To Dream Anew

by Tracie Peterson

  “She’s the only thing I’m living for. She gave me a will to live; that’s why I called her ‘giving.”’

  Coming to the bed with the baby in her arms, Dianne tried to figure out what to say next. “Can you talk about your time since leaving us?”

  Ardith reached up and took her daughter. “There are some things I will never speak of. They would serve no purpose.”

  Dianne sat down on the bed beside her sister. “I came after you that night in the camp, when you had gotten so upset. I knew you felt abandoned.”

  “I was selfish. I didn’t want Mama to have another baby. After I fell in the river, all I wanted was to find you all again. I prayed so hard. I told God I didn’t care how many babies Mama had, I just wanted to go home.” Ardith fell silent for several moments, then continued.

  “The Pawnee found me. They were kind to me. I was sick for some time, but they nursed me back to health. I couldn’t tell them where I belonged. I wasn’t even sure where we were. As time went on, I couldn’t even remember much about where we were supposed to be traveling. I remembered some things, but others were just clouded memories. Bits and pieces of people and places.

  “Among the Pawnee, I stayed with a man and woman who had three daughters, and together we helped each other. I taught them English and they taught me the Pawnee language, as well as skills for staying alive. As my memories faded and my understanding of where I might find you completely slipped away, I learned to be content with my Pawnee family.”

  “What happened to put you with the Sioux?”

  Ardith shook her head, her brows knitting together. “There was a raid. Many of the Pawnee were killed. My adopted family was murdered. The Sioux held this band a grudge. Apparently there was some sort of war between the two tribes, and we were caught up in it. Several of the women and children were taken to be slaves. I was one of them.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Fourteen. As best as I can tell. Zane told me I’m now twenty-two.”

  “Yes, you’ll be twenty-three on the first of September. That’s just days away.”

  Ardith shrugged. “I thought maybe I was older—I lost track of the years, and the Sioux certainly weren’t concerned. I was put to work helping with the children. I learned to speak Sioux rather quickly.”

  “But they treated you much worse than the Pawnee?”

  Ardith shrank back against the pillows. “Yes.”

  Dianne reached out and took hold of her hand. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.”

  “I won’t speak of some things,” Ardith admitted. “I can’t. We were beaten and starved at times. After a couple of years I was traded and things got even worse. I was given to a man in marriage—a marriage I never recognized or wanted. He raped me.” She looked up at Dianne. “I won’t say more.”

  “Was he Winona’s father?”

  Ardith looked at her sleeping child and nodded. “The other baby too.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I’d like to believe the man died, but I know he didn’t. I saw him ride off after the massacre. He’s probably with the others planning some new war on the white man. They hated us for coming to their land, for pushing them off and killing the buffalo. They despised our insistence that they accept our ways—that they live on reservations. Most of the young men were determined to kill every white man they met.” She paused. “Walks in the Dark felt that way.”

  “Your husband?”

  “He wasn’t my husband!” Ardith nearly screamed. Winona stirred and puckered her face as though she would cry. Then just as quickly, her countenance calmed. “He was nothing more than my attacker. My tormenter. I prayed daily he would die. I hope he’s dead even now. I would take great pleasure in knowing that he suffered as much as I did.” Her face contorted.

  Dianne was startled at the hatred in her sister’s words. Ardith obviously possessed a deep hatred within her, yet it amazed Dianne that she clearly loved Winona.

  “Well, it’s getting very late. You and Winona need your rest. Would you like me to put her in the cradle?” Dianne pointed to the little bed.

  “She probably wouldn’t sleep there unless we wrapped her very tightly. She’s used to the board.”

  “I understand,” Dianne said, smiling. “I’ll leave you to do as you think best.” She got up and moved to the end of the bed.

  Pausing there, she added, “Ardith, I’m so glad to have you home. I thought you were dead—lost to us forever. I know Zane has told you much about the family, but if you ever want to talk about Mother or Betsy or anything else, please know that I’m no delicate flower. I’ve endured a great deal, and I promise I won’t fall into a feminine faint over anything you might tell me.”

  “Zane told me you were strong. He said you were probably stronger than all of us rolled together.”

  Dianne shook her head. “No, I’m not that strong, but God is. That’s where I draw my strength.” She smiled. “I’m not always very good at it, but I try to keep my focus on Him.”

  Ardith said nothing, and Dianne took that as her cue to leave.

  “I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.”

  CHAPTER 6

  ARDITH CHADWICK DID HER BEST TO SETTLE INTO NORMAL life on the Diamond V. As she watched the others with curiosity as they went about their daily duties, she wondered if they realized how easy they had life here on this beautiful ranch. There was no worry about where the next meal would come from, no concern about whether a storm would flood their village.

  Her sister Dianne had turned out to be quite a resourceful woman. Ardith liked her very much. Dianne didn’t hold the past against Ardith and had welcomed her with open arms. In fact, her sister’s generous, loving care had helped Ardith to feel safe again—no easy feat, to be sure.

  The past had a way of picking at Ardith like buzzards to carnage. When memories came to her she crushed them back down, pushing them as deep into the recesses of her mind as was humanly possible. She wanted no part of her past.

  Yet she would always bear a reminder in Winona. She could scarcely escape the wretched memories of her baby’s birth. The surprise of attack, the hideous war cries of the Sioux and Cheyenne. Her labor had hit hard early on, her water breaking almost at the onset of her pains.

  The Sioux broke camp with the warriors heading off to fight and the women and children seeing to the packing. Ardith was easily forgotten by her captors as they focused on staying alive. She quickly gathered supplies and crept away, moving up river to hide and await the birth of her child. She had fallen on the slippery bank at one point, hitting her head against a rock. For a moment she’d thought she might lose consciousness, but the pain seemed to keep her awake. Pain from her head wound—pain from the new life fighting to be born. Born too early.

  While Custer’s men died not a quarter mile from where Ardith hid, Winona came into the world in a fury. With the noise of Indian war cries, gunfire, and men and horses dying, no one had even heard the small mewling sounds of the newborn. She was a fighter, this tiny ruddy-skinned child. And although Ardith had been prepared to smother her rather than be forced to raise the child of her rapist, Winona stirred something deep inside. Ardith fell in love with the baby upon first sight. The bond between mother and child reached beyond the circumstances of the baby’s creation and birth.

  Ardith thought she had no more tears. The years of sorrow, and then of torment, had dried her eyes forever—at least she had thought this to be true. Yet the day she had given birth to Winona, Ardith had cried like never before. She had cried for the life of her baby—for the life she herself had lost with her family. She had cried for the future and the past. And now, just thinking about that day brought her close to tears again.

  But while Winona’s birth was at least a good memory overall, other things haunted her. Visions … nightmares that were her reality at the hands of Walks in the Dark.

  With Winona sleeping peacefully on Ardith’s back, she walked the land around the
house and corrals and tried to convince herself that the horrors of the past were really behind her. She was now dressed in her sister’s clothes—white clothes. They felt almost foreign. Her hair had been pinned up carefully by Dianne, and that, too, seemed out of place.

  Strange enough, the hardest thing was getting used to the food. The tastes and textures were so different from what she’d been used to with the Pawnee and Sioux. It was a time of adjustment, with unexpected surprises at every turn.

  She felt as if she’d been reborn—given a new start. She’d been bathed and cared for, dressed and fed, as if these things could somehow eliminate the past and all its sufferings. If only that were true.

  Ardith knew she could force most of her memories to the far corners of her mind. She had become masterful at forgetting. Yet sometimes she could still feel Walks in the Dark’s hands upon her—still feel his breath on her skin. He was everything horrific and terrible, caring nothing for her fears or needs. There was no forcing that memory away.

  Ardith felt bile rise in her throat as her chest became tight. The man was an evil force that she was powerless to fight.

  “Hello.”

  Ardith startled and spun around to find herself face-to-face with one of the ranch hands. She backed up a pace, uncertain as to what he would do. The soldiers had wanted to kill her—they said she’d be better off dead. Would this man feel the same?

  “My name is Levi. Levi Sperry. Do you remember me from the wagon train?”

  His voice was soft and gentle, and his smile seemed sincere. Still, Ardith had no idea who the man was or what he might do to her. She bit at her lower lip, desperate to figure out what to say or do.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you. Please forgive me.”

  She nodded but still found no words. Levi backed up a step and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. The action made Ardith relax a bit. She could tell that he wanted to make himself seem less threatening.

  “I’m Dianne’s sister.”

  “Yes, I know. I heard about the miracle.”

  “The miracle?”

  “You. Zane finding you. I remember when you were a little girl. I went searching for you when you were lost. Your family was so devastated—we all were.”

  Ardith refused to let her mind go back to those times. Memories weren’t her friends, and pondering the past only caused her pain. Like that first night with Dianne, bad memories would surface along with the good. She couldn’t seem to put them into any kind of proper order, so it seemed best not to remember at all.

  Levi pointed to her cradleboard. “Your baby is real pretty. Like you.”

  Ardith looked at the ground. His words embarrassed her. She stood there in silence for several moments until finally Levi spoke again.

  “Well, I just wanted to welcome you back. I won’t keep you.”

  She heard him turn and walk away. Only then did she glance up. He still had his hands in his pockets, and for some reason that amused her. She smiled—maybe for the first time in a long while.

  “I cannot believe this!” Portia cried as she read a letter from her father. “He says the army will be on a campaign to capture Sitting Bull and his men and may not return for months. What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  Dianne and Koko exchanged glances. They were mending clothes while Portia sat idle and considered her letter for the fourth time.

  Dianne knew what the young widow wanted: reassurance. She wanted Dianne to promise that Portia could stay as long as she wanted. But Dianne was hesitant to give that kind of promise. At her best, Portia was a whining nuisance most days, and Dianne would frankly be glad to see her go. Especially now that Ardith was here. Dianne much preferred spending her time with her sister and niece.

  “I hate this territory. There’s simply nothing of beauty or benefit. I miss going to the opera and theater. I long for a wonderful dinner on beautiful china plates, with crystal goblets and fine linens on the table.”

  “Things like that wouldn’t last long out here,” Koko commented softly.

  “Exactly.” Portia got up and began to pace. “This barbaric place has nothing of refinement. Why even this house,” she waved her arms, “pales in comparison to the homes back East.”

  “Portia,” Dianne said firmly, “my uncle planned this house and built a good portion of it with his own two hands. If you think it less than refined, try staying in one of the small cabins on the property. That’s how the rest of us lived in the early years. Maybe it would give you a better appreciation for what you have here.”

  Portia stopped in her tracks, her stunned expression revealing horror at the thought. “I could never live like that.” She shuddered, then began pacing again. “Some women are meant for more common living—but not me.”

  “Then perhaps you should go back East—or at least to Denver or Kansas City—and await word from your father,” Dianne replied. She finished repairing a rip in her husband’s shirt, then snipped the thread. With that done, she looked at Portia sternly. “If you remain here with us, you’ll have to start putting forth effort to help. Winter will soon be upon us and everyone will be needed to ready the ranch.”

  The woman turned and said nothing for a moment. Her rosy lips were pursed as if she were about to blow a kiss. There was an exotic beauty to Portia Langford; her black hair and dark eyes were intriguing, set against alabaster skin. There was no doubt she was probably the most beautiful woman in the room, but her personality failed to complement her appearance.

  “I’ve never had to work at household duties,” she finally admitted. “My mother desired a better life for me, so she wouldn’t let me lift a finger. Then I married and had maids and servants. What you’re asking is too much.”

  Dianne shrugged. “Then you’d best gather your things and head back to Bozeman. I don’t say this to be mean, but frankly, you’ve become a burden. You’re extra work. Koko and I have had to care for your clothes and clean your room. We cook for you and do your dishes. I simply don’t need the additional responsibility.”

  “But I don’t know how to do any chores. I know nothing about that mending you’re working at. I know nothing about cooking and cleaning.”

  “Those skills are easily taught,” Koko said. “You appear to be a smart woman. I’ve no doubt you can learn.”

  Portia shook her head. “I’m sure that you’re mistaken. Being an Indian, you probably don’t realize the needs of a refined woman.”

  Dianne got to her feet and put aside the shirt. “Portia, you will refrain from insulting my family. Being Indian or not has little to do with what we’re speaking of. This is a working ranch. We can’t dress in silks and fine fashions as you do. We need sturdy, serviceable clothing. You have your choice. Either I’ll have one of the boys hitch up a wagon and take you back to Bozeman tomorrow, or we begin your lessons today.” Dianne stood her ground despite the resentment reflected in Portia’s eyes.

  “You say it’s my choice, but I really have no alternative. I can’t go to Bozeman. I haven’t enough money to stay for an undetermined time.” She pouted and looked away as though trying to figure out another way out. Finally she sighed. “What will I have to do?”

  “Well, the first thing is to go change your clothes. You can hardly work in that,” Dianne declared. Just being around the richness of Portia’s heavily embroidered silk dress made Dianne nervous. The creation must have cost a fortune, and while there was a good deal of fraying at the hem, Dianne wanted no part in causing further damage to the gown.

  “And what would you suggest I wear?” Portia asked smugly.

  “Koko and I have managed to put together a few things for you.” Dianne smiled. “You may not like this arrangement, and for that I’m sorry. If you were a guest staying only a few days, it would never be an issue. But you must understand that there is a great deal of preparation for winter, and everyone is needed to work. Once that’s done and most of the men lead the herd to winter pasture, we’ll have it a little bit easier. But e
ven then we need to help one another so that no one person bears more of a load than the other.”

  Portia seemed to consider the words for a moment. “Very well. If that’s the way it has to be in order to receive hospitality—then so be it. I must say life in the West is nothing like the more civilized East.”

  “No, I’m sure that’s true,” Dianne replied. “But then again, in the East you needn’t fear Indian attack, or a bear wandering into camp, or facing starvation because you failed to prepare for the long isolated winter. Out here we have no need of pampered ladies and their finery. We need strong women who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. Believe me, your boredom will pass soon enough.”

  Portia looked hard at Dianne and with that gaze, Dianne knew that she’d made an enemy of the widow. There was a hard glint in her eyes that suggested in other circumstances Dianne would not have come out of this confrontation unscathed. It was hard to know which enemy to fear more—the ones from outside the ranch or the one from within.

  “If I had my way about it,” Portia muttered as she pulled off her gown, “I’d leave this place and never return. How I hate this isolated land.” She threw the gown on the floor, then stared after it. Realizing that no one would come and care for it, Portia reached down and retrieved it.

  She smoothed out the dress, turning it right side out again. She draped it over the back of a chair, then stared at her wardrobe, searching for the “appropriate garment” Dianne claimed to have supplied.

  “I can’t believe I’m reduced to this, and all because of R. E. Langford and his greed.” She hated even thinking of her father-in-law. The man always managed to irritate her, even though he was miles away in Baltimore.

  “I was never good enough for you, was I?” she asked, reaching for a plain dress of dark blue serge. “I was never good enough for your social circles—your high and mighty friends and their uppity ways.”

  She yanked the gown from the wardrobe. “Never mind that I was moving in better circles in New York and London—circles that you would never be welcomed in. Never mind that I was the toast of Paris and that we never went without invitation to the finest homes and the best parties.”