Edge of the Wilderness (23 page)

Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful. . . . Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.

—Luke 6:36–37

Daniel Two Stars urged his bay gelding out ahead of the squad of Dakota cavalry, tearing across the landscape, closing the distance between himself and the two Indians ahead. He finally came alongside one. While his gelding matched the Indian’s pony stride for stride, Daniel slipped his square-toed boots out of the stirrups. One leap and he and the rider both tumbled to the earth, rolling over and over. The brave got the best of Daniel and leaped up, knife in hand. Daniel spun to one side just as a rifle went off and the brave toppled over.

“Good work, Two Stars,” Captain Willets said, dismounting. He rolled the dead brave over on his back.

“Yanktonais,” Daniel said. “Probably half-breed.”

“How can you tell?” Willets asked.

“Pale skin,” Daniel said. “The beadwork on the moccasins.” He bent over to catch his breath, then rounded up his bay gelding. He was standing beside the dead warrior when Brady Jensen rode up, dragging the body of a second brave behind his horse.

Captain Willets glowered at Jensen. “I said capture them, Private,” Willets snapped, “not treat them like animals.”

Jensen shrugged. “He wanted a fight. I obliged him.” He reached behind him and pulled out a sheaf of papers loosely tied together with a piece of twine. “I’d say these are the ones that killed Fielner.” He handed the bundle to Captain Willets, who leafed through the pages, glancing at the fine drawings of plants and flowers, a half-finished sketch of a prairie chicken. Willets could almost hear the bird’s unique “boom-boom-boom” as it courted the ladies. He shook his head and tucked the notebook in his saddlebags. Darned fool. Talked his way onto the expedition so he could draw plants and flowers. They had found his body early that morning. He must have wandered out of camp alone at dawn, probably to draw the prairie chicken.

“Let’s get them back to camp,” Willets said.

Jensen climbed down and prepared to tie a second rope to his saddle horn.

“Not you,” Willets said abruptly. He waved toward Daniel. “Let Two Stars take them in.”

Jensen shrugged and walked away.

It took a while to round up the Indian ponies. When he finally had them, Daniel tied the two braves’ hands and feet together, then laid them across one of the horse’s backs, secured the bodies to the saddle, and rode off toward camp followed by the rest of the men. If he had known what General Sully would order be done, he would have refused. It took a few moments for him to realize Edward Pope wasn’t just repeating an ugly rumor. “I tell you, Daniel, he’s going to do it. Jensen volunteered.”

Daniel and some of the other scouts strode across the encampment to see for themselves. Unbelievably, it had been done. The two warriors had been beheaded and their heads mounted on high poles. Daniel turned around before he got very close and hurried away, his stomach churning.

The next morning as the troops packed up, Jensen and some of his cronies made it a point to saunter by the scouts’ campfire. “Guess that’ll send a message what they can expect if they keep killin’ whites.”

Daniel pretended not to hear. He and a few of the other scouts exchanged glances and went about their business. They were headed out of camp when Captain Willets rode up. “General says to offer you that renegade’s rifle and horse if you want them.”

“Is it a Spencer?” Daniel asked.

“Nope,” Willets said, looking down, at the rifle. He grinned. “If it was, I’d have to be asking the general to reward the scouts’ commanding officer instead of the scout.” He held the weapon out for Daniel’s inspection. “Looks pretty worn out.”

Daniel cocked the rifle and looked down the barrel. “It’s better than no rifle.” He handed it back to the captain. “Give it to Edward Pope,” he said. “I owe him for some help he gave me at Fort Ridgely.”

Willets nodded. “What about the horse?”

“The gray stallion?” Daniel asked.

“He won’t let anybody get near him this morning. Kicked Jensen in the rear twice.”

Daniel climbed into the saddle. “He just needs someone that speaks his language,” he said and headed toward the herd.

The news that General Sully had beheaded two warriors at the Little Cheyenne spread like a prairie fire through every Dakota camp from the Platte up into Canada. But instead of discouraging further bloodshed, the mutilation only convinced the Santees and Yanktonais to withdraw farther west where they ended up in a vast encampment with several other tribes in the Badlands. From camp, they sent out their own scouting parties to monitor Sully’s plodding march westward through Dakota.

The scouts found old camps, buffalo carcasses, and bones, but no Indians. And yet they knew Indians were all around them. During the day mirrors flashed in the distance as the army’s progress was signaled between bands.

At night, while the soldiers sat around their campfires smoking pipes, rolling chews of tobaccos, reliving the battles they had fought back east, burning arrows in the sky communicated their location.

Finding water was a constant challenge. More than once they marched thirty miles before finding water. Sweat soaked through their uniforms, their tongues swelled, and horses died. Some days they rose at two in the morning and marched until noon, trying to avoid the heat of the day. Once they marched along a river where the grass had been burned for ten miles all around.

One particularly awful day the men rode over a ridge and down into a creek bed only to find a narrow puddle of muddy water frill of tadpoles and lizards. In desperation, Edward Pope jumped off his mule and started digging. He became a hero when, about four feet down, he struck a vein of clear, cold water. The men threw their hats into the air, shouting and singing and making such a racket Brady Jensen, now a lieutenant, came tearing down the hill, shouting angrily, “Do you want to bring the entire Sioux nation down upon us?!”

Daniel looked up at him, laughing, “With all respect, Lieutenant, I assure you the entire Sioux nation knows exactly where we are.” He scooped a hatful of water and poured it over his head, “They don’t want to fight, Lieutenant. They are hoping the Great Father’s soldiers will get tired and go home and leave them in peace.”

“They will discover,” Jensen said harshly, “that the Great Father’s arm is very long when his children have been murdered.”

For all the army’s talk of glory, little happened throughout the weeks of July other than the loss of a few stragglers, picked off by small roving bands of warriors. They moved at a pace so slow the scouts wondered if they would find any Indians at all before winter set in. Several bridges had to be built to get mule trains across creeks. Broken wagon tongues, locked wheels, and the ever present search for water plagued the days, while the nights were one long battle with mosquitoes, oppressive heat, and poisonous snakes.

One night Daniel joined Edward Pope at his campfire. Edward looked up at the starlit sky and said, “You know what I think, Two Stars? I think when God Almighty created the world, He just didn’t have time to come out here, so He just left the original chaos.” He slapped the back of his neck and flicked a dead mosquito away. “I should have stayed at Fort Ridgely.”

Dust enveloped the entire column as they marched. One day they found several scaffolds erected, a warrior buried atop each one. Daniel and the scouts stood quietly, looking down at a circle cut in the ground with five buffalo heads set around it, the noses pointed toward the center.

That night Daniel saw Brady Jensen showing off a medicine bag beautifully worked with an intricate bead design.

“Where’d you get that?” Captain Willets asked sharply. “Don’t tell me you desecrated those burial scaffolds.”

“Now Cap’n,” Jensen said. “That warrior didn’t say a thing when I climbed up and ripped open his buffalo robe.” He snickered and took another swig from a flask being passed around.

“That was holy ground,” Willets snapped. “And I’d better not hear of you doing a fool thing like that again. You can bet the men signaling our progress with those mirrors saw what happened. And you can bet they won’t forget.”

Jensen sobered up a little. Shrugging, he mumbled, “Didn’t mean anything by it. Didn’t think it’d matter.”

“Would it matter if it was your papa’s grave somebody tore open?” Willets asked.

Jensen shrugged. “All right, Cap’n. I get your point.” He tucked the medicine bag inside his shirt.

On the twenty-seventh of July, the troops marched forty-seven miles through the broiling countryside. They stumbled into camp that night, their tongues swollen with thirst, only to be told several thousand Sioux were camped only a few miles away up against Tahakouty Mountain.

“Uncpapas, Sans Arcs, Blackfeet, Minneconjous, Santee, and Yanktonais,” the scouts reported.

“Thicker than fiddlers in hell,” one of the soldiers said.

General Sully would later estimate that his two thousand men engaged more than five thousand Indians in the Battle of Kildeer Mountain. As an old man, Daniel Two Stars would read Sully’s report and laugh. “That proves one thing,” he would say, “two thousand warriors riding out ready to fight look like many more—even to a very brave white man.”

Daniel did his best to stay out of the fight. He had no stomach for chasing women and children into the ravines and the hills, for destroying everything in their camp, for burning tepees and ruining stored food.

The night after the battle, a few Indians crept close enough to camp to let a few arrows find their mark. One of them was Brady Jensen, who was standing up leaning against a wagon when an arrow sliced into his abdomen. The doctor cut it out, but by morning Jensen realized he was going to die. He sent for Daniel.

“I don’t want to meet my Maker with this on my conscience,” he gasped, and held the medicine bag out to Daniel. “I give the arrow that killed me to Edward Pope. I got a sister down in Nebraska Territory. Brownsville. Name Polly. Polly Jensen. Edward said he’d see she gets it.” He shuddered and gasped. Then, his eyes, two black slits in his face, he muttered, “That feller I killed at the fort. Your friend. That wasn’t right. I shouldn’ta done it. It wasn’t a fair fight.” He grasped Daniel’s arm, clutching so hard his filthy nails broke the skin. He swallowed. “Cap’n says you’re a Christian. Reckon you got to forgive me fer what I done.” He died clutching Daniel’s arm.

With the Indians scattered and their camp destroyed, Sully turned his troop and headed back down the Missouri. Daniel and the other few dozen scouts spread out across the frontier. Some went to Crow Creek, hoping to find remnants of their families. Daniel turned east. Crossing the James River, he spent a few weeks at the newly constructed Fort Wadsworth. Ever restless, he moved south toward the other camps scattered north to south along the frontier between Minnesota and Dakota.

Mother Friend and Standing Tall bent low in Marjorie Grant’s huge garden, filling an empty grain sack with greens beans as they moved down row after row of plants. The garden was nearly weedless and had been a great success, thanks to Jeb’s having had time to rig an irrigation system. Up at the house Marjorie sat beneath the shade of her new porch, sewing for all she was worth on a new treadle sewing machine. It was the first one in the area, and had caused quite a stir when Jeb hauled it out from New Ulm. Marjorie was beginning to think she might earn extra money if she offered to sew for the officers’ wives at Fort Ridgely, just up the road.

To the east of the house and up on the ridge near the ruins of Daniel Two Stars’s old house, Ironheart and Jeb had filled Jeb’s wagon half full of corn and just stopped to get a drink of water when a man mounted on a gray stallion trotted up the road from Fort Ridgely.

Daniel Two Stars had come home.

Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing . . .

—Proverbs 18:22

“Auntie Jane!” Timothy poked his head in the library door and hissed.
“SHHHH!
It’s a surprise!”

Jane looked up from her reading just in time to see Timothy’s round face wreathed in a smile. Then he giggled and disappeared. Frowning slightly, Jane returned to her reading.

Fanny Laclede came next, inviting Jane downstairs to tea. “I know it’s a bit early,” she said, smoothing her dark hair with a gloved hand. “But Richard and I have an engagement this evening, and we were hoping to speak with you about something.”

When Jane closed her book and stood up, Fanny said, “Perhaps you’ll want to freshen up. Richard and I—” She hesitated, then said quickly, “We might have guests.”

“I certainly don’t want to interrupt your entertaining, Mrs. Laclede,” Jane said, trying to hide the hurt she felt at Fanny’s intimation that her appearance was too dowdy for the Lacledes’ social circles.

“Oh, no. It’s not that. It’s just—” Fanny hesitated again, pursing her lips. “Oh, bosh. I’m no good at this.” She sighed. “There
is
a surprise, and you’ll want to look your best. Now don’t say another word. Just freshen up and hurry downstairs. We’re waiting.” She hurried away.

The idea of someone waiting on her sent Miss Jane into a flurry of activity. She rushed into her room and pulled down her best dove-gray walking skirt. The white waist she always wore with it was missing the top button, but she pinned a cameo over the space and hoped it looked all right. Looking in the mirror, she pressed her lips together with displeasure at the state of her hair. “Ah well,” she muttered, “it will have to do.” Her frizzy hair had been the bane of her existence since she was a girl, and there was no willing it into place on a humid day like this. She pushed a few pins into it and with a last adjustment of her skirt, a quick glance at the full-length dressing mirror in the corner, she headed out into the hall.

Rebecca and Timothy were waiting at the top of the stairs, their faces bright with excitement. They both looked behind them as Miss Jane approached, then back at her. When she reached the top of the stairs, cries of “Surprise! Surprise!” echoed up toward her. Before she could react, Meg and Aaron Dane were charging up the carved mahogany staircase. “Surprise, Miss Jane! Surprise!”

“Goodness!” was all Miss Jane could manage in the way of a greeting. She let herself be led down the red-carpeted stairs, across the foyer, and into the Lacledes’ opulent receiving room where Richard and Fanny stood to one side, smiling happily as they watched Gen and Simon Dane greet their friend. Elliot Leighton held himself apart until Miss Jane caught his eye.

“I never!” she said. “What—how?” She finally just laughed and shook her head as Elliot bowed low and kissed her hand.

“They’re married!” Meg said, painting to Gen and Simon. “And we’re on our way to Grandmother Leighton’s. And we stopped to say hello!”

Simon smiled at Meg and then looked back to Miss Jane. “I guess that about summarizes it,” he said. He motioned her onto the sofa next to Elliot. Miss Jane blushed and opened her arms to Hope. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me!” she said as Hope leaned shyly against Gen’s skirt, eyeing Jane carefully.

Reaching into her pocket, Jane smiled triumphantly and produced a peppermint. Hope grinned and threw herself pell-mell into Miss Jane’s lap. “Bribery,” she laughed. “It works every time.”

“Unka Lee!” Hope shouted, reaching up to pound Elliot on the shoulder.

“Uncle, is it?” Miss Jane handed Hope into Elliot’s outstretched arms, smiling when Hope grabbed a handful of silver hair and hung on.

And so began a reunion that was to last for nearly two weeks. The Lacledes insisted the Danes and Elliot stay with them. “It’s a half-empty albatross,” Fanny said of her parents’ mansion. “Having you here will relieve some of the stodginess.”

Early every morning Aaron walked the mile down to the riverfront, fascinated by the never-ending activity as steamships arrived and left, were loaded and unloaded. Richard was delighted at his interest and the astute questions he asked about the import business.

Meg and Hope, and Timothy and Rebecca, played together as if they had never been apart.

And Miss Jane and Fanny conspired to see to it that Simon and Gen had a real honeymoon. One evening a coach arrived and swept the unsuspecting couple away’ to the finest hotel in St. Louis. They were taken into a private dining room and served by a French waiter who began by being stuffy and ended by being completely charmed when the lady at the table addressed him as
Monsieur,
and pronounced the menu flawlessly. After dinner, the waiter slipped Simon the key to Room 215 and offered his
felicitations.

When he bowed low and disappeared, Simon said, “Well,” and sat looking at Gen. He took a drink of water and fiddled with his napkin. “We’ve been on a train for an eternity, my dear. You must be exhausted.”

“I am a little tired,” Gen said. She slipped her hand beneath Simon’s.

They went upstairs and gasped when Simon unlocked the door to their room.

“I didn’t know things like this existed,” Gen said, stepping across the threshold and crossing the room to touch the velvet and satin drapes.

“We can’t stay here,” Simon said. “It’s—”

“It’s obvious Fanny and Richard can afford it, Simon. It would be rude to refuse their generosity” She sank onto the sofa before an Italian marble fireplace and sighed.

Simon stood by the window looking out. “You can see the river.” Behind him, the lights grew dim.

“I’ll look at the river tomorrow,” Gen murmured. She came up behind him and touched his shoulder.

He swallowed. “Genevieve. I should tell you—I’m—not very good at this sort of—”

“Sometimes, Reverend Dane,” she said softly, and reached up to stroke his beard. “Sometimes you talk too much.”

Elliot Leighton paced back and forth in front of the Laclede mansion for the better part of the morning before he managed the courage to go inside and ask for Jane. When she came downstairs, rumpled and not in the best of moods, he almost backed down. The meeting began very badly.

“We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he said abruptly when she came in the door.

“Yes. I know.” She stood ramrod straight, holding her hands clasped before her.

“I’ve a meeting arranged with Senator Lance next month. He’s an old friend from West Point. I’m hoping to get something done on behalf of the Indians.”

Miss Jane raised her eyebrows. “Yes. I heard Reverend Dane mention it.”

“I’m hoping to get him to listen, since I’ve been west now.” He smoothed his mustache. “Eyewitness and all that. Of course I’m not an expert by any stretch of the imagination. I wanted Simon to go with me, but the doctors have said he shouldn’t travel. He’s not fully recovered yet—the last two nights notwithstanding.” Elliot cleared his throat nervously.

“Yes.” Miss Jane nodded. “He seems—fragile, somehow. I can’t quite put it into words. But he isn’t his old self.”

“He’ll be fine, they say. Just needs to be careful for a few months. Take care not to get chilled, that sort of thing.”

Miss Jane nodded. “Gen will see that he behaves himself.”

“I think they’ll be happy together. Don’t you? I mean—the age difference and all doesn’t seem to matter.”

“When two people are determined to make a marriage work, it usually works,’Miss Jane said vaguely. “At least that’s been my observation, limited as it is. And they have the children.”

Elliot muttered agreement and scratched his eyebrows. “Would you like some tea, Mr. Leighton?” Miss Jane said, obviously wondering when he was going to get to whatever point it was he had come to make.

“No,” he said abruptly. “No, I—I don’t need tea.” He motioned to a chair. “Would you sit down, please, Jane—may I call you Jane?”

Jane sat down.

Elliot began pacing back and forth again. “I have some things I need to say.”

“Obviously,” Jane said.

“First, I was wrong. About Indians. About a lot of things. And Simon tells me I’ve been wrong about women too. Women in general. And then one woman in particular—that is, you.” He stopped pacing and looked at her and grimaced. “I must sound completely mad.”

Jane nodded. “You do.” She smiled kindly. “Perhaps you are the one who needs to sit down.”

He felt like a puppy, guilty of breaking some household rule, and yet receiving its mistress’s kindness in spite of having been naughty. He sat down opposite her. After another awkward silence, he smiled weakly. “It’s—hard to know where to start.”

“Well,” Jane said, “you had started to say something about women.”

“Yes,” Elliot said. He ran his index finger along the metal hook, frowning. “It took me a long while to realize that the women I knew at home would never be able to look at me without thinking about this—this
thing.”

“I’d say you have some very foolish women in New York, Mr. Leighton,” Miss Jane said quickly.

“You’re different.”

“Thank you. I think.”

Elliot took a deep breath. He looked at Jane with such desperation that she reached out and put her hand on his arm—on his left arm—just above the hook. And she did not withdraw it, but simply sat, looking at him with interest. No pity shone in her eyes, no sympathy. And in that one moment Elliot Leighton realized that he loved her.

“The thing is, Jane. The way you look at me—”

“I’m sorry if I offended,” Jane said and snatched her hand away. “I didn’t mean to be in the least forward—”

“Oh, stop it,” Elliot said quickly. Grabbing up Jane’s hand, he kissed it. “What I’ve been bumbling around like an idiot about is this, Jane: you don’t seem to care about the hook.”

“I don’t. It doesn’t matter.” Her heart skipped a beat or two when Elliot didn’t release her hand.

“You find me—attractive?”

Jane laughed softly. “Is the Mississippi muddy?”

Elliot searched her face as he said, “Miss Jane, will you go with me to Washington when I try to get someone to listen? Will you help me get aid sent to the Dakota? Will you be my partner in the effort to help our friends somehow? And, above all, Miss Jane, will you marry me?”

“Will I—what?” Miss Jane leaned back in her chair, eyeing him with a slight frown.

“You heard me, Jane,” Elliot said quietly. “Will you marry me?” He rushed ahead, “Because you find me attractive,” he said quickly. “Because we share an interest in helping the Dakota people. Because we are compatible. Because no one on this earth exasperates me as much as you. Because you don’t need a husband to make you happy. And,” he said, taking in a deep breath, “because I think I am in love with you.”

“Repeat that, Mr. Leighton,” Miss Jane said softly.

“What?”

“The last part.”

He leaned over and kissed her hand gently. “Because, Miss Jane, I believe I am in love with you.” He looked up at her, his blue-gray eyes warm with emotion. “We’ll test the theory on the train trip to New York. With Simon and Gen as chaperones.”

Miss Jane studied his face for a moment. “You know, Mr. Leighton,” she said carefully, “I’ve prided myself on being content. On making my spinster’s life count for Christ.”

“And it has.” He leaned forward earnestly. “But I’m thinking we could make our lives count even more if we worked together.” He groped for her hand again. “Like Simon and Genevieve.”

Miss Jane looked at him, at the beautiful silver hair, the strong jaw, the cleft chin, the purposeful blue-gray eyes. She allowed her heart to do at least two flip-flops before she said, “It wouldn’t do for my friends to think I’d just desperately thrown myself at a man after all these years.”

“You didn’t throw yourself at me, Jane,” Elliot said with an edge of frustration in his voice. “Anyone who thinks that doesn’t know you. Just come with us to New York. That’s all I’m asking. If you decide you hate me, you can run away.”

“All right, Mr. Leighton,” Jane said carefully. “I accept. We’ll try the trip, with the Danes as our chaperones, and see what we think. And if you decide you hate me, you can send me away.” Then she smiled. “But if you decide to keep me, Elliot Leighton, you must agree to marry me immediately. I hate long engagements and I’m not getting any younger.”