Dancing Fawn

by Ginger Simpson

  The oddly familiar smell of coffee permeated the morning air and brought back memories of her parents, and for a moment she felt an overwhelming loneliness. The pressing need to urinate quickly ended her reverie.

  She had no choice, and hoping no one watched, she pulled her blanket up around her shoulders and hoisted herself into a squat. She pretended to search through the grass while a steady stream of urine splattered against the inside of her thighs and puddled around her feet. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  * * *

  “Hard tack! I hope I never have to eat that again. I know why they call it hard,” Fawn complained to the soldier who re-tied her hands.

  She found some satisfaction in the fact that everyone else ate the same horrible breakfast, but even such a comforting thought didn’t fill her stomach. All she could think about was going home. Her wrists hurt, her back ached, and she missed her husband terribly. What if he went on without her? What if he found another wife? She fought the negative thoughts and tried to find something positive about her present situation. She was still alive—for the time being, at least.

  The ever-lurking Private Riley cut his horse in next to hers and interrupted her thoughts. She wrinkled her nose at the disgusting body odor that permeated the air and made breathing difficult. Tobacco juice dribbled down his beard. “Well, Missy. I noticed a smile on your face this mornin’. I assume you must be pretty thankful for us rescuing ya from those murderin’ redskins.”

  Fawn grasped the saddle horn so tightly her knuckles turned white. If blood could actually boil, she knew hers would. She held up her bound wrists and yelled at him. “Does this look like I’ve been rescued? Did you find me bound by the Indians? You haven’t a clue about me, or my people, for that matter.”

  “My people? Why you Injun-loving whore! I aught ta show you how a real man treats a woman. And I jes’ might.” He spat a stream of tobacco close to her foot then nudged his horse forward.

  The image of what he threatened turned her stomach. She’d rather die than let him touch her. She pulled her foot free from her stirrup and kicked his horse hard in the rump. His animal bolted into the backside of the two horses ahead then stopped and reared up on its hind legs. Riley grabbed desperately onto the saddle, trying to maintain his balance, but slipped precariously to the side and dangled like a rag doll. Finally, he managed to pull himself upright.

  Fawn covered her mouth and stifled a giggle. Before he looked, she sobered in a heartbeat. She shouldn’t have frightened his horse but couldn’t help herself.

  Riley, eyes bulging, turned and scowled at her.

  * * *

  She shrugged and cast an innocent look in his direction.

  Huffing, he steered his horse out of line and galloped back toward the front of the formation.

  “Serves him right,” she mumbled. She only wished he had fallen on his backside. Maybe the tumble would have knocked some of the air out of that big, ugly windbag.

  * * *

  The plains and the hillsides were still lush and green close to the river, and the ravines separating the two boasted countless colorful blossoms that would soon succumb to the summer heat. Along the banks, cottonwood, willow, elm, and cedar trees grew in abundance, and the winding river twisted and turned as far as Fawn could see.

  “Reckon we ain’t stoppin’ for lunch seein’ as how we’re so close to the fort.” She overheard the soldier next to her talking with the man riding in front of him.

  Her heart raced. They were almost to the fort. What would happen to her when they got there?

  She scanned the landscape before her, and on a high rise above the river, she spied a square brown structure in the distance she supposed must be the fort. But what were the surrounding dots?

  As the garrison neared, the wall surrounding the fort became clear. What had looked like specks from afar turned out to be a herd of horses grazing outside the gate. Fawn surveyed the high confines of rough-hewn wood and the armed soldiers standing watch atop the thick beams. As the formation rode beneath a crude sign reading, “Fort Sully,” she noticed the large locking gates, and her heart sank.

  Her thoughts again turned negative, and she shook her head. I’ll never get out of here. The positive voice of Green Eyes echoed in her mind. Never say never.

  Unlike the carpeted plains, no grass grew within the compound walls. The parade of horses raised a thick cloud of dust that swirled into the air and coated Fawn with powdery residue. She smacked her lips and grimaced at the dirty taste.

  Several wooden barracks, a livery, and a trading post stood inside the walls. At the far end, she spied what appeared to be an icehouse. A plank walkway connected the structures Fawn supposed belonged to the fort’s officers. A hitching rail stood in front of each. Horses tethered there swished their tails and shook their heads in an effort to discourage the swarming flies. In some many ways, Fort Sully resembled a small town.

  The captain raised a hand to halt the troops, and as the soldiers dismounted, Fawn looked down into a sea of faces staring back at her. Her heart hammered, wondering if she should dismount, too. She decided to wait until someone instructed her.

  The group of at least a hundred men and a handful of women gathered around Fawn and gaped openly. She struggled to pull the hem of her dress down to hide her exposed legs and again wished for her leggings. The way the women whispered and giggled annoyed her, and she returned their icy stares. “How rude!” She spoke loud enough to be heard. If they thought they could get by with treating her like trash, they were wrong.

  Her comment silenced a few but only for a moment.

  Riley swaggered over. “You gonna sit there all day, or are you waitin’ for me to help you down?”

  Fawn glared at him. “I can do it by myself just fine.”

  She stepped hard in her left stirrup and swung her right leg over the saddle. Lowering herself to the ground, she smoothed her dress with bound hands, and one side at a time, pushed back wayward wisps of hair worked free from her braids.

  * * *

  The leering continued, and Fawn quickly grew tired of the impolite crowd. “What are you looking at?” she barked.

  A few haughty women in front stiffened as though they were the insulted ones. Fawn turned her back on them.

  A soldier handed her a canteen, and she drank until it was empty. Riley snatched the leather container from her and threw it back to its owner. Grabbing her by the arm so hard his thumbs bit into her skin, he ushered her to where the captain stood speaking with another man.

  Riley cleared his throat. “Cap’n. Here she is.”

  The regimental leader turned. “Thank you, Private, you’re dismissed.” He took Fawn’s elbow and urged her forward. “Miss, I’d like you to meet Colonel Parker Jamison, the fort commander. Colonel Jamison, this is the woman I told you about.”

  Beneath the colonel’s, cap, salt-and-pepper hair hung neatly trimmed around his neck, and slivers of grey frosted his moustache. Unlike the lowly enlisted men, his freshly laundered and pressed uniform confirmed his level of importance. Fawn figured him for at least fifty years old.

  His gaze hardened when he looked at her. “Well, welcome to Fort Sully. I understand you were hesitant to accompany my men back here.”

  Fawn stood to her full height and held up her tethered wrists. “I wasn’t given a choice. Unless, of course this is how you treat all your guests.”

  “Untie her immediately, Private,” the colonel barked.

  Fawn turned her nose away as Riley worked to loosen her bonds. The colonel sniffed.

  “And for God’s sake, Riley, take a bath. You smell like a horse’s behind.”

  She swallowed her laughter but nodded to the colonel. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Are you thanking me for having you untied or for ordering Private Riley to take a bath?”

  “Both,” she said with a grin, rubbing her wrists.

  Colonel Jamison scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not quite sure what I’m going to d
o with you.”

  “I think we should keep her under guard,” the captain offered. “Just in case the Sioux decide they want her back.”

  “I agree, but I hesitate to put her in the stockade. Perhaps we can lock her in the tack room until I think of something else.”

  Locked in the tack room? Fawn shuddered.

  A cherub-faced woman, clad in a blue gingham dress, swept into the group. Her brown hair, pulled back into a tight bun, made her sparkling hazel eyes stand out. “Parker, surely you don’t intend to treat this woman like a criminal. I think she should be our guest. After all, we do have an extra room.” She addressed the colonel with an easily detected trace of the South in her voice.

  The woman turned and faced Fawn. “Hello, I’m Eliza Jamison.”

  She extended her hand.

  Fawn nervously extended her palm. “I’m... Well, I used to be Grace Cummings, but now I’m called Dancing Fawn… Fawn for short.”

  “Welcome, Fawn. I imagine you must be exhausted from your trip and ready to clean up. Why don’t you follow me, and I’ll show you to your room.”

  Fawn trailed behind Eliza Jamison, leaving the colonel with his mouth agape.

  * * *

  “Here we are.” Eliza Jamison opened the door, revealing a beautifully decorated room. A patchwork quilt of fall colors covered a bed large enough for two people, and delicate lace curtains hung over a padded window seat. A large, white, porcelain pitcher and washbowl rested on a mahogany table, and hanging above, a large beveled mirror. The bedroom, much like the small parlor through which Fawn had passed, was a testimony to Eliza’s decorating skills.

  Fawn stepped inside. “Oh, Mrs. Jamison. This is lovely.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I hope you’ll be comfortable. I’ll have one of the men bring in some fresh water so you can get cleaned up. We’ll be sitting down to supper soon.”

  Fawn edged closer to the mirror. Turning to look at the other woman, she smiled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my reflection in anything other than the river.”

  Eliza’s brow arched. “So you’ve been a captive of the Indians for quite some time then?”

  Fawn wasn’t sure how to answer. Things had changed. “Well... I’m not... I...I’ve been with the Lakota for a year, but I haven’t been kept against my will. I married a very fine man.”

  Eliza gasped and covered her mouth. Her eyes widened. “Surely, not an Indian.”

  “Yes, Little Elk is Lakota, and I couldn’t be happier.”

  Her gaze lowered to Fawn’s stomach. “And the child…”

  “His.” Fawn cradled her stomach and smiled.

  “Well...I... I’ll leave you to your toilette.” Clearly at a loss for words, Eliza fled the room, closing the door behind her.

  Fawn turned to look at her reflection. “That went well, don’t you think?”

  She collapsed onto the bed and replayed the scene in her mind. She hadn’t seen anyone look that shocked since Rain Woman saw her in a doeskin dress for the very first time.

  At the thought of the kindly old grandmother, Fawn turned somber. If she didn’t escape, she’d never know if all her friends were safe… never know if Little Elk returned unharmed. She had to find a way home. She bit her knuckle.

  Would the worries never stop? Now she wondered if the colonel’s wife would throw her out. Being locked up in a smell tack room didn’t hold much appeal, but she guessed she’d find out soon enough.

  Fawn’s breath hitched when someone knocked on the door.

  “I have fresh water here for you,” a female voice called out.

  Fawn released her pent up breath and opened the door.

  Eliza bustled in behind a uniformed man carrying a fresh bucket of water. He filled the porcelain pitcher then turned and left without a word. Eliza stayed behind.

  “Try not to waste a drop,” she instructed. “It takes at least ten trips a day for the water detail to keep the barrels filled, and that’s no easy feat. Did you see the road down to the river? That steep climb back up is really hard on the mules.”

  She giggled. “Here I am worrying about mules, and you, you poor dear, must be exhausted. I’ll leave you to wash up and rest a bit before supper.”

  Eliza didn’t appear upset enough to oust her. Fawn perched on the edge of the bed and heaved a sigh of relief.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Seated at the table with hands folded in her lap, Fawn waited not only for the food to be passed, but to see what turn the conversation took. She hadn’t quite figured out Colonel Jamison. His uneasy glances indicated displeasure at having her share his table, but his manners were still that of a gentleman. He handed the mashed potatoes to Fawn. “I assume you are going to be comfortable with your accommodations?”

  Fawn spooned a large helping of the steaming vegetable onto her plate. “Oh yes. The room is quite lovely. Mrs. Jamison has a knack for decorating.”

  “Yes, Eliza has an eye for style. I imagine staying here will be much more pleasant than living with heathens.”

  Fawn sat straight and squared her shoulders. “I do not consider the Lakota to be heathens, sir.”

  “Well, then you’re too far gone for us to save if that is how you truly feel. I’ve never in all my days met a white woman who preferred a savage to one of her own race. If I had my choice—”

  Eliza Jamison cast a stern look at her husband then smiled at Fawn. “Care for a hot biscuit, dear.”

  After accepting a hot bun, Fawn reached for the gravy ladle and covered her potatoes with the rich brown sauce. She took her first taste. “Mmm. This is delicious. Sure beats the hardtack we ate on the way here.”

  The conversation ended. Fawn continued to eat but sensed the tension in the air. Except for the sound of eating utensils scraping against the plates, the room was totally quiet until Colonel Jamison pushed back from the table “If you ladies will excuse me, I’m needed at a staff meeting with my senior officers.”

  With his departure, a relaxed feeling settled over the room.

  * * *

  Eliza finished the dishes and dried her hands. She hung her apron back on its hook and turned to Fawn. “Would you like to join me in the parlor?”

  “That would be nice.” Fawn followed her hostess.

  The straight back of the armed side chair left Fawn wishing for her comfortable willow backrest, and she struggled to get comfortable. She glanced around the warm and cheery room. Various pictures hung on the walls. One in particular caught her eye, a picture of the colonel and his wife with two children. Fawn looked to the settee where Eliza sat and pointed toward the photograph. “Are those your children?”

  Eliza smiled. “Yes. Our son, Thomas, and daughter, Sarah. Both grown of course.”

  Fawn warmed at the thought of being a mother herself and massaged her growing abdomen. “My baby will be born in a few months.”

  “So... I noticed. I’ll bet you’re excited.”

  “Nervous is more like it. I don’t know the first thing about being a mother, so I’m really glad I have Green Eyes to teach me.”

  “Green Eyes?”

  “She’s my best friend. Her son, Little Cloud, is almost nine.”

  “My, my. What...what charming names. Although I must say, I am very unaccustomed and perhaps naive about Indian customs and such.”

  Fawn took a deep breath. “Mrs. Jamison—”

  “Please, call me Eliza.”

  “Eliza, I know you must have a million questions. Feel free to ask. I’ve nothing to hide.”

  Nervously wringing her hands, Eliza took a breath. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind. I’m dying to know how you ended up with the Sioux.”

  * * *

  Eliza Jamison sat with her eyes wide and her mouth agape. “I would never have believed it possible to find love with an Indian. I’ve never known one, but I’ve always heard them referred to as savages. You paint a very different picture.”

  “I understand. When I first came to live with the
Lakota, I never thought I would be the happy person I am today. I certainly never expected to fall in love with someone who was party to taking me away from my family, but after living with the Lakota, I saw what my friend, Green Eyes, had already discovered. Just like the white race, there are good and bad people.”

  “Your friend is white, too?”

  “Yes, she’s been with the Lakota for over eight years now and claims them as her people.”

  “But Indian war parties are killing the settlers left and right.”

  “When forced into a corner, wouldn’t you fight for what you love?” Fawn argued. “Wouldn’t you defend your children and what was rightfully theirs?”

  The colonel’s wife nodded. “Of course I would. I love my children very much.”

  “As the Lakota love theirs. There is no difference between you and an Indian except the color of your skin and your beliefs. Our men had left the village when your husband’s mounted troops rode into camp. They killed mostly women and children, and undoubtedly a few old men, so our men aren’t—”

  Eliza covered a yawn. “Please excuse me. I’ve enjoyed our talk, but it must be very late.”

  No sooner had the words passed her lips than Colonel Jamison walked through the door. “Well, I expected you ladies would be asleep by this late hour.”

  Eliza stood and brushed a kiss against her husband’s cheek. “We were just on our way to bed. We’ve had quite a nice visit.”

  “Yes, we did,” Fawn agreed, swallowing unspoken words still begging for release. “But, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll bid you good night.”