Reckless Heart

by Madeline Baker

  “Shadow,” I whimpered. “I want Shadow.”

  As if from far away I heard Joshua say, “Hopkins, turn the redskin loose.”

  “Captain wouldn’t like it,” the corporal remarked laconically.

  “The Captain ain’t here,” Joshua retorted succinctly. “And if you don’t want to spend the next six months mucking out the stables, you’d best do as you’re told!”

  Hopkins grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he untied Shadow’s hands, and then Shadow was beside me, his arms closing around me. His dark eyes were sad, and a sudden bolt of fear pierced my soul.

  “The baby?” I whispered. “Where’s my baby?”

  “He is dead, Hannah.”

  Dead, I thought dully. My son is dead.

  But the words had no meaning. Closing my eyes, I fell asleep in the warm refuge of Shadow’s arms.

  I spent the next few days in a strange world of light and shadow. Sometimes I drifted on a soft, fluffy cloud—far beyond the reach of pain or sorrow, content to float in timeless space. Sometimes I was flung into the past, and I frolicked through my childhood all over again, joyously caught up in the frivolities of youth, with no cares my mother could not solve with a smile and a kiss and no fears my father could not chase away.

  Three days after I lost the baby I opened my eyes to reality and burst into tears. I cried for hours—grieving for the dead child I had never seen, for Shadow who was bound hand and foot and held under heavy guard, and lastly for myself.

  Joshua was very kind to me. He’d been a boy when he left Bear Valley, but he was a man now, hardened by the rigors of Army life and by the harsh lessons he’d learned in the field. His hatred for Indians had grown stronger, as had his love for hard liquor and thin black cigars. Young and ambitious, he had risen quickly in the ranks and was already a lieutenant.

  Josh spent a good deal of time at my side. We reminisced about our childhood days in Bear Valley and the fun we had shared. Oh, for those carefree days, I thought wistfully, of golden summer afternoons at the river crossing and quiet nights in the warm shelter of my father’s house. How I wished I could fly to my mother’s comforting arms once more and have her kiss away my hurt. If only I could lay my troubles on Pa’s broad shoulders and listen to his wise words of counsel!

  “Hannah?”

  Joshua’s voice called me to the present.

  “What? Oh, I’m sorry, Josh, I must have been daydreaming.”

  “Remembering the good old days?” he teased.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Remember the time Orin and I ran away? I can’t remember now where we were going. But I remember you came after us, hollering that your mother’s Morgan mare was having her baby. We got so excited, we forgot all about running away.”

  “I remember,” Josh said in a thin voice. “I remember that I was jealous of you even then. Hannah, you can’t imagine how surprised I was to see you come tumbling out of that cave. I thought you’d been killed when the Indians burned your father out.”

  “I was surprised to see you, too,” I replied. “I was sure you’d been killed with Custer.”

  “A few of us were lucky that day,” he remarked bitterly. His eyes probed mine for a long time before he said, in a husky tone, “I still love you, Hannah, as much as I ever did.”

  “Josh…”

  “Let me talk,” he said, placing his hand over my mouth. “I know you think you’re in love with that Cheyenne buck but he’s got a short future, and when he’s gone, you’ll be all alone. I want to take care of you, Hannah. Forever…if you’ll let me.”

  I brushed his hand aside. “A short future!” I exclaimed. “What do you mean by that?”

  “He’s sure to hang when we reach the fort.”

  Hang! I had supposed they would send Shadow to prison or confine him to some faraway reservation, but hanging! Such a thing had never entered my mind.

  Stricken, I whispered, “Oh, no. Josh, please do something.”

  “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “You can try, can’t you?” I snapped. “After all, he saved your life once, remember?”

  “I remember,” Josh acknowledged grudgingly. “And I remember riding down the valley of the Little Big Horn and seeing what those damn savages did to Custer, too! I swore then and there that I’d get even, or damn well die trying. And when I heard that your precious Two Hawks Flying was raising hell from the Dakotas to Arizona, I went to General Terry and told him how I felt. Terry’d been in that valley, and he understood. He let me handpick as many men as I felt I needed to hunt him down.” Josh laughed bitterly. “And after all my planning, Kelly nearly beat me to it.”

  “Major Kelly was a fool,” I remarked contemptuously.

  “Yeah,” Josh agreed, grinning. “He’s gone back to Fort Grant with his tail tucked between his legs.” Joshua’s smile broadened. “What the hell! I got what I wanted, and I might even get a promotion out of it.”

  “Josh, you will try to help Shadow, won’t you? Promise me?”

  “I’ll try,” he agreed reluctantly. “But he’s a troublemaker, Hannah, and the Army wants him out of the way by spring. Permanently out of the way!”

  I slept the rest of the day. When I awoke, it was dinner time. I picked at my food, not tasting it, more concerned with Shadow’s well-being than my own.

  Shadow’s hands and feet were tightly bound. And there were several nasty looking bruises, and a shallow gash on his face where someone had struck him.

  Just now, a dour-faced Corporal Hopkins was trying to force a slice of cold meat into Shadow’s mouth. When I remarked on this to Joshua, he merely shrugged, saying, “He hasn’t eaten a bite in three days, but I reckon he’ll give in when he gets hungry enough.”

  “Three days!” I exclaimed. “He must be starved.”

  “Well, if he is, it’s his own fault. All he has to do is open his mouth.”

  All he has to do is open his mouth, I thought. Such a little thing, and yet he’d never do it. Not in a million years.

  “He’ll never accept food from an enemy,” I remarked quietly.

  “Then he’ll go hungry.”

  “Couldn’t you untie his hands for just a little while?”

  “No.”

  “Would it be all right if I fed him?”

  Josh did not answer at once; then, with an impatient gesture, he muttered, “Go ahead, if it will make you happy.”

  Corporal Hopkins looked vastly relieved when I took the plate from his hand and sent him away. Kneeling, I speared a fresh slice of meat and offered it to Shadow, but he made no move to take it, nor did he acknowledge my presence. Back straight, head high, he stared past me as if I wasn’t there.

  “Shadow,” I whispered. “Please eat.”

  Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.

  “Please,” I implored. “Do it for me.”

  Some of the anger drained out of him, and he said very quietly, “All right, Hannah,” and let me feed him.

  He must have been starving after three days without food or water, yet he ate slowly, drank sparingly, and finished only half of the meal. It was his pride at work, I thought—that stubborn, arrogant pride that was as much a part of him as the color of his skin, pride so strong that he’d remain hungry rather than let Josh and the others see just how hungry he really was.

  “How are you, Hannah?” he asked in Cheyenne, then grunted with pain as one of the troopers guarding him jabbed him in the back with the butt of his rifle.

  “Speak English, redskin!” the trooper demanded brusquely and raised his rifle again, daring Shadow to disobey.

  A cold rage burned in Shadow’s eyes but before he could say or do anything, I quickly stepped between him and the trooper and said, “I’m fine, just fine.”

  Shadow nodded, his dark eyes fathomless, and then Joshua came up beside me, curtailing further conversation. Casting a contemptuous glance at Shadow, Joshua insisted I join him by the fire, and when I was reluctant to do so, he took me pos
sessively by the arm and led me away.

  The next morning I stood staring down at the little mound of freshly turned earth that marked my son’s grave. Tears pricked my eyes as I bid him a silent farewell, and I was sorely tempted to throw myself across his grave and give voice to my sorrow as the Cheyenne women did. I had once thought it barbaric when the squaws slashed their flesh und hacked off their hair to express their grief, but now I understood. And understanding, I would have relished the pain if it would have eased the gnawing ache in my breast.

  Some yards beyond, Shadow sat cross-legged on the hard ground, flanked by two heavily armed troopers. I had not been alone with him since the day I lost the baby, and I yearned to speak with him privately and hear his voice whispering that he loved me, assuring me everything would be all right. I searched his face for some clue as to what he was thinking, but he was wearing his Indian face, and I could not penetrate that impassive mask.

  Five days after I lost the baby I felt well enough to travel. Joshua was all gentle concern as he bundled me onto a travois rigged behind Sunny. It was rather pleasant, lying there in the pale sunlight, and I watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Josh’s men packed their gear and saddled their mounts. Earlier in the day, the troopers had drawn lots to determine how to divide Shadow’s few personal belongings. “The spoils of war,” the men had said, laughing, though I saw little humor in the situation.

  Shadow’s rifle had gone to a young, freckle-faced private, his hunting knife went to a lantern-jawed sergeant. Over my protests, Shadow’s sacred medicine bundle had gone to a hollow-cheeked veteran who had taken a quick look at the contents, dumped them out, and filled the deerskin pouch with tobacco. Not surprisingly, Josh decided to keep Shadow’s beautifully wrought warbonnet for himself.

  Red Wind had gone to Corporal Hopkins, who was even now saddling the big red stud. The stallion humped his back as Hopkins cinched his McClellan down tight and fought against the bit as Hopkins prepared to mount. But Red Wind, who was usually as docile as old Nellie unless there was another stallion around, refused to stand. Ears laid back, teeth bared, he fought Hopkins’ hold on the reins, snorting and sidestepping each time the corporal reached for a stirrup.

  Angry and impatient, Hopkins called for help, and two troopers sprang to his aid, only to retreat before the stallion’s flashing hooves and snapping jaws. It took Hopkins the better part of fifteen minutes to get into the saddle, and when he finally made it, all hell broke loose.

  Indian born and bred, Red Wind had never felt the weight of a saddle on his back nor tasted a bit between his teeth. Little wonder that he commenced pitching and bucking like a loco bronc. The watching troopers stomped and hollered like cowboys at a rodeo as the stallion exploded across the slushy ground. Hopkins cussed like a veteran muleskinner as he raked his spurs over the stud’s sleek red flanks. Accustomed to the gentle touch of Shadow’s moccasined heels, Red Wind screamed with pain and rage at this new indignity. Again and again Hopkins roweled the stallion’s flanks until the animal’s sides were flecked with blood and lather and he stood trembling in the sun, proud head hanging low, sides heaving.

  Hopkins smiled as the troopers cheered him. He was still smiling when Red Wind reared straight up and pitched over backward.

  Hopkins hollered, “Oh, shit!” as he kicked free of the stirrups and hurled himself from the saddle, barely managing to roll out of harm’s way as eleven hundred pounds of twisting horseflesh crashed to the earth.

  Man and beast scrambled to their feet simultaneously. Ears back, teeth bared, Red Wind hurtled toward Hopkins. A lot of men would have panicked at such a time, but Hopkins stood steady as a rock as he unholstered his service revolver and shot the enraged stallion between the eyes. Red Wind fell heavily, kicked once, and died.

  “Damned outlaw!” Hopkins muttered, and turned away.

  Shadow’s face was as something carved from granite as he stared at Red Wind’s blood-spattered carcass. Shadow and Red Wind—they had been inseparable. I remembered Shadow telling me how long it had taken to train the stallion to hand and heel and voice; I recalled the pride and affection in his eyes when he told me how Red Wind had once saved his life by dragging him from the field of battle when he was wounded and unable to ride.

  Shadow’s face remained inscrutable, but I knew he was seething inside and that, had his hands been free and unfettered, he would have killed Hopkins then and there. His eyes followed the corporal as Hopkins swaggered over to the remuda, and I was chilled by the implacable hatred I saw glittering in Shadow’s black eyes as Hopkins quickly roped and saddled another mount.

  It was a long, arduous ride to Fort Apache. Joshua rode beside me, ever concerned for my welfare. I knew that, but for me, they would have reached the fort much sooner, but Josh called a halt to the day’s travel whenever he thought I looked too weary to go on. I was grateful for his concern, for I was always tired, and riding was harder than I had thought it would be. Josh made sure that I was warm enough at night, insisting that my bedroll be spread close to the fire. He took great pains to see that I had plenty of good hot food, even though I had no appetite.

  Christmas came, and that night a few of the troopers got together and sang Christmas carols. I wept softly as I thought of Mary giving birth to her Son in a lowly stable, and I wept for my own son, buried in an unmarked grave in a hostile land.

  My arms ached to hold the child I had never held nor seen. Sometimes I wondered if I had really had a child. Perhaps I had imagined it all. Perhaps it was just a bad dream. Perhaps I was dreaming even now. But it was not a dream, for my breasts were heavy, and the bodice of my doeskin dress was stained with milk.

  Often, when Joshua spoke to me, I did not hear him. My baby was dead, and the man I loved more than my own life had no future but a rope. My whole world was falling apart, and all Joshua could talk about were his plans for the future and for us. I wondered how he could be so insensitive. How could he even think I would consider marrying him when Shadow was still very much alive?

  Shadow. How my heart ached for him. His hands had been tightly bound behind his back for a week. Hopkins released Shadow twice a day so he could relieve himself. Other than that, he was tied up and under guard. I was sure his arms were sore from being restrained so long. His wrists were raw from the constant chafing of the rope. But his expression remained inscrutable. Head held high and proud, he rode between Hopkins and an unsavory looking trooper known as Shorty Barnes.

  To make doubly sure Shadow did not try to make a run for it, Hopkins took to dropping a noose around Shadow’s neck. The loose end was secured to the pommel of Hopkins’ saddle. The corporal taunted Shadow continually.

  “Best get used to the feel of that there rope, redskin,” he’d call, tugging on the rope that cut off Shadow’s wind, “cause you’re gonna swing high and dry when we reach the fort! Yes sir, I seen lots of Injuns dancin’ at the end of a rope. Ain’t a purty sight, no sir. Sometimes a man’s neck don’t break just right, and he strangles kinda slow like, eyes bulgin’ and feet kickin’.” Hopkins grinned wolfishly as he added, “That’s how you’ll go, Injun, if I get to tie the knot!”

  I shuddered at the grotesque images the corporal’s word painted across my mind. Sometimes at night, I dreamed of Shadow’s execution. I saw him slowly climb the stairs to the gallows, his head high, his eyes blazing defiance. I saw the noose dropped over his head and pulled snug around his neck, with the heavy knot secured below his ear. I would wake, crying, just as the trapdoor yawned beneath him.

  Cruel as Hopkins’ taunts were, they had no visible effect on Shadow. Indeed, he did not seem to hear them at all. It was as if he had withdrawn into a world all his own, some inner haven of refuge where nothing Hopkins said or did could touch him.

  When we reached Fort Apache, Shadow was pulled off his horse and hustled toward the stockade. He did not go peacefully. Though his hands were bound behind his back, his feet were free, and he struck out viciously, catching one of the soldiers full in the g
roin. The man went down with a hoarse cry, clutching his battered manhood.

  Twisting and turning, Shadow managed to elude the soldiers as he made a mad dash for the gates.

  “Stop him!” Joshua hollered, a half-dozen troopers raced after Shadow.

  One of them threw himself at Shadow in a flying tackle, his arms closing around Shadow’s ankles. Both men crashed to the ground. Kicking violently, Shadow made it to his feet, but by then he was surrounded by five soldiers. I cringed as they beat him into submission and then dragged him into the stockade.

  Joshua carried me to the infirmary and left me in the care of the Army Sawbones. Dr. Mitchell was tall and lanky. Despite his advanced years, he was a lively gentleman, his face smooth and virtually unlined. He had the merriest blue eyes I had ever seen, and as I glanced around the hospital, I wondered how he managed to maintain his sunny disposition. There were a dozen beds in the hospital, and they were all filled.

  “Damned Apaches,” the doctor muttered. “Attacked one of our patrols day before yesterday. No matter how many times we beat them and run them back to the reservation, a few always manage to sneak off and cause trouble.” He smiled and gave me a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “Enough of that. Let’s take a look at you.”

  So saying, he took me into a small room adjoining the main building, and after I undressed, he gave me an embarrassingly thorough examination. Then he tucked me into bed and declared I would be fit as a fiddle after three weeks’ bed rest and some decent food that didn’t come out of a can and hadn’t been charred black over a campfire.

  “Three weeks!” I complained. “Why so long?”

  “You’ve been through a rough time, Miss Kincaid,” he explained patiently. “You’re considerably undernourished and underweight. Not only that, but you suffered a minor concussion when you went tumbling down that hill. Not to mention the fact that you seem to have had a difficult delivery, a long, bumpy ride to the fort, and no time to rest.” He gave me another fatherly pat. “Trust me, my dear,” he said kindly. “I know what I’m doing.”