Meadow knew she would not be here long enough to care one way or the other how the “decent” women of the fort felt toward her, so instead she concentrated on listening to conversations among the officers and enlisted men in the hopes that she would hear something about the Sioux captives held at the fort. Unfortunately, she did not learn anything useful.
By the end of the long eve ning, when Private Jensen walked Meadow back to her own quarters, she was more determined than ever to finish her mission here as quickly as possible, so that she could return to the Sioux village.
As tired as she was, Meadow could not fall asleep. She was sure she would never sleep again until she saw who was being held in that prison and found out whether or not they knew anything about the alleged death of Black Horse.
Holding the door to her quarters wide open, Meadow stared out at the dark buildings and courtyard. The nights were growing warmer, now that summer was rapidly approaching. All that remained of the past winter’s snowfall was high on the mountaintops, but on some of the tallest peaks the snow did not entirely melt away all year long.
The first hazy rays of the morning sunlight found Meadow anxiously waiting in her open doorway for her carefully planned day. When she saw Private Jensen headed toward her quarters to escort her to breakfast, she eagerly rushed out to meet him. A fluttering in the pit of her stomach told her that today would prove to be very productive, and she couldn’t wait to get things started.
“Well, you’re bursting with energy this morning,” the private said as she stopped before him. “I take it you slept well?”
“Yes, very well, thank you,” Meadow lied. If today turned out as fruitful as she hoped, she would sleep well tonight because she would be one day closer to going home. “Are we still going to research the Indian battles in this area today?”
“We’ll start immediately after breakfast,” the private said as he took Meadow’s arm and led her down the boardwalk.
Feeling ravenous for the first time since she had left the Sioux village, Meadow devoured two flapjacks, scrambled eggs and some elk sausage as Private Jensen watched in amazement. Although she still preferred the blander Indian food, she was growing accustomed to the more seasoned food eaten by whites.
“I’m ready to get started,” Meadow announced as she bounded up from the hard wooden bench that lined one of the long tables in the mess hall.
“I can see that,” Private Jensen said with a wide smile. He swung his leg over the bench and stood up beside her. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
As they walked toward the far end of the fort, Meadow felt as though her heart was about to burst out of her chest. Every step toward the general’s quarters took her one step closer to the prisoner barricade. Someone there had to know something about Black Horse’s presumed execution. As they approached the general’s office, Meadow quickly scanned the area surrounding the officers’ quarters. The sight of an armed guard standing in front of a square building with window bars caused Meadow’s footsteps to falter.
“Are you all right?” Private Jensen asked with concern. When he saw the direction she was staring in, he sighed. “Oh, don’t worry. That’s not where the savages are kept. That’s where we keep enlisted men who have gotten themselves in fights or deserted or something like that.” He tossed his head back. “The heathens are locked up in an underground cell behind the prison. There’s no chance that they’ll ever get out of there!”
A chill ran down the length of Meadow’s spine as she tried to envision the horrible condition of the Indians who were locked in that hellish hole. She drew in a heavy breath, but made no attempt to speak—the choking lump in her throat would not allow her voice to escape anyway.
“Come on, now,” the soldier prodded as he forced Meadow to turn away from the direction of the prison. “We’ve got much better things to think about today—like finding your family.”
His words had little meaning to Meadow, since the only thing she could concentrate on was finding a way to get in to those prisoners. She stumbled into the general’s office and glanced around absently. With a feeling of relief, she noticed that the general was not there. It was obvious that an important man occupied this office because of the massive desk that sat in the middle of the room and the impressive looking awards and pictures that decorated the walls. Along one entire wall was a row of tall cabinets filled with papers and books.
“I took the liberty of coming over here last night to do some research after I escorted you back to your room.” Private Jensen smiled proudly as he strutted over to one of the cabinets along the back wall and pulled open the top drawer. “I think the information we are looking for is in these files, so it shouldn’t take too long to discover what happened to your family.”
Meadow leveled her flashing emerald gaze on the soldier. “I don’t think there has ever been any question as to what happened to them. They were killed fifteen years ago in a battle with the Sioux, and that’s why I was taken to live with the Hunkpapa tribe.” Her hands clamped down on the curves of her hips. “And the reason our wagon train was attacked was because just days earlier, a village of women, children and old men had been slaughtered by white soldiers!”
Meadow’s unexpected outburst left Private Jensen speechless. As he stared at her, she noticed a red blush work its way up from the collar of his navy—blue jacket, not stopping until it reached the brim of his hat. She drew in a deep sigh and inwardly berated herself for letting her emotions get the best of her. “I’m sorry for my rash words. Sometimes, it’s hard for me to remember who I am or where I am supposed to be.” She was relieved to see the soldier’s expression soften and a slight smile curve his thin lips.
“I guess that’s understandable. But now that you’re back where you should be, you’ll see those animals for what they really are.”
“Yes…yes, I’m sure you’re right,” Meadow said as she turned away from the soldier and stared out one of the windows toward the distant horizon. She was constantly feeling as though she were being punched in the stomach.
“Now, let’s start with these files,” Private Jensen said in a tone that suggested he had already forgotten about their previous discussion. “According to everyone’s assumptions, it was approximately 1862 or ’63 when you were taken captive, so I thought we’d start with the battles that occurred in ’62 and work our way up.”
A strange feeling passed through Meadow. She clasped her arms around herself and drew in another deep breath. The stack of files the private had just placed before her looked ominous and foreign. Was it possible that the entire first two years of her life was hidden somewhere in that pile of papers?
Private Jensen looked up from the stack of papers he had been diligently reading though all day when he heard Meadow yawn again. The chore of reading through the files was his sole responsibility, since Meadow had never learned to read. “I suppose it is rather boring for you to watch me reading all day. How about if I finish this file, and then we’ll go for a walk before it’s time to get ready for dinner?”
Meadow eagerly nodded her head in agreement. Maybe they could walk down by the prison area again, and she could get a better look at the layout of the building.
“Oh, I don’t believe it!” The private held one of the papers up in the air. “It’s all here—all of it.” He jumped up from his chair and hurried to Meadow’s side with the paper clutched tightly in his hand.
Since the scribbles on the paper meant nothing to her, Meadow gazed at the paper for only an instant, and then looked up at the soldier for an explanation. “What, what is all there?” she asked. A tight sensation was beginning to form in her breast.
“Here.” The Private pointed enthusiastically at the paper he held in front of her face. “It’s the rec ords from the attack on your family’s wagon train. It occurred in October of 1863 and thirty-six people were killed, seven were taken captive and eleven escaped.”
A strange sensation crept through Meadow’s body as she stared a
t the document in the private’s hand. How could one piece of yellowed paper hold so much information? “D-does it s-say who d-died and who escaped?” Meadow asked in a quivering voice.
“It has a complete list on the back,” Private Jensen announced as he turned the paper over and began to read names out loud. “Simon Phillips—dead; Gene Let—”
“Wait!” Meadow called out. This was happening so fast; in less than a day they had already found the proof that Meadow could not even begin to fathom. Now she had to face the reality that there had been a time when she had been part of another family, her real family—her white family. She drew in a trembling breath and gazed into the puzzled face of the soldier and asked in a weak voice, “The ones who were taken by the Sioux…Does it give their ages as well as their names?”
The private’s attention returned to the paper as he carefully read down the lists of names of those who were taken captive on that long-ago day. Beside each name was written the gender, and next to that was the supposed age at the time of the incident. “Yes, although there are a lot of question marks beside the ages, so I suppose they are mostly guesses.”
Unconsciously, Meadow drew the crocheted shawl she had draped around her shoulders tightly around herself. A small scattering of perspiration beads had just broken out on her forehead. “Th-the ones who were captured…Was there a t-two-year-old f-fe-male?” she stammered.
“Mary McBain,” Private Jensen announced without hesitation. Then, more excitedly, he looked up at Meadow. “You are Mary McBain!” He held the paper up for her to see; then, remembering that she couldn’t read, he turned it over so that he could read it again.
Meadow opened her mouth to speak, but no words escaped as she continued to stare at the single piece of paper that had just changed her entire life. Mary…Her white name was Mary? How strange that name sounded as it echoed through her mind.
“And you are not going to believe this!” Jensen shouted. He did not give Meadow a chance to respond. “You have a brother who escaped, and, oh…” His voice trailed off as he closely studied the paper again.
“What? What were you going to say?” Meadow demanded. Her head felt as if it were spinning off of her body. She had a brother? What else was she about to learn about her past life—a life that she had completely ignored until this moment?
He glanced up at her and shook his head as though he still couldn’t believe what he was reading. “Well, there have been several notations added to the part about you and your brother. It says here that numerous attempts were made to locate you and the others after your capture. And…” He drew in a deep sigh as he paused to glance down at the document once more.
“And what?” Meadow asked in a quiet tone. “What else does it say?” The feeling that her heart was about to pound out of her chest made her words almost a whisper.
“Your brother—your older brother—was raised by a family right here in Montana. After he grew up, he made several more attempts to find you”—the private smiled widely—“before he joined the army. He’s stationed at Fort Custer, less than a hundred miles from here.”
Meadow felt as if a large band had just tightened around her chest, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe. For an instant the private’s face grew blurry before her eyes, and she felt as though her legs were about to give out from under her. Words were lost to the ocean of emotions she was experiencing.
A brother? Who had obviously loved her and missed her and tried in desperation to find her for all these years.
“You’d better take a deep breath before you pass out,” Private Jensen ordered. He wrapped his arm around her waist and escorted her to the large leather chair at the general’s desk.
“I know what a shock all of this must be to you. To think of the misery and horror you’ve endured all this time at the hands of those savages, when you could have been living a decent life here with your own kin.”
The soldier’s words jumbled together with Mead-ow’s own tormented thoughts of the news he had just given her about her past. It was all more than she could bear. Unfortunately, the young soldier was victim to the rage she could no longer control. “Losing my real family at such a young age was tragic, and yes, it would have been wonderful to know my brother,” she began in a barely controlled voice, with gritted teeth. Her anger began to show itself as she continued. “But those savages that you speak of took me in and loved me as if I was their own flesh and blood. They raised me and nurtured me and kept me safe when enemies—whites and Indians alike—tried to harm me. And I loved them like my own family, too.”
Her fists clenched tightly in her lap as she went on without thinking first about the words that she was about to say. “I also loved a Sioux war chief—I loved him more than life itself, and if he hadn’t been killed by murderous soldiers, I would have been at his side for the rest of my life. You talk about savages, Private Jensen. I have known many savages in my life, but they weren’t all Indians!”
The private slowly backed away from her as if he could not stand to be close to her. “I see where your sympathy lies, and it is a shame it is not with your parents and your baby sister and other two brothers who were slaughtered during that attack.” The soldier twirled on his heels and walked out of the general’s office without another word or a glance backward.
Meadow remained motionless at she watched the man’s retreat. His parting words left her feeling as though she had just been kicked in the chest. There had been five children in her family, and only two had survived? The realization of how little she knew about her life with her real family overwhelmed her, and for the first time in her life, Meadow cried for the mother, father and siblings that she had never known.
It seemed as though she had been sitting there in the same spot—in the general’s big leather chair—and crying for hours as fuzzy, faceless images of laughing children and loving parents crowded into her shocked mind.
Then, the happy images turned to horror as she kept picturing the unimaginable—the murder of her innocent brothers, a baby sister and her poor parents. Although she would never know exactly what had happened on that October day long ago, Meadow knew that from this day forward she could never allow herself to forget that in another lifetime she had once been Mary McBain.
Chapter Twenty
Meadow had not left her quarters for three days, other than to make necessary trips to the outhouse. Soldiers silently brought her meals and collected the trays afterward. With the exception of a visit from the general two days earlier, she was being shunned by the entire population here at the fort. The general had only come long enough to tell her that arrangements were being made to send her back to Canada now that they had helped her find out about her family.
She cringed every time she thought about the way she had reacted when the private had told her what had happened to her real family. She couldn’t blame the people here at the fort for thinking that she was heartless and crazy.
But leaving before she had learned anything about Black Horse and the other Sioux prisoners made her feel as if she should beg everyone for forgiveness so that she could stay long enough to get the information she needed.
A loud banging on her door interrupted Meadow’s tortured thoughts. She wiped at the tears welling in the corners of her eyes and glanced in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her hair hung in long tangled tendrils over her shoulders. She was wearing her wrinkled sleeping gown.
“Who’s there?” she called out as she attempted to smooth her hair back from her forehead.
“Open the door,” came a stern male reply.
The pit of Meadow’s stomach felt like a lead ball. She did not recognize the voice, and the man on the other side of the door did not sound friendly at all. As she slowly took a step forward, another thundering knock echoed from the door.
“Mary McBain?” the man inquired in a loud voice.
Meadow had just reached for the door handle, but when the man asked for her by her white name, her
entire body froze. The sound of the man calling her by her white name seemed to strip her of all her identity. She couldn’t breathe for a moment. Finally, she forced her hand to clasp the handle as her other shaking hand undid the latch. With a deep breath, she pulled the door open and looked up at a golden-haired man with green eyes the exact same color as her own.
“Good Lord,” the man gasped as he stared. “You are the spitting image of our mother.”
There was no doubt who this man was, yet Meadow found it inconceivable that she was actually staring into the face of her own brother. Not one coherent thought entered her mind, and her knees began to feel as if they could no longer support the weight of her body. She felt herself sway forward in the doorway, and in the next instant, her brother was scooping her into his arms.
“I’m f-fine,” she stammered as he sat her in the nearby chair. “You’re just—It’s just—” she mumbled, then fell silent as she continued to stare at the man who knelt in front of her.
“I am your brother, Robert McBain—Lieutenant Robert McBain,” he announced. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
The concern in his voice sounded sincere, which surprised Meadow, since he had sounded so angry when he had been pounding on her door a few moments ago. “My brother,” she repeated slowly. How strange those words felt to her tongue.
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