're going to be fine."
Cass helped the trooper to his feet. When they turned to look, the two
hay wagons were roaring, turning the dark as bright as day.
Thank God the soldiers had left those hayricks so far from the stables, Cassie found herself thinking. Thank God there was no wind to carry the flames. That's all that had saved the fort and everyone in it from destruction.
There was nothing else to do but watch the wagons burn. The fire was magnificent, a pulsing white-hot core, flares of molten gold, licking forks of red-orange light raging skyward. It was like watching the sun being born.
The women and children who had been waiting back at the cabins crept up to join the sweaty, soot-stained soldiers. They all stood silent, awed by the fire's savagery and splendor. Among the families, Cassie found Meggie and took her up in her arms. Drew made his way to the two of them.
"We were lucky," he whispered, slipping his arm around her waist. "So lucky. This could have spread and taken everything."
Cass looked up at Drew, at the streaks of soot on his face and the fear in his eyes. He'd been afraid for Meggie and her, and she could see he didn't like that. It intruded on him somehow. It made him think of himself as a weaker, not a stronger, man.
"How—how did the fire start?" she asked him.
"No one seems to know. One of the sentries saw the flames and rang the bell."
She supposed it could have started from anything—a spark from someone's fire, a match carelessly tossed away, a bolt of summer lightning. It hardly mattered. What mattered was that they were safe.
She and Drew leaned together, listening to the hiss and roar of the fire. They watched the hay wagons shudder and flare as they were consumed, their towering forms contracting and crumbling. They shrank and moaned until there was nothing left but a shimmering bed of coals.
The men were moving in to extinguish the embers when the officer of the day came pelting toward them.
"The prisoner has escaped!" Lieutenant Arnold shouted. "Many Buffalo has gotten away!"
"What do you mean, you let him escape?" McGarrity demanded, towering over the smaller man.
The people crowded closer to hear the details.
Arnold cringed before the major's wrath. "He must have gotten out during the fire, sir. We didn't discover he was missing until just now."
"Noonan, detail a search!" McGarrity ordered, and Noonan ran.
So Wide the Sky Page 22
