Heart of the Sandhills (24 page)

“Maybe I will,” Willets shot back.

Aaron looked at him sternly. “Why should God listen to you? You probably haven’t spoken to Him in years. You don’t even know Him. You said that yourself.”

“I didn’t know God played favorites when it came to prayers,” Willets said, half joking.

“He doesn’t. But He’s pretty plain about who He does and doesn’t listen to. So unless you’re serious about knowing Him, I’d suggest you just whisper a prayer to the wind, or whatever else it is you believe in.” Aaron nudged his horse forward and caught up with Elliot.

Willets pulled his horse behind the travois, frowning and thinking.
Who was Aaron Dane to tell him God wouldn’t listen to John Willets’s prayers, anyway? Who did he think he was? It was Daniel’s life they were talking about.
And John Willets valued it as much as anyone else. Surely they all knew that.

A cool wind began to blow. Willets sensed rather than felt the little woman behind him shiver, although she seemed to be leaning a little closer to him now. Up ahead, Aaron pulled his horse up and dismounted just long enough to untie his bedroll. When Willets and the woman rode by, he held a blue-and-white quilt up for the woman and said something in Lakota. Two Moons answered him gently and draped the quilt across her shoulders.

“Captain,” Aaron said, catching up with them quickly. “I—I’m sorry about what I said back there.”

“No problem,” Willets said abruptly.

“No, that’s not true, sir. I’m worried about Daniel, but so are you in your own way and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Of course I’ve been praying. And you can, too. Only—”

“Only what? Only I’m not holy enough for it to do any good?”

Aaron was quiet for a minute. He swallowed hard. “It’s not that, sir. No one’s holy enough that God wants to hear what they have to say about anything. That’s not it.”

“What is it, then, Dane? I’m all ears.” Willets did not try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Well, sir, the way I understand it is this: sin puts a gap between the sinner and God. And since we’re all sinners, we’re all separated by that gap. The Cross is what closes the gap. Jesus did away with sin by taking it on Himself at the cross. Once we make it personal, it’s as if our own sins were with Him when He died. So our sins are all forgiven and the gap is closed. There’s a bridge we can ride across. And when we get to the other side, there’s no gap anymore between us and God, because Jesus took the sin that was keeping us separated.”

“And then God hears our prayers and does what we want?” Willets said.

“No, sir, not exactly,” Aaron said. “I mean, yes, once we accept the Cross for our sins, the sin gap goes away. He hears our prayers then. But He still might not do what we want.”

“You telling me God might not answer your prayers for Daniel?” Willets snorted. “If you think that, why do you bother to pray?”

“Oh, I know He’ll answer,” Aaron said. “I just don’t know how He’s going to answer. He does what He wants.”

“Well, good for God,” Willets said. “If He just goes around doing what He wants, then I don’t think I’ll bother to get in good with Him.”

“Well, sir,” Aaron cleared his throat, “I can see how you’d feel that way. Lots of people say they believe in Jesus just because they want to get in good with God and have Him do things for them. They kind of think of Him like He’s magic or something.”

“But you don’t think of God that way, do you Dane? Neither do Two Stars or his wife.”

“No, sir. It’s different for us.”

“I know it’s different,” Willets snapped. “But you can’t seem to explain it so a man can understand it.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Willets shook his head. He sighed. When he finally spoke, his voice was kinder. “It’s all right, boy. It probably can’t be explained. Religion gets confusing, even for theologians. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Can—can I just tell you what it means to me, knowing Christ and all?” Aaron asked shyly.

“Fire away,” Willets said.

“Well, it’s like this. I was raised by missionaries, so I learned a lot about the Bible and God. And I knew about Jesus dying on the Cross and it was for the sins of mankind and all that. I knew it in my head anyway. But then the outbreak happened and I saw all those terrible things. It really threw me. I just couldn’t see how God could be in all that.” Aaron paused, thinking hard. “I think I hated God for a while because I knew He could stop it, but He didn’t. I couldn’t understand it.”

“And now you do?”

“Oh, no, sir. I still don’t understand it all. But I think I got enough little pieces to get me through.” Aaron brushed his hand down his jaw, rubbing the stubble growing there. “All these bad things that happen, they aren’t God. They’re sin in the heart of man. And God doesn’t want it any more than we do. But unless a man knows Him, he sins and sins and sins again. But when a man goes to God and gets his sin forgiven, God puts a new man inside him. Someone who has the power to look evil in the face and choose good. That’s why Daniel can make all the choices he makes, like not taking vengeance against Abner Marsh when everything inside him wants to do it. And being worried about me in a battle. That’s why he can love like he does. There’s a new man inside him.”

“You telling me Jesus is the reason he and Genevieve love each other so much?”

“Sure. God’s love pours out of the new man if Christians let it. And when you know God, you learn He does things different from humans. I mean, if He acted like us He wouldn’t be God, would He? He’s working things out for our good and His glory—there’s a promise like that in the Bible. But sometimes that means things happen we don’t like. And we just have to trust He knows what He’s doing.”

“Seems to me you just take your faith blindly, Aaron,” Willets said. “You look at the world and you interpret it through your faith, but when things don’t match up, you just say ‘that’s God’.” Willets meant it as a criticism and a challenge. He was surprised when Aaron nodded and agreed with him.

“Exactly, sir. We walk by faith. Not by sight.”

“Faith in a God who doesn’t make sense,” Willets said. “Faith in a God who tells us everything we need to know in His Word—and expects us to live by it.”

“Oh, so now I have to believe in God
and
the Bible,” Willets said.

“Who wants to believe in a God they don’t know? And how are you going to know who God is unless you read His Book, sir?” Aaron said. He was amazed that Willets even asked the question.

Willets shook his head. “Don’t think I’m ready for that, son. The Bible doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to a whole lot of people, me included.”

“How much of it have you read?” Aaron asked quickly.

“Enough to know I don’t understand it.”

“You ever ask God to explain it to you?”

“You just told me God isn’t listening when reprobates like me talk to him,” Willets said.

“Maybe I’m wrong about that. Maybe you should ask Him and find out.” Aaron nudged his horse ahead and leaned down to say something to Daniel.

Willets closed his eyes momentarily. He was tired. His mind was scrambled with doubts and questions and fears and uncertainty. And he didn’t like the feeling one bit. Presently he urged his horse into a canter and caught up with Picotte.

“I’m thinking I should ride on ahead to the fort and get the doctor on notice we’re coming in,” he said.

Picotte frowned. “I don’t know about that. Not so sure there isn’t a party of warriors trailing this little gal.” He nodded at Two Moons.

“If there is, they’d have attacked by now,” Willets said. “We’re pretty obviously defenseless.”

Picotte considered. Finally he shrugged, “Fine. If you’re willing to take the risk, go ahead.”

“Can you tell her what I’m doing?” Willets said. “Let her stay here if she wants.”

Picotte and Two Moons exchanged a few phrases. Then Picotte nodded. “Go ahead. She’ll stick with you. She says just don’t let the soldiers hurt her.”

“Tell her she’s safe with me,” Willets said.

“I reckon she knows that,” Picotte answered, but he translated anyway.

Willets felt the little woman’s arms encircle his waist. He took that as permission to leave, and in a moment the two were galloping away from the group of travelers, headed for Fort Phil Kearney.

Late in the afternoon Willets came thundering back, leading two dozen soldiers and a military ambulance. The ambulance pulled up and the rear doors were opened. Elliot led his mare so that the travois was positioned just beside those opened doors and all Daniel’s friends gathered around while the fort surgeon examined Daniel. After one look at the leg he said, “That has to come off.” He looked up at the circle of friends. “Now.”

“Now?” Elliot asked. “Out here?”

“The sooner the better,” the doctor said. He looked at Elliot’s hook.

Elliot raised his hand. “Antietam,” he said. “Bloody Monday. Cannonball.”

“Think you can assist in a surgery?” the doctor said. He stood upright and reached for a box in the back of the ambulance.

“If I have to,” Elliot said.

“Well someone has to. There’s signs of gangrene around this ankle.” He pointed to a black circle the size of a coin. “Every minute counts.” He looked up at the sky. ‘And there’s a storm moving in.”

“Let’s get started,” Elliot said.

A field examining table was pulled out of the ambulance and set up in the open air. When Two Moons appeared at Daniel’s head, the surgeon frowned. “Get her out of here.”

Two Moons spoke quickly to Picotte, who translated. “She’s been taking care of him. Says he has two broken ribs and a fractured collarbone. The leg bones were showing out the hole when she found him. She pulled them back inside and has been treating him. She says he didn’t have a fever until a couple of days ago. He’d been pretty clearheaded the whole time until then.”

Dr. Grainger looked down at the splint. “Did she do this?”

“She did,” Picotte said without asking Two Moons.

Grainger stared at Two Moons for a moment. She met his gaze.

“Ask her if she’s ever seen a man’s leg cut off before. I don’t want her fainting and causing a distraction.”

Picotte translated again, but when Two Moons answered, he hesitated before giving her answer.

Grainger, who was opening a box of tools that looked very much like carpenter’s saws and drills, didn’t look up. “Well?”

“She’s never seen a man’s leg cut off before. But soldiers cut out her husband’s heart and beheaded her baby. She thinks she can handle this surgery.”

Suddenly, it was very quiet. Grainger looked at the woman and she looked back.

“Tell her I am sorry for what was done to her family,” the doctor said slowly. “Tell her if she would stand at the man’s head and soothe him if he stirs, it would be very helpful.”

Two Moons stood at Daniel’s head. She began to stroke his temples and his forehead. When the doctor soaked a piece of cotton with ether and put it to Daniel’s nose, Two Moons stood back, but the minute the doctor turned his attention to the leg, she leaned down and, putting her head next to his, began to sing quietly.

I trust in the mercy of God for ever and ever.

—Psalm 52:8

“First time I ever operated to the sound of music,” Grainger muttered.

“I’ll make her stop if it bothers you,” Picotte offered. He was standing leaning against the ambulance, his back to the operating table, but near enough he could translate between the doctor and Two Moons as needed.

“No need,” Grainger said. He was making his first cut into the skin as he said, “Some people believe if a healthy person holds the hands of the sick, it gives the sick new strength . . . as if health can pass from the healthy body to the weak. Maybe she can pass on some healing while she sings.”

While he talked, he pulled the skin away from the muscle tissue, explaining as he worked, “It’s been my experience that a straight cut through the calf muscles gives a pain-free stump.” Blood rolled down the table and dripped onto the earth at the foot of the table. Grainger lay his knife down atop Two Stars’s shirt.

“Saw,” he said, and Elliot handed him the saw. “It’s a terrible sound, I know,” he said. Sweat formed on his brow as he worked. “Just remember that sound is the only thing standing between this man and the pearly gates.” Elliot closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the lower half of Daniel’s leg leave the table.

“File,” Grainger said, and worked to smooth the end of the bone. “You need to open your eyes now, Captain Leighton. I’m going to need an extra hand. And whatever you do, don’t faint on me.”

Elliot looked down and grimaced. Bile rose in his throat.

“You going to be all right?”

Elliot swallowed and nodded. “Get on with it.”

The doctor nodded. “Good.” He pulled the skin flap up and stitched it shut. “Neater than stitches at a quilting bee, eh Major? Now brace your hand under the thigh—yes. Just so.” He packed the end of the stump with cotton padding and put more over the knee. “Bandaging is important. Two turns around the stump end—always from behind. Keeps the tension so the skin flap is pulled forward. Prevents ulcerations over the end of the bone.” Grainger worked while he talked. He’d inserted a piece of tubing in the wound before closing. “Drain comes out in two days if it goes all right. We’ll have him moving tomorrow. Assuming he wakes up, of course.” Grainger felt Daniel’s forehead. “Fever’s pretty high.” He spoke to Picotte. “Ask her if she’ll ride with him and keep his face cooled off with water.”

“‘Course she will,” Picotte said.

Daniel was loaded into the back of the ambulance. Two Moons scrambled up behind him, canteen in one hand, cloth in the other. As she bathed his face with cool water, she talked to him.

The surgical table was rinsed off, folded up and put away. The doctor ordered two of the detail from the fort to bury “the specimen.” He washed his hands in the creek and, seemingly oblivious to the bloodstains on his uniform, returned to the ambulance and climbed up alongside the driver for the trip back to the fort.

The military detail lead the way, followed by the ambulance, Picotte, Willets, Leighton, Pope, and Dane. They traveled along in unnatural silence until Willets said something to Elliot and galloped off toward the fort.

“Where’s he going?” Aaron asked.

“To get Genevieve,” Leighton said.

Genevieve Two Stars leaned against the doorframe of the Beaumont’s residence looking out on the Fort Laramie parade ground. The men were drilling in exact precision, the flag was flying, it was a beautiful fall day, and Genevieve was trying her best not to let the tears out.
Be thankful
, she reminded herself.
The children you’ve been working with are good. Libby and the doctor have been kind. You have food and clothing . . . and with these you should be content.

Movement off to the left attracted her attention, and she smiled to see a young antelope peering around the corner of the house at her. It watched her for a moment, its ears flicking first one way, then the other.

“Come here, Beggar,” Gen reached into her pocket for a few grains of corn and held out her hand. One of the soldiers had brought a fawn in this past spring after he found it nestled next to its dead mother. Libby bottle-fed and hand-fed until the little guy learned to walk. Now they couldn’t make him leave. He went from house to barracks to the sutler’s and back again, begging and charming. When Gen sat down at the edge of the rough board porch, Beggar stepped up and accepted her grain offering, then rubbed his head against her shoulder, nearly knocking her over. “Hey, you,” Gen protested. “That’s all there is. Go charm someone else.”

Rolling thunder made her look up toward the mountains. Sure enough, storm clouds were moving in. One of these days the clouds would hold snow. Gen’s eyes wandered to the gates. Her new red dress had been finished for weeks. She had made a blue one, too. And three shirts for Daniel. She’d bought him a new pair of pants and boots . . . and still there was money left in the leather pouch around her neck.

She was beginning to wonder if they were going to spend the winter at Fort Laramie. She was, she told herself for the hundredth time, not worried. Didn’t God say not to be anxious for tomorrow? Didn’t He say He would never give her more than she could bear? She clung to those truths every day—sometimes every moment when she was particularly lonely. She was changing, she knew. She dared not hope that her secret might be true, but she longed for Daniel in a new way, longed to whisper the secret only to him and to have him share new wonder at God’s goodness.

Sighing, Gen got up and headed for the little stone church. Three children were waiting on the stairs, pointing up at the clouds. When she approached, they once again begged for the story of Daniel in the lions’ den. “Inside,” she said, rubbing her arms briskly and following them up the stairs. “Rain’s coming.” The three young boys ran to the front of the little church and clustered on the front pew. Gen sat before them on the stage, wondering if any more would come. Half a dozen children usually joined her each morning.

Rain began to fall, gently pelting against the church windows. Gen began the lesson, teaching her three pupils a few new words in English. She had forgotten how quickly children could learn.

Since she didn’t speak Lakota, their beginnings had been slow. But Libby had already taught them some English as had the soldiers, although Gen found herself trying to
un
teach some of those words. It was difficult for them to understand the concept of swearing. Lakota had no such words.

When the moments passed and no more children came, Gen asked about those absent. They were gone, she learned. Gone to be with relatives up north in winter camp before the snows came. Gen nodded, once again reminded of the mixing of two ways of life, wondering how it would end for those Lakota who spent their time divided between the white man’s world at Fort Laramie and the old ways in winter camp.

When the rain began to click against the window, the children ran to watch small ice crystals sliding down the glass. Gen watched too for a moment before calling them back to the front pew.

“So,” she said, smiling, “now I teach
one, two, three
.”

“
Four! Five! Six!
” the little ones shouted back at her.

She held up her fingers as they counted and had just arrived at ten the second time when she heard someone run up the church steps, with spurs. Her heart pounded as she watched the door. The children turned round, peeking over the top of the pew. The door opened. John Willets stepped in, dressed like a trader. He was alone. He took his hat off and held it in his hand, and then he just stood there staring at her.

The children turned back around, looking at their teacher with wide eyes. Her voice trembling, Gen said they should go.

“Later?” one asked.

Gen glanced down at him, a young boy with gentle brown eyes and a winning smile. She shook her head.

“Tomorrow?” he persisted.

“Ask Mrs. Doc,” Gen said. She was looking back at Willets as she spoke.

The children filed down the church aisle. They stared up at Willets as they walked past him and out the door. Gen sat, clasping her small hands in her lap, watching Willets walk toward her. “Is he dead?” She knew it was her voice, but it was as if she were listening from some place far away.

Willets shook his head. “No. But he took a bad spill. Broken bones. He’s up at Phil Kearney.”

Gen stood up. “How far is that?”

“Six days’ ride.”

“You’ll take me.” She didn’t ask. Somehow she knew he would.

She had packed quickly, and by the time she was finished Willets had bought supplies at the sutler’s and was waiting outside the doctor’s house with a fresh horse for himself and a dapple gray mare with a charcoal mane and tail for her. It was still raining, but the temperature had warmed enough that it was just rain now. ‘When Libby protested their leaving in such weather, Gen insisted they would cover themselves with India rubber blankets and they would be fine.

“You be careful,” Libby said, patting Gen’s arm. “This isn’t a good idea, you know.”

“It is what it is,” Gen said, forcing a smile. “I’m healthy. It will be all right.”

“You shouldn’t be traveling alone with a single man,” Libby said.

Gen smiled at her. “I’m only a Sioux squaw, Libby. No one cares.” She nodded at Willets. “They’ll think he’s a squaw man, but I suspect he can handle that.”

Libby blinked a few times.

“It can’t be helped, Libby. Don’t you see?” Gen’s voice pleaded for her to understand.

“Of course, dear.” Libby patted her arm. She hesitated, then leaned close and whispered, “You should tell him.” She nodded at Willets. “So he knows not to make it too stressful. This rain is going to make things slippery. Easy to fall. Tell him.”

Gen shook her head. “No. Daniel hears it first.”

Libby patted Gen’s arm again and looked at Willets. “You take care with her,” she said firmly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Willets said. He handed Gen a wide-brimmed hat. “To keep the rain from running down your neck. You’ll thank me if the storm gets worse.”

“I’ll thank you now,” Gen said, forcing a smile and pulling the hat down over her ears. She said good-bye and mounted the gray mare. Libby helped her arrange the India rubber blanket so that it covered saddlebags stuffed with the red calico dress and Daniel’s new clothes. At the last minute, Libby tucked a suspicious-looking bottle in with the red dress.

“Wild plum wine, dear. To keep the chill off.”

Gen raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“It has medicinal value,” Libby insisted.

“Thank you,” Gen said. “I’ll remember that.”

‘And remember you are welcome to stay the winter with us. Both of you.” Libby raised an eyebrow and winked. “
All
of you.”

Beneath the India rubber blanket, Gen’s hand went to her waist. She swallowed hard, croaked her thanks, and headed after Willets, who was already waiting at the gate.

When they had ridden outside the fort and were headed north, Willets asked, “You all right? Mrs. Beaumont seemed worried.”

“I’m fine. She worries about everything. The horse slipping and dumping me in brambles. Snow. Daniel. She’s just that kind of person.” It began to rain harder. Gen pulled the rubber blanket down over her skirt as far as it would go and bowed her head beneath the hat.

“You get tired, you say something,” Willets half shouted. “Just keep your eyes on me and don’t worry about anything.” He took his horse up the trail. Gen fell in line behind him, not even bothering to look behind her before Fort Laramie was out of sight.

Toward evening the rain let up. They stopped long enough to roll up the rubber blankets and tie them in place behind their saddles. Gen took her hat off and let it hang from the saddle horn. After a brief rest, they mounted up again, riding a few more miles before lengthening shadows in the valleys signaled the need to make camp for the night.

They had eaten their cold supper and were sitting by a dismally small fire when Gen cleared her throat and asked, “Is he—is he going to die? Is that why you came for me?”

“Of course not,” Willets lied. He stood up abruptly and pretended to check the stakes supporting Gen’s tent. “But broken bones take a while to mend, and you might as well not be sitting down at Fort Laramie worried. Everyone agreed.”