Beyond The Horizon

by Connie Mason

  “I’m sure they were,” Goodman replied somewhat uncertainly.

  “Were any of your men wounded?”

  “Four, sir.”

  “Gunshot wounds?”

  “Er—no, arrow wounds, I believe.”

  “I see,” Vance said with an unmistakable hint of censure.

  “So do I,” Shannon concurred. “I can see I’m wasting my time here. Good day, gentlemen.” Whirling on her heel she stormed from the room, past a startled Sargeant Miller and out the door.

  Shannon knew exactly what she had to do now. No matter where he was, she had to find Blade. With firm resolve, Shannon hurried in the direction of the livery, intending to rent a horse and leave immediately. Fortunately it was Friday and she had two whole days to find Blade. He’d need someone with him when he learned of Lieutenant Goodman’s attack upon his grandfather’s village.

  “Miss Branigan—Shannon—where are you going?”

  Shannon spun around to find Major Vance a few steps behind her. “Not that it’s any of your business, Major, but I’m going to find Blade. He’ll be utterly devastated when he learns of Lieutenant Goodman’s foul deed.”

  “I agree,” Vance said with real concern.

  “You do?” His words left Shannon momentarily speechless.

  “I do. Few here know, and we prefer it that way, that Blade and I are close friends, have been for a good many years.”

  “You’re Blade’s contact!” Shannon blurted out before she could catch herself.

  “My God, what did Blade tell you!”

  “Everything—or nearly everything. He really had no choice, you see. I encountered him searching through the wagons after the wagon train left Independence. I kept badgering him until he was forced to admit he worked for the government. I even offered my help, but he adamantly refused.”

  “I should hope so,” Vance said slowly. “You are quite a woman, Shannon Branigan. No wonder Blade is—er, so fond of you. But he is right, of course, this isn’t child’s play. The last man sent by the government is dead. But to get back to the subject, how do you propose to find Blade? Do you know where to look?”

  “N-no,” Shannon admitted, “but I’ll find him.”

  “He told me he was going to see his mother and grandfather before rejoining Lieutenant Goodman’s patrol.”

  Shannon’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “Oh no, he could be there now. I’d better hurry.”

  “Shannon, you can’t go alone.”

  “Do you have a better idea, Major?”

  “Yes, wait till morning and I’ll go with you. It’s too late to start out now anyway.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “I told you I was Blade’s friend, and yours too, I hope. Well, is it a deal?”

  “Very well,” Shannon agreed reluctantly. “Until morning.”

  Blade’s face was watchful as he rode toward the Sioux village. He was anxious to see his mother and grandfather again, yet a profound sense of foreboding disturbed him, and he didn’t know why. For one thing it was quiet, too quiet. By now he should have encountered a hunting party, or heard dogs barking in the distance, or the echo of children’s laughter. It was as if he was the only living thing in the vast empty prairie.

  A cold north wind whistled down from the distant mountains and Blade shivered. He sensed it in every fiber of his being—something was wrong, terribly wrong. Even his bones ached with the knowledge. The village was nestled in a narrow valley between two hills, but no smoke arose to greet him, no happy voices carried to him on the wind.

  Digging his heels into Warrior’s sides, Blade urged him into a gallop as unspeakable fear gripped his insides. He knew, somehow he knew what he’d find, yet denied it with every heartbeat. Then, abruptly, the village lay before him and the most horrible nightmare imaginable became shocking reality. There was nothing left of the village but smoldering embers. Bodies lay scattered everywhere—men, women, children, even babies still strapped in their cradle boards. The breath slammed out of Blade’s chest and the air around him vibrated from the terrible, blood-curdling cry of outrage and denial that erupted from his lips. For several long minutes Blade was unable to move. Then, fighting his emotions, he forced himself to the gruesome task of examining each body for signs of life.

  Tears rolled down Blade’s cheeks when he found Singing Rain’s body. He howled in outrage and flung his arms heavenward, his fists clenched, screaming out his rage.

  “Why?” he challenged Wanken Tanken, the Grandfather Spirit. “Why did you allow this to happen? Why my sweet gentle mother? Why these people who wanted only peace?”

  Then he began the death chant, gathering ashes from the ground and smearing them on his face and chest. He felt no pain when he slashed his arms in several places, ignoring the blood as if it didn’t exist. That was how Shannon and Major Vance found him the next day, still kneeling beside his mother, his face a bleak mask of despair, keening the Sioux death chant.

  Sensing their presence, Blade’s chanting stopped abruptly. He turned to face them. Shannon paled. Blade’s face was devoid of all emotion, his eyes desolate and empty; he seemed not to recognize them. Never had Shannon beheld such profound anguish, such overwhelming grief—except, perhaps, when her family had discovered her father dead by his own hand.

  “Blade, I’m so sorry,” Shannon said, touching his shoulder gently. Her soft voice seemed to release him from his hypnotic state.

  “Shannon,” he groaned as if in pain. “They killed her. She never hurt a soul. Singing Rain was kind and gentle.” Though Indians were taught from birth never to show emotions, Shannon could see the glimmer of tears in his dark eyes.

  “I know, Blade, I loved her too. I—I don’t see your grandfather,” she ventured.

  “He’s not among the dead. Neither is Jumping Buffalo. I can only hope they escaped this carnage.”

  “I’ll help you bury the dead, Blade,” Major Vance offered.

  “It is our custom to place the dead on burial platforms,” Blade said bleakly.

  “There are too many, it wouldn’t be possible,” Vance reasoned. “Burial is the best we can do.”

  “Yes,” Blade concurred. “Except for my mother. I will build a platform and prepare her body. She will be mourned properly, in the Sioux manner.”

  Even Shannon lent a hand with the burying, at times gagging from the stench. But for Blade’s sake she swallowed her revulsion and bravely pitched in where needed.

  Singing Rain’s burial platform was built alongside the Platte in a stand of sturdy cotton wood trees. With a tenderness born of love, Blade wrapped her body in a blanket and placed it on the platform. He stood below a long time, bidding her a silent farewell while Shannon and Vance looked on, sharing his grief.

  “You’d better leave now,” Blade told them. “There is nothing more you can do here.”

  Shannon hardly recognized this harsh stranger speaking to her as if he’d never seen her before. This man had eyes as cold and empty as death. Nothing remained to remind her of the tender lover who had taken her gently and made her first time memorable.

  “I don’t want to leave you, Blade. Come back with us,” Shannon pleaded.

  “Shannon is right, Blade, come back to the fort,” Vance cajoled.

  “If I went back with you now, I’d probably kill Goodman. I will stay and search for Grandfather. If he still lives, he will need me. Give me time to mourn my mother properly. After my time of mourning is over, I’m going to find Mad Wolf and end his miserable life.”

  “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?” Shannon asked. She couldn’t let it end like this.

  “I’ll wait for you by the horses, Shannon,” Vance said, determined to give the couple privacy.

  Blade watched him walk away before turning back to Shannon with his answer. “There is nothing you can do.”

  “Would it make a difference if I told, you I loved you?” Shannon asked, her voice low and tender.

  If not for the sudden flair
of warmth in Blade’s eyes, Shannon could have sworn he hadn’t heard her. “My heart is empty,” he told her.

  “Let me help you.”

  “Perhaps—later. There is much for me to do now. There must be survivors and I will find them. Winter is around the corner and they’ll need food and shelter. My people need me more than you do right now.”

  “I—I thought you cared for me.”

  He looked at her then, really looked at her, his face pale beneath the ashes. “Love has no place in my heart now. Perhaps one day I will be free to love, after I have mourned my mother and helped my people. Find someone else, Shannon. Someone who can give you everything you deserve.”

  “I won’t accept that,” Shannon said stubbornly. “Promise you’ll let me know if you find your grandfather. I won’t leave here unless you give me that much. Please, Blade, I care what happens to you.”

  “I’ll try, but I give no promises.”

  Shannon turned away, her face contorted with anguish. With a terrible dread, she realized that nothing she said was getting through to Blade. Forcing one foot in front of the other, she slowly walked away.

  The shock of seeing Shannon walk away did something to Blade. He realized he might never see her again, never taste her sweetness or know her love, and he couldn’t let her go without a word of how he felt. Conquering his grief, he stopped her with a touch. Then she was in his arms.

  “Let me sample your sweetness one last time, Little Firebird,” he groaned, for a brief moment becoming the Blade she knew and loved. “I can’t let you go without kissing your sweet lips.”

  He lowered his head, capturing her lips with a slow, hungry kiss. Their breaths merged and became one as his tongue parted her lips, tasting, taking, drinking passionately. She savored him fully with the sweep of her tongue, tasting his desperation, his rage. It was not the sweetness of his love she tasted in his demanding kiss, but the pain of their parting. Then it was over. His eyes opened and reality intruded. When she looked up at him his eyes had turned as cold and bleak as his heart.

  “Good-bye, Little Firebird.”

  Sobbing, Shannon whirled and ran blindly to where Major Vance stood with the horses. She didn’t look back, she couldn’t—it seemed too final. Yet she knew in her heart they would meet again, that their Uves were irrevocably intertwined. They might be worlds apart, but they were soulmates in all the ways that counted.

  “Keep in touch, Blade,” Vance called over his shoulder as he helped Shannon mount. “If you need help you know where to find me.”

  Blade said nothing, nor did he turn to watch them leave. He had already resumed his mourning.

  During the following weeks, Callie recovered from her injuries and moved in with Shannon. Though the house was small, it was adequate for two women and a baby. Todd Wilson had also recovered from his wounds and found work. Eventually he hoped to earn enough money to join a wagon train passing through next summer. He hadn’t given up his dream of settling in Oregon.

  While Shannon taught school, Callie insisted on doing the cleaning and cooking. Shannon hadn’t pressed her on her plans for the future, but one night after little Johnny had been fed and put to bed, Callie confided in Shannon.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Shannon, about my future,” she said slowly. “I want to go back to Ohio. Without Howie there is no future for me in Oregon. I know my parents will be willing to take me and the baby in. I’m all they have.”

  “Are you certain, Callie? You’re welcome to stay with me as long as you like. I won’t be going anywhere till next summer.”

  “I want to leave now, Shannon. I hate this country. It’s a constant reminder of—of the attack, and Howie’s death and—everything. But I have no money, not even the clothes on my back are mine. The ladies here have been kind to me, but they look at me as if I’m some kind of freak. Sometimes I think I would be better off dead.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Callie,” Shannon scolded. “Your child needs you. Besides, it will be spring before travel is possible.”

  “Haven’t you heard? The railroad has reached Cheyenne. It’s now possible to travel by train to the East in winter as well as summer. Everyone is talking about it.”

  “I—I suppose I’ve been preoccupied lately,” Shannon said lamely.

  “It’s Blade, isn’t it? I knew a long time ago you had feelings for him. Do you think he’ll ever return?”

  “I don’t know. But you’re right, Callie, I do love Blade. I know he’s a half-breed, but it doesn’t matter. He’s an i i credible man no matter what he is. But enough of me. If you had the money, how would you get to Cheyenne?”

  “It’s a moot question, but if I did have money I’d take the stage to Cheyenne. It comes through once a week, weather permitting.”

  “You are senous, aren’t you? If money is all that is holding you here, then your worries are over. I’ll give you the money.”

  Generous to a fault, Shannon never considered that she’d be stranded at Fort Laramie if she gave Callie her meager savings.

  “Shannon, I couldn’t!”

  “Of course you can. I have my pay to live on.”

  “That’s not enough to get you to Idaho. What about your family?”

  “My family will understand and even send me money if I need it. I have a job and a roof over my head. Besides, I’m not certain I could leave knowing I’d never see Blade again. If I remain at Fort Laramie there is a good chance he’ll come back.”

  “I’ll repay you, Shannon, as soon as I reach Ohio. My parents are well-to-do, I’ll mail you the money.”

  A week later Callie and Johnny Blade boarded the stage for Cheyenne. Shannon missed them dreadfully almost at once. She almost wished Blade had given her a child those times they made love. At least she’d have a small part of him to love and cherish. It was the emptiness that was unbearable. And the fierce, desolate loneliness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  One blustery day in late November, Shannon entered Clive Bailey’s trading post. She hadn’t spoken to him at length since he tried to rape her that night Mad Wolf abducted her. The man made her skin crawl. It so happened that Bailey’s assistant was helping another customer and Shannon was forced to deal with Bailey whether she wanted to or not. Since Shannon had given most of her money to Callie, she had little to spend on herself and planned to refurbish one of her more festive dresses with new ribbon. Molly Greer had persuaded her to attend some of the holiday parties being planned.

  Clive Bailey hadn’t actively pursued Shannon since she arrived at the fort. It wasn’t because he didn’t want her still, but because he feared Blade. Bailey wasn’t blind; he had seen them boldly embracing in the square that day and had in fact suspected something was going on between them long before Shannon was abducted by Mad Wolf. But with the breed gone, Bailey saw no reason to avoid her.

  Bailey thought it strange how the breed just up and disappeared one day. Rumor had it that it was his village Lieutenant Goodman had destroyed and that Blade had remained with the survivors to help them prepare for the winter.

  “Why, Shannon, how nice to see you,” Bailey greeted her amiably. “How are you enjoying your new job?”

  “I like teaching, Mr. Bailey,” Shannon said coolly. She walked directly to where the ribbons were displayed, wasting little time on amenities.

  “I know I haven’t always acted like a gentleman where you’re concerned, Shannon, but I’d like us to be friends. I—I wasn’t myself out there on the prairie.”

  Shannon fixed him with an icy glare. “I’d like four yards of blue ribbon.” He could apologize all he wanted, but she wasn’t going to forgive him.

  “If we could be friends again, I promise to treat you with utmost respect and courtesy,” Bailey vowed as he measured out the ribbon.

  Shannon wanted to laugh in Bailey’s lying face, until it occurred to her that this could be the opportunity she had been waiting for—an opportunity to help Blade and Major Vance prove Bailey was guilty of
selling guns to the Indians. All she had to do was disguise her distaste for the man and pretend forgiveness. Once he trusted her, she could cultivate his friendship and use her cunning. It should take little persuasion on her part to cajole him into bragging about his exploits.

  Pasting a false smile on her face, Shannon said coyly, “If you’re truly sorry, then I suppose we can be friends.” Don’t act too eager or he’ll get suspicious, she warned herself.

  A sly grin curved Bailey’s thin lips. It was good to know he hadn’t lost his charm. Perhaps if Shannon knew how rich he was, she’d be more kindly disposed. But he’d not make the same mistake he made out on the prairie. This time he’d take it slow and easy and still have her in his bed. It suddenly occurred to Bailey that Shannon was stranded at Fort Laramie with only her meager pay to sustain her and might look favorably on a wealthy suitor.

  “Thank you, Shannon, I appreciate that concession. “Perhaps you’ll save me a dance at the ball Saturday night.”

  “Perhaps I will,” Shannon allowed, digging in her reticule for the money to pay for the ribbon.

  “No, it’s my gift to you, to make amends for offending you. I can well afford it,” he boasted, puffing out his chest importantly.

  “You must do a good business here,” Shannon hinted with feigned innocence.

  “I do well enough, but this isn’t the source of my wealth. I have—other interests.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere, Shannon thought gleefully. But before she could probe further, a customer approached, demanding Bailey’s attention.

  “Excuse me, my dear—duty, you know.”

  Shannon left then, but not for home. She walked briskly to Major Vance’s office, relieved to find him in.

  “Shannon, what can I do for you? Sit down, it’s good to see you again.”

  “Have you heard from Blade, Major Vance?” Shannon asked hopefully.

  “I’m sorry, Shannon, he hasn’t been in touch. We must give him time to get over his grief.”

  “I know, I just thought…”

  “You care for him a great deal, don’t you?”