by Lyn Cote
When they rode through town, Noah tried to keep his mind blank. The emotions and images from the day before kept trying to rise up and bring back the anger he’d burned with when he saw Ashford hit Sunny. The magnitude of his rage had scared him—still scared him. For those few moments he’d lost control, consumed by fury. Finally Sunny’s voice, her gentle voice, urgent but soothing, had penetrated his fiery haze. That had saved him. She had saved him.
“Sunny,” he said, “I was upset at Ashford for striking you. But if we stood out as different than everybody else, it was my anger, not your...charity.”
Sunny pressed against his back and tightened her arms linked around him under Dawn’s sling. “Maybe we can’t help being a bit different,” she said in a hesitant voice for his ears only. “I mean, you and me have lived different lives than most around here...” Her voice trailed off.
He pressed a hand over hers for a moment to show he understood. His tongue tied again, he couldn’t speak more. They rode unflinchingly through town, mostly deserted today. As if nothing was wrong, he doffed his hat at a woman coming out of the store and Sunny called out a friendly greeting.
When they put town behind them, Noah breathed easier but the thought of trying to find the Indian woman tightened his nerves—for many reasons.
They covered the remaining miles northward along the Mississippi till they reached the mouth of the Chippewa, flowing into the wide blue. Then they turned their backs to the big river and started eastward. Noah thought of the hungry woman. He’d never known hunger till serving in the army. It gnawed and weakened a person, sharpening every bad feeling.
Much to Noah’s relief they’d only ridden a few miles upriver when he saw a thin trail of smoke above the trees. “See,” he said to Sunny, pointing to it. “That might be her fire.” He urged his mount through the trees toward the smoke, hoping their quest had come to an end. They came out of the forest to a tiny rough clearing with the ruin of an old cabin, only half its roof intact.
The little boy stood in the gap where there should have been a door. Upon sight of them he ducked farther inside.
“Don’t be afraid!” Sunny called out. “I’m the lady who helped you in town yesterday. My husband and I have come like I promised. Where’s your mother?”
The little boy stepped outside. “Please. Come. She has a fever.”
Noah slid down and helped Sunny dismount. “Go on.”
Sunny hurried inside with Noah bringing up the rear. A low fire burned in the old fireplace and Bid’a ban lay by it, wrapped in a tattered blanket. “I’ve...we’ve come to help,” Sunny said simply, and knelt down by the woman.
With a soft exclamation Bid’a ban turned to her, looking starved and wan.
Sunny felt her forehead and then looked up at Noah. “She is feverish. I’ll need to make her some willow tea and something to eat.” She patted the woman’s arm. “Don’t worry now. I’ll do my best for you.”
Bid’a ban gripped her hand weakly and tried to speak but couldn’t.
Hurriedly, Noah brought in the saddlebags and lay them on the hard earth floor by his wife. The woman’s sickly pallor drained his relief at finding her. “I’m going to keep Dawn away from the contagion.”
“Good.” Sunny didn’t even glance at him. “But please. I need water.”
“I’ll get some,” the little boy said. He grabbed a water skin hanging by the fire and hurried outside.
Noah followed and watched the boy fill the skin with river water. Dawn had fallen snugly asleep against him. The dilapidated wreck of a cabin, probably built by a fur trapper years and years ago, depressed him. He brooded about Bid’a ban’s husband, no doubt buried somewhere far from home.
The boy’s father hadn’t wanted this for his wife and son. Resolve hardened inside Noah. He couldn’t help the thousands of war widows and orphans, but he could help this family—or what remained of it.
The boy hurried past Noah.
“After you take that inside, we’re going to gather wood and then fish,” Noah said.
“You got a hook and line?” The boy glanced up at him then, his eyes shadowed with fear.
“Always.” He remembered to smile as he followed toward the door. “Don’t you worry. My wife is good at nursing people to health.” He didn’t know where this assurance had come from, but Sunny had shown herself to be wise in many ways.
The boy came outside. Noah offered his hand. “I’m Noah Whitmore.”
“I’m Miigwans.” He put out his small hand, trusting Noah’s larger one.
Noah gripped it, letting the boy feel his support. Standing just outside the doorway, Noah watched Sunny quickly fill the trivet pot they’d brought. She set it in the fire to heat.
The woman seemed even weaker than yesterday. She barely made a sound or said a word. Sunny bathed her face with water.
Noah hoped the woman wasn’t as close to death as she appeared from her sunken eyes. But he could do nothing for her just standing here.
He forced himself to speak without betraying worry. “Miigwans, let’s find us a willow branch for a fishing pole.” The two headed for the riverbank, thick with black willow trees. “Your mother is in good hands.”
The boy reluctantly walked beside Noah, looking back at the cabin. Noah gripped the boy’s shoulder, encouraging him. “We’re here. Don’t worry.” He knew he was saying it as much for himself as the boy.
* * *
The long chilly night had ended. Sunny’s knees ached from kneeling on the cold hard earth beside Bid’a ban. Had her help come soon enough for this woman? Would she recover fully from this fever?
In the thin light of morning falling on them from the open roof, Sunny gazed at Noah. Sound asleep, he rested back against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Dawn slept on his chest in the sling that he still wore. And opposite Dawn, Miigwans rested his head on Noah’s belly, one arm thrown over him.
This sight told her everything about her husband. Once again she suppressed the physical pull toward him. Lord, You gave me a good man.
“Sunny?” Bid’a ban said, her voice a thread.
Sunny glanced down. “Good morning.” With an encouraging smile, she rested her wrist on the woman’s forehead. “Your fever broke early this morning.”
“I feel so weak.”
Sunny forced the worry from her voice. “That’s the fever’s work. But we’ll get you back to health soon.” Sunny knew that fevers that might not kill could still weaken a heart, a life. She prayed that wouldn’t be the case with this brave woman.
“Her fever broke?” Noah asked softly.
Sunny had a hard time holding in her gratitude toward him. Pressing down the words she wanted to say, she merely nodded.
“Let’s have some of that oatmeal then and head home.”
Oh, no, she couldn’t leave yet. “Noah, I can’t—”
“We’ll all go home. We can’t leave them here like this.” Noah addressed Bid’a ban. “Ma’am, you and your boy will come home with us. You need to get your strength back and we need to write the government about your widow’s pension.”
Bid’a ban began to weep.
Sunny understood. They were tears of relief. She patted the woman’s shoulder. “Don’t worry any more. My Noah will see that you get what’s coming to you.”
“I will,” Noah promised.
Suddenly Sunny realized a plain, simple, lovely truth: she had fallen in love with her husband.
If only he loved her back.
* * *
Dread pooled in Sunny’s middle. Just ahead lay town. And they must ride through it. The dense forest away from the flats of the Mississippi shore made travel too difficult. She and Bid’a ban rode on the horse. Noah had strapped the weak woman to Sunny so she wouldn’t fall off. Miigwans walked beside N
oah, who still carried Dawn in the sling. Her sweet daughter prattled happily, occasionally playing patty-cake to make Noah smile.
Sleeping nearly outside and not being able to shake out their clothing or even comb their hair—what a sight they would be. And with Bid’a ban and her son with them. Sunny knew the deep prejudice that most whites felt toward Indians.
She braced herself and lifted her chin higher.
They entered town. And only then did Sunny remember that it was Sunday. Her stomach sank to her knees. Nearly the whole community had gathered in front of Ashford’s store. And nearly the whole community turned to gawk at them. Sunny refused to bow her head. Stolidly she gazed at the faces turned toward her as if she weren’t doing anything unusual.
“Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore!” Old Saul called out from Ashford’s porch.
Noah doffed his hat but kept moving. Sunny nodded, acknowledging the older man’s greeting. But they didn’t pause. No one else said a word. Not even Gordy, there without Nan who was still lying in. That cut deep.
Well, they’d done it now. Nothing could have made them stand out more than what they’d just done. But Sunny couldn’t feel any dismay. And Noah looked determined in spite of it all. They might be outcasts from now on, but she couldn’t have stayed home and done nothing.
She—they—had done the right thing.
* * *
The next afternoon Noah heard the sound of a wagon coming close. Miigwans was helping him finish the spring house. After their parade through town during Sunday meeting, Noah couldn’t guess who was coming or what to expect. Then he saw Old Saul driving into the clearing.
“That old man was in town yesterday,” Miigwans said.
Who had Miigwans thought was coming? “Yes, he’s the preacher hereabouts. Come on.” Noah’s strained voice grated his throat. “We need to wash our hands and be polite.”
The two of them cleaned up and then Noah grimly strode to the wagon, dreading this visit. I don’t care what he says or what people think.
Noah took a deep breath and rested a hand on Miigwans’s shoulder. “Good day, Preacher.”
“Call me Old Saul,” the old man said.
After a polite nod, Noah helped him down as he had the last visit.
“Who is this young fellow?”
Noah introduced Miigwans, who was too shy to speak.
“I’m stiff,” Old Saul said. “It would be good for me to walk a bit. Show me how you’re doing on that spring house.”
“Miigwans has been helping me,” Noah replied, letting the man lean on his arm. Surely the preacher had heard about the ruckus in town between him and Ashford and he must have come to put his two cents in. Irritation bit and chewed on Noah’s mood.
The older man stood by the spring house, nodding with approval. “You’ve done well. I think I could use a cup of that good spring water of yours. I hear from Lavina you finished that table I saw you making on my last visit.”
After fetching the water, Noah led Saul to the house. The moment had come to introduce him to Bid’a ban. “Sunny, the preacher’s here.”
“I heard,” she replied. “Come in. I have the kettle on and am making fresh coffee.”
“Noah’s got spring water for me, but after that, a cup of coffee would be welcome, ma’am. And who is this?” he asked, after he crossed the threshold.
Standing beside Bid’a ban, who was lying in bedding near the fire, Sunny performed the introductions. Bid’a ban looked fearful and Noah wondered if she feared white people in general or some in particular.
Old Saul surprised Noah by kneeling beside the woman and taking her hand. “I’m so glad you found the help you needed, ma’am.” Then the old preacher said a prayer over her. “Miigwans,” he said. “I can get down by myself but I need a hand up.”
The little boy hurried to help him to his feet. Noah came, too, in case he was needed. He wanted to thank the old preacher for his prayer and kindness, but words couldn’t fit through Noah’s tight throat.
Old Saul patted the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, son. Noah, I’ll take that cold water now.”
Miigwans stayed beside his mother while Noah and Old Saul sat at the table. The older man ran his hand over the tabletop appreciatively. “I heard all about Ashford hitting your wife and then saw you ride through town with Bid’a ban and I figured out what had happened. I came to see if I could help.”
This struck Noah completely speechless.
Sunny spoke up. “Noah is going to write to Washington, D.C., for Bid’a ban so she can get her widow’s pension. Her husband served with the Union Army.”
Old Saul shook his head with evident sorrow. “We lost so many good men. War brings such suffering that words fail me.”
Then a familiar voice from outside hailed them, “Hello, the house!”
“It’s Martin!” Sunny exclaimed and got up, hurrying toward the door.
Noah and Old Saul trailed after her. Noah glanced at Martin’s round, honest face and grinned in spite of himself. The man sat beside a pretty woman and looked about to burst with pride. “Who is this lady with you, Martin?” Noah teased.
“This is my bride, Ophelia Steward. We won’t get down. I just wanted Ophelia to see where our closest neighbors live.” Then Martin carried out the introductions.
Ophelia was a pretty little thing with curly brown hair and big brown eyes. But if she had aged a day over seventeen Noah would eat his old hat.
Martin waved toward the back of his wagon where a cow was tied and a noisy crate of chickens sat. “I brought extra chickens to give you and the Osbournes so you’ll have eggs. And now we’ll have a milk cow, too.”
Noah congratulated him and thanked him for his generosity.
“I’ll come over and visit as soon as I can,” Sunny was saying. “We’re so glad you are here. Martin has worked so hard to make a home for you.”
Old Saul stepped forward. “We hope to see you this Sunday, weather permitting.”
“Yes, sir,” Ophelia said, “we’ll be there.”
“You’ll find you have another new neighbor,” Noah said.
Martin glanced at him. “Somebody else staked a homestead claim?”
“No, Nan and Gordy have a little girl now.”
“Well, that’s fine,” Martin said, beaming. “We’ll go now and meet our newest neighbor.” Then the young man’s face changed. “Who’s that standing in the door?”
Noah braced himself, hoping Martin wouldn’t turn against them as Gordy seemed to have done. “Miigwans, come here and meet our neighbors.”
The little boy reluctantly came to stand beside Noah.
“He and his mother are staying with us till she feels better.” Noah read the shock on both Martin’s and Ophelia’s faces as they took in that Miigwans wasn’t white.
The newlyweds left soon after this realization. Noah stiffened inside.
“They’re young,” Old Saul said. “They haven’t lived among strangers like you have, Noah.”
Noah looked into the wrinkled face. How did this old man sense things, sense Noah’s feelings? Then he noticed Saul’s fatigue. “Why don’t we go inside so you can finish your coffee?”
Old Saul took Noah’s arm and the two walked slowly into the cabin. Noah settled him into the rocker and brought his coffee to him.
Sunny looked worried and quickly sliced some corn bread and sprinkled it with sugar for Saul and then gave some to everyone.
“I thank you for that,” Old Saul said. “I was feeling down.” After he’d finished the snack, he looked at Noah. “Will you help me to my wagon?”
Noah moved to help Saul up, walked him out to the wagon and then boosted him up onto the bench.
Old Saul thanked him. “I can remember being a young sprout like that boy inside. I couldn’t si
t still and now I’m as creaky as a rusted gate.” He shook his head ruefully. “You and Sunny have done right to help this woman and child.”
“Most won’t like it.”
“God loves everyone regardless of their color. Don’t let what others think keep you away on Sunday.”
Noah didn’t think highly of this suggestion. “I’ll talk to Sunny.”
“Then I know I’ll see you on Sunday. You married a strong woman. Pretty, too.” He grinned and slapped the reins and soon the old wagon rocked away down the uneven track.
Sunny met Noah outside. “Don’t take it so hard. Martin and his bride will come around. And the Osbournes, too. They’re good people.”
Noah shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We did right. Did what we needed to do.”
Sunny leaned forward and rested her head on his chest. “That’s right.” Then she turned and hurried inside.
Awash in a flow of emotion and sensation, Noah watched her go and watched Miigwans come to him.
“Are we going to work some more?” the boy asked.
Noah ruffled his dark chocolate-colored hair. “Yes. Come on.” As he walked toward the spring house, he recalled what Sunny had said to him before about their being different because their lives had been so different. They had that in common, all right. And he went over what Saul had said. He had married a strong woman. And that was right and made him proud.
Noah knew too well how it felt to be rejected for being out of the ordinary. If his neighbors didn’t like them taking in these two—so be it.
* * *
Sunday morning had come and Noah climbed down the ladder from the loft, hearing the preacher’s words repeat in his mind. His nerves churned. But he knew that they had to go to worship.
Sunny had dressed earlier and was fixing breakfast. Now strong enough to sit at the table, Bid’a ban still looked much too thin and frail. Miigwans had become Noah’s shadow, trailing him outside where both of them washed their hands and faces.