The Coming Storm

by Tracie Peterson

  Mary Selby uncharacteristically grabbed hold of her son and embraced him long and hard. Cole couldn’t help but sense desperation in her action. “Please be careful. Let me know as soon as you can that you’ve arrived safely.”

  “I promise,” Cole said. His mother’s uneasiness momentarily unnerved him. He shook it off and tried not to overreact. “I’ll probably be there about the time the corn gets as tall as you. So just think on that and start looking for a letter a few weeks later.”

  She nodded and let him go. Cole mounted his horse and looked around for his father. “Where’s Pa?”

  “Waiting by the gate. I told him I needed a moment with you. He said he’d meet you there.”

  “Thanks. Thanks for everything. I hope we see each other again . . . soon.”

  “I pray that as well.”

  Cole hated that his mother sounded so worried, but he urged Buddy, his faithful sorrel, out of the barn and down the path toward the front gate. There were really no words of comfort he could offer her, so instead he prayed that God might ease her worry.

  Spotting his father, Cole dismounted and walked the remaining few yards. “Guess it’s time for me to get going,” he said. The morning dawn was lighting up the day and soon it would be warm, maybe even hot. In Kansas, his father liked to say, a fellow never knew whether to wear a heavy coat or a straw hat.

  “Your ma found you, then?”

  “Yeah. She seems really worried. I hope you’ll be able to put her mind at ease.”

  “She heard tell of wagon trains being attacked by Indians. Someone from the church mentioned it last night. It’s all she’s been able to think about ever since.”

  “Well, that explains it,” Cole said, trying hard to sound lighthearted. “Silly gossips. Don’t they know the Bible teaches against that kind of thing?”

  His father met his gaze and nodded. “Be careful.”

  “I will be, Pa. You should have word back from me no later than September. I’ll even try to drop you a few lines along the way.”

  “All right, then. Be off and give that little lady of yours our best.” He extended his hand, but Cole pulled his father into an embrace instead.

  “I will. Give Ma my love and know that you have it too.”

  He quickly released his father and remounted the horse. If he didn’t leave now, he’d get all weepy—something he was definitely not used to.

  Cole moved out the open gate and headed to Topeka. There was still something he had to do. The telegram Daniel had sent confirmed that the wagon train had left Independence on the twentieth of April. But it also asked Cole to pick up additional ammunition and maybe an extra rifle or two.

  Apparently the Indians were on the warpath.

  CHAPTER 6

  “ARTICLE FIFTY-TWO OF THE ARTICLES OF WAR DECLARES, ‘Any officer or soldier who shall misbehave himself before the enemy, run away, or shamefully abandon any fort, post, or guard which he or they may be commanded to defend, or speak words inducing others to do the like, or shall cast away his arms and ammunition, or who shall quit his post or colors to plunder and pillage, every such offender, being duly convicted thereof, shall suffer death, or such other punishment as shall be ordered by the sentence of a general court-martial.’ ” Zane listened to the words of his superior as the proceeding against him concluded. He’d prayed about doing the right thing and knew that being here—admitting to desertion—was the right thing. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

  “Sergeant Chadwick, do you have anything to say in your own defense?”

  Zane cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.” He eyed the thirteen uniformed men who would ultimately determine his fate.

  “Proceed, then.”

  Zane paused for a moment and threw a glance toward Major Baker. Rumor had it the man had faced his own displeased superiors but nothing had come of it. Yes, he had waged war on an innocent band of friendly Indians, but that’s where any concern ended. After all, they were only Indians.

  “I know what I did was wrong,” Zane began, “but I also know what we did that day to Heavy Runner’s village was wrong.” He squared his shoulders and drew a deep breath.

  “I joined the army because I wanted to defend the nation and keep the peace. I wanted very much to be a good soldier, and in my time here, I believe I accomplished that. However, when I joined this army, I swore an oath.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

  “ ‘I, Zane Chadwick, do solemnly swear that I will bear true allegiance to the United States of America, and that I will serve them honestly and faithfully against all their enemies or opposers whatsoever, and observe and obey the orders of the President of the United States, and the order of the officers appointed over me according to the rules and articles for the government of the armies of the United States.’ ”

  He put the paper down and looked back into the faces of his accusers. “I’ve kept that oath to the best of my ability. However, on that January day on the Marias, I was not fighting enemies of the United States. I was asked not to defend against an opposer but rather to murder a band of Indians considered by our own government to be friends.

  “Major Baker went into that battle knowing full well he had the wrong group of Indians. It wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. He knew well ahead of time, and instead of murdering innocent people, most of which were women and children despite the report sitting on your desk, he could have simply moved on to capture or kill the true culprit he sought.”

  Zane knew this would be his only chance to speak and decided to make it worth his while. “I don’t care why Major Baker made the choice he did. It doesn’t matter to me if he was drunk or misguided or simply afraid. What matters to me is the choice I make. I don’t have to answer for Major Baker’s choices, but I do have to answer for my own. My faith tells me to obey my authority, but it also tells me to obey God first. I didn’t kill anyone that day, because I chose to obey God first. I left the army rather than continue in pursuit of other Indians who might also have been innocent and friendly. My judgment was perhaps in error, but my motives were not born of cowardice.” He fell silent, keeping his gaze even upon the men before him.

  “We will recess for dinner and reconvene at thirteen hundred hours. The prisoner will be confined to general quarters until such time that we reconvene. Dismissed.”

  Zane and his escorts headed back to his room. He knew he could face death for what he’d done, but for the first time in a long, long while, he was at peace with the entire matter. Come what may, his fate was in God’s hands. No matter the decision of the court-martial, Zane could rest in that knowledge.

  “Sergeant Chadwick?”

  Zane looked to the corporal who was escorting him back to his quarters. “Yes?”

  “For what it’s worth, there’s a bunch of us who agree with what you did. It wasn’t right to take innocent lives. Major Baker should never have ordered that attack.”

  Zane stopped and looked at the man. “What I did was wrong. I should have gone through the proper channels and dealt with it in a more honorable manner. I tried to take an easy way out. Don’t agree with that.”

  The corporal suddenly looked embarrassed. He lowered his gaze and shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Zane touched the man’s shoulder. “I appreciate the support. What we did up there was wrong—there’s no doubt about that.”

  The corporal seemed renewed. He looked up and met Zane’s gaze with great enthusiasm. “Maybe justice will be done because of what you did.”

  Zane sighed. “Justice won’t bring the dead back to life.”

  “Just look at all those tulips,” Faith declared as she and Dianne walked toward the house. “Aren’t they lovely? I’ve never seen so many colors.”

  Dianne smiled and enjoyed the warmth of the day. “Uncle Bram has a second cousin who sends them from Amsterdam. Ever since she found out he’d settled down and married, she’s been mailing them over.”

  “Well, they’re the prettiest things,”
Faith said, bending down to touch one of the velvety petals.

  “I wish they’d bloom longer. One bloom each year. That’s all we get. You have to really cherish it when it comes.”

  “Lilacs are that way too. You get a few weeks of lovely blossoms, then a nice green bush until winter strips it bare. But the fragrance is marvelous.”

  Dianne recalled the lilacs in Missouri. “Oh yes! I remember them. Lilacs were always one of my favorites.”

  “You need to plant roses,” Faith said, straightening. “Roses will bloom all summer.”

  “I think I’d like that. Maybe I can order some. Lilacs too. I’ll check with Uncle Bram. He’ll know what we can get shipped out here. If there were more time, I’d just write to Cole and ask him to bring some plants along.” Dianne glanced up the road to the ridge where she’d first gazed down upon the ranch. Someday she’d look up there and see Cole riding home. Someday.

  Faith reached out and touched Dianne’s hand. “I know you miss him a great deal, but he’ll be home soon.” “I know. I keep telling myself that. The spring roundup is done, the cattle are back to summer pasture, and the men are already working to put your cabin up. It won’t be long now.” She smiled at Faith. “At least that’s what I keep telling myself. But honestly, each day is like a month. It drags by so slowly.”

  “But we’ve needed the time. Your wedding dress is coming along nicely.”

  “Thanks to you and Koko. I’m so nervous, I can hardly put in a straight stitch.”

  Faith laughed and it did Dianne’s heart good to hear. Dianne knew Faith was healing little by little. By helping keep house at the ranch and assisting Koko with the children, Faith had put aside her own tragedy. Dianne wasn’t sure if things were better between Faith and Malachi, but the man seemed happier. Of course, it could be Uncle Bram’s promise of blacksmithing equipment.

  Dianne decided to press for information. “Why don’t we sit a minute on the porch.”

  Faith shrugged. “I guess since the clothes are drying on the line and the kids are down for their naps, it wouldn’t hurt to take a minute or two.”

  Dianne patted the seat of the bench Uncle Bram had made for just such occasions. “I want to know how you’re doing. You seem happier.”

  Faith nodded. “I’m better. Something about this place just seems to bring healing. Probably the good company.”

  “I’m glad, Faith. I was so worried about you.”

  “Some days are better than others. Still, I’ve been spending a good deal of time in prayer, and at night I’ve been teaching Malachi to read. We’re using the Bible, of course, and God always seems to have a way of getting my attention. Just yesterday I came across Hebrews chapter eleven. I remember hearing a preacher talk on this once before, but for some reason, reading it last night seemed like the first time.”

  Dianne wasn’t familiar with the chapter, so she pressed Faith to continue. “What did you learn?”

  “The whole chapter is about faith—the faith of our forefathers. It tells how each one showed faith through his or her deeds, including the harlot Rahab. I suppose it caught my attention because of my own name being Faith. Anyway, I memorized some of verses. It says, ‘Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’ ”

  “I like that,” Dianne said, mulling the words over. She could only have faith that Cole would return—it was the substance of her hope—the evidence of what she couldn’t see. Her faith in God was often like that. She could see His handiwork, but she couldn’t see Him face to face. That was where faith came in. She had faith that God existed—that He cared and listened.

  “Me too. I thought about my babies and about how much I want to have children. I thought about our years in captivity and how we used to hope for the day to come when we’d be free. That chapter also talks about how some of those folks—Abraham and Sarah, for example—died in faith, not even having received the promises. But they’d seen them down the road and were confident of them—confident of God’s ability to make them come to pass.” She paused for a moment, then spoke more softly.

  “I didn’t realize some of the sin I’d harbored in my heart.”

  Dianne looked at her in confusion. “You? I’ve never seen you be anything but loving and giving—always pointing others toward the Lord.”

  Faith shook her head. “But in my heart, I held bitterness. It was hard for me to take help from white folks. I figured I’d lived at the mercy of white folks all my life. I know Malachi felt the same way. You have no idea how hard it was for him to come here—to ask for help. But if we hadn’t, we would have died . . . and all for the sake of pride.”

  “I had no idea you felt that way.”

  Faith met her gaze, and the pain in her heart was evident in 8 her expression. “You don’t know what it’s like, so I can’t blame you. We used to dream of the day we could walk about free. We whispered about it at night, like white folks whisper about presents on Christmas morning. We prayed for freedom—for the chains of oppression to be broken. We prayed for prosperity and a chance to prove ourselves worthy of freedom.”

  Dianne held back from saying anything. Faith was absolutely right. She didn’t know what it was like.

  “When freedom came, no one wanted to be obligated to another white man or woman. We wanted to pick up and leave and be gone. Malachi and I decided to just hightail it out of the war and all that was around us. But we were the lucky ones. Most other black folk had no choice but to stay on where they were. Where would they go? How would they pay their way? Besides, many masters didn’t care about what Mr. Lincoln had to say. They didn’t figure to set anyone free.

  “We were lucky—blessed because the Union needed Malachi’s skills for shoeing and mending their wagons. They even tried to talk him into joining up for the war, but Malachi would have no part of that, and I was mighty glad. My master had given me a bit of money, so when we had enough, we were able to join up on the wagon train. But we were different than most.” She looked away again and this time her voice sounded sad.

  “We came to the promised land—or so we thought. But the promise was for everybody else. The gold was there for those who wanted to put in the back-breaking hours of labor, but then there were folks who stood by happy to steal it away from you once you had it. And of course, there were still the same old attitudes and prejudices. No one trusts a black man to be telling the truth about the gold he’s been robbed of. No one believes a black woman is capable of running a store counter.We sure can’t be hired to teach school, no matter how good we are at reading and writing.”

  “I’m truly sorry, Faith. I had no idea—just like you said,” Dianne felt deeply apologetic. She wished there were a way to wipe away the pain and misery they’d suffered.

  “I have to confess something to you, Dianne,” Faith continued. “I didn’t want to come here.”

  “But why? You know how much I care about you,” Dianne said, genuinely hurt that Faith should feel this way.

  “I know, but I didn’t want to be beholden to another white person.”

  “But my skin color shouldn’t matter. I’m a human being, same as you. A Christian woman, same as you. Color isn’t important to me.”

  “No, I know it isn’t, but you have the luxury of feeling that way. Some folks will call you progressive and praise you for your attitude. For me, it’s a constant battle. I’ve always been taught that color does matter—so even I don’t feel like you do. The color of your skin tells you what’s expected of you—where you’ll be allowed to go, how folks will treat you. Believe me, Dianne, I don’t want color to matter. I don’t want it to be an issue between us.”

  “Then let’s not make it one,” Dianne said more sternly than she’d meant to sound.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me, but with the door open I couldn’t help but overhear,” Koko said as she joined the two women on the porch. “Dianne, you must understand that for you, a white woman, things are different. As Faith said, you have the lux
ury of taking up whatever feeling or cause you desire. Some will admire your ambitions and others will scorn your beliefs, but it will only be your philosophies they come against. Not you personally— not the color of your skin. People look at me and say, ‘Ah, she’s Indian. That makes her a heathen child who has no understanding of anything more than chewing hides and raising more heathens.’ ”

  “And for me,” Faith declared, “it’s, ‘Oh, she’s Negro. That makes her dim-witted, lazy, and incapable of being educated.’ And some will add that I practice black magic and superstitious nonsense too.”

  Koko nodded knowingly. “It’s the same for my people.”

  For Dianne the discussion was becoming increasingly painful.She knew she was naive. Knew, too, that her feelings about color were definitely not the thoughts she had heard expressed by so many others. But she honestly didn’t want to look at people in the ways Koko and Faith were suggesting.

  “I can understand your heart, Faith. I understand not wanting to take another bit of charity or be at the mercy of white people. But you don’t have that here. And you won’t have that here. You are loved simply because you are my friend. And Koko, you know my feelings in this matter. My mother was a very prejudiced woman, sharing many of those beliefs you mentioned. But it’s not me. It’s not how I feel.” Dianne got to her feet. “I love you both more dearly than any friend I’ve ever had. Just as dearly as I loved my little sisters. I despise the sorrow you’ve known because of heartless people, but here on this ranch, we don’t have to live as the world does. We can make a change right here. We can raise our children together—share our hopes and dreams together—find a better way, a way that God would have us make.”

  “That’s exactly the conclusion I came to last night,” Faith said, smiling. “Remember I was telling you about Hebrews eleven?”

  Dianne nodded.

  “Well, the last couple of verses in that chapter really caught my attention. After talking about all those wonderful folk in the Bible—all those great men and women of God—it said . . . let me see if I can remember.” She paused a moment and closed her eyes. “‘And these all, having obtained a good report through faith, received not the promise: God having provided some better thing for us, that they without us should not be made perfect.’ ” Dianne shook her head. “I don’t think I understand.”