Full Circle

by Rosanne Bittner

  She glanced at the bolted front door. Had she really heard someone trying to open it last night? Of course she had. Black Hawk had come for her. It was not a dream. How had he felt when he found the door bolted? Angry? Disappointed? Humored? “He must go home today,” she muttered. She marched into the bedroom to check on Little Fox, alarmed to discover the boy felt hot. He stirred awake at the touch of her hand on his forehead. “Little Fox, how do you feel?”

  He blinked and sat up a little. “My head hurts a little, and I am very warm.”

  Evelyn frowned. “I will fix you and your father something to eat, but I don’t think you’re ready to leave yet. You’re having a little setback, but don’t worry about it. It happens sometimes. You stay in bed another day.” Now what do I do? she wondered. She had counted on Black Hawk leaving today.

  She reached under the bed to remove the chamber pot that was kept there, a rather fancy, lead-glazed earthenware pot that her mother had once kept in her bedroom. She carried it to the door, setting it down a moment to unbolt and open the door, then went outside to the privy out back, which she used herself before emptying the pot. She carried the pot to a nearby well shared with the church and school, raised a bucket from the well, and poured water from the bucket into the pot to rinse it. She brought it back to the cabin, setting it outside and leaving off the lid so that it could dry out in the sun, then walked back to the well to get a full bucket of water for washing and cooking. She poured some into a basin back at the cabin and washed her hands, then carried the bucket into the bedroom to pour some into the wash basin she had left beside the bed.

  “There is a clean cloth beside the pan here,” she told Little Fox. “Wet it and wash your face and neck and arms. It will cool you down.”

  The boy nodded. “I am sorry. My father and I should leave. I make a lot of work for you.”

  Evelyn set down the bucket. “I don’t mind, Little Fox. I just want you to get completely well. You’re a good and uncomplaining boy. I am going to fry some pork this morning and make you a nice breakfast, along with some hot tea. I’ll…” She hesitated when the boy looked past her.

  “Ate!”

  Evelyn turned to see Black Hawk standing in the bedroom doorway. Again she was astonished at how quiet he could be for such a big man. She felt a tingle at the sight of him standing there in buckskins. Today he wore the beautiful turquoise stone outside his shirt, and his hair was brushed out long and untied. She caught the curiosity in his eyes… and yes, humor. It irritated her. He had tried the door and probably laughed to himself when he found it locked, thinking what a frightened little mouse she was after all—so courageous in other ways, such a coward when it came to her own heart.

  “I am afraid your son has taken a little turn for the worse,” she told him, hoping he would not bring up the subject of the locked door. “You will both have to stay another day or two.”

  Quickly, Black Hawk was at his son’s side, gently touching his face. “What is this? You have fever again!” He looked at Evelyn in alarm.

  “Don’t get upset, Black Hawk. It’s just temporary. I’ve seen it happen before in other patients who survived the worst. I’m sure he’ll be fine after a few more days’ rest.”

  Black Hawk straightened, fear in his eyes, and Evelyn realized that probably the only thing that frightened him was the possibility of losing his son.

  “I promise, Black Hawk, he’ll be fine. Come into the other room and have something to eat. You still don’t have all your own strength back.”

  I was strong enough last night to come to your door, he thought. I was strong enough to make love to you, if you would have let me. He leaned down and touched his cheek to Little Fox’s. “We will wait another day,” he said in the Sioux tongue, “longer, if we must. Perhaps I should have Night Hunter come and pray over you.”

  “No, Ate,” the boy replied. “Evy takes good care of me.”

  Evelyn was surprised that the boy, too, had begun using her shortened name casually, as though they were close friends. Black Hawk looked up at her, his gaze moving over her appreciatively. Now she wondered if she had tried too hard to look prettier this morning than she should have. Would he get the wrong idea? She wore a clean dress, soft green in color, with white eyelet lace bordering the short sleeves and the slightly scooped neckline. She had bathed and washed her hair last night, and today she wore it loose, with a green ribbon tied through it. She had brushed it to a shine, and had put a little color on her cheeks.

  Now she wished she had not done any of it. She felt as though there were two Evelyn Gibbonses, the one who wanted Black Hawk to leave and never touch her, and the one who wanted to be pretty for him, the one who absently wanted to tempt him. “I’ll go finish breakfast,” she said quickly leaving the room.

  The curtain over the bedroom doorway was open, and Black Hawk watched her move about in the outer room, studied her slender waist, tried to picture how the rest of her looked beneath her full-skirted dress and the many layers of slips white women wore under those dresses. He liked the fullness of her breasts, the way the cut of her dress displayed them. He was stirred by her hair, not just its golden color, but how thick and long and full of lovely waves it was, not stick-straight like Indian women’s hair. He should not be admiring her full lips, her blue eyes, the milky whiteness of the skin at her neck and shoulders, her slender hands. He should not love a white woman, nor should he have come and tried to open her door last night… but he had done just that, feeling a deep disappointment that it was bolted. He had planned on leaving today. Now he would have to suffer through another night, maybe two, before he could get away from her and not have to set eyes on the beautiful Evelyn Gibbons, the princess who reached out to him in his vision.

  He walked into the next room, his appetite revived by the smell of frying meat. He wondered if perhaps he could always live this way, as long as it was with this woman. It was the only way he could have her. How could he ask her to come to his camp and live like an Indian woman? She had a mission, to help his people, and he must not stop her from doing that. He felt torn between his own needs and desires and what he knew was best for her and for his people.

  “Do you know the man named Seth Bridges?” he asked her. He noticed she jumped slightly, knew his presence made her nervous and jumpy. He suspected it was not because she feared him, but because she was herself torn. Had she considered leaving the door unbolted last night? Had she heard him come and try to open it?

  Evelyn set the frying pan away from the direct heat, surprised at Black Hawk’s question. “Yes, I know who he is. I think he is a reprehensible, filthy, lazy, irresponsible man who ought to be shot for the way he treats his adopted daughters!”

  Black Hawk grinned. “You have told him this?”

  “In so many words.”

  Black Hawk wanted to laugh. Part of what he loved about this woman was her courage. He could just imagine her standing up to a threatening Seth Bridges and giving him a piece of her mind. Still, his hatred for Seth overshadowed the humor of the moment. “As I told you when I brought Little Fox to you, I know that Seth Bridges helps bring whiskey onto the reservation. I have caught him at it before. If I tell the agency this, they will not believe me. If I tell the Army, they will arrest me and accuse me of attacking white men. I have attacked and destroyed whiskey wagons before. The traders cannot report it because they would have to admit what they are doing. I in turn can say nothing. If the Army should catch me attacking the smugglers, I am the one who would be punished, not them. That is why I cannot go to them myself, but if you and Reverend Phillips go to James McLaughlin, tell him someone has told you they have seen Seth Bridges hauling whiskey, perhaps they will go to his farm and see if they can find it. You do not have to tell them who said this. Just convince them to go there.”

  Evelyn stepped closer, feeling excited at the prospect. “I had already thought of that, after what you told me. If Seth Bridges could be caught running whiskey, he co
uld be arrested, and his daughters would have to be taken out of his home. It might be a way to get them away from there. Are you sure of what you saw, Black Hawk?”

  “It is as I told you. I have seen him before with whiskey runners. He helps guide them onto the reservation. I cannot prove he traded for whiskey that day at the river. Before I could see what they gave him, Little Fox suddenly fell ill, so I had to leave, but I believe Seth Bridges got a load of whiskey for his corn. He will sell it to men like Big Belly and Broken Knife, who will give him clothing and blankets and food that he can take back to the ship another time and sell to them; but you will never get Big Belly and the others to admit where they get the firewater. Someone has to catch Seth Bridges with the whiskey on his land, in his house or outbuildings.”

  It infuriated Evelyn to think that men like Seth Bridges could get away with what they did. “I will tell the right people, Black Hawk. I would like nothing more than to see Seth Bridges put in jail. I want to get his daughters away from him, but I am having trouble finding a way to do it. I know there are terrible things going on there, but I can’t prove it, and they are too afraid of Seth to talk.” She grasped his hands. “Oh, Black Hawk, I hope you’re right! This could be my answer!”

  Their gazes locked, and he squeezed her hands gently. “Before the day is over, I will go to my grandmother’s village. I will stay there for two nights and then come for Little Fox. He trusts in your care, and so do I. It is best that I do not sleep close by again.”

  She understood what he was telling her, and she quickly let go of his hands, only then realizing she had grasped them in the first place. “Yes, well, you do what you feel you must do. I will finish your breakfast.” She turned back to the stove, so flustered she could hardly see the meat in the pan. She prepared some food for him, then took a tray in to Little Fox, too embarrassed to sit at the table with Black Hawk. He had not mentioned the bolted door, but she suspected it was right there in his mind all the time… just as it was for her. She shared her meal in the bedroom with Little Fox, and before she finished, Black Hawk came inside to tell his son where he was going. He glanced at her then. “Tell McLaughlin about Seth Bridges meeting the riverboat. I also believe that the white soldier, Sergeant Jubal Desmond, is involved. I think he knows sometimes when the traders are coming through, and he looks the other way and lets them. He is like many white men. He loves money more than honor. If someone pays him enough, he will not stop the smugglers. You tell those in charge to watch him. I think Seth Bridges and the sergeant secretly work together.”

  Evelyn did not doubt the possibility, especially knowing that Seth was allowing the sergeant to see Lucille.

  Black Hawk walked over and again leaned down to touch Little Hawk’s cheek. “I will be back in two days for my son,” he told her.

  Without another word the man left. Evelyn heard his horse trot away, and part of her wanted to run after him and beg him to stay. She helped Little Fox finish eating, then tucked him in and told him to try to sleep. “I have to go and talk to Reverend Phillips.”

  “You will tell him about that white man named Seth?” he asked.

  “Yes, I will tell him.”

  “Father hates the white men who bring the firewater to our people. He says it makes them lazy and useless. It takes away their pride.”

  “Your father is a very wise man, Little Fox.” Evelyn picked up the tray. “You rest now.” She carried the tray to the washbasin but decided not to clean up the breakfast pans and dishes just now. The news about Seth Bridges was too important, especially if Jubal Desmond could also be implicated! If the sergeant was arrested or discharged, he couldn’t bother poor Lucille Bridges any longer. It infuriated her to think that any army man could be involved in the whiskey running. Once Desmond and Bridges were caught, she could tell Lieutenant Teller and Colonel Gere who had found them out. This only proved that Black Hawk was not the untrustworthy renegade they regarded him as being. He was doing a job the Army should have been doing!

  She hurried out to find John Phillips. All they needed to do was convince James McLaughlin to have Seth Bridges’s farm raided. If they found whiskey, they could frighten the man into telling them who helped him. Bridges was living free on government land. He could be threatened with losing everything he owned if he didn’t tell the truth!

  Evelyn was so determined in her mission that she did not even notice that she was being watched from a distance. Black Hawk patted his horse’s neck as he watched her walk briskly toward the church. He knew no one would listen to him, but they would listen to Miss Evelyn Gibbons, because she would make them listen!

  He smiled. You are a brave woman, Evy, he thought, brave and beautiful; but you are not brave enough to leave your door unbolted, or to welcome the man you love into your arms.

  He turned his horse and rode off. He would try again… another night, when she was not expecting him.

  Nineteen

  Seth heard several horses ride up to the house, and with energy unusual for the man, he jumped up from his sagging chair and hurried to a window to see who had come in such numbers. He peered through lace curtains so dirty and sun-damaged that the one he grabbed hold of tore in his hand, but he paid little attention. Outside were six army men, one of them Lieutenant Teller. Jubal Desmond was with him.

  “Jesus!” he muttered, “what the hell do they want?”

  He knew that Desmond had probably been given orders and had to follow them. He heard Teller order his men to dismount, then the words, “Search the place thoroughly, but put things back and don’t break anything, men. This is probably just a hoax or a misunderstanding.”

  “Search the place?” Seth muttered. The whiskey! He ran to the kitchen, on the way yelling for Lucille, who was already in the room. She looked up at him from her task peeling potatoes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Soldiers!” He held a fist in front of her face. “If you say one word about me dealin’ with the sergeant on whiskey, or about me sellin’ you to him, you won’t see the light of day for a long time to come! You understand me, girl? Whatever they ask you, you don’t know nothin’! You go find your sister and warn her, too!” He hurried over to a cupboard where he kept his whiskey—but only two bottles at a time. He grabbed them both. “Lift up that loose floorboard before you go find Katy!” he ordered Lucille.

  Already soldiers were pounding at the front door. Seth quickly hid the whiskey under the floorboard then stood up and stomped on it to push it more tightly back in place. Lucille turned to go and find Katy, and Seth grabbed her arm so tightly that it hurt.

  “You remember what I told you!” he warned.

  Lucille glared back at him, thinking for a moment how easily she could get Seth Bridges in trouble. “I’ll remember,” she said calmly.

  “Get out to the barn and make sure I didn’t leave a feed sack open with a whiskey bottle showin’!”

  Seth let go of her, and Lucille went out the back door, reminding herself that even if she told on Seth, he still might not even be arrested; and if he was arrested it might only be for a little while. After all, he was a white man, and the crime was against the Indians. Who was going to punish him severely for that? He would get out of jail and he would most certainly come for her, wherever she was, or maybe he would come after Katy. He would have every legal right to take them back, and his fury would know no bounds.

  She ran to the barn, where Katy was cleaning out a stall. She glanced at the feed bags. Katy didn’t even know these feed bags—and more that were stored in the corn crib—contained bottles of whiskey. She only knew about the whiskey kept in the house. One feed bag was open, so Lucille quickly tied it shut again. “Come up to the house, Katy.”

  The girl looked up from her raking. “Why? Seth told me I had to—”

  “There are soldiers here. I’m not sure what they want, but Seth says to keep quiet, no matter what they ask you. We’d better do like he says.”

  Kat
y set the rake aside. “Maybe now he’ll get in bad trouble for selling you to Sergeant Desmond and for having whiskey in the house.”

  “You keep quiet about both those things. Come on.” Lucille took her sister’s arm and led her toward the house, an idea forming as she walked… one that could keep Seth Bridges out of her bed at night. He was always holding Katy over her head, using her sister to threaten her. Now she knew something with which she could use to threaten Seth Bridges. Did she dare try it and risk his wrath? He didn’t dare punish her by raping Katy, because he knew that if he did that, he would no longer have a hold on her. She would have no reason left to cooperate with him.

  She smiled softly as she herded Katy toward the house. “Remember what I said,” she told her.

  Inside the house, Seth had gone to the front door, greeting the lieutenant and his men with a smile. “Well, Lieutenant Teller! What brings you here? I know I owe Colonel Gere a load of corn, but with the cholera and all, I’ve been afraid to let the girls go out and pick and afraid to bring them to the fort. If I don’t get in the rest of the corn soon—”

  “This isn’t about corn, Mr. Bridges, and the cholera scare seems to be over. There have been no new cases for nearly a week now.”

  “Well, even so, I ain’t sure I ought to let you men inside the house. What’s the problem?”

  Teller glanced past the man at the mess inside what looked to be the parlor. He moved his gaze to Bridges again, noticing the man needed a shave. His uncombed gray hair was sticking out in several places, and his overalls were soiled, as was the faded shirt he wore under them. He could smell alcohol on the man’s breath. “Mr. Bridges, we have reason to believe you are harboring whiskey on your premises, perhaps as much as a wagonload of it, whiskey that you are selling to the Indians. We are here to search your house and outbuildings.”