Savage Courage (19 page)

His eyes were open and directed straight ahead, locked in a death stare. The fingers of his right hand were clutched to his shirt above his heart. He had apparently died of a heart attack.

“It can’t be,” she whispered. “He’s dead!”

Then she saw what his other hand held—the red bandanna he had given her to wear before she left the fort. It seemed an eternity ago, so much had happened in the intervening time.

She only now realized that she had left it in Mountain Jack’s cabin. That meant George must
have been there. He knew that she had been with Mountain Jack!

He had probably surmised that she was dead.

Tears came to her eyes, for even though she had wanted to hate George Whaley for who he had been in his younger years, she could not forget the good times they had known together.

He
had
loved her.

He had tried to give her the world to make up for what he had taken from her. She had never wanted for anything . . . except the knowledge of who her true people were.

Now that George Whaley was dead, neither she nor Storm was going to achieve vengeance. If George was dead, how could they? He would never know that she left him because she wanted to. He would never know that she was reunited with her true mother and people of her own tribe.

“Shoshana?”

A familiar voice drew her quickly around.

Colonel Hawkins stepped into the room. “Shoshana, I knocked on the door, but when you didn’t come I became alarmed,” he said. “I was told you had arrived at the fort. I had to come and tell you how glad I am that you are safe. We had all thought you were . . .” His gaze swept slowly over her. “The way you are dressed . . .” he began, a troubled note in his voice.

Then, noticing the way she was looking at
George, seeming not to even hear him, Colonel Hawkins glanced quickly at the other man.

When he leaned over and saw George’s eyes and their transfixed stare, he gasped. “Lord, oh, Lord,” he said. “He’s dead.”

“I found him that way,” Shoshana said, setting the lamp on a table beside the bed. “I feel responsible. Had I not left . . .”

Colonel Hawkins went to her. He took her hands. “Do not blame yourself,” he said softly. “From what I have noticed, your father has been having trouble with his heart. It was only a matter of time. Do not blame yourself for what was going to happen anyway.”

Shoshana slid her hands free. She hurried from the room.

Carrying the lamp, Colonel Hawkins came after her. He followed her into her room and set the lamp on a table. “Shoshana, I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “And don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take care of all the arrangements. I imagine we should bury him in our small cemetery. And, Shoshana, he will get a full military funeral.”

“I knew you would see to that,” Shoshana said, recalling the many funerals she’d attended back in Missouri and at the other military forts. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Colonel
Hawkins asked, his eyes filled with sympathy. “Are you going to be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Shoshana said, nodding.

“I’ll send someone soon for the body,” Colonel Hawkins said. “Then you get some rest. And do you want food? Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine,” she said, swallowing hard, for she was taking this death much worse than she would have imagined.

“I’ll tell the soldiers not to disturb you in any way,” Colonel Hawkins said.

“Thank you,” Shoshana murmured. “I appreciate all that you are doing for me.”

“I wish I could do more,” he said, then walked from the house, leaving Shoshana alone with her thoughts, and her guilt.

“What must I do?” she whispered to herself, pacing. She had not expected to feel so torn. Should she stay and attend the funeral?

But, no. Storm was waiting for her. And she truly didn’t want to be a part of the funeral.

She walked to a window and gazed up at the sky. It was finally dark. And there wasn’t any trace of a moon. Escaping would be easy, for that was what she had decided to do. She would leave this place as soon as she could.

She would leave a note, but not the one she had originally planned. She would explain to the colonel
how she felt about things and that she needed time alone; she would ask him not to send anyone to look for her.

She would explain that she had her future mapped out, and beg him to respect her privacy.

But she wouldn’t give any details. He would just have to accept that she was gone.

She hoped he wouldn’t come looking for her. She doubted that he would. She was nothing to him. He might even be glad that she was gone.

Returning to her original task, Shoshana carried the lamp into the room where the trunks and bags were stored. After placing the lamp on the floor, she sat down before a distinctive-looking trunk. She knew it was the one that held Dorothea’s things, but now she recognized it as similar to ones she’d seen in Apache lodges. It was made of rawhide. In the Apache trunks, ceremonial garments and other articles were stored when they were not in use. She suspected that George had stolen this from an Apache home before . . . before . . . burning it.

Slowly she lifted the lid. Everything inside was neatly organized. She saw some of her mother’s pretty dresses and jewelry, a pile of her lovely lace hankies, a Bible, and other personal items.

The first thing she took from the trunk was a dress of her mother’s which she decided to take. She would never forget how beautiful and petite her mother had
been. The dress was made of a beautiful soft, silky gauze. It was an almost translucent material.

She also took a lovely embroidered hankie that had been her mother’s, and a few other small, personal items.

When she saw a piece of maroon velvet folded neatly at the bottom, she raised her eyebrows curiously. The velvet was wrapped around something.

“What could it be?” Shoshana whispered, lifting the velvet piece onto her lap.

Slowly she unfolded a corner, then felt the blood rush from her face when she got her first glimpse of . . . of . . .

No!

Oh, surely it wasn’t what she thought it was!

But after unfolding the velvet wrapping, she felt sick to her stomach to discover a scalp.

The hair was not an Indian’s.

It was golden!

George Whaley had surely killed a white woman and taken her scalp. But why would he, unless . . . unless he found that woman living with Indians?

Then her heart seemed to drop to her toes. She recalled how Storm had described his mother as a golden-haired princess, so beautiful.

Could this be her scalp?

Shoshana was sickened by the thought that this man she had once loved had been vicious and heart-less
enough to take a white woman’s scalp, and had even kept it as a sort of spoils of war . . . as a trophy!

Was that how he had seen Shoshana?

As a trophy of sorts?

Was that why he had taken her? Had his first intention been to take her back to the fort to show her off, and then . . . then . . . kill her?

Sobbing, she folded the hair back inside the velvet wrap. She took it with her and stood over George’s dead body, which had yet to be removed. “Why?” she sobbed. “Why? How? How could you have killed and scalped a white woman? Why did you keep the scalp? Was it something you were proud of?”

The fact was that he
had
done this terrible deed. It was something she would never understand or be able to forget.

“Shoshana?”

Colonel Hawkins’s voice drew her quickly around.

She glanced down at the velvet wrapping, panicking that the colonel might find her with it. What if he had seen it and knew that the wrapping held a scalp within its folds?

Colonel Hawkins came into the room with four other soldiers.

Her heart pounded as she awaited his reaction to what she was holding, but when he didn’t seem a bit
interested in it, she assumed that he had never been shown George Whaley’s “prize.”

She watched as George’s body was removed; then when the colonel came to her and gave her a tender gaze, she smiled up at him, still holding the velvet wrapping in her arms.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for everything.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” the colonel said, turning to leave. He stopped as he noticed what she held. “I see that you’ve found something of your mother’s to keep. That’s good, Shoshana. That’s good.”

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ll send word ahead that we need a stagecoach brought here for your return to Missouri,” he said. “That is where you want to go, isn’t it?”

She was taken aback by the question.

She had not thought ahead to what would be expected of her. “Yes,” she quickly said. “Yes, I would like to be taken to Missouri. I have a lot of friends there.”

“I knew you did,” the colonel said. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Try to get some rest, Shoshana. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He started to leave, but again stopped and turned to gaze at her. “Shoshana, I think you’d like to know that many things point to Mountain Jack’s death,”
he said. “We found his horse . . . and the scalps he was carrying with him. The horse was badly injured. We believe it was a panther attack. Apparently, Mountain Jack was dragged away by the panther.”

“Lord,” Shoshana gulped out.

“Just thought you’d like to know that he won’t bother you ever again, or take any more scalps,” he said. “You see, we know you were taken prisoner by the man. We found your bandanna there.”

Shoshana gazed down at what she still held . . . the scalp . . . then looked quickly up at him again. “Yes, I was taken captive by that man. And . . . and . . . thank you for telling me that he is dead,” she murmured.

“I have to ask, Shoshana,” Colonel Hawkins said, an eyebrow lifting. “Did Mountain Jack harm you in any way?”

“No, he didn’t harm me,” she murmured.

“How did you get away?” Colonel Hawkins asked.

Shoshana was beginning to feel trapped. She was not a skilled liar. But neither would she want to tell of Storm’s role in all of this.

“He was careless,” she murmured. “After he left to deliver the scalps and pelts to the man who bought them from him, I was able to unlock the chain that held me prisoner.”

“The dress?” Colonel Hawkins asked, gazing at it. “He gave it to you to wear?”

“I found it among his things,” Shoshana said softly, her lies deepening. “My clothes were quite soiled. I was eager to exchange them for something cleaner.”

“You were gone for so long,” Colonel Hawkins said questioningly.

“I had trouble finding my way down the mountain,” she said. “I was lucky I finally arrived here, out of harm’s way.”

“Well, there isn’t anything to worry about now,” Colonel Hawkins said. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Shoshana smiled and nodded as she watched him leave.

Then she hurriedly gathered together her mementos and placed them, along with the velvet wrapping and its golden hair, in a small travel bag.

Then she sat on the couch in the living room before a fire that she had just lit and waited for everyone at the fort to retire for the night, and for the sentries to carelessly fall asleep.

Finally she was able to flee into the night. She hurried through the darkness, making sure no one saw her. She was glad when she reached the outer fringe of the aspen forest where Storm still waited for her.

She set the bag down on the ground and flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Storm, it’s so awful,” she cried, clinging.

“What is so awful?” he asked, holding her close. “Leaving him? Do you regret leaving him, after all?”

She stepped away from him. “No, it’s not that,” she murmured. She reached for the bag and opened it. Slowly she removed the velvet bundle. “No.
This
is what I find so awful,” she said, her voice breaking.

She unfolded the velvet wrapping.

She watched Storm’s reaction as the moon slid from behind the clouds, sending its bright light down onto the golden hair.

“Where . . . did . . . you get this?” he gasped out.

She explained about everything that had happened since her arrival back at the fort, about finding George Whaley dead, and then finding the scalp.

“This is my mother’s hair,” Storm said, tears filling his eyes. “I would know it anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Shoshana murmured. “I did not know the fiend I was living with until recently.”

“And now he is dead,” Storm said thickly.

“Yes, dead,” Shoshana murmured.

“I must take this and place my mother’s hair at our people’s burial grounds,” Storm said, placing the scalp within the velvet again, and folding the corners so that the scalp was hidden from his sight. “Although I no longer know exactly where her grave is, if I place the scalp among the graves of our people, her spirit will find it there and be able to rest again in total peace.”

After Shoshana’s belongings were secured at the side of Storm’s horse, he came to her and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her sweetly, then lifted her onto the saddle.

He mounted behind her and they rode off together, now as one, their shadows merging in the moonlight, their hearts beating like the same drum. The far-off singing of a coyote could be heard in high staccato notes.

Shoshana tried to think of some happier topic than these last hours.

She smiled as she thought of her and Storm’s upcoming marriage.

She would wear her adopted mother’s favorite dress. Dorothea Whaley had been all sweetness and loveliness.

Although Shoshana wanted to look like an Apache for her wedding, she wanted to remember her mother Dorothea and her sweetness in her own special way . . . by wearing her dress.

In her mind, she knew she would never understand why George Whaley had kept the scalp, or even why he had taken a five-year-old child that day, and then kept her.

Had he been so proud of playing the role of a murdering cavalry leader that he could never totally let go of it?

In the end, his actions had condemned him in Shoshana’s eyes forever and erased whatever good
feelings she had ever felt for him. Her ambivalence was over.

Now she was at peace with herself about everything.