Walks the Fire

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  While Pierre talked, Jesse looked from the captain to his wife. Libby’s face expressed horror, then compassion. Tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed down into LisBeth’s face. She placed another kiss on the infant’s cheek and smiled warmly at Jesse. Clearly, this was a matter for women to handle.

  “Angus, dear,” Libby said in a low voice. “As always, I defer to your wisdom in matters affecting the military…” Then her eyes flashed and she seemed to come to life. “But Angus, honey, we’ve just got to help this poor woman! Just look at this precious face. Why, when I think what they’ve been through. We must help. Angus, what can we do?” Clearly, Libby Rose had taken Jesse King under her wing and intended for her to stay there until it was certain that she and her baby were safe.

  Angus thought his options through carefully. Libby Rose had no patience to wait for him to do so. She felt that further urging was required. “Just think, Angus, if it were me—if I had been taken by the Indians—what if I were being returned to the care of some military officer! How would you want me to be treated, Angus?”

  The last thing Angus wanted to ponder was the fate of his Libby Rose in the hands of the Sioux. He hastened to speak, lest the image remain too long in his mind. “Mrs. King, we will do all that the military can do to help you locate your family and return to them. Please, give me their address. We’ll have a communiqué sent immediately. And while you make arrangements to return home, you’ll be afforded shelter…”

  The question of shelter was a hard one. The few frame structures were all occupied by officers or commissioned men, the sutler, and the teacher. Only crude sod buildings completed the relatively small square of structures that surrounded the parade ground and its focal point, the flagpole. There was barely room enough for those assigned regular duties at the fort. Adding a guest would not be an easy task.

  Jesse broke the silence and solved the difficulty. She also closed off her past and finished the separation from her family in Illinois that had begun the day she had been carried off by Rides the Wind. “Truth be told, Captain, I have no family. At least none that would welcome me home, now.”

  Captain Woodbury cleared his throat. The specter of the poor woman’s experiences with the savages rose up and forced him to take immediate action to protect her. “Mrs. King,” Woodbury said quietly, “God forbid that anyone I love be called upon to endure the hardships you have known. This government is sworn to protect its citizens, and, as its representative, I offer you everything in my power that will assist you in reclaiming your rightful place in our society.”

  It was a pretty speech, but still, the captain had no idea how to help her. Libby saved him.

  “Angus… perhaps she could work here at the fort. The men have been complaining that there aren’t enough laundresses, and with the dragoons arriving in the fall…”

  Jesse spoke up quickly. “I’d be grateful for any work, sir.” Her calm gray eyes met the captain’s. “The Lord has blessed me with good health and a strong constitution. He seems to have declared that I’ll need to make my own way in the world. I’m not afraid of hard work, if it will provide the means for me to make a home for my daughter.”

  The daughter in question woke and without warning began to squall again. Libby was unable to quiet her this time and reluctantly returned her to her mother, then ushered Jesse into her own drawing room for privacy.

  When the two women were alone, Libby remained warm and concerned. “The laundresses’ quarters are sod right now, but Angus has plans to rebuild as soon as possible. Most of the other laundresses are the wives of enlisted men. They’re not rough or undesirable at all, and some have children, too. I think you’ll be comfortable.”

  “I’m grateful for your help, Mrs. Woodbury.” Jesse took a deep breath. “But of greatest concern to me is this: Can I depend on you to help me protect my child?” Cool gray eyes and stormy green eyes met and understood one another. But Jesse would not be content with unspoken promises. “Obviously, LisBeth is not Pierre’s child. I was among the Sioux, as you call them, for many years. I was returned here against my will. But after a long spring of constant prayer seeking God’s will, I feel that he has a plan for us that does not include our staying with the people. Tensions mount every day. I know the power of the government and the will of the Lakota. There will be trouble, and for LisBeth’s sake, we should not be with the Lakota when hostilities break out. I owe it to her and to her father to do my best for her. So, against my own desires, I have come here, seeking a new life.” Jesse’s eyes had not left Libby’s for the entire speech. “Will you help me build a new life—for the baby’s sake?”

  Libby Rose Barber Woodbury stretched to her full height—which was not quite five feet. Earnestly, with her hands clasped, she said solemnly, “Mrs. King, I promise you at this moment, on the memory of my beloved father, that your secret will go to the grave with me.” She was the perfect portrait of a child acting the dramatic climax of a play. Her promise seemed genuine, but it was her next words that truly comforted Jesse and enabled her to trust this stranger. “God’s Word says that the Lord hates a lying tongue. Mrs. King, I try to obey his Word with all my being. I am no gossip. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Jesse finished feeding LisBeth and was ushered once again into the captain’s office, where Pierre Canard and another soldier waited. Woodbury bowed formally to Jesse and extended his hand. “Mrs. King, may I officially welcome you to Fort Kearney. Private Dennison will escort you to your new quarters and introduce you to Gilda, the head laundress. If there is anything we can do to help you get settled, please do not hesitate to make your needs known.”

  Jesse followed Pierre and the soldier past the sutler’s quarters and the hospital to a long, low sod building. At one end of the building was a closed door. The soldier swung it open to reveal the dusty room that was to become their new home. At the look of dismay on Jesse’s face, the soldier stammered explanations. “Don’t fret, ma’am. Captain gave orders for three of us to clean it up for ya’, and we’ll be doin’ that right away—bringin’ in some furniture too. It won’t be fancy, but it’ll be cozy. Sod don’t look like much, but it’s cool in the summer and warm in the winter. And we’ll be buildin’ a new place for ya’ soon, leastways, that’s what Ma’am says.” The soldier grinned at Jesse. “And one thing we all learn real quick around here is that she’s tiny, but when Ma’am speaks, it gets done.”

  Ma’am had apparently spoken about the quarters for the new laundress. Pierre arrived with his pack mules and unloaded all of Suzette’s things that he had been able to convince Jesse to take. Together, they walked across the compound to stable Red Star and the mule train. Pierre would stay a few days until the wagon train arrived with fresh provisions.

  Having seen to the comfort of their animals, Jesse and Pierre stopped in again at the sutler’s, where Pierre insisted that Jesse allow him to trade a fine beaver pelt for several yards of richly colored madder-brown calico, muslin, a new pack of quilting needles, and several half-yard pieces of various colors of cotton cloth.

  “I saw how the needlework heals you when you are lonely,” said Pierre. “This is my gift to you, for the little one.” Jesse accepted the gifts with warm thanks.

  By the time they had walked the short distance back to her new quarters, the three soldiers assigned the duty had swept her room clean, set up two cots and a table, and laid out a plate, cup, frying pan and tea kettle near the fire. A rocking chair, “compliments of Ma’am” sat by the fireplace. Jesse sank into it gratefully, and rocked LisBeth before laying her, sound asleep, on the cot in the corner.

  Pierre cleared his throat and turned to go.

  “Surely I will see you before you…?”

  “Of course, I will stop by to see how you are settled. Just now, if you wish to meet this Gilda, the head laundress, I will stay with LisBeth.” He felt awkward in her room and encouraged her to leave.

  Jesse searched out Gilda, who stood scrubbing the collar of a filthy shirt ove
r a steaming pan of water.

  “So, yer the one who’s causin’ all the commotion t’day,” was her terse welcome. Jesse hesitated at the doorway.

  “Where’s the baby?”

  “She’s asleep. Mr. Canard said that he would watch her.”

  “How you gonna’ work with a baby in tow?” She did not look up, did not pause in her attack upon the shirt collar.

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Don’t want you expectin’ no favors.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Fires need to be started and roarin’ hot by 5 a.m.—that’s when the water brigade fills the tubs. You know how to start a fire?”

  Jesse smiled at the irony of the question. “I know how.”

  “Then that’s yer job from now on.”

  Two days later, Pierre Canard had traded his furs for provisions and headed home. Before he left, he clasped Jesse’s hands warmly in his own. “The sewing that helped you not be so lonely… perhaps I should have had you teach me, eh?” He cleared his throat, kissed Jesse on the cheek, rumpled LisBeth’s thick dark hair, and walked briskly away.

  Twenty-one

  Thy testimonies… are… my counselors.—Psalm 119:24

  As LisBeth grew into a toddler, Jesse often longed to confine her in a cradle board the way she had Two Mothers. She had thought it cruel when she first lived among the Lakota, but now she appreciated that most sensible way of keeping a young babe out of harm’s way. Somehow she managed to keep LisBeth away from the dangers of the laundry room. She rigged up a sort of play area, with boundaries created from a mix of branches and broken chairs. But when LisBeth began to scale the walls of her prison, Jesse took it down, afraid it would fall. Then she tied a cord about LisBeth’s waist and her own, ignoring the teasing of the officers who called LisBeth Jesse’s pet. Once in a while, someone would offer to help with the child, but Jesse always refused. She was never quite sure whether she didn’t trust the potential caregivers, or simply could not bear to have the child out of her sight. Whatever the reason, LisBeth grew up literally tied to her mother’s apron strings. But as soon as she was old enough to roam safely, she ran free, proving to be obedient even when out of her mother’s sight

  Life at Fort Kearney fell into a monotonous routine. Up at 4 a.m., Jesse dressed in the dark, wrapping her thick braids around her head with no thought to style. Lighting a small fire, she prepared biscuits and hot mush for breakfast and set a little bowl close to the flames to keep it warm until LisBeth awoke. In a few moments, Jesse was out the door and across the compound. Entering the laundry room, she repeated the fire-building process, warming the huge tubs of water that were filled each morning by cavalrymen.

  As she grew older, LisBeth had the luxury of sleeping until she chose to wake up, which was usually soon after sunrise. By the time she was seven, her morning routine was well established. After making her bed, she helped herself to breakfast, washed her cup and bowl in the bucket of water just outside the door, then followed her mother’s footsteps across the compound.

  When LisBeth arrived, Jesse would always pause for a moment to hold her daughter’s hands and say a quick prayer for the day before them. The ritual brought them both comfort, as Jesse committed her daughter to the Lord’s care, asked for his help in her work, and thanked him for their home. Her thankfulness never wavered, and LisBeth consequently never saw herself as deprived. She seemed not to notice that her life was far different from that of the other children who had large families at the fort.

  Jesse often despaired of not having more time to spend with her daughter. She needed time, she thought, to teach her the many things that a young girl needed to know. But the work never let up, and there was never time for more than the most basic lessons. LisBeth learned to read, sounding out and memorizing one word at a time from the Bible—their only book. She learned to keep house by watching her mother, late at night, sweeping and doing their own laundry. As soon as she was able, the young girl took over many of those chores. She was quick to see the weary lines in her mother’s face at day’s end, and in her little girl fashion, LisBeth strove to lighten the burden.

  The ritual of morning prayers taught LisBeth the importance of regular worship. The quick prayers she often heard her mother send heavenward taught her the dynamics of a living faith. Whatever the problem, Jesse always took it to her Lord. She would break into the middle of a talk with LisBeth to say, “Now we’ll just have to ask the Lord about this, LisBeth.” And without even bowing her head, Jesse would turn her words heavenward, “Father, we need fabric to make LisBeth a new dress.” Or, “Father, please make Jimmy see that it hurts LisBeth when he doesn’t play nice.” And sometimes, “Father, we don’t really need it, but we sure would appreciate a new lamp to light our room at night.” LisBeth learned that God was not a stranger far away in the sky and that he was interested in her problems. LisBeth learned about the God who is “a very present help.”

  “We don’t have Papa here to take care of us,” Jesse would say, “but our heavenly Father knows and cares, so we’ll just tell him about it and wait to see what he thinks needs to be done.”

  After the long day of toiling over laundry tubs and flat irons, Jesse would drag herself back across the compound and lie down for a few minutes. She was only forty, but she was beginning to feel aged.

  Once Jesse had risen and begun to prepare their supper, LisBeth would begin her string of tales from the day’s adventures. She explored every corner of Fort Kearney, knew every soldier’s name, petted every horse’s neck, and never complained of being bored. Jesse often thanked the Lord for having given her a child so able to entertain herself and so capable of the few chores demanded of her. Indeed, it had seemed that since she was an infant, LisBeth had been a blessing. As a baby, she would lie for hours, watching her mother hard at work, squirming only when hungry. Jesse would hear her first peeps and look over to see two dark eyes following her about the laundry room. She was reminded of another pair of dark eyes that had followed her every move just as eagerly, waiting to be fed.

  After every supper, as the evening light dimmed, Jesse would place her Bible on the scarred tabletop, open it to a favorite passage, and read aloud. This was one of the few times she would be stern with LisBeth.

  “Having God’s own words in a book is an awesome thing, LisBeth,” Jesse would remind her daughter at the first sign of a squirm. “We must cherish it. But more important, we must obey what it says. Now, let’s see what the Lord has for us today.” Jesse favored the Psalms and the end of Job, where God displayed his might in nature.

  “Your pa loved this part of the Bible,” Jesse would say, and LisBeth’s eyes would sparkle at the thought of her imaginary papa reading the same book that her mother held.

  “He never learned to read it himself,” Jesse explained, “but he had me read it to him every night. And he especially liked this part about God controlling the wind and the wild animals.” Then Jesse would read. She was careful not to read for too long. She did not want to tax her young daughter’s attention span. She longed for her daughter to look forward to rather than dread the reading.

  LisBeth did her part, sitting quietly and listening to the words.

  “It isn’t much, Lord,” Jesse would pray, “but you promised your Word wouldn’t come back void. I’m doing my best to share it with my daughter. Please bless it. Put it in her heart so that someday, when she needs it, your Word will come to comfort her and guide her.”

  Day in and day out, Jesse’s and LisBeth’s schedules remained the same. There were few interruptions in the routine of life. Sunday was the one day when the two had respite. They began the day with church. Jesse would have been embarrassed had her daughter realized that it was not church that refreshed her mother’s soul. Many Sundays, Jesse only endured the sonorous sermons, waiting for the true highlight of her week: the opportunity to escape the fort, to return to the prairie, and to remember.

  After services, they would change into older clothing,
saddle up Red Star, and amble across the prairie. As the walls of the fort grew smaller in the distance, Jesse’s spirit soared. Heading for the nearby river, LisBeth and Jesse would dismount and eat their meager picnic on its banks.

  After lunch, Jesse’s heavy braids would come down so that LisBeth could play with her mother’s hair. They picked flowers, sang hymns, walked along the edge of the water, and talked and laughed. Most Sunday afternoons, Jesse brought along a bit of needlework or mending. She diligently taught her daughter basic stitching and piecing. Together they cut out squares from discarded uniforms, and LisBeth happily pieced a doll quilt for the ragged doll she loved. It was a simple Nine Patch pattern, and the seams were uneven so that one edge was longer than the other, but Jesse praised it and stitched LisBeth’s name and the date along one edge.

  As they picnicked and sang and stitched, Jesse’s eyes searched the horizon. Shadows seemed to dance in the prairie grasses about them. Had LisBeth seen them, she would have been afraid, but Jesse was comforted. Her long hair flowed down her back, and she drank in the fresh air. He would be nineteen now, Jesse thought, imagining Soaring Eagle hunting with his friends. The time always went too quickly. LisBeth would watch in fascination as her mother deftly rewrapped her hair about her head. Slowly they would ride back to the fort to begin another week of soap water and rinse water, of scrubbing and toiling.

  If Jesse noticed how lonely their existence was, she never spoke of it. If LisBeth longed for a dear friend, she never spoke of it to Mama. LisBeth began to notice that Mama had two smiles. There was the gentle smile of every day—the one that barely showed and left her gray eyes solemn. But there was another smile that wreathed her mother’s face in joy and lighted something in her eyes. I only see that smile on Sunday, LisBeth thought. I wonder why.