Dan glanced at Dove, puzzled. “But you thought she was dead. You said once that you knew she was gone because that Pawnee had her scalp and her ring.”
“He did.” Chris’s lips contracted, and anger flashed in his eyes. “Dove told me about it on the river. When the Pawnees attacked our camp, Red Ghost took a fancy to Dove and claimed her for his slave. When she resisted him, he beat her bad, and took her anyway. But she fought him every time he got close to her. The other bucks laughed at him, told him he was no man. When they got back to the camp, they all got drunk to celebrate the raid. Red Ghost was like most Indians—goes crazy when he gets whiskey. He went for Dove, and when she fought him in front of everybody, he picked up a club and hit her in the head—and then he scalped her in front of them all and cut her finger off to get her ring.”
“If he was mad enough to scalp her, I’m surprised he let her live.”
“He was too drunk to know,” Chris explained. “They all thought she was dead, I reckon, but she come around. When Indians scalp a white man, they take the whole scalp, but with another Indian, they just take the scalp lock—cut a circle of skin about two inches in diameter and take it with the lock. You can’t see it because her hair’s so thick, but Dove’s got a bald spot where the hair was taken.”
“When Red Ghost saw her alive,” he continued, “he sold her and the boy to Black Elk, a buck from another branch of the Pawnees from up north. That’s where she’s been all these years.” He shook his head, and his eyes clouded over. “It was Red Ghost’s idea of revenge to let me think they were dead.”
“A strange and terrible thing,” Dan murmured softly. “Well, let’s get her inside.”
Chris went to the back of the wagon and scooped up Dove in his arms, gently carrying her into the house, followed closely by Sky. In Dove’s room, Missy had folded the covers back, and now pulled them over the frail body after he put her down. Chris remained standing beside the bed, looking down at Dove’s face. Suddenly he turned to face Missy. “I can’t let you do this!”
“I’m not doing it for you, Chris,” she replied quietly, and her face was pale but fixed on the still form under the blankets. “I’m doing it for me.”
Instantly he knew what she meant, and the two of them walked without another word into the kitchen. “I’ll unhitch the team, Dan,” Chris said.
He turned to go, and Missy quickly joined him. “I’ll help you.”
Asa watched them move toward the barn, then looked at his father with bewilderment.
“Missy and Chris—they’ll never get married?”
“Chris has a wife, Asa.”
“But—they’re not really married, are they? I mean it was just an Indian thing; it wasn’t real—you know, legal—was it?”
Dan put his hand on Asa’s shoulder and said, “To a man like Christmas Winslow, it’s a real marriage, Asa. He told me that once. Said she was his wife just as much as if they’d stood up in front of a hundred preachers with a piece of paper.”
Asa mulled that over, and as his active mind probed the future, doubt furrowed his forehead. “Most people around here don’t like Indians. I heard you say that the members of Brother Sawell’s church ran him off because he married a German woman who didn’t speak English much. It’s gonna be hard for the preacher at the church to have an Indian wife and son.”
The same thought had been on Dan Greene’s mind. Much as he loved the people at his church, he knew that Asa had accurately laid the problem bare. There were no preachers with Indian wives, and the sturdy minister’s face was grave with unspoken doubts.
Outside, neither Missy nor Chris spoke as he led the team to the barn. The silence and the tension grew unbearable. When they got to the barn, Missy turned to face him. “We have to talk, Chris. Tell me all about it.”
He told her the details of the rescue. She cried when he told her of Con’s death, and listened silently when he related how Sky had tried to run away. Finally he said, “I never dreamed it would come to this, Missy. But now that it’s come, I’m bound to do what I can for her and the boy.”
She avoided his eyes. “It’ll be hard, Chris. You know better than I do about how some people hate all Indians. Even church-going folks. You’ll have trouble with the congregation.”
“Yes.” Then he said, “I still think you’re making a mistake, Missy—nursing Dove, I mean,” and for the first time since they’d left her house, he turned and looked at her fully. “There’s going to be a hard time for Dove and Sky, and for me, of course. But no one expects you to...” He sought for a word, couldn’t find it, then shrugged. “Listen to me, Missy. I’ve got no choice but to marry Dove legally and make a home for her and the boy. But there’ll never be a time when I won’t love you.”
His quiet confession broke her control, and she bit her lips to keep them from trembling. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. As a child Missy often irritated her family with her single-minded approach to life. Once something caught her attention, everything else was put aside, closing the horizons of her world until that single passion occupied all her attention. Collecting birds’ eggs, reading, riding Thunder—she had filled her life with those things. But when she fell in love with Chris, she became so absorbed with thoughts of him and the life they would share together that she ached with happiness. And now it was over. Gone.
She wanted to run away, to lose herself in the warm darkness, but she was too strong for that.
After a long pause she said, “Christmas?”
“Yes, Missy?”
For the last time her hand reached out and touched his shoulder, and when he turned his head to look at her, she spoke in tones as gentle as the breeze that moved her blond hair off her forehead. “I’ll always love you—but I’ll never be a burden to you.”
He knew they would not have a moment like this ever again. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he slowly put his arm around her, and she let herself be drawn into his embrace. His kiss was gentle, and she took it, then pulled back, saying, “Goodbye, Christmas.”
A sense of unbearable loss overwhelmed him. “Goodbye, Missy.” And they left the barn and returned to the house—silent as the stars that glittered overhead.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GENERATION OF VIPERS
Despite the best that Dr. Miller could do, White Dove’s condition did not improve during the weeks Missy cared for her. She lost weight, and it was a constant struggle to get her to eat. Dr. Miller came often, and on the third week Missy followed him outside, away from the house. “She’s a little better, isn’t she, Doctor?” she asked. Dr. Miller, a heavy man with a full beard and sharp black eyes, fingered the heavy watch chain that dangled from his vest as he considered the question. “I’m not happy with her progress, Missy. She’s still pretty weak, but I think it’ll be safe to move her to Pineville by the end of the week.”
“She’s scared to death of us.”
“Well, that’s understandable. She’s been jerked out of the only life she’s known—and thrown into another world, completely foreign to her,” Dr. Miller explained. “To make matters worse, the treatment she suffered while she was held captive by that hostile tribe of Indians was just about enough to kill any woman—so it’s no wonder that now she’s weak and confused. But she’ll come around. Just give it some time.” The doctor directed his sharp gaze at her. “Besides, it seems to me that White Dove is not the only one who has had to make some... adjustments lately. Guess you know the whole town’s talking about you, the way you’ve been taking care of Brother Winslow’s wife. It’s—well, I must say it’s pretty unusual.”
Missy said, “Caroline has done as much as I have.”
“Caroline wasn’t going to marry the woman’s husband,” the doctor returned pointedly. “Most of the congregation in Pineville expect Rev. Winslow will send the woman away as soon as she’s well. They think you’re waiting around, hoping he’ll marry you when that happens.”
“Anyone who says that doesn’t kno
w Christmas Winslow!”
A small smile flitted briefly across Dr. Miller’s face. “They don’t know you either, I think,” he replied soberly. “But I know them, Missy. You’ve got to try to prepare Chris for what’s coming.”
“You’re sure there’ll be trouble?”
Miller’s eyes were half closed as he looked toward the house, which he regarded for a long moment; then he shook his heavy head. “I’m not a religious man myself, but I know the folks in that congregation pretty well. People can’t hide much from a doctor. Most of them are fine, but there’s enough meanness in a few sorry members of the church to destroy anything they don’t like. Hate to see Rev. Winslow hurt. He’s a fine man. Most men wouldn’t have stuck with the woman.” Changing the subject, he said, “Try some of that thick broth—and bring her over to Pineville on Friday.”
“I’ll tell Brother Winslow,” Missy promised as she went back into the house to prepare a pot of the soup that Caroline had recommended for Dove. When it was done, she put a bowl of the broth on a tray, along with a cup of fresh milk, and left the kitchen to feed Dove. She found her awake, looking very small in the huge bed. “Now—you’re going to sit up and eat every bit of this soup, Dove!” she said cheerfully, placing the tray on the small oak table beside the bed. She reached around the sick woman’s thin shoulders and helped her into a chair. There was no fear now in Dove’s eyes, as there had been for a long time, and Missy thought, Well, she’s not scared to death of me, at least! She pointed to the tray beside Dove and urged, “Now, you eat this fine soup, Dove, while I change the bed.”
As she busied herself with the work, she sang a hymn—one of Dr. Watts’. She began to whistle it as she tucked the clean linen sheet under the featherbed mattress, breaking off mid-note when she heard a voice coming from the chair.
“Good—ver’ good.”
“Why, bless me!” Missy exclaimed, for it was the first time Dove had spoken in English. She looked at the bowl and said with a laugh, “You ate almost the whole thing, White Dove—that’s real fine!” She handed her the cup of milk and added, “Now, you drink all of this.”
As White Dove obediently drank the milk, Missy saw that her cheeks were not flushed, and she reached out and put a hand on the sick woman’s forehead. She remembered the first time she’d done that, how Dove had flinched, her eyes filled with fear. Now she didn’t move, but her strange gray eyes were fixed on Missy’s face. “You don’t have any fever,” Missy said with a smile. “Your eyes are clear, too. Maybe you could walk just a little bit—be a pleasure to get out of that bed, wouldn’t it, now?”
She spoke reassuringly as she helped White Dove out of the chair. “Careful, now,” she cautioned, feeling the small figure weave as Missy led her across the floor. She’s so small—like a child! Missy thought, putting her arms around the thin shoulders. Slowly she led the woman back and forth. Then hearing the front door open and close and footsteps coming down the hall, the two women looked up to see Chris in the doorway.
He stopped abruptly and took in the scene with pleased surprise. “Well, praise the Lord! You look fine, Dove!” He came and took her by the shoulders, leading her back to the chair. Missy stepped back, watching Dove’s eyes brighten at the sight of her husband, her hands reaching out for his. She said something in Sioux, to which Chris nodded and answered in kind. Turning to Missy he asked, “What did Dr. Miller say?”
“He thinks she’s doing much better. Said you could take her home on Friday if she doesn’t have a setback. Look—she ate all her soup, and the fever’s gone.”
“I go—out?” Dove looked up at Chris, then motioned toward the window.
“Better take it easy,” Chris replied. “Tomorrow I’ll take you outside.”
Dove glanced at Missy, and her eyes grew warm. “Missy good to sick woman...” Her words were choked off as she began to cough spasmodically, and Missy hurried to her side.
“Better rest for a while,” she said, and gently helped Dove into bed. To Chris she added, “If you’d like to sit by her for a while, I need to go to the store.”
“All right.” He picked up the worn black Bible from the washstand and pulled the chair to Dove’s bedside. “She doesn’t understand much,” he conceded, “but she likes to have me read.”
“The psalmist said, ‘The entrance of thy word giveth light,’ ” Missy responded. Picking up the tray, she turned to leave the room, saying, “Father and Caroline took Sky with them over to Nettleton.” Nettleton was a small village five miles north of Pineville where Dan was attempting to start a new church. Caroline had been going with him for several months twice a week to teach a small group of children Bible stories.
“He been all right?”
“Yes.” She left the room, feeling guilty about her answer, for it was not the truth. While Dove’s health had been a concern, it was her ten-year-old son who had nearly driven them all wild. Rejecting every attempt of friendship they offered him, Sky stubbornly refused to communicate with anyone, speaking only to his mother—in Sioux, of course. He would sit on the floor in her room, his back against the wall, ignoring everyone else. When he was forced to leave her room, he did so sullenly, resentfully.
Asa rushed into the kitchen, out of breath. “Missy, can I have some liver for trotline bait?”
“I guess so, Asa. Are you going to take Sky with you?”
“No! There’ll be enough snakes in the river trying to bite me without taking another one along!” Asa grumbled. “He just stares at me as if he’d like to cut my throat!”
“Asa!” Missy chided him halfheartedly. She knew Asa had tried hard to break through the barrier Sky had erected between them, and that his attempts to make friends with Sky had been a total failure. “Don’t be angry with him, Asa. Right now Sky sees us all as his enemies. But if we show him love, he’ll learn to trust us.”
“Trust us! Why, he hates the air we breathe, Missy! He’ll run off first chance he gets—and I hope Chris has sense enough to let the varmint go!”
Wisely, Missy did not argue with the boy, but she put her arm around him and gave him a hard squeeze. “Never mind, Asa. You’ve tried so hard—and I’m proud of you for it.”
He ducked his head at the praise, then gave her a rough hug.
“Goodness, Asa! Don’t crack my ribs!” She shoved his unruly black hair back from his forehead and smiled. “I’ll help you set the trotline this afternoon. Some blue catfish steaks would be real good for a change—and it’ll be fun.”
“Sure!” he grinned happily, then remembered the harsh words he had spoken earlier, and tried to set things right. “Guess mebbe we can take Sky with us.”
“That’d be fine. Soon as they get back from Nettleton, we’ll go.”
She went to the store and made a few purchases, and when she came home she saw the buggy hitched in front of the house. Inside, she found Chris talking to her father and Caroline. She moved around quietly, putting the groceries away as she listened to them. After a few minutes of general conversation, Chris asked, “How’s the Indian mission over in Nettleton, Dan?”
“Oh, mighty slow! A hard bunch over there! It’ll take a move of God to get them stirred.” He sipped his cold cider. “Like plowing new ground, Chris—except for Caroline’s work with the children. That’s going better than the rest of it put together.”
“You always could handle children better than anyone else, Caroline.”
Chris’s compliment brought a faint touch of color to her cheeks, and Caroline said quickly, “Oh, they’re starved for attention, that’s all.” She changed the subject hurriedly. “Sky behaved very well, Chris. He sat still as you please while I told stories. I think he understands more English than he lets on. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hiding behind his language. It’s as though he thinks as long as he doesn’t have to talk to us, we can’t get close to him.” She smiled and added, “But I may have found a way to get him to talk. I’ve been asking him how to say things in his language. It seems to please h
im for some reason—and I like it, too.”
“Not many Sioux here for you to use it on,” Chris grinned at her. “Just me and Dove and Sky.”
Caroline went on. “I’ve been thinking that someday—” She broke off. “Oh, it’s just a thought.”
Missy caught her father’s sharp glance at Caroline, and both of them knew that it was not what her older sister had intended to say. “I’m going out with Asa to set the lines. Would you see to Dove, Caroline?”
Caroline agreed at once, and Chris spoke up. “Reckon you and Asa could use some help? Been a long time since I pulled a monster cat off a hook.”
“Why—of course.” Missy had not been alone with him since he had brought Sky and Dove back, and she would have refused, but could think of no way to do it gracefully. “Asa will like that very much.”
The deep hole in the river was six miles upstream, and it was after five before they got there and tied their horses to saplings. Asa had begged for a boat, and Dan had traded some blacksmith work for a ten-foot dugout that was just right for running lines. Asa kept it well concealed in a cutback, under a canopy of vines and willows. By the time the four of them reached the place, Asa was jumping with excitement. “Let’s go bait up before it gets dark, Chris!” he cried, running back to where Chris had begun to make a small fire. Chris had gathered a few sticks of firewood and was lighting it with some black powder and his flint and steel. He struck a spark, and the powder caught with a puff of smoke, and the punk he’d put under it began to glow.
“That’s fine, Chris,” Missy told him. “You go with the boys and bait up. I’ll build the fire, and we’ll have some supper when you get back.”
“All right,” he agreed and left.
Missy was glad to see that for once Sky was alert, his eyes bright and happy as he got into the dugout. She quickly gathered some wood, built the fire up, then walked along the riverbank, enjoying the cool air beneath the large water oaks.
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