Red Bird
STEPHANIE GRACE WHITSON
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 1997 by Stephanie G. Whitson, 2017 by Whitson, Inc.
Scripture quotations are from:
The Holy Bible, King James Version.
The New King James Version® . Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the copyright holder at [email protected] . Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
The author is represented by Books & Such Literary Agency, Inc., 5926 Sunhawk Drive, Santa Rosa, CA 95409 www.booksandsuch.com .
For Bob
My leader, my example, my beloved, my friend
Books by Stephanie Grace Whitson
Historical Fiction
Messenger by Moonlight
Daughter of the Regiment
A Captain for Laura Rose
A Basket Brigade Christmas (novella anthology)
A Patchwork Christmas (novella anthology)
The Quilt Chronicles Series (3 books)
The Message on the Quilt, The Shadow on the Quilt, The Key on the Quilt
Stand-alone books (not part of a series):
A Most Unsuitable Match
Sixteen Brides
A Claim of Her Own
Unbridled Dreams (now titled Belle of the Wild West)
Pine Ridge Portraits Series (3 books)
Secrets on the Wind, Watchers on the Hill, and Footprints on the Horizon
Dakota Moons Series (3 books)
Valley of the Shadow, Edge of the Wilderness and Heart of the Sandhills
Keepsake Legacies Series (3 books)
Sarah’s Patchwork, Karyn’s Memory Box, and Nora’s Ribbon of Memories
Prairie Winds Series (3 books)
Walks the Fire, Soaring Eagle, and Red Bird
Contemporary Fiction
Jacob’s List, A Garden in Paris, and A Hilltop in Tuscany
Non-Fiction
How to Help a Grieving Friend: A Candid Guide for those who Care
Home on the Plains: Quilts and the Sod House Experience
Acknowledgments
1997 Edition
I am truly humbled to think that with all the demands on your time you, dear reader, have chosen to read this book. In so doing, you have shared a precious part of your own life with me—moments that could have been spent in a million other ways. I do not take the time you have shared with me lightly. I pray that after you have “played” with me and my “imaginary friends” that you will return to “real life” refreshed and encouraged in your own walk of faith. God bless you.
This is a book about letting go—giving up one’s own plans and dreams and allowing God to lead. In the last weeks of this book’s preparation, I have been challenged to give up some of my own plans and dreams.
I have always loved the Browning poem that contains the lines, “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.” Recently, my husband was diagnosed with an incurable form of lymphoma.
Only a few women have become a real part of my inner soul. The day after my husband was diagnosed, I lost the dearest of my soul sisters to cancer.
I am being forced to learn the same lesson that I have created for my characters—to let go of my own idea of tomorrow and to walk by faith into a new plan, accepting that it was fashioned by a loving hand “before the foundation of the world” (Eph. 1:4 nkjv) —a hand that has only my best interests at heart.
My beloved friend Celest loved 2 Corinthians 4:17–18:
For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal. (nkjv)
Celest has fully realized that verse. I am still struggling to apply it hour by hour, praying often, “Lord, I believe—help my unbelief.”
If this seems a strange thing to write for this section of acknowledgment, let me just say that in light of the past few weeks of my life, I feel burdened to simply acknowledge Him.
I will extol You, My God, O King;
And I will bless Your name forever and ever.
Every day I will bless You,
And I will praise Your name forever and ever.
Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised;
And His greatness is unsearchable. . . .
The Lord upholds all who fall,
And raises up all who are bowed down. . . .
The Lord is righteous in all His ways,
Gracious in all His works.
The Lord is near to all who call upon Him,
To all who call upon Him in truth.
Psalm 145:1–3, 14, 17–18 nkjv
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Reader’s Discussion Guide
About Stephanie
More historical romance from Stephanie Grace Whitson
Chapter 1
Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child.
Proverbs 22:15
E verett Higgenbottom indeed! Perched on the edge of her chair on the lawn of Chouteau Preparatory School in St. Louis, Missouri, Carrie Brown made a tiny motion with her left hand to ward Everett off. He had leaned forward to whisper to her, but when she raised one tiny gloved hand, he sat back abruptly, resisting the urge to caress one of the deep red tendrils that had fallen out of her abundant hairdo.
Commencement day, and he has to whisper nonsense, Carrie thought. “The sky is only a reflection of your eyes today, Carrie. ” Honestly —Carrie tapped the earth nervously with one elegantly booted foot. As furtively as possible, she turned her head from side to side, searching the crowd. As the commencement speaker droned on, Carrie fidgeted, brushing her hair back into place. She picked up the nosegay that lay in her lap, inhaling the sweet scent of lily of the valley, unaware that Everett was adoringly watching her every move—and misinterpreting the cause of her nervousness.
The commencement speaker finally concluded his presentation. As Carrie’s class rose to sing a hymn, Everett leaned towards her, drinking in the aroma of lemon verbena and lily of the valley that had followed Carrie like a cloud all morning. She felt his breath on the back of her neck as he whispered, �
�Relax, Carrie. You’ll do fine. Your speech is perfect.”
Carrie turned to glare at him, but movement in the crowd towards the back of the lawn caught her attention. She was too tiny to see who had just arrived, but someone had definitely come late to the commencement. Carrie stopped singing, her heart pounding. LisBeth said she was coming and bringing a surprise —someone I would be glad to see.
The hymn ended. Everett nudged Carrie from behind and she turned towards him, furious. But Everett just smiled back and nodded towards the podium. Carrie blushed with embarrassment, realizing it was her turn to speak for the class. She hurried to the podium, but once she was facing the crowd she took time to look past the familiar faces to the edge of the lawn, ever hopeful that LisBeth and—but LisBeth wasn’t there.
Carrie’s eyes sought out her grandparents. They sat in the front row smiling encouragement. Surveying her classmates, Carrie thought of how quickly the time at Chouteau had gone. There was Clara Delacroix, so proud of the fact that her parents were among the earliest French settlers of St. Louis. Philip Canard, who told jokes every day and never seemed to care that his own lineage was far more illustrious than Clara’s. And Everett. Carrie’s eyes glanced past Everett, but not before he had caught her eye and winked. Poor Everett. From his name that barely fit on his commencement certificate, to his arms that extended far beyond the limits of shirts and coats, everything about Everett Higgenbottom was long. Well liked, but teased mercilessly, Everett had even been nicknamed “Dan” because he shared the long face and protruding teeth of another Dan in town—a firehorse.
Carrie pondered Everett for only a brief moment before launching into the address she had agonized over for weeks. As she spoke, she continued to search the crowd, ever hopeful that LisBeth—and her surprise—would still appear.
Her speech concluded, Carrie took her seat among her classmates, heedless of the applause and the beaming faces of her grandparents in the front row.
Disappointment set in. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that she had won the right to deliver the address. He hadn’t come after all. She was so certain that he would be there. She had dreamed of it for weeks. As soon as LisBeth’s letter had been read promising a surprise guest, Carrie had believed it, imagined it, become breathless at the thought of it. Now, as she sat primly on her chair and fumed, Everett leaned forward, shyly touching her shoulder, murmuring congratulations. Carrie flushed with emotion at Everett’s attentions. Everett Higgenbottom, indeed!
For weeks she had been planning this moment . . . when he would come in, LisBeth on his arm. He would probably be dressed in a suit by now. But that wouldn’t matter. He would watch only her through the entire commencement, and when it was over, he would be there, smiling, coming back into her life, instantly amazed at how grown up she was and how beautiful she had become.
She knew what she would do. She would deliver her commencement address smiling at him, showing him that she remembered everything. She would introduce him to Everett—and to snobbish Clara Delacroix. And then they would be amazed, a little afraid, and speechless, as their classmate, little Carrie Brown, took her rightful place beside the truly beautiful Lakota man named Soaring Eagle.
But the speech was over, and only Everett was present to admire her. Sighing again, Carrie resigned herself to the absence of Soaring Eagle. She mechanically walked forward to accept her diploma. As soon as the ceremony was over, she found her grandparents accepting congratulations and Everett’s request that she ride in his buggy back to her grandparents’ house where the entire class had been invited for a reception.
Everett drove slowly up Chouteau Avenue, wondering about Carrie’s unusual quiet. She was unresponsive when he poetically commented on the way spring had “assaulted” the river town of St. Louis. As the carriage made its way along the river, sunlight glanced off the spire of the riverside cathedral. A freshly painted steamboat bobbed at its moorings. Light danced on the surface of the river. Carrie was oblivious to the beauty around her.
Everett tried another topic of conversation. “You did a wonderful job, Carrie. With the commencement speech.”
Carrie nodded noncommittally.
“You seemed—well, kind of distracted. I was worried you’d forget something.” Everett kept the carriage horse at a walk.
“Oh, it’s nothing—just some friends from Nebraska said they would come—I hoped—” Carrie blushed. “I was just disappointed, that’s all.” At last, Carrie pushed aside her dark mood. Forcing herself to smile brightly she patted Everett’s arm and nodded towards the bay filly that pulled the carriage. “Did Mazie forget how to trot—or is there some reason we’re supposed to arrive last at my commencement reception?” Ever hopeful that a “surprise” encounter still lay in her future, Carrie raised one eyebrow and eyed Everett.
Everett grinned back. “I’m just enjoying having you here—with me.” They had rounded the last corner that led up the hill to a lovely home overlooking the river. Everett could see Carrie’s grandparents waiting on the front porch, waving happily as the couple approached. Flicking the reins lightly, Everett urged Mazie into a trot. The carriage pulled up just as another buggy approached from the opposite direction.
Everett hopped down and reached up to help Carrie. But Carrie didn’t see Everett. She stood, entranced, watching the other carriage’s occupants. LisBeth called out from the buggy, “I’m so sorry we missed the ceremony, Mr. Jennings—Mrs. Jennings—the train was late.” LisBeth looked past Mr. and Mrs. Jennings, noticed the other carriage, and saw Carrie. Laughing, she called out, “Carrie! I’m so sorry we’re late—” LisBeth crossed the distance between them and smiled up at Carrie warmly. “But, I hope to make up for it. As you can see, I have brought you a surprise.”
Carrie nodded, speechless.
Everett reached up and took her hand. “Carrie—”
At the sound of Everett’s voice, Carrie started and looked down at him. Biting her lip, she hurried down from the carriage, waiting for her surprise to step forward.
Everett looked past LisBeth and frowned slightly as LisBeth turned to complete her introductions. “Mr. Jennings, Mrs. Jennings, allow me to introduce my brother, Jeremiah Soaring Eagle King. He’s just finished his courses at John Knox in Illinois and he’s been asked by the Society of Friends to speak to a few of the congregations in St. Louis. Jim couldn’t come because of spring planting, so my brother will be my escort while we’re here.”
Jeremiah Soaring Eagle King stepped forward and bowed low.
Everett Higgenbottom moved to take Carrie’s arm, but she stepped away from him towards the visitor.
Carrie couldn’t trust her voice. Turning one gloved palm outward, she raised two fingers and moved them skyward. Soaring Eagle returned the sign and, finally, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “You remembered, Red Bird.”
Carrie nodded, her heart full. Shaking her head in wonder she turned to LisBeth, who filled the silence. “Well, Carrie, thanks to a late train we missed your commencement speech, but we are here to share in your joy. I know your grandparents are very proud of you.” LisBeth’s voice softened. “And your mother, Carrie. I’m certain she’s watching from heaven . . . and she’s no doubt very pleased with how you’ve turned out.”
The door to the house opened and Carrie’s classmates tumbled out. Much to Carrie’s delight, Clara Delacroix looked wide-eyed at Soaring Eagle and stood to one side. Carrie’s grandmother and LisBeth started up the stairs, followed by Mr. Jennings and Soaring Eagle. Carrie took Everett’s proffered arm and followed, barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch the long braid that trailed down Soaring Eagle’s back.
He’s here. He came . . . to me.
Chapter 2
The Lord is my strength and song, and he is become my salvation: he is my God, and I will prepare him an habitation; my father’s God, and I will exalt him.
Exodus 15:2
H e had charged into stampeding herds of buffalo astride a racing pony where one false st
ep would have meant certain death. He had fought in battle against better-mounted and better-armed soldiers. But nothing he had ever faced had produced the quaking knees that carried Soaring Eagle to the podium of the Congregational Church in St. Louis, Missouri, one spring morning in 1883.
Reverend Hodge had reluctantly agreed to see if perhaps Soaring Eagle could make more of an impression for his people if he wore native dress. As Soaring Eagle stepped up onto the podium, the beads and thimbles that hung from his elkskin shirt jingled. The faint sound carried throughout the church as the parishioners sat, entranced by what was, for many of them, their first look at a “real, live Indian.”
As Reverend Hodge stepped back and sat down facing the crowd, Soaring Eagle turned to the audience. Grasping the sides of the pulpit to hide his shaking hands, he bowed his head, waiting for the words to come, begging God to still his racing heart and help him say the right things.
When he looked up, his eyes sought out his sister’s face. LisBeth smiled encouragement. Next to her, Carrie Brown sat, beaming. She was dressed in a new cadet blue gown that made her red hair flame and her blue eyes glimmer. With a tiny smile on her lips, she held up her right hand, signing “Friend.” Carrie saw an almost imperceptible relaxing of the muscles around Soaring Eagle’s mouth, and she knew that he was smiling inside.
With the sign of friendship, Soaring Eagle had been given the words to begin his speech. He looked over the congregation. “Friends.” Signing the word he explained, “That is what this means. The Society of Friends has asked me to come here to speak to you in the hope that, by God’s grace, we can become friends.” Clutching the sides of the pulpit, Soaring Eagle paused. Glancing towards the cornflower blue eyes, he continued, “I have no complicated plan to solve the many problems that face my people. Instead, I come with a prayer that perhaps, if you and I can come to understand one another, we can learn to live together in peace.”
Soaring Eagle paused before continuing. “There are some among your people who believe that the Indian is little more than an animal. I have read that one of your great warriors believes that ‘the only good Indian is a dead Indian.’ I hope that after hearing me, you will come to see another way.”
Red Bird (Prairie Winds Book 2) Page 1