Beloved Hope (Heart of the Frontier Book #2)

by Tracie Peterson

  “Well, I’ll speak to Grace tonight. If she agrees, then I’ll do it. I’ll go after the hanging, when the chiefs return to their villages. That way we can discuss it on the journey and figure out the best way to tell their people.”

  Grace turned to face the fire, her mind in turmoil. She wanted Alex to do the things that were important to him, but this would take him away for a long time—probably the entire summer. That would put an end to their plan to build a bigger house this year, despite the land having been cleared and the logs set aside and waiting.

  She touched a hand to her flat stomach. There was another reason she wanted him to remain close to home. She hadn’t told him or anyone else, and now she felt she couldn’t. Alex would never go if he knew she was pregnant. Even if it meant the hostilities increased between the Indians and the settlers. He would feel completely obligated to Grace and their unborn child—just as he should.

  The men were concluding their business. Grace heard chairs scraping on the wood floor as they rose and knew they’d soon join her in the front room. She didn’t want them to know she’d been eavesdropping and quickly moved to the front door. Opening it, she stood there as if she’d just arrived when the men entered the room.

  “Grace, look who’s come to pay us a call,” Alex said, coming to her side.

  “Governor Lane. How nice to see you.” Grace smiled. “I was tending to chores.”

  “Looks like you’re soaked,” Alex said before the governor could speak.

  “Yes. I went out in the fields to speak to Hope. The grass is very wet.”

  “I’ll not keep you any longer,” the governor said, taking up his hat. “Mrs. Armistead, your husband offered me some of your crumble. It was quite delicious.” He didn’t wait for her response but turned to Alex. “I’ll need your decision tomorrow.”

  Sam came to Grace. “I’m going to ride back to town with the governor, but I wanted you to tell Hope how much I appreciate her allowing me to be here.”

  “I’ll tell her.” Grace gave Sam a hug. “I’m glad you’re here. I know Alex has missed you terribly.”

  “I have. Are you sure you won’t just stay the night with us?” Alex asked.

  Sam pushed back his long black hair and shook his head. “No. The chiefs will need me to interpret for them, and I don’t want Hope to feel uneasy. She’s going through enough already.”

  “If you’re ready,” the governor said, stepping through the open door, “we’d best get on before we lose the light altogether.”

  Once they’d gone, Grace turned to her husband. His expression made it clear he was wrestling with some matter, most likely the governor’s request. She would do whatever she could to assure him that all was well . . . that she wanted him to go. The baby wasn’t due until December, and Alex would be home long before then.

  She smiled and put her arm around his waist. “So what decision do you need to give the governor?”

  Chapter

  8

  Lance headed toward his meeting with Tom Claiborne, one of the defense lawyers for the Indians. Claiborne was a brevet captain with the Mounted Riflemen and had been one of the men who escorted the Cayuse to Oregon City. He was a man of temper and opinion, and most of the soldiers in the regiment disliked him. For some reason, he had summoned Lance to come see him as soon as possible.

  “Come in, Lieutenant,” Claiborne said, opening the door to his dwelling. “I was just transcribing some notes from the trial.”

  “I came as soon as I received your note, sir.” Lance removed his cap and took the seat Claiborne pointed to.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thank you, sir.”

  “Let’s dispense with the formalities. You’ll soon be a civilian, and I’m much too busy and tired to care.” Claiborne sank into his chair and picked up a glass containing amber liquid. “I have a task for you.” He tossed back his drink.

  “Sir?”

  “In regard to the Cayuse prisoners. I have an idea to get them treated more fairly.”

  “I understand you believe them innocent.” Lance wasn’t sure why he’d said this, but now that it was out there, he could hardly take it back. Hopefully Claiborne wouldn’t feel Lance was challenging him—even if, in a sense, he was doing exactly that.

  Claiborne seemed unconcerned. “I do. I think the Indians chose five scapegoats, hoping to put an end to the army’s harassment. I’m not the only one who feels that way, either. Governor Lane has assured me that should they be found guilty, he will stop any death sentence.” He put his empty glass aside.

  “It seems to me the governor is speaking out of both sides of his mouth. I overheard him tell a group of folks that he was confident of a guilty verdict and a quick and proper hanging.”

  Claiborne frowned. “He has to keep peace with the townsfolk. Once the verdict is reached—and even I realize it will be a guilty verdict—he will make his plans known. Try as I might, I cannot convince my associates of anything but the Indians’ guilt and will surely have no influence over the jury. Even though the prosecuting attorney himself told me he believes in the innocence of those men.”

  “Holbrook believes them innocent?”

  “At least some of them. He pointed out that the witnesses can’t agree as to when the attack started or even where. Some say it started in the house, some swear it was by the gristmill, and still another version is that it started in the yard between houses. Then there’s the issue of which Cayuse were truly there. The witnesses admit there were a great many more than the five sitting in the courtroom, but even so, they can only agree to the presence of Telokite and Tomahas. However, because the defendants are being tried as a group rather than individually, it’s a point he won’t raise. It’s madness, to be sure. The governor knows that hanging the Indians will only lead to more uprisings. He’ll have to overturn the sentence in order to keep the peace.”

  “I’m not so sure of that. The people of this town will lynch those men if the court doesn’t.” Lance thought of Hope Flanagan for the hundredth time that night. He couldn’t tell Claiborne of her attempt to kill one of his defendants, even if his duty required him to. He wouldn’t betray her trust, and nothing about the incident would change the outcome of the trial.

  “That’s where the army comes in. We’ll see the prisoners adequately protected and removed to a safer location. The people here clearly hate them.”

  “That reminds me, why didn’t you approach the change of venue from the angle of location rather than the temperament of the people? The massacre clearly took place in the Clark County District, so it would seem that’s where the jurisdiction lies.”

  “I forgot you were a man of law. I told Pritchette that very thing, but he refused to use it. He doesn’t want a change of venue any more than Judge Pratt did.”

  Lance chose his words carefully. “You mentioned why the prosecutor believes some of the defendants are innocent, but why are you so sure? As I hear it, there are witnesses who know for a fact that those men were responsible for what happened. Women who were raped. Women who watched those men kill and mutilate their husbands.”

  “You know as well as I do that witnesses are fallible. They see what they want to see and remember what they want to remember. It’s been over two years. None of those women can be sure of what they saw.”

  Lance knew better. Hope Flanagan had no trouble remembering. She remembered every detail, of that Lance had no doubt. She didn’t strike him as the type of woman to risk her life trying to kill a man who had never wronged her. She had suffered a great deal at the hands of Tomahas. She’d seen him kill firsthand. Lance had no doubt about that and no doubt that other women from the massacre would try what Hope had attempted as well if they had the opportunity.

  He put aside his thoughts and pressed Claiborne for the reason he’d asked Lance to come in the first place. “You said you had an idea for helping the defendants?”

  “I want them to look their best tomorrow. I’ve obtained prop
er clothes and want them to put aside their Indian trappings. If they look more presentable, I believe we can make the jury see them in a different light.”

  “You mean if they look more white?” Lance shook his head. “These men aren’t going to put aside their culture and way of dressing. Even if I forced them into those clothes at the jail, they’d be naked by the time they made it to the courtroom. They’re a proud people, and rightly so. If I were one of them, I’d feel no different.”

  “There’s no place for pride in this. I’ll speak to them. I’ll tell them it’s in their best interest.”

  Lance approached it from a different angle. “Captain, as you’ve already stated, no one but you has any concern for their best interest. Clothes aren’t going to change the opinions of the jury tomorrow after those women get on the stand and tell what they saw and what those Indians did to them. You know it, and so do I.”

  Claiborne swore and got up so fast he knocked over his glass. “Fine. Let them dress as heathens.” He spewed out a stream of profanities.

  Lance got to his feet but remained silent. He couldn’t offer anything that would calm the raging captain. It was a concession that he’d been allowed to speak as freely as he had.

  “This is the fault of those missionaries. Spaulding and the others. They think that because they come on holy missions, the rest of the world should just bow at their feet. I told Spaulding he and Whitman had no right to impose their will on free men. No right! And if they hang those men, there will be the devil to pay.” Claiborne went to the door and opened it. “You might as well go now, Lieutenant. It’s obvious I cannot change the inevitable.”

  Lance moved toward the door, but he couldn’t refrain from speaking. “Sir, I know of at least one woman who was raped and abused by Tomahas. She isn’t lying about it, nor is her memory incapable of clear thought. She deserves justice.”

  Claiborne shook his head and calmed. “This trial isn’t about justice. Those men are already condemned, and it grieves me that the good citizens of Oregon City are content to go through the motions of giving them a fair trial. We know perfectly well that they would have lynched them without a second thought had we allowed it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lance stepped outside and pulled on his cap. He turned to bid the brevet captain good evening, but he had already closed the door.

  Lance muttered, “He’s right on one account. This trial isn’t about justice. It’s about revenge.”

  Hope sat in the courtroom on Thursday morning, wondering how she would ever endure the day. Lieutenant Kenner stood just a few rows ahead with his soldiers. He offered her a nod when their eyes met, but otherwise held his attention on the courtroom.

  Most of the morning had been consumed by the jury selection. Some men were more than eager to serve, and a few would just as soon have been left to their own devices. Several were rejected and sent on their way, but it wasn’t long before the jurymen were all selected. Judge Pratt issued the oath and then directed the prosecution to begin.

  Holbrook got to his feet and glanced at the massacre victims seated behind him. He gave them a confident smile, then related to the jury the information that had been read in Indictment Number Eleven. He concluded his speech by assuring the jury that he would provide enough evidence to leave no doubt in their minds.

  “I am confident that once you good gentlemen of the jury hear what these poor victims have to say, you will have no choice other than to find the defendants guilty of all charges.” He turned back to his table and glanced down at his papers. “I call Mrs. Eliza Hall to the stand.”

  Hope watched as the mother of five made her way forward. She remembered Eliza in the aftermath of the attack. Her husband, Peter, had not been among the men killed on the mission grounds, so she felt confident that he had gotten away to get help. They later learned that Peter had made it to Fort Nez Perce but found little help available and immediately set out for Fort Vancouver. He was never seen again and was presumed to have drowned in the Columbia River.

  As Mrs. Hall was sworn in and took her seat, Hope felt her stomach clench. Now would begin the descriptions of that day so long ago. That day when the world had gone mad.

  “Mrs. Hall, please tell the court where you made your residence in November of 1847,” the prosecutor began.

  “My husband, Peter, and I, along with our children, lived at the Whitman Mission in the Emigrant House. We’d come from Illinois, and because my husband was an architect and carpenter, Dr. Whitman wanted him to stay and help with some of his building projects.”

  “And so you were both there on November 29th when the attack took place.”

  “Yes . . . we were.” Her voice quivered.

  “And where exactly were you when the trouble started?”

  “I was in the Emigrant House.”

  “And where was this house?”

  Hope startled when Judge Pratt interrupted. “Mr. Holbrook, I presume this witness’s testimony will take some time, so it is my opinion that we should adjourn for lunch.” He looked at the jury and the marshal. “Marshal Meek, take charge of the jury. Jurymen, you will not speak on this matter to anyone, nor amongst yourselves. The army guards will remove the prisoners back to the jail. We will recess until two o’clock this afternoon.” He pounded his gavel and rose. The audience got to their feet as well.

  Meek rounded up the jury members and led them away while the soldiers ushered the defendants and their lawyers from the courtroom. After that, everyone filed out, off to see what they could get in the way of lunch.

  Thankfully, Grace had planned for this. She told Hope they could either eat in the wagon or go to Uncle Edward’s house. Either way, she had a picnic basket with supplies in the wagon. Hope followed her and Alex from the courtroom, but she had little interest in food.

  “I can’t believe they spent all morning just figuring out the jury,” Grace said, shaking her head. “It seems this thing just drags on and on.”

  “Alex!”

  Hope looked up to see Uncle Edward approaching. He gave her a quick embrace and then did likewise with Grace.

  “Always good to see my lovely nieces.”

  “I was glad Mina and the boys could stay at the farm with Mercy today,” Grace said, smiling. “Since they closed school for the day, I didn’t want her to be there alone.”

  “The boys were beside themselves at the prospect of playing with the lambs. They figure life is a grand adventure on the farm,” their uncle replied.

  “Well, I appreciate that your sweet wife would give up her day to help me out. Why haven’t we seen you at the trial?”

  Edward chuckled. “Purely selfish. I was afraid they’d stick me on the jury. When they got rid of that first bunch and Marshal Meek was instructed to wrangle up more men, I figured it was best if I lay low.”

  “But you would be a good juryman,” Grace said, surprised by his answer. “And it’s your civic duty.”

  Edward sobered. “It is, but I’m afraid if I got up there, that close to those Indians, I might not be able to hold my temper, knowing what they did to my nieces.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever give them a fair hearing on account of that.”

  Hope was touched by his words. She had never spoken to Uncle Edward about what happened, but she was sure Grace had.

  “Given your association,” Alex threw in, “I doubt the defense would have found you unbiased and allowed you on the jury.”

  “I couldn’t take that chance. There’s no possible way I could have found them anything but guilty as charged,” Uncle Edward replied. When no one offered anything more on the matter, he continued. “Alex, I need your help, if you can pull yourself away from the trial. I’m having some trouble reinforcing the joists.”

  Alex looked at Grace. “Can you manage without me? I don’t want you or Hope to feel you haven’t got proper protection.”

  “We’ll be fine. Most of the people around us are friends. Dr. McLoughlin is sitting just behind us, and you know he wo
uld take charge should anyone act untoward.”

  “I can well imagine John brandishing his cane like a knight of old.”

  Grace smiled. “I can imagine it as well. But what about your lunch?”

  Alex kissed her on the head then turned back to Uncle Edward. “I can eat later.”

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t you have lunch with us, Uncle Edward? Court is adjourned until two, and since Mina is helping me out, I can surely return the favor by feeding you.”

  Their uncle heartily agreed. Since the skies were threatening to resume raining, Grace decided it would be best to eat indoors, and the sawmill was closer than Uncle Edward’s house. They took the picnic basket and made their way through the muddy streets and down the river to the mill.

  It had rained all morning, and the heavy clouds muted the sun so that it cast a dull shadow on everything. It did nothing to help Hope’s mood despite the flowers in bloom and the landscape colored a deep emerald green. This place could be so beautiful, so lush, but that came at the price of regular rain.

  The lunch recess passed much too soon, and before she knew it, Hope found herself back in the courtroom. Holbrook returned Mrs. Hall to the stand, where Judge Pratt reminded her she was still under oath to tell the truth.

  Holbrook began to question Mrs. Hall. Hope tried to let her mind think on something other than the testimony, but it was impossible.

  “I heard gunshots and went to see what was going on,” Mrs. Hall said. She related how she helped Narcissa Whitman carry her mortally wounded husband into the house.

  Hope could see it all in her mind. She had crouched against the house, terrified of what might be happening to Mercy, who was in the schoolroom. She could hear the hideous war cries, see the Indians chasing down unarmed men and attacking them without the slightest restraint.

  The questions continued, Eliza Hall answering them in a clear, steady voice. When Holbrook finished with her, the defense was given a chance to cross-examine, but they had no questions.