by Zina Abbott
Henry shook his head. “Suppose not.”
“If we want peace with the tribes, we need to give them enough land so they can live how they are used to living, and then we need to leave them alone.”
“You sound like you’ve turned into an Indian-lover, Otto. What about all your talk of wanting to sign up with the Volunteers to chase them away from our land after what they did to all those innocent people?”
“That’s why I joined up, Henry. Since then, I’ve learned we’ve done just as bad—or worse—to them as what they have done to white people. Besides that, we’re the ones who stole their land.”
“How could we have done that? The Indians didn’t own anything. That land was free until the government said people could buy it.”
“That’s how whites look at it. The Indians look at it that people cannot own the earth. However, by their tradition, they did claim the territory we call Kansas for hunting and living. That’s what we’ve been taking away from them. The land I have and that farm where Pa and Uncle Sidney and the Palmers live? Not long ago, that was all land used by the Kaws—or I guess sometimes people call them the Kansa tribe.”
“You mean the tribe Charlie Gray Cloud belongs to?”
“Yes. However, years ago the government told the Kaws, your people are too small in numbers, and we want that land for white settlement. That’s why they pushed them down to a much smaller plot of land closer to Indian Territory. Only there’s not enough land there to support the game they need to hunt in order to feed everyone.”
“It’s getting hard to find wild game around here, too.”
“I know. The more people move into an area, the more it gets hunted out. We grow domesticated animals, but that is not the way of the tribal people. They are hunters. Once game grows scarce in one area, they are used to moving to another place within their hunting grounds. That is why the tribes, or bands within a tribe, claim so much of what looks to us like open land. Lying in bed trying to heal up from this injury to my lower back, I had a lot of time to think. I realized how unfair it was to fight the tribes who are trying to keep us from taking over the land they hunt on to survive, and how we white people have already taken over the Kansa land so we could have farms. This land here I’m homesteading? It’s good land, and I’m glad I have it. But sometimes when I see Charlie, I feel a twinge of guilt that I’m part of the people who stole his tribe’s land.”
Henry shook his head even though he knew it had grown too dark for Otto to see him. “You’ve gone soft, Otto. Next, you’ll be telling me you plan to walk away from all this you’ve sunk your money into and built because it belonged to the Kaws first.”
As the light shining through the vents of the stove grew dimmer, the atmosphere in the room changed. Otto and Henry could barely see each other. Yet, Otto felt reluctant to waste a candle just so they could see to talk. Instead, he leaned forward to open the door to the firebox so they could enjoy the sight of the burning coals and the little bit of light they threw out.
Otto’s response came out soft and reflective. “No. I leave this land, and some other white man will come along and take it and get the benefit of all we’ve put into making it a good farm. Let’s just say, the Indian question isn’t so black and white to me anymore.”
It felt calming to Otto to sit before the fire. He mused how it put him in mind of the many nights he had sat around a campfire with others from his cavalry company—first, while they chased Johnny Rebs down into Arkansas, and later, when they left to march against the three tribes. As long as the weather was good, and the insects weren’t too bad, and they weren’t expecting a battle the next day, he enjoyed those times around the remains of the flames they used to cook their supper.
That all changed once they left Fort Laramie to go into the Powder River territory. The longer they marched—the farther they went—the less the time spent relaxing around a campfire after a long day offered him a measure of peace. The longer they were out there, the more the sense of futility—of wrongness—persisted.
Otto became so lost in his thoughts Henry’s question startled him, causing him to flinch.
Henry’s words held an edge—one that communicated he was not satisfied with what he had heard so far. “This isn’t the whole story you plan to tell me, is it? You haven’t said one word about you actually going after the Indians.”
“I promised Pa, I’ll tell you my story, Henry, so I will. Just not tonight. Sometimes…” Reluctant to share his reason, Otto inhaled deeply, hoping to suck courage as well as air inside him. “Sometimes thinking or talking about it causes me to have nightmares—if I can even get to sleep thinking about it, that is. We got too big a day ahead of us tomorrow. I can’t afford to do without my sleep tonight.”
“Then when?”
“When we get back from Junction City. You’ll go back with Pa and everyone else the next day, and if I don’t get much done but take care of chores, I’ll get by. I promise I’ll tell you on the night before you leave for home.”
“I’ll hold you to it. I’ve always felt everyone has held back on telling me, because they thought I was too young. Well, I’m no little boy anymore. If I’m old enough to help you bring in your crop of winter wheat, I’m old enough to know the whole story.”
“I agree, Henry. I just want you to understand there is more to it than the kind of thing you’d expect to read in one of those dime novels. When we left, I started out full of excitement over finally being able to rid Kansas of the Indian tribes that threatened our people. It ended up being one of the most miserable experiences of my life so far, and not just because I got wounded. From a military standpoint, I feel it was a failure, although none of the officers involved will ever admit it. As far as what they wanted us to do to those native people—it was just wrong.”
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JUNCTION CITY, KANSAS – MAY 1868
CHAPTER 8
~o0o~
Otto stepped out of the pharmacological store the local doctor owned next to his surgery, grateful the sale of his wheat had allowed him to buy more salicylic powder for when the pain from his leg grew too intense. The doctor also persuaded Otto to buy a small bottle of laudanum. Otto had been reluctant to do so, not caring for how taking that pain reliever affected him. He did not need the doctor’s warning to not overuse it because it could become addicting, but he had listened patiently to the man’s instructions.
Otto knew first-hand about the addictive effects. That was why he preferring to stick with the salicylic powder or willow bark tea along with ice, when he could get it, or heat packs.
The mere thought of what he had learned to do to relieve paid prompted Otto to place his hand on the back of his pelvis and stretch the tight muscles that surrounded his scar. He had gritted his teeth much of the way and with tight-lipped responses had refused help driving to Junction City. However, doing so had taken its toll.
Mary must have sensed it, for as soon as he finished supper and prepared to bed down for the night, she had offered him her jar of joint salve to use. After that, he had gone to sleep in spite of his aches, and he been one of the last ones to rise in the morning.
That was the other thing he had bought from the pharmacy—his own jar of joint salve.
Otto returned to the front of the livery where the two wagons were parked. In his were oats for his horse. He had bought his chickens and enough feed to last him until the next time he made it into Abilene to shop, but he left the squawking fowls in the shade of the livery until they were ready to leave. With a smile, he walked over to join Edward and Mary Palmer.
Mary beckoned at Otto’s approach. “Come with me, Otto. We’re on our way over to the little café next to the hotel. I’ve talked my dear husband into buying me a cup of tea and a sweet to give me the energy to start our trip back to your place. We’d love for you to join us. Our treat.”
Although it had only been a few hours since Mary had served flapjacks an
d ham to the group, a cup of something hot and a sweet roll sounded irresistible to him. He nodded. “I’m happy to join you, but you don’t need to buy mine. I got enough for my wheat, I can splurge on a little extra.”
“No, we insist. In fact, I already left word with the livery owner to tell the other men when they get back to meet us over there. They should be back from Fort Riley soon.”
The trio found the café and ordered their food. They were barely starting to eat when Otto’s father and uncle, as well as Shorty, joined them.
Jefferson dropped into his chair with a satisfied grin. “They took all the cattle and gave us our price. Always a pleasure doing business with the fort. Since they know us now, they don’t give us any trouble.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “Here, Edward, this is your share. Not as satisfying as when they paid in gold coin, but the government is doing just about all its business in greenbacks these days.”
“Thank you.” Edward accepted his cut of the cattle sale and quickly slipped it into a pouch which he then shoved into a pocket. He looked at the rounded form of the woman approaching them with a tray and waved her over before he turned back to the men. “Mary and I took the liberty of ordering you some coffee and the specialty of the day, cinnamon buns. As soon as you finish, I guess we better head the wagons back to Otto’s place so we get there before dark.”
Otto could tell his father wasn’t in a mood to socialize. Jefferson bolted down his sweet roll followed by the coffee as quickly as the heat of the beverage would allow. Then he began to cut into Uncle’s Sidney’s stories, urging everyone to wait until that night to tell their tales.
The sound of a train whistle so loud it seemed like it came from right outside the door interrupted Sidney’s and Shorty’s joint complaint at being hurried by Jefferson.
Jefferson stood and hitched his belt higher on his waist. “Time to get out of here, and let the train passengers have the tables.”
Otto smiled when his uncle protested. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’ll go to the hotel first.”
“Except those who are only getting off long enough to eat then will be boarding again. They’ll more than likely come here. It’s time we left for home.”
The rest of the group rose from the two tables pushed together. They then moved towards the door to wait outside while Edward settled the bill.
Otto, as was his habit since his injury, let the others go first. He had learned through experience that the best way to prevent being tripped or shoved off-balance was to avoid being in the way of those who were in a hurry. He waited just outside the door until Mary exited on the arm of her husband.
Otto noticed several people dressed as if they had come from the train kept their focus on the hotel. Others made a beeline for the café. Because of the coming of the railroad, Junction City was growing, just like Abilene. He remembered when Abilene had been no more than a stage waystation along the Smoky Hill Trail. It now was gradually growing into a sizable city, especially with talk that it might become the next big rail stop for drovers bringing up herds of longhorns from Texas.
The two older Atwells and Shorty, who were ahead of Otto and the Palmers, crossed in front of the hotel. Single file, they walked behind a young woman with a small valise at her feet.
She stood on the boardwalk about a foot from its outward edge. Her hands clasped in front of her, she stared ahead.
Otto prepared to walk behind her but jerked to a stop when the hotel clerk stepped out and stood next to her.
“Miss—or madam—may I help you? Will you be needing a room for the night?”
“No, thank you. I’m waiting for someone.”
As Otto passed the pair, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her turn to face the clerk. The clerk then jerked his head back with a flicker of a frown crossing his face. As Otto looked at her profile, he saw what the clerk had seen. The woman was dressed well enough, although her clothes were not of the latest style. She appeared reasonably clean, considering she had come in on the train, and train travel was known to cover passengers with dust and cinders. She moved with an air of grace he found appealing. However, the cream-colored veil that draped across the top half of her face attached to her straw hat with its wide brim did not hide her facial features.
The woman continued. “I’m to marry a Mr. Uriah Chambers. Do you know him, or where I can find him?”
The clerk’s expression changed to a decided scowl as he pointed to the building across the street and two businesses down while he spat out his response. “Probably over at the saloon. That’s where he spends most of his time.” With one last disparaging head-to-toe look at the woman, the clerk rushed back into the hotel lobby.
Unable to ignore the scene, Otto stopped walking and now watched her. A quiver coursing through her arms gave the only indication that the clerk’s words had any effect on her. With a blank expression on her face, she turned towards the building to which the clerk had pointed.
The woman picked up her valise as if to start towards the saloon to look for the man she had planned to meet when the sound of wood banging against wood in the distance stopped her forward movement.
Otto turned from studying her profile to look in the direction from whence the sound came. A man stumbling through the doorway to the saloon had slammed the batwings back against the wooden walls. He walked forward with a weave in his step and nearly tumbled to the ground when he stepped off the boardwalk onto the dirt street. It appeared his destination was the front of the hotel.
Otto heard his father call to him. “Otto, let’s go. Daylight’s been burning a long time now.” He held up his hand and shook his head, unwilling to turn his eyes from the scene. Mary and Edward had walked back and stood behind the woman. Something told him he needed to stay, too.
Mary stepped close to the woman’s back and spoke softly. “Do you know this man you are to meet, dear?”
The woman turned her head, but she kept her gaze towards the ground so that Otto could not clearly see them. “No. I’ve only written to him. Our meeting was arranged through a marriage service.”
Otto shuffled a step back to keep from crowding her. A marriage service. He had heard about the businesses that used advertisements to connect women from back east to potential husbands in the West. He had a feeling if he were ever going to get a wife, the only way he could entice one to even give him the time of day before rejecting him was to write to a woman first and hope she decided, sight unseen, to give him a chance. It evidently did not always work out well, if the clerk’s reaction when he heard the name of the man this woman was to meet was any indication.
Mary’s voice brought Otto out of his musing. “Dear, don’t go with this man if you have a bad feeling about him. We’ll help you if you need it.”
The woman’s voice answered in a soft tone as she attempted to convey a confidence Otto doubted she felt. “I’ll…I’ll be fine. I thank you for your offer.”
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CHAPTER 9
~o0o~
As grateful as she felt that the woman—a complete stranger—would offer help, she knew she needed to handle this matter by herself. If this man was to be her husband, she could not risk alienating him by allowing others to interfere. It was bad enough that the handsome young man with the long blond hair and eyes as blue as the sky after an earth-washing rain had stood so close to her side and studied her. She could not tell from his expression—or lack of one—whether or not he judged her. Three others, some who looked like they might be related to the young blond fellow, joined the group, making her feel crowded.
The grizzled older-looking man staggering towards the group called out. “Hey! You there, woman. I’m Uriah Chambers. You Libby Jones?”
Libby nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Can’t hear you, hussy. Step over here and let me get a look at you.”
Hussy?
Taking a fortifying breath, Libby ignored her u
nwanted audience. She forced herself to step off the boardwalk and began walking slowly towards the drunkard she began to suspect she could not bring herself to marry. For one thing, he had obviously lied about his age.
He could not be twenty-eight. He looked old enough to be her father. He looked the same age as…
Libby refused to complete the thought. She could not think about him or the little courage that remained within her would desert her completely. She began to suspect she wanted nothing to do with this man before her, either. How could she marry someone who treated her like this?
Libby had taken no more than a half dozen steps when the man approaching her stopped about ten feet from her. He squinted as he hunched over to study her.
“Take off your hat.”
Libby’s heart sank at his barked order. He had seen enough to know. The mother superior had assured her there would be no cause for concern, but Libby now suspected the well-meaning woman had been mistaken. She set her valise in the dust of the street and slowly reached up to pull the pins from her head covering. She looked down as she replaced the pins in the ribbon band. Holding the hat in both hands, she lifted her face until her gaze met those of the inebriated man who claimed to be Uriah Chambers, the man who had sent for her to be his wife. Libby cringed at the string of curses that flew from his lips.
Chambers pointed an accusing finger at her. “You’re Injun. I ain’t marrying no squaw.”
Libby forced her voice to remain calm. She recalled what the mother superior had said about the origin of the Jones surname. “No, sir. I’m not Indian. I do have a grandmother on my father’s side who has native blood. However, my father’s father was from Wales. My mother is white with no Indian blood in her family. I am white.”