Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) (2 page)

“That’s just it, Rob.  Your father has this crazy
idea about going to California.  They discovered gold there, and he thinks he
can rebuild his fortune.”

Rob nodded.  “I read about that.  When do we leave?”

Sarah blinked.  “You’re so calm about all this. 
Aren’t you the least bit scared or sad?”

Rob turned away.  “It has been a long day, Mother,
and I have a lot to do tomorrow.”  He left her room quickly before he lost his
hard-won composure.

*  *  *

They traveled to Missouri in a carriage with the few
possessions they had left strapped to the top.  Hector drove the carriage, but
he had to return once they reached St. Joseph.

They only had enough money for a room in a boarding
house.  Hector unloaded their trunks.  Sean fished into his pocket and gave him
a silver dollar.  “Here you go, Hector.  Take care of yourself.”

“Yes sir, Mister Sean.”  Hector’s face was
expressionless.

“Please give Maude our love,” Sarah said softly.

Hector nodded.  “Yes’m.”  He turned to Rob.

Rob’s throat ached so badly he could not speak.

Hector went down on one knee.  “You take good care
of your folks, Mister Rob.”

Rob nodded.

Hector smiled at him briefly.  Then, he stood and
climbed into the box.  He cracked the whip, and the carriage rolled away.

Rob watched until the carriage disappeared around a
bend.  Then, he turned and helped his father carry their baggage up the steps
of the boarding house.  Sean knocked on the door.

A tall woman with blue eyes and light brown hair
opened the door and smiled.  “You must be the Flynns.  Please, come in.  My
name is Mrs. Hamilton.”

Rob relaxed a little at the sight of the woman’s
warm smile.  They entered the hallway.  Sean and Rob carried the trunks up the
stairs to their rooms.  Sarah started to cry.

Sean turned and strode down the stairs.

Rob started after him, but Sarah laid a slim hand on
her son’s arm and shook her head.  “Let him go, Rob.  It’s the only comfort he
has left.”

Rob hesitated.  Then, he nodded.  He turned back to
the room and began to unpack.

*  *  *

Sean Flynn didn’t come back that night.  Or the
next.  Or the next.  Weeks passed.  The last wagon train rolled out of St. Jo
on a rainy April morning.

Rob sat on the top rail of the corral fence and
watched the wagons sway over the rutted road.  A part of him was relieved, but
a part of him longed to see what was on the other side of the river.  He sighed
and went back to the boarding house.

Sean was there.  His face was flushed, but he waved
a fistful of crisp bills under Rob’s nose.  “We’re going!  We’re actually going
to California, Rob.  What do you think of that?”

Rob grimaced.  “We missed the last wagon train,
Father.”

Sean snorted contemptuously.  “We don’t need those
bumpkins.  We’ll just follow the trail.”

Rob opened his mouth and shut it again.  He had
learned the hard way not to argue with his father.

*  *  *

It took another week to purchase and outfit a
wagon.  Rob looked at the horses skeptically, but once again, he kept his mouth
shut.  Sean helped Sarah into the box, and climbed up beside her.  Rob climbed
up the other side of the wagon and sat on the opposite side of his mother. 
Sean slapped the reins onto the swayed backs of the horses.  They lurched
forward, and in spite of everything, Rob felt a thrill of excitement.

They hadn’t gone far when they met a tall man with
broad shoulders, riding a small horse.  He wore a fur cap, made from the pelt
of a raccoon.  The tail of the coon dangled rakishly from the back of the cap. 
Sarah shuddered with revulsion, but Rob stared at the cap in fascination.

The tall man doffed his hat and grinned.  “The name’s
Alexander, Alexander Ridgeton.  Where are you folks headed?”

“California.”  Sarah smiled at Ridgeton.

Sean scowled.  “Sarah, that’s none of his business.”

“Alone?  You’re traveling alone?”

Sean nodded.

Ridgeton’s smile faded.  “That’s not too smart,
Mister.  There’s been a lot of trouble between the Lakota and the Army.  They
killed the chief’s father a while back, and he doesn’t take kindly to whites
traveling through his territory.”

Sean snorted.  “
His
territory?  In case he
hasn’t heard, Nebraska is a territory of the United States.”

“Oh, Pathfinder’s heard all right.  He just doesn’t
like it very much.”  Ridgeton sighed.  “Well, good luck, folks.”  He turned his
horse toward St. Jo.

Rob watched him go.  Fear coiled in the pit of his
stomach.

That night, they made camp beside the Platte.  Rob
lay on his back and stared up at the stars.  He had never seen so many stars. 
The river murmured softly, like Maude’s voice when she told him a story.  The
wind sighed in the new, tender leaves of the trees that lined the river.

Rob sighed too, and happiness filled him, like hot
chocolate on a cold night.

He shut his eyes and slept.

*  *  *

Four weeks later, on a hot June afternoon, they came
to a waterfall.  A light breeze blew the mist across the pool.  Rob jumped down
from the wagon and ran to the water.  Sean followed him, staggering from the
whiskey he had drunk that morning.  Rob knelt and scooped up the water in his
hands and drank it.  It was cold and clean, like freshly fallen snow.

Sean stood, swaying, beside him.  He unfastened his
trousers and relieved himself into the pool.

A dozen Indians materialized out of the shadows
beneath the trees.  Sarah screamed as an arrow flew from the bow of one of the
Indians and struck her husband in the back.

Rob turned.  Sean fell slowly, like a tree.  Rob
knelt beside his father.  Blood trickled from the corner of Sean’s mouth.  He
reached toward his son’s face.  His face contorted in pain, and his hand fell
onto the damp ground before he could touch Rob’s cheek.

Anger filled Rob, and he forgot everything he had
learned of strategy and tactics.  He turned and ran toward the Indian who had
fired the arrow.  He struck the man’s chest with his fists.

CHAPTER
TWO

Laughing, the killer lifted Rob by his skinny
wrists.  He spoke to the other Indians in a language Rob didn’t understand. 
The other Indians nodded.

The killer handed Flynn to another man and turned to
Sarah and spoke in English.  “My name is Pathfinder.  You and your son belong
to me, now.  Come.”

Sarah shook her head.  Pathfinder scowled.  He
strode to the wagon, seized Sarah’s arm and dragged her from the wagon seat. 
Sarah struggled to pull free.  "Let me go!"

Pathfinder slapped her.  “Be silent, woman.”

Sarah slapped him back.

Silence filled the clearing.  The only sound was the
rush of water over the falls.  Rob’s belly tightened, and he tensed, ready to stand
between his mother and the man who murdered his father.

Pathfinder regarded Sarah silently for a long time. 
Slowly, he smiled.  “You have the spirit of a brave.  You will bear me strong
sons.”

“I will do no such thing!  You killed my husband,
you—you savage!”

Pathfinder’s smile vanished.  “It is the whites who
are the savages, who torture and kill old men, women and children.  You belong
to me, and you will do as you are told.  Come, woman.”  He pulled her toward
his horse.

Rob’s mother pulled her hand free and drew herself
up to her full height.  “My name is Sarah Eloise Montgomery Flynn.”

“You have no name until I give you one, slave.”

The blood left Sarah’s face.  “I am
not
a
slave.  I come from one of the oldest families in Virginia.  How dare you—“

Pathfinder raised his hand to slap her again and
stopped.  Instead, he put his hand over her mouth.  “I said be silent.  You and
that boy of yours will learn to obey me or you will get very, very hungry.” 
Swiftly, deftly, he tied Sarah’s wrists together with strips of rawhide.  He
bound Rob’s wrists also and handed his tether to the man beside him.  Then, he
mounted his horse.  He held one end of the rawhide, and Sarah had to either
follow him or be dragged.

Weeping, Sarah stumbled after Pathfinder’s horse.

Rob clenched his teeth against the tears that burned
his eyes and followed the other man.

The Indians rode slowly.  The sun had almost set
when they reached the village.  A boy ran to meet them.  He was a few years
older than Rob, and he had the same high cheekbones and large, dark eyes as
Pathfinder.  Rob noticed the proud smile on Pathfinder’s face and guessed that
the boy was his son.

The women took Sarah to a conical tent made of
animal skins.  Pathfinder handed Rob’s tether to his son and said something in
his own language.

The son nodded.  He turned to Rob.  “My name is Sees
Far.  What’s yours?”

Rob spat at the boy’s feet.

Pathfinder seized his shoulder and spun him around. 
“This is my son. 
You
are a slave.  He treated you with courtesy, asking
for you name.  Ordinarily, slaves do not have names.  Now you will apologize.”

Rob shook his head stubbornly.  “You killed my
father.  I spit on your son, and I spit on you.”  And he did.

Pathfinder struck him so hard that his ears rang.  “Then
you will go hungry, boy.”

Rob lifted his chin and said nothing.

Pathfinder sighed and turned to his son.  “Tie him
up in my tipi.  He can have water but no food until I say so.”

Sees Far nodded.

Rob’s heart pounded as the boy led him away.

It was dark inside Pathfinder’s tent.  “Sit.”

Rob shook his head stubbornly.

Sees Far sighed.  He pushed Rob, and the younger boy
fell on his rump.  Sees Far tied his ankles together.  Then, he left the tent. 
He came back with a gourd filled with water.  He held the gourd to Rob’s lips.

Rob turned his head away.

Sees Far sat on his haunches and nodded.  “Father
said you have the heart of an eagle.”  He grinned suddenly.  “It will be
interesting to see which of you gives in first.”

Rob lifted his chin again.  “It won’t be me.”

Sees Far nodded slowly.  “I believe you are right.”

*  *  *

For three days, Rob refused food and water.  For
three days, Pathfinder stayed away from him.  On the night of the third day,
Rob was delirious.  He dreamed of Lewisburg.  He dreamed that Wall and the other
cadets were beating him.  He cried out in fear.

Strong hands smoothed back his hair.  “Hush, Eagle
Heart.  It is only a dream.”

Rob opened his eyes.  An old man sat beside him. 
His face looked like crumpled leather, but his hands were strong and steady.  “My
name is Keeper, and Pathfinder sent me to reason with you.”

“Keeper?  Keeper of what?”

Keeper smiled.  “Stories.  Tradition.  The way the
People have lived for many, many summers.”

Rob nodded slowly.  “Pathfinder killed my father. 
Why would he send you to reason with me?”

Keeper looked away.  He was silent a long time.  Rob
had the strangest feeling that the old man was looking inward, trying to make a
decision.  Finally, he turned back to Rob.  “There was a reason for your
father’s death.  Do you want to hear it?”

Rob hesitated.  Then, he nodded.

Keeper smiled again, as if Rob had just passed some
kind of test.  “That pool is sacred to us.  It would be as if you pissed into
the holy water in
your
church.”

Rob frowned.  “How do you know about holy water?”

“The Jesuits tried to convert me, but I prefer the
Lakota beliefs.  The Jesuits had too many rules.”  He smiled.  “And I like
women too much.”

Rob found himself smiling in spite of his hunger and
thirst.  His stomach growled.

Keeper touched his shoulder gently.  “All you have
to do is obey Pathfinder.  Then, you can eat.”

Rob shook his head.

Keeper sighed.  He stood in one smooth motion and
left the tent.

Rob almost called him back.  Instead, he turned his
back to the opening and shut his eyes.

He dreamed of the day his father died.  He saw the
arrow fly, slowly, slowly, like a feather drifting in the wind, saw it strike
his father’s back, saw his father fall.

“No!”  Rob’s eyes opened.

Pathfinder sat cross-legged beside him.  “You have
the heart of an eagle.”  He grinned suddenly and rapped on Rob’s head with his
knuckles.  “And the head of an oak.  This is a game you cannot win, Robert Sean
Flynn.”

“How did you find out my name?”  Rob’s voice was
hoarse from lack of water.

“Your mother told me.”

Rob looked away from the gentleness in Pathfinder’s
eyes.

Pathfinder took Rob’s chin between his thumb and
forefinger, gently turning his head around so they faced each other.  “I
understand your anger.  I, too, hate the men who killed my father.  I honor
your anger, and I honor your courage.  But you are too young to challenge me in
combat.  When you have learned to fight, you will have that right.  But in order
to live that long, you must eat and drink.  Do we have an agreement?  You will
eat and drink and learn how to kill me.  And when you are old enough, you will
challenge me.  Agreed?”

Rob blinked.  “Why?”

Pathfinder looked away.  “Because I avenged my own
father, and it healed a little of the grief I carry in my heart.”  He looked
back at Rob.  “Do we have an agreement, Robert Sean Flynn?”

Rob nodded.

Pathfinder left the tent.  A few minutes later,
Sarah came in.  She handed him a gourd filled with water.  Rob started to gulp
it.  Sarah took the gourd away from him.  “Pathfinder said that if you drink
too much all at once, it will make you sick.  Just a sip, now.”

Rob nodded.  He took a sip of the water.  He had
never tasted anything as sweet in his life.  His mother gave him a little gruel
to eat, too, but his stomach rebelled.  He vomited.  Sarah wiped his chin and
gave him a little more.

This time, he kept it down.

Sees Far came into the tent and drew a knife.  “My
father says that you have an agreement.  If I cut your bonds, will you run
away?”

Rob shook his head.  “No.  I will stay long enough
to learn how to fight, and then I will kill your father.”

Sees Far grinned.  “Well, you can try.”

*  *  *

The days passed swiftly.  Pathfinder taught Rob how
to use a bow and arrow and a spear and a knife.  He taught him how to fish, how
to track game through forest or prairie.

“Our people used to live in the north, in the
forests along the great lake that is like the sea.”

“Why did you leave?”  Rob asked.

Pathfinder sighed.  “The whites drove us from that
land.”  He turned and stared eastward.  “I fear that soon, they will drive us
from this land, too.”

Rob didn’t want to feel sympathy for the man who had
killed his father, but he knew what it felt like to lose his home, and the knot
of hatred in his gut loosened a little.

Then, a year after Sean Flynn died, Pathfinder
married Sarah.  Rob stood as still as a stone and watched the ceremony.  At
first, he thought that Pathfinder had someone forced her into it, but when the
ceremony ended, Sarah turned to Pathfinder and smiled.

And she looked happier than Rob had ever seen her.

A dozen emotions jabbed him, like the sharp beaks of
carrion crows.  Rob turned and ran to the picket line.  He jumped onto Snow
Mane, the pony Pathfinder had given him, and rode away.  He rode toward Fort Leavenworth
with the half-formed idea of bringing soldiers back to kill Pathfinder.  Near
dawn, Snow Mane was stumbling with weariness.  Rob dismounted near the Blue River
and walked the horse to cool him off.  He let the pinto drink a little water. 
He tethered the horse in a stand of cottonwoods.  He curled up near the bank of
the river, but he could not sleep.  Over and over again, he heard Pathfinder’s
voice. 
Do we have an agreement, Robert Sean Flynn?

 Rob sighed.  He waited until dawn, and then he rode
back to the village.

Pathfinder was waiting for him.

Rob slid from the back of the pinto and stood before
the chief.  He lifted his chin defiantly.

Pathfinder hesitated.  “Walk with me.”

Rob’s belly tightened with fear.  He remembered all
too well the times Sean had taken his belt to his back.  But he kept his face
expressionless and walked beside Pathfinder.  They left the village and came to
a low hill.  Beyond the hill lay the prairie.  Pathfinder stood and watched the
wind in the grass.  “It is as if one of the gods walks in that grass, invisible,
but there.”

Rob had never heard Pathfinder speak of his god
before, and he felt curious.  “Do you believe in God?”

Pathfinder nodded slowly.  “Many.  Many things are
sacred to us, Robert Sean Flynn.  But the love between a man and woman is the
most sacred.”

Rob looked away.  Tears blurred his vision, and he
didn’t want to shame himself in front of Pathfinder.  “Why did you have to go
and marry my mother?”

Pathfinder took Rob's chin in his hand and turned
his head until they faced each other.  “Because I love her.  And she loves me. 
Eagle Heart, she has told me of your life with your father.  I am sorry that
the drink took him from you so young.”

Rob lifted his chin.  “I was ten years old.  Not
that young.”

Pathfinder’s mouth twitched, but he sobered
swiftly.  “The man who was your father died long before my arrow ever touched
him.”

Rob looked away again.  He wanted to argue, but what
Pathfinder had said was true.  The man Rob loved had died a long time before
they reached the sacred waterfall.  Something hard and tight in Rob's chest
eased a little.  “I miss him.”  The words spilled out before Rob could stop
them.  He realized, suddenly, that he trusted Pathfinder more than he ever
trusted his father.

“I miss my father, too.  I have a confession to make,
Rob.”

Rob turned to him.  “Why did you call me that?  You’ve
never called me that before.”

Pathfinder looked older and sadder.  “Because it is
your name, and I wish to honor who you are with the truth.”  He drew a deep
breath.  “I did not kill your father because he desecrated a holy place.  I
killed him because he was white.”

Rob stared at him.  “Really?”

Pathfinder nodded.  He looked away.  “White men came
from the fort.  They found my father wandering in the prairie grass.  My father
was old, and sometimes, he forgot where he was.  Or even who he was.  They
captured him and tortured him to death.”

Rob shuddered.

Pathfinder drew a deep breath and let it out.  “And
that is why I killed your father.”

Tentatively, Rob reached out and touched Pathfinder’s
arm.

Pathfinder turned to him.  Tears shone in the chief’s
eyes.  He put his arms around him.  They held each other for a long time. 
Then, Pathfinder turned and led Rob back to the village.

*  *  *

From that day on, Rob began to learn how to be a
Lakota.  Pathfinder taught him how to hunt and fish, how to track game in the
forest or plains or desert.  And he taught Rob how to fight.

Then, four years after Pathfinder killed Rob’s
father, Rob came of age.  He spent the night in the sweat lodge, and in the morning,
Keeper brought him before the entire tribe.  “What name will you take, now that
you are a man?”

Rob met Keeper’s gaze levelly.  “Eagle Heart.”

Keeper smiled.

Pathfinder came to him.  Tears shone in the chief’s
eyes.  He held out a knife.

Eagle Heart swallowed hard.  He took the knife from
Pathfinder’s hand.  He felt torn between his duty to his flesh-and-blood
father, and his love for Pathfinder.

Pathfinder hesitated.  “You are not sure?”

Eagle Heart nodded.

Pathfinder nodded back.  “Return to the sweat
lodge.  There, perhaps, you’ll find your answer.”

Eagle Heart nodded.  He turned and went back into
the sweat lodge.  Keeper sat with him.  The old man spilled water from a gourd
onto the rocks.  The water hissed like a rattler, and steam rose like the smoke
of a burning village.  Eagle Heart breathed slowly and deeply, the way he had
been taught.  Slowly, the tension in his belly and shoulders eased.  As the
hours passed, Keeper continued to pour water onto the rocks.  Steam filled the
tent like mist over a river.  Eagle Heart felt hungry at first, but after a
day, his hunger faded.  He drank sparingly from his water skin.  Then, the
visions came to him.  He was three years old, and Sean’s face was smooth and
unlined.  There was no sign of the debauchery to come.  He held Rob on his lap
and told him stories from Ireland about the Little People and taught him the
songs of the bards.  He watched Sean spiral downward into degradation.  Then,
he saw Sean from Pathfinder’s eyes.  Still grieving the death of his own
father, he rode to the sacred waterfall to pray for his father’s soul. 
Although he had killed the men responsible, Pathfinder was afraid that the
shame of his death might torment his father’s spirit.