The saddest part was that the innocent would suffer in this clash of cultures and likely suffer the worst of all. The women, the children, the good-intentioned whites who championed the Indians’ cause. Folks like Shiloh, whom Jesse knew truly wanted the best for the People. But she, in her own way, was as naïve as the Utes in imagining that the People and the whites could ever live together as equals.
Perhaps, if fortune smiled, Shiloh would arrive back at the Agency and realize how precarious things had become. Realize that all her fine teaching aspirations were a lost cause and that it wasn’t safe for her to remain here. Perhaps, if fortune smiled, she might well be gone from the Agency, heading back to the safety of her home, before he even returned.
The solution to the problem of Shiloh was likely too easy, though. Fate, it seemed, was repeatedly forcing them together. Forcing them into a headlong course that Jesse feared might lead to him having to make a choice—a choice between Shiloh and his Ute family.
One of the last summer squashes, nearly hidden by the large green leaves, dangled from a thick, bristly stem. Shiloh squatted and gingerly felt for the vegetable through the leaves. When she found the squash, she twisted it gently from its stem, then placed it in her basket and rose.
A few yards away, Josie worked with a spade, carefully checking the potatoes. “Not quite ready,” she called over to Shiloh. “Another week at most, though, and we should be able to dig them up.”
“Let’s just hope we don’t have a killing frost in the meantime,” Shiloh replied, adjusting the brim of her straw hat to better shade her eyes. “I’d hate to have to drag a mess of blankets out here to cover all these plants.”
Josie gave a short laugh, then turned her attention to spreading dirt back over the potatoes she’d exposed. It was a nice warm day for it being four days shy of the end of September. Shiloh had been back at the Agency since yesterday and in the past day had struggled to come to terms with all the changes that had occurred in her absence.
Some things Josie had filled her in on, others Shiloh had just noted by quietly observing. Since early August, when Nathan Meeker had badly injured his arm when their wagon had overturned on the trip back from Rawlins, Josie had noted a decided change in her father. He now spoke disdainfully of the White River Utes, calling them cowardly and dishonest. He had been too good to them in the past and now was willing to use force—soldiers, guns, and even chains—to get the Utes to come around to his way of things.
And his foul mood wasn’t just directed at the Utes. His whole personality had taken a turn for the worse. He was distant and moody with everyone around him. He even berated Josie for watching the Utes race their ponies.
“Everyone goes around with a long face these days,” she’d informed Shiloh her first night back as they sought out the privacy of Shiloh’s bedroom and gingerly sipped at steaming mugs of tea. “I’m really getting worried. After Father’s falling-out with Johnson almost three weeks ago, I can’t even get Susan to talk to me. And Douglas pulled his son out of school, so now I’ve no one to teach in your absence.”
“It does sound bad.” Shiloh paused to take a tentative taste of her Earl Grey tea. “Isn’t there any way to mend things?”
“I don’t know.” Josie sighed and shook her head. “Not unless one side caves in to the other. And Father thinks he’s bent over backward and says he refuses to bend any farther. The Utes, of course, feel pretty much the same way. I’m just afraid the soldiers from Fort Steele are on the verge of heading down here to settle this. If they do, the Utes might see it as an act of war. They’re already pretty skittish these days, with a lot of meetings, braves riding back and forth between camps, and even some war dances near the Agency buildings on the night of the 10th. Most of us couldn’t sleep at all that night.”
The Utes suspect something, Shiloh thought. Meeker’s a fool to imagine that whatever he’s doing to get soldiers down here hasn’t been noticed.
“Has your father sent for the soldiers?”
Though Josie hesitated in her reply, the look on her face gave the answer away. “Yes, but you must promise not to say a word to anyone, and especially not to any Ute.”
“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard a promise to keep,” Shiloh said with a chuckle. “If Susan and Johnson won’t speak to you, they likely won’t speak to me, either. And Douglas and Jack have not been big supporters of mine in the best of times.”
“There’s always Jesse,” her friend supplied, shooting her a sly look. “But he’s on a hunting trip with some of the other braves from Jack’s camp. He just left two days ago and won’t be back for about a week.”
So, Jesse found a convenient excuse not to be here when I arrived.
Shiloh leveled an intent gaze on Josie. “Did you tell him when I’d be getting to the Agency?”
“Yes, of course. You didn’t say I couldn’t, and I’d hoped he’d have taken the news well.”
“But he didn’t, did he?”
Suddenly, Josie seemed to find great interest in her cup of tea. “Well, he thought it might not be the best or safest time for you to return, considering what’s been going on of late.”
“And that was all he said? That he was concerned for my safety?”
“Pretty much.”
Shiloh grimaced. “I can just bet that’s all he said. Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m back and am here to stay!”
Josie set down her cup, stood, and rushed over to her. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that! I was afraid that once you found out about the recent troubles . . . well, I’m just glad you’re here.”
“We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” Shiloh said as she set aside her own tea and took her friend’s hand. “Somehow, we’ve got to try and get everyone to make peace and start afresh.”
“How exactly do you plan to do that?”
“I don’t know,” Shiloh replied, chewing her bottom lip in thought. “But just give me a day or two and I’ll come up with something.”
By the next day, it soon became apparent that the task before her and Josie had become even more difficult. Douglas came to Meeker, demanding to know if he knew anything about soldiers being in the area. Meeker denied any knowledge but assured the chief that if any soldiers did turn up, he’d have them halted at the reservation border at Milk Creek and then arrange a meeting with all the chiefs and the military commander.
The agent’s assurances didn’t seem to work, however, and soon the squaws in Douglas’s camp were taking down their tepees and heading south. That evening, a messenger named Charlie Lowry arrived and Meeker took him into his office for a private conversation. The fact that he soon ordered the Agency employees to stand guard over the storehouse containing the annuity goods didn’t bode well for the contents of the message.
Everyone went around with solemn expressions at best, and outright fearful ones at the worst. An air of foreboding hung over the supper meal, and there was little talk and even littler of the meal consumed. Shiloh helped clean up after supper and wash and put away dishes, then headed to her bedroom.
It didn’t take long for the drums to begin a slow, rhythmic beat, the sonorous sounds rising from somewhere down beyond the Agency buildings. Singing soon followed.
Shiloh opened her bedroom window and peered out. Bonfires burned not far away, and she could make out many Ute braves dancing around the leaping flames, wielding spears, tomahawks, and other weapons. She slammed the window shut and locked it.
For the first time since her return, she allowed herself to admit they were all in grave danger. She didn’t know whether to pray for the timely arrival of the soldiers or not. If and when they crossed the reservation border, the Utes might well attack them. And once the Utes did that, the die was cast for them.
At that point, there’d be nothing lost by also turning on the hapless Agency employees, slaughtering them one and all. The foolish act of placing guards to prevent the Utes from breaking into the storerooms and taking all the annuity goods was the least o
f Meeker’s worries. Instead, he should be thinking of ways to protect everyone behind some defensible barrier. Or, better still, get everyone out of there under the cover of darkness.
But where could they go that the Utes couldn’t quickly find them? Indeed, it was doubtful any large evacuation could be arranged and managed without the Utes knowing. Since the day she’d arrived back, Shiloh had been acutely aware that the Agency and its employees were being watched.
She paced her bedroom, her hands growing damp, her heart thudding loudly in her chest, as the first tendrils of fear ensnared her. Why did I come back? she thought. There was never any hope of accomplishing anything here. Never. I was just a fool to think so, and now I may die because of that foolishness.
If only Jesse were here. Surely I’d be safe with him. But he ran just as soon as he heard I was coming back. I can’t depend on him for any help. If he even would help.
There was only one hope of help, and that lay with the Lord. Shiloh knelt by her bed, clasped her trembling hands before her, and began to pray. Pray for herself but also for all the innocent souls who worked at the Agency. Even for Nathan Meeker.
Ultimately, they were all innocent pawns in a battle for supremacy. A battle between the US government and the Indian people. A battle in which little, if any, mercy would be granted from either side.
After two nights of war dances that kept everyone awake, the 29th day of September dawned sunny and warm. Though feeling groggy from lack of sleep, Shiloh rose at sunrise, performed her morning ablutions, then dressed and headed downstairs to help prepare breakfast. By the time the morning meal was served to the boardinghouse occupants, a large group of Ute braves had gathered at the kitchen door, begging for food.
Arvilla Meeker exchanged a worried look with her daughter and Shiloh, then began to hurriedly butter some slices of bread. “I reckon they’re getting pretty hungry,” she said, “what with the squaws all packed up and moved away. No one’s left to cook for them.”
Shiloh moved to the cookstove to fry up some extra bacon. “Best we see to their needs then. No sense aggravating them right now.”
The Ute men’s hunger finally sated, the three women watched them walk away, then joined the others in the dining room. Everyone appeared tired, but the mood around the table was hopeful. The Utes appeared friendlier this morning, and several at the table thought things looked to be improving.
Shiloh kept her own opinions to herself. True, the braves had asked for and accepted food from them, but she didn’t necessarily think that signified much of anything. Hungry people would take food where they could get it.
As she helped the other women that morning with the chores, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the lull before the storm. It didn’t help her mood when Flora Ellen Price returned from her room and admitted her husband had loaded up their Winchester rifle and left it there. Even his attempts to ease her worry by telling her it was just ready as a safety measure didn’t reassure Flora Ellen. And it certainly didn’t reassure Shiloh, either.
Shiloh spent the time between breakfast and lunch preparation in her room. She read from her Bible for a time, then penned a letter home. In it, she told them of the current dire situation and assured them, if something were to happen to her, that she had made her peace with the Lord, and that she loved them all.
Then, after sealing the letter, Shiloh walked over to the storehouse, where Harry, one of the Agency employees, was getting supplies in preparation for his trip back to Rawlins. “Would you see that this letter gets to the post office in Rawlins?” she asked, handing the letter to the man. Shiloh then offered him a coin to pay the postage.
Harry tipped his hat, pocketed the money, and shoved the letter into his shirt pocket. “Sure thing, ma’am. I’m also going to be taking a telegram from Mr. Meeker, to deliver to the Western Union station there. Guess he likes to keep up a steady correspondence with the Indian Bureau.”
She wished she could read the contents of that telegram but knew it wasn’t permissible. “I suppose it never hurts to keep one’s superiors informed of things.”
Harry finished stuffing his supplies into his saddlebag, then shouldered it. “Well, I’d best be on my way. It’s a long ride back to Rawlins.”
“Oh, and don’t I know.” With a smile, Shiloh stepped aside. “Godspeed.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Once more, Harry tipped his hat and strode from the storehouse.
Watching him leave, she was tempted to ask if she could accompany him back to Rawlins. After the events of the past few days, more than anything she’d ever wanted, Shiloh desperately wanted to run, and run as far as she could, from the White River Agency. The admission of her cowardice shamed her.
Along with Nathan Meeker and his family, the rest of the Agency employees were holding steadfast. They seemed convinced that everything would turn out fine. And they had, after all, been privy to many events that she had not been there for. Surely their perspective had to be more accurate than hers.
So Shiloh choked back her plea to be allowed to leave with Harry and headed to the boardinghouse. As she did, she saw a Ute brave riding pell-mell toward Douglas’s camp. Shiloh halted and watched as Douglas exited his tepee, and the two men began to confer.
Shaking her head, she entered the boardinghouse and made her way to the kitchen. Josie, her mother, and Flora Ellen Price were already there, busy preparing the lunch meal.
Shiloh took down an apron from its peg and quickly donned it. “What do you need me to do?”
Arvilla indicated a bowl of potatoes that Flora was already working on. “Help Flora Ellen,” she said, replacing the lid on the beef roast she’d pulled from the oven. “The sooner we get those potatoes on to boil, the sooner we can get them cooked and mashed.”
Taking a short, sharp knife from the drawer, Shiloh pulled out a chair at the worktable near Flora Ellen and picked up a potato. Ten minutes later, the two women finished peeling and cutting up the last potato. After adding them to the big pot of now-boiling water, Shiloh rinsed her hands, then wiped them on her apron.
“What’s next?”
Arvilla paused to check the other pot of green beans. “Everything’s going fine in here now. How about you start setting the dining room table? Oh, and set an extra place for Mr. Eskridge and Sowerwick. They’ll also be dining with us.”
Josie turned just then and caught Shiloh’s gaze. At the mention of one of Jack’s subchiefs, Shiloh arched a questioning brow. Her friend smiled and shrugged. Shiloh took that to mean Josie didn’t know why Sowerwick was invited, but hoped it boded well.
A half hour later, the meal was served and eaten by all with great gusto. Eskridge departed immediately thereafter to join his two Ute guides on the trip to deliver another letter to Major Thornburgh, the commander of the military companies on their way to the Agency. Mr. Meeker retired to his office for some afternoon reading, and most of the other men left to work on the new building.
As Shiloh and Josie cleared the table of dishes, Mrs. Meeker and Flora Ellen, baby Johnnie perched on her hip, headed to the kitchen to get the wash water prepared. Shiloh was surprised, in one of her forays back to the kitchen with a tray full of dirty dishes, to find Douglas there, requesting some bread and butter. As she watched, he accepted the bread and butter with one hand as he patted Josie on the shoulder then shook Arvilla’s hand.
As he turned to leave, he shot Shiloh a strange, assessing look. Something about his glance sent a prickle of unease through her. She shook it off and proceeded to carry the tray load of dishes to the sink.
“Well, I must go fetch May,” Flora Ellen said as she untied her apron and removed it. “Shadrach’s outside working with the other men. I can’t leave her alone and I still need to wash some clothes.”
Arvilla turned from the sink full of suds. “Yes, go get that precious little girl. We can all help keep an eye on Johnnie while you’re gone.”
Shiloh and Josie finished clearing the last of the dishes
from the table. After Shiloh placed the loaded tray on the sideboard, she helped Josie remove the tablecloth and carry it outside to shake off the crumbs. Down the street, she could see the men working on the new building.
Arthur Thompson was on the roof, spreading dirt. Below him on the ground, Frank Dresser and Shadrach were throwing dirt up to him. Shiloh saw Flora Ellen walk back toward the boardinghouse, her daughter May’s hand clasped in hers. For a long moment, as Josie helped her fold the tablecloth, Shiloh enjoyed the warm sunshine and deep blue of the cloud-strewn sky. For some reason, the blue of the sky always seemed to take on a more intense hue in autumn.
She walked back inside to the dining room, straightened the chairs around the table, then pulled out a broom and pan from the nearby closet. As she began to sweep the dining room floor, she heard Flora Ellen singing as she began washing clothes, and May’s childish chatter. A deep satisfaction filled her. There was something so grounding, so reassuring, about the routine of chores.
Josie reentered the dining room. “What’s left to do?” she asked, glancing around the room.
“Nothing else, once I get the room—”
Rifle shots tore through the air. Men screamed. Utes uttered high-pitched war whoops.
From the kitchen, May began to wail. Josie and Shiloh locked gazes, and Shiloh was certain her own was as filled with terror as Josie’s.
The broom fell from Shiloh’s hand. “Come on,” she cried. “We need to find cover and find it now!”
15
They sprinted into the kitchen to find Arvilla standing frozen, staring out the window in horror. Shiloh ran to the kitchen door to get Flora Ellen and her daughter to come inside, but they were nowhere to be found. She hurried back in, slammed the door shut, and locked it.
Heart of the Rockies Collection Page 49