The Young Riders
The Journey
By Gabrielle Lawson
Chapter Eight
Jenny up-ended her bag onto the bed Rachel had offered her. She had few belongings anymore, but it did not distress her, nor did she think of herself as poor. She had viewed her aunt's many furnishings, paintings, dishes, and various other things as unnecessary excess that only served to remove her farther from the natural beauty of the world Jenny had shared with the Lakota.
In her attempt at assimilation, Aunt Sarah had bought several fancy outfits consisting of lacy chemises, crenoline slips, skirts, overskirts, corsetts, bodices, sleeves, gloves, shawls, and shoes. But she'd burned the one dress that Jenny felt comfortable in. The one that didn't confine her or squeeze the very breath from her lungs. The one that carried the scent of the deer that had given the skin and the fire and solutions that had tanned it.
In her leaving, Jenny had taken only one fancy dress—and not every layer of it—and the simpler dress she'd worn when she left Sweetwater. A small sewing kit to mend the dresses; a ribbon-bound stack of letters from her father. She'd sold her mother's mirror. The fire had taken her doe-skin dress and moccasins.
Only one thing remained in the bag; one physical thing remained of her life with the Lakota. She carefully unfolded the cloth from around it and laid out the fringes and smoothed the feathers. One of the beads had broken, but the feathers still held. She examined the web inside the small, leather-wrapped hoop.
Her aunt would call it silly superstition. Sister Maria would call it heathen. But the Lakota would say it kept evil spirits from reaching her in the spirit world. Jenny liked the way her mother had put it when she made it more than six years ago: The web catches nightmares, while good dreams pass through the center.
Jenny had saved the dreamcatcher from the fire that had consumed her dress and moccasins by hiding it under her mattress. At night, she'd remove it and hang it from her headboard. She'd awake early with the sunrise and hide it again. Considering the nightmare her waking world had become in the city, it had been a comfort for her, and she often returned to the Lakota in her dreams. Now she hoped it would provide a haven for Buck, lost as he was in the nightmare Lou had described.
Jimmy was already saddling his horse when she reached the barn. He had returned to the station less than an hour ago, thinking nothing was amiss. Lou had caught him in the bunkhouse and explained to him what had happened. Jenny had watched as he stormed back to the barn. It was then that she made her decision and ran back to the house for the dreamcatcher.
Rachel had called to her as she left the house, but Jenny kept going. Ike's spirit had brought her to Rock Creek for a reason, even knowing that Buck was in danger. He believed she could help.
Jimmy looked up as he tightened the last cinch. "Is there something I can do for you?" he snapped.
Jenny stung for a moment. She did not know Jimmy well enough to read him. Was he angry because he was upset and worried for his friend? Or did he blame her for the whole situation? It was her letter that had called Buck to St. Joe. Then she decided it didn't matter. She planted her feet and met his gaze. "I'm coming with you."
Jimmy shook his head. "Where I'm goin' ain't no place for a lady." He tried to move past her to lead his horse out but she didn't budge from her spot.
"It's a farmhouse," she argued.
"You know what I mean," he said, again trying to go around her.
She stepped aside for the horse but moved back again when Jimmy reached her. She stood nose to nose with him and said as fiercly as she could without raising her voice, "Then I am no lady!" She knew he probably didn't speak Lakota, but she was betting he'd understand her anyway.
Jimmy backed up a step, confirming her suspicions. But he hadn't given up entirely. "There are no fresh horses," he argued.
Jenny didn't budge. "Then I'll ride with you."
He was silent then, though she could tell by the slight movements of his jaw that he still wanted to find a reason to leave her behind. "I can help him," she added, taking a risk that he would only reject her further.
"How?"
She was not yet willing to tell of the dreamcatcher. "Can you pray for him?" she asked. "To the spirits he believes in? Do you even know who they are?"
"I don't believe in those spirits," he replied, but he said it quietly and cast his gaze to the ground.
"He does," she said. "And it might help him to hear those prayers himself. You can pray to your God. Someone is bound to hear us. Take me with you."
Jimmy sighed and dropped his shoulders. "How soon can you be ready?"
Jenny took the bridle from him and led the horse toward the door. "I'm ready now."
Jimmy was going to the farmhouse, and Lou wanted to return as well. It had only been a couple of hours since she had returned to Rock Creek with the doctor, and she knew she was going back out in two days, but her mind kept playing over and over the scene where she had found Buck. Each detail provided another detail to what might have happened to him, the things he suffered. The reins around his wrists—or rather, right on the fractured bone—the table to which he was tied, the heat and then cold of the tin-walled shed, the odd position and swelling in his knee, bruises too many to count.
Teaspoon had worked out a lot of it. The shot to his shoulder first, then the bruising and broken ribs from the horse that fell on him. His wrist had probably broken then, too. In the daylight Teaspoon had seen blood on the door of the shed and in a path to the barn. Buck had nearly escaped. That is when his leg was likely injured. And that was probably when he was tied to the table and beaten repeatedly. For at least two days.
"You should eat something," Rachel said, breaking her thoughts. Lou looked at the plate of sandwiches that now sat between them on the table. Rachel looked as worn as Lou felt so it wasn't surprising that she hadn't cooked anything.
Lou thanked her and reached for a sandwich only to freeze with her hand in the air. She had made sandwiches for herself and Buck the day they had conspired together. She had hoped to draw their friendship closer. Less than a week ago. She had forgotten how quickly the world could come undone.
Rachel touched her hand. "Someone's got to stay here and keep the station running. We want to be ready when Teaspoon brings him home."
Lou knew the arguments but didn't voice them. She nodded and took a small bite of the sandwich, chewing it as she cried. No need to argue at all. Teaspoon would eventually bring Buck home. He just might be dead when it happened.
Kid had finally managed to fall asleep, but Teaspoon couldn't even get himself to lie down. Buck's half-open eyes haunted him. It had been a full day since Lou had cut him loose and stopped Lathrop from torturing him further. But Buck still did not rest. Over and over Teaspoon had tried telling him that it was over, that he could close his eyes. His own voice was becoming hoarse from pleading. But Buck didn't hear him. He flinched away from Teaspoon's touch only to force his eyes wider.
Despite Teaspoon's brave words to Kid, he was just as afraid that Buck would die. And that he'd die like this, slowly and painfully, turned his stomach in knots. He would wish for a moment that Buck would draw his last breath and thus be spared more pain, but then he'd chide himself for not having hope.
He pushed any such thoughts aside and thought about how much he still wanted Buck in his life. There was still so much he didn't know about Buck. He knew of his older brother and figured he had taught him to track and shoot and ride. But who had passed on to him that gentle, quiet spirit or the fierce determination that had seen him through all the prejudices he had faced up to now? Was that his mother? He never said much about her. Teaspoon knew she'd been taken by force by a white man and nothing more. Had she rejected the child that was born from that violation, leaving him to be raised by his brother? Or had she chosen to love the child that the rest of the village scorned? He hoped the latter, and he wanted to get to know that woman, if only through Buck's memories. But if Buck died tonight, he would never know. He'd never know why Buck finally decided to try living in his father's world or how Ike and he had met and what had made them family.
Ike. Ike was already gone. The first of the boys to die. Teaspoon knew just as little about him as he knew about Buck. And Buck was now the only one who could tell him more about the silent but soft-hearted rider. Teaspoon knew that they had known each other before coming to the Express, unlike the other riders, but neither one ever opened up enough to say how long.
He realized that, in the beginning, their reticence came from a sense of self-preservation, as both of them were given precarious circumstances upon which to build their lives. Ike was bald and unable to speak, thought to be deaf or illiterate by many. And Buck was just Indian. Or worse to some: a halfbreed, as if that signified something dirty, for only a lowly sort would stoop to mating with an Indian.
They arrived at the Sweetwater station separately and stood apart from each other in line that first day. But Buck spoke up when Ike couldn't. Teaspoon remembered the wary look in his eyes, the fear and hope in Ike's. Buck had put them both on the line, Teaspoon realized. Or rather, he'd sacrificed himself for Ike. He could have stayed quiet and let Ike try to explain on his own somehow. But the relief Teaspoon felt from him, when Teaspoon made no more of it, wasn't for himself but for both of them. They stood apart to give each other the chance without dragging the other down, but Buck had made it clear, in his understated way, that they were a team.
It was clear what Buck's friendship offered to Ike: a voice. The Indians' sign language, used to communicate between differing tribes, allowed him to speak. But what Ike offered Buck was more subtle. Acceptance.
Losing Ike was like losing his anchor in this world. Buck had nearly given up on himself after Ike had died. He hardly ate or spoke. He never smiled. And then, he came back from a ride one day with a wagon, a woman, and a baby. And a bandage on his arm. Ever the mystery, he never told the story behind the bandage or the baby. But the woman was newly widowed and the baby newly born. His name was Ike. Buck never said so, but Teaspoon figured he was there when that child was born. That and the loss he could share with the woman somehow healed some of the hurt in himself. Buck returned that day.
What would it take now, Teaspoon wondered? If Buck lived. If doctoring could heal his body, what would heal his spirit?
Teaspoon heard the familiar patter of a horse's hooves and moved to look out the window. He stepped onto the porch as he recognized the horse and was not surprised to find that Kid had followed him out. He was surprised, though, to see two riders on Jimmy's horse, and long, blond hair flowing from the passenger.
Jimmy stopped the horse in front of the porch. He tried to help the girl down, but she had already bounded easily to the ground. There wasn't an Indian bone in her body, but the look in her eyes told him exactly who she was. Eagle Feather.
Teaspoon knew about the letter, but he was still surprised to see her. Buck had never made it to St. Joe.
Jimmy nodded toward her. "She thought maybe she could help. Lou told us."
Teaspoon nodded and touched the brim of his hat. "Miss Tompkins."
"Eagle Feather," she replied, nodding back. "I can help."
Kid looked rather bewildered by the whole spectacle, but he'd been bewildered all day. Teaspoon let him be.
Jimmy, though, stepped up to the porch. "How is he?" he asked.
"He hasn't gotten any better," Teaspoon answered, feeling suddenly very tired. "He also hasn't gotten any worse. You can see him, but. . . ." He put a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. ". . . It's not easy seein' him." He turned to look at the young woman now. "Kid, why don't you go in with him?"
She wanted to go, too. She stepped onto the porch but stopped at the door. Teaspoon was glad he didn't have to try and stop her. He still had a lot of questions. Besides, Jimmy had known Buck a lot longer than she had. He deserved a bit of time.
He took a step away from her and looked out across the yard. "The doctor's already seen to him," he said, figuring Lou had probably already told her as much. "There isn't much more we can do to help him. He doesn't even know we're here."
Jenny stepped up behind him. "He's lost in dreams. He can't see us."
"He's not asleep," Teaspoon argued, but it was half-hearted and he knew it.
"He's not awake," she said. "I can help. It's why I've come."
Teaspoon turned back around to look at her. "That's not what you said in the letter."
"I said that if he didn't meet me in St. Joe, I'd understand and find a life for myself somewhere else."
"He didn't meet you there," Teaspoon replied, feeling like they were dancing up to something. He just wasn't sure what that something was.
She took a long breath, but she never broke eye contact. "Someone else did. Someone who knew him well enough to know what he wanted. And what he needs right now."
Teaspoon thought maybe he should be more concerned with what she thought Buck needed, but he could not get past the someone who had met her in St. Joe. Only Lou and Buck had known about the letter, and Lou had taken Buck's ride in the opposite direction.
She did not wait for him to ask. "Ike met me. He put me up in a hotel, bought me dinner and breakfast, and rode with me right up to Rock Creek."
Teaspoon couldn't move. Ike? Maybe she didn't know that he had died. But the set of her face told him she did. "How?" was all he could manage to say.
Jenny stepped through the door behind Teaspoon and nearly lost her nerve. Buck looked terrible and his suffering was obvious. He writhed on the bed and clenched the blankets that covered him. Jimmy still stood by the bed with one hand covering his mouth and chin.
"Can you really help him?" Kid asked. Buck had managed to convince them to let her try. His condition was that serious.
Teaspoon answered for her. "I think maybe she can." He put a hand on her back, gently pushing her further away from the door. He lowered his voice until only she could hear. "She comes highly recommended."
It had taken her only ten minutes to persuade Teaspoon to let her do this. Ike had made that easy. All she'd had to do was convince him of Ike. Who else looked like him, dressed like him, and spoke only with his hands? She recounted the whole journey for him, every conversation that wasn't just storytelling. She told him a couple of the stories, too-things she couldn't have known from her previous time in Sweetwater. Teaspoon had apparently lived long enough with Indians to not dismiss the idea of spirits out of hand. And seeing no other course of action, he said he'd let her try.
He addressed the other riders again. "Why don't you boys see to Mr. Lathrop? We ain't got no box for him, but he can't stay out there any longer."
Kid didn't look pleased with the idea. Jimmy just looked confused. Jenny wondered who Mr. Lathrop was.
"Put him with his family out back," Teaspoon added, "and then get cleaned up."
Jenny remembered seeing some graves as she and Jimmy rode in. Jimmy did, too, it seemed. His hand dropped to his side. "He's the one that's done this?"
Kid just pulled on his arm. "Come on, Jimmy." They brushed past her out the door.
Teaspoon touched her shoulder. "I'll be right outside." Then he turned and left as well.
Jenny slowly stepped closer to the bed. It wasn't like she'd imagined on the ride. Despite Lou's description, she'd expected him to be more awake or more asleep than he actually was. She didn't expect him to move and twist and grimace in pain. It was frightening. She forgot what she was there to do. She didn't know how to help him. He was already bandaged. She had no salve, no poultice, no herbs beyond a bit of sage. Nothing but the dreamcatcher, and what could a little hoop of wood and leather do to help Buck?
Then she remembered her mother. Running Bear had come back one day from a hunting party with a young man whose leg had been broken in such a way that his foot faced backwards. Jenny had twinged at just a glance, but her mother had set right to work. She comforted the young man, talking and singing to him, stroking his face and holding his hand as the medicine man set the bones and splinted his leg. Jenny remembered asking her mother how she could even look at it. "It was hurting the boy a lot more than it was hurting me," her mother had said. "Something needed doing, Jenny, and there wasn't time for me to not do anything. You just have to look past the unpleasant and do what's needed."
Something needed doing now and Jenny knew her mother's words were right. There wasn't time to not do anything. Jenny unwrapped the dreamcatcher on the second bed and gently lifted it up. Then she looked around Buck's bed for a suitable place to hang it. There was a picture on the wall near him that she could take down. But that would put the dreamcatcher against the wall, leaving no room for the good dreams to pass. There was a lantern hook on the wall as well, which would hold the dreamcatcher out aways, but it was too far away. The bed, itself, had two posts at the head and smaller ones at the foot. But the loop on the top of the dreamcatcher was too small to fit around one of them.
Beginning to panic, she spun around, trying to find something, someway to hang the dreamcatcher. She could use the fire to light the sage; she could pray to the spirits, but Buck's problem lay in the dreams that wouldn't release him. There was the other bed, the stove at the far end of the room, curtains on the windows, a rocking chair in one corner, a doorway to another room, a table in another corner. Wait. She turned back. On the floor by the rocking chair was a small stool with a cloth cushioned top. Her aunt had such a thing, and inside it she kept her sewing supplies and knitting needles.
Jenny opened it and found just what she had hoped. Needles and threads, small scissors, thimbles and buttons, but also a small ball of yarn and a knitting needle. She took up the scissors and yarn and went back to the bed. She cut a piece of yarn twice as long as the bed was wide. She folded it in half and tied one end over one of the posts near Buck's head. She then passed the other end through the loop on the dreamcatcher and tied it to the other post. The dreamcatcher now hung freely.
She pulled the sage from her pocket and took a small twig from the wood pile. She held it in the fire until the tip began to burn. Then she brought it out and lit the sage. When the sage caught, she blew it out and threw the twig back into the fire. She knelt beside Buck's bed and began to pray, moving the sage back and forth over him so that its fragrant smoke could cleanse him.
TBC
