Stone Heart's Woman

by Velda Brotherton

  He gasped as if sucking in his last breath, ran his hands over the curve of her shoulders, fingered the tiny bones in the center of her back, cupped the lush ripeness of her buttocks. She was real. He had to believe that.

  He could hardly speak, but had to say something. Tie this moment to reality. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  She cried against his neck. “All I could think of was them shooting you. I wanted to die with you if that was the only way we could be together.”

  Even in the water he felt the teardrops against his skin. He thought of what she said and was surprised to find himself smiling. No one had ever loved him this much.

  They made love again, this time prolonging each touch, each kiss. The final coming together stretched into a long, leisurely experience that crested as the sun burst gloriously above the horizon, as if born of their climax.

  At long last she stirred, sitting in his lap in the shallows, up to their necks in warmth. “We can’t stay in here all day.”

  “Why not? It is cold and our clothes are wet.”

  “I know. One of us has to get out and hang them. The sun and wind will dry them and we can move on. I’m afraid they’ll catch up with us.”

  Despite everything, he nourished a small secret belief that the soldiers would not come. He could take her into the Bighorns and there he would build them a shelter from the cold. He could hunt and fish for food and come spring they could move on wherever she wanted to go. The thought of being alone with her in the mountains where no one could find them almost made him sick with longing.

  He moved her aside. “I will do it. Stay here.”

  “Are you sure you know how?” she teased, gazed with pleasure upon his virile, naked form as he climbed from the spring and bent to retrieve their wet clothing.

  “It is woman’s work, but I will manage.” Finding some low shrubbery in the sun, he spread the britches and shirts to dry, then turned to go back to her.

  The men came out of the woods on either side of the hot spring, stopped to aim their rifles at her. Shouting orders, one screaming over the other until the words were a blur of brutality.

  Choking on his own fury, Stone Heart lunged toward her, not sure what he intended to do. He only knew he must be with her.

  “Another step and we shoot her,” one of the soldiers shouted. “It’s you we want. Doesn’t matter what happens to her, but it’d be a damn shame, nevertheless.”

  The futility of the situation brought him to a halt. It was no more than he’d expected, and he wouldn’t get her killed.

  “Collier,” the same soldier shouted, and one of the men on the opposite side of the spring shouted, “Yo?”

  “Take the breed a blanket so he can cover himself. That’s disgusting. Cruikshank, drag the woman out of the water.”

  “Should I get her a blanket, too?”

  “Not just yet. She’s not so disgusting. How long’s it been since you seen yourself a naked white woman?”

  “It’s been a while, LT.”

  “Enjoy.”

  “Bastard,” Stone Heart shouted. The man who’d just handed him a blanket hit him in the gut with the butt of his rifle. He grunted from the sharp pain and bent over, dropping the blanket.

  “Pick it up,” the man ordered and slammed him on the shoulder, sending him to his knees. That the man held back and did not club him to death was enough to tell Stone Heart they had been ordered to bring him in alive. So they could put him up before the firing squad in one piece, he supposed.

  “Stop it,” Aiden screamed. “Leave him alone. I’m getting out.”

  Stone Heart watched her crawl from the water, trying to cover herself, one arm over her breasts, the other hand spread between her thighs. Her red hair hung in strands down her back and steam poured from her in the cold air. Anger boiled into his throat and he leaped from his squatting position, hitting the soldier standing over him so hard they both tumbled to the ground.

  “Shoot her, Private Cruikshank.”

  “Noooo,” Stone Heart yelled, releasing his grip on the man’s throat.

  “Sir? Now, sir?”

  “Now, Private.”

  The man raised his rifle and took aim.

  Arms wide in supplication, Stone Heart staggered to his feet, shouting at the lieutenant. “Stop, stop it. I’ll go with you. No more trouble. Just don’t hurt her.”

  “Now, LT?”

  “No, you can wait, Private.”

  Aiden hugged herself, fear a live thing that coiled through her system like a giant snake. She shook with it and the cold, could not tell them apart. “Please give me a blanket,” she begged, teeth chattering. “I’m freezing.”

  The lieutenant nodded at Collier, who went to fetch one from his horse, led into the clearing with others by another soldier.

  Stone Heart counted maybe half a dozen men and a Crow tracker. They must have sent scouting parties out in all directions and this one cut their trail somewhere. Filthy Crow. If he could get him alone, he’d rip out his heart.

  The man called Collier unrolled a blanket and standing in front of Aiden, wrapped it around her shoulders. Closing it over her breasts, he spread his hands on her.

  Afraid that if she did anything he would take it out on Stone Heart, she squeezed her eyes shut, shuddered, and waited for him to stop feeling her. When he finally let go, she clutched the wrap tight and staggered backward. Sick at heart, she tried to think of some way to escape. But these men were not about to let that happen. They would drag her and Stone Heart back to Robinson, stand him up against the wall and shoot him, and probably do as they pleased with her for as long as they wished. She no longer trusted any of the white men in that place. From Wessells right on down to these privates, they were all a bunch of killers. Worse by far than any of the Cheyenne, who had been kind to her even after what the whites had done to them.

  Though she knew she ought to watch her mouth, she couldn’t resist one last barb. “It seems to me it’s the white man who is the savage and not the Indian, Lieutenant.”

  “Shut her up,” the man said, not addressing her directly.

  Collier poked her with the barrel of his rifle just hard enough to hurt. “You heard the LT, shut up.”

  A man appeared leading the two mounts Stone Heart had hobbled nearby. “Add horse theft to the charges. These belong to the U.S. Cavalry.” He smacked the flat of his hand on the brand on one of the gelding’s shoulder.

  “Saddle ’em and let’s get moving. I want to be back to Robinson before dark.”

  They allowed them both to dress, then tied Stone Heart’s hands behind his back and lashed his feet together with a rope under the horse’s belly. One of the privates tied a blanket around him against the cold. Then Collier tossed Aiden into the saddle and started to do the same to her.

  “I can’t ride that way,” she said. “I’ll fall off.”

  “Put her belly down over the saddle, then,” the LT ordered.

  Before they had gone a few miles, she regretted that decision but could do nothing about it. After a while, she began to pass in and out of consciousness. She only fully came to when she was dragged out of the saddle at the fort, mouth dry and insides on fire from the long, torturous ride over the saddle. When they gave her water she brought it right back up and began to scream with cramps in her belly. Someone picked her up and carried her away.

  Stone Heart watched the proceedings with a great sorrow in his heart. But he knew that she would recover from her ordeal, and could only hope they would not punish her for her part in his escape. This was no more than he’d expected, and he would prepare himself to die in the Cheyenne way.

  A great crowd had gathered when they rode into the fort, even though it was past dark. As he was dragged into the guardhouse, he saw the young reporter who had tried to help him. He looked hopeful and actually grinned. Probably thinking of the story he could write.

  ****

  Aiden awoke in total darkness in a soft bed under clean covers an
d wearing a soft nightgown. Obviously she wasn’t in a jail cell. Still sick to her stomach, she moved gingerly to the edge of the mattress and slid her legs out. When she tried to stand, dizziness overwhelmed her and she fell back. She lay there until her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. The square of a window looked out into a moonlit night and furniture made formless hulks in the room. A shadow moved across the patch of light. A soldier, a guard. Of course, that only made sense. Finally, she realized she was back in her quarters. Someone had built a fire and made up the bed. None of that comforted her. All she wanted was to be with Stone Heart. Why hadn’t they put her in jail? She stole the uniform, she helped him escape, actually made it all possible.

  “What is wrong with you people?” she cried out, dragged herself from the bed and across the room where she beat on the door until her hands hurt.

  The guard ignored her, and after awhile, sore, sick, and discouraged, she crept back to the bed, crawled in under the covers, and drifted off to sleep. There she could lie in his arms and make believe everything would be all right, even though she knew it never would be.

  Someone was shaking her shoulder, speaking to her in an excited voice. “Aiden, wake up. Come on, you have to get dressed. We must go. Now.”

  Bleary-eyed, she dragged herself to a sitting position. Every muscle and bone in her body throbbed, and she couldn’t think straight. “Where are we going? Why? What is it?”

  Retha began to unbutton Aiden’s nightgown. “Hurry. Come on. I brought you a clean dress. Look at you. Covered in bruises. Someone will pay for this if I have to restrict Lieutenant Woods to the enlisted men’s quarters for a year.”

  Aiden allowed Retha to pull the nightgown off over her head and drop a dress on in its place. “What is happening?”

  “No time for a camisole, and as for those corsets, I never wear one except on special occasions. One learns in the west to do away with such folderol. Come on, child. You’re like a wet noodle. Stand straight. Let me do something with that hair.”

  Fists doubled at her sides, Aiden repeated, “What is happening? Is it Stone Heart? Are they going to murder him?”

  “No one is going to get murdered. Your hair is a mess. Good thing I thought to bring a brush. I’ll do the best I can with it. Okay if we just leave it loose? No time to do it up. It’s so beautiful anyway. Where’re your shoes?” She rummaged around, found the pair she’d lent Aiden for the dance. “These will have to do, those disgusting Indian things are dreadful. Slip into these. Sorry there’re no stockings. I only just found out, and there’s no time to lose.”

  “Just found out what?” Frustration brought tears to Aiden’s eyes. She wanted to choke an explanation out of her friend, but knew from experience she would chatter on and tell her what she wanted to tell her, regardless of anything Aiden might say.

  “Oh, dear, I forgot to bring you a cloak. We’ll stop and get you one. Hurry, now. You look fine, let’s go.”

  She dragged Aiden out the door, went inside her own room briefly and came out with the cloak she’d loaned her earlier, tossed it around her shoulders, took her hand, and off they went at a run.

  The entire place was in an uproar. Morning formation had broken on the parade grounds, and great groups of men all hurried in the same direction as she and Retha. The sun had not yet risen, but dawn smeared the glowering sky with a metallic glow. The wind promised snow, as did the low-hanging clouds. Just the kind of day for someone to die.

  Thinking that, Aiden sobbed and tears blurred her vision, but she stumbled on behind Retha. “Where are we going?” she finally managed.

  “Post Headquarters, and we have to hurry. They’re beginning the trial. General Crook insisted, said he doesn’t want to be stranded here with the storm coming.”

  “The trial? Oh, dear God, help him,” Aiden cried. “Please don’t let him die.”

  Retha led her toward the double doors of a large building where guards kept the milling crowd at bay. She walked right up to the entrance, but a guard stepped sideways to bar her way.

  Someone took Aiden’s elbow from behind. She turned to see Marcus Young. He smiled, quite jovially she thought. “Come on, I have a seat for you. These ladies are with me,” he said to the guard as he flashed his press pass, then swept them through the doors and into the crowded, noisy building.

  Once they were seated, he went up front to join a large contingent of men she supposed were also reporters from various newspapers back east.

  Sitting behind a table that faced the audience were several officers, including the general who had ridden into town the day she’d set Stone Heart free. The bearded man must be General Crook. He was flanked by a couple of other rather important-looking military men. And a rotund gentleman in very natty civilian clothes. He frowned, took a gold watch from his vest pocket, leaned forward, and said something to the man beside him. Captain Wessells was there, as well as some others of the same rank. She knew little of army protocol but did recognize the insignia of a captain from her close encounter with Wessells. She narrowed her eyes, and sent him thick feelings of hatred. He actually raised his eyes and searched her out in the crowd with a vague nod, then glanced quickly away. He didn’t look at all happy.

  Good. She hoped he rotted out here in this godless place, or froze to the ground. Thinking of her friend Retha and how much she had done for her, she took back the wish, but just barely.

  One of the men next to Crook hammered on the table and the crowd settled down. But not for long. A cold wind swept through the place and everyone turned to see Stone Heart, flanked by two armed guards, ushered down the aisle. A rising murmur followed his passage and the hammer pounded once again.

  “I will have order,” the man boomed, and he got it. He shuffled some papers, then looked up. “Would you read the charges, sir?”

  A gangly young man rose, and read from the paper in front of him. “Sir, this man...uh, Stone Heart, Martin Stone as he is known, is charged with...uh, I don’t see...oh, yes...he is charged with aiding and abetting in the breakout of the Cheyenne on January ninth, 1879. Sir?” It was clear he was puzzled.

  A roar rolled over the crowd, most of whom were military personnel. The reporters to a man rose and cheered.

  What was going on?

  While the hammer banged, Aiden stood to try to get a look at Stone Heart, but the celebrating reporters blocked her view. Surely they were going to charge him with impersonating an officer. That’s what everyone had said. Even Wessells had said they’d put him up before a firing squad for doing just that. She didn’t understand what had happened, and wished everyone would shut up so it could be explained.

  Order was finally restored when General Crook rose and bellowed for quiet.

  “How do you plead, Mr. Stone?” the man acting as judge asked.

  The man she’d known as Stone Heart, with this strange name of Martin Stone, rose. “Guilty, sir.”

  Again the reporters reacted and order had to be once more restored. She didn’t understand why they were celebrating.

  “As you’ve pled guilty before this court, we will now pronounce sentence. Do you understand that there will be no trial under these circumstances?”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” Martin Stone said.

  “You are sentenced to one year in the guardhouse. Sentence is suspended with the understanding that you will go from this place and never return. You may not reenter the United States of America in your lifetime, nor can you reveal such information as has previously been discussed with this court. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you agree?”

  “Yes, sir. Sir, may I ask a question?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  “Have my people gone home?”

  The man stared at Stone Heart for a long moment, and the courtroom was so quiet the flight of a butterfly could have been heard.

  “If you mean the Cheyenne, yes, they have gone home.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nodding, the man sm
acked the table one last time. “You are free to go. Court is dismissed.”

  Retha grabbed Aiden and they hugged and laughed, then Aiden broke away and tried to wade through the milling humanity to reach Stone Heart’s side.

  Breaking through, he reached out, their fingertips touched and she was in his arms. Forever.

  Young approached, laughing. “I told you Libbie would get you off, and she doesn’t even realize she did it.”

  “I...I don’t understand...what happened.” Aiden could scarcely speak for the emotion crowding her throat.

  “The army backed off. The better part of valor, etc.,” Young said.

  Stone Heart hugged her tighter, whispered something in her ear. “Ne mohotatse. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” She gazed up at him, saw her own reflection in his clear gray eyes. And saw something else there, too. Something that had never been there before. Serenity. He was content at last.

  “But I still don’t know what happened,” she insisted, gaze locked on his.

  “I promised I wouldn’t talk,” he finally said.

  “But you weren’t going to anyway,” Young said, and they both laughed.

  “Talk?”

  “You see,” Young said, “Libbie Custer doesn’t want her husband’s memory besmirched. The army doesn’t want to add to that by executing the man who claims to be Custer’s son and put the story on everyone’s lips. We reporters were invited so we could make sure everyone knows that the Cheyenne Stone Heart was set free without another word about Custer being uttered.”

  She stared from Stone Heart to Young and back again. “But what about your story? The one you wanted to write, about Stone Heart and Custer and...and all?”

  “Maybe I’ll write a book in my old age,” Young said. “Besides, I got the stories I wanted, and they were published. No one can take that away from me. Even if Libbie is going around saying it’s all a pack of lies and there’s no one who can back me up. It was sensational. I’ve never had a better time. I may stay out west where all the excitement is.”

  Stone Heart shook the man’s hand heartily. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for us. I’m sorry I can’t tell the truth to your readers.”