Melissa didn’t say anything to defend herself; maybe it was better this way. She didn’t belong here; she brought nothing but pain to his people. She would go and remember the love he gave to her; she’d never forget him. Her heart was heavy with sorrow for Laughing Tree’s loss. The Indian woman didn’t deserve what had happened but Melissa appreciated that Laughing Tree had spoken the truth and not tried to frame her with this accident. Although shocked and sorry, she was conflicted about Little Turtle’s death and was glad she would never have to deal with the crazed maiden again. But then, that was a moot point now. She’d never have to deal with any of these Apache’s again, even Blue Thunder, and that caused great agony to her heart.
The next morning dawned sunny, a definite contrast to Melissa’s mood. She would have liked to have seen Blue Thunder once more but knew it was impossible. A horse waited for her outside the wickiup. She mounted it and rode from the village spotting men carrying the corpse, wrapped in a blanket. Tears she believed had dried up last night welled in her aching eyes as she rode with her head held high. His people wouldn’t see her cry, but as soon as they cleared the village, she lost her battle and water gushed forth. She feared that her heavy heart would explode into a thousand pieces and she if it did, she could never restore it to what it had been. She wore the same beaded dress, now caked with dried blood. It would be a constant reminder that this was the right thing to do. At least her Indian would be all right and she prayed for his happiness.
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Melissa spent four days on the trail with the escort of braves. They didn’t treat her badly, nor did they go out of their way to try to communicate. They provided food, drink, and privacy for bathing and toilet. She didn’t care that her traveling time was spent in a state of total invisibility, her mind was on Blue Thunder and how she missed him. The pain in her heart was the only thing that made her realize she was still alive. On the morning of the fifth day, the braves stopped near an army fort. One buck lifted her from the pony and she stood on weak legs. They disappeared over the horizon as she walked toward the fort.
The shrill cry of a distant hawk seemed to be crying, “Good-bye.”
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TWENTY-ONE
Before the sun climbed to the center of the sky, Blue Thunder awoke. Blinking to make his eyes focus, his head no longer ached but his side still stung.
“My son awakes again,” Dasodaha said with a frown. “It has been four suns since you let your slave poke you like a fish on a spear.”
His father laughed in a way he knew the man was only half joking. He ignored his father’s teasing; and wondered if he had made the pun consciously. It only added another sore spot to his body, he would never live this down. Scowling, he grunted. His father continued, disregarding his stormy features.
“I am tired of sitting here waiting for you to join the living. The poison left your body, this is good. Now you must rest and mend.”
Blue Thunder tried to sit. “Where is the white slave?”
Dasodaha pushed him down. “Lie still so your wound will not pull open,” he ordered firmly. “She is well. “Now rest.” His father got up and left before he could ask anything more.
Blue Thunder wondered why his Honey Eyes was not in his lodge. Something was wrong; nothing made any sense. The attack, her not being here. What was going on? He staggered to the opening and made it outside before he collapsed. He was never so weak before
and chided himself for being so foolish and drinking too much white man’s whiskey. Two young braves helped him back to his mat and a maiden came to nurse and tend to his wound. He held his tongue; the girl wouldn’t speak the truth even if she knew.
A little voice kept nagging at him and he suspected that his father was not telling him everything. He needed to regain his strength, to find out for himself. Did Honey Eyes escape like he first feared? Was she dead? Did Dasodaha speak falsely because of his love for him? His gut tightened; he didn’t like being so weak and unable to find out the truth. The next morning, Blue Thunder was stronger. It still pained him when he tried to stand but he forced himself to walk to
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Dasodaha’s wickiup. Licks Too Much missed his master and when he saw him come out of his lodge, he ran from Laughing Tree’s dwelling to greet him. The dog pounced against his leg, making him wince at the sudden attack.
“Ouch!” he cried but he didn’t have the heart to scold his loyal friend. “Sorry, old boy, but it pains me to bend. Go back to Laughing Tree, she’ll see to your needs for a while longer.” The dog whined, giving his saddest eyes, but he had no time for the animal’s nonsense. “Go!” He pointed, sorry for being so abrupt. The dog went with his tail between his legs.
The flap was closed so he called to the chief. “Will you give me permission to come in, father?”
“Enter, my son.”
Blue Thunder pushed the heavy skins back, causing him to grunt. He took a laboring breath and said, “Greetings, father.”
Dasodaha nodded.
Blue Thunder sat slowly, holding his wrapped side. “My father knows why I am here?” His was a statement that came out like a question.
“Yes,” Dasodaha sighed.
“I want to know what happened to my white slave.” He didn’t take his gaze off his father and he didn’t miss the hard lines set around the chief’s mouth. He feared the news was bad.
Dasodaha cleared his throat. “After the white girl tried to kill you, she ran from the camp but was caught and brought back. The prisoner begged to be returned to her own people. Her wish was granted for your sake.” His father’s eyes focused on an invisible object over his shoulders, not looking him in the eye and this did not sit well with him.
“We did not punish your slave for I knew you had strong feelings for her. But she was trouble, because of her, Little Turtle died. I decided it was too soon to tell you what happened.”
This unbelievable information made Blue Thunder’s head reel, feeling dizzy. “What’s this you are telling me? My slave was responsible for my cousin’s death? Little Turtle is dead?” His heart went erratic and eyes challenged his father. Dasodaha shrugged as if he were trying to shift the weariness from his shoulders before he told him what had happened.
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Blue Thunder sat dazed, not wanting to believe his father’s words. Did the woman he loved truly try to kill him? Yet, the constant pain in his side told him his father didn’t speak falsely. She had tired to kill him when he was in a drunken stupor, a state for which he had only himself to blame. Blue Thunder wanted to grill him further but he could see his father was very upset. He left some questions unanswered suspecting the chief wouldn’t know what had really happened that night. All the truth lay with the white woman.
He spent the next day rebuilding his strength with light exercise, ignoring his father’s warning and the ache in his side. His dressings were cleaned daily and new herbs were placed over the wound. It wasn’t until the wrappings were left open and the wound aired, did he notice the crisscross stitches.
Damn! No Apache did this!
His slave was the only one who could do this work. Why would she stay to save his life, then flee. It was time to find the undeniable truth. He believed that his aunt had to hold some of the answers. That night he would wait for her return from the mountain.
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TWENTY-TWO
After asking permission, Blue Thunder entered Laughing Tree’s wickiup. She was lying on her mat as Star Gazer attended to her. She appeared very exhausted but for a month she would have to keep up her lamentations with low wails at the sunset.
“Aunt, I have come to give condolences, it was a sad day to learn of Little Turtle’s death. My cousin will always hold a special place in my heart.” Star Gazer stood to leave but Blue Thunder shook his head, giving his younger brother permission to stay.
Blue Thunder had mixed emotions. He was indeed saddened by Little Turtle’s death but believed she was in a happier place. He still couldn’t fathom that
his Honey Eyes was actually responsible. He sat by his aunt and held himself accountable, knowing his cousin had been jealous.
“Laughing Tree,” he took her hand; it was ice cold. She looked at him as if he weren’t there but he believed she heard him. “We must talk. Tell me the truth about the white girl.”
His aunt’s lips trembled as tears rolled down her cheek. She turned her head away from him.
“I am too ashamed to talk.”
He coaxed, squeezing her cold hand. “White slave stitched my side.” He knew his statement sounded more like a question. His aunt nodded. “She did not run away,” he made that a definite statement. Her response was another nod of her head. Then he asked the dreaded question. “Father said the white girl was responsible for Little Turtle’s death.” His eyes searched his aunt’s face for answers; it held only sorrow. “You must tell me,” he insisted sternly.
After a long moment of silence, he heard his aunt whisper, “It was I who was responsible for the death of daughter.” Stunned, a cold shiver passed through him. His throat tightened, preventing further words, but before he was able to find his voice, his aunt spoke.
“Your slave spent many hours nursing you. My daughter took advantage of the white girl’s fatigue and tried to kill her. I wished only to stop Little Turtle but she landed on her own
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knife. She brought great shame on our people.” She placed her hand over her face and wept bitterly.
Blue Thunder comforted his distraught aunt and said, “You must mend your body and mind; you are not responsible for the evil that was in Little Turtle’s heart. You will hold your head high knowing you made a great sacrifice when you went to the aid of my captive. It was an accident that the blade found your daughter’s heart. I know the truth but our people would not understand why you would protect a white slave. Laughing Tree you saw the good in the captive that others could not see. I am grateful to my aunt for this.” He then turned to his brother, questioning him with his eyes.
Star Gazer hung his head saying, “Father and I knew the truth. He said it was better for
you and our people that she is taken away. Please do not be too hard on him, he loves you very much and did this for your own good, and ours. His heart is heavy with guilt for the lies. Since she did attack you, it was no longer right for her to stay. Your slave violated your feelings and it was this act that said she wanted her freedom at any cost, she never said otherwise.”
“Then why did she remain to nurture me?” Laughing Tree’s low sobs put a bad taste in Blue Thunder’s mouth and he waited for an answer.
Star Gazer just shrugged as a warm breeze wafted into the wickiup. “Maybe, she knew she could not get far without help and changed her mind.”
“Where did they take her?”
Star Gazer sighed and murmured, “To the fort.”
Blue Thunder left camp without a word to Dasodaha. He fared he might have said things in anger; such words could never be taken back. On his first night out, he met three braves returning from their travels; they told him the white girl was in good health and unharmed. They also tried to talk him from going after her but he ignored their pleas. He would get her out of the fort or die trying. He clutched his side, for the hard ride reopened a few stitches and he was bleeding slightly. Three nights later, tired and weak he reached the Fort. It was dark; the moon was hidden behind storm clouds that rumbled in the distance. Luck was with him, he would become just another shadow in the night. He dismounted Night Rider and slapped the horse’s quarters ordering him to stay close by. The animal snorted and trotted a short distance away.
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Melissa sat at Captain Sander’s table. She heard a loud, coarse voice but could not pay attention to what he said. Thoughts of the day she walked up to the big wooden gate of the fort intruded her mind. A guard had shouted, “A young lady is coming!” The big doors creaked open and a soldier ran out to get her. He scanned the distance to make sure it wasn’t a trick and she assumed that the soldier feared at any moment Indians might gallop over the ridge. Quickly, he escorted her inside but kept watch over his shoulder.
Once inside the barracks a bearded soldier walked over to her and said, “Miss, where in hell, err, excuse my bad manners but where did you come from? Are you all right?” She nodded but didn’t speak but heard another man yell, “Hey Ted! Look at her dress. There’s blood on it. This white girl is dressed like a squaw.”
“Must be in shock,” another voice assumed. Well, she was but not from her experience but from the way the white people were treating her. And then men and women mulled around, whispering to one another. “Poor thing,” she heard a woman say, making Melissa clutch her hands tightly. How she wanted to slug these small minded folks. “Hate to think what those pagans did to the child. Her cold stare looks like she lost her mind or seen something awful.”
She was definitely seething but held her temper although they kept on thinking the worse. “Maybe its better she doesn’t remember. I hear those savages take turns with a white woman until she goes crazy or dies,” was the judgmental conclusion of another. Women shook their heads. “She’d be better off dead,” reasoned a man. “Looks like she put up a fight,” said the beaded man, “Maybe killed one of those heathens.”
The droning of voices went on all around Melissa until someone shouted, “What’s going
on?” She winced at the gruff voice and saw a soldier of high rank part the crowd. He was older with a head of pewter colored hair.
“Sorry, sir, she appeared out of nowhere, Captain Sanders, sir. We believe she must have escaped,” he saluted.
Sanders omitted protocol and picked up the exhausted girl carrying her to his quarters. His wife quickly arrived at his side when he laid the dazed young woman down on a bed.
“My stars,” his wife exclaimed with her pudgy hand over her heart. “Who is she,
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Captain? What happened? Where did she come from?” Her eyes looked softly on the young woman who was resting.
Sanders shook his head. “I don’t know, Blanche. She was found outside the fort. See if you can get clean clothes for her. Ask Mrs. Winters if she could give you a suitable dress; they seem to be the same size. Maybe after she’s rid of that bloody garment, cleaned up and fed, she might tell us something useful. I’ll be back later. I think she needs the company of another woman right now.”
His wife nodded in agreement. “The poor dear, her life at the fort, as long as she remained, won’t be easy,” she spoke her thoughts aloud. “White women who are captured and used by Indians are looked upon by some folks as being dirty.” She clicked her tongue, as if she was disgusted with the human race.
Sanders nodded his head in agreement, and left.
Melissa opened her eyes and saw an older lady standing by her side. There was no
mistaking the tenderness in her gray eyes and she believed that she was safe in the presence of someone kind. The woman’s smile made soft folds on her countenance, a smile that reminded her of her mother. Her hair was copper color, with silver threads haloing her small face. She was cared for as if she were a frail doll. No questions asked, she was fed a good meal and tucked into bed. When she awoke later in the day, she was much better and said, “I want to thank you for all you are doing for me.” She said the words slowly. “I’m sorry I acted so strangely but a lot has happened to me. I don’t want to explain yet.”
The kind woman pulled a rocker close to the bed. “We understand, child. It was my husband, Captain Sanders, who brought you here. I am Blanche Sanders.”
Melissa smiled with a gentle smile hoping it relayed her gratitude.
“I’m glad that you’re feeling well enough to talk and that your mind is all right. Many captives never come back from a trance. Now,” she patted her hand, “the Captain will be here soon. He’ll be glad you’re better because he needs to talk to you. I made you hot tea and brought you biscuits. Now, eat some. I’ll be back later.”
Meli
ssa released a soul-weary sigh. She tried to enjoy the tea and biscuits, realizing how
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much she missed Effie’s cooking. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she remembered her family. It seemed so long ago. Would she ever stop hurting? Maybe. No, not ever.
Later, true to Blanche’s words, Captain Sanders questioned her. She answered his interrogation, but kept private her love for Blue Thunder.
Melissa spent over a week at the fort, grateful for the kindness of the captain and
Blanche. They treated her like a daughter and she came to care for them deeply. Most of the fort’s inhabitants ignored her, but she still saw stares and heard the comments behind her back from a few snickering men and women. Melissa smiled tightly at them, greeting them pleasantly, and held her head high, hoping snide gossipers would scurry away.
Narrow minded people! she told herself, but that was a poor excuse. She always believed her race was better than that.
Back at the Captain’s table, Melissa’s thoughts drifted to Blue Thunder. When was her mind not on him? She ached inside and had to forget him, but her memory was too fresh, it would take a long time. Sighing again, she believed she’d never forget him. Maybe she didn’t want to.
“...we can find some information, Melissa. Melissa?” Looking up from her plate where she had been toying with her food, Captain Sanders smiled at her, the way her father had done when she was caught daydreaming. It was a patient and understanding gesture.
“Oh, I’m sorry. My mind was far away.”
“Err, yes,” he cleared his throat, “I see that. What I was saying was that when I get some information on where your family settled, we’ll put you on the stage out. It stops here later this month, though it may take a while to locate them. I’m still waiting for an answer to the wire I sent to California inquiring on the location of the wagon master, Lucas Cain, and where the wagon train is now.”
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