Escape to Fort Abercrombie

by Candace Simar

  He could have read all day, but common sense forced him to action. Ryker tucked the book into the waist of his trousers and shook the children awake.

  They scrounged in the sack of supplies for something to eat.

  “Nothing for you, boy,” Ryker said. He reached out and petted their faithful friend. Beller pawed his injured ear, still dangling by a thread.

  Ryker fished Papa’s folding knife from his pocket and sliced through the bit of flesh holding Beller’s ear. Beller yelped once and then sniffed the ear that Ryker threw into the weeds.

  “Yuck,” Johnny said as he watched the dog take the ear into his mouth. “Your dog’s turned cannibal.”

  Ryker smiled and then chuckled. Sven joined in until they were all laughing—except Klara. The boys laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks, clutching each other as Klara stared dully at them.

  “Just like the heathen in Africa,” Johnny said.

  “We’ll change his name to Cannibal,” Sven said. His face contorted with laughter, and saliva dripped onto his chin.

  “When you laugh like that,” Johnny said, “you look like Mrs. Tingvold, except with teeth.”

  Sven’s laughter turned abruptly to tears. He buried his face in his arms. Sven’s shoulders heaved with gulping sobs. Beller crawled over and laid his head on Sven’s legs, still clutching the ear between his teeth. Klara put her arm around his neck. They leaned into each other.

  It was up to Ryker to cheer them.

  “I wonder what Martin is doing today,” Ryker said. It wasn’t funny anymore. He had to change the subject, had to rally his little family and get them to Fort Abercrombie. “Hot this time of year in that country.” Ryker brushed a fly away from his face, then remembered buzzing flies around Papa’s wound. Ryker shook himself from the memory. “Martin is learning to play the Jew’s harp. Remember? I wish we had a Jew’s harp right now, or a mouth organ. I’d play a song for you.”

  “What song?” Klara said in a small, weak voice. She had barely spoken since being taken by the savages. Ryker’s heart leapt in his chest.

  “Why, something American,” Ryker said, cheered by her interest. “Enough of Per Spelmann from the Old Country. I’d play Rally Round the Flag or The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” He could tell Sven was listening by the way he turned his ear toward him. Measles had affected Sven’s left ear when he was a little boy, and he cocked his head to the right to hear better.

  “Frank plays music, too,” Johnny said with a bit of defensiveness in his attitude. “He can do anything your brother can do.”

  “They make music together.” Ryker fabricated a story about Martin’s Jew’s harp and his journey home after the war’s end. Beller looked at him with interest, as Ryker rolled out the story of music, dancing, and the end of war.

  “I’ll play the Jew’s harp, too,” Klara said. She plopped her thumb in her mouth and sucked hard. Then she reached for a cabbage leaf and chewed it slowly. Ryker smiled. Beller swallowed the ear. They wouldn’t be lost once they reached Whiskey Creek. The thought of his mother and sister’s predicament spurred him to action.

  “We have to go,” he said. “Mama’s waiting.”

  Ryker took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He tucked the book into the sack for safekeeping. He took his bearings according to the sun and headed in the direction where he hoped to find Whiskey Creek.

  His father had always made Ryker feel safe. Now he had to keep Sven and Klara safe. And Johnny Schmitz, of all people, the boy who had been mean to Mama, and who had bullied the twins at school. Papa had put Ryker in charge, and he would do his best. Everyone counted on him. Besides, he couldn’t just leave Johnny out on the prairie to starve. Poor boy had lost his parents, most likely. Ryker tried to muster sympathy for him but failed. He would take care of the boy whether or not he felt sympathy for him. Mama would insist.

  Klara said nothing. Her eyes stared ahead, and she kept her thumb in her mouth. Ryker could do nothing but hurry her along with the others. Papa said to concentrate on the task at hand and not borrow trouble for the next day. That’s what Ryker would do.

  They headed straight south through oceans of grass, or at least south as Ryker figured by the position of the sun overhead. Klara lifted her feet as if she were marching. Johnny dragged behind her, listless and mumbling about his parents being worried. Sven held his knife ready. Beller, tethered by the rope, perked his remaining ear, and followed close beside the ragtag group. They were a small army, but they could do it.

  They had no other choice.

  CHAPTER 16

  * * *

  They trudged through the hot afternoon. Sven kept a tight hold of Beller’s leash to prevent him from running off again. They had to find Whiskey Creek. Every so often, Ryker jumped up, trying to get higher than the grass to see where they were going.

  “Climb up on my shoulders, Klara,” Ryker said after he discovered he couldn’t jump high enough. “Maybe you’ll be able to see the trees by Whiskey Creek.”

  “I’ll do it,” Johnny said.

  “You’re too heavy,” Ryker said. “Klara weighs the least.”

  Klara struggled to stand on Ryker’s shoulders but couldn’t find her balance. “I’m scared,” she said. “I can’t do it.”

  “Then you stand on my shoulders, Ryker,” Johnny said. “I’m strong enough to hold you.”

  Ryker mulled over his suggestion. They had no other choice. He climbed up on Johnny’s shoulders while Johnny knelt in the grass. Then Klara and Sven held Ryker’s hands to steady him as Johnny stood to his feet.

  Johnny was as strong as a young bull, and, even though Ryker was older than Johnny, no doubt Johnny outweighed him. Ryker put both arms out to steady himself and then looked all around him over the sea of waving grass.

  Nothing. Not a tree. Not a sign of another farm, or a creek or a river. No sign of Indians. No smoke or flames. Only grass. Papa would have been a millionaire had they been able to hay this stretch of prairie and sell it to the army.

  The sun drooped in the western sky. They were going in the right direction.

  “Enough,” Ryker said. “Let me down easy.”

  He climbed off Johnny’s shoulders, surprised at the wobble in his knees. They had to keep going forward, just like Martin’s regiment marching to fight the enemy.

  They walked about another hour, tired and thirsty. If they didn’t find water soon, they would not survive.

  Klara was complaining about being tired when Beller strained against his leash. He sharpened his eyes toward the west, his whole being attentive.

  “He hears something,” Sven said turning his good ear to the sound. “Listen.”

  Ryker heard only moaning wind and swishing grass. “Probably smells a coyote, or even a deer.” Beller sniffed the air and whined, wagging his tail and pulling against the leash. He barked and pulled until Sven was lifted off his feet.

  “Sounds like a crying baby,” Johnny said.

  Klara cocked her head toward where Sven was pointing. “I hear it, too,” Klara said, and excitement caused her voice to sharpen. “A baby.”

  “Might be Indians, for all we know,” Ryker said. An Indian baby cried just like a white baby. They might barge into a Sioux camp. They might be the very Indians who had taken the twins. Or even the ones who had taken Mama and Elsa. He had to think. Something felt wrong. It might be a trap. “It’s just a catbird.” Fatigue rolled over him like a gray shadow. “Or a wounded rabbit.” He wanted only to lie down and sleep. His stomach growled, and his throat parched. “Forget it.”

  “What if it’s a baby lost on the prairie?” Sven said, and he knelt to untie the rope holding Beller. Beller barked a frantic bark. Not a warning bark, but more like a welcome.

  Klara pulled herself to her feet. “I’ll go with you, Sven.”

  “All right,” Ryker said. “We’re staying together. Just remember that Mama and Elsa are depending on us. We don’t have time to run after every bird call.”

  Bel
ler, freed from the leash, streaked through the tall grass, and Sven and Klara followed. Johnny helped Ryker gather up the small store of supplies. Ryker followed at a slower pace, his feet hurting and his mind foggy with fatigue.

  Sven was right. Sounds of crying drifted through the green jungle of tall grass. It was an angry, desperate cry.

  Klara screamed. The baby stopped crying, and Beller quit barking. Ryker pushed through the grass and cried out in surprise.

  “Elsa?”

  CHAPTER 17

  * * *

  Their little sister’s eyes were puffed almost shut from mosquito welts, and her face was blistered from sunburn and crying. Her bare feet showed cuts and scratches, and her dress was ripped almost to shreds. Her blond curls matted and tangled around her red face. She clung to Klara with shoulders heaving and snot dripping down her dirty face.

  “Hush now, Sistermine,” Klara crooned. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “Mama,” Elsa said, pulling on Klara’s dress. “Mama.”

  “Where’s Mama?” Ryker said. He tried to take Elsa from Klara’s arms, but she refused to leave her older sister. Ryker had been wrong again. He felt ashamed of his stubbornness. If the twins had listened to him, Elsa might have been lost forever.

  Ryker had carried the last egg in his pocket to prevent it from breaking. The small brown egg was his hedge against starvation, safe from the twins and Johnny. Thank God he had something to give Elsa. Elsa would die without sustenance. He carefully punched a hole into the rounded tip with the nail, breaking through the inner membrane. He held the egg up to Elsa’s lips. When she tasted the thick, runny white, she pulled Ryker’s hand closer and sucked greedily. A bit of yellow yolk slipped down her chin. Ryker wiped it with his finger and licked it clean. How good it tasted. Warm and good.

  Elsa turned her face away. Ryker noticed a little egg left inside the shell. His stomach clenched with hunger, and he wanted it more than he had ever wanted food in his life, but Klara looked ready to collapse. Ryker knew what he must do. Slowly, he handed the egg to Klara.

  “Are you sure?” Klara said, with a new light in her eyes. She eyed it hungrily.

  “Mama is nearby,” Sven said. “She wouldn’t leave the baby.”

  “Unless Elsa wandered off and got lost,” Klara said, licking the inside of the egg shell to get every drop. “You know how she is.”

  They searched but found no sign of their mother, calling her name as loudly as they dared. “We need a plan,” Ryker said. “We risk getting lost ourselves.”

  “Someone should stay with Elsa, and the others should search.” Klara popped her thumb in her mouth.

  “No,” Johnny said. “You hold the ball of yarn, and Sven and I will tie ourselves to the end. That way we won’t get lost.”

  It was a crazy idea, but it might work. Ryker nodded and tied Johnny’s wrist to the end of the yarn. He and Sven disappeared into the tall grass while Ryker unwound the ball of yarn. Klara cuddled Elsa. Ryker reached for a rose growing on a bush nearby. He tucked the pink petals in his mouth, imagining they were his mother’s Christmas cookies. Not many roses this time of the year.

  They fanned out to search the area, calling as loudly as they dared, but found no trace of their mother. Beller lay next to Elsa and refused to budge. Ryker puzzled over this but decided Beller knew their mother was nowhere around. Besides, they needed someone to keep watch over Elsa lest she get lost again.

  The boys returned hot and sweaty. “Useless to keep looking,” Sven said. “Mama wouldn’t let her out of her sight.” He hesitated and spoke again. “Unless something happened to Mama . . .”

  His words hung in the air like a bad smell. It couldn’t be that they would lose their mother, as well as their father. God wouldn’t let them become orphans.

  “She was all right the last time I saw her,” Johnny said. “Indians split us up one time; maybe they did it again.” He scraped crumbs from the bottom of the sack and handed them to Elsa. “My folks will be worried sick. I have to get home.”

  Ryker didn’t know how to tell Johnny that his parents were probably dead. Mama might be dead, too. He swallowed a lump in his throat and reached for Elsa. She turned her face into Klara’s shoulder.

  “Milk,” Elsa said. She pulled on Klara’s dress. “Milk.”

  “She said milk,” Klara said. She hugged her little sister tighter. “But I don’t have any milk to give you, stalkers liten.”

  “We need to get to Fort Abercrombie as fast as we can,” Ryker said to Johnny. “Your folks will know you had the good sense to seek refuge.”

  “Do you think so?” Johnny’s hopeful face twisted into a look so forlorn that Ryker’s heart softened. “Those shots and smoke from our place . . .” He buried his face into the crook of his arm. “They’re dead, like the teacher.” He looked up and locked eyes with Ryker. “I know it. Tell me the truth.”

  “It doesn’t look good,” Ryker said slowly.

  “Damn them,” Johnny said. He clenched his fists as if ready to fight the Sioux Nation. “Damn the redskins. What did we ever do to them?”

  Ryker thought to explain the broken treaty, but he had neither the understanding nor the energy to delve into it. “We’ll figure it out at the fort.”

  Elsa clung to Klara. Ryker shuddered to think what could have happened to his baby sister. She might have been eaten by a wild animal, or drowned in a swamp. She could have starved to death or perished of thirst. It made no sense that she would be out on the prairie by herself. Mama would not have let Elsa out of her sight. Indians sometimes adopted little ones into their tribe. Ryker had read stories about such things. He mentioned it aloud.

  “She’s trouble,” Sven said as he reached over and kissed the top of Elsa’s tousled head. “Maybe they left her behind on purpose.”

  “We have you now, Sistermine,” Klara said. “We’ll find Mama soon and give you all the milk you can drink.” Elsa curled her fingers through Klara’s hair. “Look,” Klara said, pointing to a mass of white clouds in the sky, “angels were watching over her.”

  Ryker craned his neck to the skies and saw what might have been a face in the clouds. He couldn’t be sure. Then it was gone.

  Klara smiled for the first time since their father’s death. “We’re going to be all right.” She kissed Elsa and snuggled her close. “All of us. I know it.”

  “Look!” Sven pointed toward the horizon.

  There stood a line of small green bushes hugging the far lip of the prairie. But they weren’t bushes. They were the trees growing alongside Whiskey Creek.

  Ryker wasn’t sure about angels or miracles, but surely Mama’s prayers had been answered. Something stirred within him, something akin to hope.

  CHAPTER 18

  * * *

  They trudged toward the tree line, and the promise of water. Distances were deceptive on the prairie, and it proved farther away than expected.

  No one complained. Johnny slapped gnats biting around his ears. Klara stumbled with Elsa’s extra weight in her arms. Sven held Beller close with the rope leash.

  “Come to me,” Ryker said and reached for Elsa. “Come ride on my shoulders.”

  Elsa shook her head and clung to Klara.

  “Ride the horsy,” Klara said. She looked exhausted and so pale that her freckles stood out like brown seeds on her sunburned face. “Ryker is a nice horsy.”

  “Milk,” Elsa said. She loosened her grip on her sister but still pulled away when Ryker lifted her from Klara’s arms. She let out a squeal and stretched both arms toward Klara.

  “Come,” Ryker said. He hoisted her up on his shoulders. “Ride the horsy.” Ryker galloped a few steps, trying to gather enough energy to cheer his baby sister.

  Elsa’s ragged skirts reeked of urine. They made better time for a while, the green bushes growing into trees. Elsa rested her head on top of his and took a short nap. Then she jabbed her finger into Ryker’s ear.

  “Ouch,” he said. “That hurts.”
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  Elsa bawled a protest, and Klara came close enough to hold Elsa’s hand. She quieted and was soon back to sleep.

  “No wonder they left her on the prairie,” Johnny said. “The Red Men didn’t want her telling the whole world where they were.”

  Ryker bristled. Johnny had no right to complain about his little sister. “Oh, shut up,” Ryker said. “We’ll leave you behind on the prairie.”

  Johnny’s face crumpled. Ryker knew he shouldn’t have told him to shut up. Johnny had most likely lost his parents and had been mistreated by the Sioux. He deserved Ryker’s pity more than reprimand.

  “We won’t leave you,” Ryker said, relenting. “We’re almost to Whiskey Creek. By tomorrow we’ll be at the fort.”

  “I just meant that she’s noisy,” Johnny said.

  “She’s a baby,” Ryker said. He paused to readjust the sleeping baby on his back. Her dead weight pushed in all the wrong places. “She can’t help it.”

  “We’re getting closer,” Klara said. “Let’s get to the river before dark.”

  Klara kept a steady pace and didn’t lag behind, though her face looked haggard, and her body had disappeared to skin and bones. It seemed the bit of egg had given Klara renewed strength. Or maybe it was finding Elsa.

  “What if Mama was sick and couldn’t call out to us?” Sven said. “What if we’re leaving her behind?”

  “We looked everywhere,” Johnny said.

  “Beller wouldn’t leave Mama on the prairie. He would have found her had she been anywhere nearby,” Ryker said. He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. He shared the same concern, but he knew Mama would first urge him to bring the little ones to safety before spending more time looking for her. Mama always put her children first.

  “You know Mama,” he said in a confident voice. “She’ll be safe until we get to the fort. She might be waiting for us and worrying herself sick about Elsa.”

  They speculated on how or why Elsa ended up alone on the prairie. Sven thought another old Indian woman had let her go as a kindness. Klara said an angel set her down on the grass where they were sure to find her.