Heart of the Sandhills

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  Gen nodded and Abner stood up. “I’m going now.” He nodded toward the dogs. “But they know what to do if you try anything, so save us both the trouble. There’s a storm brewin’. I’ll be back when it’s over.”

  He ambled out of sight, leaving Gen in the shadows of the dying fire.

  “You do what you want,” Daniel said. “I’m going to find my wife.” He swallowed hard. “And if she’s hurt—” He gestured toward where Abner’s trail led off into a field. “He leaves a trail as wide as an entire village.”

  “We need help,” Jeb said. “The law.”

  “You get whatever law you think will help a Dakota brave against a white man,” Daniel said. He motioned to Aaron to follow him. “I’m going to get my wife.”

  “But, Daniel,” Jeb called.

  Robert grabbed his arm. “Let him go. Can you ride up to Fort Ridgely and get Captain Willets?”

  “I don’t see no call to get the military involved,” Jeb said uncertainly.

  “You’re a good man, Jeb. But if there’s going to be trouble, I’d like to have more than one white man in Minnesota on my side. You tell Captain Willets what’s happened. He’ll come. I pray to God we won’t need him. But I want him.”

  In less than an hour Jeb had headed for Fort Ridgely and Robert had joined Daniel and Aaron, following the trail left by Abner Marsh.

  “Someone should have gone to the Marsh farm,” Robert said quietly. “Just to make certain it is him.”

  “It’s him,” Daniel said tersely from where he knelt on the ground studying the shadow of a track. Clouds moving in from the West caused the wind to pick up. He got up abruptly and began to run along the creek bank.

  Robert went to the opposite side of the creek bank. After a few moments when nothing had turned up, he called across to Daniel, “He’s not as careless as we thought.”

  It began to drizzle. The men pushed ahead, frantic to find some trace. In the gathering dark Daniel finally found the imprint of a shoe. He tore up the creek bank and headed north just as it began to rain. At the top of the hill Aaron found a fragment of cloth clinging to a bramble.

  “It’s Gen’s,” Daniel said and climbed back into the saddle. “But where is he taking her?”

  Just as Daniel asked the question, the skies opened, drenching all three men in a matter of moments. Lightning flashed and the horses began to dance nervously.

  “Let’s find shelter,” Robert shouted above the rain. “We’ll start again as soon as the storm passes.” No one mentioned what they all knew—that the storm was obliterating Abner Marsh’s trail and when the rain ceased they would be standing helpless in the middle of a field with no inkling of where to go or what to do.

  An hour later, the men were still hunkered beneath a rocky ledge, wet and miserable. Robert spoke up. “If he meant to harm her, Daniel, he wouldn’t have had to take her so far away. I don’t know what he has in mind, but I don’t think he means to harm her. For some reason he’s just hiding.”

  Daniel was quiet so long that Robert began to think he had fallen asleep. When he acknowledged what Robert said, it was only to croak, “I can’t think God would have given her back to me only to let evil take her again.”

  “Neither can I,” Robert said. He put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

  “God loves her more than we do,” Aaron said suddenly. “We should pray.”

  Daniel stared at the boy. “Then pray, Aaron. I know I should. But I can’t.”

  Aaron gulped and looked guiltily at Robert. He meant to help, but in the face of desperation, his call to prayer felt like a meaningless cliché. Embarrassed, he bowed his head and said nothing.

  “Father God,” Robert said, “Daniel has no words. Aaron has no words. I have none, except to say that we give You Genevieve. We give You ourselves. And we ask You to show us what to do.” He paused, sighed, and then looked down, muttering, “I am sorry, my friend. That is all I know to say.”

  Daniel scrubbed his face in a vain attempt to hold back the emotions raging inside him. He was doing his best to serve God and to trust Him. It certainly seemed to him that both he and Blue Eyes had suffered enough for one lifetime. He had resisted anger at God and a dozen other feelings threatening to overwhelm. The one emotion he could not seem to beat back was fear. He was afraid of losing the trail. Afraid of never finding Blue Eyes. Or worse, of finding her and learning that she had been harmed in some horrible way that neither of them would ever be able to reclaim. He was afraid, too, that he would find her … and with her, Abner Marsh. The thought terrified him, because if Abner Marsh had harmed his Blue Eyes, then he would not turn the other cheek, and he would be guilty of an act that might prove a permanent denial of his faith in Christ. And that was the greatest fear of all.

  Twelve

  Save us, O God of our salvation, and gather us together, and deliver us from the heathen, that we may give thanks to thy holy name, and glory in thy praise.

  —1 Chronicles 16:35

  Abner had said a storm was brewing, and although Gen couldn’t see outside, she could sense a change as if the air were charged with something new. The dogs sensed it, too. They grew restless, alternating between lying down and sitting, their ears always alert as they turned their attention first toward Gen, then toward the entrance of the cave and back again. Once the storm began, they grew even more restless, straining against the ropes that bound them, sniffing at one another, whining and pacing back and forth. One fierce flash of lightning followed by a clap of thunder caused a frenzy of yelping and straining against the ropes that tied them to the floor of the cave.

  When the storm increased its fury and thunder echoed through the cave, they seemed to forget about Gen. They yelped and cried out, paced and jerked at their tethers in a frenzy of fear.

  They’re afraid. With the realization, Gen sensed a flicker of hope. Taking a deep breath, she inched away from the wall behind her. One of the dogs, the one with pale eyes, noticed. Gen paused, willing herself to stare back into the animal’s eyes. When a loud burst of thunder sounded through the cave, the dog looked away from Gen, straining and pulling against the stake for all he was worth. The stake began to loosen in the soft earth of the cave floor and while the storm outside raged, Gen pulled and pushed at the splintered piece of wood, never taking her eyes off the dogs.

  Once, when the storm seemed to quiet, all three animals turned to watch her. With her heart in her throat, Gen rolled out of harm’s way. Only when she was once again pressed against the cave wall did she realize the dogs had not tried to attack her. They watched her with a kind of curiosity, looking from her toward the doorway and back again, almost as if in their desperation they begged her to release them. Carefully, slowly, she inched back toward the stakes, never taking her eyes off the animals, praying her hands would not shake, begging God to keep any scent of fear from setting them at her. As if in answer to her prayer, the storm picked up again, hurling flashes of light into the cave and once again setting the dogs into a frenzied pattern of pacing and yelping and struggling against the ropes.

  “If you’d let me touch you,” Gen said, more to herself than to the animals, “I could untie you and you’d be free.”

  But they only continued their pacing and struggling while Gen knelt beside a stake and, grasping it with her hands, began rocking back and forth with all her might. Finally, the wood gave way and the dog at the other end of the rope leaped away.

  Their partner’s absence sent the two remaining dogs into a heightened frenzy. They lunged again and again away from Gen while she worked at the second stake. When it gave way and the second dog tore away, the remaining animal seemed to forget all about Gen in its desperate attempt to get free. Emboldened by the ferocity of the storm and the animal’s obvious terror, Gen reached for its collar. The creature lashed out at her more out of mindless fear than any intent to harm, opening a deep gash across one forearm, but at the moment the dog’s teeth found flesh, Gen managed to release the rop
e from around its neck and the animal tore away.

  With shaking hands, Gen began to work at the ropes binding her ankles together. When lightning illuminated the cave, she realized the gash on her forearm was oozing blood so freely it ran down her arm and was dripping all over her feet. Impatient to be free, she ripped a strip of white cloth from her petticoat and wrapped her forearm, then returned to working at the knot securing the rope around her ankles. The storm began to quiet and with the cessation of the lightning, it was nearly impossible to see. She scooted across the floor of the cave toward the opening. The sky was clearing.

  Oh, God, Gen prayed. Don’t let the dogs find their way home too soon … don’t bring him back. Not yet. Help me, Lord. She prayed continually while she worked at the ropes around her ankles and at last she was free. Springing up to run away she stumbled, surprised at how stiff her legs had become in the hours she had been bound. She landed hard against a rock and for a moment lay staring up at the brilliant night sky gasping for breath. When she finally managed to get back up, her head was throbbing. She winced and raised her hand to feel a huge welt rising near her left cheekbone. A noise in the underbrush near the cave sent her staggering ahead blindly. She held her arms before her face and made her way through a thicket of trees and up and up until, finally, she came out of the brush atop a hill.

  She paused, blinking stupidly, looking about her, dismayed that she saw nothing familiar and had no idea which way to run. Which way, Father? I don’t know where I am … which way? The only answer was the sounds of the night creatures recovering from the storm and beginning to creak and squeak their way through another few hours of darkness before dawn.

  At last she thought she saw a glimmer of light off in the distance. With a shudder, she wondered if it might be Marsh’s campfire. No, she reasoned, no one could have kept a fire going through the storm. A cabin, then? Her heart racing, she stared into the distance and, breathing another prayer, she headed for the light.

  She is Mine. I love her far more than even you. Give her to Me.

  Hunkered under a rock in the driving storm, Daniel tried to ignore the inner voice. He had been trying to ignore it for what seemed like hours, and yet as he watched the violence of the storm that would wash away all trace of any trail that might lead him to Blue Eyes, as he fought the rising desperation that clutched at his midsection, Daniel knew what he must do. He had asked Robert to pray because he did not have it in him to say what he must. Even now, when he allowed the conscious thought, he didn’t think he could do it. How can I do that? he argued with himself—or with God, although he preferred to think of the raging thoughts in his head as being only the human rantings of a man beside himself with worry. How can I simply open my hand and give her over?

  You might as well give her to Me. I know where she is. Even at this moment I can see her. She is Mine, and I do as I please with what is Mine … and if you are Mine, you must learn to trust Me. I do only what is best for time and all eternity. But My ways are not your ways.

  Daniel begged, Don’t let her be hurt, God. Please. I couldn’t stand it if she were—if another man –

  I made a man out of the dust, My son, and I make beauty out of ashes all the time. I will do it again. Give Genevieve to Me.

  I can’t, Daniel begged. I can’t.

  You can do all things, Daniel Two Stars, for I will give you strength.

  Even as the Scriptures sounded in his heart, Daniel rebelled. He did not want strength to do nothing and trust God. He wanted strength to find Blue Eyes and to make whoever had taken her suffer.

  As if he had heard Daniel’s inner struggle, Robert said gently, “The heavenly Father loves her far more than you ever will, Daniel. You must believe that. Think back to all that He has done for you and trust Him. He makes beauty from ashes.”

  Hearing Robert speak some of the very words Daniel had been thinking sent a shiver running down his spine. He ran his hands through his hair. “I know it in my head. It is a very different thing to believe it on a night when she has been taken—when someone might be—” His voice wavered. He took a deep breath. “When I think what could be happening—she’s so little,” he gulped. “She couldn’t defend herself, not if—”

  Robert read his friend’s fears and began suddenly to pray, “Dear Father, we beg a miracle. Keep Gen from harm.” He paused. “Please, Lord, show Yourself to my friend in a way that he will never forget. We believe, Lord. Forgive our unbelief.” Robert grasped his friend’s shoulder. “The rains stop. Let’s go.”

  “We don’t know where to go,” Daniel muttered miserably, even as he stood up and stretched his stiff legs and mounted his horse. He sat with his head bowed for a moment, then looked up at the clear night sky. Far off in the distance he thought he could hear dogs barking.

  “Marsh has dogs,” he said quickly and nudged his horse to a trot. A lump rose in his throat as he and Robert and Aaron urged their horses into a deep valley and across a swiftly running creek newly filled with rainwater. Slowed by mud and wet grass, the men plodded toward the sound of barking dogs.

  He should have known he couldn’t trust those fool dogs. Not in a storm like the one last night. Abner Marsh slipped on the muddy slope leading up to the cave, but not before he saw the signs of escape. Scrambling up the path and charging inside the cave, he grabbed up first one wooden stake and then another, shouting a string of epithets aimed at small Injun women and big dogs. He went back to the mouth of the cave and then to the top of the hill outside where he stood as the sun rose, staring around him at the countryside, immune to the beauty of a world washed clean.

  Somewhere far in the distance he thought he could hear something. Abner cocked his head and squinted, listening carefully. Then, with a smile, he descended the hill into the swirling early morning fog, mounted his horse, and with a savage kick to the animal’s sides, set off in the direction of what he thought just might be his dogs barking at a treed animal.

  It was going to be a beautiful day. Dawn illuminated clear azure skies. The scent of freshly washed grass and damp earth filled the morning air as Gen closed her eyes and inhaled. In the predawn light she had headed toward a glimmer in the distance. She could no longer see it, but she kept in the general direction anyway. In spite of the thick morning fog, there was something oddly familiar about the landscape and she began to think she might be near either the old Redwood Agency, or even perhaps Fort Ridgely.

  She hurried along, ignoring her aching head and the throbbing in her arm where one of the dogs had bitten her. Coming upon a violently rushing stream, she hesitated only a moment before plunging across it only to emerge shivering on the opposite bank. It was then she thought she heard something in the distance behind her. She hurried on, trying to ignore the sound until she could no longer deny the fact that somewhere behind her dogs were barking.

  Gen had just leaped across another stream when she turned just in time to see Abner Marsh’s dogs break into view out of the fog and tear across the valley toward her. She began to run, aware that the dogs were closing fast. Instinct sent her to a tree just ahead. She leaped once, twice, a third time, managing to clutch a low branch and scramble up just as the first dog reached her. With one leap the animal caught the hem of her dress. She could feel the tug and hear the fabric rip as the dog landed beneath her, a strip of her dress dangling from its mouth. She climbed higher, crouching on a limb, looking down at the dogs as they snarled and leaped high in the air in a vain attempt to reach her.

  Please, God, Gen thought desperately, send help!

  The prayer had scarcely formed in her mind when Abner Marsh came into view astride a tall bay horse.

  Gen pulled her legs up beneath her and wrapped her arms around her knees in a vain attempt to become invisible. Trembling with terror, she began to cry. Inwardly she was screaming, God … send help!

  Marsh pulled his horse to a walk and approached slowly, enjoying the sight of his dogs doing as they had been trained. Still dragging a piece of the rope tha
t had tied it in place in the cave, one of the dogs was shredding a portion of the little squaw’s dress. The other two alternately jumped high against the tree and spun in circles in a frenzied attempt to get at her. She was there, perched high in the tree, her legs drawn up beneath her, her dark skin paler than usual. As he got closer, he realized she was looking at him. He pulled his horse up and stared back at her, hoping the hatred he felt for her and her kind showed on his face. When he nudged his horse closer, he could see the tears streaming down her face. Still, he thought, there was something in those blue eyes that was neither surrender nor fear. There was something else. In another setting, he would have thought the expression was one of pity. He could see her lips move. But she wasn’t calling out for mercy. It occurred to him that the fool woman was praying.

  And as Abner looked up at the treed Indian woman, something happened. She was so small, he thought. Hardly big enough to be a grown woman. More the size of Pris and Polly back at home. And the dogs. The dogs were doing their job. Having treed their prey they were still trying to get at it, waiting for their master to shoot it out of the tree, ready to tear it to pieces. He looked at the woman again. Sally had said something about her one night at supper, something about her going to Marjorie Grant’s and helping the women with their quilting. When Sally said Harriet Baxter and Lydia Quinn thought Genevieve Two Stars was a nice woman, he’d slapped her and reminded her what she was to think about Indians. But now, looking up at the Indian perched on the tree branch, shivering and staring at him with those brilliant blue eyes, he had to look away. No one had told him Genevieve Two Stars was a half-breed. It didn’t really matter, he supposed, but if she was part white … Abner blinked. He wished she would do anything but just sit there quietly looking at him with her lips moving like that. Her hair covered half her face, but he could see the bruise anyway. He saw the bloodstained rag wrapped around her forearm, the white petticoat showing from beneath the skirt Goliath had ripped.