Cheyenne Caress

by Georgina Gentry

  The other man stood up with difficulty. He stared at the girl as North led her in. “Winnifred?”

  The girl’s vacant blue eyes brightened a moment and she acted as if she was not quite sure what she was expected to do. She looked from one to the other.

  Major North led her to a chair. “Winnifred, your father has come all the way from Denver to take you home with him. You’ll be safe there.”

  “Home?” she said softly. “Home is Alabama. I want to go back to my mother. The Yankees will be invading soon. I’ve got to make sure she’s all right; hide the silver . . .”

  Starrett stared at her in horror. “The war was over four years ago, girl, and your mother’s dead!”

  “No,” Winnifred said in a little girl’s voice, her eyes vacant, “they keep telling me she’s dead, but she isn’t; she’s crazy.” She seemed to be talking to herself. “They locked her up in a madhouse. Daddy came back from the army when I was a little girl and gave her a disease. She’s insane. I hate him for that. . . .”

  Manning Starrett groaned aloud and buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t know she knew. Clara hanged herself in that madhouse.”

  Syphilis? Frank North looked at him in horror. Was that was what was wrong with Manning Starrett ? Had he contacted that unspeakable, incurable sexual disease and taken it home to his innocent wife? In the last stages of syphilis, the afflicted often went insane. No wonder Starrett wanted someone to look after him in the future–someone he thought he could trust.

  The major hadn’t realized how loud silence could be. In the seconds that passed, he heard the clock on the wall ticking away loudly, the sound of an army unit drilling on the parade grounds. A bumble bee buzzed in and then out of the open window in the summer heat.

  And now Winnifred had been driven over the edge by her horrible experience. Why hadn’t the Indians killed her? North thought with a sigh. It would have solved so many problems. Then he felt guilty at the thought.

  Winnifred stared out the window, humming tunelessly.

  Starrett cleared his throat, then looked at North. “So what in the hell am I supposed to do with her? I hadn’t planned on this! All Denver will gossip–”

  “You might start by thinking of her, and having a little compassion for her.” North watched Winnifred play with the ends of the wide sash of her dress. “But I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Starrett.”

  “I had planned a big coming-out party for her in Denver society.” The wealthy man seemed to be talking to himself, becoming more and more agitated. “Then an engagement to my business part-near. I can’t ask him to marry Winnifred now!”

  At the sound of her name, she looked at him blankly. “What’s the matter? The Yankees are coming, that’s what’s wrong, isn’t it?” She stood up.

  “Wrong!” Starrett roared. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong! Any self-respecting white woman kills herself in a case like this! How can I face the humiliation of everyone knowing? They already hate me! They’ll laugh, do you hear? You’re ruined! You hear? Ruined!”

  North jumped to his feet, came around the desk, grabbed the man, and shook him. “Stop it! Starrett! Stop this!”

  Winnifred seemed to pull herself together. Head high in the air, she got up and walked out of the office.

  North almost stopped her, then decided she’d be better off not to hear the tongue-lashing he was about to give her father. He went to the window and watched her walk proudly toward her quarters. He decided he would send the doctor over to her in a few minutes, as soon as he got Starrett out of his office.

  And then he couldn’t do it. He stared down at the sick man who had everything and nothing. There were many things money couldn’t buy after all.

  Starrett looked up at him, anger and frustration in his bright blue eyes. “So what do I do now?”

  “I’m sorry for your problems,” North said gently. “The only thing I can suggest is to take Winnifred back to Denver and give her a lot of care and kindness. Maybe eventually . . .”

  “But you don’t really believe that, do you?” The blue eyes looked so directly into North’s that he found he could not lie.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, shaking his head.

  “I had already promised her in marriage,” Starrett said. “I was going to throw a wedding that would set Denver society back on its heels!”

  “Even if she should recover, I think it may be years before Winnifred will let a man touch her . . . in that way.” He hunted in the desk for tumblers and poured them each a drink.

  “Sounds like every respectable woman I ever knew,” Starrett snorted, accepting the drink. “None of them want to give a man his rights to her bed. That’s why men go looking for the other kind.”

  The kind that give him disease, North thought, studying the other, but he only sipped his whiskey. As soon as Starrett left, he’d go see about Winnifred himself. He couldn’t help feeling guilty about how relieved he’d be to get the pair away from the fort.

  “Starrett, don’t you have anyone else to turn to? Another relative, perhaps?”

  The other laughed softly, staring into his glass. “There might have been other children, who knows? I was pretty randy in my younger days; had a thing for dark-skinned women. But I only knew of one for sure.”

  North’s sympathy turned to disgust and dislike again. “What happened to him?”

  “Oh, it was just a daughter, not a son.” He shrugged as if a girl child was of little consequence. “If it had been a son, I might have claimed my bastard.”

  “But you never did,” North guessed. “Didn’t you know where to find her?”

  “Of course I knew where to find her! I got reports for years about them hanging around the forts, hoping I’d return.” He slammed the glass down on the desk top and stood up. “But I didn’t need them, so why bother? I already had a white family!”

  It looked like Manning Starrett was going to get what he deserved–to be alone and unloved in his final, desperate days, North thought as he stood up. He could only pity Winnifred who would be in the same predicament. “Come, Mr. Starrett, I’ll see you to your quarters. Tomorrow, you can decide what you’re going to do.”

  Johnny Ace walked toward his quarters from the barn. He was one of the few on the post who knew that the Fifth Cavalry would be leaving tomorrow or the next day on a long campaign designed to either destroy the Cheyenne Dog Soldiers or put them back on the reservation.

  For the first time, he was not looking forward to battle, smearing his knife with enemy blood. When he thought of Cheyenne now, he saw Luci’s small face looking up at him. In his mind, he saw the ranch house again with the Ace High-Star brand hanging over the gate. As he dismounted his horse in the ranch yard, chubby children toddled toward him as he took their mother in his arms. As he kissed her, she reached up to touch his face. Pawnee passion. Cheyenne caress. No, the two could never bring anything but trouble and heartache.

  It was just as well that she had again run away back to her people. This time he wouldn’t pursue her. Luci had done what she thought she must do. Maybe she would finally find a little happiness in the arms of some Dog Soldier, although the thought of her in another man’s arms caused his chest to tighten so that he couldn’t breathe.

  Head down, deep in thought, he bumped into someone as he rounded a building. “Oh, excuse me, I–”

  Then she began to scream. He stared down into Winnifred’s horrified eyes as she backed away from him.

  “Winnifred, I mean you no harm.”

  But when he reached out to her, she seemed to see only his dark, Indian face, and she turned and ran away. He started to go after her then decided against it. That would only terrify the crazed girl more. He wondered for a long moment why she was out alone, where she was going. Had she just come from Pani Le-shar’s office? He turned to look at her, but she had fled in the direction of her quarters. Maybe he should check with the major about her. He got almost to the major’s door, heard voices from inside, and realiz
ed he had a visitor. Johnny had better not disturb him.

  Instead, he hunted up the doctor, who checked on Winnifred, put her to bed, and gave her a sedative that he said would put her to sleep for many hours.

  Finally, the whole post settled down for the night.

  Winnifred slept fitfully. Screaming, dark savages chased after her in her dream. She came awake and sat bolt upright in bed, hands clasped over her mouth to hold back a shriek. Screams would bring people running and she didn’t like the way they looked at her these days and shook their heads.

  Her sheer lace nightdress clung to her perspiring body in the hot night air. With a sigh, she got out of bed and padded barefoot to the window. The fort was quiet in the middle of the night. In the moonlight, nothing stirred on the vacant parade ground.

  Father. Dimly she remembered this afternoon’s meeting. Yes, that must have been Father coming to meet her, although he looked a lot older and not at all handsome as she remembered him from her childhood.

  He hadn’t wanted her or her mother then as he didn’t want Winnifred now. She had known that for certain this afternoon by the disapproving hardness in his bright blue eyes, the grim line of his mouth.

  Everyone thought she didn’t understand anything anymore–she could tell by the pitying glances, the way they talked in front of her as if she didn’t speak English and wouldn’t comprehend. If only she could get some peaceful sleep, perhaps she wouldn’t be so confused.

  Every time she closed her eyes, shrieking dark men came out of the recesses of her brain to hurt and humiliate her. They seemed always to be screaming in her ears although sometimes she reached up and found her own mouth open.

  Maybe she was going crazy like Mama. Winnifred wrapped her arms around herself and stared out the window. More than anything, she was afraid of ending up in a madhouse, screaming her life away as Mama had done. All she really needed was some uninterrupted sleep and then she could straighten out her confused thoughts.

  Why didn’t you kill yourself as any respectable white woman would have done? She heard Father’s accusing, angry voice, turned quickly, but there was no one there. He had been disappointed in her again. Always she was a disappointment to her parents. Once when she was little, Mama had snarled at her: Why couldn’t you have been a boy? If you had been a boy, I might have been able to hang on to him. He wanted a son and I didn’t give him one.

  What was she going to do? Winnifred rocked back and forth on her heels, so very, very tired but terrified to close her eyes except with medication, and then it was a drugged, troubled sleep with shrieking savages chasing her through garishly colored nightmares. She had never dreamed in color before. Blood looked so bright in dreams. Somehow it was always her blood. The war paint and the dark skin seemed so terrifyingly real.

  Strange how things worked out. Like her father, she had a fascination for dark skin. As an idyllic school girl, she had read Uncle Tom’s Cabin and all those tales about the Noble Savage. She had lusted after the dark Pawnee scout. But why hadn’t it occurred to her those warriors would smell of dirt and grease and gunpowder? There had been nothing noble about the way they had taken turns on her like dogs on a bitch in heat.

  Very softly, she began to weep. She must get some sleep. Soon she would be going with Father to Denver and there would be parties in her honor and young men vying with each other to dance with her. She looked down at herself.

  Silly, you can’t go to a ball like that, you’re in your nightdress. Don’t you have a lovely dress?

  Of course she did. She had a genuine Worth gown, imported from Paris, bought especially to be worn to parties in Denver. Father had sent the money to buy it.

  Winnifred ran barefoot to the wardrobe. Yes, there it hung, ready to be packed for her trip to Denver. She smiled, stroking the pink fabric that complimented her eyes.

  Had it really been only a couple of weeks ago that she had worn it to a party right here at the fort? She smiled at the memory. Ah, yes. She had been the belle of the ball. All the young officers had clustered around, begging for the next dance, even that young snob, Carter Osgoode, who had finally deserted. At least he was missing.

  She put on the fine gown and carefully tied the wide sash. Voices from outside seemed to be calling to her. She couldn’t find her shoes, but somehow, it didn’t seem to matter.

  Humming tunelessly to herself, she went outside. The officers’ hall seemed to be dark. How could that be when they were having a party in her honor?

  She stopped, the dirt coarse and gritty beneath her bare feet. It was all so very confusing. If the nightmares would stop, she might get some rest and then maybe she could straighten out her thoughts.

  Winnifred leaned against the corner of the building and closed her eyes. Immediately, red-painted savages came at her from all directions, screaming in her ears. She stood trembling, hands clasped over her own mouth to hold back the sound. If she did that, people would come running, just as they used to when Mama screamed in the madhouse. All Winnifred wanted was blissful sleep, tranquil nights.

  She thought she heard her mother calling her.

  “Mama?” She began to walk toward the officers’ mess hall. She was sure she had heard a whimper. Or was it only the wind?

  A party. The officers of the post were having a party in her honor. She had been rescued off a train and carried by a tanned man to a horse. Noble Savage. Dark skin attracted her. She was her father’s daughter after all.

  If there was a party here tonight, why was the place so dark? Maybe it was a surprise party. She smiled to herself, clapped her hands in glee as she tried the unlocked door, and tiptoed into the deserted hall. Yes, that was it! Any moment now, everyone would come out from the shadows and yell: Surprise! Surprise!

  She waited in the center of the deserted room for everyone to jump out, for the lights to come on. Dusty, faded decorations still hung from the crossbeams overhead.

  Hadn’t she been the belle of the ball that night with that pitiful Luci watching wistfully? Winnifred remembered that now with a smile. All Indian women were harlots, luring young officers away from their wives. Yes, that had been what her parents had been arguing about that night long before the war–the night Father went away forever.

  “An unspeakable disease, Manning! That’s what you’ve brought me home this time!”

  And handsome, dashing Father in his captain’s uniform, screaming back, “If you weren’t such an ugly, cold bitch, I wouldn’t keep leaving. I wouldn’t need to find a real woman to share my bed!”

  “Don’t use that as an excuse! You were only after my money to begin with, and I was too stupid and smitten with you to realize it!”

  “You haven’t got much money left.”

  “Thanks to your wild ways and womanizing! Which one of your whores gave you this, Manning?”

  And father shrugging. “How should I know? I’ve slept with dozens of black and Injun gals since I was home last. Only one it couldn’t have been was that pretty little Cheyenne. She was a virgin.”

  And Mama in a storm of weeping. “I didn’t ask for details that would break my heart.”

  “Oh, yes, you did, Clara! I’m sick of you, you hear? Sick of your whining and cold bed! I hear there’s gold being found in Colorado, so I’m going there!”

  “You?” Mama sneered. “You’re too lazy to dig for gold.”

  He was reaching for his hat. “Dig? I didn’t say ‘dig.’ It’s easier to take the money away from them who’ve already dug it.”

  “What about your daughter? What about Winnifred?”

  Father actually yawned. “What about her? A man wants sons, Clara. You couldn’t even do that for me. Daughters are a dime a dozen. Why, even Sunrise gave me one.”

  “Get out! Get out!” Mama screamed.

  He brushed past Winnifred, not even bothering to speak as he strode from the house, banging the door behind him.

  Winnifred jumped at the slam of the door. Where were Mama and Father? A shutter banged again in the w
ind and she realized she stood barefoot in a deserted hall, all dressed up for a party.

  What had happened to Mama? Oh, yes, Winnifred remembered. In the years that passed, her mother seemed to gradually lose her mind and had to be placed in the madhouse. Something horrible had happened there. Winnifred thought about it, but couldn’t quite remember.

  She smirked, thinking of Luci. She owed that half-breed the humiliation for all those squaws and Nigras who had slept with Father, who had stolen him away from her and Mama.

  If Winnifred could just get some uninterrupted sleep, things would be better in the morning. But what about the ball? Where were the musicians, the laughing crowds? She realized suddenly that she stood all alone. But then, she had been all alone ever since Mama. . . .

  Funny how things work out, she thought disinterestedly. Here she had planned the ultimate revenge–she had planned to put Father in a madhouse just as soon as possible, then possess all his power and money. From the look of his face, he was planning the same thing for Winnifred.

  She shook her head violently. She did not want to end up like her mother. If she could just get some rest, she would be fine. All she wanted was quiet oblivion without nightmares.

  She closed her eyes, remembering. Winnifred had been the one to find Mama at the madhouse. She had torn a bed sheet into strips.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at the beams of the deserted hall. Mama had used the cross bars of the window of her little cell.

  She saw Mama suddenly, beckoning to her. I’ve waited for you a long time, daughter. Come with me to a place where there is no terror or pain or rejection.

  “Mama?”

  The only answer was the sultry breeze blowing around the deserted building.

  Come with me, Winnifred. I’m going now . . .

  “No, Mama, don’t go without me!” She tried to hold back her hysteria. “Mama? I’m coming!” Hurriedly, she dragged a chair over to one of the open beams. “I’m coming! Wait for me!”

  She took off the wide silk sash, looped it up over the beam, then tied it around her neck.