Brave Heart

by Lindsay McKenna

  * * *

  “Welcome, Miss Rogan. I’m Adelaide Comstock, the commander’s wife.”

  Serena stared out of the wagon at a woman in her thirties dressed in a fine cotton dress. Her hair was braided and rolled into a bun on top of her hand. She held a parasol that matched the dark blue of her dress. She smiled up at Serena. Beside her was a younger woman, who stared at Serena with an open mouth.

  “Come, come. I want you to get a bath. Some of the ladies of the post have donated some clothes for you. I’m sure something will fit. Come down out of there, now.”

  Serena moved slowly—her wrists still bound. Sergeant Blake stood nearby.

  “Now, Mrs. Comstock, she’s wantin’ to escape,” the sergeant warned.

  Adelaide looked Serena Rogan up and down. She was positively filthy in the hide dress, and her braided hair needed not only to be washed, but combed. When she saw the dark stains across the top of Serena’s dress, Adelaide frowned. What on earth had caused that? she wondered. Not wanting to touch the woman, she stepped back.

  “Escort Miss Rogan into the bath quarters, Sergeant. Have two of the negress laundry women bathe and dress her. Then, have her brought over to our quarters for tea.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Blake gripped Serena by the arm and led her across the flat, hard-packed earth inside the fort.

  Adelaide turned to Rebecca Standing, one of the lieutenants’ wives. “Filthy, isn’t she?”

  “Lord above, Mrs. Comstock, she looks wild and angry.”

  “And did you see the hide dress across her bosom? I wonder why it’s so wet looking.”

  With a tremble, Rebecca, who carried a parasol in her gloved hands, said, “Surely the good captain will fill us in.”

  “Of course,” Adelaide said as she swept off the wooden porch and picked up her skirt. She spotted the blond-haired officer in the livery area.

  “Captain Anderson?“ she called gaily.

  Anderson turned. He tipped his hat. “Mrs. Comstock, Mrs. Standing.”

  Adelaide moved into the shade, not wanting her skin to burn or tan. “Captain, tell me about Miss Rogan. She looks very unhappy—and dirty.”

  “Well,” he said, “she doesn’t want to be here, ma’am. She tried to escape several times.”

  “My, my. Doesn’t she realize she’s very fortunate to be among us?”

  “I don’t think so, ma’am.”

  “Er, Captain, what are those stains across the woman’s bosom?”

  Flushing, Anderson avoided their inquiring gazes. “Uh…well, apparently Miss Rogan had a baby five months ago by one of those heathen savages.”

  “Oh, dear,” Adelaide whispered. “Of all things. How terrible!”

  “She’s a soiled woman,” Rebecca whispered. “Imagine, being forced to have a baby by one of those filthy redskins.”

  Adelaide frowned. “Whether she knows it or not, she’s well rid of the brat. It’s nothing but a half-breed. Miss Rogan would be scorned by good townspeople if she had come back with the baby. It’s just as well she left it behind.”

  “I don’t think she feels that way,” Anderson warned them diplomatically. “Miss Rogan swears that she chose to live with the redskins. The man who told us about her, Mr. Kingston, had a different story.”

  “Well,” Adelaide said dramatically, “everyone in these parts knows Blackjack Kingston. He’s a man of honor. His word is good enough for me.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Miss Rogan is soiled goods. What man would ever want her for a wife? She’s been living with a heathen redskin and had his brat.”

  “If she’s smart,” Adelaide said, “she’ll keep that ugly little secret to herself.”

  “I’m just glad she’s not staying here,” Rebecca said as she opened her parasol and stepped into the hot sunlight. “Why, she’s a fallen woman, Mrs. Comstock. All the soldiers would do is follow her around.”

  With a laugh, Adelaide agreed. “Miss Rogan is only staying overnight. We’ll treat her with courtesy by having a tea party in her honor. I’m sure she’ll appreciate tea after the past three days of traveling. Come, I want to make sure Millie has everything set up properly.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Miss Serena Rogan, I want you to meet the God-fearing people who have so kindly volunteered to take you in for the next year,” Major John Hale said frankly. Hale had met the military wagon train at the Ohio border three weeks ago. He stood gripping Serena’s arm as two farm people approached. “I’d like you to meet Frederick and Camille Gent. They are known in these parts for their generosity toward others.”

  Serena stood apprehensively as the Gents came forward to meet her. Her hands were tightly knotted in the skirt of her yellow calico dress. The shoes on her feet hurt; in fact, she had refused to wear them throughout the trip except for now.

  Her gaze moved to the short thickset man, who had a graying beard and small, close-set blue eyes. Gent must be in his forties, Serena guessed. He carried a pitchfork in his wide, thick, callused hands. He wore a black hat with a brim, a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up on his hairy arms, and black trousers held up by suspenders. Behind him, wearing a dark green cotton dress, was Camille, who stood with her head bowed. She was thin faced, nervous looking, and appeared to be much younger than he—perhaps in her early twenties. Serena’s senses shouted in alarm, and she took a step back against Hale.

  Gent’s face was round, his flesh sunburned, his cheeks blazing bright red. There was something about the man that frightened Serena, and she felt panic deep within her. When would her nightmare existence cease? On the wagon train, she had had to be guarded twenty-four hours a day because many of the soldiers thought she was nothing more than a soiled dove after word leaked out that she had lived with the Sioux and had a baby by one of them. The men either hated her and spurned her with noxious glances, or felt she was bedding material and had no respect for her at all. The three-month battle to save herself from being raped once again had finally ended. Or had it?

  Gent shook hands with the major and then looked down at Serena. “Welcome to our humble Ohio farm, Miss Rogan.“ He turned and waited until his small, short wife drew abreast of him. “This is my wife, Mrs. Gent.”

  Serena nodded warily to the couple. Gent’s face didn’t change. Camille smiled slightly and did a bob curtsy.

  Serena wondered if the chains that bound her feet would finally be taken off. The army had tired of her escape attempts and had treated her like a prisoner, placing chains around her ankles to prevent her from slipping away.

  “I must warn you,” Hale told them severely, “that Miss Rogan does not want to remain in the civilized world. She’d rather go back to those savages.”

  “Because my baby is back there!” Serena flared at the officer.

  Camille gasped; her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes were wide with shock.

  Serena jerked her head in the woman’s direction. She saw the censure in her eyes, just as she’d seen it in those of everyone who knew she’d had a baby by an Indian.

  “God help you,” Gent murmured apologetically, and he shook his shaggy head.

  “And I don’t believe in your God, either!” Serena added in a whisper. “I was taught unselfishness, caring and generosity by the Lakota people. All I’ve gotten since my recapture is chains and guards and people looking down upon me as if I’m some sort of monster because I had a child by the man I love. A man who is still my husband!”

  Major Hale nudged Serena forward. “She’s all yours, Mr. Gent. I would strongly advise you keep her in chains until you’re very sure she doesn’t want to go back to those savages. She’s like a lot of the women we’ve gotten back from them—they take the good Lord’s name in vain and spurn the white society. You’re going to have your hands full, I warn you.”

  Gent slid a glance up and down Serena. There was disgust mirrored in his features. “I can assure you, Major, that Miss Rogan will learn once again that our Lord is her savior. Nightly reading of the Bibl
e will teach her that.”

  Serena glared at the farmer. “I can’t read, and if I did, I would refuse to read your Bible!”

  “God help us,” Camille whispered in a frightened voice.

  Hale cleared his throat. “In the months she has been with us, she has been very angry and upset, Mr. Gent. Miss Rogan will say just about anything to make us let her go.”

  Gent nodded. “I understand, Major. In the Netherlands we didn’t spare the rod to spoil the child. I think what Miss Rogan needs is a strong, guiding hand to bring her back to the ways of our Lord and to her people.”

  Hale tipped his hat in Camille’s direction. “We must continue our journey eastward, so if you’ll excuse me?“ Hale handed Frederick an envelope. “And here is the promised money for keeping Miss Rogan until she understands that she’s a white woman, not an Indian.”

  With a gasp, Serena eyed the envelope passing between their hands. “Whose money is that?“ she demanded.

  “From your benefactor, Mr. Kingston,” Hale replied.

  “What?”

  “Of course. Didn’t they tell you? He had gone to the nearest fort and given a reward of one thousand dollars for your return to us. The man is incredibly generous. He said he did it out of a guilty conscience because he’d brought you from Ireland to be his washerwoman. Of course, after you were captured—”

  “I wasn’t captured!” Serena cried and stamped her foot. “You know that!”

  Hale drew himself up, giving her a bored look. He glanced over at the Gents, apology in his tone. “Miss Rogan claims Mr. Kingston raped her and beat her. Then he threw her out into the wilds to die. Of course, the money you hold, Mr. Gent, is Mr. Kingston’s generous reward for Miss Rogan’s return to us. I don’t see how Miss Rogan could be telling the truth. Mr. Kingston is a fine, upstanding citizen in the Dakota Territory.”

  Gent fingered the envelope with a slight smile. “She’s gotten away from the Lord, Major. Don’t worry. In a year’s time, Miss Rogan will have come back to us. I won’t disappoint Mr. Kingston.“ He waved the envelope in the air. Then, glancing over at Serena, he said, “Come with us, girl. And no more back talk. I won’t put up with it from my wife, and I certainly won’t put up with it from you.”

  Serena glared at the short, thickly muscular farmer. “Get these chains off me.”

  Gent smiled as he watched the officer move back to the wagon and mount his horse. “Not until you can prove to me that you won’t run away.“ He pointed somberly at the envelope in his hand. “A fine, respected man paid good money to see you come back to us. By the Lord’s will, I’ll carry out Mr. Kingston’s wishes. Camille?”

  She hurried over to her husband. “Yes, dear?”

  “Go down to the barn. Fix a place in the first stall, the brood mare’s stall. Put fresh straw in there.”

  Camille gave her husband a startled look. She knew better than to ask why, for he was a man with a short temper. Long ago, he’d taught her not to ask such silly questions.

  “Of course, dear,” she said, and she hurried down the slight incline toward their cabin, which was surrounded with fields of corn, wheat and grass.

  Gent grinned a little as he gestured for Serena to move ahead of him. “So, you like being a savage, do you? Well, you shouldn’t mind staying out in the barn, then, with all the animals. The Injuns I’ve seen are a drunken lot, caught up in the devil’s ways by drinking firewater.”

  Serena moved ahead, awkward in the leather shoes on her feet, the chains forcing her to take small, mincing steps. She hated the shoes, and swore to get rid of them as soon as she could.

  Looking around as the sun hovered on the horizon, Serena studied her new prison. Gent’s farm wasn’t big, but it had a few milk cows, six workhorses and a pen of chickens. The house sat in the middle of a large cleared area. The September air was filled with the fragrance that came with the change of seasons, and Serena inhaled the scents deeply into her lungs. As it did so often, her mind revolved back to her tribe, to Wolf. The camp would be moving back toward the Dried Willow constellation at this time, preparing once again for the coming winter.

  As she walked down the incline toward the cabin, which had a porch, she saw chickens industriously scratching into the rich black soil of the yard, hunting for insects. There were several sheep in another pen, whose wool was used to make clothes. The place was clean and neat; there were no broken windows, and no doors hung at awkward angles from leather straps. Serena saw that the barn was a fairly large one-story structure made of boards that had weathered gray from many harsh winters.

  “Now,” Gent told her as she walked a few steps ahead of him, “we’ll treat you like you want to be treated. If you act like a savage, I will beat it out of you with my belt. If you act like a lady,” he added with disgust, “which I doubt you will, then you will be treated as such. My father raised me with discipline and sternness. It makes no difference if you’re a woman or not. If you don’t do as I order, you will be punished.”

  His threats made her skin crawl, and Serena clamped her mouth shut. As they entered the gloomy interior of the barn, she saw Camille standing expectantly at the door to what would be Serena’s stall. She could smell the new-mown hay drying above the stalls.

  “It’s ready, dear.”

  “Good.“ Gent grunted. “Go get her another dress. You’re about the same size. This one she’s wearing stinks. She needs a bath.“ He picked up one of Serena’s braids.

  She jerked away from him, nearly falling over the chains.

  “From now on,” Gent growled, “you wear your hair in a style becoming a lady, not a squaw.”

  “I will wear my hair the way I want!” Serena whispered angrily. “You cannot make me change my hair!”

  With a slight smile, Gent shrugged. “Have it your way. When I come out here tomorrow morning to show you your duties, your hair had better be looking like my wife’s or you’ll get your first beating with my leather strap.“ He touched the thick belt around his waist and tapped it with his fingers as if it were a good friend. “It’s your choice.”

  “You’re no different from any other white,” Serena spit, backing away until she could go no farther, the stall wall halting her retreat. “All you know are threats and violence! My husband is a medicine man, the most gentle person I know. He never laid a hand on me, never threatened me. You don’t respect women,” she rattled, her voice dangerously off-key, “you use violence to keep us in line. Is it any wonder I want to go home? My home isn’t with you! It never will be!”

  Serena’s voice echoed eerily through the barn. She saw Gent’s face grow flushed, and saw him tense. He curled his large, stubby fingers into fists at his sides.

  “I don’t take back talk from any woman,” he shouted, and he grabbed her by the arm and shoved her roughly.

  Serena fell into the fresh straw that had been spread on the hard dirt floor. She saw Gent’s bulblike nose grow bright red, its blood vessels looking like blue spiderwebs across the surface of his skin as he charged toward her like a crazed bull. She muffled a cry when she saw him unbuckling his belt as he approached. She tried to protect herself from his unexpected attack by curling up into a tight ball and placing her arms over her head.

  As the strap struck her across the arms, back and legs, Serena bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting blood. She refused to cry out, to beg for mercy. Pain stung her flesh, radiating outward. He was hitting her as hard as he could, and she cringed with each snap of the leather belt biting into her tender flesh. Anger warred with pain. Tears squeezed from beneath her tightly shut eyes. She endured—as she had endured under Kingston’s hand. Finally, Gent moved away, his breathing ragged.

  “When my wife returns,” he rasped as he slid the belt back through the loops of his trousers, “you will strip down, you will wash and you will unbraid that hair of yours. You will look like a white woman or else.”

  * * *

  “You’ve got to follow my husband’s orders!” Camille begged urgentl
y as she stood just inside the stall, her voice in a whisper. “It’s been a month, Serena, and you just can’t go on taking these beatings. Give up!”

  Serena looked at the woman, who was a timid mouse in her husband’s shadow. Her eyes softened. “Please, let me go, Cammy. You know I belong back with my people, my husband. I know you’re childless, but you’re a woman. You must know how much I miss my baby.“ She stood there with her hands outstretched, the end of the six-foot length of chain still bolted to the stall wall. “You have the key. You could unlock these chains and let me go.”

  With a shudder, Cammy shook her head. “Oh, no, Serena. Please, don’t ask me that! You know Frederick would beat me within an inch of my life if I helped you escape.“ She twisted her hands and said, “Give up. Stop braiding your hair. Try to learn to read the Bible. When I married Frederick, he was a kind man, but when we came to America he changed. He became so worried about us making it here that he started losing his temper all the time. At first I tried to fight back, like you, but Lord help me, it only made it worse.”

  Ashamed, Camille wrung her hands and looked down at her feet. “The worst of it was that I finally got pregnant. We were so happy. I’d been afraid I was barren, and he wanted at least eight children. A drunk Indian came by one day, and he chased me around the farm. I was screaming and yelling for help, but Frederick was in town getting our monthly supplies. The Indian finally left, disappeared into the woods. I started bleeding shortly after that.”

  Touching her wrinkled brow, Camille whispered in a painful tone, “I lost my baby, Serena. Frederick came home that night and found me passed out on the floor, bleeding. The doc came out two days later and told us I’d lost the baby. Frederick has hated Injuns ever since.“ She touched her flat stomach with her work-worn hand. “He hasn’t hit me since, but he’s got all this rage bottled up inside himself. I know he’s grieving, and he blames Injuns for what happened.”