Blue Thunder
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Blue Thunder was adamant. “It does not matter! You know that our people have gone with hungry bellies too long.” He hardened his jaw. “If we kill one white man, it is one less to kill our buffalo. This will be done for self defense. To preserve our way of life! I am not afraid to die!”
With that declaration and ignoring Eskaminzim’s grumbling, Blue Thunder lifted his bow and arrow and took careful aim. Eskaminzim and the others saw his target, it was a woman but it didn’t matter to his friend. How many times had he heard Blue Thunder curse about how Indian maidens had been butchered and raped by white bastards? Too many, Eskaminzim reflected and
he had to agree, but this was wrong. He watched as his friend drew his bow slowly; the muscles in his arm grew taut. He shook his head sadly and mumbled something to the effect that the chief’s son will cause trouble for their nation. Dasodaha will not be happy. He knew Blue Thunder could shoot an eye out of a squirrel from the time he was a small boy. Now, over six-feet, he could outrun and outfight any brave. But his friend was a stubborn red-man, had been since he was a young boy. But, he loved him like a brother and he was son of the chieftain so he held any further objection and advice. This would only lead to trouble he thought again but still remain quiet.
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He watched Blue Thunder’s keen eyes take aim and the anticipation of his kill quickened the pulse in his friend’s neck. He was about to let the arrow fly when his target took off her bonnet. He heard Blue Thunder gasp and he then saw the reason. The white woman’s light hair flowed down her back like a glistening water fall. His friend was distracted enough to miss his target, something which seldom happened. The brave voiced an oath so the others would hear, but Eskaminzim did not miss the man’s lips lift into what could have been a big smile. It seemed to him that Blue Thunder was glad he missed.
“I will take her to village to be slave!” he shouted to save face.
Blue Thunder then signaled his men and kicked his horse into motion. Whooping and hollering, they raced down the hill behind him and sadly, Eskaminzim had no choice but to follow.
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TWELVE
Melissa heard the Indians coming. Their loud cries blended with the thundering hoof beats. The earth shook around them but she was too terrified to utter a sound. She heard the wagon master shouted orders to circle. Others who had seen the band were already moving.
Finally, she raced to her wagon. Sam had followed orders and she jumped up into the moving Conestoga, grabbed her rifle from under the seat and glanced back to see Effie holding Daphne. The servant was crying and rocking her sister in her fleshy arms.
“Lawdy, Lawdy, sho’ly weah be scalped dis time. Ahs knows it fo’ sho’.”
Annoyed, Melissa shouted, “Lie down and hang onto Daphne!” She didn’t have any time or patience to listen to the women’s blubbering. The wagons stopped. She and Sam immediately jumped down to join the others and fired their weapons. The thud of an arrow, just inches from her head, caused Melissa’s heart to lose its normal rhythm. These Indians could hold them off until they all died of starvation, if an arrow didn’t get them first. A little while later Seth crawled over to ask her if Daphne was all right.
“She’s in the wagon with Effie,” Melissa answered. She took aim, shot an Indian from his horse, and then wiped the red dust from her burning eyes. It was an Indian but it still didn’t sit well with her.
Hearing screams, Seth leaped into the wagon and swung his rifle butt down on the unsuspecting buck’s head, rendering him unconscious. The Indian landed on Effie’s body in a crumpled heap. Daphne screamed and Seth went to her seeing blood on her dress. Thinking she was wounded, he cradled her in his arms as tears streamed down his face. Upon hearing a soft moan, he blinked and her hand touched his face. Stunned, he gasped when he looked into beautiful blinking eyes.
“Daphne?” he croaked.
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“I hurt,” she mumbled, and she screamed out in agony.
Melissa had her hand’s full fending off the red skins. Then Daphne’s pitiful scream carried over the shattering noise of the rifles and it was then she noticed that Seth was no longer with them. She saw the remaining six braves retreated over the ridge and crawled to the front of the wagon. They were only fighting a short time but it seemed like an eternity. She leapt over the seat to land beside the large, unconscious Indian and Effie. There was no doubt in her mind, her beloved servant was dead. Seeing her sister soaked in blood, she climbed over the two lifeless forms. There was no time to be concerned about them now and asked, “Seth, where is she hit?”
The tear-faced boy looked up. “She’s going to give birth. I think.”
“Oh, no, she can’t! She’s too early. My god! This is a nightmare.” Melissa’s throat tightened with viselike terror feeling a wave of panic come over her. “Seth, you have to help.”
He shook his head, “I don’t know anything about this. The attack of the red men was enough to make me retch.”
“Go get Sam,” she cried more harshly than she meant. “Once he helped Effie deliver a baby at the plantation.” She knew Seth was reluctant to leave Daphne but he kissed her sister’s pale cheek and scurried out of the wagon.
It was dark now and thank God it was over. There wasn’t much room in the wagon with Effie and the big Indian taking up so much space. Melissa took Seth’s place and held Daphne; moments later her sister opened her eyes.
“Melissa?” Daphne whispered.
“Daphne!? Oh, my dear sister, you remember?”
“Melissa, why am I in so much agony?”
Daphne’s eyes were filled with pain and tears making Melissa wonder how she could explain; the thought frightened. What a terrible time for Daphne to come out of her dream state,
“Daphne, do you recall when the soldiers attacked our home?” Her sister squeezed her eyes tight and nodded. “Do you remember what the soldier did?” Melissa knew this wasn’t a good time to bring it up but she had to shed some light on Daphne’s condition. Daphne nodded, gasping with another pain.
“Some things are clear to me. Oh, mother is dead,” she cried and trembled. “I remember a
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man’s smell and his heaviness pushing on me.” She jerked, clutching to Melissa. “He scared me and hurt me.”
“Yes, dear, and because of what he did you’re having his baby.” Melissa wished she could have put it more gently but circumstances prevented it. Daphne had to know the truth; she prayed her sister wouldn’t recede into her private world again.
What was taking Sam so long?
Daphne’s eyes widened in surprise and she gasped, “A baby?” She screamed with another pain.
“Be brave! Everything is gong to be all right. I promise.” Now, if Melissa could only be convinced of her own words. Where the hell was Sam? A few minutes later her question was answered.
Sam climbed into the wagon and saw his wife. “Oh, Lawdy, she’s daid” He wiped back tears but he had no time to hold her. “One soul leaves de earth, ‘nother enters,” he murmured sadly. The boy leaped in after Sam and removed his belt and secured the red skin’s hands behind his back. With some rope he bound the prisoner’s feet.
“I’m going for the wagon master to help me remove the bodies,” he declared.
Melissa nodded, solemnly.
Daphne fainted and Sam pushed the girl’s dress up; they could see the baby’s head crowning. He bent over and tapped Daphne’s face. Melissa understood and shook her sister lightly. “Daphne, wake up! You must wake up and push.” Her sister opened her eyes and grimaced as another pain hit her.
“I feel a lump between my legs,” Daphne cried and squeezed her hand. Melissa ordered sternly, Push!” Daphne puckered her face and pushed. “Again!” she cried. “Again!” Then, thankfully it was all over.
Melissa wiped away tears watching Sam hold the tiny baby girl but she was not yet breathing. The prune-faced infant was blue and she watched in horror as Sam slapped the tiny rump again. The infant didn’t even
whimper. After a few more slaps, the baby’s arms and legs
jerked and a loud wail, a most beautiful sound echoed through the valley. She laughed and cried, cradling her sister.
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Seth looked in. “How’s Daphne?”
Melissa wiped her eyes and failed to managed even a weak smile. “The mother and infant are fine, but the baby is very small. We’ll have to pray she’ll survive.”
Seth’s strained face showed some relief. “That baby will live. She’s a fighter like her mother,” he stated looking proudly at Daphne. Melissa agreed. She lovingly watched her sister’s sleeping face and thought what a special young man Seth was.
Red Fox and his five friends retreated. Although the fighting only lasted a short time, they had lost Eskaminzim, Black Tooth and Beshe. When Blue Thunder disappeared, they retreated and he and the others left with heavy hearts knowing Dasodaha would have to be told of his oldest son’s death.
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THIRTEEN
The day dawned gray and lifeless, a fitting comparison to Melissa’s state of mind. The wagon train remained in the valley two days for the emigrants to mourn and bury their dead.
They tied the Indian to the wheel of a wagon while the wagon master, Lucas Cain decided on what to do with the buck. He wanted to shoot the red-skinned bastard but some men opposed, fearing, as Melissa, that others might return and bring more wraths upon their heads. God-fearing settlers argued with other settlers. Lucas decided to just tie up the brave until it could be settled by a vote.
Melissa had looked at the tall brave a few times but turned away quickly when his dark eyes bored into her; he was the reason Sam had to bury his wife today. She wept with Sam at the grave as three men and four women, including Effie were laid to rest. It had taken the men all day to dig the graves along the hillside. She noticed that when the three dead Indians were dragged away from the camp, the pioneer’s were under the watchful eye of the prisoner. The next day the camp was busy with people who had lost wagons destroyed by fire doubled up with others. People scurried around, and she helped them move their belongings from one crippled wagon to another. She was happy that the Adams family survived the attack. Seth insisted on traveling with her and Daphne. She had any objections since her sister was recovering with his help.
Melissa believed that if they made it to California, the couple would have a good future together. That afternoon the decision was made to execute the prisoner. Some survivors wanted revenge; Melissa didn’t like the idea; killing another human wouldn’t bring back the dead. She hated the brave for her own reasons but she didn’t want to see him killed. Later the same afternoon the skies became cheerful again; a tender kiss of sunshine promised a better tomorrow, but it did nothing to lighten her spirits.
She walked past the brave again. She didn’t know why she was drawn to him, but had to admit to herself that he was so handsome to look at. Never having seen an Indian up close before,
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she had no idea that they could be so attractive. Her picture books portrayed them as dark, ugly creatures with war paint on their features and matted hair. He had some colorful stripes on his cheeks but they didn’t mar his good looks.
Although she was used to seeing bare-chested Negroes on the plantation, she marveled at the size of him. His large biceps were encircled with copper bracelets and his long blue-black hair was braided and tied with rawhide. A blue feather fluttered in the warm breeze. His proud, slightly large nose had a fine yellow line painted down the middle. High cheekbones and lips, too sensuous for a man, left Melissa in awe of him.
It rattled her to realize she had been staring long, and at the same time his dark eyes scrutinized her. But what did you expect? You were boldly sizing him up. She quickly walked away, ashamed of her thoughts but with one last notion of what it would be like to feel his beautiful mouth on hers. Damn! She was definitely in the desert too long to have such wanton ideas. Back at the wagon, she tried to get her mind off of the handsome brave, but his sad eyes
haunted her. Maybe he hadn’t had anything to eat since his capture. Even a criminal is entitled to a last meal, she reflected.
Are you using that as an excuse to get closer? taunted her conscience.
’Course not!
Who are you kidding?
She ignored her smart voice knowing she was only deceiving herself.
When Blue Thunder first regained consciousness, he was enraged to find that he was tied to a wagon wheel. So much so that he growled between clenched jaw. He sat in the dirt, angry with himself and cursed the gods for his carelessness. One moment of compassion for a white child cost him his freedom; a foolish decision he would live to regret, if he lived.
His thoughts went back to what had happen when he had slipped past the hail of bullets and climbed into a wagon. He immediately saw a dark woman holding a child in her big arms. The youth had short curly hair and stared at him with big brown eyes. He knew this one would not give him trouble and he would not kill a child, but the big woman was a different story. The black woman cowered when he entered the wagon. She screamed but his tomahawk crashed
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down on her head, silencing her cries forever. Blue Thunder looked into the dark eyes of the child, they were wide with horror. Tiny squeals emitted from her quivering mouth.
“I will not harm you, little one,” he said in English.
He didn’t want to hurt the hysterical child but he had to silence the youth. He knelt, grabbing her tiny shoulders; his slap never reached its original target because the girl’s arms shot
out to protect herself from harm. His large hand hit her on the side of her stomach and his blow made her double over in pain. At a closer glance Blue Thunder noticed the child was a pregnant girl and regretfully he touched the roundness of her belly with his palm. It saddened him; he had no reason to hurt an unborn babe. His concern caused him to let his guard down.
Now that young woman with new-wheat hair seemed to take an interest in seeing him trussed up like a wild turkey. The golden-eyed beauty seemed to be glad he was captured. Was that the reason she strolled by him every so often? If given the chance to escape, he would make sure she would be his prisoner this time. Her beauty surpassed any woman he had ever seen. As she studied him, he took the time to inventory her womanly assets.
That night, when all was peaceful, Melissa poured leftover stew into a bowl and quietly crept over to the Indian. The man who was guarding him was asleep; an empty bottle by his side. She was glad the guard was unconscious; it would make it easier so see the prisoner. Again she foolishly told herself that this was the Christian thing to do. Her hands trembled and she thought she would drop the bowl.
“Do you speak English?” she whispered. Silence was her answer. “Do you speak English?” she asked again. “I brought you some food.” She pointed to the bowl and then to her mouth. Melissa sighed, and sat down forgetting that his hands were tied; she would have to feed him.
Blue Thunder thought her voice was like a soft breeze on his ears. He mimicked her. “English?” Shaking his head, he lied. He would hold his tongue to see what she was up to. He
had watched the girl come toward him, curiosity written all over her face. It galled him that his loins stirred every time she looked at him with her honey-colored irises. She stood there with terror in her eyes and a blush to her lovely cheeks. He had prayed for help and he believed it had
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appeared. Brave and foolish, she didn’t realize the danger she was in if he were to get his hands free. The brainless girl stood before him under his defiant gaze.
He watched as the delightful, but simple creature tried to communicate with him. He couldn’t decide whether she was naive or stupid to feel sorry for an enemy. Didn’t she realize the danger or the consequences? His tribe would not feel sorry for her if she was tied in his camp, but he had admired her a little. She was brave to go against her own kind and when she becomes his slave, he’d remember her kindness.
“Why won’t you eat? You must be starving,” she asked keeping her voice low.
Blue Thunder was hungry but he wouldn’t allow a female to spoon-feed him like a child; he’d starve first. His belly rumbled at the delicious aroma but his pride rumbled louder. Returning the spoon to the bowl, the woman snapped, “Stubborn ape! Well, you can starve!” she shrugged with indifference. “You don’t have long to live anyway; they’re going to hang you in the morning.”
He saw her frown and he realized that she did not mean to blurt the outcome of the meeting of the men folks he had seen gather earlier. His jaw twitched. He wasn’t afraid to die with dignity but hanging was a white man’s punishment; his soul could not leave his body to find
the happy hunting ground. He leered at her, remembering her cutting words. He might not know what ape meant, but he understood stupid. That was insulting! They were white man’s words not Indians, but she would live to regret them. His anger gave him the strength to twist his hands harder, ignoring the pain in his wrists. He had been scraping the ropes against the wagon’s wheel and his wrists burned unmercifully but the blood made the ropes slippery and easier to slide from when he got them loosen enough.
The beauty said she was sorry for losing her temper and she tried once more. She placed the spoon to his lips, this time he opened his mouth. She sighed at her small triumph but it instantly disappeared when he spit the food back into her face. The foolish girl gasped and sputtered as she wiped the mess off with the hem of her dress. Surprised she opened her mouth to scream when his ropes gave way and his hand came up fast to muffle her cries. Her scream was