by Anita Mills
It seemed to take forever to get to the pond, and when she arrived there, she was breathless and sweating. The night had remained warm and muggy. “Evy!” she screamed. She shouted the name over and over, but there was no reply.
“You must go, Wild Horse,” old Wise Owl Woman told him in the Cheyenne tongue. “It is only a matter of time before the soldiers find you.”
Wild Horse came out from behind the inner wall of the old woman’s tipi. The Cheyenne had erected a second wall of skins within the outer layer, so that there was a space in between where Wild Horse could hide, yet to the soldiers it looked as though there was only one layer of skins. Wild Horse had hidden by staying with the old woman, who the soldiers thought lived alone. Whenever soldiers or other white men came around, he hid between the skins; but Wild Horse knew that this time was different. This time the soldiers were being extra cautious, checking every dwelling twice.
“It will be night soon,” Wise Owl Woman told him. “You can escape then. The soldiers will soon give up their search until morning, and for now they have something more important to look for.”
“More important? What is that?”
“They came for the white preacher. They told him his little daughter is missing. She cannot be found anywhere.”
Wild Horse’s eyes widened, and he grasped the old woman’s arms. “Evy? The little white girl with the golden hair?”
“Aye. That is the one. The search for her has gotten their attention. It is a good time for you to get away now.”
Wild Horse went to the tipi entrance and peeked out. Things had quietened, but there were still a few soldiers about. Far in the distance he could hear men shouting Evy’s name. What had happened to that precious child? It would kill Maggie if her daughter should come to harm. Where had she gone? If she had run away, then why? He realized the first place she might go was the pond, perhaps to find him. His heart pounded with dread at what could have happened to her. Maggie must surely be beside herself with fear and dread. “I cannot leave yet, not until the girl is found,” he told the old woman.
“But this is the best time! They will find her, Wild Horse! Do not concern yourself. Many men look for her.”
He pulled on a shirt. “But none have the skills to find her that I have.”
“It is too dangerous! Do not do it, Wild Horse! Get yourself away from here!”
He turned away, his heart crying out for the child…and for Maggie. For one brief moment he thought he might be able to possess her, but he should have known better than to try. She was too honorable to give herself to another man, but he knew she had so wanted to belong to him, just for a little while. Now it could be his fault that Evy was missing. He could not leave this way, without knowing what had happened to the child, without knowing Maggie had her little girl back in her arms.
He shook his head, leaving his shirt open as he pulled on a pair of buckskin pants and laced them. “I will look for her,” he told Wise Owl Woman. “Get my horse and supplies ready. When I have found the girl, I will come back for them and then I will go.” He picked up a rifle he had stolen from a settler weeks earlier. If he found Evy, she might need some kind of protection. He also picked up a blanket and slung it over his shoulder. “Do not worry about me, old woman. Just have my things ready for when I return.”
“It is a very unwise thing you do, Wild Horse.”
He thought about Maggie…the pond. “It will not be the only unwise thing I have done today.” He looked out again. For the moment there were no soldiers in sight, and he was out of the light of a distant campfire. He ducked outside and disappeared into the darkness.
Margaret felt numb and unreal. She shivered, even though the night was warm and she sat with a blanket wrapped around her head and shoulders. An oil lamp burned beside her, and all around the pond and through the trees and underbrush beyond it other lights danced, men searching and calling for Evy. Some even waded in the pond, which because of the late-summer drought, was no deeper in the center than a man’s chest. They, too, held up lights, as they dragged ropes and blankets and anything else they could find through the water, hoping that if Evy’s little body was under that water, they would catch it and get her out.
She couldn’t be dead! Sick dread overwhelmed Margaret until she thought she might vomit. She had cried until everything ached. Her throat hurt, her eyes burned, sharp pains jabbed at her chest. She watched Edward come toward her then. He was soaked to the skin from searching the pond himself, and his eyes showed the same desperation she felt herself. He sat down wearily beside her. “At least she hasn’t turned up in the pond,” he said, his voice dull with sorrow. “That gives us some hope. Maybe she didn’t come here at all, Maggie. If she got lost, a little child like that couldn’t get far. One of these men will find her.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just don’t like the idea that some Cheyenne man might find her.”
“They would never hurt her,” Margaret answered.
“You don’t know that. You think you know them so well, but the soldiers think some of the Indian men could be fascinated by your and Evy’s light hair. You’re a grown woman with a husband, but Evy…she’s the kind of child the Cheyenne would love to have as a captive, to raise as their own and save for some warrior’s special wife.”
Margaret closed her eyes. “Honestly, Edward, do you really think these reservation Indians would be stupid enough to try to keep a little girl on the agency without anyone knowing about it? The days of making war and taking captives are over. The child is simply lost. Maybe it will be a Cheyenne who finds her. If it is, he or she will bring her to us and that will be the end of it.”
He sighed deeply. “I don’t know. Right now I just hope she’s still—” He could not finish the sentence, and he rubbed at his eyes. “My God, Maggie, why had you been coming here in the first place? I told you a long time ago to stay away from here. It’s too close to the agency, and it’s so hidden. Anything could have happened.”
Something did happen—something wonderful, beautiful, special. “I came here because this was our special place,” she answered aloud. “Here Evy and I could be ourselves.” She faced him. “We could laugh and play. Evy could splash naked in the water and chase butterflies and catch tadpoles and know the joy of life.” She looked away. “If anything has happened to Evy, I won’t let you blame me for it, Edward. You’re to blame, for forcing us to seek out a place where our spirits could be free and where it wasn’t a sin to smile.”
Edward rose and paced. “I don’t know you anymore.”
“You have never known me, Edward. You have never bothered trying to know me. You have never asked what makes me happy, what pleases me. All these years I have been trying to please you. But here, at the pond, I didn’t have to please you…only myself and Evy.”
Men shouted back and forth to each other but still no sign of Evy. “We’ll search all night if we have to,” a sergeant yelled to one of his men. “Men have been sent to search the agency again. God only knows what could happen to her if some damn, drunk Indian gets hold of her.”
“Dear God, help us,” Edward muttered.
“No Indian is going to hurt her,” Margaret repeated matter-of-faclty.
He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re so sure of that.”
“Yes, I am. The Cheyenne cherish children like they were little angels from heaven.” Her voice broke on the words, for Evy truly was that.
“I still don’t understand how you seem to know so much about the Cheyenne,” Edward told her, needing to talk about something besides Evy. “One would think you were in personal contact with one of them.”
Margaret kept quiet. Wild Horse’s presence must be kept a secret. She looked at her husband. “What matters is that I managed to get them to listen to you, didn’t I? I haven’t heard you thank me for that, Edward, or praise me for it. I wanted to help, and I did, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference to you.”
He knelt in front of her then. “It made a great
deal of difference, Maggie. It was a hard pill to swallow, and I haven’t quite known how to tell you that I’m grateful. I am not accustomed to a woman taking charge like that, stepping in for the husband. I’ve always been taught that the woman and children are to be silent. They are to stay home and tend the home and learn their prayers and read the Bible diligently, and—”
“Edward.” Margaret interrupted him, leaning closer and studying his eyes in the lantern light. “Haven’t you ever wanted to do something fun? Haven’t you ever wanted to tell a joke and laugh, or to dance, or take off your clothes and feel the sun and wind against your body?”
He blinked, dumbfounded. “What?”
“Evy liked to laugh. She liked to be naked and to let the sun burn her skin and dance in the wind. She liked to learn about nature, and we did those things here. If she died here, then she died happy.” She choked in a sob. “My God, Edward, listen to what I am trying to tell you. Think what a joy Evy has been to our lives. Maybe God has put in us this fear of losing her just so you can understand what she means to you. You love her with so much passion that right now you want to weep for the want of her. We can share this sorrow and our love can grow stronger from it.”
He watched her for a very long time, then turned away, crouching on his knees and bending over. His shoulders shook, but his weeping was silent. She touched his shoulder. “Edward, let me hold you.”
He breathed in a deep sob. “I don’t…know how to…do this, Maggie.”
In all their years of marriage, it was the most touching thing he had ever said to her. She stood up, taking his arm. “Come here, my darling.”
He rose, and in the next moment he grasped her and held her tight against him, weeping, clinging to her in a way he never had before. “I can’t…live…without Evy,” he admitted.
Margaret could not reply. A wave of mixed emotions flooded over her. How ironic that possibly the only way to reach her husband had been to lose her child. It was not a fair price to pay, and she could not believe that God would ask it of her. He would bring Evy back to them.
Chapter Seven
Wild Horse’s keen ears could hear the tiny whimperings on the wind. He paused and listened again, walked quietly toward the sound. After several hundred yards the sound grew more distinct—a child crying. It was dark, but he knew this land well, and he realized he was near a steep bank, at the bottom of which was a creek. His eyes were accustomed to the darkness now, and by the moonlight he could tell he was on the edge of the bank. The crying came from below.
He wrapped the blanket he had brought around his shoulders and carefully made his way down the bank, his moccasins slipping twice on the tall grass. When he finally reached the bottom, he paused again. The creek was nearly dried up from the heat, so that the trickle of water made hardly any sound. Now he could tell that the crying came from what looked in the darkness like a large boulder. He walked toward it, then smiled with relief. Who else would be out here crying but little Evy? He walked around the boulder, and there she sat, crouched against it. “So, here you are,” he said softly.
Evy, startled by the sight of such a big man looming in the moonlight, let out a little scream and started crying harder. Wild Horse set his rifle aside and knelt in front of her. “I am sorry, little one. I did mean to frighten you. It is I, Wild Horse. You do not have to be afraid.”
“Wild Horse,” she whimpered.
She threw her arms around his neck, and a wave of emotion swept over him. Memories of another little girl clinging to him made him want to weep. He had let go of his Singing Bird for just a moment, so that he could turn around and fight off a soldier, and in that quick moment another soldier had run his sword through her heart. He knew now that the men who had attacked Sand Creek that day were not regular army, but civilian volunteers from Colorado, men determined to rid their territory of its scourge—the Cheyenne. Their act of bravery had involved murdering and mutilating hundreds of women and children. Among them had been his precious Little Eagle and Singing Bird, and his beautiful Rain Woman.
He held Evy close. That first day he had seen her playing at the pond with Maggie had brought back memories of his own wife and little girl doing that same thing in another time…another place. He realized that his love and desire for Maggie were really just a longing to have back that which he had lost. Maggie was right in stopping him. Nothing could ever come of allowing such passion to blossom.
“Everyone is looking for you. Your mother is very worried, little one,” he said aloud, patting her bottom. “Did you not hear soldiers shouting for you? They are not so far away.”
“I was afraid,” she sobbed, still clinging to him. “I didn’t know if they were good men…or bad men…and I’m afraid my mommy and daddy will be mad at me for going to the pond alone.”
“But why were you going there? And how did you end up here?” Wild Horse pulled away and took the blanket from his shoulders. He wrapped it around her shivering little form and moved her onto his lap.
“I was…looking for you,” she whimpered, using part of the blanket to wipe at her dirty, tear-stained face. “I got lost. It got dark…and I fell down that big hill.”
Wild Horse grinned. Yes, to a child the bank would seem like a big hill. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t know.” She shivered in a sob. “I hurt my knee and my arm. And I bumped my head. I think I fell asleep or something. It wasn’t dark when I fell. When I woke up it was dark…and I didn’t know where I was, or what to do.”
Fell asleep? Perhaps she had hit her head harder than she realized. “You lie still. When you are warm and rested, I will take you to your mother.” He patted her back. “Why were you looking for me, little one?” She seemed to be calmer, now that she knew she was safe.
Evy rested her head against his broad chest. “I heard a lady say the soldiers were looking for you…and that they would kill you or send you away. She said they knew where you were.” She straightened, looking at him in the moonlight and crying harder. “I didn’t tell, Wild Horse! I didn’t tell!” she sobbed.
Wild Horse put a big hand to the side of her face. “Do not cry, Evy. I believe you. You are my special little friend, and you keep a good secret. They must have found out some other way.” This time it was he who used part of the blanket to wipe at her face. “You must promise me that never again will you go off alone without telling anyone.”
“I…promise,” she sniffed.
Wild Horse grinned, holding her against him again. “You rest, little one. The sun will rise soon. I will take you back, and then you and your mother and father will be happy again.”
Evy felt safe in his arms. “Don’t let the soldiers catch you, Wild Horse.”
He realized he had to take her back to Fort Reno. “I may have no choice,” he answered, “but do not fear for me, little one. I will find a way to keep from being caught,” he assured her so that she would stop crying. “I will find a way.” He knew he should take her back right away, but it felt good to hold her…to remember another little girl who had clung to him this way.
Wild Horse rose with Evy in his arms. Birds were greeting a gray sky that had lightened slowly because of clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, suggesting that soon a much-needed rain would come. He knelt down and picked up his rifle, keeping Evy in one arm. She stirred and rubbed at her eyes.
“Where are we, Daddy?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“It is not your daddy. It is Wild Horse, remember? Are you all right, little one?”
Evy blinked and looked around, her cheeks rosy from the warmth of sleep, her lips puckered in curiosity. Her big blue eyes rested on Wild Horse then, and there came the dimpled smile that he so loved. “You found me when it was dark!”
He smiled. “Yes. Now you have slept and are rested. I will take you back to your mother. Keep the blanket around you. I think it will rain soon.” He started up the bank, and Evy touched feathers he had tied into his hair.
“Why do you wear these?
” she asked.
Wild Horse reached the top of the bank and looked around cautiously. “Feathers have many meanings to my people,” he answered. “Some are for war, some for prayer, some represent number of enemy a man has touched or killed.”
“Are the soldiers your enemy, Wild Horse?” She rested her head against his shoulder as he started walking with her.
“To someone like me, yes, they are enemy. But you should not think of them as all bad. They are just men doing what they are told to do. One day you will understand, when you are older.” He stopped for a moment, looking into her face. “You will not forget Wild Horse, will you?”
She shook her head, her curls bouncing. “Never! Mommy says someday we’ll go back home to Mass—Mass—Masschooets. Nobody there knows any Indians. Mommy and I can tell everybody we had an Indian friend.” She sobered. “You could go with us, Wild Horse.”
He smiled sadly. “I do not think I would much like it there. People like the places where they come from. They miss them, just like your mommy misses her home in that place in the East. I miss my home, to the north. I will take you home, and then I will leave. I will go to my true home. Then we will all be happy.”
Evy rested her head on his shoulder. “But I will miss you, Wild Horse.”
“And I will miss you, little one, you and your mother. But we must not be sad about it, for you will know that I am happy, and I will know that you are also happy. It is a good thing we do. Do not ever cry for me, Evy. Whatever happens to me, I will be happier than if I must stay here and live. Do you understand that?”