Destiny's Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

  He knew. He knew it happened at that moment. He moved his lips to her cheek. “I love you, Sarah Sax,” he whispered, holding her close. He could not let go. Not yet. To let go meant realizing she was dead.

  Below, Tom, Lynda and Jess sat in the courtyard amid the hundreds of roses Sarah had loved. They said nothing. They only sat waiting, listening to the birds singing. And suddenly a cry interrupted the normal sounds of nature. It was a long, eerie, mournful wail that resembled a wounded animal. The birds stopped singing and the soft breeze died down. There was a sudden total silence in the air.

  Tom and Jess watched Lynda, who rose and stared out at the hills that rose in the distance. She looked in the direction of the big ponderosa.

  “She’s dead,” Lynda said quietly.

  Tom knew it, too, and where the cry had come from. It was no animal. It was Caleb Sax.

  • Chapter Thirty-two •

  The slaughter at Sand Creek was followed by some of the fiercest Indian retaliation the settlers had yet known. Black Kettle moved south of the Arkansas River to join the Kiowa and Comanche, still determined to remain peaceful. But most of the Southern Cheyenne went on a rampage of murder and theft. In February, 1865, they burned the town of Julesburg in Colorado Territory, stealing valuable food and provisions. They also seized and chopped up an army payroll, and the Indians whooped and hollered as they threw pieces of the white man’s paper money into the wind.

  The revitalized spirit of the Cheyenne warriors gave them strength and determination. Their hearts were “bad,” full of bitter grief and revenge. Victorious Cheyenne held a dance right in front of Fort Rankin after killing all but eighteen of the sixty men holding the fort, then isolating those left by cutting down all the telegraph poles and using them for bonfires. By the time the Indians left the fort, many of the men remaining were nearly dead from starvation.

  Then they headed north, some led by the one called Bear Above, who had lost his woman and two children at Sand Creek. The warriors looked highly on Bear Above, for he was the grandson of Blue Hawk. The warring Cheyenne left a trail of slaughtered cattle and scattered items once belonging to peaceful settlers. They also left a trail of dead bodies.

  With every victory the Cheyenne regained more spirit and willingness to fight for what was rightfully theirs under the Laramie Treaty. Joining with the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne, their numbers were so vast that troops at Fort Laramie were ordered to vacate the fort.

  This was the spirit that reigned the summer of 1865 as the Civil War came to a close. It was a good time for the Cheyenne, for the war in the East had left the plains virtually without protection. The Indians enjoyed their remaining days of glory, giving no thought to the fact that the moment the white man’s war ended in the East, soldiers would be sent back west . . . in much larger numbers.

  He sat high on a ridge overlooking the sprawling Cheyenne village below. The wind whistled and moaned around him, thick stands of trees hiding him from sight. He breathed deeply of the sweet air of the sacred Black Hills. The wind blew his long, black hair away from his ageing face, revealing a lingering handsomeness, but also the hardness of a man who had known far too much suffering. A thin white scar moved down his left cheek, meeting the tassle of a beaded hair ornament.

  He was as Indian as any of those in the village below, from the war paint on his face and on his Appaloosa to his beaded moccasins. He carried a tomahawk, one he had stolen himself from enemy Chippewa when he was only nine years old. That had been a proud day for him, but was it possible it had all taken place sixty years ago? How could it be? How could time move so swiftly; and why was he the one who remained . . .?

  The wind whipped up dust that stung his eyes, but he hardly flinched. He sat straight and strong, a repeating pistol strapped to his waist and a rifle resting in its boot on his gear. Animals peeked at him from behind rocks and brush and from the branches above him.

  He took another deep breath, hoping to draw strength from this land he loved most of all. Perhaps here he could manage to find a way to want to live, but it seemed as if Sarah Sax was everywhere, sleeping beside him, riding in front of him on his horse, talking to him around his night campfires.

  Sarah! How was a man to bear this loneliness? He caught a whiff of smoke from fires below. He was home. This was the only way to bear the pain. He had to live a life far removed from the one he had led with his Sarah. That meant he must be Indian again. He would never again be Caleb Sax. He was Blue Hawk. And he had come to fight the enemy—the very kind of men who had nearly destroyed his greatest love.

  Sarah had asked him to do this, and he knew she was watching, riding beside him. Her spirit was as powerful as the wind that caressed his face, and there were times when he was sure he heard her voice whispering his name. Caleb. My Caleb. He looked down at the aging skin of his hands, and he knew it would not be long before he was with her forever.

  He headed his horse down toward the village below, praying he would find out that his grandson was still alive. Two scouts quickly rode up to meet him, demanding to know who he was. He looked at them sadly—such young men. Of course they did not know him. He had been away many years from this life. He quickly identified himself in the Cheyenne tongue: Blue Hawk, grandfather of Bear Above.

  “I have come looking for my grandson.”

  They both sat straighter at the mention of his name. “You are the Blue Hawk of whom stories are told around winter campfires?” one asked.

  Caleb smiled sadly. “I am.”

  They looked him over, taking inventory. Yes, he was an old man. But they were not fooled by the gray at his temples and the lines in his face. This man was still strong and vital, and they sensed that he would be a dangerous foe in battle.

  “Bear Above is with us,” one of them answered.

  Caleb felt joy and relief move through his soul. “Take me to him,” he said quickly, his eyes lighting up with the first joy he had felt since losing Sarah.

  “Come.” The warriors turned their horses and led him into the village, shouting in the Cheyenne tongue that Blue Hawk had come. “We have good luck! Now we will truly be strong,” one of them shouted.

  The name Blue Hawk was muttered as they rode through the village, and women stared at the noted warrior. Dogs barked and jumped around the horses. Caleb scanned those who gathered around, some coming out of tipis. There was a sense of victory in the air. He smelled it. But he also sensed the distant fear and hopelessness. He spotted a few men tipping whiskey bottles, and he didn’t like the faces of the women, long and forlorn.

  As they neared a tipi where one of his guides had already ridden, a young man ducked out of it, looking up wide-eyed at the visitor. Caleb halted his horse and stared, his heart leaping with joy. Cale!

  “Grandfather!” Cale whispered. His eyes teared and he quickly ducked back inside. Caleb knew why. He must not show his emotions. As Caleb dismounted a man and a woman and several children came scurrying out of the tipi, staring curiously at Caleb. Caleb held back the entrance blanket and went inside, leaving the entrance open for light. It was a warm day, and part of the tipi skins were turned back to let in more light, and skins were pushed up from the bottom stakes for ventilation.

  Caleb stood straight in the roomy structure, feeling as though he had finally come home.

  “Bear Above,” he said gruffly, his eyes tearing as he faced the handsome man who stood staring back at him. He saw grief in his grandson’s eyes, but also great joy in the moment.

  “Grandfather,” Cale groaned, coming closer and embracing Caleb.

  For several long seconds there were no words, only the embrace. Then Caleb noticed a little boy of perhaps five watching them in wide-eyed wonder. The child was a replica of Cale. He finally managed to pull away from Cale. “Is this your son?”

  Cale turned. “Ai. He is all that is left of my family. My Snowbird, and another son and daughter, were killed at Sand Creek.”

  Caleb looked at Cale in alarm, realizing what a gre
at loss his grandson had suffered. He had heard about Sand Creek when he stopped at Fort Hall after crossing the Sierras. The Sierras—California—his beautiful family. He would not see them again. But that was as it should be. He had promises to fulfill, and he still had family right here. He walked closer to the little boy, reaching out and touching his hair, trembling with the awesome realization that he had a great grandson. “What is his name?”

  “He is called Little Eagle.”

  Caleb could not control his tears. If only Sarah could see this child! He drew the boy close and the child did not resist. “Little Eagle,” Caleb said softly.

  Cale swallowed back an urge to break down completely. “Grandmother? She is . . . dead?”

  “Yes,” Caleb answered softly. “I promised her I would come and find you . . . and that I would live out my years with the Cheyenne.”

  Cale’s heart swelled with pride. “You will bring us good luck, Grandfather. Many bad things have happened. But we are stronger now. We are proud and we are angry. We are tired of broken treaties.”

  Caleb gently let go of the little boy, petting his hair a moment before rising and facing Cale. He looked him over. “You look well, but I see the sorrow in your eyes.”

  “You are a man who understands sorrow.” He motioned for Caleb to sit on a blanket nearby. “Sit and rest. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  “No. Since your grandmother died, it seems I have no feelings of any kind. I am just numb, except for this moment.” He sat down wearily, and Cale sat down across from him.

  “Words cannot express how I feel at this moment, Grandfather. This is the most happiness I have known since marrying Snowbird. It was right after the great gathering at Fort Laramie in ‘fifty-one.” He closed his eyes against the pain. “Tell me everything, Grandfather, about my mother, and Tom. How were things in that place called California?”

  Caleb told him of Tom’s good fortune, and also of the Bad Ones and the Mexican War. Cale sat listening to all of it, happy to learn he had so many new cousins through Tom and Juanita.

  “I made your grandmother a promise. I will have to leave you again for a while. I am going to find James.”

  Cale stiffened, and bitter hatred filled his eyes. “James!” He spit. “You do not know?”

  Caleb frowned. “Know what?”

  Cale’s jaw flexed in anger. “James was among the Colorado Volunteers . . . at Sand Creek.”

  The pain of the news cut through Caleb like a knife, and he sucked in his breath and bent his head as though in pain.

  “Grandfather! I am sorry. I told you too quickly.”

  Caleb shook his head. “It’s all right,” he groaned. “I don’t know why, but somehow I knew.” He raised tired eyes to meet Cale’s. “I made your grandmother a promise—that I would find him and forgive him for never seeing or contacting us again. Sarah never got to see her son. It will be hard for me to forgive him, Bear Above, but I gave my word. For the sake of Sarah’s memory, you must try to find it in your own heart to do the same.” His eyes teared. “I don’t know what led him to go so far against his blood, but surely James suffers a sorrow far greater than our own, the sorrow of betrayal.”

  Cale closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “I am not sure I can ever forgive him, except that he spared my life.” He opened his eyes and met his grandfather’s eyes, surprised at how bright they still were, and still such a beautiful blue. “A soldier told him to shoot me, but he only pretended to shoot me. And I saw a look on his face I will never forget. I think you are right. I think he is living in hell, walking in it every day. He swore to me he took no part in the killings, but . . . he was there.” The man’s voice choked. “I only thank God that you did not have to see what I saw that day, Grandfather—women and children with their heads smashed, breasts and arms cut off, bellies cut open, and warriors’ manparts severed. Many of us still have nightmares and our hearts are bad, Grandfather, and so full of vengeance. We have made much war, and we will keep on making war to the last man.”

  “I know the feeling, Bear Above. And I will be fighting at your side.”

  Cale looked surprised. His grandfather had to be at least seventy years old. Caleb smiled softly. “I know what you are thinking, but I am still strong and still a good shot. And the only honorable way for me to die is among my people. Sarah always knew that. She made me promise to come here. And as long as I’m here, I want to do what I can, Cale. Don’t worry about the danger. I will die a happy man if I can die fighting with the Cheyenne. And then I can be with my Sarah.”

  Cale reached out and touched his arm. “Grandfather, I know how you loved her. I know how you must suffer.”

  “Grief is no stranger to me, nor to you now. But we go on.” He grasped Cale’s hands, squeezing them firmly, screaming with grief on the inside—not just for Sarah, but for the fact that his own son had been a part of the massacre at Sand Creek. Sarah had no idea the burden she had put upon him by telling him to find the man and forgive him. Little did she know how much had to be forgiven,

  “You will stay a few days before you leave again?” Cale was asking. “This dwelling belongs to Basket Woman, an aunt to my Snowbird, who has given Little Eagle and me shelter now that I have no woman of my own. Basket Woman and her husband would be honored to have Blue Hawk stay with them. There will be much celebrating tonight, Grandfather. You are a sign of good luck.” He kept a tight grip on his grandfather’s hands. “I need the strength and power you bring, Grandfather, for I have lost the blue quill necklace.”

  Caleb frowned, feeling a painful loss, remembering how much the necklace meant to him. It was a part of Caleb’s own mother, the Cheyenne mother he had never known. “How?” he groaned.

  “At Sand Creek. I searched and searched, but then we had to get out of there, for the soldiers were returning to find anyone left alive. It has left a bitter emptiness in my heart, Grandfather. I would rather cut off my arm than lose that necklace. It was my power, my precious gift from Blue Hawk. You gave it to me when I was a newborn baby, all those years ago in Texas. I grew up being taught its meaning, and then you gave me the sun stone to tie on to it when I suffered the Sun Dance.”

  “It’s all right, Bear Above. You have not lost that power. The spirits simply have some kind of new purpose for that necklace, one we might never know in our own lifetime. But the power comes from the blood, Bear Above, from the love that flows from me to you. You don’t need the necklace for that.”

  Cale’s eyes teared. “I wanted to give it to Little Eagle. What do I have to give him now, Grandfather? What will his future be? We will fight, and probably die. But the children, they must go on. And one day the soldiers will win. I am not fool enough to think otherwise. He will grow up on that stinking reservation. I do not want that for him. It is no life, Grandfather. There is no pride, no hope. On the reservation many of the young men take their lives, and those left live on the firewater. There is disease, and reservation agents cheat us. What am I to do about Little Eagle?”

  Caleb sighed deeply. “I don’t know. I have many things to think about, Bear Above. Before I can consider them all, I must find James. I am glad I came here first. When I get to Denver, I will send a messenger to tell your mother that you are well, and that she has a grandson. It will gladden her heart. She needs such good news after losing her mother.”

  Cale nodded, still holding Caleb’s hands. He leaned forward and kissed the man’s cheek. “Be careful in Denver, Grandfather. It is a very dangerous place for a man like you. Very dangerous.”

  Caleb smiled bitterly, thinking of James. “But not for Indians who look like white men.”

  Willena slowly rose as the rider approached. The sun was behind him, making it difficult at first to determine who it was. But she could see the dancing fringes of buckskins. As she walked to the steps of the veranda, which ran the full length of the front of the Sax mansion, she saw that he was an Indian. He stopped short of the steps, looking over the house with strangely sad eyes, then moved
those intense blue eyes to meet her green ones.

  She wondered why she was not afraid, why she didn’t call for one of the male servants to get a gun. This man was old but certainly not feeble, and he looked as wild as she would picture the Cheyenne warriors who had been leaving bloodstains on settlers’ lands all over the plains. He nodded, watching her almost knowingly.

  “You are James’s wife.” He made it a statement rather than a question.

  She nodded, feeling frozen in place.

  “I can see why,” the man said in perfectly clear English that surprised her. “You are very beautiful, and you look very much like his mother. Perhaps that is what drew him to you.”

  A prickling realization moved through her blood then. “You’re his father!”

  Caleb rode closer and dismounted, then walked up the steps, holding her eyes. “I asked at a neighbor’s house where James Sax lived. I knew it would be in this area, where it is obvious the wealthier citizens of Denver live. I had no doubt my son was wealthy and successful. After all, he paid quite a price for all of it, including abandoning his mother and denying his own blood.”

  She caught the bitterness in the words and her eyes teared. She held his eyes boldly. James needed help, and this man was the only one who could help him. She must not let this moment be wasted. “It isn’t like that, Mr. Sax. James is a fine man, and I love him very much. He was just . . . afraid of losing all he had worked so hard for . . . and of losing me. He should have trusted in my love enough to know he could have told me and it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  Caleb frowned. Apparently his son had finally spilled the truth, and there was something about this young woman he liked. She was strong and beautiful and not afraid to say what she was thinking. Yes, she was very much like a young Sarah—the Sarah who had stood against her father in defense of her love for Caleb Sax.

  She stepped closer. “Thank God you’ve come! You have no idea how happy I am to meet you. My prayers have been answered.” She grasped one of his hands. “Come inside and we’ll talk, Mr. Sax. Don’t judge your son just yet. The way you treat him could be a matter of life and death.”