Destiny's Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

  “I don’t think so,” he answered, watching carefully. “It isn’t a war party. There are women and children along. They’re probably moving camp to a site where they know they can find game.”

  She turned and watched him, fascinated by his knowledge of this land. “Do you know any Indians, James? Have you ever fought any or befriended any?”

  He kept staring at the Indians in the distance, unable to look at her yet. He had to keep his composure. My own father is an Indian, he was tempted to say. My own nephew lives among the Cheyenne. Finally he turned and met her soft green eyes, struck by the feelings she gave him. He wanted her. Never had he had such intense feelings for a woman in such a short span of time.

  “I knew some Cherokee down in Texas,” he told her, thinking that at least that was the truth. “That was before they were all sent to Indian Territory. And as I told you, my parents were killed by Comanche,” he lied. “The Comanche are a pretty vicious tribe, but most of them have been routed out of Texas now, too, I hear.”

  Yes, he thought, all Indians were kicked out of Texas, including my own father. We lost so much just because we had Indian blood.

  Willena’s mother sat with her head back on a pillow, having fallen into an exhausted sleep. The coach ride was taxing, a matter of hanging on over bumps and coping with the constant swaying motion, the noise, the heat, the dust. The woman slept so hard now that those things didn’t even bother her. Willena and James spoke softly so as not to wake her.

  “Father says it won’t be long before Colorado gets rid of its own troublesome Indians,” Willena said. “They’re talking about forming their own militia. Father says he thinks the states will be at war in another two or three years—all this awful bickering over slavery and all. He says if that happens, the few soldiers we have in Colorado will be called back East, and then we’ll be left with no protection against the Indians. He thinks they will commit full-scale raids. He and others are working very hard to form a volunteer army out of Colorado citizens. But he says they might be hard to control because they wouldn’t be regular soldiers, and a lot of men in Colorado are not of the finest quality—prospectors, men who have fled the law back East and such.”

  James nodded. “You’re probably right there. Your father sounds as if he’s had military experience.”

  “Oh, he has! He fought in the Mexican war. He was a lieutenant.”

  James studied her perfect complexion, the lovely way her lips moved. My father fought in the war for Texas independence, he wanted to tell her. My half brother, Tom, was at the Alamo but by the hand of God was sent out with a message and escaped the massacre. My father and my sister’s husband fought at San Jacinto under Houston, where Santa Anna was defeated.

  “I was still living in Texas during the Mexican war,” he told her. “But I was too young to fight in it. When my parents were killed, I came to St. Louis, hoping to be successful in more civilized places.” He grinned, throwing up his hands. “Now look at me! Right back in the wild West, as you call it.”

  She laughed lightly, and it was like music to his ears. “I think it’s beautiful country. I’m very excited about going to Denver. And I’m so happy you’re going there, too.”

  Their eyes held. “You are?”

  She reddened slightly. “Yes. How wonderful for you that the kind Mr. Hayden you told us about made you a partner. You must be very intelligent, James, and a very hard worker. I like that in a person. My father does, too.”

  He smiled softly. “And you are very brave and strong to come out here. I like that in a woman. You’re Very dedicated to teaching to be willing to come to a place such as this just so the children out here can learn.”

  She blushed more and looked at her lap. Just then her mother’s handbag slipped to the floor, and both of them leaned over to pick it up at the same time, their faces close. They both grasped the purse, looking at each other and laughing lightly, neither of them eager to sit back again. How tempted he was to cover her mouth with his own! But he checked himself. Her mother could wake up at any moment, and perhaps Willena herself would be offended. He felt drowned in the wide, green eyes, so close to his own.

  “Willena, I . . . I would like to call on you once I get settled in Denver. May I?”

  To his surprise, it was she who moved first, leaning closer and kissing his cheek. “Yes,” she whispered. “I would like that very much.”

  They sat up, watching each other, neither of them aware that Willena’s mother had seen everything through narrow slits of eyes pretended to be closed. She had deliberately feigned sleep to allow them time to feel more alone, and she was very pleased with what she had just seen. This James Sax was no doubt a prize catch for her lovely daughter.

  The woman stretched then, mumbling about what a good sleep she had had, and Willena handed her mother the handbag. James looked back out the window. The Indians were gone.

  • Chapter Twenty-eight •

  Caleb carried Sarah to the courtyard, which was alive with green plants and hundreds of rose bushes. Sarah’s health had grown worse during the past three years. Now the pain was so bad that there were more days like today than good days—days when Caleb had to bathe and dress her, carry her to the table to help her eat, and then to the courtyard, where she could sit and enjoy the sunshine.

  Sarah rested her head on his shoulder. She often wondered if Caleb got tired of doing this, wished for someone young and healthy at his side. He never complained or gave one hint that he minded any of it. Her Caleb was as rock hard as always. She knew he was capable of making love with as much virility as a younger man, yet in her heart she also knew she needn’t worry that he might go find someone else to fulfill those needs.

  On her better days they could still share that part of their love, but not nearly as often now as they once did. Yet it didn’t seem to matter. What they had ran so much deeper. Just being together, touching, talking, was often all they needed, and Caleb made a point of taking her at least once a week to the grassy hill where they sat under the huge ponderosa Sarah had grown to love, calling it “our tree,”

  He set her in a cushioned lounge chair with a canopy overhead so that she didn’t get too much sun. Other than the spot under the big pine, this was Sarah’s favorite place, surrounded by roses of every breed and color. The air was full of their fragrance.

  Tom’s fortune had grown, right along with his brood of children, which with the birth of Rodriguez Miguel in 1858, and of Edwina Marie just this spring of 1860, brought the number of Tom and Juanita’s children to seven—four boys and three girls. Juanita was plump and healthy and a very happy woman. But it brought pain to Sarah’s heart that she had never been able to give Caleb more sons and daughters. There were only Lynda and James. And James was lost to them. It was as though they had never had him.

  “Comfortable?” Caleb asked, tucking a light blanket around her legs.

  She sighed deeply, looking up into the brilliant blue eyes. “I’m such a burden, Caleb.”

  “Like hell. God knows you deserve to be waited on hand and foot, and I don’t mind doing it. You know that.”

  “And you’d rather be outside more, or maybe back on the Colorado plains riding with Cale.”

  He grinned and shook his head, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. “You’ve been my best friend since you were six years old, Sarah Sax. My greatest enjoyment is being right here with you.” He straightened. “Can I get you anything?”

  She put her head back. “No. It’s nice just sitting here, listening to the birds, smelling the roses.”

  He smiled. “You rest awhile. I’m going into Sonoma today to see if there is any news about the problems back east.”

  “Oh, Caleb, I can’t imagine that this country could actually get involved in a civil war. Do you think James will get mixed up in it? I’m so worried about him.”

  Caleb quelled his anger with James for never having answered any of their letters and putting his ailing mother through so much torment. He ha
d considered going east to find James, but he could not bring himself to leave Sarah for such a long period of time, her health was so precarious. But he had sent a letter off with a man headed for St. Louis, telling the man to try to find James personally and advising him to try a place called Hayden’s Mercantile first. If the man found James, he was to give the young man the letter, which all but begged James to come to California as soon as possible and see his mother. Caleb had not told Sarah about sending the letter, for fear of her being too disappointed if the messenger could not find James.

  “I’m sure he’ll be all right,” he reassured her aloud.

  She grasped his hand. “You won’t go getting involved, will you, Caleb? I don’t want any more wars in our life.”

  He squeezed her hand gently. ‘Tom and Jess and I have all had our fill of war, Sarah. Besides, you know I would never leave you like that now.”

  Their eyes held, and he suddenly remembered the visit from White Horse all those years ago, back in Colorado. Sarah! He felt like a lost little boy. “I’ll be back tonight.” He put on a smile for her in spite of the wretched pain in his heart.

  “Caleb,” she spoke up as he turned to leave.

  He looked back at her.

  “You’ll check again? For a letter?”

  He masked his anger at James. She refused to think or say anything against her son. “You know I will.”

  James headed for the little schoolhouse, reading the news article as he walked. The Cheyenne were causing many problems for the newcomers to Colorado, who were settling on land the Indians had been granted by the Laramie Treaty. But now that gold had been discovered around Pike’s Peak, towns were springing up everywhere, and the settlers and prospectors had decided a new treaty must be struck. It was everyone’s decided opinion that the Indians were simply in the way and must get out. They must be made to understand that the land was going to fill with even more settlers; that changes were coming and the Indians must change along with everything else, or die.

  As a merchant whose supplies were often destroyed or stolen by raiding warriors, James had to agree with the rest of the settlers. His new store had already suffered losses in goods already paid for that never reached him. Settlers in outlying areas were in constant danger. Relations with the Cheyenne were going from bad to worse, and citizens were scrambling to form a militia. Because of mounting tensions back east and rumors of possible war, soldiers were being called there from duty in the West, leaving few men to protect the vast, open lands of Colorado.

  But James read more into what he heard and saw. He knew firsthand how good the whites were at exaggerating some events, at doing their best to make the Indians look as bad as possible. The same thing had happened in Texas. A chosen few knew just the right things to say to stir up the rest, cleverly downplaying the Indian point of view and ignoring the fact that there was a legal treaty that was being ignored. Just the year before James came to Denver, soldiers had raided a peaceful Indian camp, using superior weapons against the Indians in a surprise attack. Once the Indians were chased off, a huge supply of food stored for the winter was deliberately burned by the soldiers, along with every tipi and any other goods left behind. The attack and destruction had nearly crippled the Cheyenne, sending them running in two different directions. Some went north to join the Sioux. Others headed south, to places they considered safe. But there was no safe place for them, and they continued to be hounded and attacked, returning their harassment with more attacks on whites, so that it all seemed to be tumbling out of control.

  James wondered where it would end. He well knew how easy it was for such things to get out of hand, and that surely innocent Indians would suffer. How the Cheyenne were being treated right now was the very reason he had decided long ago to be the white man he looked as if he were. He wanted no more of those black days, the harassment and degradation that came with being an Indian. And now he lived among settlers who for the most part hated the red man with a passion.

  It had all been easy in St. Louis, a place already long settled and free of its Indians. People in the East didn’t worry about Indians anymore. Now he had been thrown right back into the bitter controversy, but for James the battle was even harder, for he struggled with his own guilt over hiding his Indian blood. His concern over Indian troubles was the same as that of his business neighbors, but he also understood all too well the Indian side of the story; and living in both worlds was even harder for him than it had been for his father. James had a greater understanding of the white point of view and a deeper commitment to that world; and he lived in constant terror of his Indian blood being discovered.

  He often wondered where Cale might be. Perhaps he was no longer even alive. Between disease and soldier attacks, the Cheyenne numbers had dwindled. They had split up for the most part now, to the extent that they were now called Northern and Southern Cheyenne. To make matters worse in regard to James’s own inner struggle, Willena’s father was one of the founders of the Volunteers, which was being formed to protect Colorado citizens against the raiding Indians, but the group was not yet solid. James loved Willena. Of that he was certain now. What would it do to their relationship if she and her family learned he had Indian blood? It had become more important than ever to hide that fact.

  In spite of the Indian problems and lost supplies, the new Hayden & Sax Mercantile was doing well, as was James’s relationship with Willena. He reached in his pocket and fingered the ring that had finally arrived from St. Louis. He had ordered it special for her, writing Gilbert Hayden and requesting the man special-order a specific diamond of the finest quality cut. He already knew her ring size, having gotten it from Willena’s mother after requesting Mr. Treat’s permission to marry his daughter. The man had readily agreed, finding James Sax a handsome, likable, successful young man. Two years had passed. James had established himself and at twenty-seven he had proven his worth to Willena’s father. Willena was twenty-one. It was time to settle. James wanted her for his wife—wanted a family.

  Again James shook off the fear of what Mr. Treat would say if he knew the truth. He couldn’t risk it. He could not tell them, and especially not Willena. He loved her too much. And he would have her for his wife, if she would agree. He could not imagine that she would say no, but he supposed all young men worried about being turned down by the women they loved.

  He reached the schoolhouse steps. Nearly every day James came to walk her home. There were too many disreputable men in this town now to allow Willena to walk alone, and on lovely days like this one, she always insisted on walking rather than taking a buggy to the fine two-story brick structure on a foothill overlooking Denver that the Treats called home. James was already planning to build her just as fine a home of their own, and the thought of living with her, sleeping in the same bed with her and invading her body whenever he wanted, brought a wonderful warmth to his blood.

  He leaped up the steps two at a time, his legs long like his father’s. He had taken special care with his hair today, and wore an expensive suit. He walked through the door, his eyes resting on Willena as she sat at her desk at the other end of the room. But his bright smile faded when he saw the young boy standing beside her.

  All the other children were gone but this one, a child of perhaps eight, who stood next to Willena, reading to her. James felt a chill. The boy looked like a full-blooded Indian, something rarely seen in the civilized parts of Denver! Willena looked up, her green eyes glowing.

  “I’ll be right there, James. Daniel needs a little extra coaching.”

  James stared as the boy finished reading a page from a little reading book, stumbling over some of the words, which Willena helped him pronounce. She praised him, then hugged him, sending him on his way. James watched the boy run out, then looked back at Willena, who was clearing her desk.

  “Who the hell was that?”

  Willena looked at him in surprise. He had never before used profanity in front of her. “He’s a new student.”

&nbs
p; “I can see that. He’s Indian! What’s an Indian boy doing going to school here in Denver?”

  She felt a touch of anger at the prejudiced remark. “He has to go to school somewhere, doesn’t he?”

  “There are schools on the reservations, which is where he is supposed to be.”

  She frowned, taking her shawl from the back of a chair. “James, why does one little Indian boy upset you so?”

  He felt his cheeks redden slightly, realizing he had overreacted. “I don’t know. I mean, with all this trouble we’ve had . . . I’m just surprised to see him here.”

  She threw her shawl around her shoulders. “Well, I feel a little sorry for him. The children aren’t very nice to him. His mother is white, and she couldn’t stay on the reservation.” She saw the bewilderment in his eyes. “His mother was captured by the Sioux a few years ago. And contrary to what I can see you’re thinking, her son is not the result of some forced relationship.” She was too refined and embarrassed to use the word rape. “She ended up caring very much for one of the young men. She was only ten when they took her, so she learned their ways. It’s really quite an interesting story, James. When she was older she married one of them. Then he was killed by soldiers, and she considers reservation life unbearable. I don’t blame her, from the way she described it to me. It’s disgraceful how those poor Indians are treated.”

  “Poor Indians! They’re out there killing white people!”

  “Of course they are, and one can hardly blame them. After talking to the boy’s mother, I’ve learned a great deal about what’s going on on the other side.” She closed and locked her desk. “At any rate, since she is white, she was allowed to leave. The poor woman is struggling to make a good life for her son, but she is certainly not being treated very nice around here. I gave her a job cleaning the schoolhouse.” She folded her arms. “James, I know it sounds unbelievable, but the woman truly loved her husband. To her he was just a man, not an Indian. Can you imagine that—a white woman loving an Indian the way any woman loves a husband? It really opened my eyes.”