Escape to Fort Abercrombie

by Candace Simar

  “Let’s make a run for it,” Johnny said as he eyed the creek. Not too unexpected, after what he had experienced at the hands of the Sioux.

  Ryker didn’t know what to say. They might barge into a hostile war party. They might run into the Indian on the painted horse, the one who had murdered Mr. and Mrs. Tingvold. But they couldn’t stay. Who knew what might happen when the Indian men returned. “We know her,” Ryker said after a long pause. “It’s Good Person; remember how Mama helped her?”

  “She doesn’t act like she knows us,” Klara said. “Are you sure it’s the same woman?”

  Ryker pushed Elsa into Klara’s arms and stood to his feet. He cleared his throat and faced the woman. He made a motion of unfolding and jabbing a knife. The woman looked at him blankly. Then Ryker mooed like a cow and went through the stabbing motion again.

  A glint of recognition flashed across her face, but she did not smile. The little boys laughed and held their noses as if remembering the terrible stink from the foundered animal. They remembered.

  Ryker patted his chest and pointed to the twins and Elsa. The woman nodded and seemed a little friendlier. She patted her tummy and made a motion of eating. At first Ryker thought she was asking if he was hungry. But then the woman pantomimed how she had received food from someone with hair like Klara and Elsa. She touched her own black braids and then touched Elsa’s hair. Then she patted her tummy again, gestured toward her boys, and measured out a woman’s silhouette.

  She was telling how their mother gave food to them.

  A lump rose in Ryker’s throat. Mama said a kindness was always returned in the end. It was as if Mama were with them, taking care of them through this dark time.

  The woman then pointed to the fire and the twins. She motioned giving them food. She did not include Johnny. The woman motioned them to the cook fire.

  “Looks like she’s going to feed us,” Sven said.

  “Good,” Johnny said. His round face had thinned down during their days on the prairie, and he was as pale as new snow. He reached toward the food. “Maybe I’ll feel better after I eat.”

  But Good Person pushed Johnny away from the food. She pantomimed for him to gather firewood. He stood helplessly, as the woman handed the others small portions of meat served on pieces of bark. It was only a small amount, but it was the first hot food they had eaten in days. Ryker wasn’t sure what exactly they were eating—something dark and stringy with a wild flavor. It tasted so good that tears came to his eyes as he chewed and swallowed. He tried to count the days since Mama had been taken, but all of them blurred into one nightmare of misery. He must ask Klara how many knots she had tied in her apron string.

  Johnny reached again toward the meat. Good Person shoved him hard enough to send him sprawling on the ground. She jerked her thumb toward the thicket and motioned again for him to gather wood.

  “What did I do wrong?” Johnny said in disbelief.

  “Just do what she says,” Ryker said.

  “I’ll share,” Sven started to give him a bite of meat, but Ryker stopped him.

  “Not now,” Ryker said. “Save it for later, and give it to him when she’s not watching.” No telling what might happen if they made the woman angry. “Do what she says.”

  Johnny trudged to the trees and untangled a branch from the mess of fallen trees. Ryker saw a branch zing against Johnny’s face, causing a rising welt across his eyes. Johnny tossed the branch carelessly by the fire and slouched on a rock, rubbing his sore forehead and cursing his bad luck.

  Good Person flew into a rage, beating Johnny’s back with a stick of firewood and yelling in her language. Her boys laughed and giggled, as Johnny shielded his face with both arms and scrambled to obey her wishes.

  Johnny dragged more dead branches toward the fire. His expression looked so downcast that Ryker tucked part of his meat into his pocket for Johnny.

  Klara removed a bit of chewed meat from her mouth and smeared it into Elsa’s mouth. The baby made a terrible face and turned away. Her eyes looked dull, and her head drooped.

  When everyone had eaten, Good Person motioned for Johnny to scrape the pot. Her eyes looked hard, and she jerked her chin toward the cooking pot as if angry.

  Johnny fell upon the meager bits of food, gnawing a bone and licking grease from his fingers. “I didn’t do nothing to hurt her,” he mumbled. “Why does she hate me?”

  “Smile!” Ryker said. “Act as if nothing is wrong.” Ryker smiled and nodded toward the Indian woman, though he spoke to the others. “Be as pleasant and natural as if visiting your relatives.”

  A soft mewling came from the tipi, and Good Person spoke a command to Laughing Boy, who fetched the baby in his cradleboard. Good Person and Little Dog stood as if on guard.

  Good Person unlaced the ties holding the baby flat against the board. His chubby lips smacked, and he reached for his mother’s bosom as soon as his hands were free. The woman smiled at the baby and rubbed her cheek against his. She didn’t look as scary when she smiled at the baby, more like any mother. Then she sat against a tree stump and gave him her breast. The baby sucked greedily, patting her chest with his plump hand.

  Ryker and the boys looked away. A woman nursing a baby was nothing new, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of, but they were of the age when a woman’s body embarrassed them.

  “Now is the time,” Johnny whispered. “Get away while she’s busy.”

  Elsa stared at Good Person and pointed to the nursing baby. “Mama.” Elsa crawled over and pulled at the woman’s dress, her small face covered with mud splotches, pathetic in her pleading. “Milk,” she whispered in a croaking voice.

  “Come, Sistermine,” Klara said. “It’s not for you.” Elsa whimpered and stretched small hands toward the Indian woman in a gesture of desperation.

  They were all hungry, but Elsa had not learned to eat regular food.

  Elsa tugged the woman’s dress. “Milk.” She wailed a weak and desperate cry. “Mama.”

  “Please,” Klara said to the woman. She pointed to Elsa, and then to the woman’s chest. “Please.”

  Ryker held his breath, half expecting the woman to beat Elsa with a piece of firewood, too. Good Person clucked her tongue in an irritated manner but motioned for Elsa to climb up on her lap. Elsa sank into the crook of the woman’s arm and began to suck. She sucked until her cheeks collapsed, and tears rolled down her thin cheeks. She sucked too hard and choked on the milk. Then she settled into a more normal feeding, closing her eyes in bliss. Elsa’s white skin contrasted with the woman’s brown.

  “Thank you,” Klara said. Ryker saw tears in Klara’s eyes as she spoke. “I wish I knew the Sioux word for thank you.”

  Good Person concentrated on her baby with hardly a glance at Elsa. Ryker got the feeling she wasn’t happy about the arrangement.

  “What would Papa say?” Sven whispered.

  “Don’t care what Papa would say,” Klara said. “Mama would be glad. She’d call her an angel of mercy.”

  “It’s like a bear suckling a pig,” Johnny said, “or a goat suckling a calf.” He stared at the bared chest and nursing babies. “It’s not natural.”

  “We give cow’s milk to orphan lambs.” Sven was usually contrary to whatever Johnny said. “It’s none of your beeswax what kind of milk Elsa drinks.”

  “But an Injun,” Johnny said in a dark tone. “Think what they’ve done.”

  “Haven’t you heard of a wet nurse?” Ryker said. “Milk is milk. Now be quiet about it.”

  “Didn’t mean nothing,” Johnny mumbled. “Just seems odd to me.”

  The woman gestured toward the fire, the trees, and back to the fire.

  “Gather more firewood,” Ryker said. The woman held their lives in her hands. They must keep on her good side. “We’ll help you.”

  Ryker, Johnny, and the twins gathered firewood into a nice pile. The woman nodded in approval. They stood awkwardly by, waiting instructions. The woman motioned them to gather hazelnuts growing
along the bank of Whiskey Creek.

  Elsa had drifted off to sleep. When the woman saw that she slept, she tried to set her down. Elsa woke and cried to nurse again. The woman frowned, but let her feed some more. When she had enough, Elsa pulled away with a loud burp. Bubbles of white milk showed on her lips and dripped down her chin.

  The Indian boys giggled and pointed to her milky mouth. Elsa smiled and patted her hands together as if applauding. It was her happiest smile since they had found her on the prairie.

  Klara scooped Elsa up into her arms. Ryker saw Klara lick the milk from Elsa’s chin when she thought no one was looking.

  They dared not ask for more food. All they could do was try to be helpful and hope food would be offered.

  “Why does she pick on me?” Johnny said.

  “Mama gave them food,” Klara said. “She’s repaying the favor. She knows you’re not part of our family.”

  Good Person pantomimed again, a taller figure and a shorter, pointing to the children, and then pantomiming a taller and shorter person again. She was asking about their parents.

  Ryker answered by pantomiming a taller and shorter person, and then the taller one. He hated sharing the grim news. He mimed an arrow in his heart and fell to the ground with his eyes closed.

  Good Person’s eyes clouded. She understood. Then she pantomimed the shorter figure with a questioning look.

  Ryker pondered how to explain. He grabbed Sven by the arm and pretended to drag him away from the campsite. Good Person nodded gravely. She understood.

  Ryker tried to pantomime how they were looking for her. He mounded his belly to show that his mother was expecting another baby. He was unsure if she understood.

  If only Good Person would help them find their mother.

  CHAPTER 31

  * * *

  Elsa napped for a short while that morning and nursed again when she woke up. She seemed more like her old self, demanding and spoiled. Her eyes looked brighter, and she laughed aloud while playing in the sand by the creek bank.

  At another time and place, they could have been on a picnic alongside the rippling creek in the shadow of the beautiful trees . . . except for an occasional gunshot heard from the direction of the fort, and the anxiety of not knowing what would happen next.

  Each gunshot caused Good Person to look up and down Whiskey Creek, as if she expected trouble. She must be afraid of the soldiers. Ryker knew she had to nothing to fear from them right now. From his view in the cottonwood, he had seen them under siege. The soldiers were fighting for their lives.

  They were safe for the moment with this Indian woman, but Ryker knew others would not look upon them so kindly.

  Elsa woke from her nap and immediately went to the Indian woman and pulled on her skirt. “Milk,” she said. “Mama.”

  Good Person busied with chores around the camp and ignored Elsa’s request. Of course she could not waste the whole day nursing Elsa. Even Mama complained when Elsa nursed too often.

  “Come Sistermine,” Klara said, but Elsa pouted her lip and stomped her feet.

  Ryker panicked. Elsa threw fits if she didn’t get her way. The Indian woman wasn’t thrilled to have them there. If his sister had a tantrum, she might ruin everything.

  The cradleboard was propped against the tree stump. Elsa pinched the sleeping baby’s face, causing him to cry. “Milk,” she demanded. “Mama.”

  “Elsa,” Ryker said. “Be good.” He was almost close enough to pick her up when it happened.

  Elsa let out a wail, stomped her feet, and threw herself to the ground, kicking and screaming. “Milk!” She howled as if the yellow jackets were stinging again.

  The Indian boys giggled, holding their hands over their mouths and laughing at Elsa’s rude behavior. Ryker could have crawled under a rock in embarrassment. Elsa was definitely more like her normal self.

  Good Person frowned but gathered Elsa into her lap to nurse. Elsa guzzled like a little pig. Elsa was a baby, not old enough for good manners, but Ryker felt embarrassed at her behavior.

  Good Person called out to her boys. Laughing Boy went upstream and Little Dog, downstream. Ryker suspected she asked them to stand guard.

  Little Dog came running back before Elsa had finished nursing, pointing upstream and jabbering in an excited voice. The woman gestured toward the river and made canoeing motions with an imaginary paddle.

  “What does she mean?” Klara said.

  “Indians,” Sven said quietly. “What will we do now?”

  The woman pointed to the hideout in the tangled tree roots and made hurrying motions with her hands.

  “She wants us to hide?” Sven said.

  Ryker saw a hundred things wrong with the idea. How could they hide within spitting distance of Indians on the warpath? A dog or curious child would find them in no time. Elsa might cry out. Maybe the woman would betray them.

  “Hurry up,” he said. They had no choice but to do what she asked. He reached for Elsa, still nursing. She howled in anger.

  “Milk.” Elsa clutched the woman. “Mama.”

  Good Person looked upstream. Sure enough, the bow of a canoe showed coming around the bend of Whiskey Creek. On this stretch of water, the creek angled back and forth in sharp turns. She put Elsa back to her breast and gestured that Elsa should stay with her while the others hid. She issued a sharp command to her son. Little Dog scrambled to sweep the sandy ground with a leafy branch.

  Good Person meant to hide them. A wave of relief and gratitude swept over Ryker. But what about Elsa? It was impossible to hide a nursing baby. Her blond hair was a sure sign that Elsa didn’t belong with this Sioux family.

  Ryker paused as the others scrambled into the tangled roots. Good Person shooed him again and said something in her language. She patted Elsa’s head. Ryker understood her promise to care for her.

  It felt as if he were throwing Elsa to the wolves. Mama would not like it. Papa would not understand. In a flash of insight, he knew Martin would do exactly what the woman said. They had no other choice. They must trust Good Person until they could escape. Ryker breathed a prayer and crawled into the hideout.

  “Stay away from the yellow jackets,” he whispered.

  “What about Elsa?” Klara said. Tears dripped down her thin cheeks and gathered in the hollow by her lips. “We can’t leave her to the Indians.”

  “Mama is praying for us,” Sven said. “The angels will care for Elsa. Remember how they helped us find her in the tall grass?”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?” Klara said.

  “Pray,” Ryker said. It was their only hope. “Pray as hard as you can.”

  CHAPTER 32

  * * *

  The children lay on their bellies looking out of the peephole in the thicket. Sticks and stones poked into Ryker’s chest, and he struggled to lie still. The noonday sun baked down upon them. Ryker scanned the skies for signs of angels, maybe another glimpse of Beller watching over them, but saw only clouds linked like chains. Elsa still nursed.

  “Five of them,” Sven whispered. “Are they good or bad Indians?”

  “Injuns are all bad,” Johnny said. “They’d just as soon slit our throats as look at us.”

  “Not all Indians.” Klara shied away from a snake slithering under a log. “Good Person’s feeding Elsa,” she said.

  “Hush,” Ryker whispered.

  Good Person sat nursing Elsa as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Indian braves called a greeting from their canoe. She called to Little Dog, who ran in the direction his brother had gone.

  Canoes scraped against the shoreline. Five painted braves stepped into the water and dragged canoes up the bank. They carried bows and spears. One had a rifle slung over his shoulder. Animal skins draped their bodies, and leather moccasins adorned their feet. One brave, taller than the others, wore red paint streaked through his long hair and a woman’s blue shawl wrapped around his waist like a belt. The handle of a butcher knife stuck out from the blue c
loth near a bloody splatter. Ryker shivered.

  A shorter, fatter brave held three dead hens by their feet. He tossed them next to the fire with a grunting command. Another carried a bulging sack. They looked into the empty cook pot with a disappointed expression.

  “Look,” Johnny whispered. He pointed to a quiet brave who guarded the canoes. The man carried a lance with dangling scalps. One had been taken from a white woman. Another was that of a yellow-haired child.

  How easily Elsa’s scalp could join his collection.

  “I’m scared,” Klara whispered. Her teeth chattered, and she buried her face in her arms.

  “Still as mice,” Ryker whispered.

  The woman stood, probably to fix the meat, but Elsa fussed when taken from the breast.

  The Indian woman spoke to the braves, patting Elsa on her head in an effort to quiet her. Ryker suspected she explained the presence of a white baby.

  The men showed intense interest in Elsa, clucking and chatting among themselves, kneeling down to look into her eyes, reaching out to pat her hair and touch her clothes. Elsa pulled away from their probing hands.

  “Milk.” Elsa said. Her lip pouted, and she stomped her feet. “Mama,” she said in a louder voice.

  “Oh no, she’s going to have a fit,” Klara whispered. “Look.”

  The woman spoke in low tones.

  “Milk,” Elsa said.

  The woman paid her no attention. Elsa threw herself on the ground in an all-out temper tantrum, kicking and screaming as loud as she could. The Indians startled at Elsa’s exhibition of bad temper, then acted amused. One imitated her antics, stomping his feet and shaking his fist. The others roared with laughter.

  Elsa screamed all the louder. Papa would be appalled. Papa believed that children should be seen and not heard. Elsa was definitely being both seen and heard.

  “Someone should smack that girl,” Johnny said in a whisper.

  “Hush,” Ryker said.