“A necessary precaution, dear. I have my gun right inside my coat.”
Papa cupped his pocket watch in the palm of his hand and noted the time. “Let’s go, Sunshine.”
The woman patted her husband’s arm and scrunched her face up to his. “Aw, did you hear that, dear? He calls his daughter ‘Sunshine.’” The man humored her with a pasted-on grin.
Eliana’s heart warmed. Her father had called her Sunshine ever since she was a little girl. In the years following her mother’s passing, Papa constantly reminded her that she was like the sunshine ever brightening his days. Even though she was now nearly twenty years old, he still called her the endearing name every now and again.
Papa took her by the elbow, and she stepped up into the small compartment of the vermilion-red stagecoach. He handed her his rifle. As she settled in, she pulled Yiska’s picture from her reticule to take a quick peek before her father got on board. She couldn’t help but wonder where Yiska was now, and if he ever thought of her. Their lives had collided in a providential way, but she had no way of knowing to what end.
“Mornin’, Lucky Jim.” Yiska loaded his saddlebags into the rear boot and climbed up to fasten the rest of his gear on top.
“What gives us the pleasure of your company, my good friend?”
“Shadow’s up at Rio Grande Pass. Came down lame. Figured a bumpy ride on your rig would beat dealing with that loaned mount I had.” Yiska smiled. “Besides, I’m nursing a couple of cracked ribs.”
“How’d you come by those?” the driver asked.
“Guess I’m not as lucky as you.” Yiska finished tying down the rest of his gear.
“Glad to have you aboard this fine day. How’s about ridin’ shotgun? Lazy Eddie was otherwise detained, so I’m solo today. It’ll be an easy ride—no mail or payroll on board.”
The large trunk strapped to the top of the coach caught Yiska’s attention—VAN HORN PHOTOGRAPHY. He heard the familiar voice of John Van Horn boom through the air like a cannon. “Yiska Wilcox!”
“Mr. Van Horn.” Yiska smiled. “Didn’t expect to see you here, sir.”
“Our supplies finally arrived, and we were anxious to get a move on.” Van Horn stuck his pipe into his pocket.
Yiska’s mind galloped ahead.
“Eliana is inside the coach. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you. You are planning to ride inside?”
Yiska looked up at Lucky Jim.
“Looks like today’s your lucky day, Yiska. You wouldn’t want to disappoint that pretty young lady.” He winked.
“Now don’t be putting ideas in that fella’s head,” Van Horn said. Sounded like he wasn’t too keen on the idea of anyone being interested in his daughter—especially Yiska.
“This whippersnapper would be blind as a bat if he hadn’t already noticed that perty daughter of yours. Go on then and get in. I haven’t got all day.” Lucky Jim’s laughter filled the air.
Yiska climbed aboard with a big grin and put his rifle underneath his seat. He took off his hat and greeted Eliana. “Miss Van Horn. Good to see you again.” Would she be as happy to see him?
“Yiska. This is surely a surprise.” Eliana’s cheeks blushed pink.
“Yes, a pleasant one. Your father said you’re headed back already. Looks like I’ll have the pleasure of your company once again.” Yiska leaned back in his seat, quite content to gaze across at her.
Eliana tilted her dimpled chin. “I must say that I’m surprised to see you take the stage. Don’t you prefer to ride?”
“I was outnumbered. Doc said I wasn’t fit for riding horseback quite yet, and Mr. Whiley insisted I take the stage.” Did Whiley know the Van Horns would be on this stage? “You can’t tell me the ride will be any smoother, but at least I’ll get back to my own horse up at Rio Grande Pass a bit sooner. Shadow might not even remember me, I’ve been away so long.”
The door to the stagecoach opened once more. A large man glared at Yiska and growled. “It seems overcrowded in there.”
“What do you mean? Let me see.” A woman with a shrill voice pushed past the man. “Ooh,” she gasped, looking at Yiska with alarm. “They didn’t say that wild Indians would be riding with us!”
Eliana straightened, her mouth hanging agape.
“Now wait just a minute,” Mr. Van Horn said.
The woman ignored them and turned to her husband. “When is the next stage?”
“Not for another week, dear.”
“We can’t wait that long. Why they don’t bring a train out this way I don’t know.” The woman shook her head frantically. Then in a loud whisper she said in her husband’s ear, “I thought you said the Indians were put on the reservations.”
Yiska sighed. Some fights were not worth picking, and this was an old one. He tried to keep his voice pleasant. “I’ll ride up top, ma’am, if it would make you more comfortable.”
“I should hope so.” The man folded his arms across his broad chest, frowning.
As Yiska removed himself from the coach, he overheard the woman. “He spoke English, dear. I didn’t know they could do that.”
Yiska climbed to the driver’s box and found a spot beside Lucky Jim.
“So you’ll be riding shotgun after all.” The burly driver handed Yiska a sawed-off shotgun. “Can’t be too careful.” Lucky Jim looked straight ahead. “G-long! H’up, there!” He cracked the braided whip, and with a jolt the four-in-hand lunged forward.
Reins threaded through his fingers, the driver guided the horses with gentle but firm control. “We call the reins ‘ribbons.’ This is how I talk to the horses.”
Ribbons. Yiska slid his hand into his pocket and toyed with a piece of lace ribbon between his fingers. Would he ever have the nerve to give it to Eliana? Or to give her his heart? And even if she did return his feelings, how could he ever ask her to live the life of an outcast?
How ironic that Yiska, a perfect gentleman, rode above instead of these ignoramuses. Eliana hoped the crotchety woman appreciated his thoughtfulness, though she knew that was doubtful.
Sixteen miles west and two and a half hours later, the stagecoach arrived at the South Fork relay station in record time, without incident. While the hostlers changed out the horses for a new team, the travelers took their reprieve with coffee and johnnycakes served by the station agent’s wife.
“We’re going south to Pagosa Springs now,” the woman told her. “We’ll try a soak in the hot springs there.”
How thankful Eliana was to learn that the trio of tourists would not continue the journey northwest with them. The ride from Del Norte had been nothing short of a nightmare. The woman, squeezed between Eliana and the window, had fidgeted almost the entire way and complained of motion sickness. To Eliana’s great relief, nothing ever came of it.
The woman’s husband and the other gentleman had filled up the opposite bench and shared a flask of bottled merriment, becoming more obnoxious with each passing mile. They had offered some to her father, and though Papa wasn’t a drinking man, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was tempted if only to put up with the unpleasant ride.
At last, the passengers had dozed off. The couple both snored while their stocky companion’s head practically hung out the window. When the man descended the coach, his dusty hair looked like a powdered wig.
At least that ordeal was over.
As the lady departed to board the new coach that had pulled into the station, she leaned toward Eliana and whispered much too loudly, “Be careful of that Indian.” Yiska was looking right at them.
Eliana lowered her gaze.
She braced herself as the stagecoach jerked forward and pulled out of the swing station. Papa sat beside her on the padded leather seat, and Yiska now joined them, facing them from the opposite bench. A knife was strapped to his calf. His hatchet hung from his hip. No wonder the woman was intimidated by Yiska’s presence.
The rumbling of the wheels and clopping hooves of the four horses reverberated around them. Dusty partic
les floated through the air. Inside the coach, an awkward quiet descended. Eliana rolled up the canvas curtain and buckled it. As the stagecoach traveled the toll road along the Rio Grande, she took in the lush view of the river and the great expanse of the mountains all around them. Lulled by the rocking motion, thoughts of the land and its people filled her mind.
Through the years, many had fought over the Colorado Territory, but since the treaty with the Utes, whites had flooded into the area to claim the mineral-rich mountains and rivers. She recalled how proud she was of Papa when he was commissioned to make a glass-plate of the Ute Chief Ouray, who negotiated for the Utes’ peace. Papa was very impressed by the man. He had told her how the government wasn’t upholding its end of the Brunot Treaty. No wonder the Utes were still hostile at times.
Sometimes she felt like a trespasser in the land, yet it was home to her now. What was it like to have one’s homeland confiscated? Where was Yiska’s home? She thought of her own ancestors and sighed. She sat up straight, her hands in her lap, and addressed her traveling companion. “So, Mr. Wilcox.”
He looked at her with his dark, penetrating eyes. “Yiska.”
“Yiska.” She smiled. “We’ve already established that you’re part Indian.”
Papa chewed on the mouthpiece of his empty pipe, and upon hearing her comment almost choked.
“True.” Yiska’s expression betrayed nothing.
“Your Christian name…” Eliana’s cheeks grew warm. “I mean, your given name. It almost sounds Jewish. Don’t you think so, Papa?”
Papa shrugged.
Yiska appeared amused at her blunder. “It’s Diné, Navajo.” He picked up his dented hat from the seat and fiddled with it. “It means ‘after the night has passed.’”
Eliana eyed him with interest. “You’re the first Navajo I’ve ever met. The first Indian, in fact.” She directed her fingers to her chest. “My name means ‘God has answered.’ It’s Hebrew—my mother was Jewish.”
Papa tapped his pipe on his knee and stared out the window then cocked his head toward Eliana.
“Jewish?” Yiska raised his brows. “I was under the impression you were a Christian.”
“Oh! Yes, we are.” She let out a nervous laugh.
Yiska looked askance.
“I’ve adopted the Christian faith, as did my mother. Her parents died when they emigrated from Germany, and Mama met Papa shortly after that. Friends introduced them to Jesus, and I learned about Him from them.” Though butterflies fluttered inside her stomach, Eliana dared to ask the next question. “Do you know much about Christianity, Yiska?”
“Some,” he said. “I’ve heard that Jesus appeared on earth. My mother’s people have never seen their gods in the flesh.”
Are they his gods, too?
“Can you tell us about them?” Eliana asked.
Yiska dragged his fingers through his hair. “The Diné have many—Coyote, Water Monster, Changing Woman and her twins Monster Slayer and Child-Born-of-Water, and others. Their relationship to the sacred places—the holy lands—is more important, although they are connected.”
“So many,” Eliana said. “God’s son, Jesus Christ, was born in the Jewish Holy Land, Israel. But that land has been taken from the Jews—it’s now called Palestine. That’s where my mother’s ancestors were originally from.”
Yiska crossed his arms. Was he thinking of all the land that had been taken away from the Indians?
The mountains rose up around them, and the coach struggled over rocks and ruts. As it ascended a steep incline, it went over a sharp swell in the road and then jerked forward. Yiska’s head almost hit the ceiling. Papa’s somewhat portly frame kept him situated, but Eliana nearly tumbled off her seat. O Lord, please don’t let me fall on Yiska! Her father steadied her, and she exhaled with relief. She smoothed her skirt and tried to gather her thoughts—this conversation had its own bumps to deal with.
“Well, the important thing is that regardless of location, Jesus lives in the hearts of those who believe in Him, who turn from their sin and accept Him.” Eliana placed her hand on Papa’s arm. “Papa is better at explaining.”
“All right.” Papa leaned back in his seat and took a small pouch of tobacco from inside his coat pocket. “Allow me to present you with a word picture. Take my pipe, for example. If I fill it with tobacco and light it, it will produce smoke.” He dipped the pipe into the tobacco pouch and tamped it down. Then he took a match, and with a puff ignited the fragrant hickory-scented contents.
He shook out the match and tossed it away. “By faith a believer becomes a vessel where Christ dwells—the pipe. He will smoke it, so to speak, as the believer lives out His teachings, and in turn the Christian’s life produces a pleasant aroma.” Papa took another puff and coughed. “…and a little smoker’s lung, but that’s beside the point. Perhaps that’s a poor analogy, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances.” Papa chortled.
Eliana hoped her father’s example resonated with Yiska. Then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed something flicker. She glanced down. Papa’s spare neckerchief had fallen to the floor. Sparks threatened to consume it.
“Papa! Your neckerchief is on fire!”
Chapter 8
Yiska stomped out the glowing edges of the neckerchief. “Safe now. Looks like your match never made it out the window.”
Mr. Van Horn shook his head in disbelief.
Eliana took a deep breath. “Thank you, Yiska. Papa insists on nursing that pipe, though it’s usually empty when he does so.” She glanced up at her father and smiled. “But I suppose it served its purpose anyway. At least I hope it did.”
“It got my attention.” Yiska chuckled. “That was a good…picture with words. The Diné tell stories like that around their campfires.” He looked at Mr. Van Horn. “Only they know how to put the fires out.”
“For that you owe me a neckerchief, young man,” Mr. Van Horn said with a glint in his eye. Then he leaned forward. “Yiska, what about your father?”
“My father was an Englishman. I don’t know what he believed.” So much of his childhood, most of his memories, remained cloaked in shadows.
“He wasn’t a religious man, I take it,” Van Horn said.
“I don’t know. He gave thanks to the Christian God, but he also talked about the Great Spirit—mostly among the Navajo.” Yiska shifted in his seat. The Van Horns listened patiently, their sincere expressions inviting him to share things that he’d hardly ever spoken.
“Pa was a mountaineer, a trader with the Navajo. He died when I was a boy, and my mother and I went back to her people. That was before The Long Walk to Fort Sumner. She sent me away to save me from that fate.” Yiska swallowed hard. “She never made it back. I’d gone to live with Trask Whiley’s parents, who my family knew. I helped out around his pa’s trading post, and his ma taught me how to read, write, and figure.”
Yiska stared at his boots for a moment then continued. “Mrs. Whiley talked about Jesus, and had me read her Bible sometimes. After the war Trask had gone out on his own. I was about sixteen when he came back. He asked me to work for him, and I’ve been with him ever since.” Yiska sat straighter. “As far as what I believe? I’m not really sure.”
The stage hastened its speed. Eliana coughed as dust particles filled the air. Tension permeated the small space. How does one respond to such a revelation? She yearned for Yiska to embrace Christianity and would love to discuss it further, but she simply uttered a silent prayer and took comfort in knowing that Papa certainly prayed for Yiska as well.
Yiska exhaled, stared out the window for a while, then faced Eliana again. “I never did thank you for taking my photograph.”
He was changing the topic of conversation. Had she offended him? Her mood plummeted.
“I didn’t see that photograph,” Papa said.
Eliana reached into her reticule. “I have it right here, Papa.”
Her father inspected the picture. “Very good. Very good indeed. I
like the way you positioned him. Suits him well. Your hat was in better shape then.”
“Eh, it was,” Yiska grinned. He picked up his hat and smoothed some of the dents. “It’s seen better times.”
“Eliana, I intended for him to keep this.” Papa handed the photograph to Yiska. Papa, no! Now how will I ever get it back?
“Thank you, sir. She did a fine job, despite the subject.” Yiska leaned back and rubbed his cheek with one of his fingers, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin.
Eliana glanced away all flustered. How could he? An avalanche of thoughts assailed her—taking his picture, combing his hair, raspberry jam—and he was thinking the very same thoughts.
“Yes, and she’s a good assistant. Hard worker, my girl.” Papa put his hand over Eliana’s. “Indeed, she’s every bit as talented as I. She has a good eye.”
Yiska squeezed one eye shut, and his mouth eased into a sly grin. “Which one?”
Laughter filled the coach. Yiska had such a way of putting others at ease. When they stopped laughing Eliana caught him staring at her. Was he as captivated with her as she was with him?
Papa cleared his throat, “As I was about to say, she has two pretty eyes and a canny ability to see a good shot from behind the camera. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Or I you, Papa.” Eliana hoped she’d never have to know.
Yiska stretched and loosened his bandanna. He took in a deep breath of the clean Colorado air, still feeling the ache in his ribs. The sun was high overhead. The coach had made good time on the drive to the Wagon Wheel Gap home station. Then it had taken twice as long to go the same distance to the next station, due to the rough terrain. The hotel served a hale lunch of buffalo venison stew, buttermilk biscuits, and mixed berry pie. Lucky Jim saw that the horses were changed for a fresh team.
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