* * *
Thunder jerked awake.
Something was wrong. The screaming seemed to be coming from everywhere, he thought as a knot formed in his stomach.
“Get up, Mother! We are being attacked!” He grabbed his rifle and shoved another toward his mother.
She took the weapon and grabbed the bag she’d packed. She reminded him softly, “But we are at peace.”
When Thunder stepped out of the teepee, he couldn’t believe what he saw. The village was being attacked by the cavalry—the very ones who had promised them protection and had put them in this godforsaken place.
All Thunder could see was blue shirts as he crouched just outside the teepee to figure out the best course of action. Then he realized there was no time to do anything but run. Soldiers were killing women and children before their very eyes.
“Come, Mother!” Thunder shouted and pulled her from the tent. “We must find shelter in the sandy creek bed. There are too many to fight. This is a slaughter.”
Thunder’s first concern had to be for his mother’s safety. She was all he had. Keeping their heads low, they darted between the teepees, dodging everyone fleeing in panic ahead of them. Out of the comer of his eye, he saw Black Kettle. He had raised the American flag and then the white one. There seemed to be a dazed look on his face.
But the killing went on.
“Go ahead, Mother. I’m going back for Black Kettle.”
“Be careful, son,” Helen said as she darted for cover.
Thunder skirted around the edge of camp to Black Kettle, but stopped cold when he spotted a soldier aiming a rifle at a three-year-old. Without pausing, Thunder swung his rifle to his shoulder and put a stop to the madness. Then he scooped up the child and handed him back to his weeping mother.
When Thunder reached him, Black Kettle looked confused. “We must run for safety!”
“I do not understand.” Black Kettle shook his head. “We were promised protection.”
“Once again the white man gives you false hope.
We need to get you to safety so that you may lead your people another day.”
Black Kettle nodded. “Come, Slow River” Black Kettle motioned to his wife, who took off running toward the creek bed.
Thunder provided covering fire as they made their escape; then he turned to run after them, but he didn’t get far when he heard singing. Turning, Thunder spotted Chief White Antelope. He was singing his death song. Thunder started for him, but the chief saw Thunder and shook his head. Thunder stopped. The warrior was ready to die.
Thunder nodded, and respected White Antelope’s wishes. Thunder could still hear the chief’s sad song as he left camp. He would hear it in his heart for the rest of his life.
“Nothing lives long . . . except the earth and the mountains.”
Thunder wanted to stay and fight the soldiers who murdered at will. They murdered the women, the children, and the helpless. But the Cheyenne were outnumbered, and Thunder knew the troops wouldn’t stop until everyone was dead Thunder found his mother and Black Kettle in a dug-out space in the side of the riverbank. “We are not safe. We must run.”
“Slow River has been shot,” Black Kettle said. “Nine times,” his mother confirmed, “but she still lives.”
“I will carry her,” Thunder said “If we stay, we will all be killed”
Black Kettle nodded in agreement “I will carry my wife,” he said putting her carefully over his shoulder. She moaned but they didn’t stop as they headed out.
Skilling around the banks of the dry river, they used the bank for cover. The troops were still in camp and hadn’t made it this far yet. But they would. They were not men anymore, but animals in a killing frenzy.
When Thunder and his party had gone several miles, Thunder spotted his horse. He whistled, and Lightning trotted over to him.
“Good boy,” Thunder praised, patting his mount’s neck. Thunder grabbed a handful of mane and mounted the animal. “I will go get three more horses. Stay here,” he told the others.
When Thunder had rounded up the horses, he brought them back. “We need some rope.”
Helen turned around and got the bag she’d grabbed when she’d fled camp. Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out a blanket. “We can tear this into strips and braid it for rope.”
Thunder smiled. His mother always had the answers to his problems. Quickly, the three of them tore and braided until they had lead ropes to go on the horse’s halters. Slow River was holding her own. Evidently, the bullet wounds had only been flesh wounds, and for that they could be thankful. But she was very pale and had lost consciousness several times.
“This is where we say goodbye,” Black Kettle said.
“Do you want us to go with you to the next camp?”
“No. You were leaving. You should go. We will find another camp where I can nurse Slow River back to health.” Black Kettle sighed, looking much older today than yesterday. “I am growing old,” he said sadly, hanging his head. Then he snapped it up like the proud chief he was. “I had hoped to see peace among our people before I die. Now the possibilities seem dim.”
“The white men have lied many times.”
“You speak the truth. But perhaps with men such as yourself on the other side they will see that we can all live in harmony with nature.”
Thunder looked affectionately upon the elderly chief. “You speak with great wisdom. I hope you find the peace that you seek.”
Black Kettle seated his wife in front of him on the horse, then looked at Helen. “You have been welcome among our people for many moons. Go and find your family. But do not forget us.”
Helen smiled and touched Black Kettle’s shoulder, then squeezed Slow River’s hand. “I will never forget my days with you.”
Thunder watched the old chief ride away. With him went a way of life that Thunder would never forget. It had been a carefree life, but it was rapidly changing, and he realized that he belonged in his mother’s world. Yet, he would fight for the peace that Black Kettle hoped for.
20
Thunder and his mother were both tired as they arrived at Ft. Laramie mid-morning. He had seen his mother nod a couple of times, but she hadn’t complained about their pace.
Instead of going to the fort, they went directly to the Indian camp by the river to see if someone might know of Brandy’s Whereabouts.
Little Big Bear stood outside his tent. He smiled when he recognized them.
“You come back,” Little Big Bear said with a grin, then added, “I see you reached Little Woman.” He turned to Helen. “It is good to see you well and on your feet again.”
“Thank you for sending my son to me,” Helen said with a smile. “I am feeling much better.”
“Why have you returned to the fort?” Little Big Bear asked, looking at Thunder. “Would it be because of the woman?”
Thunder didn’t like the way Little Big Bear said that but he swallowed his irritation and gave a curt nod. “Has she married?”
“No.”
Thunder hid his surprise. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected, but before he could say anything else his friend added, “Things are not good.”
“What do you mean? Is Brandy sick?”
“No. The woman with fire hair shot the keeper of the hog farm.”
“Hog farm?”
Little Big Bear leaned over and whispered to Thunder, explaining what the hog farm was used for.
Thunder frowned. How in the world had Brandy gotten mixed up with such people? Was it his fault that he’d left her, knowing how naive she was? Of course, he’d figured her future husband would take care of her. What had happened to the man?
“I will go and see her,” Thunder finally said.
Little Big Bear shook his head. “It is too late. They took her to Denver a week ago.”
Thunder rubbed his chin. “And her family?”
“I hear they are still at the farm.” Little Big Bear took Thunder’s arms and pulled. �
��Come, you must eat before moving on. We leave tomorrow for winter camp, so I will not see you for many moons.”
* * *
Stomachs filled, but with questions unanswered, Thunder and Helen arrived at the house known as the hog farm a couple of hours later. He immediately saw the familiar covered wagon, and he nudged his horse toward the barn. He couldn’t quite explain the surge of happiness that ran through him.
“Thunder!” Scott squealed. He jumped up and down, clapping his hands. Then the other children started to appear one by one, each grinning their welcome.
Thunder dismounted and held his arms open for Scott to run and jump into them.
“I’ve missed you,” Scott told him as he gave Thunder a big hug. “I kept telling Billy that you’d come back. I just knew you would,” Scott said with a serious expression. Then he peered around Thunder and his eyes widened, “Who’s that?”
Thunder set Scott back down on his feet. “This is my mother. Mother, I would like you to meet Scott, Ellen, Mary, and Billy.” Thunder pointed out each child as he called their names.
“It is nice to meet all of you. I have heard so many wonderful things about each of you,” Helen said. “What do we call you?” Ellen asked.
“My name is Helen,” she said with a nod. “I hope we will all be good friends,” she told them. Then she went over and introduced herself to the girls.
Billy propped his foot against the wall and stood beside Thunder, who was leaning up against the side of the barn “Have you heard about Brandy?”
Thunder nodded with a frown. “Some. How did she get mixed up in such a place?”
“Her so-called fiancé only brought her out here to work as a whore in that house.” Billy jerked his head toward the house. “The only thing he didn’t count on was Brandy bringing a family with her. So he was making all of us work off her debt by cleaning and cooking.” Billy scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Truth is, he was real ornery and deserved to die. I just hate that Brandy was the one who killed him.”
“Then she didn’t—? Only cook?” Thunder couldn’t bring himself to actually say it.
“Of course not. Sam did threaten to force her a couple of times.”
Thunder let out his breath. “I was told that they had taken Brandy to Denver.”
“Yeah, the circuit judge is supposed to come through and try her.”
Thunder glanced at Billy. “Why have you not gone there?”
Billy looked embarrassed, then hung his head. “Didn’t know what to do,” he admitted and shrugged his shoulders. “Thought making decisions would be easy, but when it comes down to it, it’s dang hard. ’Sides, don’t know rightly were Denver is,” Billy said. “I know one thing. If Brandy doesn’t get a good lawyer, don’t know how much of a chance she’ll have.”
It sounded like Brandy had really gotten herself in a mess this time, Thunder thought. “She has a good lawyer.”
“She does?”
“Me.”
Billy’s mouth dropped open, then he caught himself. “You’re a lawyer?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.
Thunder chuckled. “I am a man of many talents.” He pushed away from the barn. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”
“About an hour.”
“Good. I’m going to take a bath in the river and change clothes,” Thunder said as he saw Mary come toward them. “Is there one of Brandy’s dresses that my mother can change into?” he asked the girl.
“We’ll find her something. Your mother is very nice,” Mary said, then asked, “Can you save Brandy?”
“I’m not sure,” Thunder admitted. An unwelcome tension wrapped around his body, making him very tired . . . but determined. “But I’ll try.”
They were having an Indian summer day, so the water wasn’t too bad, Thunder thought as he gazed up at the darkening sky. The sunset was red, and he knew the cold air would soon be upon them.
After Thunder had bathed, he had his mother cut his hair. Now it barely reached his collar. When she’d finished, he stood and brushed off his shoulders before turning to face her. “What do you think?”
Helen smiled and cocked her head to the side. “You look like my son, the lawyer.”
“I thought I’d be better received if I looked like a lawyer. There is more than one way to skin an animal.”
“It is time that you discovered your heritage. And time for me to return as well. How do you like my dress?”
“You look very pretty and different,” Thunder told her. “It is surprising how different clothes can make a person look and feel.”
“That is true. But no matter what clothing we wear, we are always the same inside. Let us go and find this woman of yours. I want to meet her.”
Brandy stared at the steel bars, the same ones she’d been staring out of for the last two weeks. Time dragged by, and the longer she stayed in this dark, dank place, the more uncertain her future looked.
* * *
The only information that the sheriff had told her was that they were waiting on the circuit judge to arrive to try her. This morning when he’d brought breakfast to her consisting of a dry biscuit and coffee, the sheriff said the judge would be in town tomorrow.
She pulled a blanket around her and drew her knees up on the cot. It was dark and cold in her cell. The heat from the potbellied stove in the front office didn’t quite reach to the cells in the back.
What would happen to her when she stood up in court without a lawyer?
Would they hang her?
Or leave her in prison until she was a shriveled up hag?
She lay down on the cot and threw her arm over her eyes. Her tears had dried up a long time ago. Now misery was her only company. Could she even remember back to Independence when life was simple?
She was so tired.
Tired of making decisions.
Just tired of life in general, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.
Father Brown’s kind, weathered face became vivid in her dreams. Brandy was leaning over his sick bed as he watched her through half-closed eyelids.
“Where are the other children?” he asked.
Brandy sighed. “I’ve let you down, Father.”
“No, my child, you have not,” he said in a scratchy voice. “As a matter of fact, I’m very proud of you. You have kept the family together and made a home for them.”
“Some home,” Brandy muttered, then frowned. “It’s a wagon. And worse, we lived near a—a house of ill repute.”
Father Brown gave her a slow smile. “I’ll bet you’d like to see that wagon right about now.”
She nodded.
“You see, that simple wagon has come to mean something to you. A home isn’t necessarily boards and nails. It is where you feel the most comfortable.”
“I guess you’re right, Father,” Brandy murmured. Weariness enveloped her as she tried to feel positive, but it was getting harder by the minute. “But look where I am now. What am I going to do?”
“Come sit on the bed beside me.” Father Brown patted the covers to indicate the spot.
She did as instructed, picking up his parchment-brown hand, which felt smooth and warm just as she remembered. And though he appeared frail, Brandy could feel the strength in his hand. And God knows she needed some of his strength. All of his strength.
“I wish I had the answers that you need, my child. But life is not always simple. You will go into the courtroom and tell the truth, and I will pray that the judge is wise and realize that the other man was evil.”
“I’m scared,” she admitted as the tears slipped slowly down her face. She pulled his hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so lonely.”
“Dry your tears, my child.” Father Brown patted her hand. “Always remember . . . even though you won’t see my body anymore ... I will be with each and every one of you in spirit. Every step you take, I will take with you. And when you fall down, I will be there to pick you u
p.”
She closed her eyes, remembering the same words she’d heard at the graveyard. “This is one of the times I need you to pick me up, Father.”
When she opened her eyes he was gone, and she was back, alone in the empty cell.
But ever so faintly she heard his voice, “I will be there . . . I’ll always be there."
Keys rattling on the other side of the door drew her from her memories. The wooden door which led to the cells opened and two men walked through. Maybe it was time to eat again, she thought. It was one of the few reasons that the door opened. It was hard to tell time since she’d been shut away.
She sat up and wiped away her tears with the heels of her hands.
The guard approached and inserted the key into the lock. “Your lawyer is here,” the man said.
“Lawyer?” Brandy rose and tried to see the other man. Had Father Brown indeed worked a miracle and sent her a lawyer?
“You can leave us now,” the other man said as he entered the cell. His hat was pulled down, casting shadows on his face, but that voice, it sounded so familiar. But she didn’t know anybody here.
The gentleman removed his hat.
“Thunder?” she whispered, then her knees gave way.
Quickly, Thunder caught her.
The guard turned around. “She going to be all right?”
“Yes, she’s just a little stunned. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave,” Thunder said as he moved Brandy over to the cot.
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but fainting hadn’t figured into his plan. He set her down on the bunk and bent her over her knees until she started to struggle.
“It seems to me that we’ve been in this position before,” he said as he held her back up.
Brandy blinked a couple of times. “Is it really you?” She reached up and touched his face. “Your hair. You look so different.”
“Thomas Bradley at your service,” he said, then added, “I thought if I was going to defend you, I should look the part.”
“But you’re not a lawyer.”
“Yes, I am. If you remember, I went to Boston to study, and law is what I studied. I assure you I’m a very capable lawyer,” Thunder told her confidently.
Dance on the Wind Page 23