Savage Skies (19 page)

She sat down beside the bed of pelts and blankets just as the old, shaky hand reached higher and touched her hair.

“My beautiful wife, it is good to see your hair a flame color again,” Dancing Shadow said, pausing between every other word to catch his breath. “That was the color of your hair when I first saw you.”

Shirleen was now absolutely certain that he thought she was Speckled Fawn. She was stunned that he seemed to be partly rational, and was even speaking. She had been told that he had not spoken for a long time.

Oh, how she wished that Speckled Fawn and Blue Thunder were there to hear the old man finally speaking. And he had not said only one or two words, but full sentences.

He was even aware of the color of her hair.

Yet he still had not recognized that he was not talking with his wife, but someone who was a total stranger to him.

Hoping to make him happy in his last moments, Shirleen tried her best to pretend to be Speckled Fawn. She lowered her voice, making it gruffy and scratchy sounding as she responded to Dancing Shadow.

“My husband, I am so glad you are awake,” Shirleen said.

She took his hand in hers, trying not to show her alarm at how cold his flesh was.

She recalled that when one of her aunts lay dying some years ago, and Shirleen had come to say her final good-bye, the coldness of her aunt's withered hand had sent spirals of dread into Shirleen's heart. She had realized then that her aunt was near death.

Did the coldness of this elderly man's hand mean the same?

Was Shirleen going to witness another death? Her Aunt Sara had died while clutching Shirleen's hand.

She recalled with a strange sort of horror how as soon as her aunt took her last breath, her hand had tightened around Shirleen's. She'd had a hard time getting her hand free from her aunt's grip.

When her mother had come and helped her, Shirleen had rushed from the room, crying. Even her father's comforting arms had not erased that moment from her mind.

“My husband, I have missed you so much,” Shirleen murmured, glancing off and on at his hand, which seemed to be clutching hers harder by the moment.

He had been so happy to be able to touch her hair again, believing he was touching his wife's.

She smiled at him although it was the last thing she felt like doing. She was terrified that he was dying right before her eyes!

She tried to think past that. “I am so glad that you like the color of my hair,” she said, her voice catching as Dancing Shadow closed his eyes and held them closed for a long time. What if he never opened them again? What if he did die while she was alone with him?

When he opened his eyes and again smiled weakly at her, Shirleen sucked in a breath of relief. “I . . . dyed . . . it red again just for you,” she lied.

His old eyes twinkled, he chuckled, and then his eyes went wild as he yanked his hand from Shirleen's and clutched hard at his chest.

To Shirleen's horror, he was suddenly dead, his eyes now fixed in a death stare. Fortunately, his gaze was locked on something past her and not on her face. But she suddenly realized that what his eyes were staring at was the least of her worries.

What was she to do?

Would Blue Thunder's people blame her?

Oh, no!

They couldn't!

She was only sitting with Dancing Shadow. She had kept her promise to Speckled Fawn. She had not left his side. She had done her best to make his last moments peaceful.

She had sung to him.

She had even held his hand!

Knowing that she had no choice but to reveal his death to everyone, she rose shakily to her feet.

She sucked in a deep breath as she tried to gather enough courage to face whatever lay ahead of her.

Then she went and held the entrance flap aside.

She saw that most people had returned to stand outside Dancing Shadow's tepee after they had finished their evening meals.

They were staring at her questioningly.

She wondered if they could see the fear on her face?

She wondered if they could see that she was trembling uncontrollably.

She finally gulped out that Dancing Shadow had just taken his last breath of life.

“But . . . but . . . he spoke to me before he died,” she quickly added. “He . . . was happy. He smiled just moments before he died!”

Aunt Bright Sun stepped from the crowd and came to Shirleen. She took Shirleen gently by the elbow and led her back to Blue Thunder's tepee. All the while, Little Bee followed, hanging on to Bright Sun's buckskin skirt.

“I have kept Blue Thunder's fire going in his absence,” Bright Sun said. “Sit beside it. I shall sit with you.”

Little Bee sat between Bright Sun and
Shirleen, quietly playing with her doll, oblivious of the loss of Dancing Shadow.

“Shirleen, no one holds you to blame for our loved one's death,” Bright Sun said reassuringly when she noticed the frightened look in Shirleen's eyes. She reached over and gently patted her face. “In fact, my people thank you for sitting with Dancing Shadow in the absence of his wife.”

“Thank you for letting me know that,” Shirleen murmured. She wiped tears from her eyes. “I am filled with so many emotions. I am so torn. I feel bad for Dancing Shadow, and I . . . I . . . am in constant fear for my daughter's welfare. If anything should happen to her—”

“Do not imagine the worst,” Bright Sun said. “When Blue Thunder sets his mind on doing something, he always comes out the victor.”

“I truly hope that is the case this time,” Shirleen said. She sighed heavily and hung her head as tears filled her eyes again. “It is almost too much for me to bear. I shall never forget those last moments with Dancing Shadow.”

She raised her eyes and looked through her tears at Bright Sun. “I . . . can't help . . . being afraid that something might go awry at the fort and Blue Thunder and Speckled Fawn could be harmed,” she blurted out.

“Blue Thunder is a very wise man, wise past his young years as chief,” Bright Sun again reassured her. “He is his father's son, and his father was one of the greatest leaders of our
Assiniboine people. Blue Thunder's intelligence and ability as a leader will bring him home to us, along with Speckled Fawn. Your daughter will be with them. I saw it in the clouds today as I looked up at them. The clouds tell me many things. Today they gave me comfort that I wish to pass along to you.”

“Thank you so much for the kind words of encouragement,” Shirleen said, in awe of the woman's ability to see and know things that surely no one else saw.

Shirleen was discovering that the Assiniboine were a people ruled by mysticism, which brought them faith and guidance in their everyday lives.

Shirleen looked down at Little Bee as she crawled trustingly onto her lap. As the child leaned her cheek against Shirleen's bosom, Little Bee fell asleep.

The innocent action of the little girl made Shirleen ache even more to have her own daughter with her.

She became suddenly aware of drums pounding out a dirge outside the tepee; people's voices blended as they began openly mourning their departed loved one.

She now felt blessed for those few last moments with a man whom so many had loved. In that short time while he was awake and smiling at her, he had shown her just why he was so beloved by his Assiniboine people!

She no longer felt afraid that she would
somehow be blamed for his death. She now knew that these people saw something mystical even in death.

She hoped that she, too, would react to the world in the way of these wonderful people when she became the wife of their young chief.

The thought of becoming Blue Thunder's wife made her time awaiting his return bearable.

When he came back to the village, she had no doubt that he would have Megan with him!

Who is this happy warrior?
Who is he that every man in arms
Should wish to be?

—Wordsworth

Speckled Fawn still pretended to stumble as she was taken to a cabin by two soldiers. It was scarcely furnished and . . . there were bars on its only window.

The bars made her heart skip a beat as she was led to the small bed beneath the window.

Had she stepped into a trap? Had the colonel of this fort discovered what she had come for?

Had someone been spying on Blue Thunder and his warriors?

If so, had she been seen with them?

Now she feared not only for herself, but also for Blue Thunder and those brave warriors with him.

Perhaps even now the soldiers were with Blue Thunder, arresting or killing him for making plans against a white settler.

“Please excuse us for bringing you here. There is no other available lodging,” a soldier
with brilliant red hair said as he helped Speckled Fawn down to the cot, which had a mattress on it but nothing more. “You will be brought clean sheets, a basin of water, and a clean dress. My wife will bring you one to wear. She is the same size as you, so the dress should fit you well enough.”

It was as though a fresh breeze of air had swept into the room. Speckled Fawn realized that her immediate fears were unfounded. She was not being arrested.

“I appreciate what you are doing for me,” Speckled Fawn said, easing herself down onto the mattress and trying to ignore the smell of urine on it. She hated to imagine just who had slept on it, for surely the worst of criminals were brought to this cell until they were taken elsewhere for their punishment.

If she had been captured years ago when she was on the run after stabbing a rapist to death, she could have been made to stay in such a desolate, stinking cabin.

As it was, she would not even spend a full night there. As soon as she managed to get the child, she would flee into the night.

“My name's Jack. What's yours?” the redhaired man asked, looking intently at her.

For a moment a chill rushed down Speckled Fawn's spine.

This man was looking at her so carefully, as though he were studying her features. Did it mean that he remembered her from somewhere . . . perhaps a Wanted poster?

But she scoffed at that idea. She had seen one of the posters, and the drawing had been nothing like the way she actually looked.

And she
had
gained quite a bit of weight since those horrible, hungry days when she would often go more than two days without food.

“My name?” she asked, looking Jack squarely in the eye, her fear of what he might be thinking gone.

“Judith Bowen,” she said, quickly inventing a false name. “My name is Judith Bowen.” She pretended sadness by lowering her eyes. “My husband's name was . . . Timothy. My sweet daughter's was Priscilla.”

She covered her face with her hands as she faked a deep, anguished sob behind them. “Lord, oh, Lord, I have lost everything,” she cried. “My husband. My daughter! My . . . home!”

A rush of feet into the cabin made Speckled Fawn peek between her fingers. She saw a woman about the same size as she. Her face was pale, her hair wrapped in a tight chignon atop her head.

“Come on in, Darla Jane,” Jack said.

“My, oh my,” Darla Jane said as she rushed to Speckled Fawn with a dress hanging across her arm.

Moments after she arrived, another woman came into the cabin, carrying a basin of water.

“Jack, you and George can leave now,” Darla Jane said, standing on tiptoe to brush a quick kiss across Jack's face. “Clara Belle and I will
take care of the woman's needs. You go on and attend to your duties.”

“Her name is Judith Bowen,” Jack said over his shoulder as he and George turned and hurried to the door. “She's had a terrible experience. Help her, darlin', as you know how to help.”

“I shall,” Darla Jane said, then knelt down beside Speckled Fawn. “My dear, I am so sorry for your losses. But things will get better. I've seen it countless times since my husband joined the cavalry. Those awful Indians. Tsk, tsk. All savages. Every one of them redskins is a butchering savage. They should all be hanged for their crimes against humanity.”

The woman's harsh opinion of Indians made it hard for Speckled Fawn to just lie there, listening to such condemnation of a people who had gotten a raw deal because of the greed and insensitivity of white leaders.

Speckled Fawn could hardly wait to leave this place, to be with her family of Indians again.

Just being there at the fort, with people who were so blind to the realities of life out West, was making her feel sick to her stomach.

Yes, she did see the Comanche renegades as savages, for they were responsible for terrible cruelty, and others with red skin were suffering the consequences of their attacks on settlers.

“I appreciate all of your kindnesses,” Speckled Fawn forced herself to say as she slowly sat up on the bed.

She looked past the two women who were already there at a tiny, pretty, older woman who was just entering with an armload of bedding.

“What did you say your name was?” Darla Jane asked as she handed the dress to Speckled Fawn.

Speckled Fawn panicked, for she had forgotten her pretend name.

Then it came to her, and she heaved a deep sigh. “Judith,” she said. “Judith Bowen.”

“What a lovely name,” the older woman said as she came and laid the linens on the bed beside Speckled Fawn. “Mine is Hannah. Hannah Cline. My husband is the colonel at this fort.” She smiled. “Well, at least for now. I would hate to tell you how many different forts I have made my home in. Just as we get settled in, my Harold is sent somewhere else.”

“It mustn't be the best way to live,” Speckled Fawn said, trying to keep up her end of the conversation when all she really wanted was to be left alone until night drew its dark cloak over the fort. By then she hoped to have stolen little Megan away from her father and she could flee past the sentries at the front gate.

“I hope I'm allowed to stay until a riverboat comes that can take me back to civilization. I can't bear to stay in this wild and reckless land,” Speckled Fawn said. She looked slowly from one woman to the next. “Do you think that is possible? Or am I going to be taken elsewhere, perhaps another fort?”