Reckless Heart

by Madeline Baker

  “You have fought well,” he said proudly. “Among all the tribes, there are no finer warriors, none braver than those gathered here this night or lying dead on the field of battle. Tomorrow, the soldiers will attack again. I think we will not be here. I think we will slip away, one by one, while it is dark, and go home.”

  A quick murmur of dissent rose from the warriors as they realized what Shadow was saying, but Shadow paid them no heed as he went on.

  “Our food is gone, our ammunition is low, our ponies are tired. If we split up now, we may yet fight another day. If we stay, I think the soldiers will rub us out.”

  “Two Hawks Flying is right,” Calf Running said loyally. “Let us go home for the winter. In the Season of New Grass we can fight again.”

  Black Elk rose to his feet. For a long time he had wanted to take Shadow’s place as chief, and now he saw his chance. Head high, he strutted to the center of the group.

  “Let us fight now!” he urged. “If Two Hawks Flying has lost his courage, I will lead you!”

  “But who will follow?” Calf Running asked contemptuously. “Two Hawks Flying speaks wisdom. We have less than thirty warriors fit to fight. My rifle is empty, and my quiver carries but two arrows.” He grinned, thumping his chest with his hand. “I am as brave as the next man, but not so brave that I think I can defeat the blue-coats with two arrows!”

  The warriors laughed, but their laughter was tinged with bitterness.

  When it was quiet, Shadow said, “It is good to fight, and you have fought hard and long. But we knew in the beginning that this was a fight we could not win. Let it be as I have said. We will leave this place tonight, a few at a time, and when the soldiers come tomorrow, they will find only the wind.”

  Shadow’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. “Ghost Face is coming,” he predicted, smiling faintly. “By dawn, our tracks will be covered with snow.”

  There was a moment of silence and though the warriors’ faces remained impassive, it seemed to me that the spirit of each man present reached out to touch that of his brother. I felt a lump rise in my throat as I gazed at that quiet group of men. Warriors all, there was a special closeness between them, a bond of love and understanding stronger than words.

  There were no spoken farewells.

  Abruptly, Tall Horse rose to his feet, saying, “Hopo! Let’s go!” And he left the circle, followed by two Sioux warriors.

  Others followed in twos and threes, silent as the dark clouds swirling overhead.

  Calf Running and the other Chiricahua Apaches were the last to leave. Gravely, Calf Running and Shadow clasped hands.

  “It was a good fight, chi-ca-say,” Calf Running said, using the Apache words for “my brother”. And then he was gone, lost in the night.

  I was sorry to see Calf Running go. He was a good man, a brave warrior, and a loyal friend. I knew Shadow would miss him even more than I. They had spent many a long night in quiet conversation, reminiscing over the old days that were forever gone, contemplating the future which loomed bleak and without hope.

  And so we were alone again, Shadow and I. With the ease of long practice, I quickly packed our few belongings and loaded them on my horse.

  The first snowflakes began to fall as we rode out of the arroyo and headed east.

  At dawn, Shadow drew rein beneath a rocky overhang. Behind us, a thick blanket of snow covered the ground, and even before we dismounted, large lacy flakes filled our tracks. Cold and exhausted after our long ride, I spread our robes in the driest spot I could find and then, with my back aching and my stomach rumbling for food, I curled up in my robe and fell asleep.

  The sun was high overhead when I awoke to find Shadow sitting beside me. Wordlessly, I rose to my feet, and in a few minutes we were riding again.

  The days and nights that followed stretched into one long nightmare of cold and hunger. Our horses suffered, too. They were nothing but skin and bones beneath their shaggy winter coats, and I could not help feeling sorry for them as they pawed through the deep snow for grass that wasn’t there. I was hungry all the time, and I wondered how lack of nourishment and rest would affect my unborn child.

  Shadow had only three rounds left in his rifle and a handful of arrows for the bow. We ate whatever he could catch, mice, lizards, snakes, and an occasional squirrel if we were lucky. Once, I would have turned away from such disgusting fare, but now I ate it gladly and wished for more.

  Like hunted beasts, we fled our pursuers. I wondered, numbly, why they didn’t give up. Why couldn’t they just go home where they belonged and leave us in peace? We could do no more harm to them now.

  In late November, we came upon a solitary cabin set in a small valley. We sat out of sight for over an hour, watching, until Shadow decided the place must be empty, for there was no sign of life. There were no animals in sight, no smoke from the chimney.

  We rode slowly down the hillside, dismounted, and trudged through the snow to the front door. Rifle drawn, Shadow pushed the door open and stepped inside. I followed close on his heels, anxious to get out of the wind.

  The cabin was not deserted. An old man and woman lay snuggled together on a mattress in a corner of the one-room shack. They turned, startled, as I closed the door, and then their faces turned pale as the snow when they saw Shadow and the rifle in his hand.

  “Food,” Shadow said. “Get some quickly.”

  “We don’t have much,” the man said, his rheumy brown eyes focused on the rifle. “Jest a little bacon and some coffee.”

  “Fix it,” Shadow demanded curtly.

  The woman scrambled out of the covers, pulling a blanket across her shoulders for warmth. “Don’t hurt my man, please,” she begged. “He can’t do you no harm.”

  I saw then that the old man had only one arm, and it was badly malformed, the hand twisted into a permanent fist.

  I sat on the edge of the hearth, my robe drawn tight against the cold that was only a little less severe inside than out. There was no furniture in the cabin, everything made of wood had been burned, so that only an old stove remained.

  Shadow remained standing in the middle of the room, his rifle unwavering, his face impassive.

  Fear made the woman clumsy, and she cut her finger as she sliced the bacon and spilled some of the precious coffee as she put it on to boil.

  Soon the little cabin was fragrant with the aroma of frying bacon and coffee, and my mouth began to water.

  Shadow and I ate ravenously. The couple watched, silent, as we licked the last of the grease from our fingertips. The coffee was bitter, but it was hot, and I sighed with regret as I drained the last drops from my cup.

  The taut silence in the shack grew even worse as Shadow jacked a round into the breech of his Winchester.

  “Please,” the woman begged. “We have done nothing to you.” Two large tears rolled down her sunken cheeks.

  “Don’t beg,” the old man told his wife. “Don’t you have no pride?”

  The old woman turned to me in desperation. “You’re a white woman. Please have mercy on us.”

  “She ain’t white!” the old man said with a sneer.

  “She is so,” argued the old woman. “Look at that red hair.”

  “Any woman what takes up with a buck is no better than a squaw,” the man muttered stubbornly, then quickly shut his mouth as Shadow’s face grew dark with anger.

  Laying my hand on Shadow’s arm, I said, in Cheyenne, “Please ignore his words. He is frightened and doesn’t mean what he says.”

  “He is like all whites, full of hate for anyone who does not have pale skin.”

  “Shadow, please… No more killing.”

  “It is no kindness to spare their lives. They deserve to die, and we need the shelter of their house.”

  “Shadow, no more killing. It is enough.”

  I rarely argued with him, and he did not like it.

  “The baby is due any day,” he said in a tight voice. “You cannot have it outside in the snow.”r />
  “I will not have it here!”

  “Hannah, be reasonable. Think of the baby.”

  “I am, and I will not have our child born in a house where murder has been done. I will not let our child be the cause of someone’s death.”

  With a sigh, Shadow relented. “Very well. But I insist we spend the night here. You could use a good rest out of the wind.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, nor did I object when Shadow evicted the man from the makeshift bed so I could lie down. The mattress was lumpy, the single sheet dingy, but I didn’t care. It was better than the hard, cold ground, and I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  I awoke twelve hours later, feeling greatly refreshed. Shadow had spent the night watching the elderly couple, and he looked bone weary. But when I suggested he get some sleep, he refused, and we left the cabin.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It was no kindness to leave them alive,” Shadow said. “They will soon starve. Or freeze from the cold. A bullet would have been merciful.”

  “I could not have them on my conscience. I feel bad enough that we took the last of their food.”

  “We have all done things we are ashamed of, Hannah. We do what we must to survive.”

  “There is no honor in stealing from people who are old and weak and defenseless. We should be ashamed.”

  My words hurt him, and I was immediately contrite. What he had done, he had done for me and our child. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “Forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” he said, and we never spoke of it again.

  In early December it appeared we had finally lost our pursuers. We rode hard the next few days just to make sure, rising at dawn and traveling ‘til dark, stopping now and then to rest the horses. Once, Shadow spotted a deer, but the range was too far for the bow, and he dared not risk a rifle shot that might attract any soldiers in the area to our position. So we rode on.

  A few miles later we drew rein at the foot of a snow-covered hillside. I was so tired and achy I could hardly move. For the first time since I had known him, Shadow helped me dismount. Then, shouldering his rifle and leading both horses, he led the way to a small cave cut high in the hillside. It was just large enough for the two of us. Inside, I spread our blankets while Shadow tethered Sunny to an old tree stump. Red Wind would not stray far, and Shadow left the big stud loose to forage as best he could.

  I had been bothered by intermittent pains all that day, and I began to wish New Leaf was with us. The baby was due in a few days, and I was afraid. What if something went wrong? What if I had no milk? What if the baby was breech? There were so many things that could go wrong, and I knew so little.

  Shadow entered the cave then. As always, he had only to look at my face to know what I was thinking. Murmuring my name, he sat down beside me and took me in his arms. His mere presence routed my fears, and I fell asleep with my head pillowed on his chest.

  When I opened my eyes, it was morning, and I was alone. A muffled rifle shot brought me to my feet, my heart in my throat, as I scrambled toward the mouth of the cavern. Had the soldiers found us? Was Shadow dead? Hurt? But no, there he was, riding up the hill toward me, a deer carcass slung over Red Wind’s withers.

  We had not had anything to eat in two days, and my mouth began to water as I hastily built a small fire in the rear of the cave. I was rummaging, in one of the packs for a cook pot when the pain hit. Far worse than any of the others, it tore through me like a dull knife. Choking back a sob, I sank down on my sleeping robe.

  “Shadow, hurry,” I whispered. “Please hurry. I’m afraid.”

  Miraculously, he was there. Seeing me, he dropped the carcass and hurried to my side.

  “Hannah?”

  “It’s time,” I gasped. “Oh, Shadow, I’m so afraid!”

  “Do not be,” he said, brushing a wisp of hair from my face. “Everything will be all right.”

  I nodded weakly, then reached for his hand as another contraction caught me unawares.

  Shadow remained at my side all morning, his face drawn with worry as he wiped the sweat from my brow. The contractions came harder and faster as the day wore on, and I squeezed Shadow’s hands until they were red and swollen, clinging to him as a drowning man clings to a lifeline.

  Sometimes he talked to me of the old days, and I concentrated on every word, trying to focus on what he was saying rather than the pains that seemed to be ripping me apart. He told me of his mother, and how she had died of the white man’s spotted sickness when he was only five.

  “You are like her, Hannah,” he said softly. “Good and kind and beautiful. Our son will be lucky to have you for his mother.”

  His words warmed my soul. I was the lucky one, I thought. Lucky to have Shadow for my husband and the father of my child.

  When my back began to ache, he rubbed it, his hands gently kneading the pain. I felt as if I had been in labor for days, and a new fear took hold of me as all the awful tales of childbirth I had ever heard surfaced within me—tales of women who were in labor for days and days, stories of women who struggled for hours to bring forth a child that was dead, nightmare tales of women who died in childbirth…

  Unable to help myself, I began to cry. I was too young to die. I wanted to see my baby, to grow old with Shadow, to feel his arms around me.

  Shadow whispered my name as he took me into his arms. Oh, the strength and comfort in his embrace, the magical solace I found as he held me, gently rocking me back and forth as if I were a child myself.

  Outside, a light rain began to fall. It was soon over, and the world was deathly still, as if every living creature were holding its breath. And then, from somewhere in the distance, a horse whinnied. Quick as a cat, Shadow was at the mouth of the cave.

  “Major Kelly’s scouts have found us, haven’t they?” I asked.

  “It is not Kelly.”

  “Not Kelly. Who, then?”

  “It is the Seventh,” Shadow answered quietly, and then he laughed. “I suspect they have come to get even for Custer. I knew they would never forgive us for that.”

  “Shadow, you’ve got to get out of here!” I cried, frantic for his safety. “Go now, before it’s too late.”

  “It is already too late,” he replied tonelessly.

  Rising, he removed his buckskin shirt. Then, while I watched, he began to paint his face and chest for war. My pains were temporarily forgotten as I watched him apply vermillion paint to his torso, the broad zigzag slashes like ribbons of blood across his flesh. Smaller, similar slashes marked his cheeks.

  That done, he reached for his warbonnet. And Shadow, the man, became Two Hawks Flying, the warrior. I knew he was going out to meet the soldiers, that he intended to die fighting like the proud Cheyenne warrior he was, with a weapon in his hand and a last prayer to Man Above on his lips. And though I knew he didn’t have a chance in a million if he went out of the cave armed and ready to fight, and though I knew he would surrender if I but asked him to, I could not voice the words.

  When he was ready, he took my hand in his, and I felt my heart swell with love for the tall, handsome man kneeling at my side.

  “I love you, Hannah,” he said quietly. “See that our son grows brave and strong. Never let him forget that he carries the blood of many great Cheyenne warriors in his veins.”

  “I won’t,” I promised, choking back a sob as he left the cave without a backward glance.

  I heard him call Red Wind, and in my mind’s eye I saw Shadow swing aboard the tall stallion with the effortless grace I had always admired. And suddenly I knew I had to see him one last time.

  Teeth clenched, I struggled to my knees and crawled to the entrance to the cave. I had to stop twice as pains doubled me in half, but I went determinedly forward.

  I was breathing hard when I reached the mouth of the cave. Below, the soldiers were riding toward the hill in neat columns of two. They made a colorful sight, with their hard blue uniforms and the red and white
guidon of the Seventh Cavalry fluttering in the afternoon breeze. Riding point were two Pawnee scouts, easily identified by their roached scalp-locks. What happened next happened very fast.

  Shadow had always harbored a deep hatred for the Indians that scouted for the Army, and in less time than it takes to tell, he threw his rifle to his shoulder and with his last two bullets killed the two Indian scouts.

  The dead warriors had no sooner hit the ground than six troopers broke from the others and rode forward at a gallop, firing as they came. Lead whined into the hillside around Shadow, gouging great chunks of dirt from the earth, and my mind screamed for him to run, to hide. But he might have been a statue carved from stone.

  And then the soldiers were too close to miss. I saw one of them line his sights on Shadow’s chest and I screamed, “Josh, no!” and stumbled out of the cave.

  And then I was falling, rolling head over heels down the icy hillside. A terrible pain stabbed through me, followed by a rush of warm water, and I screamed Shadow’s name as I felt myself being torn in half. And then I was falling again, falling into a deep black void. My last conscious thought was that I was dying, and I was glad, because I knew Shadow was dead, too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Winter 1877-Spring 1878

  Voices. Voices calling my name. Stubbornly, I ignored them, content to drift in the velvety black shroud of darkness that cradled me like loving arms. Beyond the darkness loomed the shadow of death, more welcome than the pain and grief that waited for me in the land of the living. Everyone I had ever loved was dead—my parents, Orin, David, Shadow. Dead, all dead. Waiting for me.

  Eager to join them, I burrowed deeper into the soft, eternal darkness.

  “Hannah. Hannah!”

  A different voice summoned me, and I struggled out of the web of death’s embrace, crying his name.

  “Shadow!”

  “I am here.”

  “Shadow, help me,” I begged. “Hold me. Please hold me.”

  Strong arms encircled me, but they were not Shadow’s arms; when I opened my eyes, it was Joshua holding me. Shadow stood a few feet away, his hands bound behind his back. His mouth was bloody where someone had struck him.