A Love Forbidden (21 page)

It didn’t take long for the drums to begin a slow, rhythmic beat, the sonorous sounds rising from somewhere down beyond the Agency buildings. Singing soon followed.

Shiloh opened her bedroom window and peered out. Bonfires burned not far away, and she could make out many Ute braves dancing around the leaping flames, wielding spears, tomahawks, and other weapons. She slammed the window shut and locked it.

For the first time since her return, she allowed herself to admit they were all in grave danger. She didn’t know whether to pray for the timely arrival of the soldiers or not. If and when they crossed the reservation border, the Utes might well attack them. And once the Utes did that, the die was cast for them.

At that point, there’d be nothing lost by also turning on the hapless Agency employees, slaughtering them one and all. The foolish act of placing guards to prevent the Utes from breaking into the storerooms and taking all the annuity goods was the least of Meeker’s worries. Instead, he should be thinking of ways to protect everyone behind some defensible barrier. Or, better still, get everyone out of there under the cover of darkness.

But where could they go that the Utes couldn’t quickly find them? Indeed, it was doubtful any large evacuation could be arranged and managed without the Utes knowing. Since the day she’d arrived back, Shiloh had been acutely aware that the Agency and its employees were being watched.

She paced her bedroom, her hands growing damp, her heart thudding loudly in her chest, as the first tendrils of fear ensnared her.
Why did I come back?
she thought.
There was never any hope of accomplishing anything here. Never. I was just a fool to think so, and now I may die because of that foolishness.

If only Jesse were here. Surely I’d be safe with him. But he ran just as soon as he heard I was coming back. I can’t depend on him for any help. If he even
would
help.

There was only one hope of help, and that lay with the Lord. Shiloh knelt by her bed, clasped her trembling hands before her, and began to pray. Pray for herself but also for all the innocent souls who worked at the Agency. Even for Nathan Meeker.

Ultimately, they were
all
innocent pawns in a battle for supremacy. A battle between the US government and the Indian people. A battle in which little, if any, mercy would be granted from either side.

After two nights of war dances that kept everyone awake, the 29th day of September dawned sunny and warm. Though feeling groggy from lack of sleep, Shiloh rose at sunrise, performed her morning ablutions, then dressed and headed downstairs to help prepare breakfast. By the time the morning meal was served to the boardinghouse occupants, a large group of Ute braves had gathered at the kitchen door, begging for food.

Arvilla Meeker exchanged a worried look with her daughter and Shiloh, then began to hurriedly butter some slices of bread. “I reckon they’re getting pretty hungry,” she said, “what with the squaws all packed up and moved away. No one’s left to cook for them.”

Shiloh moved to the cookstove to fry up some extra bacon. “Best we see to their needs then. No sense aggravating them right now.”

The Ute men’s hunger finally sated, the three women watched them walk away, then joined the others in the dining room. Everyone appeared tired, but the mood around the table was hopeful. The Utes appeared friendlier this morning, and several at the table thought things looked to be improving.

Shiloh kept her own opinions to herself. True, the braves had asked for and accepted food from them, but she didn’t necessarily think that signified much of anything. Hungry people would take food where they could get it.

As she helped the other women that morning with the chores, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the lull before the storm. It didn’t help her mood when Flora Ellen Price returned from her room and admitted her husband had loaded up their Winchester rifle and left it there. Even his attempts to ease her worry by telling her it was just ready as a safety measure didn’t reassure Flora Ellen. And it certainly didn’t reassure Shiloh, either.

Shiloh spent the time between breakfast and lunch preparation in her room. She read from her Bible for a time, then penned a letter home. In it, she told them of the current dire situation and assured them, if something were to happen to her, that she had made her peace with the Lord, and that she loved them all.

Then, after sealing the letter, Shiloh walked over to the storehouse, where Harry, one of the Agency employees, was getting supplies in preparation for his trip back to Rawlins. “Would you see that this letter gets to the post office in Rawlins?” she asked, handing the letter to the man. Shiloh then offered him a coin to pay the postage.

Harry tipped his hat, pocketed the money, and shoved the letter into his shirt pocket. “Sure thing, ma’am. I’m also going to be taking a telegram from Mr. Meeker, to deliver to the Western Union station there. Guess he likes to keep up a steady correspondence with the Indian Bureau.”

She wished she could read the contents of that telegram but knew it wasn’t permissible. “I suppose it never hurts to keep one’s superiors informed of things.”

Harry finished stuffing his supplies into his saddlebag, then shouldered it. “Well, I’d best be on my way. It’s a long ride back to Rawlins.”

“Oh, and don’t I know.” With a smile, Shiloh stepped aside. “Godspeed.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Once more, Harry tipped his hat and strode from the storehouse.

Watching him leave, she was tempted to ask if she could accompany him back to Rawlins. After the events of the past few days, more than anything she’d ever wanted, Shiloh desperately wanted to run, and run as far as she could, from the White River Agency. The admission of her cowardice shamed her.

Along with Nathan Meeker and his family, the rest of the Agency employees were holding steadfast. They seemed convinced that everything would turn out fine. And they had, after all, been privy to many events that she had not been there for. Surely their perspective had to be more accurate than hers.

So Shiloh choked back her plea to be allowed to leave with Harry and headed to the boardinghouse. As she did, she saw a Ute brave riding pell-mell toward Douglas’s camp. Shiloh halted and watched as Douglas exited his tepee, and the two men began to confer.

Shaking her head, she entered the boardinghouse and made her way to the kitchen. Josie, her mother, and Flora Ellen Price were already there, busy preparing the lunch meal.

Shiloh took down an apron from its peg and quickly donned it. “What do you need me to do?”

Arvilla indicated a bowl of potatoes that Flora was already working on. “Help Flora Ellen,” she said, replacing the lid on the beef roast she’d pulled from the oven. “The sooner we get those potatoes on to boil, the sooner we can get them cooked and mashed.”

Taking a short, sharp knife from the drawer, Shiloh pulled out a chair at the worktable near Flora Ellen and picked up a potato. Ten minutes later, the two women finished peeling and cutting up the last potato. After adding them to the big pot of now-boiling water, Shiloh rinsed her hands, then wiped them on her apron.

“What’s next?”

Arvilla paused to check the other pot of green beans. “Everything’s going fine in here now. How about you start setting the dining room table? Oh, and set an extra place for Mr. Eskridge and Sowerwick. They’ll also be dining with us.”

Josie turned just then and caught Shiloh’s gaze. At the mention of one of Jack’s subchiefs, Shiloh arched a questioning brow. Her friend smiled and shrugged. Shiloh took that to mean Josie didn’t know why Sowerwick was invited, but hoped it boded well.

A half hour later, the meal was served and eaten by all with great gusto. Eskridge departed immediately thereafter to join his two Ute guides on the trip to deliver another letter to Major Thornburgh, the commander of the military companies on their way to the Agency. Mr. Meeker retired to his office for some afternoon reading, and most of the other men left to work on the new building.

As Shiloh and Josie cleared the table of dishes, Mrs. Meeker and Flora Ellen, baby Johnnie perched on her hip, headed to the kitchen to get the wash water prepared. Shiloh was surprised, in one of her forays back to the kitchen with a tray full of dirty dishes, to find Douglas there, requesting some bread and butter. As she watched, he accepted the bread and butter with one hand as he patted Josie on the shoulder then shook Arvilla’s hand.

As he turned to leave, he shot Shiloh a strange, assessing look. Something about his glance sent a prickle of unease through her. She shook it off and proceeded to carry the tray load of dishes to the sink.

“Well, I must go fetch May,” Flora Ellen said as she untied her apron and removed it. “Shadrach’s outside working with the other men. I can’t leave her alone and I still need to wash some clothes.”

Arvilla turned from the sink full of suds. “Yes, go get that precious little girl. We can all help keep an eye on Johnnie while you’re gone.”

Shiloh and Josie finished clearing the last of the dishes from the table. After Shiloh placed the loaded tray on the sideboard, she helped Josie remove the tablecloth and carry it outside to shake off the crumbs. Down the street, she could see the men working on the new building.

Arthur Thompson was on the roof, spreading dirt. Below him on the ground, Frank Dresser and Shadrach were throwing dirt up to him. Shiloh saw Flora Ellen walk back toward the boardinghouse, her daughter May’s hand clasped in hers. For a long moment, as Josie helped her fold the tablecloth, Shiloh enjoyed the warm sunshine and deep blue of the cloud-strewn sky. For some reason, the blue of the sky always seemed to take on a more intense hue in autumn.

She walked back inside to the dining room, straightened the chairs around the table, then pulled out a broom and pan from the nearby closet. As she began to sweep the dining room floor, she heard Flora Ellen singing as she began washing clothes, and May’s childish chatter. A deep satisfaction filled her. There was something so grounding, so reassuring, about the routine of chores.

Josie reentered the dining room. “What’s left to do?” she asked, glancing around the room.

“Nothing else, once I get the room—”

Rifle shots tore through the air. Men screamed. Utes uttered high-pitched war whoops.

From the kitchen, May began to wail. Josie and Shiloh locked gazes, and Shiloh was certain her own was as filled with terror as Josie’s.

The broom fell from Shiloh’s hand. “Come on,” she cried. “We need to find cover and find it now!”

15

They sprinted into the kitchen to find Arvilla standing frozen, staring out the window in horror. Shiloh ran to the kitchen door to get Flora Ellen and her daughter to come inside, but they were nowhere to be found. She hurried back in, slammed the door shut, and locked it.

“I’ll take Mother, you take baby Johnnie,” Josie said. “Let’s head upstairs to my bedroom.”

Shiloh forced herself to calm, imitating her friend’s surprising strength of mind. She grabbed up Johnnie and held him close.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

It was slow going for Arvilla, who at sixty-four was still feeble after a fall two years ago that broke her thigh. Finally, though, they made it to Josie’s room. Gunfire was still reverberating around them, and a few stray bullets shattered the bedroom window.

Josie ran over and lifted the bed skirt. “Let’s get under my bed. It’ll be safer there.”

Shiloh climbed under the bed first, with Johnnie. Josie helped her mother get down and crawl under next, with her following. About then Flora Ellen, May in her arms, ran up the stairs from the unlocked front door and into the room, followed by Frank Dresser with a Winchester in his hand. He helped Flora Ellen and May also climb beneath the bed, then locked the bedroom door and stood guard.

For a time, the sound of gunshots and window glass shattering was the only thing that filled the air. Then, ever so gradually, the scent of smoke began to trickle into the room. The longer they waited, the stronger it grew. Finally, Frank stooped down beside the bed and lifted the bed skirt.

“I’m afraid they’ve set fire to this house,” he said, his expression grave. “We need to get out of here.”

“But where can we go to be safe?” Mrs. Meeker asked as Flora Ellen and May crawled out. “They’re still firing off their guns outside. They might shoot us if we make a run for it.”

Josie climbed from under the bed, then assisted her mother. “The milk house is close. I’ve got the key to it and the walls are good, solid adobe. We’ll be safe there from any bullets.”

After handing baby Johnnie to her friend, Shiloh scooted from beneath the bed. “It’s the best of all options,” she said in agreement. “Besides the thick walls, there’s only that one small window up high. No one can look in and see us very easily. And any bullets that might fly through it will be well above our heads.”

Frank Dresser cautiously led the way down the hall and the stairs. When the coast was clear outside, he signaled them to join him.

“Josie, you go first and unlock the milk house door,” he said. “Just as soon as you get the door opened, Shiloh, you head on over with Johnnie. Then next, Flora Ellen with May. I’ll bring up the end with Mrs. Meeker.”

All the women silently nodded. Frank gave one more quick glance around. Thankfully, it seemed the Utes had given up shooting and were now down at the storeroom, looting the annuity goods.

“Go, Josie!” he whispered.

She shot off like a deer and swiftly covered the distance across the street to the milk house. Once the door was unlocked, she waved. Shiloh took a quick scan around her, and when she saw no Utes, she raced across the street with baby Johnnie in her arms. Flora Ellen and little May soon followed, then Frank, one hand clutching his rifle, the other supporting Arvilla.

Once inside, Josie locked the door, then stacked milk cans against it as a barricade. Thanks to the adobe walls and small, single window up so high it didn’t let in any discernable breeze, the milk house was damp and the air felt close and stifling. To further hide themselves from anyone who might try and get up to look in the window, they all hid under shelves placed against the walls.

It was miserable and warm, but there was nothing to be done for it. Periodically, Shiloh would hear another round of gunfire. Despite their mother’s attempts to quiet them, both May and Johnnie wept for a long while until they finally cried themselves to sleep. Shiloh doubted anyone would easily hear them anyway, with the milk house’s thick walls and all the gunfire, but she was still glad when the two children ceased their soft wailing. It was just one more stressor, in a day already filled with terrible stress.

Time plodded by, too much time in which to consider what was happening outside. Shiloh knew the Utes were likely killing the rest of the Agency employees. Eventually, she feared they’d find them as well and finish up by butchering all the women and maybe even the children. Frank Dresser’s life, for certain, was forfeit when the braves got to him.

Please, Lord
, she silently prayed,
save these dear people.
I’ll gladly be the one to die in their place, if it’s Your will. Just please, spare them, I beg You.

Over and over, Shiloh lifted her thoughts and petitions to God, until she was so exhausted she finally began to doze. After a time, Josie shook her awake.

“W-what time is it?” she asked groggily.

“I’m not exactly sure,” her friend replied, “but from the way the light’s slanting in, I’d say we’re about a half hour or so from sunset.”

So, it’s close to 6:00 p.m.,
Shiloh thought.
We’ve been hiding in the milk house almost four hours.

A curious sound, like snapping twigs, caught her attention. She noticed the scent of smoke, but it was much stronger than it had been all day. Looking up, she could see flames licking through the roof. For the first time, she realized it was becoming hard to breathe.

“Josie!” Shiloh grabbed her friend’s arm. “The milk house is on fire!”

“Yes. It’s why I woke you. We can’t stay here any longer. We’ve got to make a run for it.”

Panic filled Shiloh, and with a great effort she tamped it down. “But where? Where can we go?”

“Frank thinks we can head west and hide in the sagebrush. We’ll cross the street, then go through the Agency office for cover, then out the back door toward the sagebrush.”

It wasn’t the greatest of options, but Shiloh knew it was likely the best one they’d have. And the sagebrush
was
fairly high and should offer good cover. She crawled from the shelf she was crouched beneath and took Johnnie back in her arms.

“What’s the plan, then?” she asked, looking from Josie to Frank.

“I’ll go first to make sure the coast is clear and no Utes are inside the Agency office,” Frank said. “Josie will follow with her mother, then you and the baby, along with Flora Ellen and May. Once inside the office, we’ll decide when to make our break for the sagebrush.”

Between the cover of smoke now billowing from the flaming milk house roof, and the fact the Utes still seemed to be occupied looting the annuity goods, they all made it safely into the office. Briefly, they considered hiding there but decided it was only a matter of time until this building was also set on fire. So, Frank leading the way, they ran, using the other buildings to shield them and headed toward the plowed field north of the Agency.

The women were slowed by the children and Arvilla, who was lame. They covered a good hundred yards when some of the Utes discovered their escape. Frank shouted, “Run, run! Now or never!” and fired his rifle at the approaching Utes.

Undaunted, the braves kept on coming, shooting at all of them in return. Shiloh’s heart was pounding in her chest, but she ran as fast as she could with baby Johnnie in her arms. Bullets sprayed around them, sending up puffs of dirt. She tried to protect the baby as best she could but felt certain she’d be hit anytime.

Up ahead she saw Frank Dresser reach the sagebrush and disappear in its dense foliage. Behind and far off to her left, she heard the Utes still firing their guns and yelling “Stop, squaw! White squaw stop!” and “We no shoot. Come with us!”

But there was only one Indian Shiloh would’ve ever stopped for, and he was nowhere to be found. Though her breath was ragged and short now, she forced her tired legs onward. The sagebrush . . . she was almost there!

Then she heard Arvilla cry out. “I’ve been shot,” the older woman screamed. “They’ve shot me!”

Shiloh stopped, wheeled about. Mrs. Meeker lay there on the ground, Josie hovering over her, trying to pull her up. At that instant, the Utes caught up with Flora Ellen and May, straggling far behind. Then they reached Josie and Arvilla. Two braves stopped and aimed their rifles at Shiloh while the others grabbed hold of the three other women.

For a split second, Shiloh considered taking a chance and heading for the sagebrush, now so near. Some of the braves were quite evidently not very good shots, as evidenced by all the bullets fired that had missed their mark, until one finally caught Arvilla. If she hadn’t had the baby in her arms, Shiloh would’ve tried to run for it. But she did, and she wouldn’t take a chance on his life. Odds were, even if the women might eventually die, the Utes would likely take the two Price children and raise them as their own.

The sun was setting over the westernmost peaks as the Utes caught up with Shiloh. She suddenly noticed how fast it was turning chilly. Two of them took her by the arms and led her back to join the other women and little May. They all then headed to the Agency office, which had yet to be set on fire, to meet up with Chief Douglas.

Arvilla was shivering. “It’s so cold. May I please have a blanket?” she asked Douglas.

He stared at her for a moment, then ordered one of his braves to fetch Mrs. Meeker a blanket. The man soon returned with a blanket, hood, and shawl. Arvilla wrapped the shawl around her, then the blanket.

Shiloh would rather freeze to death than ask for anything from Douglas, so she just walked along with the others. Josie took May, and Flora Ellen finally found a way to walk beside Shiloh.

“Thank you for carrying Johnnie all this time,” she said. “But I’ll take him now. He’ll need his mother’s milk, and if they eventually split us up . . .”

She hadn’t thought of that. The consideration filled Shiloh with a renewed surge of fear. What would become of them, now that they were captives of the Utes? Though death wasn’t a pleasant thing to look forward to, some of the other possibilities were even more horrifying. And if they were all separated and sent off with different groups of Utes, they’d lose the comfort of each other’s company, and it would make it all the harder for all of them to be rescued.

As they rounded the corner of the Agency office, a man lying on the ground caught Shiloh’s eye. He was stretched out, hands at his sides, and naked except for his shirt. As they drew nearer, she could see blood running from the corner of his mouth.

Arvilla must have recognized him at almost the same instant Shiloh did. With a soft cry, she broke free of the grip of the brave who held her and ran to her husband. She knelt beside him, leaned over to kiss him. Then as her gaze locked with her Ute captor, she hesitated and apparently decided it might not be wise to kiss her husband. Instead, she stood and, face stoic, walked back to join them.

Though Nathan Meeker’s body didn’t look mutilated, Shiloh nonetheless felt sick to her stomach. He may not have been the most effective Indian agent, but he had tried to do the job he’d been sent to do. He didn’t deserve to die like that.

But then, neither did the other eight Agency employees whose bodies were strewn about. Many of them were young men with families still living in the Greeley colony where Meeker and his family had resided prior to coming to the White River Agency. They, truly, were the most innocent of all the victims of this tragic turn of events.

Before all this was over, she, Arvilla, Josie, Flora Ellen, and her two children might also be sacrificed on the altar of the US government’s ultimate plan to steal all the Colorado lands from the Utes. Or, Shiloh amended that grimly, all the worthwhile lands anyway. And they would. Sooner or later, they would.

Perhaps the Utes knew this on some level, and it was part of the many reasons that had led up to this terrible expression of their deepest fears and frustrations. They had known the soldiers were on their way. The only uncertainty was the true reason for the army being called to the reservation. Had Nathan Meeker requested them solely to help keep the peace and settle the problems growing between the agent and the Utes? Or was the army’s real purpose to round them all up and force them from their beloved mountains and out farther west to the Indian Territory?