by Regina Scott
“Captain Richard Lawson…” the major said, his eyes losing focus as he thought. He rubbed his chin and turned to the other officer. “Captain Fairchild, didn’t Colonel Amboys mention a Captain Lawson one time?”
“I believe so, Major.”
From the shared look in their eyes, Elijah suspected they knew something about Lawson, but he couldn’t be sure, and if they didn’t volunteer anything, he could hardly accuse them of suppressing information.
“Please, Major, any assistance you can give us will be much appreciated,” Alice said.
“Dunno if it’s the same Captain Lawson you’re looking for, of course, but it’s worth a try….”
“Where might we find this Colonel Amboys?” Alice prompted with gentle directness.
“At the next guard station south, about five miles. The farther south one goes, the more Texans are tryin’ to crowd into Oklahoma before the date, and they take a lot of work to contain, I can tell you….”
Elijah sensed a barely leashed impatience rising in Alice, but one had to know her to spot it, and the major didn’t know her. A telltale tightening of lips, a straightening of her spine…
“So we can ride south five miles along the borderline and expect to find him?”
“Let me send a soldier to make inquiries, ma’am,” Major Bliss offered. “Those Texans are a rowdy lot. I wouldn’t want— In the meantime, Miss Hawthorne, I could offer you and the reverend some refreshments.”
Was the major taken with Alice and trying to keep her here? Or was he only trying to spare them a possible encounter with “rowdy Texans” and a long ride in the hot sun?
“Oh, no,” Alice said quickly. “I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you, Major. We have good horses. We’ll just ride south and find this Colonel Amboys. Just straight down the borderline to the south?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the major said with barely hidden reluctance.
“Thank you, Major Bliss, Captain Fairchild,” she said. “You’ve both been very helpful. Good day.”
Swiftly they mounted up and headed their horses south. Elijah held up till Alice was beside him. “Again, my compliments on your diplomacy, Miss Alice,” he said.
“Thank you. I can only imagine how long it would have taken to send a messenger there and back,” Alice replied. “Besides, I think we’re much better off speaking to the man directly so we can see his reaction.” She turned to look at him. “Didn’t it seem as if those men back there knew something and didn’t want to say it?”
Elijah nodded. So Alice had seen the look passed between the major and the captain, too, and had interpreted it as Elijah had.
The reason became apparent when they reached the next guard shack in about an hour and a half, after a stop to water their horses along the way. Colonel Amboys, whose face had at least ten more years of weathering than the major’s and was so barrel-chested his brass uniform buttons strained to stay fastened, looked dismayed as soon as Elijah said the name of the man they sought.
“Captain Lawson—that’s Captain Richard Lawson, you say? Ironic. Those of us who are old hands with the Fifth Cavalry—not these pups still wet behind the ears, mind you—were just talking about him the other day when the officers had a sector meeting. Why don’t you sit down, Miss Hawthorne?” he said, indicating the seat he had just vacated.
To Elijah’s surprise, she did so without demur. Perhaps it was because they were finally going to get to the heart of the matter. Amboys gestured Elijah to one of two spare chairs along the wall and took the other for himself.
“What did you say your relationship to him was?” he asked Alice.
“Oh, we’re not related,” Alice assured him, and the colonel’s expression lightened somewhat.
“Not a…special friend of his, were you?” the colonel persisted carefully.
Elijah’s fists clenched involuntarily at his sides. Apparently the colonel thought Alice might be Lawson’s sweetheart.
“No,” Alice said, looking puzzled. “I’ve never met the man. His son has come looking for him, so we were trying to find him for the boy.”
The colonel wiped his brow with a rumpled handkerchief. “That’s good.” He noisily cleared his throat. “I’m afraid the captain was…shall we say, a bit of a scoundrel? Toward females, I mean.”
Alice blinked, and Elijah saw the moment when full understanding reached her. “So you thought I was perhaps an abandoned lady friend of his?” she said, and looked as if she was caught between a laugh and an outraged sniff.
Colonel Amboys grew a bit red in the face. “Yes. I—I’m sorry to offend a lady’s sensibilities, but, yes, he was. Especially toward females among the tribes he was supposedly protecting.”
Suddenly Alice stilled. “You said he was a scoundrel. What happened to him? Was he transferred elsewhere? Back East?”
Colonel Amboys pulled at his collar as if it were too tight. “Perhaps it would have been better for him if he had been sent back East,” he began. “He was disciplined for his behavior among the Cheyenne, and transferred—but just to the next division, which supervised the Comanche reservation, which is just south of the Cheyenne’s land. Unfortunately, he soon displayed the same predilection among the Comanches. One of the braves…ah, took exception, shall we say?”
“Please, sir, speak plainly,” Alice said, her voice level.
The colonel raised weary eyes to Alice’s while Elijah looked on, holding his breath.
“I’m saying Lawson is dead, Miss Hawthorne. The Comanche brave killed him for dishonoring his sister.”
Chapter Eleven
Alice could only sit there for a moment, absorbing the enormity of what the colonel had told them. She’d assumed Dakota’s father was either no longer in the army or had been transferred far away, and would be effectively out of their reach, but she hadn’t imagined he’d be dead.
“Miss Hawthorne, are you all right? Can I get you some water? Perhaps a small glass of brandy?” the colonel asked, hovering over her and fluttering a piece of paper like a fan. It would have been comical if his news hadn’t been so sad. “I can assure you the brave was dealt with and paid the penalty for his crime.”
She saw Elijah come and stand beside her, and felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. Instantly the tears that had threatened to spill on Dakota’s behalf stopped stinging, and she felt immeasurably stronger.
She waved away the fluttering paper. “Brandy won’t be necessary, Colonel, thank you. I’m all right. Merely saddened on his son’s behalf.” She rose. “We appreciate the information, sir. We’ll inform his son.”
“But I’m sure word was sent to his widow back East—Ohio, I believe,” the Colonel said, pouring her a glass of water and handing it to her. “Wouldn’t his son have been notified…?” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat again. “You’re saying he had a child…other than his children by marriage?”
“Yes, Colonel,” she heard Elijah say. “Born of that same predilection, as you called it. He’s half Cheyenne.”
“I see.” The colonel’s face was carefully blank. “Is there…anything else I can do for you, ma’am? Reverend?”
“I don’t believe so. Thank you for your time, Colonel,” Elijah said, and ushered her out to their waiting horses.
“You folks be careful, now. Looks like the summer heat’s building up to a storm.”
It was true, Alice saw. While they’d sat in the colonel’s office, the blistering sun that had sent rivulets of sweat trickling down her back while she rode here had now gone behind lowering clouds. But Elijah didn’t appear worried, and as often as not, she’d seen the clouds blown away by the ceaseless Oklahoma wind without loosing their damp load.
They were both silent until they were well away from the guard shack and riding again toward Boomer Town.
“Elijah, how are we going to tell Dakota?” she asked, breaking the silence that had been punctuated only by the chirping of birds and the occasional sound of voices as they passed more homeste
aders camped at the border.
“We should pray about it, and ask the Lord to guide us to the best way to tell Dakota,” he began. “It won’t be easy, no matter how we do it.”
“Of course, but how will he take it? Will he want to run back to his tribe? That might be best, but some of them didn’t accept him because of his white blood,” she reminded him. “Poor little boy, trapped between two worlds.” Before she could stop it, a tear slid down her cheek and then another.
Wordlessly Elijah handed her his handkerchief, and as she dabbed at her wet cheeks, she heard him sigh.
“We’ll need to do it soon, so he’s not tempted to leave on a search that we now know is futile,” he said at last. “You know, it’s likely for the best, as far as Dakota’s concerned, that Captain Lawson is gone. Though it’s tragic that Lawson never changed his ways, of course. With the character he had, though—or lack of it—it doesn’t seem likely Lawson would have been a positive influence on Dakota, even if he’d been willing to have the boy.”
“Yes, I know you’re right,” Alice said. “It’s just so sad that he’s lost all his family.”
“He has the Gilberts,” he reminded her. “They’ll do their best to make up for the lack.”
“Assuming he doesn’t want to go back to his tribe. Elijah, when we reach Boomer Town, we need to warn the Gilberts about what we’ve learned so they can be prepared to comfort Dakota, and let Lars know that we’ll need him to translate when we tell Dakota.”
“I called on the Gilberts last evening to make sure he was settling in all right, and he seemed happy enough. He’s certainly become the apple of their eyes in a short time. He seemed to be soaking up their love and attention like a parched wildflower after a rain.”
She smiled at Elijah’s apt comparison. “The Gilberts are good people.” Alice felt a peace descending on her as Elijah finished speaking. She could believe things would turn out all right for Dakota. What a gift of encouragement Elijah had. She could not have imagined speaking to those soldiers without him at her side, a solid, comforting presence. With him there, she had felt brave as a lioness.
Why couldn’t she have met him before Maxwell Peterson had tarnished any idea she had about a man being an equal, trustworthy partner? Was it possible they weren’t all controlling tyrants like Peterson or womanizing scoundrels like the late Richard Lawson? Was Elijah a man who could see her as complementing his strengths, rather than someone to be subjugated?
She drew up the reins on those thoughts. It was too close to the Land Rush. She had to concentrate on securing a good claim and nothing else for the time being. She couldn’t contemplate anything about her personal future until after April 22.
In the meantime, though, she’d cherish the sense of teamwork she had whenever she was with Elijah, working toward a common goal.
The first raindrop took her by surprise, landing with a wet plop on her nose. She looked up in surprise, just as the rain started falling all around them.
“We’re still a good two miles away from Boomer Town!” Elijah shouted through the rain that had already become a torrent. “Can you ride hard?”
“Of course!” she called back. Just then lightning cracked out on the prairie, and Cheyenne needed no further spur to lunge into a gallop.
They raced neck and neck over the rolling prairie, past low trees being lashed this way and that by the wind. By the time they glimpsed the first tents and wagons of Boomer Town ahead, both of them were already drenched to the skin. By tacit agreement, they rode to Alice’s tent first, so she could dismount.
“I’ll bring over some soup!” she called through the sheets of rain, as Elijah, still mounted and leading Cheyenne, started to head down the row to the Thornton tent.
“Don’t worry about that. Get on some dry clothes before you catch a chill!” he called back, and then he was swallowed up in a curtain of water. “Drink something warm!”
Alice smiled as she ducked into her tent. Silly man. Did he really think she was going to remain in clothes that dripped on the ground a moment longer than necessary? But she knew he’d only said it out of concern for her.
She’d exchanged her wet riding clothes for a dry blouse and skirt, and hung them and the bonnet up to drip dry in one corner of the tent. It was still raining, and while she always kept some firewood dry inside the tent, the rain would have to stop before she could light a fire outside and brew hot tea, let alone heat soup to take to Elijah.
Alice lit the kerosene lamp within and undid her damp hair from its braid so it could dry. Then she settled down on her cot to read her Bible until the downpour stopped.
It was perhaps two hours later when she walked down the muddy row to the Thorntons’ tent. She wore her still-damp boots rather than her other shoes, because the dirt “street” had become a sea of mud that threatened to suck her boots off as she carried the small pot of soup.
*
“Hallo, the Thorntons’ tent!” Elijah heard her call. He dropped the blanket he’d had wrapped around him and laid aside the Bible that had been in his lap, but Clint was nearer the entrance and lifted the tent flap to let Alice in.
“Miss Alice, you’re as good as your word,” Elijah said, seeing the pot she held. “Clint made me some hot coffee soon as the rain stopped, but I’m sure that soup will taste bet—” he stopped as a sneeze seized him “—better. Thank you.”
“Sounds like you caught the chill you warned me against,” she said, as Clint took the pot from her and left the tent to set it over the fire.
“I’m fine.”
His eyes drank her in. She’d changed from her sodden blouse and divided skirt and was clad once more in a simple calico-print dress. Her hair was a riot of auburn curls held back with a narrow black ribbon. He’d never seen her hair down and figured she’d loosed it so it could dry. The sight of it was so beautiful he could only stare.
Gideon, whittling on a piece of wood in the far corner, looked up, greeted Alice and resumed gouging at the wood.
Alice’s color rose. “Uh…enjoy the soup. Perhaps we should postpone our talk with Dakota so you can get some rest?” She turned as if to leave.
He realized how long he’d been silently looking at her. “I’m sorry. Maybe that would be best, since I’m rather embarrassed to admit I’d forgotten tomorrow is Sunday. There’s been so much going on this week that I’d left my sermon preparation till this evening. A fine preacher, to have forgotten when the Sabbath is, eh?” Another sneeze erupted before he could catch it.
“God bless you,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps I should brew some of my willow bark tea for you.” A furrow of worry creased Alice’s forehead beneath the tendrils that curled damply over it.
He shook his head and waved away her concern. “Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll be fit as a fiddle after a good night’s rest. I’ll see you at chapel.”
“That was a long ride we took. I know I’m tired—and sore in muscles I didn’t even know I had.” She chuckled. “Yes, I’ll see you at chapel. We can talk then about when we want to speak with Dakota.”
“That sounds good. Good evening, Miss Alice. Thanks again for the soup.”
He was tired, he thought. Dog tired. How he was ever going to come up with something coherent to say to his congregation tomorrow, he didn’t know. Perhaps, after he had some of Alice’s soup, he’d be refreshed and able to pore over the passage on the Good Shepherd, who’d left his ninety-nine sheep and searched high and low for the one that was missing.
Later that evening, Elijah fell asleep with the lamp still burning, but before he did, he’d managed to cobble together what he considered a fairly good sermon for Sunday morning. With the Lord’s help, he hoped it would touch the hearts of his congregation.
As he drifted off, he thought of sheep and their wandering, foolish ways. Certainly Dakota’s father had followed a willful path to destruction. Gideon and Clint could be considered lost sheep, Elijah supposed, and he prayed the Lord would woo them back like the Good Sheph
erd He was. Ninety-eight sheep in the flock and at least two that’d gone wandering…
Had Dakota ever been exposed to the teaching of Christianity? he wondered. Now that it seemed the boy would be living among them, Elijah hoped he would be able to teach Dakota about Jesus and draw him into the Lord’s flock. One more lamb for You, Lord…
*
Elijah dressed for chapel that morning with a head and chest thick with congestion. His throat felt raw and scratchy with each swallow of coffee, and his bones ached. He wasn’t going to escape paying for the drenching he’d suffered the day before, unfortunately. He sneezed half a dozen times just while buttoning his shirt.
“Maybe you ought to beg off church this mornin’ and spend the day on your cot, brother,” Clint said after Elijah finished another paroxysm of sneezing. “I could take your sermon notes over to your deacon.”
“Church starts in half an hour,” Elijah said. “It’s just a head cold, though it’s awfully inconvenient that it chose today to plague me.”
He made sure he stuck a fresh handkerchief in his frock coat pocket before he left for the chapel, already wondering if their talk with Dakota—his and Alice’s—would have to be put off until another time.
But surely he’d feel better after conducting the Sunday service. It always energized him and raised his spirits.
*
Alice saw the patches of high color on each of Elijah’s cheeks as soon as she had seated herself in the tent chapel. Still tired from their ride, she’d slept later than she’d intended to and, as a consequence, hadn’t been able to speak to Elijah before the service. Now she sat with Dakota, while Keith and Cassie carried out their duties as deacon and deaconess, and was pleased to see for herself that the boy appeared to be thriving.
“Happee Sun-Day, Mees Alss,” he greeted her, his black eyes shining. “Church, yes? Sing-ging?”
“Yes, Dakota, there will be singing,” she agreed.
“Preechah ’Lijah talk, yes?”
“Yes.” His vocabulary was increasing at a wondrous pace, she thought. He wore a new shirt, probably fashioned by Cassie Gilbert out of the material from one of her husband’s old ones, along with his buckskin trousers.
