McLoughlin gave her a sad smile. “I’ve seldom seen relief come in such a manner. I fear your sister will be disappointed.”
Grace nodded and gave a heavy sigh. “I fear it as well.”
Hope wanted only to return home and be done with the town and its people. Everywhere she turned, there was someone talking about the trial. There were even sales going on, as storekeepers knew this event would bring in people from hundreds of miles around.
“I only need to stop a moment at the mill,” Grace told her as she directed the horse down Main Street.
Along the river, the mills were in various stages of repair. The flooding had wiped out most of them, and rebuilding had been of the utmost importance. This was a river town, and its life depended on the Willamette for the salmon, for the power of the falls, and for transportation.
Grace gasped and drew the horse to a stop in front of the Marsh Mill. “Sam!”
She jumped from the wagon, but Hope could only sit and stare. Sam Two Moons was Alex’s Nez Perce friend and had been a good friend to Grace too. If Hope were honest, he’d been a friend to all of them, but right now she had little desire to see an Indian. Even a friend.
Grace embraced him. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Came for the trial. Some of the Nez Perce chiefs have come. Others too. Some are to testify. I came on behalf of my people, knowing I’d have a chance to see you and Alex.”
Alex came out of the mill. “I see you’ve found Sam. I was going to bring him to the house and surprise you.”
“When did you get here?” Grace asked Sam.
“This morning. I asked Joe Meek where I might find Alex.”
Marshal Joseph Meek was a longtime trapper before becoming involved in the politics of the Oregon Territory. He’d also lost a daughter at the Whitman Mission. She had died from measles in the days of captivity due to a lack of medical attention. As far as Hope was concerned, the Cayuse had killed her all the same. She wondered if the marshal felt the same way.
“I told Sam he could stay with us, but he declined,” Alex said. “He wants to stay with his people and interpret for those who can’t understand English. He did say he’d come for supper sometime, though.”
“Oh, Sam, it’s so good to see you again. Hope and I were . . .” Grace fell silent and only then seemed to remember Hope. She looked at Hope, and the others did as well.
Hope wanted nothing more than to slap the reins and set the horse and wagon in motion. She wanted to be home, where she could hide from the world and all its sorrows.
Sam smiled and nodded. “Miss Hope, it is good to see you again.”
She stiffened but nodded in return. Sam had never caused her harm. In fact, he’d come on her behalf and Mercy’s when they’d been captive at the mission. Even so, he was still an Indian, and Hope had no desire to deal with him. She looked toward the river, hoping they would understand that she couldn’t be part of their conversation.
“Hope has been asked to testify at the trial,” Grace said, as if to offer explanation.
“I am sure that won’t be easy,” Sam replied.
Alex joined in. “None of this will be easy. A lot of hatred has been stirred up again. It’s only been two and a half years since the massacre, and people haven’t forgotten.”
Nor should they, Hope thought. The details of that horrible day of death and the month of captivity that followed would forever be burned into her memories. No matter how hard she tried to forget, the nightmares still came.
“The tribes long for peace to be reestablished,” Sam said. “That’s why the Nez Perce and others pushed the Cayuse to give up the guilty men. There would never be any peace with the whites until this matter was dealt with.”
Hope couldn’t help herself and turned back to face Sam. “And why should there be? Would you not have them bear the responsibility of their actions?”
“No. They deserve to die for what they did. No man has the right to kill another and . . . do the things they did.” He met her gaze and didn’t look away. “I would have killed them myself if the opportunity had presented itself.”
Hope knew he’d hated seeing her and Mercy held hostage. He’d risked his life to ask Telokite to free them. So why couldn’t she accept that he cared—that he was a good man?
Because he’s still an Indian.
She knew it was wrong to hate someone for the color of their skin, their ancestral heritage, but her heart was hard where the Indians were concerned. If it were up to her, they would all be taken off the face of the earth, never to harm another person again.
“We should probably get home,” Grace said. She gave Alex a kiss on the cheek then turned to Sam. “You’re welcome to eat with us anytime you choose.” She glanced quickly toward Hope then turned back to the men. “You’re always welcome.”
Alex helped Grace back into the wagon. “I’ll be home by six.”
She nodded and waited for him to step back. “We’ll pick up Mercy on the way home.” She snapped the reins, and Alex moved away. “Get along,” she called to the horse.
Hope was relieved when they were finally in motion again. She was certain Grace would bring up her attitude toward Sam, but to Hope’s surprise, she didn’t.
“It looks like they’ve made good progress in restoring the mill, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.”
“Uncle Edward told me that he ordered another circular saw blade back in February, so it should arrive soon. Until then, they’re going to use the old up-and-down method. It doesn’t produce nearly as much lumber in a day as the circular saw can, however.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
Grace looked at Hope and smiled. “Do what?”
“Make small talk so I can forget about Sam and the trial.”
Her sister’s expression sobered. “I just want you to heal—to forget all the bad and move forward with the good.”
“I’d like that too, but I don’t think it will happen any time soon. Not with the trial bringing it all back in detail.”
Grace reached out to take hold of Hope’s hand. “You won’t face any of this alone.”
But Hope knew that part of the experience would always be hers to bear alone. No kindness of her family, no trial to declare guilt, would ever take away what had been done to her. The recollection of those heinous acts, those terrifying days, could not be expunged by words. Maybe not even by deeds such as hanging the guilty. Her biggest fear was that nothing would ever take those memories away—that she would bear them until the day she died.
“Show me again, Hope.” Mercy narrowed her eyes at the spinning wheel. She was determined to figure this out. “I just can’t seem to make it all work at once. You make spinning look so easy.”
“It isn’t really that complicated. You just need to practice. In time you’ll become much better at it.”
Mercy shook her head and looked at the sorry bobbin of yarn she’d just made. “Mine isn’t even at all. Some of the yarn is thick and some as thin as thread. I just can’t seem to draft out the wool in a consistent manner. And then when I think I have that under control, I put too much twist in the strand, and it curls up.”
With the infinite patience that Hope usually reserved for the sheep, she showed Mercy again how to pedal and coordinate the wool. “You must slow down your pedaling. It isn’t a race. Just let your foot move in a slow, steady manner. As for the drafting, I have an idea.”
Hope turned to the bag of carded roving. She held up a long strand and divided it down the middle. “Try using this. It won’t require quite as much drafting.” She handed the piece to Mercy.
“I really appreciate you teaching me this. I love the way you make money by selling your yarn. I know it’ll be years before I can do the same, but maybe by then you’ll be married and won’t have much time for spinning.”
Hope frowned. “I told you, I don’t ever intend to marry.”
“But why? Even Lorinda has married. Good men d
on’t care about what happened. They know you were forced to . . . well . . . it wasn’t what you wanted.”
Hope shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, Mercy. I don’t intend to marry. I can’t. There’s nothing but bitterness in my heart where such things are concerned.”
“But . . .” Mercy paused to choose her words carefully. She was glad Grace and Alex had gone for a walk. “Hope, God can take that bitterness away. He can send you someone who will love you.”
“Will that man also be able to take away my regrets, my anger, my nightmares? You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mercy, so just forget about it and pay attention to your spinning. I don’t want to discuss this anymore.”
Mercy knew it was useless to force the issue. She’d talked about it with Grace, who reminded her that neither one of them could fully understand all that Hope had gone through. Not only had she been molested continuously during their month of captivity, she had also seen the boy she loved killed by the same man who violated her.
But there has to be a way for Hope to get better. Lord, please show her the way. She won’t listen to any of us.
Tears came to Mercy’s eyes, but she kept her face bent toward the spinning wheel so that Hope wouldn’t see. Mercy didn’t want to make her sister feel any worse than she already did. Talking about the massacre had helped Mercy get over the worst of it, but it only seemed to make things worse for Hope.
I just want her back the way she used to be. You can do that, can’t You, God?
Chapter
5
Oregon City, Oregon
May 21, 1850
Hope sat in the middle of the courtroom with Grace and Alex. Around her were women she recognized from her days at the mission. There were others in the room as well. Men from Oregon City who had married some of these women, as well as others just fascinated by the trial itself. It was the biggest event ever to come to Oregon City, and it seemed no one intended to miss it.
Packed as it was, the room soon became very warm and left Hope feeling crushed from all sides. She thought more than once of running out the door, but Grace held her hand firmly, as if knowing Hope might bolt at any moment.
They’d arrived early, admonished by Mr. Holbrook to do so in order to have a proper place to sit. He’d reserved two rows of chairs for his witnesses but still had to post soldiers to keep others from taking their seats. Rows of wooden benches had been made to accommodate the crowd, but many people had to stand.
Mr. Holbrook was already seated at his table, along with another man Hope didn’t recognize. Across the room, the grand jury was assembled. There would be another jury to consider the actual trial. These men were simply there to bear witness to the indictments they had prepared after hearing initial testimony and determining there should be a trial.
A noise from behind and the gasps of several women made Hope stiffen. She knew without being told that the defendants were being brought in. She closed her eyes, uncertain that she could endure seeing them again. She tried to pray, but the murmurings of the audience and the sound of prisoner chains forced her to open her eyes. Marshal Meek led the way. This was personal for him, just as it was for so many. Had his daughter Helen received proper care during the captivity, she might still be alive.
Hope had already seen Indians among the viewing crowd, including Sam Two Moons. She knew that some of them were going to testify, while others had been encouraged by the governor to attend so they could report back to their people. Their nearness made her nervous, and when Telokite appeared behind Meek, she had to fight back the bile in her throat. She didn’t look away, however. She was determined to look them in the eye and make clear that she was no coward.
Tomahas was next. He walked proudly and arrogantly, as he always had. He glanced at the people around him, unafraid and unashamed. When his gaze reached Hope, she couldn’t help but cringe, causing him to smile. Dressed in his breechclout, buckskin leggings, and an elaborately decorated shirt, he commanded everyone’s attention. They all did, but the fierce, hard look of Tomahas coupled with his haughty nature drew most of the stares. All were dressed in their native clothing intermingled with that of the whites, except Tomahas. Where the others wore a white man’s styled shirt, Tomahas wore fringed buckskin. He was pure Cayuse. Fierce, mean, and full of hate. Here was a man who knew he was soon to die, yet he glared at the people around him as though he were in charge.
After Tomahas came Kiamasumkin. Hope didn’t recognize him as one of the Cayuse who had participated in the massacre, but she didn’t really care. He was an Indian and of the same tribe that caused her such misery. Behind him walked Clokomas, who stood a whole head shorter than the others. Last was Isiaasheluckas. Hope knew the latter two only by sight and name, as told to her by Johnny Sager.
The prisoners were led to the defense table while uniformed soldiers took their place facing the crowd from just behind the bar. Hope felt reassured by their presence. If the Indians tried anything, the soldiers would be able to contain them.
She bit her lower lip to keep her jaw from quivering. It had been madness to agree to bear witness. Hope knew she could never do it. She would never be able to speak with Tomahas in the room. She drew her hand away from Grace and clutched her large reticule against her stomach. The heavy feel of the pistol inside helped allay her fears, but only a little.
As the Cayuse settled beside their lawyers and interpreters, another appearance drew everyone’s attention. Governor Lane came down the aisle to take his place in the front row behind the prosecutor’s table. He was accompanied by several men, most of whom Hope had seen at one time or another but hadn’t bothered to know.
The court clerk, George Curry, took his place at a table near the judge’s bench along with his deputy clerk. They would record all that was said and done at the trial. The two men were barely in their chairs when the judge entered the room and everyone was ordered to rise. The clerk announced, “Court is now in session. The Honorable Orville C. Pratt presiding.”
There was some confusion at the defense table as the interpreters explained the custom and instructions to the defendants. Reluctantly, the Cayuse got to their feet and looked around. All looked puzzled, except Tomahas. Even the aging Telokite seemed to lack any understanding of the tradition.
The crowd was instructed to take their seats after the judge took his. Hope eased back in her chair, hoping the judge would deal swiftly with the legalities. Mr. Holbrook had said that the trial would be handled with the same formalities and requirements as any court back east. To Hope, that only meant one thing—long, tedious hours of legal ramblings.
“Mr. Holbrook, as United States Attorney, do you have any business for the court?” Judge Pratt asked.
Holbrook stood. “I do, Your Honor. Indictment Number Eleven: United States versus Telokite, et al.”
Hope listened as the deputy clerk rose and read the indictment. The words were phrased in such a way that it seemed a waste of time. Why didn’t they simply state that on November 29, the Cayuse tribe attacked and killed the men at the Whitman Mission, along with Mrs. Whitman, and then took everyone else hostage, beating, raping, and degrading any and all who remained? It seemed straightforward to Hope. There was no need for legal ramblings from men who normally spent their days keeping a store or farming.
The reading went on for some time, the Indian interpreters speaking rapidly to keep up. Hope heard some of the translation but didn’t understand a word. She’d never wanted nor attempted to learn the Cayuse language.
The clerk concluded reading and sat down. Hope stiffened. The legal papers had only mentioned Marcus Whitman. Why? Those savages had killed her Johnny and eleven others, including poor James Young and Andy Rogers. All had died at the hands of the same murderers. What about them and Mrs. Whitman? Those heathens had shot her and then, on the pretense of taking her elsewhere to be cared for, they dropped her in the mud outside the mission house, clubbed her with axes, and shot her additional times. Hope had seen it all
and knew those images would never leave her no matter how many years passed.
The defense lawyers were formally assigned by the judge. Hope listened as they requested and received a very short continuance that would allow them time to familiarize themselves with the indictment and list of witnesses. It seemed completely unnecessary to Hope, but it meant that once they recessed, she would be able to return home and not have to be present until the trial resumed. It was a small thing—only a delay—but it gave her a great sense of relief. It would give her even more relief if someone—anyone—would just kill the Cayuse and put an end to the need for a trial.
She again felt for the reassurance of her gun. Tomahas’s penetrating sneer ignited a flame within her soul. She might not be able to put an end to the trial, but she could put an end to Tomahas.
Standing guard with his men in the courtroom, Lance noticed a small, pretty woman sitting several rows behind Governor Lane. Her brown hair had been pinned atop her head in a simple, no-nonsense style that added to the severity of her expression. She was no doubt one of the victims, as she sat in the area reserved for them. He might not have thought twice about her, but her brilliant blue eyes had narrowed in almost tangible hatred when the Cayuse were brought into the courtroom. While others had looked away, this young woman had made it her business to face her attackers. He admired that.
After assigning the lawyers, court was recessed. Four hours later they came back together without the defendants and most of the spectators, including the pretty woman. The grand jury resumed their seats, along with the clerk and his deputy, and Judge Pratt took his place at the bench. He looked down at his papers then commanded Holbrook to continue.
Only Lance and two of his men had returned to the courtroom in case there was any ruckus, but he didn’t expect anything to go amiss. He could have sent someone else, but his love of law had been stirred by the morning’s formalities, and he found himself longing to return.
Beloved Hope (Heart of the Frontier Book #2) Page 4