by Almost Eden
“You’ve known about this for five years?”
“Sloan also told me on that first visit that he had received word from Jefferson Merrick that my father had been killed. That is how I knew to inquire of Merrick when I came looking for you.”
Light was silent. He thought of that time. A party of Sauk Indians had ambushed his father while he was checking his trap lines and had killed him. His mother had been devastated. At times he could almost hear in his mind the keening sounds of her grief when she heard the news.
“At first I wasn’t very interested in finding you. I kept thinking about it. The more Paul told me to forget it, that you would not care to hear from me, the more curious I became. And to tell you the truth, I almost hated you because you’d had my father during the years you were growing up and I’d had no one but a mother who didn’t care if I lived or died.
“I wanted to see you. I wanted to assure myself that I was a better man than you are. I also wanted to know what kind of a man my father was, and you were the only one who could tell me. Knowing that there was another man in the world who had the same blood in his veins that ran in mine has gnawed at me for five years. I wanted to know what he was like.”
“You expected to see a savage with war paint on his face.” It was a flat statement.
Eli grinned sheepishly.
“I didn’t expect you to be quite so civilized or that you would have a woman like Maggie.”
“You think I am civilized?”
“At times yes, at other times no.” Eli had answered as truthfully as he could. “I wondered if you were after you killed the three rivermen, and I was sure you were when you toted the small man home on your back.”
The statement required no answer and Light gave none.
Paul came in. He looked first at one and then the other.
“I see you are both alive. Mon Dieu!” Paul sighed with relief. “I’m glad it’s over.”
Light, as usual, said nothing.
Eli was uneasy about what Light was thinking. Was he disappointed to learn that his father had sired a son and gone away and left him? It was common for a white man to leave his half-breed sons, but not the other way around.
Light’s impassive face revealed nothing. Eli stood and held out his hand.
“I’m glad I got to know you, Light. If I can ever be of any help to you, you need only let me know.”
Light hesitated, then put his hand in that of his newfound brother.
When he was alone again, Light lay down on the bunk and stared at the ceiling. The news Eli had given him had surprised him but had not shocked him as much as Eli thought. Since his father’s death, Light had searched his memory for bits and pieces of information about his father’s life before he came to the land west of the big river. He could recall no mention by his father of family, friends, or even places he had visited east of the river. Pierre Baptiste’s former life must have been very painful for him to have blotted it out so completely.
He had a brother. Light did not think it would make much difference in his life. He and Maggie would go on to their mountain. Eli’s life would continue here, or on the river. Yet it was good to know that his father’s blood would be passed down throughout the ages in the white man’s world from which he came and the blood of his mother’s people would be carried on by his and Maggie’s descendants.
The door flew open and Maggie came in.
“Looky, Light. Look at my new dress. Me an’ Aee made it—” She paused, tilted her head and looked at him. “Why was ya smilin’, Light? Ya was smilin’ in here all by yoreself.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The stream beside the homestead trickled to life.
Spring came like the sun breaking through a rain cloud. One day the thin layer of snow disappeared, and new sprigs of grass showed green on the hillsides. Huge flocks of geese, passing overhead in a V formation, their long necks stretched, followed their leader on their long northward journey. Unending swarms of ducks and cranes came from the south to settle on the river. Noisy swirls of gulls stopped to rest on the sandbars.
The winter had been short and pleasant. The weather had not been so harsh that it prevented work being done in the potash shed and on Eli’s flatboat.
On a cold winter day following Christmas, Aee and Eli had stood before the entire population of MacMillansville and said their vows. They had promised to love and to cherish each other until parted by death. In his happiness Eli failed to recall how he had scorned such a ceremony, outside the realm of church or law, that had united Maggie and Light. Aee, beautiful in a pure white dress, radiated happiness. The couple went to live in the new cabin and Paul moved back in with Bodkin and Dixon.
During the winter Eli and Light came to know each other as brothers. Light was still reserved and quiet, but Eli understood that that was his nature. Aware that Eli was curious about their father, Light shared his memories of an educated man who had taught him to read and to write. Pierre had talked with his son of the world around and above him. He could read the stars, a fact that made Light think now that he might have been a seaman at one time. He was a man, Light said, who was comfortable with himself and had taught his son to hunt and to fish and, above all, to respect nature.
Eli listened intently to every word. His resentment toward the father who had deserted him had faded long ago.
When Light had told Maggie that he and Eli had had the same father, she had been delighted with the news.
“He’s yore brother! Now I know why I wanted ya t’ like each other. I just knew there was somethin’.”
As soon as winter began to wane, Light and Caleb began work on the canoe that would take them up the Missouri and into the Osage River. They planned to travel that river to its beginning and there to swap the canoe and other trade goods for horses to take them the rest of the way to the mountains.
The day before their departure, Eli came to the dock where Light and Caleb were waterproofing, with a mixture of buffalo tallow and ashes, the middle section of their canoe, where they would keep such things as gunpowder and food. Eli had brought them a dozen knives that had been well oiled and wrapped in a hide, along with two rifles, a keg of gunpowder, several small sheets of shiny tin to be used as mirrors and ten yards of dress goods. He had already given Caleb, without Light’s knowledge, a leather bag of gunpowder and two extra rifles.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Eli said when Light shook his head. “These goods are for Maggie.” On his face was the grin that had irritated Light in the past, but that he now understood was a sign of uneasiness. “I want to make sure she doesn’t walk all the way to your mountain. Use these things as trade goods. Aee and I insist. This is the last thing we can do for our brother.”
“You have already given me tools.”
“The tools were a gift to . . . Maggie”—Eli laughed at the absurdity of the excuse—“to help build her new home.”
“I have nothing to give in return.”
“You saved my life and you’ve given me friendship. That is worth far more.” Eli’s big hand came down on Light’s shoulder.
“I will send my first winter’s catch of mink furs to make a coat for my brother’s wife.”
Eli felt a lump in his throat. It was the first time Light had referred to him as brother. In an attempt to cover his feelings, he joked.
“If mink is that plentiful, I may go with you.”
“You are welcome.”
“I would be tempted if my first son had not decided to arrive in the fall.”
Light’s smile lit his solemn face.
“Mac went to the well six times before he got a son. What makes you think you’ll get one the first time? Huh?”
Eli fingered his beard. “I hadn’t thought of that. But now that I do, I think that it will not be so bad to have a daughter. It’s a most enjoyable trip to the well.”
Their eyes met in companionable understanding. Eli regretted that they had known each other for such a brief
time as brothers and friends.
“I will leave sign along the way if you and Aee should decide to come out. Paul would be welcome, as you know.”
“Send word back with anyone coming this way. MacMillan is known along the river, and I expect in a few years he will have a village here.”
“And you, Eli?”
“I’ve spent my life on or along the river.”
Maggie came running down the path toward them.
“Does she ever walk?” Eli asked with a broad smile.
“Not if she can run,” Light replied.
“Light! Aee and Eli gave me this goods. It’s to make clothes for our first babe.” Maggie held a bundle of cloth in her arms.
“Then, ma petite, I guess we’d better make a trip to the well and get one.”
Maggie looked puzzled, then she laughed. “Get a baby out of the well? Light! Ya made a funny.”
Light looked over her head and winked at his brother.
* * *
The parting was both happy and sad.
Maggie put her arms around each of the younger MacMillan children.
“Take care of Chicken, Eee. And Dee, keep working with that whip Caleb made ya. Yore goin’ t’ be a better yodeler than me, Cee, if ya keep goin’ like ya are.” She hugged Bee and whispered, “Decide soon ’tween Bodkin an’ Dixon or they’ll kill each other.” Bee giggled, then burst into tears.
“Miz Mac, good-bye, good-bye,” Maggie said. “I’ll remember ya and little Frank always.” She cried a little when she said good-bye to Aee. “Ya learned me a lot ’bout lots a thin’s, Aee. I wish ya was comin’, but I know ya can’t. Ya be good to Eli, but don’t take no sass off him.”
Maggie hugged Eli for a long moment, then backed away and looked up at him.
“If I hadn’t found Light, I mighta taken ya for my man, Eli. But I’m glad Aee got ya.”
With tears running down her cheeks, she shook hands with the others, then ran for the canoe, leaving Light and Caleb to say their good-byes.
Light and Caleb, with Maggie between them, picked up the paddles and the journey began. Maggie looked back at the small group standing on the riverbank. Aee was crying. Eli had his arm around her. They were all waving.
Maggie waved, then turned her face toward the west and began to yodel as she had never done before.
“Y-oo-dal-oodle-al-dee-hee. Y-oo-dal-oodle-al-dee-hee. Y-oo-dal-oodle-al-dee-hee—”
The musical sound was wild, haunting, unearthly. It rolled over the water. It echoed up and down the river and spilled into the hills beyond. It was music such as no living creature had ever heard before. It went on and on and on until it was lost in the distance.
* * *
On a bright sunny afternoon forty-eight days later the trio rode into the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.
The trip from the Missouri River had not been uneventful.
They had met a party of Osage, near the time they were to end their journey by canoe, and had traded the rifles, a small sack of gunpowder and three knives for four half-wild ponies that Maggie tamed within a day.
Light was able to converse with the Osage, although they spoke a different dialect. Though they lived far away, they had heard of Sharp Knife and his rescue of Zee, medicine man of an Osage tribe to the east, and had treated Light with much respect. He had sent a message back to Dark Cloud to relay on to the MacMillans, to say that they had reached the end of their water journey and were well.
A band of Kiowa overtook the travelers shortly after they had left the Osage River and would have killed them were it not for Caleb. The Kiowa had never seen a black man before, nor any man with the strength to lift a huge log over his head. To Caleb’s amusement, they thought him a god and camped nearby for two days while Caleb performed feats of strength. The Indians offered him many ponies and his choice of a maiden for a wife if he would come with them. When he refused they became sullen. They rode off, somewhat appeased, when Light gave them two shiny pieces of tin, a knife and a length of Maggie’s yard goods. For several days, however, Light and Caleb were careful to watch their back trail.
On the grassy plains they had waited two days for a mile-wide herd of buffalo to pass, and later they had crouched in a cave while a whirling, destructive wind passed overhead.
After reaching the foothills of the mountains, they rode on for another week, awed by the majestic, snow-capped mountains, the dense forest, the clear mountain streams and the abundance of wild game. Light remarked that it was like what he imagined the Garden of Eden to be.
One morning they broke camp, not knowing that this was the day that they would forge a life-long friendship with the Cheyenne Indians. The sun was breaking through the mists that hung over the valley when they came upon a small group of Indians on a ledge overlooking a deep gorge. Two of them lay on their bellies, looking down.
A squaw with a papoose in a cradleboard sat apart from the others. She rocked back and forth, keening with grief. Light spoke to them in Osage but they shook their heads, not comprehending. Two braves with drawn bows flanked the strange trio, eyeing Caleb fearfully.
The cry of a child caught Maggie’s attention. She slid from the pony’s back and, ignoring the Indians, went to the rim and looked down into the gorge. Light followed quickly, holding the back of her belt lest she slip over the edge.
Fifteen feet down, clinging to a spindly tree growing out the side of the rock wall, was a small child. He whimpered in terror, his arms and legs wrapped around the trunk of the sapling. A hundred feet below him a stream rippled in the sunlight.
“Ahh! He’s so scared, Light. What can we do?”
“Get the rope, Caleb, and lower me down.”
“No!” Maggie said quickly. “The tree will break under yore weight. I’m lighter. Let me go.”
“I cannot risk it, chérie.”
“If the tree breaks, he’ll die, Light.”
“Missy be right,” Caleb said. “The tree’ll hold her, not you.”
The Indians looked from one to the other, not understanding what they said but knowing the strange people were trying to help the boy. When Caleb brought out the rope, a young man with beautifully etched features and a face dark with worry motioned for them to put it around him. Light talked to him, using his hands to explain the tree would break under his weight.
Maggie threw her hat on the ground. Light secured the rope around her. He tested the knot several times, then pulled her into his arms.
“Mon amour, when you reach the boy, have him put his arms and legs around you, and back off carefully. We will not let you fall.”
“I know that, my love. I’m not afraid.”
Caleb and two of the Indians held the rope even though Caleb could have easily done it alone. Light, trying not to look at the bottom of the rocky gorge, lay belly-down on the edge of the rim and felt the rope slipping through his hands as his beloved was lowered to the tree below. He called out to Caleb when Maggie’s feet touched the trunk to test it to see if it would hold her weight.
With his heart in his throat, Light watched her crawl carefully out onto the trunk that grew almost straight out from the cliff. With her eyes on the boy she talked to him in the quiet voice she used to calm an excited animal. The child couldn’t understand the words, but the tone soothed him and he stopped crying.
“Don’t be scared, little boy. I’m comin’ for ya. Hold on till I get t’ ya. Ya’ll be with yore ma in a little while. My name’s Maggie. I’m goin’ t’ live here in the mountains. I’m almost t’ ya. Now put yore arms around my neck. That’s it. Put yore legs around me too. I’ll hold ya tight and ya won’t fall. Light an’ Caleb’ll pull us up. First we got to back off this tree trunk. It’s startin’ to wiggle. Light said be careful an’ I do what Light says.”
While she was backing, Light took up the slack. When she reached the side of the cliff the men began to pull her and the child slowly upward. As soon as she was within reach, Light and the Indian grabbed her beneath the arms an
d lifted her and the boy up and away from the edge.
With a cry of gladness the father reached for his child.
* * *
In a clearing back from the trail, the Indians, Light and Caleb sat beside a fire and smoked while Maggie played with the baby and the boy. Light was able to understand that the father of the boy was the son of a chief named White Horse and they were on their way to their summer camp. They had seen only a few white people and never a black man.
When they were ready to leave, Maggie hugged the little boy she had saved and told him how brave he was. He looked at her with big solemn eyes and hugged her back. The boy’s father took the necklace of blue feathers from around his neck and placed it around Maggie’s. She smiled because she thought it pretty; she was unaware of the significance of the gift—that from this day on she and her husband would be protected by the Cheyenne.
Maggie wanted to give something to her new friends before they parted. She went to the edge of the cliff, lifted her head and began to sing.
Flesh of my flesh, heart of my heart,
forever, hand in hand with wond’ring steps
through the wide forest we go . . .
Her voice was high and sweet and wild. It had the carrying quality of a bell. The echoes filled every crevice of the mountain and resounded into the valley. When she finished she yodeled.
“Y-oo-dola-dee-y-oo-la-dee—Y-oo-dola-dee-la-lee—”
The Cheyenne stood in awed silence.