Dakota Dream (51 page)

To the southwest, deep in the Bighorn Mountains and farther from Dominique than either of them could have imagined, Jacob struggled for lucid thought. Unable to remember how he'd been saved from his own confused mind, he realized that he'd somehow been pulled from the icy waters of his nightmares. Now he fought another element, one even more frightening than the cold death he'd faced.

Somehow his skin had become parched, felt as if his body had been buried in the scorched earth of the summer plains. He tried to move his limbs, to crawl along, digging into the blistering dirt and sand with his fingers on a search for life-giving fluids.

His tongue, swollen and cracked, filled his mouth. And still, though his voice was feeble, he managed to call for his woman. "Dominique."

A vast nothingness surrounded him, yet flames reached out, stabbing his fevered flesh at will, burning his already blistered body unmercifully. Jacob tried to open his eyes, struggled to get his bearings, but when he finally managed to crack one eyelid, the shock of the bright light sent a spiraling flame through his head. Never before had his pain been so overwhelming, so intense. But still he
fought,
still he struggled to find the way to his sanity, to his life.
To his woman.

"Dominique," he whispered thickly, again renewing his fight.

His cries and struggles were suddenly tethered as strong hands swooped down on him, pinning him against the blistering earth. He opened his mouth to cry out, but his efforts filled his lungs with the same flames licking his body.

"Bring more water. His fever rises," a deep masculine voice ordered.

"He will die," a woman wailed through an anguished sob. "He will die."

"Silence," the man said. "Get the water."

Jacob heard those excited voices, wondered if the footsteps accompanying them belonged to an angry god. But then his battered brain gave up on him again. The flames of hell sucked him back into the abyss.

 
Chapter Twenty-one

Bismarck, July 25, 1876

Barney watched Libbie Custer walk over to the boardwalk,
then
he turned back to the rig. Holding out his arms, he smiled and said, "Now it's your turn, Miss DuBois. Lean over and put your hands on my shoulders."

With no outward emotion, still as unresponsive and tight-lipped as she'd been over the past two weeks, Dominique did as she was told and allowed Lieutenant Woodhouse to lift her from the buggy.

"There you go, honey," Barney said as he set her on the street. Still trying to get through to the nearly catatonic woman, he suggested, "Why don't you go stand over by your aunt and get out of the hot sun until your train is ready to leave?"

With a blank stare and a shallow breath, Dominique lifted the hem of her black silk mourning dress and followed his instructions.

Behind her, his heart breaking for both of the unfortunate women, he babbled on, even though he knew no one listened. "That's right. You get on out of the sun. I'll just go back to the buggy and unload
all your
luggage."

As Dominique neared the boardwalk where her aunt paced restlessly, a whoosh of steam caught her attention. Slowly turning, she glanced at the train that would carry her back to Michigan, back to her father, and away from what might have been.

The heaving machine beckoned, drawing her anguished
mind to a lovely day in May. She'd stood in very nearly the same spot then, watching Jacob.
Loving him.
Soothed by the memories, Dominique wandered over near the tracks. Even though billows of steam jetted toward her, adding to the discomfort of the miserably hot morning, she continued, caught by the shiny black engine. As she approached, she thought back to Jacob, to the wonder in his eyes and to the child she could see exposed in them that day. Suddenly feeling close to him again, wanting only to share some small part of him, Dominique reached out to touch the engine, mimicking the action she'd seen him perform so long ago. The hot metal seared the pads of her fingers.

"Oh," she called out, as much with pain as with a sudden flash of insight.
"Oh, my stars."

Reality shattered her reverie, drove its point home as if on the tip of a saber. And finally Dominique understood what her heart and body had been trying to tell her for the last two weeks.

Jacob lived.
Not as her husband, not as the lover she ached to hold in her arms again. His life had been returned, continued, through a gift, a miracle of love. Jacob's fire still flickered, grew even larger within her womb.

Through a sudden rush of tears, of joy, Dominique stumbled backward, lurching in a half-circle as she tried to regain her footing, her composure.
Jacob, oh, Jacob, did you know? Could you have guessed what you were leaving behind?
Overcome by the surge of emotions, drowning in a sudden wave of love, Dominique reached out, searching blindly for her balance.

Libbie watched, terrified that her niece would fall face down in the street. She called to Barney as she hurried down the boardwalk.
"Lieutenant!
Lieutenant, quick, grab
Nikki. She's going to faint."

In a daze of another kind now, Dominique barely noticed the strong arms supporting her or the dainty hands guiding her along the boardwalk to a bench. She sat when Libbie gently pushed her shoulders down, but she stared at the train, her eyes moist and trancelike.

"There, there, dear," Libbie comforted as she sat down beside her.
"It's going to be all right. Someday it's just got to be all right again." Struggling to hold in
her own
tears, Libbie lifted her handkerchief and began to fan her niece.

Flushed with joy, blooming with the first bud of happiness she'd felt since her last night with Jacob, Dominique allowed her lashes to flutter down on her florid cheeks.

Alarmed, Libbie looked up at Barney. "Well, don't just stand there, Lieutenant. Quick, go get a glass of water.
Hurry."

Then she turned back to her niece and tried to put her own pain aside.
"There, there you poor dear.
Don't let your grief or the horrible memories of your time as a captive overcome you. You must be strong. Autie would want it that way."

The sound of Libbie's voice, the words she knew must be terribly painful for her to speak, brought Dominique out of her trance. "Oh, Aunt Libbie, please don't worry about me. It's not that I'm so upset or that—"

She cut off her own words as she realized what she'd been about to say. How could she possibly tell Libbie about Jacob, about her love for the man she also called Redfoot? Her aunt would never understand. Dominique had no one with whom to share this moment of joy. She would have to hide her happiness at discovering the knowledge of her destiny, the newfound purpose in her life. Now that existence, her future, would include the birth of Jacob's child, she thought, suddenly radiant. She could go on with her life, fulfill this obligation lovingly, and perhaps deliver a special message as well. How could she ever explain what she must do now to her family?

She needed more time to think. Dominique's head slumped and her eyes closed as she feigned another dizzy spell.

"Oh, please, Nikki," Libbie begged. "Hang on. Be strong." She turned her head, peering around the corner, and muttered, "Where is the lieutenant with your water?"

Prepared now, Dominique straightened her shoulders. "I'm all right, really I am. It's just that I've finally realized I can't leave here. I can't go home with you."

"What? But of course you can. You have to, dear."

Again she hesitated, more sure than ever what she must do, still uncertain exactly how to do it. Finally settling on a half-truth, Dominique worked to produce the necessary distress in her voice. "We haven't talked about this before, but while I was a captive in the Hunkpapa village, certain things happened to me, things that need to be discussed."

"No, Nikki." Libbie pressed a finger to her niece's mouth. "I understand these savages practice unspeakable abominations on white women. There is no need for us to discuss this. I've taken it for granted that you were badly used. It's best if you try to forget it."

"That's not possible," she answered with heavy innuendo in her tone. "We have to talk about it. You need to know that I was the woman of a warrior called Redfoot."

Color flooded Libbie's cheeks. She lowered her voice, insisting, "We don't have to discuss this, either, nor shall we. If these things still trouble you after we get back home, there are doctors who can help you get over it. Until then, you must try to put that degrading experience out of your mind."

"Putting it out of my mind isn't the problem, Aunt Libbie." Dominique took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. "Putting it out of my body is."

Libbie screwed up her brow. "I don't follow you, dear."

Dominique expelled the breath and came right out with it. "Things haven't been normal with my body since I was kidnapped. I've been feeling ill and bloated. I thought it was because of, you know, all the changes and terrible things that happened, but— Oh, Aunt Libbie, I'm going to have Redfoot's baby."

Libbie's head
wobbled,
and her breathing became rapid and shallow. When her eyes rolled to the back of her head, then closed, Dominique snatched the hanky from her hand and began to fan her brow.

Barney barreled around the corner at that moment, offering the expected glass of water. "Here is it, Mrs. Custer. Sorry it took so long." His tongue froze to the roof of his mouth as he studied the women.

"Thanks, Barney," Dominique said as she accepted the offering.

"Ah, you're welcome," he said slowly, scratching his head. "I'll just go finish ..." He let his words trail off as he backed down the boardwalk, a look of utter confusion flickering in his expression, "The water you ...
she ...
I'll just go get the luggage."

A smile tugging at her heartstrings, Dominique lifted the glass to her aunt's mouth. "Take a drink of this," she encouraged.

Libbie gulped greedily,
then
sat up, waving Dominique and the glass off. "I'm all right. It's just so hot today, and I'm a
little ..."
She turned and looked into her niece's eyes, and her own filled with tears. "It's so awful!" she burst out.
"So unfair.
I'd give anything to be in that way, to have that much of my husband to keep with me always, but instead some stinking savage has—has—"

"Please stop it," Dominique said, knowing exactly how Libbie felt, wishing not for their roles to be reversed, but that they could both be filled with the same joy.

"I'm sorry, dear," Libbie finally said, regaining her fragile control. "Of course, I don't mean to suggest this is your fault in any way or that there was anything you could have done to prevent these circumstances. It's just all so unfortunate."

"As unfortunate as it may be, it's a fact," Dominique went on, eager to end the increasingly uncomfortable conversation. "But now, at least, you understand why I can't go home. Why I can probably never go home."