Tender savage

by Conn, Phoebe

  On November 9, the condemned prisoners were transferred from the Lower Agency to Camp Lincoln in South Bend. As their wagons passed through New Ulm, the citizens eagerly seized the opportunity to vent their hatred on the braves who were securely bound and could do little to escape injury other than attempt to dodge the barrage of rocks hurled their way.

  Viper was as badly abused as the rest of his companions. He saw Erica's uncle and returned his hate-filled stare until the young man at his side threw a stone that tore a jagged cut in his forehead and blood began to drip into his eyes. He reminded himself these were people who had lost family members they held dear, but it amused him to realize die violence of the whites' behavior was far more savage than his own had ever been. It was not until the troops providing their escort charged the crowd with bayonets that the battered prisoners were allowed to continue their journey unmolested.

  On December 4, a group from Mankato bent on taking the matter of the Sioux's executions into their own hands was stopped on the road to Camp Lincoln. Fearine for his prisoners' safety, Colonel Sibley then moved the condemned men to a log structure in Mankato where they could be guarded more effectively. Here again, the braves had nothing to occupy their time but their own dreary thoughts. Crowded and miserable, their tempers were short, but Viper kept to himself, and when fools like Claw of the Badger taunted him about losing his wife, he ignored them, for in his mind and heart, he knew Erica would never be lost to him.

  As the holidays neared. Erica spent each morning poring over the newspapers. With a morbid fascination, she securched out each mention of the Sioux. Governor Ramsey of Minnesota, General Pope, and countless others called daily for the immediate execution of the condemned braves. With the notable exception of the Episcopal Bishop, Henry B. Whipple, who nad been to see President Lincoln to plead for the liraves' lives, and the Reverend Rig^s and Dr. Williamson, who wrote letters on the Indians' behalf, the whole world seemed to be clamoring for their deaths with a ghoulish frenzy.

  To add to Erica's worries, it had been nearly six weeks since she had spent the predawn hours wishing Viper a passionate farewell, and with each new day she grew more certain she had become pregnant as a result. While the hope that she would have his baby was a wonderfully comforting one, the fact that Mark might not wish to raise an Indian's child was deeply troubling. Were the baby to

  be a blond girl he might possibly accept her, but Erica thought it far more likely she would present him with a black-haired boy he could never love as his own. Just the prospect of telling him she thought she was pregnant nlled her with such a horrible sense of dread that she became physically ill.

  Actually, since returning home she had never felt completely well. Whether it was due to morning sickness or to the lingering effects of Wren's brutal assault she didn't know, but she was often too ill to eat and had litde energy. Sarah Randall had insisted upon supervising the selection of her new wardrobe, and she had simply lacked the strength to refuse her help, although she haa managed to refuse each invitation the persistent young woman had offered in an effort to encourage her to get out and see her friends again. Social obligations were simply too great a strain in Erica's frame of mind, but to the people of Wilmington, who regarded her as a new bride who should welcome their invitations, she seemed unaccountably aloof.

  In November, Major-General Ambrose E. Bumside had been placed in command of the Army of the Potomac, a position he had twice refused to accept, stating he felt unequal to the task. He was an 1847 graduate of West Point who had left the army to manufacture firearms. At the outset of the war he had become a colonel in the Rhode Island volunteers, was soon made brigadier-general of volunteers, then major-general. In early December he was preparing an assault upon Fredericksburg, Virginia. Erica tried to keep abreast of the news regarding the war, too, but she was confident Mark could take care of himself, while she knew Viper was in no position to do so.

  On December 6, 1862, President Lincoln approved death sentences for only 39 of the 503 condemned Sioux. In his own hand he wrote out the names of those to be executed on December 19, and sent the order to Colonel Sibley to carry out. This was the day Erica had been dreading, and her hands shook so badly as she read the headline in the newspaf)er that she could scarcely make out the print.

  "Only thirty-nine?" she whisp>ered as her heart swelled with hope. Hurriedly she scanned the list of names for the

  one of the man she adored. When she reahzed the miracle she had not dared expect had happened and his Hfe had been spared, she was too dazed to either laugh or weep. She sank down on the settee in the parlor and tried simply to comprehend what this totally unexpected piece of good fortune meant.

  "Viper isn't going to die," she whispered as she broke into an angelic smile. That was so marvelous a relief it was difficult to grasp. The president had had the wisdom the members of the military commission had sorely lacked. He understood that there was a difference between men who fought for their beliefs and those who would use war as an excuse to murder and rape. Tears of joy began to trickle down her cheeks.

  Viper was going to have a future, and she wanted to SF>end it with him. Her hands went to her stomach, which as yet showed no trace of her pregnancy, and she whispered, "You'll know your daddy after all, my darling, and I know you'll think him as wonderful a man as I do."

  Erica spent the next week in a blissful fog. There were still problems ahead: apparently Viper might have to serve some time in prison, but she regarded that as a small inconvenience when compared with the fate he had so recently faced. She planned to return to Minnesota as soon as she had the opportunity to tell Mark of her decision. There was a good chance he would be given a leave at Christmas, and while she knew he would be heartbroken,, she hoped he would love her enough to let her go.

  Before dawn on December 11, a Union force numbering a hundred thirteen thousand men under Major-General Ambrose Bumside's command attacked General Lee's Confederate stronghold at Fredericksburg. With a des-

  Cerate series of frontal attacks he tried, without success, to reak through the South's defenses. The Confederates repelled each of his poorly timed assaults, and after suffering staggering losses, Burnside withdrew. Twelve hundred of his troops had been killed in the battle. Another ninety-six hundred had been wounded, and Captain Mark Randall was one of those casualties.

  Lars Hanson looked out at the long line of ambulance wagons drawing up outside the hospital and heaved a weary sigh. "God help us," he prayed under his breath, wondering where he would find the strength to see even one more injured man, let alone the hundreds he knew would soon be flooding the wards. All too often, soldiers had suffered such horrible wounds before they could reach a hospital that they had already expired. With that dismal thought in mind, Lars went down the steps to the wagon currently being unloaded by two burly orderlies to make certain no dead were carried inside.

  "Evenin', doc," the driver of the vehicle called out cheerfully. "Where you want these boys?"

  "They're men," Lairs corrected him firmly. Many of the wounded were teenagers, but as far as he was concerned, any of them who had chosen to serve their country as soldiers ought to be considered grown men. He waited as the wounded were placed on stretchers, then greeted those who were conscious. He smiled as he offered the same words of encouragement he always did, i^oring the men's powder-blackened faces and torn uniforms as he quickly assessed the extent of their injuries and their chances for survival. In his opinion, this group was exceedingly lucky. They had all reached the hospital alive and in each the odds were at least fifty-fifty or better they would recover from their wounds. Encouraged by that

  optimistic thought, he quickly commanded the orderhes to be^n taking their charges inside and moved on down the hne of wagons hoping his next group of patients would be as fortunate as the last

  The driver of the second ambulance apologized as he greeted Lars. "I'm 'fraid I lost one on the way, doc. At least he don't seem to be breathing to me. He's an officer, too, and
I sure hate to lose one of them on the road."

  So as not to alarm his other passengers with that gruesome news, Lars climbed into the back of the ambulance to help the driver ease the wounded out onto stretchers. The two leather-covered benches that ran along each side of the wagon were sticky with blood, but he was used to that now. This group didn't look nearly so good as the last, but in the dim interior of the wagon Lars could see that one fellow did seem worse off than the rest. His head had been heavily bandaged, and Lars wondered why a surgeon in the field had wasted precious space in an ambulance on so severely injured a man when it was far kinder not to make them suffer the perils of a long journey and simply allow them to die where they had fallen.

  He saw the captain's bars on the man's coat as he reached for his wrist to try and detect a pulse and thought perhaps his rank was the reason he had been accorded preferential treatment. When he found a faint but steady beat, Lars wasn't encouraged, for there was little he could do to treat men who had suffered head wounds. Still, he gripped the young man's hand firmly and whispered, "Don't worry, son, I'll do all I can for you."

  It wasn't until he had moved the unconscious captain out of the wagon onto a stretcher that he could see his face clearly enough to recognize him as Mark Randall. "Oh no," he moaned. Overcome with despair, he turned away to grab hold of the side of the ambulance to steady himself. Mark had sent a wire when Erica had been found, then another telling of their marriage. He had stopped by the hospital to provide Lars with the details he haa not trusted to a wire, but Lars had been so stunned by his new son-in-law's tale that he had said little in response. Now Mark was back, more dead than alive, and Lars feared he could do nothing at all to repay him for the loving forgiveness he' had shown his daughter.

  Puzzled, the driver started at Lars's back for a moment, then found his voice. **You knew him?"

  "I know him," Lars replied as he turned around, steeling himself for the long, weary hours that lay ahead. "You were wrong. The captain is still among the living." He signaled to a pair of orderlies and saw that Mark was the first of that ambulance's passengers to be carried inside, but he was already searching his mind for the words he might need to tell Erica she was no longer a new bride, but sadly, a widow.

  The very minute she finished reading the disastrous news of the batde of Fredaricksburg, Sarah Randall rushed over to see her brother's wife. When she reached Erica's home she ran up the steps and pounded with so frantic a rhythm that Mrs. Ferguson feared she would shatter the beveled glass in the heavy oak door before she could swing it open. As soon as the gray-haired housekeeper greeted her, Sarah pushed her way inside.

  "Where's Erica?" she asked breathlessly as she glanced into the parlor and found it empty.

  A woman of impeccable taste and fine manners, Anna Ferguson could see no possible reason for Sarah to call at so early an hour or with such unseemly haste. "Mrs. Randall has yet to rise from her bed, Miss Randall. Perhaps you would like to return this afternoon when—" She was interrupted in midsentence as Sarah waved her aside and dashed up the stairs. With a disapproving frown Anna closed the door, turned the key in the lock, and returned to the kitchen, thinking young women had no manners at all any more. At least Miss Erica did, she thought proudly. Since she had come to work in the Hanson home shortly before Erica was bom, she knew she could rightly claim part of that credit herself.

  Caring not at all what a housekeeper thought of her, Sarah called out Erica's name loudly as she made her way down the hall. When she reached her bedroom, she threw open the door in the same instant she knocked upon it. "Have you seen this?" she cried out, waving the latest edition of the paper.

  Erica had heard Sarah's approach, as indeed she

  thought half the neighborhood must have. Since she knew it had to be obvious she had just awakened, she thought the young woman's question ridiculous. "I have just this minute opened my eyes, Sarah. What's wrong?" Her first thought was of Vij^er, but she had never mentioned his name to Mark's sister, although she susjjected from the curious way Sarah regarded her at times that she knew all about him.

  Having no idea she might not be as welcome in Erica's bedroom as she believed herself to be, Sarah assumed a comfortable perch on the foot of the four-poster bed. "The casualty lists from Fredericksburg go on for pages and pages, but there's no mention of Mark's company, and I am so dreadfully worried about him. We are very close, and I have this horrible feeling that he's been hurt. You've not heard anything from him, have you?"

  "Not this week," Erica admitted, but Mark had written to her quite faithfully since his return to the war, so she expected to hear from him a^ain soon. She could see Sarah was upset, but she wasn't in the least bit apprehensive herself. Since she didn't know what to say to ease her caller's mind, she chose instead to try and distract her. "You know it always takes several days, if not weeks, for the casualty lists to be complete, but it's highly unlikely anything happened to Mark. Why don't you stay and have breakfast with me? Mrs. Ferguson always has something special for me, and it would be a treat to have your company to share it."

  Exasperated that Erica seemed so unconcerned about her brother's welfare, rather than accept her invitation, Sarah lashed out at her angrily, "What you really mean is that you don't carel There's no point in your pretending with me another minute. Mark told me about your Indian. He's off the hook now, isn't he? I'll bet you're hoping something does happen to Mark so you can run off with that savage again I"

  Stunned by that insulting accusation, since she did indeed have every intention of returning to Viper, Erica simply stared at her uninvited guest for a long moment before she found the words to resF)ond. "I would never, ever, want to see Mark hurt. How can you pKDSsibly even imagine such an awful thing, let alone accuse me of it?"

  Erica's manner and expression were so undeniably sincere that Sarah knew instantly her fears for her brother had influenced her to speak unwisely, and she burst into tears. "I am so frightened. Erica. I just know something awful has happened to Mark. I just know it."

  Erica pushed her covers aside and reached for her pink silk dressing gown before going to the distrau^t young woman's side. She put her arm around Sarah's shoulders as she offered her what comfort she could. "You musm't carry on so, Sarah. I'm sure Mark would lau^h if he knew you were crying when you've no reason to believe he's been hurt. If you'll give me just a moment to dress, I'll join you in the breakfast room. You're always telling me I should get out more often. Why don't we plan to do something together today? We could go shopping, or perhaps pay a few calls. Whatever you'd like to do would be fme with me.

  Listening to Erica's calm reassurances, Sarah became even more embarrassed that she had gone to pieces with fear for her brother when she had only unconfirmed suspicions rather than evidence that he had come to harm. Determined to take firmer control of her emotions, she brushed away her tears. With a carefully projected nonchalance she picked up the now wrinkled newspaper and moved off the bed. She had as exquisite a wardrobe as Erica again possessed, and she shook out the billowing skirt of a flattering gown of rich autumn gold and slowly crossed to the door. "I could use a cup of tea, I suppose," she admitted rather shyly. "I'm sorry for what I said about the Indian. Mark made me swear I'd never breathe a word of that story to anyone, least of all you. Will you forgive me?"

  "There is nothing to forgive," Erica insisted warmly, the optimism of her mood undiminished by their brief confrontation. Since Viper's life had been spared, she couldn't believe Mark would come to any harm. "I'll be with you in just a few minutes."

  "Take your time. I'll read the rest of the |>aper while I'm waiting." Sarah slipped out the door, and with a few loud sniffles, was on her way downstairs.

  Erica cbessed hurriedly in a gown of slate gray elaborately trimmed with black velvet braid, then tried to

  be pleasant as she sipped her tea. She nibbled upon the flaky apple pastries Mrs. Ferguson had baked that morning, but as usual she had little appetite so early in the day. Now th
at Sarah had actually been bold enough to mention Viper, the Indian's presence in her life seemed imfXDssible to ignore, and yet Erica remained discreet and was not even tempted to reier to him. It made conversation difficult, since Sarah was extremely curious about him, and Erica was equally reluct2mt to divulge any of her secrets. Despite the stilted nature of their discussion, they had just decided to visit the shops when Mrs. Ferguson returned from answering a knock at the front door carrying a telegram for Erica upon a small silver tray.

  "Oh my God!" Sarah shrieked, her face going deathly pale. "It's about Mark, isn't it? Well, isn't it?"

  While Erica was as greatly alarmed as her guest, she took care not to rip the envelope as she slit it open and withdrew the brief message. While the wound in her right palm had healed without leaving too horrible a scar, her hand was often sore and stiff in the mornings. Trembling as badly as she was now, it made grasping the paper tightly almost impossible. She read the wire through twice before glancing up at Sarah.

  "It's from my father." Badly sh2iken, she hid her anxiety for Sarah's sake. "He says Mark is at the hospital where he's assigned and we should come right away. Is your carriage outside?"

  Her most terrifying suspicions confirmed, Sarah leaped to her feet. "Of course, but it's more than one hundred miles to Washington!"

  "Yes, I know that, and the sooner we leave the sooner we'll be there. I'll go upstairs and gather a few things, then we'll stop by your house so you can pack. With any luck, we'll be able to bring Mark back with us. He can recuperate here as well as he can in any hospital."