Heart of the Sandhills (7 page)

Hatred stirreth up strifes . . .

—Proverbs 10:12

Leighton Hall

May 5, 1867

Dearest Genevieve and Daniel,

There is no easy way to say this: measles is making the rounds in New York and has stopped at Leighton Hall. Meg has been very ill. She has recovered but has a long convalescence ahead of her. God spared everyone else. But we cannot come to Minnesota, dear ones.

Elliot sends his love and has departed once again for Washington where he feels he can do more good than in coming to you. He is determined to be a member of the new commission visiting Niobrara this summer and, if God wills, may come in the fall to gather up Aaron for the return to New York. That is the good news in this letter. Aaron is coming to Minnesota. We have just returned from sending him off at the railway station. And now a word from Meg
.

Looking at the child-like scrawl that slanted awkwardly across the page, Genevieve frowned. She read:

Dear Mama-Gen and Daniel,

I am so sorry not to be coming with Aaron, but he promises that if I work hard this summer and through the year to adjust, that he will certainly bring me to see you next year. I have asked Aunt Jane to let me tell you myself. My eyesight was affected by the measles. But I can still see light and dark and I am learning to get around the house very well. Grandmother is getting a tutor who works with the blind and he will be teaching me to do all kinds of things, even making my own tea. It is very hard, but when I remember all that you have suffered and how brave you have been, it helps me to be brave, too. I have seen roses and the sunset, and I know how eyes change when a person looks at you in love. I think that is quite a lot to have seen, don’t you? I love you both very much. Meg

At the bottom of the letter, in inch-high letters, Gen read,

Hello Ma. I am five. I can write my name see? HOPE
.

Daniel and Glen had come to their favorite place on the farm to read the letter, a rock ledge that jutted out from the ground behind Jeb Grant’s barn where a spring bubbled out of the earth. More than once they had removed their shoes and dangled their feet in the cool water while they talked at the end of a hot summer day. But this spring evening their attentions were drawn more to the graves beneath the cottonwood tree that shaded the rock than to the music of the bubbling spring. Death had nearly taken Meg. And although defeated, death had left its mark and Meg was blind. And so, Daniel Two Stars gathered his wife into his arms while she wept.

“Why?” Gen sobbed. “Why would God do that to Meg? I don’t understand.”

Daniel sighed. “More and more I don’t understand the God we serve, Blue Eyes,” he paused, “but I trust Him.”

“It hurts,” Gen sobbed.

“I love you, little wife,” Daniel said, “I don’t know what else to say. I am here. God is here. We both love you.”

“It doesn’t seem fair. For Meg to have to—suffer.”

“It is not fair,” Daniel said gently. “But it is, and God will work it for good. He loves Meg more than we do.”

“How did you get to know so much?” Gen muttered grudgingly.

“I tried doubting His love. It didn’t work very well,” Daniel said, hugging her fiercely. “He just kept on pulling me back.”

Gen sighed and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad He did,” she said. “I needed to hear those things. And I need you.”

Daniel returned her kiss. “See that you remember my wise words for the times when
you
must remind
me
of the things I know:”

“Do you think it’s all right for Aaron to come? I mean—with all the trouble here.”

Daniel thought for a moment. “Jeb says things are better with the Quinns and the Baxters. If Aaron is anything like Elliot or Simon, he will be all right even if there is some trouble. He’s nearly a man now anyway.”

“Pray for Meg,” Gen said.

Daniel leaned back against the tree. Gen moved so that she was facing him, seated inside the circle of his legs. And they prayed.

Abner Marsh crouched down behind his plow and, taking a handful of the freshly turned black earth, inhaled deeply.
Nothin’ smells better than fresh plowed dirt
. And this was his dirt. His farm. He stood back up, admiring the color and texture of the soil before dropping it and wiping his palm on his soiled overalls. Taking off his hat, he wiped his brow with his forearm before standing a moment and looking across the field toward the house. His house. His wife. His girls.

Girls
. Abner sighed. He loved his girls but wished to the gods almighty that Sally could give him at least one boy. She’d have done it, too, if it hadn’t been for the murdering Sioux. Sally had lost their baby boy right after they hightailed it off their old place up by Acton. She hadn’t wanted to go. Said she was feeling poorly and afraid what a long wagon ride would do. But Abner had insisted and, as it turned out, their place was burned to the ground the night after they left—at least that was what the neighbors told them a few weeks later. And nothing had been the same since. Sally lost the baby, and in the ensuing months she became thin and pale and hard. She didn’t complain and Abner never saw her cry, but she was nothing like the woman he had married. He’d come to accept that neither of them was anything like the doe-eyed couple in their wedding picture. Probably never would be again. As for Sally, all the quilting bees and understanding women in the world couldn’t change what had happened to her inside. Her religion, weak as it was, hadn’t been much comfort either.

Plopping his crumpled hat back on his head, Abner shrugged the sadness off his shoulders by lifting the reins he’d draped over the plow handles and hollering to his mules to “gid-ap.” Walking the long, straight furrow revitalized him. When he turned the corner and headed back toward the house, he got a glimpse of the two men he’d hired to give Sally her railing and the other useless stuff she wanted on the house. He’d fought her on it, but not much. Sally hadn’t showed much interest in anything new in years. If it gave her pleasure to think on fancying up the house, Abner didn’t mind. He could afford it. Maybe granting Sally’s wish would give him a glimpse of the girl in the wedding picture. He wouldn’t mind seeing her again. He’d tell her all this was for her, that he was born to farm and he loved the land, but it wouldn’t mean much without someone to share it with. He’d tell her he was glad she stuck by him all these years. If the old Sally reappeared, that’s just what he would –

The mules turned up a larger-than-usual rock. Something about its color or shape made Abner holler “Whoa!” Loosely tying the reins over one plow handle, Abner reached around and picked it up. It was a human skull. Catching his breath, he stared at it for a long time before noticing other, smaller bones scattered along the freshly turned split in the earth. Walking to the end of the furrow, he emptied his water bucket and returned to the plow, collecting bones and thinking:
Red Cloud. Little Crow. Wabasha. Fetterman. Shakopee. Uprising. Massacre.

When he had finished collecting all the bones he could find, Abner set the skull atop the pile in the bucket. He walked back to the edge of his field and set the bucket under a tree. Crouching down, he stared at it, shuddering when he realized that he might have just dug up all that was left of some little girl like his Polly or Pris. He was clutching the last thing he found—a tomahawk. Looking toward the farm, he saw the two Indians working on Sally’s porch railing. His grip on the tomahawk tightened until his knuckles were white.

“That’s terrible, Abner,” Thomas Quinn said. He shuddered as he looked down at the bucket sitting at his feet. “I’ll help you bury them.”

“I didn’t bring ‘em here to get your help buryin”em,” Marsh snarled. “I brung ‘em to bring you to your senses. Both of you.” He looked from Quinn to Baxter and back again.

Quinn scratched his beard. “I don’t want to make any more trouble for Jeb Grant, Abner. I already told you that.”

“So did I,” Baxter interjected. “What’s done is done.” He looked down at the bones. “Poor little thing.”

“I’m not trying to make trouble for Jeb Grant,” Marsh insisted. “I’m trying to save his thick, Injun-lovin’ hide. Can’t you fellers see that?” Marsh reached into his back pocket and with-drew his final piece of evidence. He thrust the tomahawk at Quinn. “Found that with the bones. Guess that says it all.”

Quinn pushed the tomahawk away. “Look, Abner, I read the same newspaper you do. I read all about Fetterman. I been readin’ all the news about Red Cloud and all. But, Abner, those things are happenin’ a thousand miles away. They got nothin’ to do with me. Nancy Lawrence has been real nice to Violet and my Lydia.”

“Harriet don’t say nothing bad about them women. Says they’re real hard workers,” Earl offered, adding as a last thought, “and one of ‘em’s about to have a baby.”

“Nits make lice,” Marsh said, “birthin’ another warrior right under our noses.” He swore. “And you’re both too stupid to stop it.”

Quinn scratched his beard. Smoothing it, his finger landed on the open spot next to his bottom lip—the spot Lydia liked to kiss. He cleared his throat. “Look Abner. I’m sorry if it makes you mad to hear this, but the truth is, even if Daniel Two Stars and Richard Lawrence
did
do something bad during the outbreak, I got to think they’ve paid ten times over. Two Stars was nearly hung and the both of them spent months in prison. We got to move on, Abner. It isn’t healthy, brooding on something that happened years ago. It just isn’t healthy and it doesn’t do anybody any good.”

Baxter, a man of few words, climbed aboard his wagon. “I agree with Tom,” he said quickly. He nodded down at the bucket.

“You want me to take them into town and see to the buryin’? I got to pick up Harriet’s new sewing machine at Ludlow’s.”

Marsh bent down and snatched up the bucket. “I’ll see to it,” he grunted, and headed inside his barn.

Quinn mounted his mule and trotted after Baxter. “That man’s gone a little off in his head. We better keep an eye on him.”

Baxter shrugged. “Oh, Abner’s all right. He’s just bullheaded. He won’t do anybody any real harm.”

Quinn clucked to his mule and headed off toward home, lifting his hand and waving to Baxter as he disappeared over a rise in the distance.

Having faced his demons, both literal and imaginary, having won against challenges to his new Christian faith, having followed the example of his biblical name-bearer Daniel and lived among the lions without being devoured, Daniel Two Stars was finally to be beaten by a threadbare shirt. He was seated on an upended tree stump sanding one of the rungs for Mrs. Abner Marsh’s new porch railing when a horsefly began to torment him. Slapping at the horsefly, Daniel dropped the porch rail. Bending over to retrieve the porch rail, he felt the shoulder seam of his worn red shirt give way. He trotted behind the barn to inspect the damage. When he took off the shirt, he let out a sigh of frustration. It was beyond repair. He pulled it back on and returned to work.

“Two Stars!” Abner bellowed when he and Robert drove in later that day. “Lend a hand here.”