“Can you share what the telegram means, or would he want to keep it private?”
Sarah opened her eyes to see her mother’s look of concern. “I’m sure Isaac has guessed or Marcus told him…so it should all right to share it with you, too. But please don’t say anything to anyone else.”
She carefully folded the paper in fourths and slid it into her dress pocket.
“The day of the attack on the wagon train, when Marcus was stabbed…he thinks he might have been trying to protect a child.” What else should she say? She doubted Marcus had confided his terrors to anyone, except her. And it happened only because she had woken him from one of his nightmares. That night, while she held the shaking man in his bed, he spilled all the terror and fears he’d been holding in since that frightful attack.
“Marcus has nightmares about the fight. In them he’s trying to protect a child, but he wakes up before knowing if the child survived. I’m almost positive that’s why he took off for Fort Wallace, probably hoping the child from his dreams is real, and possibly alive.” Sarah realized she held her arms tightly around her middle, trying to hold in the nausea threatening to erupt. The grizzly description of what Marcus endured now came back to haunt her, too.
Sarah welcomed her mother’s arms about her shoulders and sagged against her hug. She’d had her parents, always supporting, encouraging, and providing for her throughout her life. Nothing had traumatized her childhood, scarred her memories for life, or made her doubt her own worth.
“Why do children have to be victims in this world? They are innocent little beings, depending on adults for everything. Why do people hurt them?” She felt her tears and her mother’s mix when her mother pressed her cheek to her own.
“They are caught in the middle, or people don’t care who they hurt. It’s always one or the other.”
“I should have gone with him! Why didn’t he come get me?”
“Sometimes a person has to face his fears alone. He may have wanted your support on this trip, but he had to stand alone. Marcus has to recall the fighting, stand and let the pain, the panic, hit him again so he’d be done with it…so it wouldn’t keep sneaking up on him again and again. You’ll probably have an event in your life you want to turn and run from, but you may not have a choice.” Cate was staring into her eyes to make the point, but then she looked away. “I’ve had to face an event once which could have knocked me to my knees and kept me pinned down for the rest of my life, but I decided to stand and face it.”
“What happened, Momma?”
“…It’s personal, but it changed my life, and I’ll always believe it was for the better.”
Chapter 14
Marcus flopped down on the bench in the rail car. The conductor apparently had enough of his pacing up and down the aisle, and had threatened to throw him off the train if he didn’t sit down. Said Marcus was making the other passengers nervous, worrying about being robbed. Looking around, he saw people either staring at him, or avoiding eye contact. Marcus slumped down in the seat and put his hat over his face. Maybe he could nap a little before the train stopped for the night in Hays. But between the stifling heat, the cranky children and his racing thoughts—he doubted he could sleep a wink, but better to sit still than end up walking along the rails miles from a town.
Marcus had barely arrived to the depot before the train pulled out. Angus Reagan was loitering near the telegraph office again, hoping to deliver more telegrams, so Marcus yelled at him to come over to the depot. While he bought his ticket, he instructed the lad to take his horse over to the Marshal’s office, and tell Adam, or whatever deputy was in the office today, someone from the Cross C would come get the horse later today or tomorrow.
Then he tossed Angus a two–bit and asked him to send a telegram back to Fort Wallace saying he was on his way. Both the telegraph operator and the boy had read the telegram Marcus received, so they’d know to send the message back to Major Futegate.
The train engine was blowing smoke and ready to pull away from the depot when Marcus boarded. With his bum leg, he was happy he hadn’t had to chase after the caboose.
He didn’t know whether he would calm down and get a good night’s sleep in the railroad hotel tonight, or dream the nightmare which had been plaguing him for months. Somehow Marcus needed to remember the dream, to look for children, listen for names, any clues which might help him solve the identity of the children from the wagon train…while he watched himself being stabbed and his blood spread over his pants and the ground.
Marcus hitched his hip out of the seat to pull his handkerchief out of his back pocket. He tossed his hat beside him and wiped his face and neck. If he had a panic attack thinking about the nightmare now, someone on the train would probably shoot him.
His worst fear was that he wouldn’t recognize and help the children. What would happen to them then? Instead of being from the wagon train where he was injured, the Cheyenne could have picked up children on a homestead raid, another wagon train, or traded them with another tribe. They could be half–breed children who have lived with a tribe since they were born. Children from any scenario would be terrified by what happened to them then, and again now, when taken from the village.
Major Futegate’s telegram hadn’t mentioned how many children. So it could be two, or a dozen homeless children at the fort. Did they speak or remember English? How long were they with the Natives?
Then he thought about the families the children had probably lost. Were the children old enough to know their parents’ full names? Did they remember where they lived before traveling west? What would happen to the children if they couldn’t find relatives to take them in? Marcus could understand the Major needing help, as apparently no one at the fort knew their background.
The boy across the aisle from Marcus was screaming his head off, much to the chagrin of—Marcus guessed—his grandmother. The toddler was throwing a typical two–year old tantrum. Tate, and actually Maisie too, were experts at just the right long, screaming “NO!” and the frown and kicking which went along with it. Marty still did it now and then when he was mad—but not Maggie—unless it was because of a tug of war between her and Marty.
Marcus and Isaac tried to pacify the children at the first scream, but the women knew to ignore the outburst. Actually Cate said it was a good sign the children were adjusting to their new home and parents by acting “normal”.
He felt a pang of longing already for Sarah and the Sullivan children. No, our children, he thought proudly. When he returned home, they’d marry, and he would have a complete family.
How much will the triplets grow while he’s gone? It’ll take two days each way for travel, plus time at the fort trying to determine the identity of the children. Will his kids be shy around him again when he returns, or run into his arms, missing him as he was already missing them?
And Sarah…he never wanted to be apart from her again after this final mission for the cavalry. She became an important part of his life while he recovered, without either of them realizing it was happening. They enjoyed so many of the same things, but yet brought different things to the relationship. He’d courted a few women in the past, but never felt this sense of completion with anyone else. Marcus thanked God every day since they had become parents that Sarah hadn’t married Ethan that Sunday. What would his lonely life be like without her and their six children?
Marcus stood up to pull down his knapsack from the overhead bin. Maybe if he looked through the children’s picture book he brought with him, he’d calm down. He opened up the book cover and flipped through the pages. Besides stories using the letters of the alphabet in order, it had illustrations of items starting with each letter. Marcus chose it because it would be a good way for all the children to start learning their alphabet.
The noisy child stopped his tantrum, much to the relief of Marcus and the other passengers. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched the boy study the book Marcus was holding, fascinated with the bright p
ictures on the cover.
“Looks like you have a new children’s book. Do you have children of your own, or is it a gift?” asked the woman across the aisle.
“I have six children, ma’am, two girls and four boys. Three of the boys are triplets just born three weeks ago,” he proudly said.
“Congratulations. I imagine your wife has her hands full.”
Marcus didn’t want to say he and Sarah weren’t married yet, so he nodded his head. “We have lots of family to help us though, so we’re getting into a routine,” he responded with a smile.
“Are you heading home now?”
“No, unfortunately I have to return to Fort Wallace. I was wounded last spring so I’m no longer a soldier. The major at the fort asked me to come back to see if I could identify some children they found living among the Indians.” Marcus didn’t know why he was opening up to the woman, but talking about it seemed to calm his nerves.
“Right before I left, I decided to bring this book along, in case it would help put the children at ease.” The toddler had crossed the aisle and now had his hand on Marcus’ knee.
“Book?”
“Mind if I pick him up and read to him, Ma’am?”
“I’d appreciate it if you would read to Jonathan. It would give everyone’s ears rest for a while, and maybe you can get him to sleep,” the woman smiled.
“Want to sit beside me while I read this book to you?” Marcus softly asked, and the child tried to climb up onto the bench beside him. Marcus gave him a boost and the boy sunk against his side, waiting for Marcus to read to him.
“A is for the ape eating the apple. Do you see the ant sitting on the acorn? Look at these pictures,” Marcus pointed to each one as he said the names again.
Little Jonathan was asleep before Marcus got to the letter “N”, but two other children had come down the aisle to stand beside him so he continued to read the whole book out loud. He rubbed the back of the sleeping little boy curled up beside him. Marcus noticed his grandmother was sleeping across the way, so he didn’t wake up either of them. This child made him miss his own, but it calmed him, too. Hopefully, Marcus could help the children tomorrow as he did the one today.
“Captain Brenner, sir!”
Marcus looked for the soldier whose voice he heard as he walked down the train’s steps.
“Hello, Private Edwards! Good to see you again. And remember I’m Mr. Brenner now,” Marcus shook the hand of the young man who had been under his command, which seemed ages ago.
“Yes, Captain…ah, Sir. Major Futegate sent me to fetch you from the station. He didn’t know if you could ride yet, so I brought a buggy.”
“I can, but my leg would appreciate not having to swing into a saddle after two days on the train.” Marcus stretched his back, tired from sitting for so long. Fresh air, even if it was hot out in the open, was a relief from the contained air of the train car. But he was anxious to get back on the train as soon as he could, to travel back home.
“They were taken from the tribe and brought here less than a week ago. I’m not sure, but I’m guessing the girl is between four and six years old, and the boy younger by a year or two. They could be skinny, or just younger. It’s hard to say because we don’t know how long they’ve been with the tribe. Could have been a few months or a few years. I’d guess they are probably siblings by the similarities in their appearance.” Major Futegate shrugged his shoulders as he described the children to Marcus. They sat in the Major’s office, as Marcus had done many times over the course of his service. But it was strange to be sitting across from his former commander as a civilian instead of a soldier.
“How’s the shape of their clothing? Would it give you any idea of how long they’ve been held?” Marcus may not be in the Plains Cavalry anymore, but he was looking for clues as though he was tracking a faint horse trail through a buffalo grass prairie.
“Both in native dress. The boy is wearing handmade moccasins but the girl is wearing shoes. They seem to fit, so we guessed the shoes were hers, but maybe they were picked up in a raid, so that’s why she’s wearing shoes. They won’t have anything to do with us…so we haven’t tried to change their clothes.”
“Who has been taking care of them?” Marcus hoped it was a kindly officer’s wife instead of the children being locked in the stockade.
“They’ve been staying in a room in the barracks, huddled together in a corner. They’ve eaten the plates of food we’ve set on the table, but they move the plate to the floor to eat.” Marcus gritted his teeth, because the major sounded like he was talking about some renegade Indians, instead of scared and confused little children.
“Have they spoken any? English or Cheyenne?”
Major Futegate sadly shook his head, “Not a word.”
“No one here remembers them from any attack or raid?”
“No one is sure, but one soldier thought they were on the wagon train where you were injured, so that’s why I asked you to come. I’m guessing they’re orphans, but we’ll never know. The survivors we brought in from that particular wagon train have moved on, so are not around to help. We’ve checked with homesteaders out here, and no one is missing children.”
Marcus rubbed his forehead, trying to think of other questions he should ask. Unfortunately, the attack happened the first day they escorted the group. Usually after a day or two of riding beside the wagons, the soldiers talked to members of the group and got to know a little about them, where they came from and where they were headed.
Marcus racked his brain, trying to remember the families he’d briefly seen all those months ago. Most of the families were younger, with at least a few children. Occasionally there were older people along, usually grandparents traveling with their families. Young men too, thirsting for the adventurous pull of the West.
“I’d like to see the children now. Maybe I’ll remember something when I’m with them.” Marcus was escorted to their room, and he asked to spend time with the children alone.
It broke his heart seeing the children on the floor, huddled in the corner of the room. The little girl was hugging the younger child to her chest, trying to protect him. Marcus slowly sat on the chair in the room, aware the children were watching his every movement.
Both children had tangled and matted light brown hair, blue eyes and were in dire need of time in a bathtub. Had the soldiers not bothered to clean the children, or could they not get near them without a fight? Their haunted eyes were obvious in their thin, bony faces.
“Hello children, I’m Mr. Brenner. Can you say your names?” Marcus softly talked to the children but they didn’t answer him.
Marcus’ heart skipped a beat. There was something familiar about the children, but they would have looked different when he last saw them, if they were the same children. He had ridden on the left side of the wagon train, going back and forth between about three wagons. The family in the middle wagon had something similar to his new family, but it escaped his mind.
“I came to see you because I think I met your family in a wagon train going west last spring. Do you remember being in a wagon with your parents?”
The little girl bunched up her eyebrows, acting like she was trying to understand his words.
He had brought the picture book with him to their room, hoping it would spark their interest as it had with the children on the train. “Do you like books? My children love to be read to, so I brought this book along to share with you. Do you want to come over and see the pictures?”
The boy started forward, but the girl pulled him back.
“I’ll sit on the floor and read the story to you. You can come sit by me anytime, if you’d like to.” Marcus turned sideways so his back was near the children, and he held the book so they could look past him to see the pages.
“A is for the ape eating the apple. Do you see the ant sitting on the acorn? Marcus pointed to each illustration as he said the names again. “Do you like apples?”
Marcus was met with s
ilence, so he continued to slowly read the book, pointing to items the children might remember. Their posture relaxed by the time he got to “F” and the boy had scooted closer by “K”.
“M is for the mouse drinking some milk with his mouth. M is the letter which starts my name and my children’s names, too. I’m Marcus,” he pointed to himself, “and my children’s names,” he pointed to the two of them, “are Maggie, Marty, Maisie, Matthew, Mark and Micah.”
The girl pointed to herself and softly said, “Molly.” Marcus’ heart nearly stopped. That’s what he had in common with the family he was remembering! All their names started with “M” too!
“Hello Molly. I like your name.” He held his breath, then let it out again before asking, “What’s your brother’s name?” But Molly didn’t answer.
Images of the nightmare bolted through his mind. The mother screaming a child’s name before her…demise. What did Marty say when they woke up in bed that night?
Marcus, how come you called me Moses?
Marcus leaned closer to get the boy’s attention. “Moses? Is your name, Moses?” The boy looked confused at him, then looked at his sister. “Molly, is your brother’s name, Moses?” The little girl shook her head yes and started to cry. This little boy was the child he pushed behind him trying to protect that day. He tried to compose himself so not to frighten the children.
Marcus’ voice croaked as he swallowed his tears and emotions. “I met you and your family when you were traveling in a wagon. Do you remember me when I rode my white horse by your wagon? I had a soldier’s uniform on that day.” The girl’s face crumpled, probably feeling the trauma of the attack.
“Molly, I think you had a dolly who had…a blue dress on? What’s your dolly’s name?”
“Car…Carrie. I lost her,” the girl said looking as though she didn’t know how she formed those few words.
How would Sarah or Cate handle this moment? They’d pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. “I’m sure I can find her later, but you might have to tell me what she looks like.
Sarah Snares a Soldier Page 10