The Coming

by David Osborne

  “The sight of this is full payment for my journey,” Spalding said.

  Joseph smiled proudly. He led them down to the shore, where they dismounted. They tied their horses, stripped, and walked into the cold, crystal-clear waters. Spalding had never been a strong swimmer; he stayed where he could stand, ducked under, felt the water clean the dust of the day’s ride off his skin and out of his hair and beard. The two Indians swam out into the depths, slipping through the water as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Spalding envied them their physical ease in the world: their agility on horseback, their swiftness afoot, their astounding ability to pull fish out of rapids. They were truly creatures of their land, well suited by God to their existence.

  He retreated to the edge of the lake, stood naked, gazing down the miles of blue water as the late August sun dried his body. Being here in Joseph’s valley was like being in heaven on earth. The river watered some of the finest land he had encountered in this western country, a rich loam that produced luxurious grasses. And along the valley’s southern and western edges rose a majestic range of snowcapped peaks, their lower portions sheathed in pine, spruce, and fir. He found himself daydreaming about moving here, settling with Joseph and his people, forgetting James and the rest of the Nez Perce.

  It would be highly irresponsible, he knew. This valley was remote, and other bands rarely visited it—quite unlike the central location he had chosen. But it was a delicious thought. He was weary of the constant battles. When wolves began to attack his farm animals, he had set out poison and traps. A woman whose dog died from eating poison accosted him in his home, and when he expelled her physically she had been knocked unconscious. Her husband had threatened to kill Mrs. Spalding until Spalding gave the woman a blanket in apology.

  There was so much animosity from some quarters that he had taken to keeping his rifle loaded, though it upset Eliza to have it in the house with the children.

  As the two Indians walked out of the water, the contrast between them was striking—one so white of skin, the other a deep brown. And while Joseph was smiling, Clark’s eyes were downcast. Spalding reached out, put a hand on his shoulder: “What troubles you, my friend?”

  Clark looked away. “I miss my wife and children.” He gestured to the west: “They live across these mountains. I am thinking I will visit them.”

  “For goodness sake, have them come back and live at Lapwai, as they did before. They will want to see you baptized.”

  Clark shook his head. “When I whipped Warm Robe, my wife left, and she will not return.”

  Spalding felt the slow flush of shame. He knew he had been too harsh on Warm Robe; her husband had proven to be an ungrateful rogue, like all mountain men. And he knew the Nez Perce did not countenance the whip, an instrument he had come to know so well in his own youth.

  Perhaps they were right. Somehow the majesty of the scene before him opened his heart, and knowledge of his own failings poured in upon him. He was too strict, too lacking in patience, and his temper was a repeated obstacle to the conversion of heathen souls. No matter how hard he tried to control it, no matter how often Eliza reminded him, it led him astray.

  Even his own brethren among the missionaries had taken offense. He could not suffer Mr. Gray’s arrogance and selfishness in silence, and the two had clashed repeatedly. Similarly, he had demonstrated no patience with Reverend Smith, who had the audacity, within months of his arrival, to lecture Spalding, criticizing his decision to marry Williams and Warm Robe, denouncing his efforts to convert the Nez Perce into farmers. Spalding had been cruel to Smith, whose wife was so miserable the Indians called her “the weeping one.” Nor had he found it within his heart to forgive Narcissa, until her poor daughter drowned. Shame coursed through him at the thought of the words he had spoken to the Whitmans. Surely, he was the most ungrateful sinner among them.

  Tears came to his eyes as he reached out with both hands, took Clark’s hands in his own. “I am sorry, my friend. I was wrong to have Warm Robe whipped. I ask your forgiveness.” He turned to Joseph, took his hands: “I ask forgiveness of both of you. I am an ungrateful sinner, and I humbly ask that you pray for me.”

  He fell to his knees in the shallow water, and the two surprised Indians knelt beside him. “Heavenly Father, please have mercy on this miserable sinner. Forgive him the wrongs he has committed against these worthy souls, who came to him so eager to learn about you, to accept you into their hearts. Open his heart, so that he might one day be worthy of the love of these simple people.”

  Daytime Smoke was apprehensive as he rode into the Cayuse village. He had dreamed repeatedly that he had lost Darting Swallow to another man, and the dreams paralyzed him with fear.

  His children spotted him first; both ran to him and buried him in hugs, and he had to fight off tears. Little Fire was growing so fast; last fall she had become a woman, had been celebrated at a village feast, Takes Plenty announced. Smoke congratulated her, put on his best face, but it pained him deeply that he had missed such an event.

  “Tell me,” he said, his heart still full of anxiety, “where is your mother?”

  There was an awkward silence. At last Takes Plenty answered: “She is helping Four Bears skin an elk that he killed for us.”

  “Take me to her.”

  She was at the other end of the village, her old dress splattered with blood. Four Bears—the village headman—stood watching as she worked with her knife. Little Fire ran to her, as if to warn her. When Darting Swallow looked up and saw him her brow furrowed. Fear choked him so he could scarcely breathe.

  He stopped before he reached her, let her dictate what happened next. She put down the knife and moved toward him, gesturing to her bloody dress and apologizing.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and pulled her close.

  After he greeted her parents and met everyone else in the longhouse, they set up a separate tipi, the children chattering the entire time, telling him all they had done since he had seen them. Little Fire had two pet squirrels who were quite tame. “She has a gift with animals,” Darting Swallow said. “People have noticed, and they are beginning to bring her their young horses to train.”

  The entire village feasted to celebrate his return, and there was dancing long into the night. When the children finally tired they retired to their lodge, and the children slept. Little Fire’s dogs cuddled up close to them for warmth.

  Daytime Smoke led Swallow outside, where they could talk in private. They spread out a robe beside the stream, sat side by side, staring at the moving waters as the moonlight reflected off them. Jays squawked in the willow bushes along the stream; nighthawks dove for yellow-winged hoppers.

  Finally, Smoke took a deep breath and asked: “Are you with Four Bears now?”

  “No,” she said. “But he has asked me to marry him.”

  He dared not look at her, just waited, while his heart raced and his legs turned to water.

  “I told him I was already married.”

  “Have you lain with him?”

  “No.”

  He had been holding his breath, he realized, and now he let it out. “I have missed you so much.”

  “I have missed you as well.” She reached for his hand, squeezed it. He looked at her, and she moved to him, kissed him. He had never been more relieved, nor hungrier for her. Their bodies came together with a terrible urgency, and he knew with a certainty beyond any doubt that here, coupled with Darting Swallow, was the one place in this world where he truly belonged.

  When at last they were quiet, they lay in silence for a long time. Then Smoke asked the question he had been waiting to ask all day: “Will you come back with me?”

  She rolled on her side and gazed at him: “Are you still whipping people?”

  “No.”

  “Is Reverend Spalding?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  “You should stay here with me.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Why not?�
�

  He took a deep breath. “I am learning. I helped build a mill to cut logs, another to grind roots and grain. The mills do what hundreds of people would do, in just a day or two. And Mr. Williams taught me how to heat metal and make tools.”

  “He must feel guilty.”

  “Yes.” He reached out and touched her face. “Reverend Spalding has baptized Shooting Arrow and Tamootcin, and their children, with sacred water. I want to be baptized as well.”

  “What good will it do you?”

  “It will help me find Jesus, accept him as my spirit guide.”

  “But you already have a spirit guide.”

  He gazed into her eyes. “Jesus is more powerful. When Jesus comes, people feel so happy. They feel safe. He loves them and cares for them.”

  “Safe? He could not even keep himself safe.”

  Smoke laughed, stared up at the stars. “I cannot explain it. I just know it is important.”

  “Important for what? What are you searching for?”

  How could he put it in words? “To live a good life and reach Heaven.”

  “But you already had a good life, and all our people go to Land Above.”

  “Not everyone makes it there.”

  She gazed at him for a long time, finally sighed. “You are a good man, Daytime Smoke, and I love you. But you are pursuing a mirage. I will wait for you to come to your senses, because I love you, but I will not go back with you.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  August 1841

  Eliza gazed at the cornfield, so fruitful now that Henry had dug irrigation ditches and could flood it. She would pick a few ears for supper, then gather some green beans and peas. She felt enormous satisfaction as she surveyed the acres and acres of cultivated land that spread south from the river. Many of the Nez Perce were also irrigating now, and proudly hauling their grain to the mill for grinding.

  There had been a rough patch last winter, but the Lord in his mercy had sustained them. James had accelerated his demands for rent, egged on by Mr. Craig, who had settled nearby and lent him support in his argument. The Nez Perce had destroyed the mill dam in February, then removed the gate at the head of the irrigation ditches in April. Her husband blamed Mr. Craig, said it was all part of a campaign orchestrated to get James his rent. And perhaps he was right: things had calmed down after Mr. Craig departed for the Willamette Valley.

  Fortunately, the majority of the Nez Perce still welcomed them, despite the flare-ups, and their last two years had been their most productive. She had 85 faithful students in her school, including ten adults, six of whom were chiefs. Four Nez Perce youths assisted her in the school and lived in the Spalding home, helping with their children. Henry had made her a spinning wheel and they had purchased a loom, which the Hudson’s Bay Company had brought all the way up the Snake and Clearwater. Just two weeks ago Lawyer had agreed to come for nine months to help Henry master the Nez Perce language, in exchange for a cow. Their redeeming Lord was still with them in the deep waters, and she gave him thanks for all his blessings.

  When she had collected her corn and beans and was returning to the house, she stopped in her tracks. Two boys were throwing burning sticks onto the wood-shingled roof! She dropped her sack and ran toward the door, as her husband appeared with a ladder. She ran up the stairs to the bedroom where both children were napping, calling out to Eliza to wake her. She could hear Henry on the roof now, beating out flames with his shirt. She gathered up Henry Hart, took Eliza by the hand, and fled down the stairs and out the door.

  When she looked back the roof was smoking, but Henry had extinguished the flames. Mr. Smith, Henry’s new workman, had seized one of the boys and was dragging him toward the house.

  “Henry!” she cried. “What on earth has happened?”

  He climbed down from the roof and helped Smith wrestle the youth, who looked to be about 14, into the house. Suddenly they heard the drumming of hoofbeats outside, then a series of war cries. Henry sprang up, seized his rifle from above the doorway, and opened the door. Eliza could see boys on horseback circling the house. The boy they’d caught jerked himself out of Mr. Smith’s hands and darted by Henry, out the door. Mr. Smith gave chase, while Henry kept his gun trained on the riders. Eliza reached the door just in time to see the boy dive into the river.

  “Husband, what is this all about?” she cried.

  “They were playing their infernal bone game, so I took away their bones and lectured them on the evils of gambling,” he said.

  Eliza was speechless. Her children could have been burned in their beds.

  Ten days later, before she even knew it was happening, Henry and Mr. Smith whipped three boys they had caught stealing corn from their field. Within minutes, 20 mounted men galloped up to the house. At their front rode James, in a headdress made from the fur and horns of a mountain goat. Her heart pounded in fear as she followed Henry and Mr. Smith outside.

  “Again you have whipped my people?” James demanded, speaking Nez Perce. He dismounted and advanced on Henry. “It is you we should whip!”

  The twisted horns that rose from both sides of his headdress made him look almost as tall as Henry. He ripped the whip out of Mr. Smith’s hand and raised it, and Henry flinched. The crowd, which had pushed forward on their horses and surrounded them, egged him on.

  Henry raised his arm and pointed: “Sinners, leave us!”

  Jeers drowned him out.

  “Leave us!” Henry commanded, eyes flashing. “If you make trouble I will no longer teach you, nor hold worship services. You will all burn in Hell!”

  James glared at him, whip still in hand. “You tell lies! Mother Earth holds no Hot Place! You pretend to have powers, but you are all talk.”

  Henry’s angry eyes bore into him, then rose to sweep the others’ faces: “Do not listen to him! He does evil, for master of Hot Place! Can he heal you, or do you come to me for medicine? Can he feed you, or do you come to me for potatoes?”

  Thunder Eyes feinted with the whip, and it cracked in the air.

  Clark, Joseph, and Timothy galloped in from their fields, breathless, and dismounted. “If you want to whip someone, you will have to fight us!” Clark said.

  “Let us whip them!” a voice shouted.

  “Let us kill these Soyappos!” another shouted, and the young warriors sent up a battle cry.

  Henry’s face turned white.

  “Enough!” shouted Clark, who had stepped between James and Henry. “They were sent to us by our Creator!”

  James glared at him: “Always in the middle, eh, half-breed? You still whip our people for him?”

  Clark shook his head: “No.”

  “Ah, so you are coming to your senses.” A small smile crossed his face. “Talk to your master. Tell him to think well. Does he want his house to burn? Does he want to drown? Or would he be wiser to pay for this land he uses, and put down his whip?”

  The medicine man turned and walked back to his horse, whip still in hand. He mounted, gave them one last stare, and all 20 galloped away.

  The next morning Eliza found two of the milk cows dead. She sank onto her milking stool and wept.

  She was still weeping when Clark found her. “My teacher,” he said. “What is wrong?”

  She pointed at the dead cows. He walked to the first, felt under its neck, then sniffed. “They were poisoned,” he said.

  “Should we leave, my friend? Is it unsafe to raise our children here?” Reverend Smith and his wife, who had settled in Kamiah, had given up after less than two years and departed. Perhaps theirs was the wiser path.

  “I have talked with Thunder Eyes,” Clark said. “I believe you are safe.”

  “But you heard him yesterday. He threatened to drown Henry, to burn our house down. How can I stay here, with young children?”

  He rose and walked to her, squatted down beside her. “He has promised me he will not harm you. He is not Satan. But Reverend Parker said you would pay for his land.”

  “Is that tru
e?”

  “Yes.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Then I will speak to my husband.”

  “Tell him to stop whipping people.”

  “I know.”

  “Would Jesus whip people? Does he not teach us to turn the other cheek?”

  “Believe me, I have tried to convince him. He gets so angry, he does not think.”

  “You do not agree with him?”

  “About whipping, no.”

  “Your husband tells us to give up our ways, our dances, our clothing, our hunting. But you never teach of your Bible saying these things, and Lawyer says he has never read these words.”

  Oh how she wished Henry would not insist that they dress and act like white men. She searched for the right words: “It is true, the Bible says nothing about these things. My husband …” She hesitated, still searching. “Sometimes he confuses how we live with what God commands.”

  “But his behavior is not always what God commands.”

  “No.”

  His eyes beseeched her. “If even you are not sure what is true, am I a fool to give up so much, to live apart from my wife and children? What have I gained? I have learned how to build things, how to grow food. But Reverend Spalding has not even baptized me yet.”

  He looked so sad, tears filled her eyes again.

  “He says it is because I have not accepted Jesus as my savior. But I do not know how. I ask him to come and guide me, but nothing happens.”

  “Keep trying, my friend. He will come.”

  “My spirit guide comes. He guides me, talks to me. Sometimes I wonder if this is why Jesus will not come.”

  She gazed at him: “Your people all have spirit guides, don’t they?”

  “Of course. At least one.”

  “And do they help you?”

  “Mine has saved my life, saved others’ lives as well—Thomas Fitzpatrick, Lawyer, Beaver Head. What has Jesus done for me?”

  “I wonder if the same spirits that come to you as animals and forces of nature come to us as Jesus and the saints.”