Heart of the Sandhills

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  “File,” Grainger said, and worked to smooth the end of the bone. “You need to open your eyes now, Captain Leighton. I’m going to need an extra hand. And whatever you do, don’t faint on me.”

  Elliot looked down and grimaced. Bile rose in his throat.

  “You going to be all right?”

  Elliot swallowed and nodded. “Get on with it.”

  The doctor nodded. “Good.” He pulled the skin flap up and stitched it shut. “Neater than stitches at a quilting bee, eh Major? Now brace your hand under the thigh—yes. Just so.” He packed the end of the stump with cotton padding and put more over the knee. “Bandaging is important. Two turns around the stump end—always from behind. Keeps the tension so the skin flap is pulled forward. Prevents ulcerations over the end of the bone.” Grainger worked while he talked. He’d inserted a piece of tubing in the wound before closing. “Drain comes out in two days if it goes all right. We’ll have him moving tomorrow. Assuming he wakes up, of course.” Grainger felt Daniel’s forehead. “Fever’s pretty high.” He spoke to Picotte. “Ask her if she’ll ride with him and keep his face cooled off with water.”

  “‘Course she will,” Picotte said.

  Daniel was loaded into the back of the ambulance. Two Moons scrambled up behind him, canteen in one hand, cloth in the other. As she bathed his face with cool water, she talked to him.

  The surgical table was rinsed off, folded up and put away. The doctor ordered two of the detail from the fort to bury “the specimen.” He washed his hands in the creek and, seemingly oblivious to the bloodstains on his uniform, returned to the ambulance and climbed up alongside the driver for the trip back to the fort.

  The military detail lead the way, followed by the ambulance, Picotte, Willets, Leighton, Pope, and Dane. They traveled along in unnatural silence until Willets said something to Elliot and galloped off toward the fort.

  “Where’s he going?” Aaron asked.

  “To get Genevieve,” Leighton said.

  Genevieve Two Stars leaned against the doorframe of the Beaumont’s residence looking out on the Fort Laramie parade ground. The men were drilling in exact precision, the flag was flying, it was a beautiful fall day, and Genevieve was trying her best not to let the tears out. Be thankful, she reminded herself. The children you’ve been working with are good. Libby and the doctor have been kind. You have food and clothing … and with these you should be content.

  Movement off to the left attracted her attention, and she smiled to see a young antelope peering around the corner of the house at her. It watched her for a moment, its ears flicking first one way, then the other.

  “Come here, Beggar,” Gen reached into her pocket for a few grains of corn and held out her hand. One of the soldiers had brought a fawn in this past spring after he found it nestled next to its dead mother. Libby bottle-fed and handfed until the little guy learned to walk. Now they couldn’t make him leave. He went from house to barracks to the sutler’s and back again, begging and charming. When Gen sat down at the edge of the rough board porch, Beggar stepped up and accepted her grain offering, then rubbed his head against her shoulder, nearly knocking her over. “Hey, you,” Gen protested. “That’s all there is. Go charm someone else.”

  Rolling thunder made her look up toward the mountains. Sure enough, storm clouds were moving in. One of these days the clouds would hold snow. Gen’s eyes wandered to the gates. Her new red dress had been finished for weeks. She had made a blue one, too. And three shirts for Daniel. She’d bought him a new pair of pants and boots … and still there was money left in the leather pouch around her neck.

  She was beginning to wonder if they were going to spend the winter at Fort Laramie. She was, she told herself for the hundredth time, not worried. Didn’t God say not to be anxious for tomorrow? Didn’t He say He would never give her more than she could bear? She clung to those truths every day—sometimes every moment when she was particularly lonely. She was changing, she knew. She dared not hope that her secret might be true, but she longed for Daniel in a new way, longed to whisper the secret only to him and to have him share new wonder at God’s goodness.

  Sighing, Gen got up and headed for the little stone church. Three children were waiting on the stairs, pointing up at the clouds. When she approached, they once again begged for the story of Daniel in the lions’ den. “Inside,” she said, rubbing her arms briskly and following them up the stairs. “Rain’s coming.” The three young boys ran to the front of the little church and clustered on the front pew. Gen sat before them on the stage, wondering if any more would come. Half a dozen children usually joined her each morning.

  Rain began to fall, gently pelting against the church windows. Gen began the lesson, teaching her three pupils a few new words in English. She had forgotten how quickly children could learn.

  Since she didn’t speak Lakota, their beginnings had been slow. But Libby had already taught them some English as had the soldiers, although Gen found herself trying to unteach some of those words. It was difficult for them to understand the concept of swearing. Lakota had no such words.

  When the moments passed and no more children came, Gen asked about those absent. They were gone, she learned. Gone to be with relatives up north in winter camp before the snows came. Gen nodded, once again reminded of the mixing of two ways of life, wondering how it would end for those Lakota who spent their time divided between the white man’s world at Fort Laramie and the old ways in winter camp.

  When the rain began to click against the window, the children ran to watch small ice crystals sliding down the glass. Gen watched too for a moment before calling them back to the front pew.

  “So,” she said, smiling, “now I teach one, two, three.”

  “Four! Five! Six!” the little ones shouted back at her.

  She held up her fingers as they counted and had just arrived at ten the second time when she heard someone run up the church steps, with spurs. Her heart pounded as she watched the door. The children turned round, peeking over the top of the pew. The door opened. John Willets stepped in, dressed like a trader. He was alone. He took his hat off and held it in his hand, and then he just stood there staring at her.

  The children turned back around, looking at their teacher with wide eyes. Her voice trembling, Gen said they should go.

  “Later?” one asked.

  Gen glanced down at him, a young boy with gentle brown eyes and a winning smile. She shook her head.

  “Tomorrow?” he persisted.

  “Ask Mrs. Doc,” Gen said. She was looking back at Willets as she spoke.

  The children filed down the church aisle. They stared up at Willets as they walked past him and out the door. Gen sat, clasping her small hands in her lap, watching Willets walk toward her. “Is he dead?” She knew it was her voice, but it was as if she were listening from some place far away.

  Willets shook his head. “No. But he took a bad spill. Broken bones. He’s up at Phil Kearney.”

  Gen stood up. “How far is that?”

  “Six days’ ride.”

  “You’ll take me.” She didn’t ask. Somehow she knew he would.

  She had packed quickly, and by the time she was finished Willets had bought supplies at the sutler’s and was waiting outside the doctor’s house with a fresh horse for himself and a dapple gray mare with a charcoal mane and tail for her. It was still raining, but the temperature had warmed enough that it was just rain now. ‘When Libby protested their leaving in such weather, Gen insisted they would cover themselves with India rubber blankets and they would be fine.

  “You be careful,” Libby said, patting Gen’s arm. “This isn’t a good idea, you know.”

  “It is what it is,” Gen said, forcing a smile. “I’m healthy. It will be all right.”

  “You shouldn’t be traveling alone with a single man,” Libby said.

  Gen smiled at her. “I’m only a Sioux squaw, Libby. No one cares.” She nodded at Willets. “They’ll think he’s a squaw man, but I su
spect he can handle that.”

  Libby blinked a few times.

  “It can’t be helped, Libby. Don’t you see?” Gen’s voice pleaded for her to understand.

  “Of course, dear.” Libby patted her arm. She hesitated, then leaned close and whispered, “You should tell him.” She nodded at Willets. “So he knows not to make it too stressful. This rain is going to make things slippery. Easy to fall. Tell him.”

  Gen shook her head. “No. Daniel hears it first.”

  Libby patted Gen’s arm again and looked at Willets. “You take care with her,” she said firmly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Willets said. He handed Gen a wide-brimmed hat. “To keep the rain from running down your neck. You’ll thank me if the storm gets worse.”

  “I’ll thank you now,” Gen said, forcing a smile and pulling the hat down over her ears. She said good-bye and mounted the gray mare. Libby helped her arrange the India rubber blanket so that it covered saddlebags stuffed with the red calico dress and Daniel’s new clothes. At the last minute, Libby tucked a suspicious-looking bottle in with the red dress.

  “Wild plum wine, dear. To keep the chill off.”

  Gen raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “It has medicinal value,” Libby insisted.

  “Thank you,” Gen said. “I’ll remember that.”

  ‘And remember you are welcome to stay the winter with us. Both of you.” Libby raised an eyebrow and winked. “All of you.”

  Beneath the India rubber blanket, Gen’s hand went to her waist. She swallowed hard, croaked her thanks, and headed after Willets, who was already waiting at the gate.

  When they had ridden outside the fort and were headed north, Willets asked, “You all right? Mrs. Beaumont seemed worried.”

  “I’m fine. She worries about everything. The horse slipping and dumping me in brambles. Snow. Daniel. She’s just that kind of person.” It began to rain harder. Gen pulled the rubber blanket down over her skirt as far as it would go and bowed her head beneath the hat.

  “You get tired, you say something,” Willets half shouted. “Just keep your eyes on me and don’t worry about anything.” He took his horse up the trail. Gen fell in line behind him, not even bothering to look behind her before Fort Laramie was out of sight.

  Toward evening the rain let up. They stopped long enough to roll up the rubber blankets and tie them in place behind their saddles. Gen took her hat off and let it hang from the saddle horn. After a brief rest, they mounted up again, riding a few more miles before lengthening shadows in the valleys signaled the need to make camp for the night.

  They had eaten their cold supper and were sitting by a dismally small fire when Gen cleared her throat and asked, “Is he—is he going to die? Is that why you came for me?”

  “Of course not,” Willets lied. He stood up abruptly and pretended to check the stakes supporting Gen’s tent. “But broken bones take a while to mend, and you might as well not be sitting down at Fort Laramie worried. Everyone agreed.”

  “Tell me what happened,” she demanded.

  “It was the day of the Wagon Box fight—”

  “Wagon Box fight? You were in a battle?” Her voice wavered. “You didn’t tell me you were in a battle. What of Aaron? Elliot? Were they hurt?”

  “Elliot wasn’t even in the fight. Aaron did himself proud. Didn’t get a scratch.”

  “Robert? Big Amos?”

  Willets described the two scouts’ injuries, hurrying to say, “But when I left they were on the mend. In fact, Robert was really angry I wouldn’t let him come for you.” He made an attempt at a joke. “Guess he didn’t think a white man could travel fast enough.”

  “The Wagon Box fight. Tell me,” Gen said. She was concentrating on the clouds in the distance while she waited for him to answer.

  “Right. Well—” Willets spent the next half hour or more detailing everything he knew about the fight. “Aaron’s going to be a first-rate soldier. He’s a good shot and he didn’t lose his nerve. Even Picotte thought he did well, and Picotte doesn’t hand out praise lightly.”

  Gen nodded. “Now tell me how my husband was hurt.”

  “Near as we can tell, he went off a cliff with the stallion. Two Moons found him at the bottom of a canyon, said the stallion was alongside him. Dead, of course.”

  “Two Moons?” Gen frowned and looked at John.

  “She’s Lakota. She found Daniel and took him into some camp. Probably saved his life.”

  “And this Two Moons is where?”

  “Still at the fort, I guess. At least she was there when I left. Wanted to watch over Daniel herself.”

  Gen looked up at the gray sky, then back down at her hands. She held them out toward the fire. “How long was Daniel missing?”

  “Less than two weeks.”

  Gen rubbed her hands together and looked up at Willets. “Are you telling me the truth, or is Daniel already dead and you are afraid to tell me?”

  When he wouldn’t look her in the eye but instead searched the hillside behind her while he swiped his hand over his blond goatee, Gen covered her face with her hands.

  “No—no, Genevieve. Don’t. Don’t cry. It isn’t—” Impulsively, he reached over and pulled her hands away from her face. He lifted her chin and shook his head. “It isn’t that. But there is something I haven’t told you.” ‘When her blue eyes filled with tears he swiped them away with his thumb. “Doctor Grainger came out to meet us when we brought Daniel back. He,” Willets gulped, “he said Daniel would die if he didn’t operate.

  “Operate?” Gen said the word as if she had never heard it before. “What kind of operating?”

  “His leg, Genevieve. Doctor Grainger had to take it.”

  For a moment it was as if the words didn’t make sense to her. She looked down at John’s hands holding hers. Then she snatched her hands away. “They cut off his leg?!”

  “Only below the knee. Had to. Gangrene was starting. Do you know what that is?”

  Gen nodded. “Blackness. When I was in New York, some of the men they sent back from the battlefield—” She closed her eyes and shuddered. When she opened them again, there were no tears. She began to ask questions rapid-fire.

  “Where was the gangrene?”

  “His ankle.”

  “And the wound?”

  “One just below the knee. Another down at the ankle.”

  “Where did the doctor cut?”

  “Just below the knee.”

  “Show me.” She reached over to his leg. “Here?” she touched a spot. “Or here?”

  “Just there,” Willets said, sliding his hand across his leg about three inches below the knee.

  “What did Daniel say?”

  “He doesn’t know. At least he didn’t. He wasn’t awake when we found him.”

  “Unconscious, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “Only a few hours.”

  She nodded. “Does he know I am coming?”

  “No.”

  “And does he know they took his leg?”

  “No. At least he didn’t when it happened.”

  “Hurry,” she said, “we must hurry.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Be thou my strong habitation, whereunto I may continually resort: thou hast given commandment to save me; for thou art my rock and my fortress.

  —Psalm 71:3

  Six days they had been on the trail. She had had six days to pray and prepare, but when she stood at the foot of Daniel’s bed, she wasn’t prepared at all. He looked small and weak. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and he hadn’t responded at all to the sound of footsteps approaching. Beneath the blankets she could see the outline of what was left of his leg. They had it elevated on a pillow. She could also see where it ended, and that, combined with the smell of alcohol and medicines in the room, made her stomach lurch.

  His bed was near a window against the far wall, but it was dark and the only thing visible in the window
was the reflection of the oil lamp burning low on his bedside table.

  And Two Moons was there, for Gen knew it must be her, the small dark-eyed woman sitting on a chair beside her Daniel’s bed.

  The woman named Two Moons looked at Gen without expression, as if to say, “So. You are here.” But she didn’t offer to get up and give Gen her chair.

  “Two Moons,” John Willets whispered. “This is Daniel’s wife. Genevieve.”

  Genevieve reached out. “You saved him. Thank you.”

  Two Moons nodded and shrugged, as if to say, “It was nothing.”

  Gen looked at her wondering what it was that had inspired her to care for a stranger from another tribe—a tribe her people considered cowards. She had wondered about Two Moons before, and the only answer she was able to invent was that Two Moons was God’s answer to all her prayers for Daniel. Now, as she stood looking at the woman, she felt a little unsure of herself. Sorry that Two Moons was so young. John hadn’t mentioned that. Hadn’t mentioned she was pretty, either.

  “Blue Eyes?” His voice was barely audible, but she heard her name and all the thoughts about Two Moons dissolved in the joy at hearing what she thought at that moment was the most beautiful sound on earth. She leaned down to kiss his cheek. “I am here, best beloved,” she whispered. Just barely, his lips turned up at the corners. Beneath the blanket, his hand moved. When she pulled away the blankets and slipped her hand beneath his, he took a deep breath and fell back to sleep. Someone slid a chair up behind her. She sat down and rested her cheek against his hand on the bed.

  When next Gen opened her eyes, gray light was filtering through the windows in the hospital. She stayed still for a moment, listening to Daniel’s even breathing with her eyes closed. Her back ached and she grunted softly with the effort to move. When she pushed herself upright, she rubbed her sore neck and stretched, then watched Daniel for a few moments. On the opposite side of the bed there was a table with assorted bottles and bandages neatly arranged beside a water bucket. She took a drink, then used a second cupful to dab at her face. She was horrified at what came off her face onto the towel. She must look awful. She looked over her shoulder at her sleeping husband.