Caleb’s English improved, and he learned to read and write as well as any white boy his age. Nearly all his schooling came from Cora, whom he began to call mother; Tom Sax was father, and Sarah seemed truly like a sister to him. Still, as both children grew older, he had many disturbing feelings about Sarah that he knew were not brotherly; but he could not fully understand or explain them.
Life for Caleb became a mixture of civilization and the old ways. He continued to prefer the old ways, and the life he led when he went with Tom hunting and trapping. He supposed the wilderness in his blood would never really leave him, and the winter of his fifteenth year found him perfectly happy sitting in the deep woods far from Fort Dearborn, enjoying a campfire with Tom and Bo and chewing on a piece of bear meat. He basked in the pride of having shot the bear himself, and the cooked meat and warm fire helped ease the cold night air that seemed to penetrate even the wolfskin coat Caleb wore. His coonskin hat was pulled down over his ears, and he wiggled his toes inside the fur-lined moccasins he wore as he listened to Tom and Bo discuss what they thought was an impending war between the British and the Americans.
The cause of the fighting brought confused loyalties to young Caleb’s heart. The longer he was associated with whites, the more confused he became. He had never felt truly one of them, and living in the woods, hunting and trapping for weeks at a time, only made him long even more for that kind of life forever. He was happiest when he was in the wilderness, and he hoped that troubles with the British and the Indians would not end the hunting trips, as Tom so often hinted could happen.
“The damned British have turned pretty near all the Indians in these parts against us,” Bo grumbled. “Even the Chippewa have gone to their side.” The man glanced at Caleb, who perked up at the mention of Chippewa, whom he would hate to his dying day.
“I thought the Chippewa fought on the side of the Americans,” he said. “That is part of the reason they slaughtered all of my people.”
“Well now, the Chippewa and the Sioux have joined up together with the British, Caleb. Would you believe it?”
Caleb licked bear grease from his fingers. “It is very strange. All that dying for nothing.”
Tom nodded. “I agree, son.” He grinned then. “I just hope you intend to be on my side if there’s any fighting to be done against the British and their Indian allies.”
Caleb grinned. Although he was not quite sixteen, he had a tall and gangly build that made him seem more like twenty, and he had an air of threatening darkness about him that made others want to stay out of his way. He was not certain that he was handsome, since handsomeness was a matter of perspective. But others said that he was. He smiled at Tom.
“You know that I would always defend you, Father,” he answered. “I owe you my life. But I can understand why so many Indians are on the side of the British. The Americans want their land. The British want only the furs. I cannot say that I blame my people for fighting the American settlers.”
Tom puffed a pipe and studied the young man. “That’s how you still think of them, even after all these years with us? ‘Your people.’”
Caleb stared at the flames of the fire. “I cannot help the blood that flows in my veins.”
“Half of it is white, Caleb. And some day that part will come through. You might be settling yourself one day on a ranch or a farm.”
Caleb shrugged. “I do not think so.” He looked at Tom and frowned. “I have never felt white, Father, even after all this time with you. I have tried, but the feeling will not come.”
Tom smiled sympathetically. “A man has to be what he has to be, that’s a fact. As far as the Indians fighting against us, I can’t completely blame them myself. Why not let the British use their waterways, if all they use them for is to come for more furs and then leave again? It’s natural to support the side that poses the least threat to a man’s welfare. But I’m white, Caleb. I’ve settled at Fort Dearborn, left Saint Louis a long time ago. Cora and I are happy here, and we feel the little piece of land we live on is ours now. If the Indians or the British come to take it, I’ll have to fight them.”
Caleb poured more coffee for himself. “If I lived with the Indians, I would fight with the British. But while I live with you, I will fight with you.”
Tom sighed. “Makes things kind of hard for you, doesn’t it?”
Caleb nodded, sipping the coffee.
“Well, Caleb, this is a growing country. Whether the Indians and the British like it or not, American settlers will keep coming, looking for more land to farm, looking for some kind of freedom that always seems to be just a little out of reach. There will be some fighting for sure. But in the end the Americans will win, Caleb, because I think that’s the way it’s destined to be. They’ve fled oppression and tyranny and starvation in Europe to come here and be free, to reap the wealth of this land.”
“And they in turn will bring oppression and tyranny and starvation to the Indian,” Caleb answered quietly, staring at the orange flames of the fire.
“Perhaps. I hope not. I wouldn’t do such a thing.”
Caleb poked at the fire with a stick, stirring the coals. “The trouble is, most white men are not like you, Father. Sometimes my heart feels torn in half, for there are other white men I hate.”
Tom puffed his pipe. “You’ll always have some difficult choices, Caleb, more than most men because you’re from two worlds. Between the British whiskey and the white man’s diseases, as well as the flow of more people into this land, I don’t see anything good ahead for the Indian. It’s this world you’d best choose, son, in spite of all the pain that comes with it. I know it’s been rough for you.”
Caleb shrugged. “This is the only time I am happy, here in the wilderness with you, or even alone. It is the only time I find peace. I belong only to myself. I no longer belong with my people, nor with the whites. Because of my blue eyes and dark skin, I can never truly belong anywhere.”
Tom puffed the pipe again. “I can’t help you there, son. I wish I could.”
“I know.” Caleb took out his own pipe and filled it, then lit it. It was one of the privileges Tom had granted him for being such a great help and a good hunter on the trips. The boy looked over at the bearskin stretched between two trees, and again he felt the warm pride as he puffed on the pipe, trying to remember when he last felt like a child. He could not remember, but he knew he had not been a child since the day he saw his Sioux father lying dead. He watched the flames of the fire. Fire was a friend to the Indian, and he still believed the flames were dancing, friendly spirits. Surely Black Antelope was there in the fire, watching over him, keeping him warm. The man was dead in body, but not in spirit.
“There’s some Indians that ain’t on nobody’s side,” Bo spoke up, scratching his balding head. “Rumor says there’s a Shawnee by the name of Tecumseh that’s built his own town over in Indian Territory. Calls himself a prophet and calls the place Prophet’s Town. Seems there’s a lot of Indians, especially Creek and Cherokee from the south, that’s listenin’ to his preachin’ about a separate Indian nation of their own, apart from the British or the Americans. They don’t trust either side and figure they have to protect themselves against both. The man’s got a lot of power over the other tribes, they say.”
Tom nodded. “I’ve heard the same. It all adds up to nothing but trouble, that’s for sure. We’d be best to keep our trapping within a few days of the fort from here on. Fact is, this might be my last hunt this far out for a long time to come. I don’t like Cora and Sarah being back there alone with so much trouble brewing. I’ve got plenty of friends watching out for them, but I’d still rather be there myself. My brother down in Saint Louis is always writing letters saying we should send Sarah down there where it’s safer, but Cora won’t go back, and she won’t consider being separated from our daughter, nor do I like the idea.”
“Why will Cora not go there?” Caleb asked.
Tom puffed the pipe quietly a moment. “Long story,
son, and one that will never be told.”
Caleb frowned with curiosity but knew better than to pursue the subject. “I am glad she will not go,” he told the man. “I would miss her very much. And I would miss Sarah’s smile and friendship.”
Tom grinned. “She’s a beauty, that one. I love her to pieces. But like I say, things are getting dangerous. Enemy Indians or the British could try to take Fort Dearborn. It’s a strategic point of trade.”
Caleb frowned. “Do you think that could happen?”
“Sure ’n it could, son. I know how you like to go on the hunts, but you understand we can’t leave the women alone until we know what’s going to happen.”
Caleb nodded. He felt a need to protect Cora and Sarah as he would his own blood relations. He listened to the rushing water of the Rock River nearby, much of it still unfrozen in spite of the cold. “I would not want them to be harmed.”
Tom smiled. “You’re a good lad, Caleb. And I hope I’m wrong about Fort Dearborn. If we had to leave, I’m not sure where we’d go.” He rose and walked over beside Caleb, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know how you like it out here, son, the rivers, the animals, the quiet. It will be a sacrifice for you to miss the spring hunt this year, a sacrifice for me also. But I fear we’ll have to stay home when the weather warms.”
Caleb watched the fire, feeling an odd sensation of being led by outside forces over which he had no control. Many things were changing. How ironic that the Chippewa were fighting alongside the Sioux against the Americans. It seemed nothing in life stayed the same for long, and he wondered how much longer he would have Tom and Cora Sax—and Sarah—the only people he had now who cared about him.
Chapter
Seven
THEY returned in April, the Grass Moon to Caleb, and the month of his sixteenth birthday. But this time there was no joy in their return. The spring of 1810 brought something worse than an attack by Indians or the British. It brought pneumonia to Cora Sax. Her delicate constitution could not bear the punishment of frontier life, and while the land awoke to the budding of new life, Cora died. She was buried beneath a wild cherry tree that was in full bloom.
There was no consoling Tom Sax, and for days that turned into weeks, he was withdrawn and unapproachable. Sarah and Caleb grew closer, for the center of their love and nourishment was gone, and they had only each other. Caleb had no idea how to console Tom Sax, who often went off alone; nor did he know what to do for poor Sarah but to simply be there for her. His own pain was great, and in a moment of prayer for guidance he cut his hand and let blood in his sorrow over losing the woman who had been like a mother to him. Again he had lost someone he loved. From deep within the recesses of his Indian upbringing, it seemed proper to let blood.
When he returned home Sarah carried on in a near panic over the bleeding cut, washing it for him and bandaging it.
“Why did you do it, Caleb? I don’t understand.”
He watched her wrap his hand, noticing her soft white hands, and for a moment his eyes caught the full roundness of her blossoming breasts. Her thirteen-year-old body was blooming into a young woman’s. Caleb thought how some Indian girls married at twelve, most by fourteen or fifteen. He shook away the odd thought. This was Sarah, and although she was not a blood relation, he knew he should not think of her this way.
“It is fitting,” he told her.
Her wide eyes met his, and there was now a provocativeness to the green pools of beauty that disturbed him. What was this thing that was awakening in him? Were the feelings he was experiencing part of the reasons why a man married? It made him think of Emily Stoner, who had been at Cora’s funeral, no longer a girl but a young woman, standing taller than all the other women there, quiet, hidden as always under too many clothes. She had looked at him, a long, penetrating stare that made him feel uncomfortable but also brought the strange urgency he was feeling now as he looked at Sarah. Somehow with Sarah it seemed wrong, for not only was she more like a sister, but she also looked at him with total innocence, and Caleb knew she didn’t feel the same strange, wonderful sensations washing over him. But Emily—her look had been different, almost inviting.
“I will never understand Indian ways,” Sarah told him as she finished tying the bandage. “If this gets infected, you could lose your hand, maybe your arm.”
“I will be all right,” he answered.
Her eyes suddenly teared and she picked up an envelope. “A man brought this letter up on a boat today. It’s from my Uncle Terrence in Saint Louis.” She blinked and one tear slipped down her cheek. “I just know what it says, Caleb. Father wrote him about Mama’s death, and now my Uncle Terrence will want me to go to Saint Louis. Caleb, I’m afraid Father will send me this time. He’s so different, so sad. And I know he thinks I should leave Fort Dearborn.” Her lips puckered. “I don’t want to go, Caleb. Every night I cry and cry, missing Mama. If I had to leave you and Father, too, I don’t know what I’d do.”
Caleb took one of her hands in his good hand. “I would miss you very much, Sarah. But in many ways Father is right. This is a bad place now, with talk of war all the time. Many other children have already gone away with their families. I would not want you to be hurt. And Father is full of sorrow and worry. If he sends you to his brother, you should not argue with him about it. He is already in great sorrow and needs no more worries.”
The girl swallowed. “You think he’ll send me, don’t you?”
He squeezed her hand, his blue eyes holding her own as he spoke. “You must be strong now, like an Indian,” he told her. “Wherever you go, our spirits will be with you, mine and Father’s. Even Mother is with you. Everywhere you are surrounded by Mother Earth-and the animal spirits, as well as our own.”
She sniffed, and her chest rose in a sob. “But I don’t want to go. Why can’t you and Father come with me?”
Caleb frowned. “I do not know why, but there is bad blood between Father and Terrence Sax. Father will not talk about it. And now, in his great sorrow, it would be bad to ask him. I know he would never go to Saint Louis. And if he stays here, we cannot leave him here alone. I should stay with him.” He sighed. “Besides, I would never go to a place where there are even more white people. If I ever leave this place, I will go back to my people in the west. I am big enough now to find my own way.”
“But… wouldn’t you come to Saint Louis to see me? I can’t leave here, Caleb, if it means I’d never see you and Father again. Promise me you’d come to see me, Caleb. Promise!” She squeezed his hand tightly, more tears running down her cheeks. Always it tore at his heart to see her cry.
“I promise,” he told her. “But I could not stay.”
She wiped at her tears with a shaking hand “Then maybe … maybe some day when the danger is past, you could come and get me, you and Father. You could bring me back here or take me with you wherever you go.”
He studied her pleading green eyes. “Perhaps,” he told her. “But maybe by then you will be a grand and beautiful lady who likes all the comforts of the city. Father says Terrence Sax is a wealthy man.”
Sarah cried harder. “I don’t care!” She had been kneeling on the floor in front of his chair as they talked, and now she flung her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly so he was compelled to lean forward to embrace her. “I don’t care how rich he is,” she wailed. “I don’t want to go away. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t know my aunt and uncle, Caleb. Why did Mama have to die? Why is God so mean?”
He breathed deeply of the scent of her thick, red-gold hair. “We cannot fight what destiny brings to us, Sarah. The Indian knows he must merely accept that which comes to him, and by accepting, we are stronger. Death and life are not so far apart. I feel my Indian father, Black Antelope, has always been with me, and Mother will always be with us. Her spirit lingers, Sarah, and you must do what she would have you do. She would not want you to stay here, where it is dangerous. She would want you to go to your uncle. Accept it now, Sarah, so that you can
bring a little joy to our father’s heart by going willingly.”
She hugged him a moment longer, and he felt suddenly manly, protective, wise. She pulled back, her face close to his… too close. “You would be proud of me if I went willingly, wouldn’t you?”
Their eyes held for a moment, a spark of something much more than sibling love lighting up in their eyes for a brief moment, a feeling neither of them even recognized. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, somehow thinking it would make her feel better, unable to control the urge to do so and tempted to kiss her on the lips. He chided himself inwardly for the strange desire.
“I would be proud,” he told her.
She stood up then, taking a handkerchief from her pocket and blowing her nose. “I’ll go then, Caleb. For you. But only if you promise to come and see me.”
“I said that I would.”
She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. “I’ll make us some tea. I hope Father gets home soon. Do you think he’ll be drunk again?”
Caleb watched her a moment, then stood up and walked away from her, confused by the new emotions she had created in him. “He has not been sober since Mother died. I think he blames himself, and that is the worst part. He was not here when she got sick. And he thinks it is his fault for bringing her here. She was so frail. She was not made for this place.”
He stared out the window at Cora Sax’s grave, wondering what it was like to love a woman and lose her. He remembered how terribly unhappy he had been told Black Antelope was when Little Flower died in childbirth. Now Tom Sax seemed to care nothing for life. What was it that made a man love a woman so much that he did not want to live without her?
Fort Dearborn began filling with volunteer American soldiers, and talk of war with the British was rampant. Tom Sax reluctantly made arrangements with several volunteers to take Sarah south as quickly as possible. The women and children of several other families would be leaving also. Some of the settlers urged Preacher Stoner to send his daughter, but the man refused to even let her out of the house alone, let alone be separated from him by so many miles.
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