by Erin Johnson
“If he can’t see something right in front of his face, how much good will he be?” Grace said, frowning.
I have to get out of here, she thought angrily.
But then the thought of leaving Joe and the village to set off on her mission twisted Grace’s stomach and constricted her chest.
How could she leave these people after she had fought alongside them? But she wanted justice just as they clearly did.
Like Joe, she might be with the Ndeh, but she was not of them. Yet she knew now that wherever she went in the future, she would always keep them and their teachings close to her heart.
She would judge her actions and her choices by a new code of honor.
CHAPTER 18
The wailing among the Ndeh grew stronger as the people painted their loved ones’ faces red and wrapped them in fur robes.
As Joe and Grace walked through the burned village to her kuugh’a, he leaned close to her and said, “The Ndeh believe the dead turn into ghosts who are jealous of the living. So they bury them in caves far from the camp. It must be done before nightfall. I’ll join them, but you should stay here and rest.”
Grace shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”
The grieving faces, slumped shoulders, and bent backs reminded her of burying her family alone. Something would not let her rest while they buried their dead. So many of the dead were people she had known or recognized.
“You don’t have to, you know.”
“I want to.” It was the least she could do after all they had done for her.
The admiration in Joe’s eyes warmed her heart.
“Very well,” he said. “But you should eat something before you go. I don’t want you fainting along the way.”
Grace nodded and ducked into her kuugh’a, returning with some pemmican that she pointedly shared with Joe. “Don’t want you fainting either.”
They moved back through the mourning camp, and Sequoyah came over and joined them, her face filled with pain. She pointed to Dahana, who was kneeling beside the bodies of two men. “Dahana’s father. And his older brother,” she whispered.
Poor Dahana. Grace laid a hand on Sequoyah’s arm. “Is everyone in your family safe?”
“I . . . I do not know. We have not seen my brother. My father fears they took him prisoner.” She motioned toward Cheis, who was frantically searching the battlefield, digging through piles of debris, turning over mounds of ashes that were still smoking.
Sequoyah sucked in a sharp breath as her father rolled a dead horse off a body trapped beneath. They all watched as he bent down and stared for a moment, then straightened up, his face drained of blood.
“I think . . . I think Father found him . . .” Sequoyah whispered. Tears flowed down her cheeks.
Grace wrapped her arms around her friend. After a few moments, Sequoyah lifted her head. “I must go help him.” Beside them several women stood huddled in a group, wailing uncontrollably. Sequoyah turned to them with pity in her eyes. “They, too, have suffered great loss. The soldiers stole their children. They sell them as slaves.”
The children. Grace had forgotten all about the children. And Bullet . . .
“Where’s Joe?” she said quickly.
Sequoyah pointed toward a group of people gathered beside the charred remains of a kuugh’a.
“Joe!” Grace raced over to him. “The children. I need you to help me bring them back.”
“A moment,” he said. Joe’s face was a mask of pain as he laid a hand on the shoulder of the boy he had been kneeling beside and said a few words that Grace couldn’t understand.
Then he went over to grab Ash’s reins, but she could see he was holding his other arm close to his body.
“Are you hurt?”
“It’s not bad. It can wait until we return.” Joe motioned to Ash. “Hop on. I’ll get on behind.”
Grace eyed him with concern but didn’t argue. She mounted Ash, and the two of them tore off into the woods.
When Joe called softly, the children came out from behind trees and boulders. Some crawled out from the underbrush.
Joe talked to them quietly while Grace went over and untied Bullet, who took several hobbling steps toward her and snorted.
“I’d better not ride him,” she said, her face tight with concern. “He looks lame.”
“Get Cheveyo to look at him,” Joe said, touching her shoulder reassuringly. “He’ll be all right. He just needs a few more days’ rest.”
Tears burned behind Grace’s eyes. She didn’t have a few days. She had been waiting and waiting to get on the trail, and now she had probably set herself back several more days.
Joe waited until she had Bullet’s reins, then he said, “I’m going to ride back to camp now to help.” He lowered his voice. “That young boy I was speaking to lost both his parents. He’s on his own now, and he’ll need help with the burial.”
They exchanged looks. Another orphan.
Joe took a deep breath. “But I told the children to walk back with you. They’ll listen.”
Many of the children were the same ones who touched her skin and hair the first time she walked through the village. Some of them still followed her or watched her from a distance every day, but now they hung back.
“Can you tell them not to be afraid?” Grace asked.
Joe murmured a few words, and the oldest boy shepherded all of the children into a close group. Then he took his place at the end of the line.
With a quick wave, Joe rode off, but Grace was troubled to see that he was still cradling his left arm close to his chest. She would have to check his arm when she got back.
Grace led the children back toward the camp. When she emerged from the woods with the youngsters following single file behind her, sudden shrieks broke out. As the people saw her coming toward them from the trees, she was shocked that instead of running toward their children, mothers ran the opposite way.
Grace whirled around.
Had soldiers followed them?
“Grace, wait there!” Joe shouted to her. In a loud voice, so everyone in the camp could hear him, he spoke rapidly in Ndeh and pointed at her. Grace stood next to Bullet, confused. What was he saying?
Sequoyah rushed toward her and hugged her. “You did a brave thing. You saved all the children.”
Within moments, mothers surrounded her, hugging their children and patting Grace’s arm. Still very puzzled, she waited for Joe to reach her.
“What happened? Why were they so afraid?”
Joe grinned. “You are the hero of the day. I told them how you rescued the children.”
“And conveniently left out your part?”
He shrugged. “I told them you saved me too. Which you did.”
Why was he being so generous? “We need to tell them the truth.”
“Some other time,” Joe said. “They needed this joy amidst all the sadness.”
Grace nodded, but she was still curious. “I don’t understand why everyone ran the other way when I got here.”
Joe looked around him at the women hugging their children. “It’s a Ndeh superstition. They thought their children were dead and that you were leading their ghosts back to haunt them.”
“Really?”
“They have a real fear of ghosts.” He smiled wryly at her for a moment, but then his face fell. “Now that you’re back and the children are safe, they can start the funeral procession. It’s getting close to sunset, so we have to hurry.”
Cheis called to the people, and everyone started off in a long, solemn parade. Several young boys led a group of riderless horses, and when they found a cave large enough for all the dead, they piled the bodies inside.
Then, much to Grace’s shock, they pulled out their guns and shot the horses.
Grace screamed as the first bullets rang out, bu
t Joe grabbed her arms and pulled her aside.
“Wh-what are they doing? Hasn’t there been enough killing?” Her voice was high and shaky.
Joe squeezed her arm, leaving his hand resting there as he explained it to her. “It’s their custom. They send the horses to the afterworld with their owners. They won’t leave anything around that could attract the ghosts to come back.”
“That’s barbaric!”
“Grace, this is their custom. You have to respect it.”
She didn’t know what to say. So much death, so much killing.
So much sorrow.
As another gunshot rang through the air, she jumped and instinctively pushed her face against Joe’s chest, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. But it didn’t do any good. As each bullet was fired, it was as if it hit her in the gut.
She felt Joe reach around her, tentatively at first, but then his arms wrapped more tightly, protectively. She breathed him in more deeply, and as she did, she admitted it to herself. There was a feeling of safety and security in Joe’s arms, and it was a feeling she hadn’t known since she left her family buried in the ground.
But she couldn’t stay there.
She couldn’t let herself grow attached to him. If she did, she would never be able to leave.
Grace forced herself to remember her parents, her mission. She pushed away from Joe’s chest, and he made a low grunt as if he didn’t want to let go. Grace bit her lip and looked up at him. As he unfolded her from his arms, he winced.
His arm. She’d forgotten about his arm. Grace caught his hand before he could pull it back. “Let me see.”
“It’ll be fine.”
Grace ignored him and turned his arm slightly to see the blackened spot on his sleeve. “That’s from a bullet. Were you hit?”
“Nah. It only grazed me.”
Grace leaned closer. “Grazed you? You’re bleeding. Look at your sleeve.” Gently she worked it up his arm to expose a flesh wound. “You’re lucky it didn’t penetrate. Cheveyo taught me some healing. I think I know what to do.”
“Hush,” Joe whispered. “When we get back.”
The weeping and wailing increased as Cheveyo said prayers, and then finally it was over.
As everyone turned to go, Joe leaned close, his voice low. “One other thing. Never, ever say the names of the dead. They believe it will bring back the ghosts.”
Grace nodded.
They all trudged back in silence, a great heavy weight bowing every back. No family had remained untouched. When they reached the village, several people dipped branches into the fire and carried the burning sticks toward some of the huts. Many had already been burned to the ground.
“What are they doing now?” Grace’s voice was sharp.
“Shh. It’s part of the ceremony. They burn the homes of the dead and all their possessions. Like the horses, it’ll keep the ghosts from returning.”
As flames engulfed the first house, Grace cracked. Memories of her family’s cabin aflame, the chaos of the following morning, and all the losses she’d suffered built inside her chest until she was screaming uncontrollably, but her cries were drowned by the other voices of mourning, weeping, and wailing.
“Grace . . . Grace, stop . . .” Through her tears she could see him staring at her, concern etched on his face.
“I — I can’t . . .”
She let Joe slip an arm around her and lead her away from the camp.
Grace slumped to the ground, still sobbing. He sat down silently beside her, resting one hand on her shoulder as it heaved up and down. Eventually she quieted, and he slipped his arm around her shoulder without saying a word. Like before, he just stayed with her in silence. A silence that spoke of his empathy and understanding.
When her weeping finally ceased, Grace closed her eyes and slumped against a tree, exhausted. The tears cleansed away some of the poison she was holding inside, but then tiredness seeped through her, making her want to drift off to sleep.
Joe leaned against the trunk beside her and finally spoke. “Grace?”
“Yes?” She could barely form the sound.
“At my mother’s funeral, I remember the preacher talking about how there is no death, only a change of worlds. And that the dead live on in the hearts of those left behind.” He spoke hesitantly. “I know it’s not what the Ndeh believe, but . . . I often picture my parents here with me. It helps to ease the ache of missing them.”
Grace wasn’t sure anything would ever ease that ache, but thinking of Daniel and Pa breaking horses in another world brought a lump to her throat. A longing to see them again. To see Ma’s smile. Abby toddling, arms open wide to be picked up. And Zeke . . .
She choked back more tears.
Joe reached for her hand and held it tightly. She wound her fingers between his, clinging to him for comfort, drawing strength from his touch. They sat there in the darkness, and Grace let fleeting memories fill the gaping hole in her heart.
Joe’s fingers stroked her palms slowly, and Grace tried not to let that strange tingling undermine the comfort he was offering. But she knew — something had changed between them. She had sensed it ever since the day he stepped behind her to help her throw the tomahawk.
Grace willed herself not to respond to his touch, not to let the sparks flowing through her hands and up her arm make her shiver.
But it didn’t work.
CHAPTER 19
The next morning when Grace awoke and emerged from her kuugh’a, she was startled to see everyone packing their belongings onto horses and dogs. She gathered her thoughts and vaguely remembered having come back to the camp with Joe during the night.
She jumped as he came up behind her. “So, you’re finally awake.”
“Uh . . . how’s your arm?”
“Much better, thanks to you last night. Cheveyo taught you well.”
He reached out, as though to smooth her wayward morning hair, but then pulled his hand away, looking embarrassed.
Grace blushed. “It’s nothing. I didn’t have time to learn much. I watched what he did to my arm and just tried it on yours. I . . . I’m glad it’s working.” She gestured toward the village. “What’s going on?”
“We’re moving camp. Those soldiers who attacked us won’t accept defeat. They’ll be back with reinforcements. The Ndeh can’t stay here.”
She shook her head. “That’s so unfair.”
“Well, they’re used to moving. And for them, it’s better to move from a place of such great sorrow.” His eyes met hers, and she was sure his expression mirrored her own. That quiet desperation that said “no matter how many moves you make, you can never run from sorrow. You always carry it with you.” Even if Joe had done something different with his grief than she had done with hers, they both bore the inner scars.
For Grace, easing some of the gut-deep pain meant taking revenge — the way the Ndeh had done yesterday.
The way she planned to do.
Seeing justice done, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Or blood for blood, as Joe had said yesterday. It all meant the same thing to her. The Guiltless Gang needed to pay. And she couldn’t rest until they had.
* * *
The people traveled most of the day in heavy silence, Cheis in the lead. He stopped and examined the ground several times, reaching down to sift the dirt between his fingers. Then he turned in a circle, slowly in each direction. But each time he shook his head, and they moved on. Finally, when the sun was high overhead, he came to a halt.
Trees grew near a stream, and a cliff rose high behind them, offering natural protection. He turned, rubbed the dirt through his fingers, and gestured. This was where they would set up camp. He and a group of men spoke together for a few moments, then they got to work cutting saplings. The women erected the huts. This time Grace worked on her own kuugh’a with Joe’s
help.
She was relieved that they could stop walking and rest for a while. She needed to regroup, to gather her strength for what was ahead.
“You’re doing women’s work,” she teased as Joe set up the frame and tied the poles into a dome shape. He didn’t smile.
“Look around. Other men are helping. At times like this, everyone pitches in. So many people have lost family members.”
Grace swallowed the lump in her throat as she realized how many people were missing.
The Ndeh had always been gentle and tender with the children since Grace had arrived, but now they were even more so. Seeing the loving glances, tender pats, and frequent hugs made the gaping hole in Grace’s heart grow wider.
As soon as the kuugh’a was built, Grace dropped her bundle inside and went to find Bullet. He came when she whistled, and she was amazed to see him trotting toward her with hardly a trace of unevenness in his gait.
Grace flung her arms around his neck. “You’re doing better!” She had been afraid yesterday’s battle had crippled him for good. Instead Bullet seemed frisky, almost back to his usual lively self. Cheveyo must have worked his magic on the horse again.
She stepped back and looked him over closely. “Are you all right?”
Bullet threw back his head and tossed his mane. Then he lowered his neck and nudged her with his nose.
“Is that a yes? You want to go for a ride?” When he turned his watery eyes to her and looked into hers, Grace smiled. “A ride it is.” She hopped onto his back and walked him out of the brush enclosure.
Bullet flicked his tail as if impatient with the slow pace, so once they reached the mountain trail Grace gave him his head. Bullet broke into a trot, and soon he was cantering. As the wind whipped past her face, she gave a joyful whoop. Bullet was well again.
Together they rode away from the camp.
Away from the sorrow.
Away from the past.
They went high up in the mountains, where she could breathe again. If only she could keep on riding and never look back. But before she left to track down the Guiltless Gang, she knew she had to return to say goodbye properly, thank everyone, and gather her belongings. They could leave tomorrow at daybreak.
