He rode after James, concerned for his daughter’s husband. He hoped the man would regain his senses before reaching Denver.
Cale lay still until the last soldier was gone. He managed to get to his knees, crawling toward the ravine, shuddering and weeping at the gruesome sight all around him. His heart lay heavy with grief and his mind reeled with terror at what he would find. He got to his feet, stumbling toward the ravine and down into it, groaning as his eyes scanned the bodies of women and children.
“Snowbird,” he wept. “Where are you?”
He searched in agony, then heard the voice of his youngest son, four-year-old Little Eagle. Cale turned, catching his breath. “Little Eagle!”
The little boy ran to him and Cale swept him up in his arms. “My son! My son!”
“They killed Mother,” the boy wept, clinging to Cale. “The men with the blue coats stuck her with the big knife—and they stuck Yellow Wolf and Blue Flower.”
Cale put the boy down. “Show me,” he choked out.
Little Eagle led his father to the spot where Snowbird lay sprawled, stabbed and stripped, their oldest son and their daughter lying dead nearby.
Cale threw back his head and let out a great, long cry, a cry more piercing than that of any wild animal which roamed the plains.
• Chapter Thirty-one •
Light from a rising sun shafted through the bedroom window on Tom and Juanita, moving together in the sweet rhythm so familiar to them. They had been together fifteen years now. Juanita was thirty-three, and to Tom she only grew more beautiful with the years, filling out in a womanly way that only made him love and want her more. She had given him seven children, and no woman could be a better mother and wife than his Juanita.
This morning they had made love out of a need to remind themselves that life went on, for a great sadness hung throughout the household. The Purnells had been there for three days already, waiting along with Caleb, Tom, and Juanita as Sarah’s health dropped substantially. Father Juarez, who had been asked to come, was with her now.
Tom stretched and lay thinking. Sometimes he felt the aches of his own vanishing youth, and he still walked with a limp. But he was still strong and virile and eager to keep his ranch a success and leave his children a vast fortune. The mine had finally played out, but it had not ruined its owner. Tom had saved and invested wisely. His hold on his land was solid, and so was the love he shared with Juanita.
“Yo te amo, querida,” he told her, pulling her close and kissing her cheek.
She smiled, patting his arm. “Yo te amo, mi esposo.”
He raised up on one elbow, leaning down and kissing her bare breasts, which had grown huge from nursing many children. “I have stayed in bed much too late this morning. We both have. We are usually up at sunrise.”
She breathed deeply. “It is best you stay close to the house today anyway, I think,” she said, a sadness coming into her voice. She met his eyes, and he knew what she meant. Sarah Sax could not possibly live through the day.
He sighed and lay back, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do for my father, Juanita. All my life he has helped me, guided me, been there through times of terrible grief. Always he was so strong for me. But I am not so sure he is strong enough for this. Now it is my turn to be strong for him. But I fear if he loses her, there may be nothing any of us can do to help him with his grief.
Juanita’s eyes teared. “I love her like a mother, Tom.”
He patted her arm. “I know.”
Someone tapped at the door. “Who is it?” Tom called out.
“It’s me—Lynda.”
“Just a minute.” He got up, and Juanita pulled the covers close around her neck. Tom pulled on some underwear and a pair of pants, buttoning them and running a hand through his hair as he went to the door and opened it. Lynda stood there fully dressed, tears in her eyes.
“She is worse?”
Lynda nodded. She could see past him to Juanita. “Father says she wants to see everyone—all the grandchildren. I’ll go start helping the little ones dress.”
Lynda turned to leave, but Tom grabbed her arm, his eyes tearing now. “What can we do for him, Lynda? I feel so helpless.”
She looked down, putting a hand over his. “I don’t know. He just . . . walks around like a lost soul. He talks to the children as though nothing is wrong, trying so hard to be strong around the little ones. And he talks about mother as though . . . as though she’ll be here weeks from now. He keeps saying he should build them their own little house so Mother will have her own place for the next few years.” She shook her head and broke into tears, and Tom pulled her into his arms. She rested her head on his bare shoulder.
“I know how hard this is on you, Lynda—what she means to you. You’ve always got Jess, you know, and Juanita and me. I hope you realize Father just might leave after she’s gone. I know he means the world to you, but there is something he will have to do once he’s lost Sarah. He’ll go back, Lynda—back to the Cheyenne. Don’t make it harder for him than it will already be. We are his descendants. We will go on and bring pride and honor to the Sax name.”
She pulled away, nodding. “Yes,” she whispered. She left him, and Tom turned to Juanita, closing the door. “We had better hurry.”
Juanita wiped her own tears, then raised her eyes to the high window through which the sun shed its light. “At least the sun is shining,” she said almost absently. “She loves the sun.”
* * *
Caleb stood near a window, looking out at men herding some horses into a corral. Life went on. It was all around him in the form of his grandchildren, who all stood around Sarah’s bed dressed in their best suits and dresses, a few of them sniffling.
Caleb felt numb. He would not let the reality of this sink in yet. He could not. He kept looking out at the horses as Sarah, propped up against a mass of pillows, hugged and spoke to each grandchild one by one.
“Don’t go the way of the gun, Johnny,” he heard her say in a weakening voice. “Don’t worry your mother that way.”
“Stay close to your mother, Jessica. A mother and daughter should always be friends,” she told her oldest granddaughter.
Then came the sons and daughters of Tom Sax, and Sarah’s words of how proud she was of each beautiful child: Tony, fifteen; Ricky, twelve; Andres, ten; Rosanna, nine; Louise, seven; Rodriguez, six; and little Edwina, four. She had something to say to each one.
“Come here, Tom,” Caleb heard her say. “You have been a better son to me than the son of my blood.”
Again Caleb felt a bitter anger toward James. He didn’t want to feel it. James was his son, too. But he should be here with his dying mother.
“Life will always be good for you now, Tom,” Sarah was saying. “You have put down the sword that was in your hand and shed the hatred in your heart.”
Tom said something in return. Caleb could not hear him. He didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to feel.
Sarah then spoke to Juanita. “Such a good wife you have been to Tom. And how lucky you have been to know so much joy of motherhood . . . to have so many beautiful babies. I wanted so much to have . . . many children.”
Caleb felt as though he were struggling just to breathe. So much had been denied Sarah Sax. Such a beautiful person she was, inside and out. What a wonderful mother she could have been if she had been allowed to lead a normal life. The sweet, caring, happy little girl he had known at Fort Dearborn had never been given the chance to truly fulfill all that was inside her. She had been denied the joy of watching her daughter grow up, and the one baby she had been able to keep from birth had deserted her. The abuse she had suffered at the hands of Byron Clawson had cost her so much—more babies, her health, lost years. And all because she had dared to love Caleb Sax.
“She wouldn’t have had it any other way and you know it, Father,” he heard Tom say behind him. They both stood in the hallway outside Caleb and Sarah’s bedroom. “It’s just as Sarah always said.
It was others who did those things to both of you. No man could have loved her more than you do, and everybody damned well knows it.”
Caleb remained turned away. “Get me . . . a shot of whiskey,” he managed to choke out.
Tom sighed deeply. “Yeah. I’ll be right back.” He left for a moment, and Caleb stared at a huge painting of a rearing black stallion. In the bedroom it was Lynda who now hugged her mother.
“My precious daughter,” Sarah said softly. “How wonderful that God brought us together . . . and helped us find your father. We cannot mourn the lost years, Lynda.”
“I need you, Mother,” Lynda whispered. “I love you so.”
“Of course you love me. But you don’t need me the way you think. You have your Jess and Johnny and Jessica. And you have Tom and his family.”
“Thank you, Jess, for being so good to my Lynda,” Sarah said. “You’re a good, good man. Thank God . . . you came along.”
There was a moment of silence. Caleb heard footsteps behind him and recognized Jess’s walk. The man said nothing, unable to find the right words. He walked farther down the hall.
“Mother,” Lynda groaned from the bedroom.
“My beautiful . . . precious daughter, my . . . Lynda.” Sarah struggled to hang on, feeling the hands of death grabbing her. Not yet! Not yet! There was one more thing she had to do. “Get Caleb.”
Lynda leaned down and kissed her cheek, then rose. She struggled not to break down and weep in front of Sarah. She took a deep breath and walked out into the hallway, while all the grandchildren and Juanita remained standing around the bed.
Out in the hall Caleb was downing a shot of whiskey. “She wants to see you, Father,” Lynda told him.
Caleb turned, and Lynda almost gasped at the look on his face. He had aged overnight. For the first time he was beginning to show his sixty-nine years, at least in his face. He was still so tall and strong looking. The thin white scar on his cheek seemed to stand out even whiter against skin that had grown darker over the years, and against age lines that were becoming more predominant.
He said nothing as he handed Lynda the small glass and went back into the bedroom. As he leaned close to Sarah, her eyes brightened. “My Caleb.” She smiled, a sudden beauty to her face that made her look younger. “Take me . . . to the tree . . . our tree.”
Caleb frowned. “Sarah, you can’t even get out of this bed.”
“You can carry me.” Her eyes suddenly teared and filled with near panic. “Please, Caleb,” she begged. “Please . . . take me there! Don’t let it happen . . . here. I want to be . . . with just you . . . under our tree.”
A tear slipped down the side of her face into her ear. He wondered how much longer he could stay this strong for her. “All right,” he told her softly. He straightened, wiping at his eyes and going out into the hallway. “Get a buggy ready. I’m taking Sarah to the big ponderosa where we used to go to be alone.”
“What! Father, you cannot move her,” Tom protested.
“I can do anything I damned well please,” Caleb barked. “Sarah wants to go there and I’m taking her!”
Lynda turned away, grasping her chest. Tom held his father’s eyes a moment longer, then nodded. “I will get a buggy ready.” He turned away.
“Tom,” Caleb called out.
Tom turned to face him.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Tom smiled sadly and shook his head. “You didn’t really think you had to explain, did you?” He blinked back tears. “I will get the buggy. You go back inside with Sarah.”
He walked off and Caleb turned to Lynda, going up to her and putting a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it as he bent down and kissed the top of her head. “You understand, don’t you? She wants to go there, Lynda. She’s dying anyway. She doesn’t want to die in that bed.”
Lynda nodded. She couldn’t turn around or she would break down. She couldn’t break down yet. He needed her to stay strong, just a little longer. Jess rose and came back down the hall, taking her in his strong arms. Caleb left them and went back into the bedroom, telling Juanita to take the children to the kitchen and have the cook give all of them something to eat. She met her father-in-law’s eyes and knew there was nothing more to say or do. The time that was left was for Caleb and Sarah.
Caleb took Sarah from where she lay bundled in the back of the buggy. He picked her up and carried her up the hill, his arms still so strong, her body thin and emaciated. She rested her face against his shoulder, breathing deeply of his familiar scent of buckskins and the out-of-doors. She thought of the utterly handsome Indian man who had appeared at her doorway back in St. Louis all those years ago—the boy Caleb grown into a man, an Indian man called Blue Hawk. Oh, how she had instantly loved him!
He carried her to the tree, and she looked up at massive, outstretched branches as he sat down with her in his lap. She wondered how old that tree was. Surely much older than they. Nature had a way of making a person feel so small, of making a human lifetime seem like hours instead of years. The tree reminded her of Caleb, old but still tall and straight and strong.
“Sarah, are you warm enough?” Caleb asked her. It was December, 1864. One could hardly tell winter from summer here in the Sacramento Valley. But the last few days had been cooler than normal.
“I’m always warm in your arms.” She looked up into his face, alarmed at how he had aged. “Caleb, don’t look that way. We knew . . . years ago, didn’t we? This time we’ve had here in California has been so beautiful and peaceful. I’ve had everything I needed . . . even servants!” She smiled. “I always felt funny . . . having servants. You thought I should have . . . those things. But I didn’t care. I would have lived in a tipi with you if necessary.”
He struggled to keep his composure. “I know, Sarah.” She seemed so happy, so peaceful. Her eyes were full of love and joy, and she seemed to have a sudden surge of unusual energy. The past few months she usually couldn’t have kept up a conversation for long without tiring and falling asleep.
For weeks he had watched her slip away at a rapid pace. She had lost all control of her bodily functions, and he had cared for all her needs almost completely on his own. Her appetite had dwindled to the point where over the last few days she had not eaten at all. It was useless, for nothing would stay in her stomach. There had been moments when Sarah didn’t even know where she was or know Caleb or her grandchildren. But today she had awakened with an odd spark of life to her, completely lucid, wanting to talk and talk. But Caleb knew what it all meant. He took no hope in this sudden improvement. God was giving them this last moment.
“Caleb, I want you to make me a promise . . . two promises.”
He gently smoothed back her hair, which was now nearly all gray. The shining, cascading red-gold, waves were gone.
“I know you never break promises. And I want to go in peace, Caleb.” She watched the compelling blue eyes that at one time had all but hypnotized her, eyes that had beheld her body in her youth, eyes that told her so much without his saying a word.
“James.” Yes. The eyes hardened slightly. “You must find him . . . and forgive him. Tell him I love him, and have always loved him. I hold . . . nothing against him, except that he didn’t . . . love his father enough. But now if you would just see him, I know he would realize how much he loves you.”
“Sarah, I don’t know if I can forgive him for what he’s done to you.”
“You must,” she said, some strength in her voice. “Please! You must promise me, Caleb. He’s our son. He deserves to be loved just as much as the others. At least tell him he was always loved to the end. Promise me you will find him and forgive him and make everything right.”
Caleb studied her pleading green eyes. He had never been able to deny her anything. He certainly was not going to start now as she lay near death.
“I promise,” he said quietly.
She took a deep breath. “The other promise . . . is one you made to me a long time ago. Tell me ag
ain, Caleb, that you will go back to the Cheyenne. Go and find Cale, and get word to Lynda if he is all right. Then stay with your people, where you have always belonged. I want you to do it, not just for you, but for us.” A sudden bitterness came into her eyes. “I want you to ride with them against the soldiers—the whites who caused you and me so much grief; the very kind of people who tore us apart and made us lose all those years we could have had together.”
The words surprised him. Her jaw was set tightly, and there was fire in those green eyes.
“Do it for us,” she almost hissed. “And when you die, you will die the only way . . . a man like my Caleb can die! You will be Blue Hawk, fighting for what is right—fighting for the rights of your people. And one day soon you will join me, and we will be together forever and ever. And there will be nothing that can ever again come between us.”
A faint smile of utter victory moved across her mouth, and he felt as though someone were lifting a very heavy weight off his chest. She was happy, and she knew that it would not be that long before they were together again in a world where there would be no tears, no death, no pain.
“I’ll go back,” he said gently. “I will find James and find a way in my heart to forgive him. And I’ll find our grandson. Cale and I will ride together. I’ve had my time with our other children and grandchildren. Now it will be James’s and Cale’s time.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “The family. With you as the link they will truly . . . all be together. And it all started in that cave when you made love to me for the first time and planted the seed that grew into our Lynda. I can remember that cave so vividly, Caleb.”
“So can I.” A lump in his throat made it ache almost unbearably.
“Kiss me, Caleb. Kiss me as you kissed me then.”
He smiled softly, pulling her close and meeting her lips, kissing her gently, feeling the breath coming out of her as he did so, drawing that last breath into his own lungs as though by doing so he could keep a bit of her life in his body forever.
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