Tame the Wild Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  He stretched, thinking what a quiet morning it was there at Blue Water Creek. They were camped with Chief Little Thunder’s tribe, preparing for a hunt. He listened to morning birdcalls, then frowned when he thought he heard something different, a sound that did not fit with birds or the wind. It was an odd clanking sound.

  A horse whinnied, and he sat up, his keen senses coming alert. He pulled on a pair of deerskin leggings, walked to where his mother and Five Crows slept. He nudged Five Crows, who at forty summers of age was still quite strong and alert, a good hunter. The man opened his eyes and sat up.

  “I hear something strange,” Gabriel told him quietly in the Sioux tongue. “We should look.”

  Both knew the Minniconjou were in danger of a soldier attack, yet they had hoped the incident over the cow was forgotten. As far as the massacre of the soldiers by Brule Sioux, it was the Brule who should be punished, not the Minniconjou.

  Five Crows quickly dressed. Yellow Beaver awoke and Gabriel turned away while she dressed. He grabbed his rifle and left the tepee with Five Crows to alert some of the others. They heard voices then and turned to see soldiers lined on a hillside in the distance. “Bluecoats!” Five Crows yelled. “Alert the others!” The man ran off shouting into other tepees for the men to get the women to safety and prepare to fight.

  “Run for cover!” Gabriel yelled to his own mother. He hurried to another tepee, just as the dreaded booming sound filled his ears. They were using the big guns! The injustice of it enraged him. This was a peaceful camp.

  There came an explosion directly behind him then, and he turned to see that the first howitzer shell had destroyed the tepee he had just exited. He ducked as debris flew everywhere, turned again to see that the tepee was in smoldering ruins. “Mother!” he screamed. “Many Flowers!”

  By then the camp was alive with screaming, running women and children, men shouting orders, trying to get to their horses, one man running about completely naked. There were more explosions, shrapnel flying everywhere, but Gabriel saw none of it. All he was aware of was the ruins of the tepee where only moments earlier he had been quietly sleeping, dreaming about the Sun Dance and about Little Otter. All feeling had deserted his legs, and they had to carry him to the tepee, where his mother and Many Flowers lay dead, their bodies covered with blood from massive shrapnel wounds.

  Cinders burned his still-bare feet as he ran into the embers, but he felt no pain. He rose, holding up his rifle and letting out a long scream: “Nooooo!”

  Hatred burned in his soul, hotter than the embers that burned his feet.

  Numbly he ran to help some other women and children get to safety, joined in shooting at the oncoming soldiers. It had all happened so swiftly, there was not even time to get to the horses, and many men had not had time to take up their weapons. This was not a battle that could be won…

  It was a slaughter, not a battle. This was the soldiers’ revenge for what had happened to their own kind.

  The bluecoats came on, while those Indians who could save themselves retreated into the underbrush and ravines. The camp was destroyed, Indian horses taken. Women and children who could not get away quickly enough were rounded up and taken prisoner, and through it all Gabriel saw countless friends and fellow warriors shot down. Five Crows was one of them…and his precious grandfather, Two Moccasins, a man who had taught him so much, had loved him, helped raise him. He was an old man now, no threat to the soldiers. But he was shot down anyway.

  In minutes everyone important to his life was gone, all except Little Otter, who did not live among this tribe.

  He wanted to cry, needed to cry. But a stubborn fury would not let him…not yet.

  He retreated farther into the hills, helping an old woman and a little girl, both of whom were quietly weeping. When they reached the top of a hill, he looked back. From this vantage point he could see the village burning, wondered if the soldiers would bother to bury the dead.

  Mother. His precious mother was down there. Silent tears began to spill down his cheeks. If only his father were there to tell him what to do.

  His skin was dark, and he’d grown his black hair nearly to his waist. His eyes were green, but as far as he was concerned, that was all there was about him that was white. He knew for certain now that he wanted no part of the white world.

  He would become a Santee warrior.

  Chapter Three

  October 1860…

  Fourteen-year-old Faith shivered, but it was not from the Holy Spirit, and not because it was cold. In fact, a few days of what her parents called Indian summer had arrived, and by that late afternoon it had grown so warm, she did not even need a sweater. The chill she felt was a pleasant experience, and it came from a simple touch. Johnny Sommers had casually touched her hand during prayer.

  She did not know much about Johnny, except that he was seventeen and the best-looking young man she had ever seen. This was only the second time she’d been around him. Her father had met Johnny’s father when selling some of his produce in Johnstown. Herbert and Gertrude Sommers, who owned a farm-supply store, had become interested in the Quakers’ beliefs and had started attending meetings.

  The Sommerses did not believe in violence. There had been so much bloodshed in Kansas—now called bleeding Kansas because of border wars with Missouri over slavery—that they had left, bringing Johnny and his four younger siblings back to Pennsylvania to be near Mrs. Sommers’s parents.

  Faith’s father feared a civil war could not be avoided. That was nearly all that was discussed at the Quaker meetings these days—war, and how they should avoid getting involved. Already several Southern states had seceded from the Union. Men in Congress were arguing. There had even been physical fights. Several Federal forts had been seized by Southern states. Kansas would soon vote on statehood, claiming it would be a free state.

  Faith knew these things because she’d heard her father talk about them constantly. There had been several visits between him and Johnny’s father, both men agreeing war was folly. Faith was not sure what was right. Her heart was too full of what she was sure were the beginnings of love for Johnny Sommers. Her heart had pounded so hard that it almost hurt when Johnny not only came to this second gathering, but sat down beside her! The group of faithful Quakers met in a barn outside Johnstown, where many new and interested outsiders had come to listen and learn.

  After several minutes of quiet prayer a leader named Simon Webster announced that “These will be trying times.”

  “We must be strong against war,” another put in.

  “War will be at our doorstep. We must not get involved,” Faith’s father spoke out.

  A moment of silence followed, the elders all waiting for the Holy Spirit to speak through them. Faith dared to turn her head and glance sidelong at Johnny. He returned the look, his brown eyes dancing with a kind of mischief only someone like Faith understood. She knew in that look that he hated these meetings just as much as she did. He was there only because his parents were there, just as she was there because of Matthew and Sadie Kelley. She could not help a smile, and Johnny smiled in return, his eyes dropping to her chest. She felt as though her budding breasts were suddenly huge, and for the first time she was proud of the signs of becoming a woman.

  The meeting seemed to last forever. When it finally ended, Johnny leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Behind the barn. Try to get away.”

  Faith felt suddenly clammy instead of cold. Johnny wanted to meet alone with her! Her parents would be furious if they knew, but she would meet him anyway and take the chance. She still longed to be her own person and laugh and dance and be free, which made her do and say things that got her chastised. She decided she would never please her father, so why should she keep trying? Besides, ten-year-old Benny had become her father’s whole world, and the boy was always able to remain surprisingly quiet during meetings, even when he was little, which greatly impressed Matthew. He was convinced his son was destined to become a leader among the Quak
ers, and he often told Faith she could take lessons in obedience and faith from her brother. Somehow everything she did was wrong, and everything Benny did was right. He was the perfect son.

  After the meeting ended, the men and women began visiting, the possibility of war still the main topic of conversation. Matthew was deep in conversation with three other men, Benny standing beside him and listening intently, while her mother shared recipes with some of the other women.

  Johnny had already slipped away. Faith told her mother she was going to find a privy, then hurried out and walked around the barn, glad that dusk was already turning to darkness. It was finally getting cooler, and she rubbed the backs of her arms, wondering where her next breath would come from, she was so excited. Was she crazy to be doing this? Maybe Johnny had only been teasing her. She reached the corner of the barn, peeked around.

  There he was! He was leaning against the barn, and he was smoking a pipe. Excitement made it difficult for her even to move her legs, but she managed to get around the corner. When Johnny saw her, there was that handsome smile again! He had good teeth, surrounded by full lips set in a handsome face. His sandy hair was thick and wavy, and the way a piece of it hung over one eye made him even better looking. It gave him a rather wild look, and she suspected he was a daring young man, adored him for being well traveled. After all, he’d lived in Kansas, had seen war and violence. He’d traveled through Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, had met different people, seen other cities.

  “Hi, Faith. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  “I…I wasn’t sure you really meant it.”

  “Sure I meant it.” He again glanced at her breasts, then studied her face adoringly. “I’d be crazy not to want to get to know the prettiest girl in Pennsylvania a little better.”

  Faith felt herself blushing, and she turned away. “I don’t know about that, Johnny, but…thank you.”

  “Heck, you know you’re pretty. How old are you? Fourteen?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s pretty near a woman. I’m glad my folks got to know yours, Faith, but I wanted you to know I’m not so sure about all this Quaker stuff. I’m only here because of my parents. I’m not much on religion, and I’m not so sure there’s anything wrong with war. Fact is, if we do have one, I just might join up with the Union side. Might be right exciting, being a soldier and all. What do you think of it?”

  Faith turned, studying him again. “I…I’d hate to see you go away. You could be hurt or killed.”

  He puffed on the pipe, strutting closer to her. “Would you care?”

  Faith wondered if her cheeks would catch fire. “Of course I’d care. I mean…you’re nice, and…and we’ve just met, and…”

  “I like knowing you’d care.” Johnny took the pipe from his mouth and laid it on a flat rock beside him. “Would you wait for me, Faith, if I went off to war?”

  “Wait for you?”

  “You know. I mean, in a couple years you’d be sixteen. It could be that long I’d be away if I joined the army. I’d like to know you’d be here waiting, that you’d write to me and all.”

  Faith frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.” Johnny shrugged. “I don’t hardly know you, but you’re real pretty. Heck, pretty soon lots of boys will be coming after you, asking you to dances, hay rides, things like that. I’d like to know you won’t go and marry one of them before I come home, and I’d like to see more of you before there’s a war. I’d like to be good friends before I go.” He reached out and touched her arm. “Maybe more than just friends. I was thinking we could…you know…get together and talk. We’ll find ways. Your pa probably thinks you’re too young for somebody like me, being a man and all. But I don’t think you’re too young, and I know you already like me, Faith.” He folded his arms. “And I’ll bet you hate those prayer meetings as much as I do.”

  She smiled, finally meeting his gaze again. “I do! How did you know?”

  “I could tell. Don’t you sometimes just want to jump up and shout? Sing? Dance? Run? Hear music? Be kind of wild and do something you’ve never done before?”

  Her heart pounded harder. “Yes!” She clasped her hands. “Oh, Johnny, you don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that! Nobody ever understood me before! I just…I want to see things, go places, laugh. Father is always scolding me for being too wild. But it’s just in me, and it’s so hard to sit through the meetings. It isn’t that I don’t believe in God or that I don’t pray. I just can’t sit there for that long, waiting for…I don’t even know for sure what I’m waiting for. The Holy Spirit must not want to use me, because He’s never spoken to me. Has He ever spoken to you?”

  Johnny laughed. “Heck, I don’t think so. I’ve been waiting for Him to tell me I should go to war. Then I could tell my father I’m going because the Holy Spirit says I should go.”

  They both laughed then, and Johnny clasped her hand. “They’re having another meeting here in three days. Let’s meet back here again then, and I’ll make excuses to come see your family. My pa makes me work long hours at his store, but I’ll get away as often as I can.”

  “I’d like that,” she answered joyfully.

  “You’d best get back to your folks before they start looking for you,” Johnny told her.

  She studied his slender build, for the first time beginning to wonder about men, how they were made, what it might feel like to be held in a man’s arms, kissed by a man. “Yes, I should,” she answered. “I just…I don’t understand why you chose me. You hardly know me, Johnny.”

  “I don’t need to. I can see in those pretty blue eyes we think a lot alike. And a man would be crazy not to try to get to know such a pretty girl a lot better. Nothing strange about that.”

  She rubbed at her arms again. “I guess not.” She heard her mother calling for her then, and she lost her smile. “I’d better go! ’Bye, Johnny.”

  “’Bye, Faith. I’ll see you right here three days from now.”

  Faith nodded and ran off. Johnny watched her, wondering if she’d ever been kissed. He’d had a good roll in the hay with a girl back in Kansas, and he’d damn well liked it. He’d like to do that to Faith Kelley, but she was pretty young, and she was probably one of those good girls who would have to be married first. That might not be so bad, but it would be better if he could get under her skirts without that kind of responsibility. He’d just have to wait and see what happened. He supposed it wouldn’t be so bad taking on the responsibilities of a husband. At least he’d have the prettiest wife in all of Pennsylvania.

  But right now she was too young, and there was a war to think about. He hoped it would come. He liked experiencing new things, and being a soldier sounded exciting. Having somebody like Faith Kelley waiting for him would just make it all the sweeter.

  He was no longer called Gabriel. He was Tall Bear, and he belonged to an honored warrior society of the Santee, to which only proven warriors could belong. He had suffered the Sun Dance bravely more than once over the past five years. As was custom, he had fasted for several days beforehand, had not cried out when his flesh had been pierced, had danced around the Sun Dance pole until the skewers were torn from his flesh. Little Otter had been there each time to watch, and she had been proud.

  During his last sacrifice Tall Bear had had a vision, of a bear with green eyes that could walk in the sky. A crow had come and told him he must decide whether he wanted to be white or brown, that if he was brown, he could belong to the proud warrior society and would be highly respected. If the bear chose white, he must leave the Santee and live in the world of the Wasicu. There he would also be respected, but he would not be able to live among the great Sioux Nation.

  When Tall Bear had told a priest of his vision, it had been explained he must make a final choice between the white and Indian world, that if he stayed among the Sioux, he should be called Tall Bear. He had no doubt what his choice would be, and he had married Little Otter, then sixteen. Lying with her had indeed been
an exquisite pleasure. She had given him a son, now two years old, and Gabriel Beaumont was never more sure he was where he belonged, never so happy. He had a family again. He belonged. He still sometimes had trouble deep inside with his conscience over raiding white settlements. He would never forget his father, or some of his father’s friends, as well as traders and merchants he had met on their trips to the cities. Still, greedy white men had killed Alex, white soldiers had killed his mother, sister, and grandfather. More white settlers were moving into Sioux hunting grounds, flagrantly ignoring boundaries, shooting at the Sioux as though they were wild animals to be chased off.

  These whites who came now were not there to trade. They wanted nothing to do with the Sioux, seemed to be not just afraid of them, but also horrified at associating with them, as though they were vermin. He returned the insults by stealing their horses, killing their cattle, killing the men who dared come to this land and call it their own.

  He was happy here among the Santee, proud of his little son, Running Fox. Since he had learned to walk, the boy seemed never to toddle anyplace slowly. He liked to run, and he especially liked to run and hide. Sly like a fox, Tall Bear thought, and thus he had given the boy his new name. When he was born, he had been called Kicker, but among the Sioux a child’s name was often changed as he or she grew, until a final name was decided based on dreams and visions. Sometimes Tall Bear worried over what the future held for his little boy, and for other children he and Little Otter might have.

  “I have made a stew, Tall Bear,” came Little Otter’s voice behind him now. “The weather is very cold. It is a time for a man to eat plenty, for warmth and strength.”

  Tall Bear had been standing outside their tepee, watching the surrounding hills, wondering what to do about yet another white settlement that had sprung up only eight miles away. He turned to his wife, held open the heavy buffalo robe he wore against the bitter January cold. Little Otter had stepped outside without putting on a robe of her own. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist while Tall Bear in turn wrapped her into the robe. “I draw my warmth and strength from you,” he told her in the Sioux tongue.