High Plains Bride

by Jenna Kernan

“Yes,” she nodded, without making eye contact. “I go.”

  Sarah grasped her friend and hugged her. “You saved my daughter and I’ll never be able to repay you for that. Please don’t let that stupid woman drive you off.”

  Water Blossom hugged her in return and then drew back.

  “We two are friends. But my people and your people do not understand this, because they cannot see past their hate. They do not know a mother’s heart. We can be friends here.” She pointed to her heart. “But not here.” She motioned to the world around them.

  Sarah bowed her head, recognizing the truth of this.

  Water Blossom turned to Lucie and touched her cheek, speaking in Sioux. Then she lifted her robe over her head and stepped out into the cold.

  “What did she say?”

  “Long life, good health and happiness always.”

  Sarah drew her child close and hugged her tight. “I want those things for you, too, baby.”

  For a long time Sarah and Lucie clung together, while gunfire popped outside with regularity. At last Lucie drew back. Sarah felt suddenly awkward. This was new. Never in her life had she felt ill at ease with her child.

  Lucie clasped her hands before her and bowed her head. “I knew you’d find me, Mama. I knew.”

  Sarah looped an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a chair beside the stove.

  “And so we did.” Sarah beamed at Lucie. “I have something for you.”

  Lucie’s expression brightened. Sarah retrieved the quilt and held out her offering.

  Her daughter opened her arms to accept the gift, her fingers danced over the familiar fabrics, touching her pinafore and then the kitchen curtains before finally settling on the denim of Samuel’s work shirt. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “A memory quilt,” she whispered.

  “Something of the old, as we face the new.”

  Lucie clutched the quilt and then her mother. “I love it. Thank you, Mama.”

  Sarah wrapped her arms about her child, so grateful to have her back once more. At last they drew apart. Lucie spread the quilt upon the bed to admire the pattern.

  “Flowers on a winter’s day.”

  Sarah stared out at the sea of flower baskets she’d made for Lucie.

  Lucie was crying now. “They burned your Ohio star quilt.”

  “What?”

  “The blue Ohio star. They stole it and later they burned it. It was all I had of you.” Lucie wiped at her tears. “But now I have this.”

  “And we have each other.” Sarah clasped her daughter’s hand.

  Lucie tried for a smile and failed. “I just wish…”

  “What?”

  “That you could have found me sooner.” Lucie motioned to her chin.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Sarah’s stomach hurt, because it so obviously did matter. “You’re home now.”

  Lucie lifted her troubled eyes. “Home? Home to what? What is to become of me now, Mama?”

  “Home to me.” Sarah held her daughter’s stare, forbidding herself to look away. “We haven’t had a chance to talk yet. I want to hear about your…everything.”

  Lucie retreated to the chair and dragged the quilt about her shoulders. She stared at her feet, her cheeks aflame.

  Sarah hesitated. They had not spoken about what had happened, but they must. And they must address this new distance between them. This, above all else, troubled Sarah the most.

  “I love you,” said Sarah.

  Her daughter echoed her words without looking up.

  The knock at the door startled them both. Outside, Sarah found Corporal Abby.

  “Mrs. West, they asked me to tell you that the Indians have withdrawn. It’s safe to come out. Supper’s on in the mess.”

  Sarah hesitated looking back at Lucie, who cowered beneath her new quilt. The soldiers would gawk, the women would whisper. Sarah straightened her spine.

  “I think we’ll eat in our room.”

  “I could fetch you something,” offered the young soldier.

  “Thank you.”

  He stepped away and Sarah closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. The next knock came so quickly after the first that she thought Abby had forgotten something but when the door swung open, she found Thomas standing before her, hat in hand. He rocked to his toes to look past her at Lucie and smiled.

  “May I come in?” She hesitated and his smile dissolved. “Sarah?”

  “Not tonight, Thomas. She needs rest.”

  He stayed rooted to the spot, his frown deepening by the moment. She grabbed her coat and stepped out onto the porch with him, grasping his elbow and drawing him to the end of the covered porch. There she stopped to face him.

  “How is my daughter?”

  She sucked in a little breath at his question and glanced nervously about. “Hush now.”

  She turned to see if anyone had heard him, but saw no one.

  “Don’t you hush me.” He gritted the words out between clenched teeth.

  Sarah lowered her voice. “She doesn’t know yet, Thomas.”

  He scowled, raising his voice. “Why the hell not?”

  She glanced toward the heavens praying for patience.

  “In the last few months she’s been ripped from her home, seen her father buried on the trail, been captured by Indians, married to a warrior and now thrust back into civilization. She’s fragile as an unfired pot. I don’t think she can take another shock right now.”

  Thomas glowered. “She hasn’t lost her father.”

  Sarah gave him a hard look. “Thomas, your brother was the only father she has ever known. Of course, he was her father.”

  “Well, so am I.” He dug in his heels. “And if you don’t tell her, I will.”

  “Give me until tomorrow.” She grasped his lapel. “Please, Thomas.”

  He pressed his lips into a thin line.

  She stroked the lambskin sheathing his broad shoulders. “I think I know my own daughter.”

  “Our daughter,” he corrected.

  “Yes.”

  He sighed, hesitating for the time it took to stare at her closed door, and then he tugged his hat on his head and strode into the twilight, alone.

  Sarah returned to Lucie with a heavy heart. They slept together in the narrow bed that night. The next day, they ventured out for the first time. Mrs. Fairfield and Mrs. Douglas spotted them before they had even crossed the yard and changed course to intercept.

  The last thing Lucie needed was to be forced into the company of busybodies.

  The two crunched through the snow, stopping before her. Mrs. Fairchild and Mrs. Douglas both forced smiles.

  “Welcome back, Sarah,” said Mrs. Fairfield.

  “Thank you.” Her throat felt tight and the cold seemed to freeze her forced smile.

  Mrs. Douglas rocked nervously and Mrs. Fairfield tried again to steer the conversation.

  “This must be Lucie.”

  Sarah nodded, her attention flicking from one woman to the next, searching for hidden agenda.

  “Well, we are so happy to meet you at last.” Mrs. Douglas beamed. “We heard of your return and have arranged a little gathering in the officers’ mess to welcome Miss Lucie home.”

  Sarah had to give Mrs. Douglas credit. Her eyes never ventured down to stare at the marks on Lucie’s chin. But that didn’t mean they had to suffer the company of a room full of busybodies.

  Sarah saw the hopeful look in Lucie’s eyes and paused before refusing outright. Lucie must get back to living among women like these. Sarah eyed them suspiciously, not trusting that they wouldn’t take this opportunity to force Lucie to relive her ordeal.

  Lucie waited, deferring to her mother, but the hope shone clearly in her eyes.

  “My daughter has endured a great deal. I hope you will comply with my wishes and not discuss her ordeal with her.”

  “Why, certainly,” said Mrs. Fairfield, too quickly for Sarah’s liking.

  “Very well then. I thank
you both for your concern over my daughter’s welfare.”

  It seemed every woman in the fort had risen early to greet Lucie. On the surface they were cordial, but Sarah watched them when they were not speaking directly to her child and noted the bowed heads and whispers. She caught Mrs. Corbit rubbing her chin as she studied Lucie.

  Sarah scowled, feeling like a guard dog ordered not to bite. She scanned the room once more and saw the only male welcomed to this gathering of hens. The boy, the one Water Blossom called Sky Fox, approached Lucie.

  Mrs. Douglas made introductions. It was clear from the expression on Lucie’s face that she recognized him, despite his new attire and cropped hair. He spoke to her in Sioux, quite shocking the assemblage. His words made Lucie laugh.

  “What did he say?” asked Mrs. Fairfield.

  Lucie smiled. “He said that we are two sides of the Medicine Wheel. He is an Indian who looks like a white boy, and I am a white girl who looks like an Indian.”

  Mrs. Douglas gasped. “He didn’t.” She wagged a finger at the boy who was now stuffing a large wedge of cake in his mouth.

  Sarah changed the subject. “This boy told us where to find you.”

  Lucie nodded. “He told me that, too.”

  Sarah stood vigil beside Lucie until she begged for a moment of privacy to use the outhouse. Even then Sarah was uncomfortable with her out of her sight. When Lucie returned her face was flushed and Sarah felt certain something had happened. Sarah met her by the door and drew her aside.

  “When can we leave this place?” asked Lucie.

  “Right now.” Sarah turned to make her farewells.

  “I mean this fort.”

  Sarah hesitated. That brought another question. Where would they go? She had hoped that Thomas would see fit to extend his protection to his daughter and no doubt he would, but where did Sarah fit in? She even dreamed that he might ask her to marry him. She would—if he’d have her.

  Lucie’s eyes pleaded, but she remained mute, waiting.

  “Why do you ask?”

  She shrugged, lowering her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was so low that, Sarah had to lean in to hear her.

  “A soldier—he called me the white squaw.”

  The surge of anger nearly took Sarah off her feet. She grabbed Lucie and spun her. “Who did?”

  Lucie looked frightened. “I don’t know his name. Please, Mama. Don’t say anything.”

  “I most certainly will.”

  Lucie pushed at her mother’s hands, seeking her release. Sarah complied.

  “Can we not just go?”

  “Of course.” Sarah made their excuses.

  Out in the yard, they walked side by side, their shoes crunching in the snow. How could they spend the winter here with all these men? She must get Lucie to a safe place. But where in the world was safe? Anywhere they went, men would say cruel things and women would gawk and whisper. It would be the same in any city or town they chose. Sarah blinked back the tears. Lucie had enough to deal with without her mother falling to pieces when she needed her most.

  Sarah reached to grasp Lucie’s hand and her daughter flinched. What had they done to her child?

  They mounted the walkway and Lucie settled in one of the chairs beside their room. Sarah took the other.

  “Lucie, honey, what happened between you and that warrior?”

  Lucie’s chin sank to her chest and her face reddened.

  “I don’t want to speak of him.”

  Sarah reached a hand out again and then faltered. Her arm dropped back to her side.

  “But you can tell me anything.”

  Lucie cast her an incredulous look.

  “Honey, if he hurt you or—or…” How did she say rape? The word stuck in her throat like an eggshell. “You can tell me.”

  Lucie knotted her hands in her lap. “I’m all right.”

  But she wasn’t, she so obviously wasn’t. What if she carried his child? The thought took the wind right out of Sarah. Should she ask, or wait and watch for the bloody rags that would provide the answer?

  “Lucie, sweetheart, I have to know. I’m your mother.”

  Lucie’s lips remained firmly sealed.

  Sarah sat in shock. Never had there been secrets between them. She didn’t understand Lucie’s refusal to confide in her. How could she help her daughter if she did not know what had befallen her?

  “I just want to leave the prairie. I hate it here.”

  Sarah nodded. “Yes. As soon as it can be arranged.”

  But even as she promised, she knew the impossibility of the task. Snow had fallen. The wagon trains had all gone. Traveling season had ended months ago and they were likely stuck here until spring.

  “To Illinois,” said Lucie. “I want to go home.”

  Sarah paused. There was no home there to return to, no farm, no family. What Lucie longed for was the safety of a time and place forever lost.

  What would Lucie’s friends think of her now?

  The answer made Sarah shiver.

  Lucie gave her a cautious stare. Her gaunt face and haunted expression made her look like a stray dog—no, a whipped one. Sarah bit her lip. Where was the confident child she had raised? It broke her heart to see the changes wrought by her captivity.

  “Sweetheart, we can’t.” Sarah reached to clasp Lucie’s hand.

  Lucie drew away and her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open, as she stood speechless. It was natural for Lucie to want the security of home. But well she knew, that ship had sailed. The fact that Lucie didn’t seem to understand this frightened Sarah.

  What did she really know about what her child had endured to survive?

  And Lucie would tell her nothing.

  She gnawed at her cheek as she considered what to do.

  Thomas drew on his leather coat. He planned to find Sarah and insist she let him see his child. Their argument, last evening, frightened him. He was joyful to have Lucie safe, but now recognized that Sarah had no further use for him. Sarah’s need of him ended the minute they crossed into Fort Laramie.

  Over these months together, there were times when he was sure she still loved him. Now, uncertainty plagued him. He had known her since he was ten. But still, he couldn’t read what she was thinking.

  He’d been patient, had pretended the child was his brother’s, but he was through hiding. He was the girl’s father. Last night, she insisted that Lucie was too bereft from her ordeal to be burdened.

  He had honored her wishes and not slept one wink. Today he’d take matters into his own hands. His daughter had survived what many could not. That alone proved her to be clever and resilient, not to mention as stubborn as her parents.

  The girl would know the truth.

  As he crossed the street, he glanced toward Sarah’s old room. There on the porch sat Sarah and Lucie. He made his way toward them.

  Sarah did not note his approach. She had eyes only for Lucie and judging from her concerned expression, there was some issue at hand. Lucie huddled in her seat.

  Thomas walked slowly past the blacksmith. Was his child crying?

  She lifted her head now and he saw her face.

  He drank in the sight of his child. True, she was too thin, but time would change that. The blue marks on her chin posed more difficulty. Thomas had to work to keep his smile in place as rage swept through him again at the sight of them. How he longed to get his hands on the cowardly bastard who’d marked her. He’d break his neck for a start.

  Lucie saw Thomas now. Her eyes grew cautious at his approach and his smile gleaned none in return. Her eyes looked red.

  Sarah followed the direction of Lucie’s gaze, her expression somber.

  Thomas wondered what Lucie saw as she looked at him. Did she see hair color that exactly matched hers or the long tapered nose and oval face that told of common blood?

  Anyone who looked at her would recognize she was his child. But would she?

  He cleared his thr
oat and extended his hand. Hello, Lucie, I am your father.

  “Hello again, Lucie.”

  This was not the way he wanted this meeting to go, with this strained awkwardness pressing upon them, but he pushed on.

  Sarah obviously felt the same. His hand remained extended before him. At last, Lucie reached out and grasped it. Her small hand warmed his palm.

  “I’m Thomas West.”

  “Thomas, please,” said Sarah. There was no concern for him in her voice, just concern about what he might do. She was right to be worried.

  He would not be distracted. He released his daughter’s hand, wishing he could hold her in his arms. But he did not want to frighten the girl. He was yet a stranger to her.

  Sarah moved to flank her child, her hands pressed one to the other as she glared daggers at him.

  “Thomas, this is not the time.”

  He gave her a cold smile. “So you keep telling me.”

  “Mama, who is he?”

  She drew a breath and motioned toward him. “This is Samuel’s younger brother.”

  Lucie grasped his hand again. His heart clenched. She had Sarah’s eyes.

  Her voice was breathless with excitement. “I did not even know Father had a brother. Why, this is wonderful.”

  Thomas stood thunderstruck. Samuel had never mentioned his brothers—either of his brothers—to Lucie? Moments stretched and Lucie faltered, drawing back her hand. His blood turned to ice. He was uncertain. Perhaps Sarah did know best. His daughter looked fragile as a reed in winter. A stiff blow might break her.

  Lucie clapped her hands in excitement as she sprang to her feet. “Then you are my uncle.”

  “Sarah?” he said, giving her a chance to set things right.

  Instead, she gave him a look of utter fury. Not one drop of compassion flickered in her eyes. She kept her narrowing gaze upon him as she spoke to Lucie.

  “That’s right,” she said.

  Thomas’s insides twisted. She could not have hurt him more if she had drawn a blade and sliced him in two. He gaped as she gave him a cold shake of her head.

  He extended his hands, seeking her permission to claim his child.

  “Sarah, please,” he whispered. “Tell her.”

  Lucie, meanwhile, now clasped his arm, holding him like a new toy.

  “Tell me what?”