by Regina Scott
“Good morning, Reverend Elijah,” Alice said, catching sight of him as she reached into the frying pan with a long fork and pulled out four more freshly cooked doughnuts and dropped them into a bowl of sugar.
“Good morning. I see he’s still here,” he said, nodding toward the boy, not quite successful at hiding his relieved sigh. “Good morning, Dakota.”
Dakota looked up from his plate long enough to give him a shy smile.
“No one leaves when there are doughnuts coming,” Alice said with a wink, though something in her eyes told him that she was relieved, too.
She leaned over and whispered something to the boy, who swallowed his food, put his plate down and crowed, “Gute mor-nin’, Preechah ’Lijah!” then gave a boyish belly laugh at Elijah’s astonishment.
Elijah chuckled. “I see you’ve accomplished a lot already today, Miss Alice.”
“Oh, he’s just parroting sounds back, I think,” Alice said. “I’m sure he understands it’s a greeting, at least. But I wish we could find out more from him.”
Elijah told her about Clint’s suggestion of using Lars to try to communicate with the boy, and that Lars had gone hunting, the time of his return uncertain.
“Well, it seems we shall have to be patient,” Alice said. “But what if it turns out he has no one?” she asked Elijah, unconsciously twisting a fold of her apron. “I mean, long-term…” Her voice trailed off.
Elijah knew what she meant. If Dakota was truly an orphan, what would they do then? A child needed a mother and a father.
“Why not bring him to chapel this morning, and we’ll pray about it?” he suggested and saw her nod. He consulted his pocket watch. “Speaking of which, I’d better be going so I can prepare. I’ll see both of you there.”
But as he walked away, it was not of chapel or Dakota he thought, but of how appealing Alice Hawthorne always looked in the morning—fresh as the dew, her eyes kissed by sunshine, wearing her simple flower-sprigged calico as though it was the finest silk. Despite all his resolutions and her earlier declarations about her prized independence, he was starting to care for her more and more, he thought. Perhaps as they kept working together around the camp, she would learn to value independence less and a future with him more.
Chapter Nine
Alice wondered how Dakota would react to the chapel prayer service, whether he would get squirmy or try to leave. Arriving a little early, she picked a place near to the front so Dakota would be able to see Elijah easily. So far, though, Dakota seemed fascinated with the tent’s rows of benches and the people filing in to sit down. So far, so good.
“Mornin’, Miss Alice. Mind if we sit with you?” asked a familiar voice, and she looked up to see Keith Gilbert and his wife standing by the bench she and Dakota occupied. Mr. Gilbert leaned on a cane, but he appeared hale and hearty. Hard to believe he had lain at death’s door just four nights ago, she marveled. Thank You, Lord.
“Please do. It’s good to see you back in chapel, Mr. Gilbert. We’ve missed your song leading.”
“Thanks. I’ve missed doing it. Thought I’d come just to listen today. Sunday will be soon enough to take up my duties again,” Keith Gilbert said. “I’ve been following your instructions to the letter.”
“Who’s your friend?” Cassie Gilbert asked as she sat down next to Dakota. She smiled down at the boy, and he smiled shyly back.
The deaconess’s reaction, and that of the rest of the congregation, was a great deal nicer than a few of the residents of Boomer Town had given them as they’d walked to the chapel. Many had stared at the boy as she and Dakota had neared the entrance, their expressions as disapproving as if Alice had dared to enter church with a little piglet, fresh from a mud wallow in his pen. Alice had heard more than one person mutter “half-breed.”
Why were people so hateful to those who were different? she wondered. Didn’t they know this territory had been wholly assigned to the Indians, until the recent Indian Appropriations Act—or that everyone but the Indians were newcomers to America at one time?
“This is Dakota,” she told the Gilberts, and explained what had happened last night.
“Dakota, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Mrs. Gilbert, and this is my husband, Mr. Gilbert,” Cassie said, even though Alice had explained the boy didn’t know English. “Oh, Alice, he has such intelligent eyes! And such a sweet face.” Impulsively she reached out a hand and cupped Dakota’s cheek. The boy grinned up at her.
Amazing, Alice thought. Despite what he’d been through—and of course, she didn’t know the half of it—he still responded positively to friendliness.
Not to be outdone, Keith Gilbert reached into his pocket and pulled out a small twisted bit of paper, and untwisted it, revealing a peppermint, which he held out to Dakota. “Here. See if you like this.”
The boy eyed it curiously, then looked at Keith Gilbert, who pantomimed eating it. Dakota popped the peppermint into his mouth, and as Alice watched, an expression of delight spread over the boy’s face. He’d clearly never had candy before. He pointed to Keith Gilbert’s pocket, obviously hoping it contained more of the wonderful treat.
The Gilberts chuckled. “You’ve started something now, husband,” Cassie Gilbert said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any more,” Mr. Gilbert told the boy.
Elijah arrived then, and as he strode down the aisle, he looked pleased to see Dakota sitting with Alice. “Welcome, Dakota. I see you’ve found new friends.”
“Haáahe, ’Lijah!”
When it came time for the singing, Dakota responded enthusiastically, and no one seemed to mind that he sang a singsong chant with incomprehensible words while the others sang “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty.”
We all praise the Lord in our own way, Alice thought.
“As we near the end of our second week in Boomer Town,” Elijah said after the hymn was sung, “I’d like to greet our newest guest, Dakota.” Briefly he told about finding the hungry boy the night before, leaving out the part about the man who’d been beating the boy. “So I’d like to take the opportunity to present a prayer request of my own, that the Lord will help us find Dakota’s people, if at all possible. We’re hopeful that Lars Brinkerhoff will be able to help us communicate with Dakota toward that end.”
The usual assortment of other prayer requests followed, and when the service was over, Alice was pleased when Elijah, Dakota and she were invited to have supper at the Gilberts’ campsite.
“It’s to thank you for saving Keith and helping him heal, Alice,” Cassie said, “and for all your prayin’, Reverend. And we’d like to get to know this young man a little better, too,” she said, beaming at Dakota. “I have a feeling he’ll like fried chicken.”
*
The Gilberts left before Elijah was finished greeting folks in order to prepare the meal.
“Ready to go?” Elijah asked, when the last member of the congregation had left.
“Should you let your brothers know that you won’t be there for the meal?” Alice asked.
He laughed. “They’re not there. I think they were envious of Lars going hunting, so they decided to do likewise, just as I was getting ready for chapel. Maybe they’ll run across him and tell Lars we need a translator.”
They had just stepped into the sunlight when Dakota spotted the four Security Patrol officers trotting past on their horses, evidently making their rounds. He pulled on the sleeve of Alice’s blouse, then Elijah’s shirtsleeve, and pointed.
“Cattan rechid lossin?”
It was the same phrase Dakota had said the night before, after they’d left the campsite where he’d been trying to steal food, Elijah realized.
“Cattan rechid lossin?” the boy said again, pulling urgently on Elijah’s sleeve again. He pointed to the mounted privates.
“I think he wants us to follow them—maybe speak to them,” Elijah murmured. “Could he have met them before? Perhaps one of them can speak his language? Come on, it’s worth a try,” he said.
All three of them dashed after the four riders.
The privates were walking their horses down the dirt road, so it wasn’t hard to catch them. Elijah ran up to the closest one.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m Reverend Elijah Thornton. I wonder if I might trouble you with a question, Officer?” He knew very well the man was a private, and not entitled to be addressed as an officer, but he remembered what his brother had said about the Security Patrol being former Confederate officers. He didn’t think they’d mind the added term of respect, especially if they remembered their encounter when Alice had been looking at their friend’s horses. The man he was addressing was the very same ginger-haired fellow who’d been trying to talk Alice into buying that high-priced Thoroughbred.
Sure enough, the man didn’t bother to correct him, but he caught the glint of recognition in his eyes—and the way those eyes narrowed when he spotted Dakota at Elijah’s heels. “How may I help you, sir?” he drawled. “Ma’am,” he added, fingering his hat brim as Alice caught up.
“We found this boy, here, and he speaks no English, but he seems to want to talk to you—”
“We don’t have any responsibility toward the Indians,” said another of the privates, one whose overlong blond hair and proud carriage reminded Elijah of a picture he’d seen of the late General Custer.
“Looks like a breed to me,” another of the four muttered.
Elijah saw Alice stiffen at the term.
Dakota drew near and touched the man’s stirrup to get his attention. “Cattan rechid lossin?” he asked, hope lighting his black eyes and high-cheekboned face.
“Do you know what he’s trying to say?” Elijah asked hopefully.
“Yes, we think he may be of mixed race,” he added, glancing at the one who’d made the remark. “Do any of you know any of the common Indian tongues or know how to do Indian signing?”
The four exchanged glances. Then the golden-haired one said, “Afraid not, Reverend. Maybe you should turn him over to the army, let them figure it out. Good day to you, sir, ma’am.” Lifting his wide-brimmed hat in a gesture of polite dismissal, he nudged his horse into a trot, and the other three followed.
Alice stood staring after them. “Well, it didn’t hurt to ask, I suppose,” she said with a sigh, and they walked on to the Gilberts’ campsite.
Dakota downed as much fried chicken as either Gideon or Clint could have, along with half a dozen biscuits and a helping of green beans—much to the delight of the Gilberts, who chuckled as the boy smacked his lips and rubbed his tummy in obvious appreciation of something he’d probably never eaten before. His black eyes lit up as Mrs. Gilbert sliced an apple pie and plopped the first piece onto his tin plate.
“Does my heart good to see a boy enjoy his food like he’s doing, poor mite,” Cassie Gilbert commented with a fond look.
Dakota lost no time in devouring the pie, also. Then, apparently sated for the time being, he took great interest in Elijah’s pocket watch, which Elijah obligingly handed over for his inspection. The boy opened and closed it and dangled it by its chain like a pendulum. Then he spotted a gray tiger kitten sitting under the wheels of the Gilberts’ wagon and patted the grass, chuckling when the kitten ran out and pounced on his hand.
“That kitten seems to have adopted us,” Keith Gilbert commented, as the boy picked it up. “Hungry little thing, just like the boy. Likes our scraps.”
Satisfied that Dakota wasn’t paying attention, Alice told the older couple about their encounter with the Security Patrol and the phrase the boy had repeated, doing a creditable rendition of the incomprehensible words.
“No tellin’ what those words might mean,” Keith said. “Hopefully that Lars fellow will have some idea.”
His wife’s eyes followed the child as he chased the playful kitten around the wagon. “We never got to raise children of our own, you know,” she murmured. “Why, Keith, he’s just about the age our boy would’ve been…” Her eyes grew misty, her face wistful, and she looked down at her own plate.
“Had a baby boy, but he only lived a few days,” Keith Gilbert explained, his voice thick and gruff as he patted his wife’s plump hand. “We never knew why. Then…well, the Lord didn’t see fit to give us any others. ’Course, we married late in life…”
Elijah hadn’t known about the lost son. Everyone had suffered losses, somewhere in the course of their lives, it seemed. Some losses were greater than others. He’d lost a fiancée, while Gideon had lost both a beloved wife and a daughter. He turned to study Alice now, who was distracted by the antics of Dakota and the kitten. What had she lost? Why was the pretty auburn-haired miss still unmarried? She professed not to need anything but her independence, but had there been some man who’d loved her, whom she’d lost to death? Or had the man—impossible to imagine—preferred another girl?
She’d lost her peace of mind, at the very least, Elijah thought, remembering the troubled look that occasionally stole over her lovely features.
*
“That was a delicious lunch, Mrs. Gilbert,” Alice said. “Thank you for inviting all of us.”
“Well, you’re as welcome as can be, Alice dear. Like I said, it’s the least we could do after your skill saved my Keith,” Cassie said.
Alice smiled gently. “The Lord must not have thought your husband was done with his earthly tasks just yet.”
Keith Gilbert grinned. “I believe you’re right, Miss Alice.”
“Reverend… Alice…” Cassie began hesitantly, glancing at Dakota, who was now sitting with the kitten in his lap, twirling a bit of straw and laughing as the little gray tiger batted fiercely at it. “I was thinkin’ during the prayer service, and Keith and I discussed it on the way back here… I mean, I don’t know how you’d feel about it, and please say no if you’ve gotten attached, Alice, but…what would you think about Dakota stayin’ with us? Least till you find his mama and papa, that is,” she added in a rush.
Alice blinked in surprise and looked at Elijah, whose face mirrored the same astonishment. How did she feel about it? She’d been pleased and relieved that she hadn’t awoken to find Dakota gone this morning, but if she were honest with herself, she’d begun to worry about what would happen if his parents weren’t found. What would she do with Dakota while she made her nursing rounds in the evenings? How would she look after the boy on the day of the Land Rush? And even supposing that problem could be solved, what sort of life would that be for Dakota, living on the homestead with a couple of women—her mother and herself?
And what if her past caught up with her and she had to run?
Elijah was silent, seemingly waiting on her to answer.
“I… Are you sure you want to do this, Mrs. Gilbert?” Alice asked. “I mean, we have no assurance that Dakota won’t leave, now that he’s not starving, especially when we can’t communicate with him and know where he came from and how he came to be separated from his people.”
“If he stays around white folks, he’ll pick up English, I reckon,” Keith Gilbert said. “He’s obviously a smart boy.”
“It might be the best solution, if he’s willing to stay with them,” Elijah said carefully.
Alice glanced at him. “Yes…if he’s willing. If his people did abandon him, though, I don’t want him to think I’m rejecting him, too. Could we…wait until Lars is back, to see if he can talk to Dakota and discover how he came to be in Boomer Town, stealing scraps? He can find out if Dakota would like to stay with the Gilberts then, too.”
“That makes sense—” Mrs. Gilbert began, only to be interrupted when Elijah suddenly jumped up and began waving his arms at a man riding past the campsite at a trot. Tied on the back of the horse, Alice saw, was the carcass of a deer.
The big blond man’s head turned as he heard his name called, and he halted his horse. Lars!
Elijah dashed over to meet him. “You couldn’t have happened by at a better time, my friend,” Elijah said, shaking his hand. “How fortunate that your tent ha
ppens to be right down the row from the Gilberts’. We’re hoping you can clear up a mystery.”
Lars smiled and dismounted. “Always happy to help you, my preacher friend. What’s happened?” Then he spotted Dakota, who had seen his arrival and stood up to peer at him curiously. “Who’s this?”
“This is Dakota,” Alice said, coming forward with the boy.
“Come have a seat, Lars, and have some cold lemonade while you talk to the boy,” Cassie Gilbert invited, beckoning him.
“Don’t mind if I do, as you Americans say.”
Once he was ensconced on a hay bale with the promised lemonade, Alice quickly caught Lars up on events. Dakota inched closer, staring with obvious fascination at the Indian beadwork hatband on the hat Lars had doffed.
“So you see, Lars,” Alice concluded, “we were hoping you could tell us if Dakota is Cheyenne or not, and find out how he got here.”
Lars turned to the boy. “Tsitsistas?” he asked, pointing directly at Dakota.
“Ótsêhámóe! Tsitsistas!” the boy cried, nodding his head excitedly and pointing to his chest.
“Yes, he is Cheyenne,” Lars confirmed—unnecessarily, because everyone could see the truth written on the boy’s face. “Though he’s of a different band than the one I stayed with. Their land is southwest of here. And he is eight years old.”
Eight, not seven, as she had thought, but she’d been close. Fear and hunger had a way of making a child look younger than he actually was.
Then Lars turned back to the boy and spoke to him in rapid-fire Cheyenne while the rest of them watched, excited that they would soon know the boy’s story.
Lars lost his smile as the exchange went on. Dakota’s face took on a tenseness, and his eyes looked dull with sadness. At one point, Alice thought she heard the boy utter that phrase again, “Cattan rechid lossin.” Surely soon they would know what it meant.
At last, Lars turned back to the rest of them and reported, “Dakota’s mother is dead. She died when he was a baby, and he was raised by an aunt. His father was an officer in the U.S. Cavalry, and he abandoned the baby who was born of the union between himself and Dakota’s mother when Dakota was born. His name was Captain Richard Lawson.”
