As Brandy watched Molly climb the stairs, she had an uneasy feeling. If Sam started beating on his doves and that didn’t satisfy him he just might turn on the rest of them, too, she thought as she reached for the cloth she used for dusting. She looked around at what was left of the furniture.
Two or three pieces had been busted up in the fight last night. She and the children had heard the commotion from the wagon. However, they knew better than to investigate and had stayed safely away.
Brandy could see the next six weeks as a living nightmare with Sam taking out his reduced profits on anyone who came near. She’d better warn Mary and Ellen to stay clear of Sam.
Upon entering the kitchen, Brandy saw Mary washing dishes. Mary turned at the sound of the door. “You can’t be finished already.”
“No. I came to tell you and Ellen something.” Brandy looked around. “Where is she?”
“I made some extra biscuits. Ellen carried them out to the wagon so we can have them for supper. Then she was going to get some milk since she’d promised Scott that she’d do his chores while he was gone. Remember, he went hunting with Billy.”
“That’s right.” Brandy shook her head and drew in a deep breath. “They both will probably be sick in all this rain. Have you seen Sam?”
“No, thank goodness,” Mary said and rolled her eyes. “Saw Molly, though.”
“Then you know what Sam is capable of doing?”
“Yeah.” Mary nodded. “I remember men like him when I was growing up. One of the ladies who worked with my mother was cut up real bad with a straight razor.”
Brandy made a face as she imagined the horror; then she went over to the kitchen door. “I’m glad, although I wouldn’t have admitted that I was when you first came to the orphanage. I’m glad you got out of that situation.” She smiled at Mary, then looked out the door. “Look at that rain. It’s coming down harder and it’s a cold rain.”
“You know,” Mary said, wiping her soapy hands in a towel, “Ellen’s been gone a long time. Maybe she’s had trouble with the cow.”
“Throw me one of those cloths and I’ll run out and check on her.” Brandy wrapped the material around her head, jerked up her skirt, and dashed toward the barn, jumping two big puddles on the way.
Just as she entered the double doors, she heard Ellen screaming. Throwing the towel to the side, Brandy darted to the stall where the cow was kept. She saw a half-filled bucket of milk, but no Ellen. Had Brandy just imagined the scream?
She turned and looked back. A muffled whimper came from over her head in the loft. Brandy ran to the rough wooden ladder and climbed quickly to the top.
Over in the far comer, Sam had Ellen pinned down in the hay. He was holding her with one hand and undoing his trousers with the other.
Brandy dashed over and threw herself at Sam, knocking him away. “Leave her alone!”
Sam grabbed Brandy’s wrist and jerked her back. She tried to escape his grasp. He rolled on her and held her down. “So, you want to take her place?”
His breath reeked of whiskey, and Brandy turned her head, trying to avoid the stench. She glimpsed Ellen, who had finally gotten to her feet and was straightening her skirt. She was sobbing uncontrollably.
“Run, Ellen,” Brandy shouted before Sam got any bright ideas about grabbing the girl again.
Ellen just stood there like a frightened doe.
“Run, Ellen,” Brandy repeated and finally saw it register on her face. Ellen bolted by Sam just as he lunged out to grab her. Brandy rolled away from him and tried to stand.
“Not so fast,” Sam said, turning his attention back to Brandy. “Don’t matter none,” he said, grabbing and pushing her to the hay. “I still got a fine piece of ass under me.” He bent down and his slobbering mouth caught Brandy’s.
She struggled, pushing against his chest, but he was too strong for her. He didn’t budge. She tried bucking him off, but even drunk he was too heavy and much stronger than she was. He pressed his mouth against hers, but Brandy refused to part her lips and twisted away.
He wrapped his hand in her hair and jerked her back. “There ain’t no escaping me,” he said before attacking again. Brandy still refused to open her mouth. With his other hand he began to unbutton her blouse. She tried shoving him, but it didn’t do any good.
Before she knew it, he’d slid his hand into her blouse and caught her nipple, pinching it. She gasped with pain, and he took advantage and plunged his disgusting tongue into her mouth.
The whisky tasted awful and she wanted to vomit. Instead, she bit down on his tongue, and he immediately jerked away.
“You bitch! ” He wiped his mouth. His eyes blazed with anger as he backhanded her across the face and tightened his grip in her hair.
Pain shot from the roots of her hair to the end of her toes. And before she knew what he was doing, his mouth was fastened on her breast, and she couldn’t move him. Panic surged through Brandy. Remain calm, she warned herself, and then she remembered the gun in her skirt pocket. If she could just reach it.
She squirmed, and he finally rose, but only for a moment. He leaned down again, but Brandy threw a forearm across his throat. They struggled.
“Damn it,” he swore and knocked her arm away. He grasped her throat and shook her. “You are going to learn to obey, one way or the other. Even if I have to choke the life out of you.”
Fear ran rampant through her body. She couldn’t breathe. Was this the way it was going to end for her?
Death in an unknown land by a man she couldn’t stand? Frantic, she tried to yank his hands away.
They wouldn’t budge.
Blackness swept in quickly.
“Get your hands off her!”
Suddenly the pressure eased, and she gasped for air. She took several deep breaths until the dizziness cleared. What was the commotion? Brandy pushed herself up.
Mary and Ellen had jumped on Sam and they were hitting him with their fists. Finally, Sam straightened, and he had the upper hand as he cuffed Ellen. She screamed.
Brandy dug her heels into the straw and pushed away from them so she had some distance between them. Jerking at her skirt, she felt the cold steel of the gun and she yanked it free.
Sam was just getting ready to strike Mary, who had managed to give him a swollen eye. He drew his arm back
“Let her go,” Brandy demanded. “Or I’ll shoot you.”
Sam jerked around, his left hand still holding Mary’s arm. “Hell, that pea shooter won’t stop no one.” He shoved Mary away from him. “Give that thing to me.” He held his hand out.
Brandy pushed herself up, keeping her aim on Sam’s chest. “You’re not getting the gun. And I will use it if I have to. I suggest you get out of here while you can.”
“It’s my barn, girl. I ain’t going nowhere but on top of you,” he snarled as he lunged for Brandy.
Mary and Ellen screamed.
The bullet exploded from the gun just as his body landed on Brandy, knocking the breath from her.
“You bitch!” He reared up, blood rapidly staining the front of his shirt.
Brandy gasped for air until she finally got her breath back.
“I’ll kill you,” he swore and reached for her neck.
Brandy wasn’t sure she had the strength to fight off this man again. But as he reached out, he collapsed on her, his eyes wide open and staring at her in death. My God, she was the last thing he saw before he died!
Someone was screaming.
She was screaming.
And she couldn’t seem to stop.
Finally the girls managed to pull Sam off her. Brandy sat up and looked down at her dress. It was soaked with blood, and her hands were shaking.
“He’s dead,” Mary said as she shoved him over.
“You killed him” Ellen said in a tearful voice.
Brandy looked down at her hand. It was still shaking and still clutching the bloody derringer. “Yes, I
did,” she said in a small voice. She t
hrew the gun away from her into the hay.
“What are you going to do?” Mary said as she sat down on the straw next to Brandy.
“I wish to heaven I knew.”
Ellen took Brandy’s hand. “Will you go to jail?”
Brandy glanced at Ellen. The thought had never occurred to her. Jail? They would lock her up. They could hang her.
Someone was coming.
The three girls huddled together. Now what were they going to do?
Whoever it was, was climbing the ladder.
Brandy reached for the empty gun.
They held their breath and waited.
19
“Was that a shot I heard?” Molly said as she poked her head up through the hole in the loft, a rifle grasped in her hand. “Oh, my God! You killed him.” Molly looked down, then nudged the body with her foot. “Yep, he’s dead all right.” She looked at Brandy and a slow smile spread across her face. After a long moment of silence, she said, “Good shot. I wish I’d had the nerve to do that a long time ago.”
The three of them just stared at her.
“Don’t worry.” Molly looked at the three stunned faces. “When it quits raining, we’ll simply bury him. And he really doesn’t even deserve that much.”
Finally, Brandy managed to say, “We’ve got to tell the colonel.”
“No, we don’t.” Molly shook her head. “They’ll hang you, sweetie. Better do it my way.”
“But it was self-defense. Look at my neck.” Brandy swept her hair back. “He was trying to choke me.”
“I see the red marks. But you know how men are. They don’t think much of women around here, so I’m not sure how good your word would be.”
“But burying him isn’t honest. And I don’t want to be running and looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. One day I want a normal life. If there is such a thing.”
“Where the hell is everybody?” Billy shouted from down below, his voice muffled by the distance, but his concern evident.
“Billy?” Mary seemed unable to connect his voice with the young man below.
“Whatcha doing up there?”
“Ah—there’s been an accident.” Mary tried to sound casual, but she was way off the mark.
“Did anybody get hurt?” Scott’s voice joined Billy’s.
“You could say that,” Molly replied. “Just a minute, we’re coming down.” She turned to Brandy. “We don’t need the kid coming up and seeing this.”
Mary went down first, followed by Ellen, Molly, and finally Brandy.
“What are all of you doing? Having a party up there?” Billy joked, but his smile faded at the solemn expressions on their faces.
Brandy turned from the ladder, and Billy’s eyes widened at the sight of her blood-splattered dress. “What the hell?”
“Are you hurt?” Scott asked, and moved toward her. “I don’t think so,” Brandy said. “Careful.” She held her hands out and made pushing gestures so Scott wouldn’t get blood on him.
Billy folded his arms over his chest. “By the looks of that dress, somebody’s hurt. . . real bad. You want to tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“Sam is dead,” Brandy said in a dull voice, still not believing she’d pulled the trigger.
Ellen began to weep. “It’s all my fault.”
“No. It isn’t,” Brandy assured Ellen. “You were just the one that he chose to pick on.”
“Look, sweetie,” Molly said to Brandy, “I’m going to the house to let the other girls know what’s happened.” Molly put her hand on Brandy’s shoulder. “I’d think long and hard about what I said up there.” Molly nodded toward the loft, then gave Brandy a smile and shuffled off toward the house.
“So what did happen?” Billy asked again.
Brandy sighed. “Let me get out of this dress.” She frowned as she looked at the hideous red stain—the last of Sam’s life. The dress that would never be the same again. Every time she saw the blood, she felt a wave of nausea. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”
“Where’s the body?”
“Up in the loft,” Brandy said as she prepared to dart out into the rain.
* * *
After Brandy had dressed, she talked to Ellen and tried to reassure her that although Sam was an evil man, all men were not that way. Brandy was relieved that Sam had not molested Ellen, although that had been his intent. Thank God, Brandy had arrived in time. Ellen finally managed a smile, then ran to the house where Mary had gone.
When Brandy was by herself, she prayed that, somehow, some way, she would be able get out of this mess, but she couldn’t help wondering if God was listening. She’d just committed the worst sin of all . . . she had taken a life, even if it was to protect her own.
Brandy covered her face with her hands and wept. How would she ever get out of this one?
* * *
“What’s the use of all this training if we ain’t going to shoot Indians?” Corporal Dare complained to Colonel Chivington.
“Just keep shooting at the target, Corporal. Things are going to change,” Colonel Chivington assured him. Then he jerked around to see who was riding across the field at Fort Lyon. “And maybe sooner than we think,” he said over his shoulder as he hurried to meet the rider.
The rider dismounted, then brushed the dust from his blue uniform. He motioned for the fifteen men who had accompanied him to dismount.
The major saluted Colonel Chivington.
“I am Major Scott Anthony, reporting for duty.”
Colonel Chivington smiled. The general had listened. “I am Colonel Chivington. Welcome to Fort Lyon,” he said with a smile.
Major Anthony did not return the smile. “I must see Major Wynkoop.”
“Corporal Dare,” Chivington called.
“Yes, sir.”
“Take Major Anthony to see Major Wynkoop.”
“Yes, sir. Follow me, Major,” Dare said.
They walked briskly across the parade field to headquarters. Corporal Dare knocked on Major Wynkoop’s office door. “Major Scott Anthony here to see you, sir.”
Wynkoop placed the quill down on the desk, then stood. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Major Anthony glanced at the corporal. “If you’ll excuse us . . . ”
Corporal Dare hesitated. He wanted to stay and find out why the major had arrived, so he could report back to the colonel. But there was no way that he could, so he left. However, he was careful not to shut the door completely. Quickly, he looked around. The other men were outside on detail, so if he were very quiet, maybe he could hear what they were saying.
“Major Wynkoop, I am here to replace you as head of Fort Lyon. You are to report to Ft. Sheridan immediately,” Major Anthony said in a curt voice.
“Why wasn’t I informed of this change?” Wynkoop snapped.
“That I do not know, sir. Only that General Curtis has received word of your conciliatory policy and is concerned.”
There was a moment of silence before Wynkoop spoke. “We have taken many steps to ensure peace between the Indians and the white man. I have promised the Cheyenne and the Arapaho that we will protect them as long as they remain peaceful.”
“I understand. I will assure them of the fort’s protection.”
“Good,” Major Wynkoop said. A chair scraped across the floor. “The chief you need to speak with is Black Kettle.” A moment of silence followed, then the desk drawer was being pulled open. “Give me a minute to clean out my desk, and I will turn the fort over to you and wish you and your staff the best of luck, sir.”
Dare scrambled away from the door before he got caught eavesdropping. He hurried back to Colonel Chivington and reported what he’d overhead.
“Good job, Corporal,” Colonel Chivington said. His smile was as wide as a river when he walked back to the men.
Evidently, his letter had paid off, Chivington thought. With a new officer, things were surely looking up.
* * *
Thun
der and his mother had accompanied the tribe to Sand Creek, where they set up their village along the dry creek bed. A month had passed, and so far everything remained peaceful.
One day his mother said, “I believe I am ready to leave now, my son.”
Thunder nodded. “I have told Black Kettle of our plans, and he gives his blessing for a safe journey. He also told me there is a new major at the fort.”
“Who?”
“Major Anthony. I do not know much about him, but he has promised to protect the two tribes. I will help you gather your things, and we shall leave tomorrow. However, there is one thing I must do before we return to Boston.”
“What is that?”
“I must return to Ft. Laramie and see if Brandy and her family are safe and happy.”
“So her name is Brandy?” Helen smiled. “I will look forward to meeting this woman.”
Thunder frowned at the way his mother sounded. “It is only a visit.”
“I see,” she said, trying to conceal her smile as she left him.
* * *
On a frosty morning in November, Colonel Chivington and his hundred-day soldiers approached Black Kettle’s camp.
The peaceful scene of the sleeping village spread out before them. But that wouldn’t last long, Chivington thought with a slow smile.
Lieutenant Lee rode up beside him. “Sir, we have promised the Indians protection,” he protested. “They are at peace.”
Chivington turned and glared at Lee, watching as the lieutenant squirmed in the saddle. “I have come to kill Indians, Lieutenant,” Chivington raged. “When I give an order, I expect you to obey, or I’ll shoot you myself. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
The lieutenant swallowed hard and finally nodded before wheeling his horse away.
Chivington jerked his horse around to face the troops. “Kill and scalp all. Big, little, it makes no difference,” he said in a stem voice with no vestige of sympathy. Taking a deep breath, he held his sword up, then shouted, “Charge!”
Screams cracked the air.
Dance on the Wind Page 22